Chapter 16

Arlo, Dallas, Kelly, and Kelsey rode out at first light, bound for the newly discovered entrance to the Superstitions.

“Because of last night’s rain, we’re leavin’ tracks,” said Arlo, “but there shouldn’t be anybody to follow us.”

“Let’s not count on that,” Dallas warned. “Since we’re not going in through the mountain, why don’t we leave our horses a good distance away? It’ll mean some walkin’, just gettin’ to the mountain, but it’s better than givin’ away all that we’ve worked so hard to find.”

“I’m glad we have the lanterns,” said Kelly. “We’ll need the extra light.”

“That could become a problem,” Arlo observed, “if those other hombres follow the passage to that drop-off overlooking the river. It’s so dark in there, even the flames from these lanterns can be seen from a long way off.”

“As of yesterday morning,” said Kelsey, “six of them were on foot. It’s hard to believe they’d go back to the Superstitions without horses, even to look for gold.”

“They’ll need grub, too,” Dallas said. “I can’t see Yavapai and Sanchez taking all the horses and leaving the provisions behind.”

“Since Yavapai and Sanchez know of the mine, what’s to stop them from coming back and looking for it on their own?” said Kelly.

“Six good reasons,” Arlo said, “and every one of them with blistered feet. Horse thieves just about have to quit the territory, but the smart ones generally don’t drive their horses through Apache country. I’ll be surprised if Yavapai and Sanchez made it even as far as the Mazatzals with their hair and their horses.”

Bowdre and his men slept little, kept awake by the fitful mumbling of Gary Davis. He seemed plagued with devils and demons, and his unsavory companions welcomed the first gray light of dawn.

“We got to rid ourselves of this spooky varmint,” Zondo Carp muttered about Davis. “He’s playin’ hell with my nerves.”

“He’s seen the gold,” said Bowdre, “and until he convinces me he can’t find it again, I’ll put up with him.”

“I’ll go along with that,” Os Ellerton said. “Now who’s gonna ride back to Tortilla Flat for grub? I ain’t liftin’ a hand to do nothin’ until I eat.”

But the lack of food soon became the least of their problems. The Apaches hit them swiftly and without warning. Mose Fowler grunted, his horrified eyes on the arrow buried deep in his belly.

“Lawd … God!” he cried. “I … be … dead.”

Suddenly, Apaches burst out of the brush on both sides of the canyon at a zigzag run, loosing more arrows as they came. Bowdre and his men pulled their Colts and returned the fire belly down.

“Damn it, Davis!” Bowdre shouted. “Get down!”

But Gary Davis seemed not to hear. Unarmed, he struck off toward the advancing Apaches at an erratic lope, screaming like a cougar. Arrows whipped past all around him, and it seemed a miracle that not one of them touched him. It all seemed eerie, unnatural. Again Davis squalled like a gut-shot mountain lion, and the sound halted the Indians in their tracks. They ran for the brush, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. Davis seemed confused. With only the empty canyon before him, he turned and walked slowly back the way he had come.

“My God,” said Zondo Carp, “look at them eyes!”

Davis seemed not to see them, or anything else. In his eyes was a look that defied description. His arms hung loose at his sides, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Mose Fowler lay on his back dead, his hands gripping the shaft of the arrow in a final, futile attempt to withdraw it. Davis paused, looked at the dead man, and let loose a blood-chilling scream that seemed anything but human.

“He purely scared hell out of that bunch of Apaches,” said Bowdre. “They think he’s crazy as a loon.”

“I can’t fault ’em for that,” Sandoval said. “I think he is too.”

“By God, I ain’t spendin’ another night in camp with the loco varmint,” said Three-Fingered Joe. “He’s got the strength of a bull buffalo, and he could kill us all. Way he was clenchin’ them fists, he’s just waitin’ to get ’em on somebody’s throat, and I don’t aim for it to be mine.”

“He still may come out of it and lead us to the gold,” Bowdre said. “He’s the best lead we got, and with them Apaches thinkin’ he’s crazy, he’s worm more to us than a company of soldiers.”

“If he’s all that valuable,” said Zondo Carp, “you’d best figure on keepin’ him away from me. If he comes at me twitchin’ them big hands, I’ll shoot him dead.”

“Somethin’ about the Injun attack set him off,” Bowdre said. “Take four of the mules around to the west side of that mountain and find the trail up to the rim. Take the mules to that hidden camp Wells and Holt was usin’, and take Davis with you. I’ll take an extra mule with me, and ride to Tortilla Flat to get us some grub. We’ll be needin’ grain for the mules, too.”

