The Savage Curse Page 9

  Gale’s face blanched when she saw the drawings. She looked as if she was going to faint, and he put an arm around her waist to hold her up.

  “Mighty curious,” Ben said, still staring at the etchings.

  John looked up. There were crude drawings there, cut into the rock with a knife or a flint blade. They looked to be fairly new, with none of the weathering one would expect from an ancient site.

  “Those are Navajo petroglyphs,” Gale said, almost gasping. “Rock carvings done by them savages.”

  “What does it mean?” Ben asked, turning around.

  “You can figure it out if you look real hard,” Gale said. Color came back into her face.

  “Were these here from olden times?” John asked.

  She shook her head.

  “No, these are less than a year old. See the sheep? See that hand dripping? See the rifle and the bullets shooting from the barrel? And that’s Clarence, I’m sure, that stick figure falling off his horse.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Ben said. “Who’s Clarence?”

  “Her husband,” John said. “This was cut into the rock by a Navajo, maybe a brave named Mano Rojo, Red Hand. He stole her sheep and shot her husband.”

  “Damn,” Ben said.

  “He’s been here,” Gale said. “And he put that there to brag. He knew I’d probably see it someday. It might have been here a year ago, but I doubt it. Those cuts look pretty fresh.”

  “Did he know this was your husband’s mine?” John asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe.” She looked around at the hills, the lab, the horses standing hipshot at the hitchrail. “He could be watching us this very minute.”

  Ben looked around, too.

  “I don’t see nobody,” he said.

  “Let’s light these lanterns and have a look inside the mine,” John said. “Gale, you can stay here if you like, keep an eye on things. I’ll get your rifle.”

  “No, I’m going in with you. Maybe Mano stayed here. If so, there’ll be sign.”

  John set his lantern down on the ground and knelt to light the wick. Ben did the same, while Gale walked to her horse and pulled her rifle from its scabbard. She returned as the lanterns began to glow.

  “Let’s take a look,” she said.

  “Maybe we better get our rifles, too, John,” Ben said.

  John looked at Gale. She nodded. “Might be a good idea,” she said.

  “All right, Ben. Bring them. Just to be on the safe side.”

  Ben pulled their rifles from their sheaths and the three walked into the mine. John and Ben held their lanterns high to throw light ahead of them. The shoring began about thirty feet inside, and the mine narrowed. There was only room for one person at a time, and John took the lead, handing his rifle to Gale.

  “I can draw faster than I can set the lantern down and cock that Winchester,” he said.

  “You think somebody’s in here, John?” Ben asked, a slight quaver in his voice.

  “No, Ben, I don’t. But I’m just as spooked as you are. Reminds me of the mine we had over in Colorado.”

  “This one’s been worked a lot more,” Ben said.

  Gale brought up the rear, John’s rifle over one shoulder, hers at her side.

  “It splits off into two shafts,” she said, “just ahead.”

  “Then what?” John asked.

  “Take the one that goes to the left. That’s the one where Clarence found the gold.”

  The end of the shaft appeared some thirty yards past the fork. The corridor was wider there, and had been shored up with heavy timbers. John held the lantern with both hands and moved it over the rock face. At one point, he held the lantern in one spot and moved in closer to see. There were little gold flecks surrounding a place where a chunk of rock had been removed. The flecks flickered like frozen fireflies in the stone.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Ben said.

  “Hard to tell,” John said. “It sure looks like gold.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Gale said, standing on tiptoe to look.

  Ben moved his lantern in closer and the three of them examined the area surrounding the hole. Some of the specks in the rock reflected silver, or mica, perhaps quartz, and the flickers were like small stars embedded in rock.

  “There could be a vein or two beyond this point,” John said. “What do you think, Ben?”

  “It sure looks right promising,” Ben said. “Some hard picking might show more color than we see now.”

  “You’ve seen something like this before?” Gale asked.

  Both men nodded.

  John lowered the lantern and stepped back.

