Chapter 4

Paiute entered the hidden cavern silently, seeming to step out of the wall where the water cascaded down. He dipped himself a handful of water, slaked his thirst, and sat down with his back to the stone wall.

“It’s gettin’ late,” said Arlo. “Time we went out and had a look at the peaks to the east, now that the sun’s behind us.”

Dallas and Arlo paused a few yards shy of the mountaintop, listening. Hearing nothing untoward, they climbed out of the crevice and looked around. Far to the west there was a rumble of thunder, and the rising wind was cool to their faces.

“Storm buildin’,” remarked Dallas. “Thunderheads could roll in and steal the sunset.”

“We’ll wait a while,” Arlo said. “We have nothing else to do.”

They positioned themselves where the western rim rose like a parapet behind them. The westering sun descended until the crimson disk seemed to rest atop the stone rim. It shone on the peaks east of the Superstitions, leaving the lower elevations in the shadow of the coming darkness. Dallas and Arlo watched, uncertain as to what they were seeking. Only seconds away from losing the sun entirely, the cowboys froze, speechless.

“My God,” Arlo breathed, “there it is!”

So slowly did the image appear, and so soon did it vanish, it might have been only a shadow, a trick of the imagination. But in the final seconds before the sun slipped away, the image was clear to both of them. Then it darkened, faded, and finally disappeared. Arlo and Dallas looked at one another in awe. For just a few unbelievable seconds, in the dying rays of the setting sun, they had seen the shadowy but unmistakable image from Hoss Logan’s map: a grotesque death’s head!

For a while, Dallas and Arlo stood there watching the darkening western horizon, as jagged shards of lightning raced ahead of the coming storm.

“Now we know all the map can tell us,” Dallas said. “You reckon that peak where the death’s head shows in the setting sun is where we’ll find the mine?”

“No,” said Arlo, “because the other map is just like ours. Knowin’ Hoss and how he felt about Gary Davis, I don’t think he would have taken any risks.”

“Findin’ the death’s head on the side of that peak ain’t been all that easy,” Dallas said. “I’m bettin’ Davis and his bunch won’t ever figure it out.”

“Only because Davis thinks he has just half the map,” said Arlo. “That may be what Hoss had in mind—discouraging the use of the map by making Davis believe he has only half of it. I don’t look to find anything at that death’s head peak except some more clues.”

“You aim to just ride over there and start pokin’ around, with all these other coyotes on our trail?”

“Why not?” Arlo said. “They won’t know why we’re there, and since the mine likely won’t be there, they’ll be wasting their time following us. They’ll become a problem to us only when we discover where the mine actually is.”

“Before we strike off on our own, why don’t we see what Paiute thinks about this death’s head peak? He can’t talk, but we might learn something from his reaction. Let’s get him up here tomorrow at sundown and show him the death’s head on the side of that mountain.”

“That’ll mean wasting another day,” Arlo said.

“It won’t be wasted. It’ll give that bunch of claim jumpers time to get nervous, wonderin’ what’s become of us.”

Thankful for shelter from the coming storm, Dallas and Arlo returned to their camp within the cavern. Thunder boomed, and the very rock beneath their feet trembled. Paiute sat cross-legged, his hat tipped over his face, dozing peacefully. The storm-bred wind flung spray through the aperture in the stone roof high above their heads, a tiny window to a lightning-emblazoned sky.

“I hope Davis found some shelter,” said Dallas. “Not for his sake, but because of Kelly and Kelsey Logan. That lightning’s dangerous.”

“I feel guilty, leaving the girls at the mercy of Gary Davis,” Arlo said, “but I still don’t know how we’re going to help them. After all, their mother is Davis’s wife, and that puts the law on their side.”

“We can see the lights of town at night,” said Dallas, “but here in the Superstitions, the law’s a mighty long ways off. This is Arizona Territory, and if it comes to a standoff, I don’t think Sheriff Wheaton will be much inclined to take sides with Gary Davis. He’s a cruel man, from what Kelly told us, and I think we owe it to Hoss to take those girls away from him.”

