"May God be merciful to him and to us all."
--_The Advocate of Arras._
"Better come along and share my guilty splendor," urged Adam Forbes,
toe to stirrup.
Charlie See shook his head. "Not none. Here I rest. Gold is nothing to
me. I've got no time for frivolity. I want but little here below and
want that little now. Say, Adam--don't you never carry a gun?"
"Naw. I take a rifle, of course, for reindeer, snow dear, dear me and
antelope--but I haven't packed a gun for two years. No need of it
here. Well, if you won't side me, you won't. I'm sorry, but you see
how it is about me going right now," said Adam, swinging into the
saddle. "The water in that little tank of mine won't last long, and
there may not be any more rains this fall. So long! You just make
yourself at home."
"Good luck, Adam. And you might wish me the same. While you're gone, I
may want to make a little journey from bad to worse."
Adam gathered up his lead rope. "Good luck, Charlie." But a troubled
look came to his eyes as he passed through the gate; in his heart he
thought his friend rode late and vainly from Selden Hill.
The pack horse jogged alongside, his friendly head at Adam's knee. It
was earliest morning and they were still in the fresh cool shadow of
the low eastern hills. Farther north the enormous bulk of Timber
Mountain loomed monstrous in the sky, and there the shadows were deep
and dense, impenetrably black; there night lingered visible, brighter
than in all the wide arc to westward, bench-land and mighty hill were
drenched with sparkling sun.
Adam rode with a pleasant jingling of spurs. He passed through
Garfield town, or town-to-be, remodeled from the old San Ysidro, the
bare and grassless Mexican _plaza_ changed to the square of a Kansas
town, by tree and hard-won turf; blacksmith shop and school, with a
little store and post office, clustered for company on one side:
business would fill up the three blank sides--like Columbus or
Cherryvale. For there is no new thing beneath the kindly sun. Not
otherwise, far from the plains of windy Troy, did Priam's son build
and copy, in the wild hills of Epirus:
_The little Troy, the castle Pergamus,
The river Xanthus, and the Scaean gate._
Fringing the townlet, new gristmill and new factory stood where the
mother ditch was bridged. Beyond the bridge the roads forked. From the
right hand a steep canyon came plunging to the valley, winding dark
between red-brown hills. This canyon was Redgate; here turned the
climbing road to Upham; and Adam Forbes followed the Redgate road.
At the summit he turned to the left across a corner of MacCleod's
Park; he crossed a whorl of low ridges at the head of Apache Canyon and
came to Hidden Tanks--a little limestone basin, now brimming with
rainwater, perhaps a dozen barrels in all. Adam had fenced this in
with a combination of stone wall and cedar brush, to keep cattle out.
He now climbed to a little low cliff near by. There he had cached his
outfit in a little cupboard of a cave, the floor of it shoulder high
to him where he stood. Here he unpacked. He added to the cache his
little store of sugar, coffee, rice, bacon and flour, all packed in
five or ten pound baking-powder cans against the ravages of mice, gray
squirrels and trade rats. The little deep cave gave protection against
larger pests and shelter from rain. He rolled up his bedding, lifted
it into the mouth of the cave and shoved it back.
Two empty five-gallon kegs were left of his pack; he had not dared to
leave them in the cache, to fall apart in the dry and sun-parched air.
These kegs he filled at the tanks and slung on the pack saddle; with
them he made his way to the hill of his hopes. It was close by; he had
hidden there his pick, shovel and the broad shallow basin used for
panning gold. He hobbled the horses; by ten o'clock, or a little
later, he was deep in the interrupted task of a month before.
Freakish chance had timed that interruption to halt him on the very
brink of success. Before he had taken out a dozen pans he was in rich
dirt. Noon found him shaken from the poise and mastery of years.
Abandoning the patient and systematic follow-up system, he pushed on
up the hill, sampling at random, and finding each sample richer. The
scant supply of water was nearly gone, the gold frenzy clutched at his
heart. By sighting, he roughly developed the lines showing the
probable limit of pay dirt, as marked by the monuments of his earlier
labor; he noted the intersection of those lines, and there began a
feverish panning with his remnant of water. He found gold in flakes,
in scales, in millet-seed grains--in grains like rice at last! He had
tracked down a pocket to make history with, to count time from. And
the last of his water was used.
Adam sat down, trembling to think his find had been unprotected by the
shadow of a claim for the last month; reflected then that it had lain
unclaimed for some thousands of years, and with the reflection pulled
himself together and managed a grin at his own folly.
