Chapter 14
Darkness caught Yavapai and Sanchez in the foothills of the Mazatzal Mountains. Thinking they were a day ahead of Cass Bowdre and his vengeful bunch, they made camp beside a fast-running creek. They cooked their supper, and with the horses safely picketed, shucked their dusty, sweaty clothes and waded into the water. It was already dusk and they had seen nobody. But suddenly that changed.
“Madre de Dios!” Yavapai shouted. “Indios come!”
They came riding in from the north, a dozen strong. Arrows thudded into the farthest bank of the creek, while others zipped over the heads of the terrified Mexicans. Fear set their feet in motion and they scrambled out on the farther bank. Yavapai screeched as an Apache arrow tore a gash along his naked flank, and without regard for the possible consequences, they leaped headlong into a thicket. There they lay, scratched and bleeding, hardly daring even to breathe. They could hear splashing as some of the Indians rode across the creek. But it was dark, and the searchers soon turned away, lured by the delighted shouts of their comrades as they tore into the bountiful supplies Yavapai and Sanchez had taken from Bowdre’s camp. To the horror of the miserable Mexicans, the Indians built up a fire, made camp, and prepared to remain there for the night. Yavapai and Sanchez had to stay in the thicket, naked and sleepless, until dawn streaked the eastern sky. Only then did the Indians mount up and ride back the way they had come, driving the ten horses before them. Yavapai and Sanchez waited until they were certain the Indians had gone before they got wearily to their feet and stumbled out into the open. They were half frozen, a mass of cuts and scratches, full of thorns in their feet and other tender parts.
“Por Dios,” Yavapai sighed. “The world have gone to hell when a man’s stolen horses are taken from him by bastardo Indios.”
“Si,” Sanchez agreed, “but may’ap they leave our clothes and our boots.”
They splashed across the creek, the cold water reviving the many hurts they had suffered, and found nothing but a smoldering fire. They quickly discovered their already miserable situation had only become worse, for among the ashes were the blackened remains of the boots and clothes they so desperately needed.
“They be welcome to the horses,” Yavapai shouted, “but I kill the bastardos for burning my boots and clothes.”
“The Indios have leave us with our lives,” said Sanchez. “I be wondering if may’ap the Señor Bowdre not be so generous.”
“Señor Bowdre cannot accuse us of stealing horses,” Yavapai said, “when we have not even a horse to ride. Per’ap we have misjudge the gringo sheriff Wheaton. He be less a diablo than the Señor Bowdre.”
“He not be ’appy to see us,” said Sanchez, “naked and in the daylight.”
“It be long walk,” Yavapai said. “It be dark before we get there.”
The dejected pair set out, heading southwest, carefully avoiding their back trail, which they fully expected Cass Bowdre to follow.
Coming within sight of Hoss Logan’s cabin, Bowdre and his weary followers paused. When they saw no sign of life, they trudged on, following a trail made easy by the abundant rain of the night before.
“Damn a yellow coyote that takes a man’s horse,” Sandoval growled. “Why ain’t there some way a horse-stealin’ Mex can be killed more’n once?”
“I’d settle for once,” said Three-Fingered Joe, “if I just knowed we’d get ’em, and get our horses back.”
“We will,” Bowdre said, “because we ain’t stoppin’ for the night. We’ll make up the time they lose and catch up sometime in the morning.”
Bowdre and his comrades passed to the west of Saguaro Lake and went on, following the trail.
“The varmints must know this country,” said Zondo Carp. “Elsewise, they wouldn’t be headed this way. Them mountains ain’t too far ahead, and to me that means Injuns. Damn Apaches, likely.”
“I doubt that pair of thieving coyotes know this north country any better than we do,” Bowdre said. “They’re just trying to get to someplace where nobody knows ’em.”
“Well, by God, that’s encouragin’,” huffed Os Ellerton. “We could run headlong into Apaches and lose our hair as well as our horses.”
“We got that pair of varmints ridin’ ahead of us,” Bowdre said, “and if they can make it, so can we.”
“We might find ’em with their bellies shot full of Apache arrows,” said Sandoval. “If that happens, where do we go from there?”
“Back the way we come,” Bowdre said, “just as fast as we can hoof it.”
“It hurt us, losin’ Osteen,” Zondo said. “I know he was El Diablo to get along with, but he was another gun.”
“He made his choice,” Bowdre said, turning hard eyes on Zondo. “Osteen proved two important things a man on the frontier can’t afford to forget. First, you gotta have good judgment, and second, a fast draw can be the death of you if you can’t hit what you’re shootin’ at.”
