CHAPTER XII
Albert Wellesly never made a new investment, nor allowed any change tobe made in property in which he was interested, without first making athorough personal inspection. For that reason he spent a number ofbusy days at the ranch, near the close of the round-up, inspecting therange and debating with Colonel Whittaker whether it would be betterto enlarge it or to run the risk of overstocking by increasing thenumber of cattle on the land which they already held. They decidedthat if they could get control of certain springs and surroundingranges, especially Emerson Mead's Alamo and Cienega springs andanother belonging to McAlvin, which joined the range they alreadyheld, it would be exactly what they needed.
"These water holes would be worth a lot to us," said ColonelWhittaker, "but it would be just like these contrary cusses to refuseto sell at any price, especially to us."
"Then they'll have to be persuaded," Wellesly replied.
It was necessary for Colonel Whittaker to return to Las Plumas beforethey had quite finished their inspection, and Wellesly decided toremain a little longer and go back to town alone. Whittaker hesitatedover the arrangement, for he knew that Wellesly had neither theinstinct nor the training of the plainsman, and that he was unusuallydeficient in that sense of direction which is the traveler's bestpilot over monotonous levels and rolling hills.
"Do you think you can find your way?" he said. "One of the boys canguide you over the range, and when you start back to town, unless youare perfectly sure of yourself, you'd better have him go with you, asfar as Muletown, at least."
"Oh, I'll have no trouble about getting back," Wellesly replied. "It'sa perfectly plain, straight road all the way, and all I'll have to dowill be to follow the main track. I'll stay here two days longer andI'll take two days for the trip to town. You can expect me--this isMonday--some time Thursday afternoon."
The misadventure of Nick Ellhorn, which landed both him and EmersonMead in jail, was on Tuesday afternoon, and it was early the nextmorning that Albert Wellesly left the ranch house and rode downthrough the foothills. He decided that the horse knew more about theroad than he did, and would do just as well if left to its ownguidance. So he let the reins lie loosely on its neck and, forgetfulof his surroundings, was soon absorbed in a consideration of theproblems of the cattle ranch. Well down toward the plain the roadforked, one branch turning sharply to the right and the other to theleft. The horse which he rode had, until recently, belonged to EmersonMead, from whom the Fillmore Company had bought it. Left to its ownwill, at the forks it chose the left hand branch and canteredcontentedly on over rising foothills. Wellesly's thoughts turned fromthe ranch to other business ventures in which he was interested. Itwas a long time and the horse had covered much ground before hefinally looked about him to take his bearings and consider hisprogress. Looking at his watch he thought he ought to be well down inthe plain toward Muletown, and wondered that he was still among thefoothills. He had an uneasy feeling that there was something wrong,but he said to himself that he had followed the straight road all theway and that therefore it must be all right. At any rate, it would befoolish not to go straight ahead until he should meet some one fromwhom he could ask directions. So he rode on and on and the sun rosehigher and higher, and nowhere was there sign of human being. But atlast he saw in the distance a splotch of green trees through whichshone whitewashed walls. And presently he was hallooing in front ofEmerson Mead's ranch house.
A thick-set, elderly man, with a round, smooth, pleasant face, out ofwhich shrewdly looked small dark eyes, came out to see what waswanted. In his knocking around the world Billy Haney had kept fasthold of two principles. One was to find out all that he could aboutany stranger whom he chanced to meet, and the other, never to tellthat stranger anything about himself that was true. In response toWellesly's question, Haney told him that he was far off the road toLas Plumas, and then by means of two or three shrewd, roundaboutquestions and suggestions, he brought out enough information to enablehim to guess who his visitor was. He knew about Wellesly's connectionwith the cattle company and his recent presence at the ranch, and theman's personal appearance had been described to him by Mead andEllhorn. So he felt very sure of his ground when he shortly surprisedthe traveler by addressing him by name. Then he told Wellesly that hisown name was Mullford, which was the name of a man who owned a cattlerange much farther to the south and who had not been engaged in therecent trouble over the round-up. He represented himself as the ownerof the place and said that he had been engaged in the cattle businessten years, but that he was not pleased with it and intended to pullout within the next year. It was nearly noon and he insisted thatWellesly should stay to dinner. An idea was dawning in his brain andhe wanted time to consider it.