He went back to his saddle. Tucked in the saddle pockets was a goodly
lunch, but he did not touch that. He untied his coat and took out two
printed location notices, several crumply sheets of blank paper and a
pencil. He filled in the blanks as the location notice of the Goblin
Gold Mine--original notice and copy. On the blank paper he wrote out
four more notices, two originals and two copies, for the Nine Bucks
Placer Claim and the Please Hush. For the Goblin Gold he wrote himself
as locator, Charles See and Howard Lull as witnesses; he reserved this
for the highest and richest claim. For the next below, Charles See was
locator, Forbes and Lull were witnesses; and the third was assigned to
Howard Lull, with See and Forbes to bear witness.
Adam paced off the three claims adjoining each other and built a
stone monument at each corner, with a larger monument for the
location-papers at the center of each claim; the central monument of
the Goblin Gold about where he had made the last panning. And then,
even as he started to slip the first location notice in its monument,
he lifted up his eyes and saw, across the tangled ridges, three men
riding up from the deeps of Apache Canyon.
The cool judgment that had brought him safe through a thousand dangers
was warped now by the fever and frenzy of gold lust; his canny
instinct against disaster failed him in his need. There must be no
shadow of irregularity on these claims, his hot brain reasoned; his
find was too rich for chance-taking in the matter of mythical
witnesses; yonder, by happy and unlooked for chance, were witnesses
indeed; he must have their names to his location notices, and then he
would get the copies to Hillsboro for recording at the earliest; he
would mail them in Garfield post office that very afternoon.
He reversed his pencil and erased the names of his fictitious
witnesses; he saddled his horse and rode to intercept the three
horsemen, half a mile away now, trailing slowly across the park toward
MacCleod's Tanks. He waved them to stop. As he drew near he knew two
of the men--Jody Weir, of Hillsboro, and Big Ed Caney, a deputy
sheriff from Dona Ana County; two men he trusted not at all. Time was
he would have deemed this conjunction sinister; to-day, madness was
upon him. The third was a stranger. Each man had a blanket and a
bulging slicker tied behind his saddle. Evidently they carried rations
for several days' camping.
"Hello, Adam!"
"You're another--three of 'em. Got any water in those canteens? If I
was to do a piece of wishin', right now, I'd mention water first off.
This is sure one old scorcher of a day! She's a weather breeder. Rain
before morning, sure as snakes. I see thunder-heads peeping up over
the Black Range, right now."
Caney handed over a canteen. "Drink hearty! You shore look like you'd
been working, Adam."
Adam drank deep before replying.
"Working is right. Prospecting. Tired of farming--need a change. Say,
I want you fellows to witness some location notices for me. Ride over
on the next ridge and I can point out where the claims lay so you can
swear to 'em--or ride over with me if you got time. I was just doing a
little forgery when I saw your dust, for I wasn't expectin' to see a
man up this way--not ever. I do reckon this is the lonesomest place in
the world."
"Adam, meet my friend," said Jody. "Mr. Forbes, Mr. Hales. Now, Adam,
no need for us to go over to your layout, is there? We can see your
silly monuments. That's enough. No particular odds anyway, is it? I
reckon half the notices on record have ghost signatures to 'em. Just
as good as any. Nobody'll ever know the difference."
"Sure, that's all right--but seein' you happened along so slick, I
thought I'd get your John Hancocks. Sign on the dotted line,
please--where I rubbed out my forgeries."
"Any good, your mines?" asked Jody as they signed.
"Might be--will be, likely enough. Just struck pay dirt to-day. Lots
of room if you want to try a whirl--all round my claims, any direction
except down."
"Not to-day, I guess. Say, Forbes--you ain't seen any strangers this
way, have you? Mexicans, mebbe?"
"Not any. But I just come up from the river. Hills might be full of
people, for all I know. Water all round, after these rains."
"Look, now," said Jody. "We're doin' a little man hunt--and if you're
hangin' round here prospectin', you may be able to give us a straight
tip. Keep your eye peeled. There'll be a piece of money in it for you
if you can help us out."
"Give it a name. But see here, Caney--this isn't Dona Ana County, you
know. You're over the line."
"I'm not doing this official," said Caney. "Neither is Hales, here,
though he is a deputy in Socorro County. We're private cits in this
man's county--playin' a hunch. Here's the lay: There's been a heap of
stealing saddles for a business lately--saddles and other truck, but
saddles, wholesale, most particular. Got so it wasn't safe for a man
to leave a saddle on a horse at night, down round Las Cruces."
"They got Bill McCall's saddle in Mesilla three months ago," broke in
Jody, laughing. "So Bill, he went and broke a bronc backward. Yes,
sir! Broke him to be saddled and mounted from the wrong side. Only
left-handed horse in the world, I reckon. Then Bill slips off down to
Mesilla, ties his horse in front of Isham Holt's house about dark, and
filters inside to jolly Miss Valeria. Pretty soon Bill heard a tur'ble
row outside, and when he went out he found a Mex boy rollin' round in
the street and a-holdin' both hands to his belly. Claimed he had the
cramps, he did--but that's why we're rather looking for Mexicans."