“Some risky,” Sandoval said, “them mules runnin’ off, and you showin’ up with two of ’em trail-branded.”

“A risk I’ll have to take,” said Bowdre.

“You want we should do somethin’ with Mose?” Os Ellerton asked.

“Yeah,” said Bowdre. “Take his Colt, holster, and belt, and go through his pockets.”

Domingo Vasquez wasted no time in getting Yavapai and Sanchez involved in the search for Hoss Logan’s mine. Vasquez had done some investigating on his own, and like everyone else in town, he was very much aware of the rich ore sample Hoss Logan had left at the assayer’s office. While Vasquez hadn’t all that much confidence in Yavapai and Sanchez, they had been involved in the search for the mine almost since the beginning. The search for gold would enable Vasquez to utilize certain of his men who were ill-suited for any activity subject to the ever-watchful eyes of Sheriff Wheaton. But men often died in the Superstitions, and when they did, it became difficult—if not impossible—to affix the blame. So, much to their dismay and contrary to their expectations, Yavapai and Sanchez now found themselves part of a gang, taking orders from a leader appointed by Domingo Vasquez, a big, ugly Spaniard known only as Juarez. He carried two tied-down Colts and secreted a Bowie down his back on a leather thong, like an Indian. He was a killer, and south of the border there was more than one price on his head.

“All of you will answer to Juarez,” said Domingo, his eyes on Yavapai and Sanchez, “and Juarez will answer to me.”

The rest of the unsavory outfit consisted of Pepino Frio, Garcia Ruiz, and the Ortega brothers, Juan and Juno. Pepino was a skinny youth with a nervous twitch. Before he was out of his teens, five notches decorated the butt of his Colt. Ruiz was a brute with bad teeth who was constantly fiddling with a deck of cards. Like Juarez, he concealed his razor-keen Bowie Indian fashion. The Ortegas were so much alike that it was difficult to tell them apart. Both were thin and wiry, and their flat-crowned hats were banded with silver conchos. The pair had ambushed a government wagon train, gunned down its military escort, and fled Mexico to escape a firing squad. The lot of them now sat around a table at the rear of Domingo Vasquez’s cantina. Domingo’s instructions to them were brief.

“Yavapai and Sanchez know these mountains,” he said, “and they be familiar also with this Wells and Holt. Follow them. When you are sure we have found the gold, take it.”

He didn’t elaborate, nor did he need to. They had all stolen before, and always without complaint, for the dead did not speak.

Cass Bowdre paused within sight of the general store at Tortilla Flat. A single horse was tied at the hitch rail, and Bowdre cursed under his breath. He had come early, hoping he might find the place deserted. Now it seemed there would be at least one person other than the storekeeper who might later identify him. He quickly decided against concealing the mules and walking to the store, for such a furtive move would only attract attention. Besides, he had to buy several hundred pounds of grain. He waited a while, hoping the lone horseman would mount up and ride away, but it didn’t happen. Perhaps the horse belonged to the storekeeper. Pinning his hopes on that possibility and impatient to make his purchases and be gone, Bowdre rode in. He tethered the mules to the rail on the side of the store away from the horse. Just as he entered, the other rider left. Unless he had come for tobacco, the man had bought nothing, and that troubled Bowdre. The rider was looking for something. Or somebody. Bowdre resisted a powerful temptation to turn and watch the other man ride away. Instead, he went on into the store and quickly made his purchases.

“Need help totin’ it out?” the storekeeper asked.

“No, thanks,” said Bowdre. “I can manage it.” He didn’t want the man seeing and maybe remembering the mules.

Bowdre soon rode out, watchful but seeing nobody. Once he was on the plain, among the chaparral and greasewood, he began to breathe easier. But he had been too hasty, letting down his guard. From somewhere behind him, a man spoke.

“Hold it, mister.” There was the ominous snick of a pistol being cocked, and the icy voice spoke again.

“Turn around, and make it slow. Then you can tell me where you got them mules, and it’d better be a good story.”

Arlo, Dallas, Kelly, and Kelsey approached the Superstitions from the west, leaving their mounts far from the newly discovered entrance to the river that ran beneath the mountains. If they were being followed, it would seem that they were approaching the concealed trail that led to their old camp beneath the rim. Instead, they would follow the base of the mountain until they reached the entrance to the hidden riverbed. Their approach put them in a good position to view Cass Bowdre’s outfit laboring up the precipitous trail toward the mountain rim.

“They’re on their way to our old camp,” Dallas said.

“Five of them,” said Arlo, “but just four mules.”

“If that’s the men who tried to break in on us,” Kelly said, “they got some mules in a hurry. But where is the sixth man?”