A hammock hung in the shade of the cottonwoods, where the breeze blewcool and refreshing, and he invited Wellesly to stretch himself thereuntil dinner should be ready. A _vaquero_ took his horse to the stableand Wellesly threw himself into the hammock and looked up into thegreen thickets of the trees with a soul-satisfying sense of relief andcomfort. His revolver in his hip pocket interfered with his ease andhe took it out and laid it on a chair beside the hammock. Then hepulled his hat over his eyes and in five minutes was asleep.
There was only one _vaquero_ at the ranch house, and he and BillyHaney and Wellesly were the only human beings within many miles. Whenthe cow-boy had taken care of Wellesly's horse Haney called him intothe kitchen. The man was tall and sinewy, with a hatchet face, athin-lipped mouth and a sharp chin.
"Jim," said Haney, "I've got a scheme in my 'ead about that man, and Ithink there'll be lots of money in it. Do you want to come in?"
"What'll it be worth to me?"
"If there's anything in it, there'll be a big pile and we'll go 'alfand 'alf, and if there isn't--well, of course there's chances to betook in everything."
"What'll it cost?"
"Some work and some nerve, and then a quick scoot."
"All right, Billy. What's your play?"
When they had finished their planning Haney walked softly toward thehammock. A gentle snore from beneath the hat told him that Welleslywas sleeping quietly. He took the revolver from the chair, removed thecartridges from the six chambers and put it back in the same position.Then he walked around to the other side of the sleeper and called himin a hearty tone. Wellesly rose yawning, and they started toward thehouse for luncheon.
"You've forgotten your revolver, sir," said Billy.
"So I have! I'm not accustomed to carrying the thing, and if you hadnot reminded me I probably wouldn't have thought of it again for aweek. I don't believe it is necessary to carry one, anyway, but myfriend, Colonel Whittaker, insisted that I should do so."
"You never know when you'll need one down in this country," Haneyreplied, with a sad shake of the head. "It's pretty tough, I can tellyou. There's that Emerson Mead outfit. They're the worst in thesouthwest. You'd need your gun if you should meet any of them."
"Yes, our company has had very serious and very sad experience withthem."
"Ah, yes! Poor young Whittaker! I 'eard about 'is death. That was thewickedest thing they've ever dared to do. Most everybody in thiscountry 'as lost cattle by them and we'd all be glad to see 'em drivenout."
"They belong to that class of cattlemen," Wellesly replied, "who startin the business with one old steer and a branding iron, and then letnature take its course."
Haney laughed uproariously and when he could speak added: "Yes, and inthree years they 'ave bigger 'erds than any of their neighbors.You're right, sir, and the sooner the country gets rid of such men thebetter. I don't think, Mr. Wellesly, it's safe for you to ride alonewhere you are likely to meet any of that outfit. You know the feelingthey 'ave for your company, and what they did for young Will, poorboy, they'd do for you if they got the chance. I've got business outyour way, over at Muletown, and if you don't mind I'll ride along withyou that far. That will put you on the right road and if we shouldmeet any of the Mead outfit they wouldn't be so likely to
shoot as ifyou were alone."
"All right, Mr. Mullford, I'll be very glad of your company. I'm noplainsman, and it is the easiest thing in the world for me to get lostout here among the mesquite and sagebrush, where the country all looksalike. I suppose I have about the least sense of direction of any manwho ever tried to find his way across a plain alone."
"You needn't worry about that now. Just leave it to me and I'll getyou to Muletown by the shortest route. I know all this countrythoroughly, every cow-path and water 'ole in it, and you couldn't loseme if you tried. You needn't think about the road again thisafternoon."
Haney buckled on a full cartridge belt and a revolver, put a pair ofsaddle bags with a big canteen of water in each side over his horse,slung a rifle on one side of his saddle, and they started off along aslightly beaten road straight toward the southeast. Wellesly askedHaney if he were sure they were going in the right direction, andHaney assured him that it was all right and chaffed him a little thathe so easily lost the points of the compass. In the distance, a mileor so ahead of them, they saw a man on horseback leading another horsewhich carried a pack. When Wellesly again said that he did notunderstand how he could be so entirely at sea, Haney suggested thatthey overtake this traveler and get his assurance in the matter. Theygalloped up beside him and called out a friendly hail. It was Jim, the_vaquero_ from Mead's ranch, but he and Haney looked at each other asif they had never met before. He assured Wellesly that they werecertainly on the road which led to Las Plumas by the way of Muletown,that he knew it perfectly well, having traveled it many times, andthat he himself was going past Muletown to the Hermosa mountains.