  “Let’s see what’s up that other shaft.

  The three retraced their path to the fork in the shaft. John entered it with Ben close behind. He had not gone very far when he stopped short, staring at the floor of the shaft. This one was wider than the other and Ben stood beside John. He slowly raised his lantern.

  There, on the ground, were blankets and wooden canteens, boxes of rifle and pistol cartridges, stones set in a small ring that were charred and smoked.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” John said.

  “What’s the matter?” Gale asked, a note of alarm in her voice.

  “I can smell their sweat,” John said. “Somebody’s living in this mine.”

  Gale craned her neck to see and then drew back in shock.

  “Those are Navajo blankets,” she said.

  “Quick,” John said. “They could be back at any time.”

  Gale turned around and started back toward the entrance.

  “Be hell to get trapped in here,” Ben said, following close behind her.

  They reached the entrance. Sunlight blinded them for a few seconds as they stepped outside. John looked toward the hitchrail. The horses were still there.

  “Oh no,” Gale cried. “Look.”

  A lone rider appeared on the mesa, just beyond the lab. He rode a pinto and his head was wrapped with a yellow-and-red bandanna. He carried a rifle and was wearing a breechclout over his duck pants. He wore moccasins and, dripping from one side, a pistol and holster secured around his waist by a gunbelt.

  The Navajo saw them, raised his rifle above his head, then turned his horse and disappeared over the ledge.

  In the distance, there was the squealing scree of a hawk and then an immense silence, except for the trip-hammer throb of heartbeats in three pairs of ears.

  15

  SOME YARDS AWAY FROM THE CAVE ENTRANCE, JOHN SAW A PILE of rocks stretching some seventy or eighty feet. It appeared that whoever had worked on the mine had carried the rocks in a wheelbarrow, starting at the farthest point on the ledge and dumping them in a straight line. The rock piles were waist-high and would provide them some cover.

  “Ben, give me your lantern and get behind those tailings over yonder.”

  Ben handed John the lantern. John set both lanterns on the ground, grabbed his rifle from Gale. “Go over there where Ben is,” he said. “Get down behind the rocks and keep your rifle pointed toward the edge of the mesa where that Navajo popped up.”

  Gale ran to where Ben was waiting and lowered herself to a kneeling position. She balanced the barrel of her rifle on a rock, aiming it toward a point where the road ended atop the mesa.

  John ran to the horses and removed all three sets of saddlebags. He slung two of them over his shoulders and lugged the other in his left hand. He grabbed the canteens, then started toward the broken rocks.

  He saw a slight movement out of the corner of his left eye. A split second later, he heard the crack of a rifle. Flame and smoke belched from the snout of a gun and a bullet whined over his head, smacked into the mountain. There was a clatter of rocks where the ball had hit as they tumbled down. John dove for the shelter of the tailings as another shot rang out. The bullet plowed a furrow in the ground just behind his path and spurts of dust kicked up in a thin spout that quickly evaporated.

  John lay ther
e, panting, his heart pumping in a rapid, steady beat.

  “Almost got you that time, Johnny,” Ben said.

  “You see the shooter?” John gasped, gulping in air.

  “He ducked back behind that lab building. Never got a good look at him.”

  “It was an Indian,” Gale said.

  “How many you figure, Gale?” John asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “At least two, probably more. I’m glad you brought the saddlebags. We could be stuck here for a good long while.” She had packed their lunches that morning and stored them in the saddlebags.

  They waited, the hot sun beating down on them. John listened intently for any sound from the lab or below the mesa. He heard only the distant call of a quail and the rustle of the breeze over the rocks, a soft whisper that only emphasized the deep silence. The horses shifted their weight on their rear legs, switched their tails at flies, and let their heads droop in the heat.