Bowdre called a halt when they reached a spring half a dozen miles north of Saguaro Lake. When they eventually resumed their journey, the sun was less than an hour above the western horizon.
“Won’t be much moon tonight,” Sandoval said. “Somebody with better eyes than me will have to pick out the trail.”
“They’re travelin’ almost due north,” said Bowdre, “and you don’t need a full moon to tell you which way that is. We’ll just keep headin’ north, and come first light, we’ll circle until we cross the trail. No way in hell we’ll ever catch ’em if we dawdle around and wait for daylight.”
Wearily they stumbled on, resting only when Bowdre permitted it. An hour before dawn, Bowdre called a halt until first light. They found the trail without difficulty and followed it to its end at the deserted Indian camp beside the creek. None of them liked the way the story seemed to have ended, but the sign was there plain enough. The tracks of their shod horses led north, overlaid with the tracks of half a dozen unshod ponies.
“Damn it,” growled Three-Fingered Joe, “we walk halfway across Arizona Territory and what’s our gain? We got to walk all the way back.”
“I reckon it’d be worth the walk,” Bowdre said, “if the Injuns had roasted that pair of coyotes over a slow fire.”
“Could be they did,” said Carp, kicking at charred objects in the ashes of the dead fire. “If I’m any judge, there’s what’s left of a couple pairs of boots and a considerable pile of buttons.”
“Burnt their clothes and boots,” Bowdre said, “but that don’t mean they was in ’em at the time. Injuns might have stripped ’em, took ’em back to camp, an’ forced ’em to run the gauntlet. Just to be sure, let’s look around a mite, on the chance the varmints might of made a run for it.”
“Injuns rode in from the north,” said Sandoval, “and looks like a couple of ’em run their horses across the creek. Why would they of done that, stoppin’ there?”
“Might have been close to dark when the Injuns showed up,” Ellerton said. “The Mex varmints saw ’em comin’ and made a break into the brush.”
“Leavin’ their clothes and boots behind,” said Bowdre.
“Wouldn’t you,” Sandoval asked, “if you was in the creek washin’ yourself and a passel of Injuns come gallopin’ at you?”
“I reckon I would,” Bowdre grinned. “If it happened close to dark, them Mex coyotes likely got away. Let’s all drop back to the south and circle. I want to know if the varmints are alive. Just because I can’t gut-shoot the pair of ’em today don’t mean I can’t do it some other time.”
Three-Fingered Joe found the first bare footprint in a patch of sand.
“They lit out for town,” Bowdre said.
“Where we ain’t welcome.” said Os Ellerton. “You aim to buck that hardheaded Sheriff Wheaton just to get at them Mexes?”
“They can wait,” Bowdre said. “I just wanted to know they’re alive, that they’ll be around when I’m ready for ’em. We got to have hosses, and right now that comes ahead of ever’ thing else.”
“I’ll amen that,” said Sandoval, “but we got a pair of problems. They likely ain’t no horses to be had, and if they was, we ain’t got the money to buy.”
“No matter,” Bowdre said, “because we ain’t buyin’. We’ll pick some of these minin’ towns, such as Globe, and take the hosses we need. Before this sheriff can tie it back to us, we’ll be out of the territory.”
Sheriff Wheaton took pride in the fact that his town, except for occasional uproar in the Mexican quarter, had become a peaceful village. There were still killings in distant towns within Gila County, but fortunately most of the voters lived near the county seat. At first the sheriff thought the pounding on his door was part of a bad dream, but when he sat up in bed, wide awake, the noise continued. At the door he found a young Mexican boy, barefoot and clad only in his nightshirt.
“What is it, Pablo? Somebody dead or dying?”
“Per’ap muy pronto, Señor Sheriff,” said Pablo. “It be Yavapai and Sanchez. They be stealing, desnudo.”
“I reckon Yavapai and Sanchez showin’ up possum naked at three in the mornin’ ain’t a pretty sight, Pablo, but that ain’t reason enough for shootin’ the varmints. Not even in Arizona Territory. What else they done?”
“They steal,” said Pablo. “They rob our clothesline. You no come, Mama kill.”
“All right,” Wheaton sighed. “Give me time to get my britches and boots on.”