“I don’t reckon them bein’ the prettiest pair you’ve ever laid eyes on would have anything to do with your determination,” Arlo said dryly.

“Not a damn thing,” said Dallas with a straight face. “It’s my natural compassion and my regard for the memory of our old pard, Hoss Logan.”

They had almost forgotten the sleeping Paiute. In the dimness of the cavern, they were unaware that beneath the old Indian’s tilted hat his dark eyes were alert and he was very much awake. Though he was apparently mute, he heard and understood their words. While he had little concern for Hoss Logan’s gold, the young squaws were the old man’s blood kin. Arlo and Dallas had been Hoss’s friends, and while Paiute trusted them, what did they really know about these mountains? Paiute’s people were long dead, and for twenty summers his only companion had been Hoss Logan. Except for Paiute, no man knew these mountains as intimately as Hoss had. While Paiute didn’t understand Logan’s reason for this last act—the revelation of gold to draw this codicioso cuadrilla into the mountains—he believed the old prospector had conceived some primitive retribution for the enemigo, just as he had looked to the salvación of his next of kin. The young squaws with fair hair were comely, even in the aged eyes of Paiute, and it came as no surprise to him that the young vaqueros Dallas and Arlo were more than a little interested. That was as it should be, for the Logan squaws already had seen too many summers without a man, and what more could Hoss Logan have asked for them than this pair of duro vaqueros? Paiute made some decisions, awaiting the sleep of Dallas and Arlo. Far into the night, when the only sound was the sigh of the wind through the lonely reaches of the Superstitions, he arose. Silently, without a light, he crept down the passage behind the cascading water. But he did not follow the passage to the outer rim, the exit he had revealed to Dallas and Arlo. Instead, he took a more obscure route, one that led downward into the very bowels of the mountain. It was a forbidding labyrinth in which a man could become lost forever and perish—and many had. But it was a path that Paiute knew, even in the darkness, and it would lead him to other corridors in the eastern foothills of the Superstitions.

Gary Davis and his companions didn’t fare well during the violent storm. Unwelcome in the sanctuary into which Yavapai and Sanchez had led their party, the best Davis could do was seek the shelter of the overhang. There were points along that eastern flank of the mountain where the lip of rock reached out almost a dozen feet, and with the storm roaring out of the west, Davis and his dejected bunch somehow managed to remain dry. At the height of the storm, the lightning was continuous, illuminating the canyon and the peaks beyond like day. Suddenly, a few yards down canyon, lightning struck a paloverde tree, blasting it into oblivion and showering Davis’s party with sand and shards of stone.

“My God,” Paulette Davis cried, “it’s going to hit us!”

But the storm had peaked, and the lightning became less frequent until it died away altogether. When the rain ceased, a chill wind swept away the remaining clouds, leaving a purple sky to the serenity of a quarter moon and the faraway twinkling stars. With the clear skies, the group’s flagging spirits rose a little.

“Gary,” said Rust, “so far, we’ve ridden all over hell, with no sense of direction, following others who led us nowhere we couldn’t have gone on our own. Ever since we left Missouri, I’ve had doubts about this expedition. Now it’s time for us to make some decisions, or I’m going to make some on my own. Frankly, I’m not convinced there is a mine, and if there is, I’m not convinced you can find it. Just two more days, Gary, then I’m leaving. I’m going back to Missouri.”

“Count me in,” said Bollinger. “I’ll be ridin’ too.”

“I wish you’d all go back to Missouri,” Kelly Logan said bitterly. “Whatever Uncle Henry left belongs to Kelsey and me, not to any of you.”

“And leave the two of you alone in these mountains?” Paulette cried. “What in the world would you do?”

“Find Dallas Holt and Arlo Wells,” said Kelly, “and join them. They were friends to Uncle Henry, and they’d be our friends.”

“Wouldn’t they, though?” said Davis with a nasty laugh. “Spend their days huntin’ gold, with a pair of hot-blooded chippies to warm their blankets at night.”

“Gary Davis,” Kelly cried, “you’re a filthy brute.”

“I can testify to that,” said Paulette.