"You see," he explained, "Muletown ain't on the straight line betweenhere and Las Plumas. It's away off to one side and you have to goquite a ways around to get there. That's what has mixed you up so,stranger. The road has to go past Muletown, because it's the onlyplace on the plain where there's water."
"Well," said Wellesly, "since you both say so, it must be all right.The joke is on me, gentlemen." He took a flask from his breast pocket."There isn't much left in this bottle, but as far as it will go, Iacknowledge the corn."
The men each took a drink, Wellesly finished the liquor and threw theempty flask on a sandheap beside the road. Light clouds had risen, sothat the sun and all the western sky were obscured and there were noshadows to suggest to him that they were going east instead of west.They were nearing a depression in the Fernandez mountains. Haneypointed to it, saying:
"When we get there we can show you just the lay of the land."
They passed through the break and a barren plain lay spread out beforethem bounded by precipitous mountains which swerved on either handtoward the range in which they were riding.
"That," said Haney, "is the Fernandez plain. You remember crossingthat, surely?" Wellesly nodded. "And the mountains over there," Haneywent on, "are the 'Ermosas."
"The range just this side of Las Plumas," said Wellesly. "Yes, I amgetting my bearings now."
"I'm going prospecting in them mountains," said Jim. "I'm satisfiedthere's heaps of gold there. I'm going up into that canyon you see atthe foot of that big peak. I was in there two weeks ago and I foundquartz that was just lousy with gold. You fellows better break awayand come along with me. I'll bet you can't make more money anywhereelse."
"I don't care to go prospecting," said Wellesly, "but if you make agood strike, and develop it enough to show what it is, I'll engage tosell it for you."
"Good enough! It's a bargain!" Jim cried. "Just give me your address,stranger, so I'll know where to dig you up when I need you."
Wellesly handed his card and Jim carefully put it away in hispocketbook.
Haney laughed jovially. "You may count me out, pard, on any of thatsort of business. I've blowed all the money into this damn countrythat I want to. You'll never get anything out of it but 'orned toadsand rattlesnakes and 'bad men' as long as it lasts. If I can pull out'alf I've planted 'ere I'll skip, and think I'm lucky to get out witha whole skin."
They trotted across the dry, hot, barren levels of the desert intowhich they had descended, seeing nowhere the least sign of human life.The faintly beaten track of the road stretched out in front of them inan almost straight line across the gray sand between interminableclumps of cactus and frowsy, wilted sagebrush. Bunches of yellow,withered grass cropped out of the earth here and there. But even theseforlorn caricatures of vegetation gave up and stayed their feet on theedges of frequent alkali flats, where the white, powdery dust coveredthe sand and dealt death to any herbage that ventured within itsdomain. Hot, parched, forbidding, the desert grew more and moredesolate as they proceeded. To Wellesly there was an awe-inspiringmenace in its dry, bleaching, monotonous levels. He felt more keenlythan ever his own helplessness in such a situation and congratulatedhimself on having fallen in with his two guides. He wondered that theplain had not impressed him more deeply with its desolation andbarrenness when he came out to the ranch. But he had no doubt of theability and good faith of his two companions and he drew his horse alittle nearer to them and said:
"My God! What a place this desert would be for a man to be lost in!"
Then they told him stories of men who had been lost in it, who hadwandered for days without water and had been found raving maniacs orbleaching skeletons--the sort of stories that make the blood of anybut a plainsman seem to dry in his veins and his tongue to cleave tothe roof of his mouth. Told in all their details and surrounded by thevery scenes in which their agonies had been suffered, they brought theperspiration to Wellesly's brow and a look of horror to his eyes.Haney and Jim saw that they made him nervous, and racked theirmemories and their imaginations for more of the same sort.
They were approaching the mountains and the country around them wasbroken into barren, rocky hills. The road grew rougher and themountains towered above them in jagged peaks of seemingly solid rock.The day was nearly ended and Wellesly remembered enough of thedistances along the Las Plumas road to be sure that they ought to beapproaching Muletown. But in this stern wilderness of rock and sand,human habitation did not seem possible. He looked back across thedesert at the Fernandez mountains, standing out sharply against thered sunset clouds, and it suddenly flashed across his mind that if thesun were setting there they must have been traveling in an easterlydirection all the afternoon, which meant that they had been gettingfarther and farther away from Las Plumas. Enlightened by this idea, hesent a quick, seeing glance along the range of mountains standing outboldly and barrenly in front of them, and he knew it was not theHermosa range. Haney turned with a jovial remark on his lips and metWellesly's eyes, two narrow strips of pale gray shining brilliantlyfrom between half-closed lids, and saw that his game had played itselfsmoothly as far as it would go.