"We figured they were a regular gang, scattered up and down, hurrying
the stuff along by relays, and likely taking it down in old Mexico to
dispose of," said Caney. "Then we hear that saddles are being missed
up in Socorro County too. So Hales and me gets our wise heads
together. Here is our hugeous hunch: This is lonesome country here,
the big roads dodge the river from San Marcial to Rincon, 'count of it
being so rough, so thieves wouldn't go by the Jornada nor yet take the
big west-side roads through Palomas or Hillsboro. No, sir. They just
about follow the other side of the river, where nobody lives, as far
down as Engle Ferry. There or thereabouts they cross over, climb up
Mescal Canyon and ooze out through the rough country east of Caballo
Mountain. Then they either come through by MacCleod's and cross the
river here again, or they keep on down below Rincon to Barela Bosque.
Maybe they save up till they get a wagonload of saddles, cover them up
with a tarp or maybe some farm truck, and drive whistlin' down the big
road to El Paso."
"Anyhow," said Hales, "the Cattle Association has offered an even
thousand for information leading to conviction, and we're going to
watch the passes and water holes--here and at Hadley Spring and
Palomas Gap. If you help get the thousand, you help spend it. That's
right, ain't it, boys?"
The others nodded.
"Go with you, you mean?"
"No. You stay here--so long as you're here anyway--while we ride up
the line. That way, one of us can go on and watch Mescal. We was one
man shy before," said Caney. "Does it go?"
"It goes."
"Take your silly location papers then, and we'll ride. We're going
across to have a look for tracks in Deadman first." He jerked his chin
toward a notch in the hills, halfway between the head of Apache Canyon
and the head of Redgate. "Then we'll go up by MacCleod's Tank and on
through to the Jornada and up the east side of Timber Mountain."
"Me, I reckon I'll post my notice and then go mail the copies to the
recorder's office," said Adam. "Thank'ee, gentlemen. _Adios!_"
* * * * *
Jody Weir pulled up his horse behind the first hill.
"Fellers, that man has made a strike! Didya see his face--all sweat
and dust? Adam Forbes is not the man to rustle like that in this
broiling sun unless he was worked up about something. He didn't act
natural, nohow. He drawls his talk along, as a usual thing--but to-day
he spoke up real crisp and peart. I tell you now, Forbes has found the
stuff!"
"I noticed he didn't seem noways keen for us to go help post his
papers," said Caney.
"Humph! I began noticin' before that," said Toad Hales. "Us signing as
witnesses--that got my eye. Usually it makes no never minds about a
witness to a mining claim. They sign up John Smith, Robinson Crusoe or
Jesse James, and let it go at that. Mighty strict and law-abiding all
of a sudden, he was! And going to record his papers the day of
discovery--when he has ninety days for it? It's got all the earmarks
of a regular old he-strike! I move we take rounders on him and go
look-see."
"Cowboy--you done said something."
They slipped back furtively, making a detour, riding swiftly under
cover of shielding hills; they peeped over a hill crest beyond Adam's
claims just in time to see him riding slowly away in the direction of
Redgate.
"Gone to mail his notices to Hillsboro!" snarled Jody. "Some hurry!
Come on, you--let's look into this."
They found pick and pan, stacked with the empty water kegs by the
location monument of the Goblin Gold; they scraped up a small pan of
dirt from one of the shallow holes of Adam's making; they poured in
water from their canteens; Caney did the washing. He poured off the
lighter dirt, he picked out the pebbles, he shook the residue with a
gentle oscillating movement; he poured the muddy water cautiously, he
shook the pan again.
"Sufferin' tomcats!" yelled Hales. "Gold as big as wheat!"
Caney's face went whitey-green; he completed the washing with a last
dexterous flirt and set down the pan with trembling hands.
"Look at that!"
Jody's eyes were popping from his head. "A pocket! Even if it plays
out in a day--a day's work would make us rich for life!"
"Us--hell!" said Caney. "We get the crumbs and leavings. Adam Forbes
knows what he's about. He's got the cream. Outside of his claims the
whole damn mountain won't be worth hell room!"
Jody turned his eyes slowly toward Redgate. "If we'd only known we
might have horned in. Three of us--why, sooner than lose it all and
get himself killed to boot, we might have split this fifty-fifty."
"We'll split this thirty-thirty!" Caney sprang to his feet. "Have you
got the guts for it? Jody, this is your country--can we head him off?"