“Nobody cares a damn about your testifying, the kind of example you’ve set,” Davis said. “Old Jed had you figured out, and for once in his miserable life, he was right.”

R. J. Bollinger laughed. Disgusted, Barry Rust walked away into the night.

Within the cavern at the foot of the mountain, Yavapai and Sanchez soon had a supper fire going. They had used this hideout before, and they’d laid in a good supply of wood. The men from town had brought an ample supply of whiskey, and already some of them were drunk and quarrelsome. Two men had lit a pine pitch torch from the fire and were headed toward the dark corridor that led further into the mountain.

“Do not go into the passage,” Sanchez warned. But they ignored him and went on.

“Foolish gringos,” said Yavapai in disgust.

The curious pair, Ed Carney and Hamp Evers, soon decided they’d had more than enough of the dark passage, which had begun to seem endless. Their torch had begun to burn short, and their whiskey courage was wearing thin.

Soon after they turned back, they reached a point where the passage split. “Didn’t seem like we’d come this far,” said Ed nervously. “Which one of these forks takes us back the way we come?”

“Left,” Hamp said. “I think.”

They took the left fork, hoping at any moment to see the welcome glow of fire in the big cavern where their comrades waited. But there was only darkness and a constant dripping of water that seemed ominously loud in the silence.

“Oh, God,” Ed groaned, “our light ain’t goin’ to last but a few more minutes. We got to move faster.”

But the stone floor was wet and slippery, and as they tried to hurry, they almost fell. Suddenly, in the darkness ahead, moving toward them, a bobbing light appeared. They froze in their tracks. As the light came nearer, it became a grinning, glowing skull—a death’s head! On it came, bodiless, floating hideously down the dark passage. Terrified, they turned to run, stumbling into another passage. Carney dropped what remained of the torch, and they were left in total, terrible darkness. Evers slipped and fell to hands and knees, and Carney fell over him. The pair staggered to their feet and stumbled on. Their screams, magnified by echo, seemed all the more terrible to their own ears. Suddenly the slippery stone floor vanished and they were falling! Now their cries were torn from their throats by the rush of wind and lost in the roar of a turbulent stream far below. But the men never felt the icy water, for they slammed into jagged rocks along the way, and their mangled bodies were claimed by a whirlpool that sucked them into the very bowels of the earth.

“God Almighty!” shouted one of the comrades of the doomed men back at the camp. “What was that?

The anguished screams seemed to have come from the very pit of hell. Instantly thirteen men were on their feet, looking fearfully toward the pitch-black passage that led from their cavern into the mountain.

“Ed an’ Hamp ain’t here,” said one of the party.

“Mebbe they went outside,” another suggested.

“No, Señor,” said Sanchez, pointing toward the dark passage. “They go into the mountain, and the mountain take them. They do not return forever.”

“Hell,” shouted one of the men, “I ain’t believin’ that. They’re lost in that damned tunnel, and we got to go look for ’em. Jake, Monk, Shando …”

But the men hesitated. Chills crept up their spines and the hairs on the backs of their necks vibrated like tuning forks. The horrible screams they had heard had come from the throats of men who had just been dealt their final hand. Silently the remaining men turned questioning eyes to Yavapai and Sanchez.

“The Apache say the Thunder God live within the mountain,” said Yavapai. “To tempt him is to die. Yavapai and Sanchez bring you here only to escape the storm. Do not take the passage into the belly of the mountain, or you will die, as your amigos have.”

“I ain’t stayin’ another minute in this damn mountain,” said one of the men.

The sentiment was quickly echoed by the rest of them. Grabbing their saddles, their bedrolls, and their packs, the thirteen men left the cavern, wading the stream that ran through the passage to the outside. Beneath the overhang, Gary Davis threw off his blankets and sat up, wondering at the exodus after dark. With the storm past, starlight and a quarter moon bathed the canyon in an eerie light. Yavapai and Sanchez were the last to leave the cavern. Davis got to his feet and approached them.

“Since your bunch is movin’ out, you got any objection if we move in?”

“None, Señor,” said Yavapai.