The sheriff closed the door and stood there knuckling the sleep from his eyes. He was sorely tempted to go back to bed and let Pablo’s mama shoot the troublesome Mexicans, but curiosity got the best of him. Their need for clothing was obvious, but how had the fool Mexicans ended up stark naked and trying to rob a clothesline? By the time Wheaton reached Pablo’s backyard, a crowd had gathered, some of them with lanterns. Women and young girls giggled, men laughed, but Pablo’s mama was all business, holding a shotgun on the hapless Yavapai and Sanchez. Disturbed by the commotion, chickens wandered about, clucking in sleepy confusion. When Sheriff Wheaton appeared, everybody began shouting at once.
“Quiet!” the sheriff bawled. The uproar trailed off into silence.
“Señor Sheriff …” Sanchez began.
“Save it,” Wheaton growled. “I’ll hear your story in the morning, and it’d better be damn good. Now the rest of you get back to bed. The show’s over.”
As Yavapai and Sanchez trudged ahead of him toward the jail, Sheriff Wheaton grinned at their scratched and bloody backsides. For once, he thought, these slippery coyotes won’t have to lie. The truth will be spectacular enough. For the first time in their lives Yavapai and Sanchez welcomed a jail cell.
“The leg still pains me some,” Arlo said, “but it’ll support me. Anyway, I can’t stand another day of loafing. Kelsey, how are you feeling?”
“Still sore,” said Kelsey, “but I need to be doing something. I just wish Kelly and me were going with you.”
“I’m still not sure we shouldn’t,” Kelly said. “If something happened, and you didn’t come back, we’d go crazy worrying.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” said Dallas, “and we’ll be back before dark. I can’t imagine anything going wrong, unless we’ve miscalculated somehow. But if there’s no way in or out except the way we’re goin’ in, we’ll have us a time of it, climbin’ them ropes back up that drop-off.”
“I hate to mention this,” Kelsey said, “but once you’re at the bottom, your ropes will still be secured at the top. Won’t that be a dead giveaway once Davis and his bunch reach that drop-off overlooking the river?”
“It would be if we left them there,” said Arlo, “but once we’ve found another way out, we’ll have to go back through the passage and get the ropes. We may need them again, anyway. This is another step in our search for the mine, but we don’t know that it’s the last one.”
Dallas and Arlo picketed the mules in a thicket far enough from the cabin to prevent discovery. Finally they were ready. When they rode out with their ropes and coal oil lanterns, it was a sad parting. For the first time since Kelly and Kelsey had joined them in the search for Hoss Logan’s mine, they were leaving the girls behind. For some troublesome reason they didn’t understand, Kelly and Kelsey were afraid. After Arlo and Dallas had ridden away, it was Kelsey who spoke of it.
“I know it’s foolish to think this way, but every time we have a chance to be happy, it seems like something always happens and takes it away from us. Daddy got into the freighting business and Gary Davis ruined him. Then Mother got involved with Davis and Daddy was killed. Because Uncle Henry hated Davis, we never saw Uncle Henry again, and now he’s gone. Am I being silly, worrying about Arlo and Dallas?”
“No,” said Kelly. She sat down on the bunk next to her sister. “If you’re being silly, then so am I. We’ve known these cowboys for just a few days, but even in that short a time, I can’t imagine what our lives would be like without them. They’re strong men, good men, just like Uncle Henry told us. But I’m afraid of … of those mountains. I’m somehow drawn to them, but I’m scared to death of them.”
“We’re drawn to them the way Uncle Henry must have been,” Kelsey said, “but I don’t think he feared them. Perhaps we won’t either … after today.”
Arlo and Dallas rode west of Saguaro Lake and then south. That way, if they were observed from the mountain, it wouldn’t be so obvious they had come from the Logan cabin. Just as they were about to turn south, they crossed the northbound trail of the horses Yavapai and Sanchez had taken.
“Ten horses,” said Dallas, reading sign. “That pair of Mex thieves must have taken every last one of them.”
“Let’s follow that trail a ways,” Arlo said. “There’s plenty of boot tracks, and maybe we can get some idea as to how many men are in that bunch that’s trailin’ the horses.”
Without difficulty they found the tracks of six men.
“Ten horses,” Dallas said. “But includin’ Yavapai and Sanchez, there’s only eight riders. They’re missing two men.”
“They might have left them behind,” said Arlo, “but with the Apache threat, that wouldn’t make any sense, and neither does this trail. Yavapai and Sanchez are headed straight for the Mazatzals, and that’s Apache stompin’ grounds.”
“The whole bunch may lose more than their horses,” Dallas said. “These six hombres on foot may not be familiar with the Mazatzals, but Yavapai and Sanchez have been around these parts long enough that they should know the risk.”