Wellesly disregarded Haney's jest and looking him squarely in the eyessaid: "I suppose, Mr. Mullford, if we keep on in this direction amatter of some twenty-five thousand miles we might reach Muletown. Butdon't you think we would save time if we were to turn around andtravel the other way?"
Haney laughed good-naturedly and exclaimed: "You've not got thatnotion out of your 'ead yet, 'ave you! Say, pard," he added to Jim,"Mr. Wellesly is still turned around. 'E thinks we ought to rightabout face and take the back track to get to Muletown. What can we doto convince 'im 'e's all right?"
Wellesly was watching the two men narrowly, his suspicions aroused andall his faculties alert. Haney's calm, solicitous tone for a momentalmost made him think he must be mistaken. But another glance at therocky, precipitous mountains reassured him that they were not theHermosas and settled the conviction in his mind that he had falleninto the trap of a pair of very smooth rogues. A still, white ragerose in his heart and mettled his nerves to his finger-tips, as hethought of the plausible pretensions of good will with which they hadled him into this wilderness. He scarcely heard Jim's reply:
"I don't know what else he wants. We're going to Muletown, and if hedon't want to get lost out on this desert and have the coyotes pickin'his b
ones inside of a week he'd better come along with us."
"My friends," said Wellesly, in an even tone in which could barely beheard here and there the note of suppressed anger, "if you think youare going to Muletown in this direction, all right, go ahead. That'syour funeral. But it isn't mine. If anybody in this crowd is turnedaround I'm not the man. I have been, thanks to your very ingeniousefforts, but I'm not now, and I'm not going any farther in thisdirection. Unless you can get a little more light on which way is westI'm afraid we'll have to part company. Good-bye, gentlemen. I'm goingback."
He turned his horse squarely around and faced the long, gray levels ofthe darkening desert. As his eye swept over that forbidding,waterless, almost trackless waste, a sudden fear of its horrors smotethrough his anger and chilled his resolution. Haney spurred his horseto Wellesly's side, exclaiming:
"Stop, Mr. Wellesly! You can't go back over that desert alone in thenight! Why, you couldn't follow the road two miles after dark! Youknow 'ow uncertain it is by day, and in the dark you simply can't seeit at all. The desert is 'ell 'erself in the daytime, and it's worseat night."
Wellesly did not reply, for his resolve was wavering. Jim came besidethem, swearing over the delay. "See here," he said, "we've got no timeto fool away. If this here tenderfoot thinks he knows better than wedo which way we're going, just let him round-up by himself. I've beenover this here road dozens of times, I reckon, and I know every inchof it, but I wouldn't undertake to travel a mile after night and keepto the trail. Maybe he can. If he thinks he's so darned much smarterthan we are let him try it."
"Can we make Muletown to-night?" asked Haney.
Jim swore a big oath. "Didn't you hear me say I don't do no travelin'on this road at night? No, sir. I know a canyon up in the mountain aways where there's sweet water and I'm goin' to camp there to-night.If you folks want to come with me and eat prospector's grub, allright, you're welcome."
"Thank you, pard," said Haney. "For my part, I'll be glad to get it.You'd better come too, Mr. Wellesly. It will be sure death, of thesort we've been talking about this afternoon, for you to start backalone."
"You're right," said Wellesly. "I'll go with you."
Jim rode into a canyon which led them into the mountains and for amile or more their horses scrambled and stumbled over boulders andsand heaps. Then they turned into another, opening at right anglesinto the first, and after a time they could hear the crunching of wetsand under their horses' feet and finally the tinkle of a littlewaterfall met their ears.
"Here's the place," said Jim, dismounting.
"Sure this isn't h'alkali?" said Haney.
"You and the tenderfoot needn't drink it if you don't want to,"growled Jim. "And you needn't stay with me if you're afraid I'ma-going to pizen your coffee."
"Don't get angry, my friend," said Wellesly. "Mr. Mullford didn't meananything out of the way. We are both very much obliged to you forallowing us to share your camp."
"Yes," assented Haney warmly, "it's w'ite, that's what it is, to takein two 'ungry fellows and feed us out of your grub. And we'll see thatyou don't lose by it."