Uncertainly, Davis watched the two Mexicans follow their companions down the canyon, where the lot of them made camp for the night.

“Come on,” Davis told his outfit. “We’re gettin’ a roof over our heads.”

“There must be some reason for that bunch moving out of such a shelter,” said Rust. “You think it’s wise, us going in without knowing why they didn’t stay?”

“Who cares?” Davis said. “Maybe they only wanted shelter from the storm.”

Davis went in first and stirred up the fire so they had some light. Once Paulette, Kelly, and Kelsey were inside, Davis turned to Bollinger and Rust.

“Now we’ll go get our bedrolls, packs, and saddles.”

While the three men were outside, Paulette, Kelly, and Kelsey looked around. Light from the fire barely reached the dark maw of the passage at the back of the cavern.

“It’s spooky in here,” Kelly said. “I don’t blame those men for leaving.”

As though in response to her words, there came a moaning from somewhere within the mountain.

“The Thunder God,” whispered Kelsey. “Uncle Henry told us about him.”

“Nonsense,” Paulette said. “Henry Logan was a superstitious old fool. What you’re hearing is only the wind blowing through the tunnel.”

But from within the dark passage, eyes looked out into the cavern. Eyes that ignored Paulette Davis and focused on Kelly and Kelsey Logan as they moved about in the dim light from the flickering fire.

* * *

Arlo and Dallas arose early, thinking it unusual that Paiute still slept.

“No graze for the horses and mules last night,” Arlo said, “so we’ll for sure have to take them tonight.”

“What a shame we can’t do that in the daytime,” said Dallas. “We got the whole day ahead of us and not a blessed thing to do until sundown, when we show Paiute the death’s head on the side of that mountain.”

“Until then,” Arlo said, “we’re going to stay out of sight. Without knowing where we are, the Davis outfit and that bunch from town will be on their own. They’re going to be frustrated as hell, not knowing where to even start looking for the mine.”

Just before dawn the Davis contingent was awakened by gunfire. Davis flung aside his blankets, grabbed his gun rig, and left the cavern on the run. Bollinger was right behind him. Rust followed less enthusiastically. As Davis dashed into the open, arrows began whipping past him. He turned and ran back to the safety of the cavern, colliding with Bollinger. The two men stumbled back along the passage, where they encountered Rust.

“What’s going on out there?” Rust asked.

“Indians,” Davis gasped. “The whole damn canyon’s full of ’em. There’s one bunch comin’ up canyon and more of ’em along the walls. Them claim jumpers from town is all catchin’ hell.”

“You ought to be out there helping those men,” said Paulette, “instead of cowering in here. What’s going to stop those savages from coming after us?”

“We don’t owe that bunch from town a damn thing,” Davis said angrily. “By God, it’s their fight. We’re safe in here.”

“But our horses and pack mules are out there,” said Rust. “You call that safe, being stranded in these mountains on foot?”

“You wanna get yourself shot full of Apache arrows over some horses and mules,” Davis snarled, “go ahead.”

On the heels of his words, nine men came splashing through the stream bed toward their shelter. First into the cavern were the Mexican guides, Yavapai and Sanchez.

“Hold it,” said Davis, cocking his Colt. “You ain’t welcome in here. Git the hell out!”

“Madre de Dios,” cried Sanchez, “the Apaches kill us!”

While Sanchez had Davis’s attention, Yavapai drew and fired. Paulette screamed and Davis dropped his Colt. He stared numbly at the blood welling out of his right arm, just above the elbow. Rust had made no move, and Bollinger paused, his hand on the butt of his Colt. Every man who had entered the cavern, except Sanchez, had drawn his gun, lest the Indians attempt to follow. Davis regained his voice, his hate-filled eyes fixed on Yavapai.

“Damn you,” he growled. “Damn you!”

“I should have kill you,” Yavapai hissed. “Do not tempt me, Señor.”

While Paulette was pale and shaken, Kelly and Kelsey stared at the wounded Davis in contempt. Just when it seemed that the commotion outside had ceased, there was a roar of gunfire nearby. With captured weapons, the Apaches began firing through the passage, into the cavern. Slugs slammed into the stone walls, each deadly ricochet screaming across the cavern’s stone floor, into the stone overhead, or into another wall.