“No way for us to know,” said Arlo, “but we do know that they haven’t given up, and that they’re likely movin’ in to our old camp. That means by tomorrow they’ll be lookin’ for the gold again.”

“Then we’d better explore the upper end of that river today,” Dallas said. “We need to be as far downriver from that drop-off as we can before they get back into those tunnels.”

They watched the five men and the mules disappear into the split in the mountain, on their way to the western rim.

“If we really wanted to deal ’em some grief,” said Arlo, “we could wait until they’re in the passages beneath the mountain and then take their mules.”

“It would serve them right,” Kelsey said. “Why don’t we?”

“It would just take time that we really can’t spare,” said Dallas. “Besides, that won’t stop them from finding this drop-off leading to the underground river.”

* * *

Only once before had Cass Bowdre been in so perilous a position, and he still bore a pair of mean scars to remind him of it. When a man had the drop from behind, only a fool bucked the odds, but Bowdre had no choice. His only ace was the mules, for they would be between himself and the man with the gun. Bowdre rolled out of his saddle on the off side, pulling and cocking his Colt as he fell. The stranger’s gun roared once, twice, three times, one of the slugs nicking the Bowdre’s mule. The animal reared, braying in fear and pain, and galloped away. The stranger’s fourth shot was high, as Bowdre’s slug tore through his middle. He slid out of his saddle, losing the gun as he hit the ground.

The dying man looked at Bowdre through squinted, pain-wracked eyes and spoke. “You’d kill a man … fer … a pair … of mules?”

“I done no more than you aimed to do,” said Bowdre callously, “and you had the drop. You’re a fool.”

Bowdre turned away, hating the man for forcing him into a shoot-out. The man’s frightened horse had lit out for God knew where, and the empty saddle would tell his companions all they needed to know. The pack mule had galloped after the one Bowdre had been riding, and eventually he found them. His mount had a nasty gash along its left flank. He led the mules back near where the dead man lay, but not close enough for the smell of death to spook them. Before he could go on, he had to dispose of the body. If he left it, buzzards would be circling before he could get back to the Superstitions. Even worse, he thought gloomily, was the possibility that the shots had been heard in the early-morning stillness. He quickly searched the area and eventually found an arroyo that disappeared into a chaparral thicket. He went through the dead man’s pockets and took a wallet that contained a little more than a hundred dollars. Finally he rolled the body into the deepest part of the arroyo and caved in the sides. He smoothed over the damp earth, eliminating his tracks, and then returned to the scene of the shooting. Fortunately the area was overrun with buffalo grass, and there was virtually no evidence of what had transpired. But there were the tracks of the dead man’s horse after he had left the store and the tracks of Bowdre’s mules. Worse, the runaway horse could have backtracked, and it would be just a matter of time until the dead man would be discovered. There had been six drovers with the mule herd, and that meant the hombre Bowdre had gunned down would have five friends looking for him. More than enough for a necktie party.

Arlo and Dallas had no trouble finding the rockslide that hid the passage to the underground river.

“I see only one thing wrong with this,” said Kelly, viewing the narrow aperture that they would have to enter. “There’s no way Uncle Henry could have gotten his mule in here, so he’d have been limited as to how much gold he could carry to the outside. We’ll have the same problem.”

“Well, hell’s bells,” Dallas said, “that still beats haulin’ it up that god-awful bluff with ropes. Besides, we ain’t found any gold yet.”

“If the ore’s as rich as what I’ve seen,” said Arlo, “even a man on foot could carry out a fortune in just a little while.”

Dallas lit one lantern and Arlo the other, and the four of them stepped into the intense darkness beneath the mountain. In the distance, like a mighty wind, they could hear the roar of the river.

“The river doesn’t seem as frightening now that we’re down here close to it,” said Kelsey. “When we were crossing that hole in the passage floor, it was like if we lost our footing, we might just … fall forever.”

“That’s close to how I felt when that ledge broke under my feet,” said Dallas. “Those rocks, like big fingers, are pokin’ up out of that river, and my God, what a mess they’d make of a man who fell three or four hundred feet onto them.”

“Hush,” Kelly said. “It makes me sick, just thinking of it.”

“You may get sicker yet,” said Arlo. “When Dallas and me was climbin’ down that drop-off, there was an awful stink somewhere below us. We figure those two gents that disappeared in the mountain actually fell through that hole in the passage floor. So it wasn’t the Thunder God that claimed them. They took a nasty fall and died on those rocks in the river below.”

“That’s why I’m callin’ this river the Death’s Head,” Dallas said. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it’s full of bones.”