They watered their horses, which Jim hobbled and left to graze uponthe vegetation of the little canyon. All three men hunted about in thedim light for wood with which to make a fire, and they soon had readya supper of coffee, bacon, and canned baked beans, which Jim producedfrom his pack. Afterward, he brought out a blanket apiece and each manrolled himself up and lay down on the ground with his saddle for apillow. Wellesly thought the matter all over as he lay on his back andstared up at the moon-lighted sky. He finally decided there wasnothing to do but to wait for the next day and its developments, andin the meantime to get as much sleep as he could.
When he awakened the next morning he found that the others werealready up and had prepared breakfast. The blue sky was brilliant withthe morning sun, but the little canyon was still damp and cool in theblack shadow of its walls and of the beetling mountains that toweredbeyond. Their camp was at the very head of the canyon. On two sidesthe walls reached high above them in almost perpendicular cliffs. Atthe end, the rocky barrier was more broken and was heaped withboulders, through which the clear waters of the streamlet cametrickling and gurgling and finally leaped over the wall into a littlepool. The floor of the canyon was barely more than two hundred feetacross, and twice that distance below the pool the walls drew so neartogether that they formed a narrow pass. In this little oval enclosuregrew several pine trees of fairly good size, some scrub pines andcedars and other bushes, and the ground was well covered with greengrass and flowers.
Haney was hearty and jovial in his greeting to Wellesly, solicitousabout his physical welfare and genial and talkative all throughbreakfast. Jim grinned at his jokes and stories and ventured somefacetious remarks of his own, and Wellesly told a story or two thatsent the others into peals of laughter. He searched his pockets andfound three cigars, and the three men sat down on the rocks and smokedthem in silence. Each side was waiting for the other to make a move.At last Wellesly said that he would start back across the plain if theothers still wished to continue in the same direction. Theyexpostulated and argued with him and reminded him of the probabilitythat he could not find his way alone, and of the dangers from heat andthirst which he would have to face.
Wellesly guessed that they wanted money and were trying to force himinto making an offer. He held to his determination and while theytalked he saddled and mounted his horse. Then they tried to beat downhis resolution by picturing to him the certain death he would meet onthe waterless plain. In his heart he was really very much afraid ofthat scorching, sandy waste, but he let no sign of his fear show inhis face as he curtly replied:
"I'm very much obliged to you for all your concern about my welfare,but I'll be still more obliged if you won't worry about me any more.I'm going back and I'm going to start now, and if you are so sure I'llget lost and die you can come along a week or so later, hunt up mybones and collect the reward that will be offered for news of me."
At that suggestion Jim glanced hastily at Haney and Wellesly saw theEnglishman shake his head in reply.
"We don't want to be responsible for your death, Mr. Wellesly," Haneybegan, but Wellesly cut him off short:
"You won't be. I release you from all responsibility, after I leaveyou. Good morning, gentlemen." And with a cut of the quirt his horsestarted. They had been standing near the lower end of the head of thecanyon, and as he moved forward the two men sprang in front of him,blocking the narrow pass which gave the only outlet.
"Will you let me pass?" demanded Wellesly, his lips white and hisvoice trembling with anger.
"We're not ready for you to go yet," said Haney, all the jovialitygone from his face and voice. His look was that of brutaldetermination and his voice was harsh and guttural. Jim added anoath and both men drew their guns.
"Then, by God, we'll shoot it out!" cried Wellesly, whipping hisrevolver from his pocket. The hammer fell with a flat thud, and withan angry exclamation he clicked the trigger again. With furious hastehe went the round of the cylinder. Jim and Haney stood grinning athim, their guns in their hands.
"Something the matter with your pop-gun, I reckon," said Jim.
Wellesly opened it and looked through the empty cylinder. Then he putit carefully in his hip pocket, rested his hands on the pommel of hissaddle and looked the two men slowly over, first one and then theother, from head to foot. At last he spoke:
"Well, whenever you are ready to make your proposition I will listento it."
"We 'aven't any proposition to make," Haney replied. "We're not readyto leave 'ere yet, and we're not willing for you to risk your lifealone on the desert. That's all there is about it."