  Then John saw movement. It was so slight he almost missed it. He stared at a clump of brush, sage, he thought. It didn’t move. He blinked his eyes to bring the plant back into focus. He stared at it until his eyes burned. He closed them, then opened them again. Had the bush moved? He could not tell. He looked to the right and to the left of it as if to fix it in that spot. There was a large rock on one side, a prickly pear on the other. He now looked at all three as he listened to the sound of his own breathing.

  Moments passed by and the silence stretched into an eerie stillness that seemed somehow unnatural. Ben cleared his throat. John shot him a look and held a finger to his lips. Ben wore a sheepish look, but nodded. Gale scanned the ground around the laboratory and the entire rim on three sides.

  The more John looked at the clump of sagebrush, the more suspicious he became. It was a large clump, and seemed to be composed of two different kinds of plants. He couldn’t be sure, but as he looked around the plain, he saw that all of the plants were small, much smaller than the bush that had attracted his attention.

  He scanned the ground behind the plant but could not tell if the ground was level or humped. He thought there might be someone lying behind the plant, someone who had moved it slightly a while ago, moved it enough so that he had been able to detect that ever-so-slight motion. Was it just a gust of breeze that had made the plant quiver? That could be, he thought. But if that was what had happened, why had his gaze been drawn to just that particular clump of sage? If a wind had coursed across the ground, wouldn’t all of the living plants have been touched by the fingers of that zephyr?

  He moved his rifle, set the front sight on the bush, lined the blade up with the rear sight. He held the rifle right against his shoulder and blocked out all but that one bush. He closed his left eye. He fingered the trigger, then realized that he had not levered a cartridge into the chamber. Should he?

  As he stared down the barrel and over the gun sight, the bush moved.

  Ever so slightly. An inch, two inches. No more.

  John held his breath, stared hard to make sure.

  He opened his left eye and gauged the distance between the rock and the prickly pear in relation to the clump of sage.

  The bush had moved. Definitely.

  John cleared his head, his thoughts racing through options and possibilities with the speed of a bee heading for the hive.

  He levered a cartridge into the firing chamber of his Winchester. He left the hammer back at full cock and kept his gaze on the brush clump.

  “What is it, John?” Gale asked in a whisper. “You see somethin’?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Ain’t nothin’ out there I can see,” Ben said.

  “That’s just it,” John said. “There’s nothing you can see, but there’s something out there. A Navajo, I think.”

  “Where?” Gale asked. John could tell that she was startled by the apprehensive tone of her voice.

  “See the big clump of brush, looks like sage and maybe mesquite or a tumbleweed? Biggest plant out there.”

  “I see it,” Ben said.

  “I see it now,” Gale said.

  “It moved,” John said. Then, after a pause, he said, “I think.”

  Gale and Ben stared at the sagebrush for several seconds.

  John wiped a sweaty palm on his denims, then scrubbed the stock with his sleeve to dry it. Sweat shone on his forehead and he wiped it away with his left hand.

  “I don’t see nothin’,” Ben said. “Johnny, you’re spooked. It’s just an old clump of sagebrush, that’s all.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Gale said.

  “Huh?” from Ben.

  “John’s right. There’s sage there and some other kind of bush, like it was put together to bulk it up. Else it growed that way.”

  “See anything behind it?” John asked. “Like a man lying on his belly?”

  Both Ben and Gale were silent for several seconds.

  “Nope,” Ben said. “Looks just like brush to me. Can’t see nobody behind it.”

  “Hard to tell,” Gale said.

  John looked again, but could not discern anything resembling a man lying behind the bush.

  He kept looking, but he was thinking, too.

  “You know how hard it is to see a jackrabbit when it’s just frozen? I mean you can look right at it and not see it.”

  “Yeah. They’re hard to see,” Ben said. “Cottontails, too, if they freeze up.”

  “Any animal,” Gale said. “You can look straight at a deer in the woods and never see it, lessen it flicks its tail or twitches its ear.”

  “Well,” John said, “if there’s a Navajo flattened out behind that bush and he doesn’t so much as twitch, he’s going to be mighty hard to see.”