“That’s a terrible name for it,” shivered Kelsey, “but it fits.”

At the waterfall, they found it hard going, for they were climbing slippery, moss-covered rocks. Arlo and Dallas kept their bodies between the lanterns and the river, lest the turbulent spray crack the glass globes. The water was surprisingly cold, and the mist that swept over them numbed their faces, ears, and hands.

“Oh, I’m freezing,” Kelly cried.

“You’ll be all right,” said Arlo, “once we’re past this waterfall. The drop-off is just a little ways ahead, on our right. I reckon we forgot to tell you that we had to use the ropes maybe a third of the way down. We found a narrow cut in the wall that took us the rest of the way, and right at the mouth of the split Dallas found the sign Hoss left for us.”

“I’m glad for your sakes,” Kelsey said, “but can’t those other men come down here the same way?”

“Not unless they come a third of the way down on ropes,” said Dallas, “and it was damn near the death of us. Even then, they’ll have to find that split in the wall, without havin’ any idea where it leads.”

Soon they became aware of the stench Arlo and Dallas had noticed the day before, and as they progressed, it became worse and worse.

“Look,” Kelly said. “A hat!”

Trapped in an eddy, the hat bobbed in a shallow pool of backwater. It removed any doubt as to the origin of the putrid smell that assaulted them. Arlo set the lantern down and tied his bandanna over his nose and mouth.

“Use your bandannas,” Arlo said. “They’re down here, and we can’t avoid the odor, but we can stand it.”

“Dear God,” said Kelsey, “I hope we don’t find the gold anywhere close to that smell. I’d be tempted to give up the mine just to escape that awful odor. I realize death claims us all, but don’t we deserve a decent burial, a chance to be returned to the earth from which we came?”

“It’s pretty gruesome,” Dallas said, “knowin’ they’re rotting here in this hole, and not a thing we can do about it. But I agree with you. If we found the mine right now, amid all this stink, I’d not be in any hurry to claim it.”

They followed the underground river a few hundred yards, eventually reaching a point where it was impossible for them to go farther. The water rushed out from beneath a great cleft of rock, and the cavern ended against a stone wall.

“Well,” Kelly said with a sigh, “I really don’t know what I expected, but certainly not this. Now what do we do?”

“I think we’ll take a closer look at the walls along this side of the river,” said Arlo. “If we don’t come up with anything here, then we’ll try the other side. We need a hole, a crevice, something we can get into. Wherever this gold is, it won’t be easy to find, and for certain, it won’t be in plain sight.”

“We’re lookin’ at it like this mine has to be somewhere beneath this particular mountain,” Dallas said, “but that may not be the case. Remember, when we discovered a way to the outside, we could still have followed the river a ways? Instead, we went on out. The mine could be somewhere beyond where we left the river, but before it reaches the Salt.”

“Maybe,” Arlo said, “but somehow I doubt it. I think when we finally find the mine, it’ll be right here under the Superstitions. We’re going to take a closer look at the upper reaches of this river first. After that, if we come up empty-handed, we’ll be forced to get into that stretch you’re thinking about. But I’m hoping it don’t come to that, because at the lower end it all narrows down to the extent that if there’s any gold, it’ll almost have to be in the riverbed itself.”

“It won’t be in the riverbed,” said Dallas. “That ore sample Hoss sent us had been dug out of a lode. Riverbed gold is nearly always dust or nuggets, washed down from some higher elevation. It’s got to be somewhere under this mountain.”

Cass Bowdre now cursed the very rain he had blessed the night before. While it had wiped out the tracks of the stampeded mules, the soft earth now made it virtually impossible for Bowdre to hide his trail back to the Superstitions. In a vain attempt to confuse pursuers, he rode out of his way and, when he reached the mountains, avoided the most direct way to the camp beneath the west rim. Instead, he rode up the canyon where they had first been attacked by Apaches and followed the tortuous trail up the eastern flank of the mountain. From there he crossed to the west side and led his mules through the break in the rim.

“Well, by God,” Zondo Carp growled, when Bowdre entered the cavern, “it sure took you long enough. It ain’t more’n spittin’ distance from here to Tortilla Flat. I could of walked there and back in less time than it took you.”

“You may damn well wish you had,” said Bowdre angrily. “Some hombre recognized the mules and braced me. I had to kill him, and then I rode halfway to Mexico tryin’ to hide my trail. I’d like to see you do any better.”

“So now the rest of them mule drovers will come after us with a pistol in one hand and a noose in the other,” Sandoval said.

