Copper Streak Trail Part 26

They backed out of the room.

CHAPTER XVII

That night, between ten and eleven, Stanley Mitch.e.l.l came forth from Tucson Jail. Pete Johnson was not there to meet him; fearing espionage from Cobre, he sent Boland, instead. Boland led the ex-prisoner to the rendezvous, where Pete and Joe Benavides awaited their coming with four saddle horses, the pick of the Benavides _caballada_, and two pack-horses. Except for a small package of dynamite--a dozen sticks securely wrapped, an afterthought that Pete put into effect between poker game and supper-time--the packs contained only the barest necessities, with water kegs, to be filled later. The four friends were riding light; but each carried a canteen at the saddle horn, and a rifle.

They rode quietly out through the southern end of the town, Joe Benavides leading the way. They followed a trail through Robles' Pa.s.s and westward through the Altar Valley. They watered at the R E Ranch at three in the morning, waking Barnaby Robles; him they bound to silence; and there they let their horses rest and eat of the R E corn while they prepared a hasty breakfast. Then they pushed on, to waste no brief coolness of the morning hours. Pete kept word and spirit of his promise to Dewing; not until day was broad in the sky did he tell Stanley of Dewing's disclosure, tidings that displeased Stanley not at all.

It was a gay party on that bright desert morning, though the way led through a dismal country of giant cactus, cholla and mesquite. Pete noted with amus.e.m.e.nt that Stanley and Frank-Francis showed some awkwardness and restraint with each other. Their clipped _g_'s were carefully restored and their conversation was otherwise conducted on the highest plane. The dropping of this superfluous final letter had become habitual with Stanley through carelessness and conformance to environment. With Boland it was a matter of principle, practiced in a spirit of perversity, in rebellion against a world too severely regulated.

By ten in the morning the heat drove them to cover for sleep and nooning in the scanty shade of a mesquite motte. Long before that, the two young gentlemen had arrived at an easier footing and the _g_'s were once more comfortably dropped. But poor Boland, by this time, was ill at ease in body. He was not inexperienced in hard riding of old; and in his home on the northern tip of Manhattan, where the Subway goes on stilts and the Elevated runs underground, he had allowed himself the luxury of a saddle horse and ridden no little, in a mild fashion. But he was in no way hardened to such riding as this.

Mr. Peter Johnson was gifted with prescience beyond the common run; but for this case, which would have been the first thought for most men, his foresight had failed. During the long six-hour nooning Boland suffered with intermittent cramps in his legs, wakeful while the others slept. He made no complaint; but, though he kept his trouble from words, he could not hold his face straight. When they started on at four o'clock, Pete turned aside for the little spring in Coyote Pa.s.s, instead of keeping to the more direct but rougher trail to the Fresnal, over the Baboquivari, as first planned. Boland promised to be something of a handicap; which, had he but known it, was all the better for the intents of Mr. Something Dewing.

For Mr. Dewing had not made good his strategic retreat to Old Mexico.

When Pete Johnson left the card room Dewing disappeared, indeed, taking with him his two confederates. But they went no farther than to a modest and una.s.suming abode near by, known to the initiated as the House of Refuge. There Mr. Dewing did three things: first, he dispatched messengers to bring tidings of Mr. Johnson and his doings; second, he wrote to Mr. Mayer Zurich, at Cobre, and sent it by the first mail west, so that the stage should bring it to Cobre by the next night; third, he telegraphed to a trusty satellite at Silverbell, telling him to hold an automobile in readiness to carry a telegram to Mayer Zurich, should Dewing send such telegram later. Then Dewing lay down to s.n.a.t.c.h a little sleep.

The messengers returned; Mr. Johnson and his Eastern friend were foregathered with Joe Benavides, they reported; there were horses in evidence--six horses. Mr. Dewing rose and took station to watch the jail from a safe place; he saw Stanley come out with Boland. The so-called lumbermen had provided horses in the meanwhile. Unostentatiously, and at a safe distance, the three followed the cavalcade that set out from the Benavides house.

Dewing posted his lumbermen in relays--one near the entrance of Robles'

Pa.s.s; one beyond the R E Ranch, which they circled to avoid; himself following the tracks of the four friends until he was a.s.sured, beyond doubt, that they shaped their course for the landmark of Baboquivari Peak. Then he retraced his steps, riding slowly perforce, lest any great dust should betray him. In the burning heat of noon he rejoined Scotty, the first relay; he scribbled his telegram on the back of an old envelope and gave it to Scotty. That worthy spurred away to the R E Ranch; the hour for concealment was past--time was the essence of the contract.

Dewing followed at a slowed gait.

Scotty delivered the telegram to his mate, who set off at a gallop for Tucson. Between them they covered the forty miles in four hours, or a little less. Before sunset an auto set out from Silverbell, bearing the message to Cobre.

At that same sunset time, while Pete Johnson and his friends were yet far from Coyote Pa.s.s, Mayer Zurich, in Cobre, spoke harshly to Mr. Oscar Mitch.e.l.l.

"I don't know where you get any finger in this pie," he said implacably.

"You didn't pay me to find any mines for you. You hired me to hound your cousin; and I've hounded him to jail. That lets you out. I wouldn't push the matter if I were you. This isn't New York. Things happen providentially out here when men persist in shoving in where they're not wanted."

"I have thought of that," said Mitch.e.l.l, "and have taken steps to safeguard myself. It may be worth your while to know that I have copies of all your letters and reports. I brought them to Arizona with me. I have left them in the hands of my confidential clerk, at a place unknown to you, with instructions to place them in the hands of the sheriff of this county unless I return to claim them in person within ten days, and to proceed accordingly."