  Neither Gale nor Ben said anything, but they were nodding their heads.

  “I think there’s somebody there,” John said softly. “I can feel it.”

  “Sometimes your gut tells you,” Ben said, a nervous quaver in his voice. He, too, spoke very softly.

  “I’ve got an idea,” John said. “It might not work.”

  “Tell us, John,” Gale said. “I’m plumb out and I still don’t see nobody out there.”

  “This goes beyond whatever I think is moving that brush toward us,” John said. “I’m going to shoot it, but then I want you both to cover me while I make a dash for that laboratory.”

  “You’re crazy, John,” Ben said. “If there’s somebody out there, you’ll be a big target.”

  “I think there’s only one and I think the rest are waiting to see how he does. Maybe he wants to steal our horses and then they’ll just starve us out.”

  “What makes you think that?” Gale asked.

  “Sometimes you have to think like your enemy,” he said.

  “Why are you going to the lab?” she asked.

  “That’s closer to the rim of this shelf, and there are things in there I can use.”

  “Like what?” Ben asked.

  “Dynamite for one,” John said. “We can’t just sit here and bake in the sun, wait for them to rush us. There may be only two or three Navajos down there, or there may be two dozen. From what I know of them, they’re not afraid to die. That makes them mighty dangerous.”

  “You’re right there,” Gale said.

  “So if I shoot and jump a Navajo brave, I’ll keep shooting until he drops. Then I’m going to run as fast as I can to that lab and go inside. You two will have to fire your rifles pretty steady until I make it.”

  “How will we know you’ve made it?” Gale asked.

  “I’ll send some smoke up that chimney,” he said.

  “You’re dividing our forces, John. If they get you, they’ll probably get us without too much trouble.”

  “Sometimes, Ben, you have to have a little trust.”

  Ben swore under his breath.

  “We’ll back you, John,” Gale said.

  “There’s plenty of ammunition in those saddlebags, I think. After I fire my rifle, I’m going to leave it
here. I figure if I do get in a tangle, I’ll have a better chance with the six-gun.”

  “I don’t like it none, John.”

  “Just do what I ask, Ben. And don’t worry about me.”

  “We will worry,” Gale said, and John saw genuine concern in her eyes.

  “Keep those rifles hot,” John said.

  He drew a breath and held it. He took a bead on the bush and slowly squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked against his shoulder. Smoke and sparks spewed from the barrel. He heard the bullet tear through the brush.

  “Nothing there,” Ben said in an almost reverent whisper.

  Several seconds passed by. John worked the lever and loaded another round into the firing chamber of his rifle.

  He fired again, holding slightly lower. The rifle shot sounded like a bullwhip and he heard its echoes resound in the hills.

  A figure jumped up, buck naked, dust flowing from his skin like brown water.

  “See,” John said, “there was a jackrabbit behind that bush!”

  16

  BEN RAISED HIS RIFLE SLIGHTLY, TOOK AIM.

  “Don’t shoot him,” John yelled. “Let him go.”

  Ben lowered his rifle.

  “But he’s getting’ away.”

  “Look at him,” John said. “He’s just a boy.”

  It was true. The naked brave was small and thin, covered with dirt, but it was obvious that he was no more than twelve years old, if that.

  The boy ran over the lip of the mesa and disappeared.

  John handed his rifle to Gale.

  “Cover me, you two,” he said and ran around the pile of rocks. He crouched low and drew his pistol.

  “Good luck,” Gale called after him.

  A Navajo’s head bobbed up and Gale fired her rifle. The shot was high, but the brave ducked back down below the ledge.

  “Missed him clean,” Gale said. “Not by much.”

  “A miss is as good as a mile,” Ben said.

  She flashed him a wry smile and Ben’s face flushed with embarrassment.

  “You really know how to make a woman feel good, Ben Russell,” she said.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean no disrespect.”

  Mollified, Gale levered another cartridge into the chamber. The spent casing ejected and clanged against the rocks.