“Madre de Dios!” Yavapai shouted. “Into the belly of the mountain!”

Followed by Sanchez, Yavapai tumbled into the forbidding passage where Ed and Hamp had so recently vanished forever. Forgetting his dropped Colt and bleeding arm, Davis ran for his life. Kelly and Kelsey followed, while Rust, Bollinger, and the rest of the men from town fought to enter. Paulette Davis was the last to move. Throwing aside her blankets, she got to her hands and knees, only to collapse facedown on the floor. A slug had whanged into a stone wall, and the deadly ricochet had taken off the back of her head. Blood and brains soiled her still-warm blankets.

The thunder of early-morning gunfire wasn’t lost on Arlo and Dallas. Paiute continued to drink his coffee, his expression unchanged.

“Apaches,” Dallas said gravely. “I hope we ain’t waited too long about helpin’ the girls.”

“So do I,” said Arlo, “but from all the shooting, I’d say the fight is with the bunch from town. I hope Davis had enough savvy to take his people and make a run for it.”

“I’m goin’ out to look around,” Dallas said, getting to his feet. “Don’t seem right, us sittin’ here doing nothing, when them damn Apaches might be killin’ Hoss Logan’s only kin.”

“I know how you feel,” said Arlo, “and I’ll go with you, but what can we do? I doubt the Apaches would harm Kelly and Kelsey. At worst, they’d be taken captive.”

“But for a woman,” Dallas said, “that’s a fate worse than death. They’d likely end up bein’ Apache wives.”

Paiute watched the partners leave the cavern. When he was sure they were gone, he took the cork out of the bottle and removed some matches. Then from the same nook where he kept the bottle, he withdrew a wad of tangled rawhide strips. He looped several of the longer ones to the thong around his lean neck, a thong whose other end was secured to the shaft of a Bowie knife that hung down his back, concealed by his patched flannel shirt. He then entered the passage in the back wall, behind the cascading water. Again he did not follow the narrow corridor to the west rim where he’d once taken Dallas and Arlo. When he came to another passage that forked off, the old Indian felt along the wall until his hand located a single wooden peg driven into a crevice in the rock. He went on, pausing at the next passage long enough to search the wall again. At the third passage, his seeking hand found a pair of wooden pegs in the stone wall. This passage he took, following it as it angled down into the very heart of the Superstitions.

Even after the firing finally ceased, those who had taken refuge in the dark passage remained still, uncertain of their next move.

“Per’ap the Apache be gone,” Sanchez said, “Let us go see.”

In the dim light of the cavern, Yavapai and Sanchez were the first to view the grisly remains of Paulette Davis. As much death as they had seen, a spark of decency remained in them still, and they felt some pity for the Logan girls. Sanchez returned to the dark passage and spoke to Kelly and Kelsey Logan.

“Per’ap you should remain here,” he said, “until we have look outside.”

“No,” said Kelsey. “It’s frightening in here.”

She pushed past Sanchez, Kelly following close behind. They were shocked into silence by the awful scene that greeted them. Every man—including Davis—stood there grimly, viewing death in one of its ugliest forms. With choked cries, both girls dropped to their knees on the stone floor. Whatever else she had been, Paulette was their mother.

“Kelly,” said Davis lamely. “Kelsey …”

When they raised tear-ravaged faces to him, even Davis was moved. While he had seen hate in their eyes before, it had been nothing to equal this.

“Get out!” Kelly screamed. “Get out and leave us alone! I never want to see you again.”

Led by Davis, the men of his bunch filed out of the cavern one by one, seeking only to escape the terrible grief inside. But an equally gruesome scene awaited them in the canyon. Six of the gold seekers from town had been scalped and mutilated, and not a horse or a mule remained.

“Damn,” one of the remaining men groaned in anguish, “stuck in these god-awful mountains on foot.”