"Oh, very well! I can stay here as long as you can," Wellesly replied,dismounting. He unsaddled his horse, hobbled it and turned it loose tograze. Then he sat down in the shade of a tree, while the others stillheld guard over the narrow pass. He had made up his mind that he wouldnot offer them money. He would watch his chanc
e to outwit them, hewould match his intelligence against their cunning, his patienceagainst their brute force. It would be worth a week's captivity toturn the tables on these two rogues and get back to civilization intime to set at work the police machinery of a hundred cities, so that,whatever way they might turn, there would be no escape for them. Heturned several schemes over in his mind as he watched Haney preparingtheir noon meal of bread, coffee, beans and bacon. Jim was taking apebble from the shoe of one of the horses. Wellesly sauntered up andwatched the operation, asked some questions about the horses andgradually led Jim into conversation. After a time he broke abruptlyinto the talk with the question:
"What is the name of these mountains?"
"The Oro Fino," Jim answered promptly. Then he remembered that he andHaney had been insisting that they were the Hermosas ever since theday before and he stammered a little and added:
"That is, that's what the--the Mexicans call them. The Americans callthem the Hermosas."
"So you told me last night," Wellesly answered calmly, "but I hadforgotten."
He remembered the name and recalled a topographical map of the regionwhich he had looked at one day in Colonel Whittaker's office. Heremembered how the three ranges looked on the map--the Hermosas, thefirst range east of Las Plumas, with the wide Fernandez plain lyingbeyond, then the Fernandez range, more like high, grassy hills thanmountains, with only their highest summits barren and rocky, andseparated from the Oro Fino--the Fine Gold--mountains, by the desertthey had crossed the day before. He recalled the descriptions he hadheard of these Oro Fino mountains--high, barren, precipitous cliffs,separated by boulder-strewn canyons and cleft by deep gorges andchasms, a wild and almost impassable region. He remembered, too, thathe had been told that these mountains were rich in minerals, that thewhole rocky, jumbled, upreared, deep-cleft mass was streaked andstriped and crisscrossed with veins of silver and gold, turquoise,marble, coal and iron, but that it was all practically safe from thehand of man because of the lack of wholesome water. Alkali and mineralsprings and streams there were, but of so baneful nature that if athirsty man were to drink his fill but once he would drink to hisdeath. Recalling these things, Wellesly concluded that this tricklingspring of sweet, cool water and the little green canyon must be rareexceptions to the general character of the mountains and that thismust have been the objective point of his captors from the start.
Along with the awakened memories came also a sudden recollection of atale once told him in Denver by a prospector, whom he was grubstakingfor the San Juan country, of a lost mine in the Oro Fino mountains ofNew Mexico. He was able to recall the salient points of the story andit occurred to him that it might be useful in the present emergency.While they ate dinner Wellesly spoke again of the dangers of thedesert and of the risks he knew he would be taking if he shouldattempt to cross it alone.
"With my deficient sense of direction," he said, "I should probablywander all over it a dozen times before I could find my way out."
"You'd be dead long before that time," said Jim.
"Yes, it's very likely I would," Wellesly calmly assented.
"Of course," said Haney, "our friend 'ere 'asn't got much grub and ifyou and me continue to live off 'im it won't last long. 'E knows a wayto get through these mountains and go down to El Paso, but of course'e can't be expected to pilot you down there for nothin'. Now, if youmade it worth 'is w'ile, I dare say 'e'd be willin' to stop 'isprospecting long enough to get you safe into the town. Eh, pard?"
"Yes, I can," Jim replied, "if the tenderfoot wants to make it enoughworth while. I ain't stuck on the trip and I don't want to fool anymore time away around here. You two have got to decide what you'rea-going to do mighty quick. I want to get to prospectin', and if Ihave to tote you-all down to El Paso you'll have to pay big for thefavor."
Wellesly did not reply and Haney, who was looking critically at a bigboulder on the top of the canyon wall, burst into the conversationwith an exclamation:
"My stars! Do you see that 'uge boulder up there, just above thenarrow place in the canyon? 'Ow easy it would be, now, wouldn't it,for two men to get up there and pry it loose. It would crash downthere and fill up that whole blamed trail, wouldn't it, Mr. Wellesly?"
"Yes, and effectually wall up anybody who might have had the bad luckto be left in here," Wellesly dryly replied. "But speaking of thedangers of crossing the desert," he went on, "I remember a story toldme once in Denver by a prospector who had been down in this country.It was about a lost mine, the Winters mine. Did you ever hear of it?"
"Yes," said Jim, "I have. I've heard about it many a time. It's inthese mountains somewhere."
"It was so rich," Wellesly went on, "that Dick Winters knocked thequartz to pieces with a hammer and selected the chunks that werefilled with gold. He said the rock was seamed and spotted with yellowand he brought out in his pocket a dozen bits as big as walnuts thatwere almost solid gold."