As Arlo and Dallas approached the Superstitions, they rode southwest. They would depend on the hidden trail getting them to their old camp.
“We may have the mountain to ourselves for a while,” said Arlo, “but we can’t afford to take any chances with our horses. I reckon we’d better leave them where they used to graze when we camped below the west rim. We can enter the passage from our old camp, follow it to the foot of the mountain, and take the second passage to the drop-off overlooking the river.”
Leaving the horses to the scant graze, they cautiously approached the hidden cavern that had so recently been their camp. Before they entered it, Dallas lit one of the lanterns.
“They’ve been here,” Arlo said.
There were many boot tracks in the dust, and they led out the way Arlo and Dallas had come in.
“They got here through the passage from the foot of the mountain,” said Dallas, “but when they left, they followed that crevice that goes up to the mountaintop. Now why didn’t they go back the way they came, along the same passage we’re about to go into?”
“Something more important must have come up,” Arlo said. “Look at the length of their strides. I’d say they left here on the run.”
“Maybe this was as far as they got before they learned Yavapai and Sanchez had taken their horses and headed for the Mazatzals,” said Dallas. “It’s a definite edge for us. Now we can get down to that river without wonderin’ if they’re right behind us.”
“They may have gone into the other passage before they did this one,” Arlo said, “but it won’t matter. Without the signs Hoss left, they’d have no reason to fight their way down to the river.”
“On our way to Tortilla Rat,” said Dallas, “Kelly and me saw a pair of them goin’ into that passage that opens into the canyon on the east side of the mountain. I reckoned the lariats they had was for crossin’ that big hole in the passage that leads to the skull peak. That should have kept them busy for most of a day, since they’d have to come out the same way they went in. We still have an edge.”
The two cowboys continued along the downward path leading to the cavern at the bottom of the mountain. From there, one passage opened into the canyon at the eastern foot, while a second angled away farther into the mountain. It was this passage that led to the precipitous drop-off and the underground canyon through which the river flowed. As they went, Dallas scanned the stone walls, seeking some evidence that Davis and his followers had been in the passage. He paused when they reached the drawings he and Kelly had discovered.
“Brush off the flanks of those last two horse drawings,” Dallas said.
Once again the spots Hoss had cut into the stone were revealed.
“Hoss Logan was one shrewd old devil,” said Arlo. “Who else would have thought to add a pair of spotted ponies to an old Indian drawing in such a way that they’d be meaningless to anyone except Kelly and Kelsey? Hoss wanted to be damn sure we wouldn’t give up when we got to the drop-off and the river.”
“That’s why I think we’ll have this river to ourselves for a while,” Dallas said. “These other hombres, unless they’re sharper than I think they are, won’t have the assurance that Hoss left to us. But just the thought of swingin’ off down that drop-off is enough to scare the hell out of a man.”
“It may not be all that scary,” said Arlo. “It has to be forbidding when you’re at the brink with only a lighted splinter, but what seems like the pits of hell may change when you add some decent light. We’ll let one of these lanterns down the side on a rope, and maybe we can get some idea as to what we’re up against.”
As they neared the precipice, Arlo lit the second lantern and knotted one end of a length of rope to the lantern’s bail.
“It’s got to be more than two hundred feet down,” Dallas said. “Want more rope?”
“Not for the lantern. Its light won’t be good for more than a few feet at a time. Rope your lantern and we’ll ease ’em both over the edge at the same time. Maybe then we can light the way down far enough to see if there’s any slope to this wall.”
Slowly they played out the rope, taking care to avoid creating a pendulum motion that might smash a lantern globe against the stone wall. The dim glow from the lanterns proved effective for maybe a dozen feet.
“At least it ain’t straight down,” Dallas said. “It slopes some along the upper part.”
“That’s good, but not good enough,” said Arlo. “We’ll have to go at this like the calf ate the grindstone—a little at a time. That means we’ll have to go down far enough to find a place to rest, lower the lantern some more, and then take a new start from there.
Dallas raised the lantern back to the rim, and by its light Arlo tied the end of his rope to a boulder that seemed firmly anchored, holding the other lantern in place below the rim. Then he took another two hundred feet of rope and began tying knots in it spaced two feet apart. Next he tied one end of the rope to an abutment and the other end firmly under his arms. He grasped the rope and tested it. Pulled tight, it held, supporting his weight.
“While I’m working my way down,” said Arlo, “take another length of rope and start tying knots for handholds.”