“What’n hell are you complainin’ about?” a comrade growled. “Six of our pards ain’t goin’ nowhere, ’cept into holes in the ground. Who’s goin’ to tell their wives an’ kids?”

“I will,” said another of the bunch. “I’m headin’ for town walkin’, and thankin’ God with every step that I’m alive.”

“I’m goin’ with you,” said yet another. “The sheriff needs to know about this, so’s he can send a wagon for the dead. Damn Injuns picked us so clean, we ain’t even got anything left to dig a grave with.”

Without another word, the seven men turned away, taking to the village yet another story that would add to the bloody history of the Superstitions. The five remaining men eyed one another warily. Davis, his wounded arm giving him hell, was flanked by Bollinger and Rust—a more uncertain alliance he couldn’t imagine. Yavapai and Sanchez stood with their thumbs hooked in their pistol belts.

“Por Dios,” said Sanchez, “per’ap we should talk.”

“By God,” Davis said, “I’ll give you sidewinders credit for one thing. You got nerve. Shoot a man, and then you want to talk.”

“Count your blessings, Señor,” said Yavapai with a half smile. “I could have kill you. Per’ap I will yet. The day is young.”

“The situation have … ah … change,” Sanchez said, ignoring Yavapai’s threat. “We all seek the gold, Señor, while the Apaches seek our scalps. We are few. Per’ap we must work together.”

“If I get your drift,” Davis said, “you want us to throw in with you, and when we find the gold, you’ll kill us and take it all.”

“Ah, Señor,” said Sanchez with a laugh, “we have much the same feeling for you. Now let us return to the safety of the cavern and boil some water. Yavapai, he have a talent for gunshot wounds.”

The very last thing Davis wanted was more abuse from Kelly and Kelsey Logan, but something had to be done about the disposition of Paulette’s body. Then there was their lack of horses. He sighed, as he, Rust, and Bollinger followed Yavapai and Sanchez back into the silent cavern.

“Madre de Dios!” cried Sanchez, “they have disappear!”

Indeed, the body of Paulette Davis was gone, and so were the bloody blankets. There was no sign of Kelly and Kelsey Logan.

“Kelly! Kelsey!” Davis shouted.

Only an echo answered, and then there was silence.

“Damn it,” said Davis, “I ain’t believin’ this. I can understand somethin’ or somebody makin’ off with the girls, but where’s Paulette?”

“The mountain take them,” Sanchez said.

“Like hell it did,” Davis scoffed. “They’re in that passage somewhere, and they’ve dragged Paulette with them, just to get back at me. Them Logan girls are my only legal claim to the mine. Come on, let’s fire us up some torches and go lookin’ for them.”

“No, Señor,” said Sanchez. “We do not go into the mountain. We leave this place last night because the mountain swallow two men, and the others are afraid to remain.”

“So the both of you are afraid,” Davis sneered.

“Only of the mountain,” said Yavapai. “Not of you.”

“Gary,” said Rust, “seven men left for town, and there are six dead in the canyon, so that’s only thirteen. Yesterday, when they came in here, there were fifteen men.”

“Ah,” said Yavapai, turning to Rust, “it is well not all gringos are fools.”

“Your woman’s dead, Gary,” Bollinger said, “and them Logan girls hate your guts. Back in Missouri, you never cared a damn about what was legal and what wasn’t. I say we find the gold if we can, and kill anybody gettin’ in the way.”

“He’s right,” said Rust. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law. With those Logan girls alive, you wouldn’t get enough gold for a poker stake. They’ll see you dead and in hell first.”

“Suppose I admit to all that,” Davis said. “Legally or illegally, how do we find the gold? Where do we start?”

“You have a map,” Yavapai said, “but we do not see it.”

“Half a map,” corrected Davis.

“Ah,” Sanchez said, “how do you know it is but half a map?”

“Because Hoss Logan said it’s half a map,” Davis growled, “and it looks like half a map. There’s nothin’ to it.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Gary,” said Rust in an exasperated tone, “show them the map. It’s not as though we have anything to lose.”

Davis took the well-creased sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and passed it to Sanchez. Yavapai moved up beside him, and together, they studied the symbols on the paper.