Bloom of Cactus Part 22

As Lennon loped his pony into the ravine the trader swore blasphemously and swung out of his saddle to scramble up the slide. Great as was his strength, it was offset by the fact that his weight tended to bring the loose stones sliding down at every step. Lennon was not only lighter and more agile but had the advantage of better wind.

He was but a few steps below when Slade reached the head of the slide.

Close above them the ascent was barred by high ledges that dropped off from the upper part of the ravine. Slade stared savagely at the dull reddish-brown face of the ledges. The metallic surface plainly showed the use of pick and dynamite. He uttered a furious oath as he turned upon Lennon.

"You lying skunk!" he bellowed. "This ain't no gold mine!"

All the way up the slide Lennon had perceived the copper in the float rock. He was prepared for the trader's outburst. Farley's revolver lay ready in his grasp, behind the sling on his right arm.

"Have you--what do you call it?--gone loco?" he asked. "I told you distinctly my search was for a copper mine. The gold lode was your own fancy. You will now apologize for that term you used."

Had one of his Navahos made the demand, Slade could not have been more amazed. He gaped, dumbfounded. Then his rage burst out again with redoubled fury. But the sight of Lennon's revolver muzzle put an abrupt end to his violent curses.

"Good enough," said Lennon. "Now my apology, if you please."

The cool politeness of the request emphasized its deadly earnestness.

Lennon was keen for an excuse to shoot the big scoundrel. The look in his eye was unmistakable.

"All right," grunted Slade. "Have it your own way. I back up."

"You apologize?"

"Sure. Even a tenderfoot is ent.i.tled to that--when he gits the drop on you."

"Quite true," agreed Lennon, and he thrust the revolver into his pocket.

"Now, with regard to the lode, our next step will be----"

"What'd you say you was to git from your copper company?" broke in Slade, suddenly straight-eyed and cordial.

"Twenty thousand bonus for relocating the lode, and----"

"You can draw on 'em for it?"

"For half, at least. You shall have your ten thousand as soon as you rid the Farleys of Cochise and his gang. That was the agreement."

The trader thwacked his beefy hand down on Lennon's shoulder.

"That's a go, pard. I own up honest I figgered your talk of copper was all bunk. But I aim to stand by my bargains. Only you're sure now this here lode ain't no blind, are you? You ain't got that gold mine, too, hiding out hereabouts?"

"I give you my word, Slade, this is the only mine or lode of which I know."

Slade's look was more profane than a spoken curse.

"Huh--another El Dorado lie roped and branded. Only thing to do is to go after that bonus of yours."

"I must take samples and measurements for my report," said Lennon. "The company does not pay for the guesses of its engineers."

None too willingly Slade took the end of the small steel-ribbon engineer's tape that was held out to him. Lennon measured the width of the copper ledges, noted the trend and dip of the immense lode, and calculated its thickness where exposed. Samples were then gathered.

Upon the return down the slide the trader suddenly paused to point at the skull of a half-buried human skeleton.

"Huh," he grunted. "Cripple Sim didn't have no pard. But look at the pick--another prospector. Must 'a' stumbled on the mine. Lots of good it done him. See that hole? His pard plugged him through the head, streaked out, got lost, died. That's how I figger it."

"Poor chap!" Lennon murmured his pity for the murdered man, and he lingered to cover over the skeleton with a pile of loose stones.

At the spring he found the Indians cooking another round of flapjacks, bacon, and coffee. After the meal the party waited through the heat of mid-day while the horses cropped the gra.s.s along the banks of the spring rill.

At first there seemed nothing of interest about the old cabin. The thatch had half blown off; the adobe-plastered stone fireplace and chimney had tumbled down, and sand had drifted in past the broken wattle door. But when Lennon went in to take advantage of the patch of shade that was offered, he was shocked to find the skeleton of a woman huddled in the far corner.

Summoned by his call, Slade eyed the skeleton with callous indifference.

"Well, what you kicking up such a fuss about?" he growled. "Mebbe it's a squaw--mebbe a white woman. What's the difference? Been dead eight or ten years, by the look of things. Must 'a' got hers same time as the man. We're lucky they didn't git our mine."

The start back was made so late that the party did not reach the a.r.s.enic spring until dusk. Lennon had convinced himself that Slade planned to return to Dead Hole and at least make a pretense of earning the ten thousand dollars.

His own scheme was to seize Slade's horse and make a run for the railway. But first he must wait to be guided back through the devil's dooryard of crags and clefts.

He fell asleep with his hand upon the b.u.t.t of his revolver and the revolver under his body. He awoke at dawn to find his wrists lashed together. One of the Navahos stood on guard beside him. The revolver was gone. Slade and the others were already eating.

No food was brought to Lennon. But after he had been roughly tossed into his saddle by the Navahos, Slade brought a drink of water from the a.r.s.enic spring and offered it with mock hospitality.

"It's a dry ride," he urged. "Take a good swaller, son. It'll keep you from gitting thirsty."

Lennon looked at him steady-eyed.

"May I ask what you expect to gain by this, Slade?"

"Gain?--me?" The trader stared back no less unwaveringly. "I just done it to save you gitting in trouble. You're too careless--way you handle a gun. Might hurt somebody one of these here days. Anyhow, this'll help you think things over. Sabe?"

The poison water splashed down upon the dry rocks. Slade mounted, to ride off after the guide. The other Navahos lashed Lennon to his saddle and drove his pony before them, along with the pack horse.

Though the old Navaho found a rather shorter way out through the jumble maze of the bad lands, Lennon's mouth and throat were dust dry and his tongue swollen before the party reached the trail.

The thirst torture continued until the arrival at the pueblo. There Slade at last gave drink to his prisoner and disclosed his purpose, with a pretense of indignation.

"You ought to be strung up for trying to shoot me, Lennon. But I'm an easy-going man--easy and forgiving. You only got to make out your report and send for that twenty thousand. When it comes on, I'll let you go."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," replied Lennon, after he had drained the last drop of water from the jar. "However, I am in no hurry to make my report. I shall send it on and draw your half of the money--after you have kept your bargain with regard to Cochise."

Slade deliberately drew his revolver and aimed it between Lennon's eyes.

"Just remember, your riding in the way you did was to set you to thinking," he reminded. "This ain't no joke. Guess you'll agree now to git started on that report, huh?"

Lennon smiled at the revolver and the still more menacing steel-white eyes that glared at him along the barrel.

"Is it not time you set to thinking yourself, Slade?" he suggested.

"Alive, I am worth ten thousand dollars to you, as soon as you keep your bargain. Dead, I would not be worth a penny to you or any one else."

The brick red of the trader's big face purpled and the hand that gripped the revolver shook with the excess of his rage as he jammed the weapon back into its holster.