Arlo bellied down near the edge of the precipice, his feet toward the drop-off, the rope taut in his hands. Once he was over and swinging free, the wall sloped outward to the extent that he was able to get his feet against the face of it. Handhold by handhold, keeping the rope taut, he inched down the wall.
“All right?” Dallas inquired anxiously.
“So far,” said Arlo. “Let the lantern down until I stop you.”
Arlo clung to the rope, watching the lantern descend, its feeble light penetrating the blackness below.
“Hold it,” Arlo shouted. “I’m goin’ on down as far as the lantern.”
The hole in the face of the bluff hadn’t been visible until the lantern had been lowered past it. At some point in distant time, an enormous boulder had been torn loose, leaving an oval recess half a dozen feet deep. Once Arlo was even with the depression, he kicked away from the wall, and on an inward swing gained the ledge. He sank down on his knees, breathing hard, hands and arms numb with strain.
“Here,” said Arlo. “There’s a hole in the wall, maybe twenty-five feet down. I have the lantern. Turn the rope loose, then lower the other lantern. When I loosen this line, haul it up, loop it under your arms, and come on down like I did. You’ll be in the dark for the first few feet, but there’ll be light by the time you need it. Don’t forget that last piece of rope.”
Dallas lowered the second lantern and Arlo hauled it in, rope and all. Arlo then freed himself from the rope he had used to descend, and Dallas pulled it back up. He then secured the line to himself and went over the edge, walking down the wall to the shelf where Arlo waited.
“When I’ve rested some,” Dallas said, “I’ll take the next turn. Kind of bare in here—nothin’ to tie a rope to.”
“I know,” said Arlo. “I’ve made allowance for that. We can always tie another two hundred feet of rope to that one, if we have to. All we need is a few more resting places like this to get us the rest of the way down.”
Dallas took the next turn, following the lantern until he found another break in the wall where they could rest. When he found it—another twenty-five feet down—it was adequate—just barely. Arlo followed, and they stood with their backs to the wall, for that was all the space they had.
“My God,” said Dallas, “what’s that awful smell? Somethin’ must be dead.”
“Something or somebody,” Arlo replied. “From what Kelsey’s told me, before that first Apache attack two of those men from town disappeared in the mountain. They could easily have taken a turn toward the death’s head mountain and fallen into that hole we crossed in the passage floor.”
“God,” said Dallas, shuddering, “what a way to die. We ought to call this river the Death’s Head. How many of those who never returned from the Superstitions do you reckon have left their bones here in this tomb?”
“Some,” Arlo said, “but by no means all. There are some whose bones were found, except for the head. Remember, we found some of them ourselves when we first climbed the mountain with the death’s head at sundown. But who or what would kill a man and take only the head?”
“I don’t know, and I ain’t sure I want to know,” said Dallas. “It gives me the whim-whams just thinkin’ about it. I just want to get to the bottom of this and find some better way in and out.”
“So do I,” Arlo said, “and we’ll be a week gettin’ down this bluff, doin’ it this way. There has to be a faster way. I aim to run my belt through that lantern’s bail and take the light with me. With my feet against the wall and the lantern hanging behind me, I believe I can go down far enough to find another resting place before I give out.”
“Suppose you don’t find one? No way I can haul you back up here. You’ll be dangling from the end of the rope, not able to go up or down.”
“This wall’s sloping more and more,” Arlo said. “Before we reach the bottom, I think we may be able to work our way down without ropes.”
The lantern hung behind Arlo as he began his descent. Suddenly the wall seemed to vanish and his feet dangled in the air, throwing all his weight on his arms and shoulders. Desperately he hand-walked down the rope until the light revealed his predicament. He had gone over a hump, like a huge stone chin, and the wall beneath it was recessed far beyond his groping feet. Dimly he could see sanctuary—a shelf beneath the overhang—but he couldn’t reach it. There was no feeling in his hands as they clung frantically to the rope, and his body broke out in a cold sweat. He began kicking, forcing himself to become a pendulum. Desperately he swung to and fro, toward the stone wall, which seemed farther and farther away. Sweat blinded his eyes until he couldn’t see. On his final forward swing, which might have taken him to safety, he was unable to clear the stone abutment that had been his undoing. His head smashed into the stone, his numb hands lost their grip, and the rope went slack.
“Arlo!” Dallas cried. “Arlo, are you all right?”
But there was no answer. Dallas heard only the pounding of his heart and the rushing of the underground river he himself had called the Death’s Head.