The two men were listening with interested faces. Jim nodded. "Yes,that's just what I've heard about it. But there are so darn many ofthem lost mines and so many lies told about 'em that you never canbelieve anything of the sort."
"What became of this chap and 'is mine?" asked Haney.
"I reckon the mine's there yet, just where he left it," Jim answered,"but Dick went luny, crossin' the desert, and wandered around so longin the heat without water that when he was picked up he was ravin'crazy and he didn't get his senses back before he died. All anybodyknows about his mine is what he said while he was luny, and you can'tput much stock in that sort of thing."
"I don't know about that," said Wellesly. "I had the story from theman who took care of him before he died, the prospector I spoke ofjust now--I think his name was Frank, Bill Frank. He said that the oldman was conscious part of the time and told him a good deal about thestrike--enough, I should think, to make it possible to find the placeagain."
Haney and Jim were looking at him with intent faces, their interestthoroughly aroused. Wellesly decided to draw on his imagination forany necessary or interesting details that the prospector had not toldhim.
"What did he say," Jim demanded, "and why didn't he go after ithimself?"
"As I remember it, he said that during his delirium Winters talkedconstantly of his rich find, that he seemed to be going over the wholething again. He would exclaim, 'There, just look at that! As big as myfist and solid gold!' 'Look at that seam! There's ten thousand dollarsthere if there's a cent!' and many other such things. He would jump upin bed and yell in his excitement. If he was really repeating what hehad seen and done while he was working his strike, Bill Frank saidthat he must have taken out a big pile, probably up near a hundredthousand dollars. That he really had found gold was proved by thenuggets in his pockets."
"Did Winters tell him what he'd done with the ore?" Jim demanded. Hewas evidently becoming very much interested.
"Frank told me that at the very last he seemed to be rational. Herealized that he was about to die and tried to tell Frank how to findthe gold he had taken out. He said he had hidden it in several placesand had tried to conceal the lead in which he had worked. It is likelythat the strike, whatever it was, had upset his head a little and madehim do queer things before he got lost and heat-crazed on the desert."
"Well, did this man tell you where he'd hid the dust?"
"Do you know where it is?"
"My informant, Bill Frank, said that Winters was very weak when hecame to his senses and could only whisper a few disconnected sentencesbefore he died, and part of those," Wellesly went on, smiling at therecollection, "Frank said 'the darn fool wasted on gratitude.' But hegathered that the Winters mine was somewhere in the southern part ofthe Oro Fino mountains, not far from a canyon where there was goodwater, and that he had hidden the nuggets and dust and rich rock thathe had taken out, in tin cans and kettles and bottles in anothercanyon not far away."
"Why didn't your chap go and 'unt for it 'imself?" asked Haney.
"He did spend several weeks trying to find
it, and nearly died ofthirst, and broke his leg falling off a precipice, and had a devil ofa time getting out and getting well again. Then he wanted me togrubstake him for another hunt for it, but I think a man is morelikely to find a new mine than he is a lost one and so I sent him tothe San Juan instead."
"Lots of men have gone into these mountains hunting for the Wintersmine," said Jim, "but all I've known anything about have always gonefarther north than this."
"Yes," said Wellesly, as easily as if it were not an inspiration ofthe moment, "Bill Frank told me that when he talked about it he alwaysmade people think that Winters had said it was in the northern part ofthe range, but that it was really in the southern part."
Jim got up and walked away and presently called Haney. Wellesly laydown and pulled his hat over his face. He fell into a light slumberand awoke himself with a snore. He heard the voices of the two men,and so he kept on snoring, listening intently, meanwhile, to theirconversation. He could not hear all that they said, but he soon foundthat they were talking about the lost mine.
"If this here tenderfoot ain't lyin'," said Jim, "the Winters mineain't far from here. I know these mountains and I know this herespring is the only sweet water within ten miles, yes, twenty of 'em,unless there may be one up so high among the cliffs that nothing but agoat could find it. If Dick Winters' mine is in the southern part ofthe Oro Fino mountains it's somewhere within two miles of us."
Then he heard them talk about "finishing up" with him and coming backto look for the mine. Haney suggested that as they had enoughprovisions to last two or three days longer they might spend a dayexamining the near-by canyons and "finish up" with Wellesly afterward.