Zurich stared at him and laughed in a coa.r.s.e, unfeeling manner. "Oh, you did, hey? Did you think of that all by yourself? Did it ever occur to you that I have your instructions, over your own signature, filed away, and that they would make mighty interesting reading? Your clerk can proceed accordingly any time he gets good and ready. Go on, man! You make me tired! You've earned no share in this mine, and you'll get no share unless you pay well for it. If we find the mine, we'll need cash money, to be sure; but if we find it, we can get all the money we want without yours. Go on away! You bother me!"

"I have richly earned a share without putting in any money," said Mitch.e.l.l with much dignity. "This man Johnson, that you fear so much--I have laid him by the heels for several years to come, and left you a clear field. Is that nothing?"

"You poor, blundering, meddling, thick-headed fool," said Zurich unpleasantly; "can't you see what you've done? You've locked up our best chance to lay a finger on that mine. Now I'll have to get your Cousin Stanley out of jail; and that won't be easy."

"What for?"

"So I can watch him and get hold of the copper claim, of course."

"Why don't you leave him in jail and hunt for the claim till you find it?" demanded lawyer Mitch.e.l.l, willing to defer his triumph until the moment when it should be most effective.

"Find it? Yes; we might find it in a million years, maybe, or we might find it in a day. Pima County alone is one fourth the size of the State of New York. And the claim may be in Yuma County, Maricopa, or Pinal--or even in Old Mexico, for all we know. We feel like it was somewhere south of here; but that's only a hunch. It might as well be north or west. And you don't know this desert country. It's simply h.e.l.l! To go out there hunting for anything you happen to find--that's plenty bad enough. But to go out at random, hunting for one particular ledge of rock, when you don't know where it is or what it looks like--that is not to be thought of. Too much like dipping up the Atlantic Ocean with a fountain pen to suit me!"

"Then, by your own showing," rejoined Mitch.e.l.l triumphantly, "I am not only ent.i.tled to a share of the mine, but I am fairly deserving of the biggest share. I met this ignorant mountaineer, of whom you stand in such awe, took his measure, and won his confidence. What you failed to do by risk, with numbers on your side, what you shrink from attempting by labor and patience, I have accomplished by an hour's diplomacy. Johnson has given me full directions for finding the mine--and a map."

"What? Johnson would never do that in a thousand years!"

"It is as I say. See for yourself." Mitch.e.l.l displayed the doc.u.ment proudly.

Zurich took one look at that amazing map; then his feelings overcame him; he laid his head on the table and wept.

Painful explanation ensued; comparison with an authentic map carried conviction to Mitch.e.l.l's whirling mind.

"And you thought you could take Johnson's measure?" said Zurich in conclusion. "Man, he played with you. It is by no means certain that Johnson will like it in jail. If he comes back here, and finds that you have not been near your cousin, he may grow suspicious. And if he ever gets after you, the Lord have mercy on your soul! Well, there comes the stage. I must go and distribute the mail. Give me this map of yours; I must have it framed. I wouldn't take a fortune for it. Tinhorn Mountain!

Dear, oh, dear!"

He came back a little later in a less mirthful mood. Had not the crestfallen Mitch.e.l.l been thoroughly engrossed with his own hurts, he might have perceived that Zurich himself was considerably subdued.

"It is about time for you to take steps again," said Zurich. "Glance over this letter. It came on the stage just now. Dated at Tucson last night."

Mitch.e.l.l read this:

DEAR MISTER: Johnson is back and no pitch hot. Look out for yourself. He over-reached me; he knows who got Bat Wiley's money, and he can prove it.

He thinks I am doing a dive for Mexico. But I'm not. I am watching him.

I think he means to make a dash for the mine to-night, and I'm going to follow him till I get the direction. Of course he may go south into Mexico. If he does he'll have too big a start to be caught. But if he goes west, you can head him off and cut sign on him. Slim is at Silverbell, waiting with a car to bring you a wire from me, which I'll send only if Johnson goes west, or thereabouts. If I send the message at all, it should follow close on this letter. Slim drives his car like a drunk Indian. Be ready. Johnson is too much for me. Maybe you can handle him.

D.

"I would suggest Patagonia," said Zurich kindly. "No; get yourself sent up to the pen for life--that'll be best. He wouldn't look for you there."

Zurich found but three of his confederacy available--Jim Scarboro and Bill Dorsey, the Jim and Bill of the horse camp and the shooting match--and Eric Anderson; but these were his best. They made a pack; they saddled horses; they filled canteens--and rifles.

Slim's car came to Cobre at half-past nine. The message from Dewing ran thus:

For Fishhook Mountain. Benavides, S., J., and another. Ten words.

Five minutes later the four confederates thundered south through the night. At daylight they made a change of horses at a far-lying Mexican rancheria, Zurich's check paying the shot; they bought two five-gallon kegs and lashed them to the pack, to be filled when needed. At nine in the morning they came to Fishhook Mountain.

Fishhook Mountain is midmost in the great desert; Quijotoa Valley, desolate and dim, lies to the east of it, gullied, dust-deviled, and forlorn.

The name gives the mountain's shape--two fishhooks bound together back to back, one p.r.o.ng to the east, the other to the west, the barbs pointing to the north. Sweet.w.a.ter Spring is on the barb of the eastern hook; three miles west, on the main shank, an all but impa.s.sable trail climbed to Hardscrabble Tanks.

At the foot of this trail, Zurich and his party halted. Far out on the eastern plain they saw, through Zurich's spygla.s.s, a slow procession, heading directly for them.