“That’s about the straight of it,” said Bowdre. “Or if the law gets into it, a posse from town. This is Gila County, and old Wheaton might be forced to make a show of doin’ his job.”

“Ever since we got into this search for gold,” Os Ellerton complained, “there ain’t nothin’ went right. Why’n hell don’t we just fold and git out of this game? We could ride to Santa Fe, work up a deal there. Anything would be better than this.”

“Damn smart,” mocked Bowdre. “I hear there’s all manner of honest work there, such as milkin’ cows and tendin’ sheep.”

“If I got me a choice,” Ellerton said, “I’d ruther be a live sheepman than a dead prospector. I ain’t about to git my neck stretched for stealin’ no damn mule.”

“Me neither,” said Three-Fingered Joe.

“This ain’t the time to cut and run,” Bowdre said in a soothing voice. “If they’re already after us, we got to stay put. Otherwise, they’ll dog us until we have to fight, likely out in the open. We got us a pretty good hideout here, and we already know enough about these passages to lose ourselves if we have to. These mule drovers lost a man, but they can’t afford to hunker here forever, tryin’ to even the score. I’d say we hang on here and ride this out, even if we don’t find any gold. Hell’s fire, let’s don’t tuck our tails and run like a bunch of yellow coyotes.”

“I reckon I’ll buy that,” said Sandoval. “If we got to face a damn bunch of vigilantes with hangin’ on their minds, then let’s do it on our terms, not theirs. If we got to fort up and fight, I favor doin’ it here.”

“Damn right,” Bowdre said, pressing his small advantage. “While three of us search for the mine, two will always be on watch. One of us will watch from the east rim, while the other watches from the west. We can see for miles, and at first sight of any riders, one of the hombres on watch can light a shuck down the passage and warn the rest of us. We got control of the high ground, and with time to lay an ambush, we can gun the varmints down before they can get at us.”

It was a logical assessment, one that satisfied them for the time being, and Bowdre sighed in relief. He had little doubt that the family or friends of the man he had killed would be coming, and he knew that his own men would not fight to the death over half a dozen mules. If and when the riders came, Bowdre would have to make the first move.

“Now,” he said when they had settled into their camp, “I’m goin’ down to that passage that opens out below the rim. It’s a damn good lookout position.”

“Yeah,” Zondo said, “but only toward Phoenix. You come in from Tortilla Flat, which is the other direction.”

“Damn it,” spat Bowdre, “I told you I circled thirty miles out of my way just to come in from the west. Don’t you reckon if anybody’s trailin’ me, they’ll ride in from the same direction?”

The others laughed and Carp said nothing. When Bowdre entered the passage, Sandoval went with him to the shelf where they could see far to the west. They stood there for a while, allowing their eyes to become accustomed to the light and to the heat waves that shimmered across the plain. The tiny horsemen were moving dots, appearing, disappearing, then appearing again.

“Seven of ’em,” Sandoval said. “Wasn’t but six of them mule drovers, and you cashed one. Who are the others?”

“One of the extra men could be the sheriff,” said Bowdre. “I reckon one of us ought to keep watch until they’re close enough for us to identify ’em. I need to know if Sheriff Wheaton is or ain’t in the bunch. Since it’s me they’re likely lookin’ for, I reckon I’ll stay out here until I know who they are.”

“I ain’t sure about the others,” Ellerton said peering into the distance, “but by God, two of ’em is that pair of Mejicano coyotes, Yavapai and Sanchez.”

“You’re right,” said Bowdre, “and that tells us this bunch ain’t got the backin’ of the law. Not with them thievin’ Mexes along.”

“Wisht I had me a Sharps buffalo gun,” Ellerton said. “I’d cut ’em right down. But we’ll lose them in the brush before they’re in range.”

“Let ’em go for now,” said Bowdre. “They’ve been to Mex town and rounded up some coyotes to throw in with ’em. Now they’re after the gold, and even if we don’t find the mine, I’ll get my enjoys out of gut-shootin’ that pair.”

“They’re headed right at us,” Ellerton said. “You reckon they know of that trail up to the rim and the cavern where we’re holed up?”

“We won’t know that,” Bowdre said, “unless they show on that plateau just before they begin the last climb. One of us will have to stay out here and maybe get some idea as to what that bunch has in mind.”

“Can’t even see ’em now,” said Ellerton. “They can’t ride through them chaparral and greasewood thickets at the foot of the mountain, so that means they’ll have to dismount. We oughta sneak down there, grab them horses, and leave the mules.”

“Kind of what I got in mind,” Bowdre grinned. “What hombre wouldn’t jump at the chance to swap his hoss for a big Missouri jack?”