"If we find the stuff," he heard Haney say, "and this chap don'tconclude to be reasonable, we can leave 'im 'ere. If 'e does come totime, we'll 'ave so much the more."
Then they walked farther away and Wellesly heard no more. His schemewas coming out as he wished, for they would of course take him withthem, and in their search for the lost mine they might become sointerested that their vigilance would relax and he would find anopportunity to slip away unobserved. He thought he could find his wayout of the mountains by following the downward course of the canyons.That would be sure to bring him to the desert.
After breakfast the next morning Haney said:
"Well, Mr. Wellesly, do you think you would like to go to El Pasoto-morrow?"
Wellesly looked him squarely in the eye and replied: "I have nobusiness in El Paso and do not care to go there."
An ugly look came into Haney's face, and Wellesly saw that his captorswere ready to throw off all pretense and take extreme measures.
"Well," said Haney; "this is what we've decided to do. We'll give youtill to-morrow morning to make up your mind whether you'll go to ElPaso and give us ten thousand dollars apiece for taking you there. Ifyou don't want to get away that bad, that big rock will roll down intothis canyon and shut up that outlet and you will stay 'ere and starve.We are going to leave you 'ere alone to-day to think the matter over,and we are going to tie you fast to that big tree, so you won't 'aveanything to distract your attention. We'll be back to-night and thenyou can 'ave your supper and I 'ope we'll find you in a reasonableframe of mind."
Jim approached with a picket rope, and Wellesly whitened with anger.For a moment, earth and sky turned black before him, and before herealized what he was doing he had hit Jim a smashing blow in the jaw.Jim staggered backward, and then, with a howling oath, whipped out andleveled his revolver. Haney, who had grabbed one of Wellesly's wristsand was struggling to keep it in his grasp, jumped between them andshouted in a tone of command: "Don't shoot, Jim, don't shoot! You'llspoil the whole game if you kill 'im!"
Jim lowered his revolver sullenly and vented his anger in vileepithets instead of bullets.
"'Ere, stop your swearing and grab that arm," said Haney. "You can'tblame the man for kicking. You or me would do the same thing in 'isplace. Now push 'im up against this pine tree and 'and me the rope.I'm sorry we 'ave to treat you this way, Mr. Wellesly, but if youwon't be reasonable it's the only thing we can do."
Wellesly struggled at first, but he soon realized that they were muchthe stronger and wasted no more strength in useless resistance, thoughgrinding his teeth with rage. They tied his arms to his body, andthen, standing him upright, bound him close against the tree. Theystepped back and Jim shook his fist at the captive.
"I'll get even with you yet," he shouted, "for the way you took me inthe jaw! If you ain't ready to do what we want to-morrow morning youwon't get a chance to starve, you hear me shout! I'll wait till then,but I won't wait no longer!"
"Shut up, Jim! Don't be a fool!" said Haney. "After 'e's meditatedabout it all day 'e'll be reasonable."
Wellesly did not speak, but the two men read a "never surrender" inhis blazing eyes. Haney laughed excitedly and said, replying to hislook:
"You'll feel differently to-night, Mr. Wellesly. That rope's likelyto 'ave a big effect on your state of mind. Jim, we don't want toleave any knives on 'im."
They went through his pockets and took out everything they contained,dividing the money between them, while Haney took charge of hispapers. Then they made ready for their own trip, saddling their horsesand preparing to lead the two others.
"We won't leave 'im the least possibility of getting away," said Haneyto Jim, "even if 'e should 'appen to get loose."
"He'll never get out of that rope till we let him out."
"If the 'orses ain't 'ere he won't 'ave any temptation to try. 'E'dnever undertake the desert alone and afoot."
As they started, Haney called out, as good-naturedly as if they werethe best of friends: "Good morning, Mr. Wellesly! I 'ope we'll findyou more reasonable to-night."
Jim took out his revolver and turned in his saddle toward the captive.Haney grabbed his arm.
"Don't you worry," said Jim. "I ain't a-goin' to kill him, like Iought to do. I'm just a-goin' to put my mark on him."
Wellesly heard the clicking of the trigger and the thought spedthrough his mind that this was his last moment on earth. He saw theflash and heard the report, and then it seemed many long minutes untilthe whizzing of the bullet filled his ear and he heard it thump intothe bark of the tree beside his head. There was a stinging in the rimof his left ear, where it had nicked out a little rounded segment.
"There!" said Jim, with an ugly laugh, as he put away his gun, "he'smy maverick now, and if anybody else claims him there'll be war."