"If he goes round by the head of Redgate Canyon--and if we don't stay
here talking--we can cut across through Deadman. There's a pass where
Deadman and Redgate bend close together. It won't be a long shot--two
hundred yards."
"Three shots! Come on!" Hales swung on his horse. "We've all got our
rifles. Three shots! Come on!" He jabbed the spurs home.
It was not until they had passed the park that the others overtook
Hales.
"Here, you, Hales--don't kill your horse!" said Jody Weir. "If he
beats us to the pass we're not done yet. He'll come back to-night. He
said so."
"You cussed fool! If he once gets those location notices in the mail
we might as well let him go. We couldn't take the chances and get by
with it."
"That's just it," said Jody. "Hi! Caney! Ride up alongside. Slow up,
Hales! Listen, both of you. Even if he gets those papers in the mail,
the recorder need never see them. All I have to do is to say the word.
I'm on the inside--sure and safe."
"Sure?"
"Sure and safe. If he beats us to the gap and comes back--well, you
stop Adam's mouth and I'll be responsible for the papers. They'll
never be recorded in this world!"
"Where's your stand-in? At Garfield?"
"Never you mind my stand-in. That's my lookout. A letter posted at
Garfield to-night goes to Rincon by buckboard to-morrow; it lays over
in Rincon to-morrow night, goes out on the High Line to Nutt on the
nine-fifteen day after to-morrow, takes the branch line to Lake
Valley, and goes from Lake to Hillsboro by stage. It don't get to
Hillsboro till two in the afternoon, day after to-morrow. It takes as
long from Garfield to Hillsboro as from Chicago. After--after--if we
turn the trick--we can come back and post location notices for
ourselves. Then we can beat it on a bee line for Hillsboro and record
'em."
"Aha! So it's at Hillsboro post office you're the solid Muldoon, is
it?"
Weir's gun flashed to a level with Caney's breast. "That will be all
from you, Caney! Your next supposing along those lines will be your
last. Get me? Now or ever! Keep your mouth closed, and Adam Forbes'
mouth. That's your job."
"Put up your gun, kid. I can't afford to be killed. I'm going to be a
howlin' millionaire. I'll say no more, but I'm not sorry I spoke. You
bein' so very earnest that way, I'm satisfied you can deliver the
goods. That is what I want to know--for I tell you now, I don't expect
to head Forbes off here. He had too much start of us--unless he
dilly-dallies along the road or is delayed."
"If he comes back, won't he bring a gang with him? If he does we're
done," said Hales. "That's why I'm willing to kill my horse to beat
him to it. You two seem more interested in chewing the rag."
"O, that's all right! Jody and me, we've come to a good
understanding," said Caney smoothly. Jody Weir glanced carelessly at
the back of Hales' head, his eyes wandered till they met Caney's eyes
and held steadily there for a moment; his brows arched a trifle.
"Well, here we are," announced Jody. "We'd better make the climb
afoot. The horses are about done and they'd make too much noise
anyway--floundering about. It's all slick rock."
They took their rifles from the saddles, they clambered up the steep
pass, they peered over cautiously.
"Hell! There's two of them!" said Caney. "Get 'em both! Big stakes!
This is the chance of a lifetime!"
Below them on a little shelf of promontory stood a saddled horse, a
blue horse. A yearling was hog-tied there, and a branding fire burned
beside. As they looked, a young man knelt over the yearling and
earmarked it. Close by, Adam Forbes slouched in the saddle, leaning
with both hands on the horn. He gave a letter to the young man, who
stuck it into his shirt and then went back to the yearling. He loosed
the hogging-string. The yearling scrambled to his feet, bawling
defiance, intent on battle; the young man grabbed the yearling's tail
and jerked him round till his head faced down the canyon. Adam Forbes
made a pass with his horse and slapped with his hat; the yearling
fled.
"Wait! Wait!" whispered Jody. "I know that man! That's Johnny Dines.
Wait! Adam wants to get back and feel that gold in his fingers. Ten to
one Dines is going across the river; I can guess his business; he's
hunting for the John Cross. Adam gave him the location-papers to mail.
If Adam goes back--there's your scapegoat--Dines! He'll be the man
that killed Forbes!"
"Friend of yours, Jody?"
"Damn him! If they both start down the canyon, you fellows get Forbes.
I'll get Dines myself. That's the kind of friend he is. Get your guns
ready--they'll be going in a minute, one way or the other."
"Curiously enough, I know Johnny Dines myself," muttered Hales. "Very
intelligent man, Dines. Very! I would take a singular satisfaction in
seeing young Dines hung. To that laudable end I sure hope your Mr.
Forbes will not go down the canyon."
"Well, he won't! Didn't you see him give Dines the papers?" said
Caney. "Lay still! This is going to match up like clockwork."
The men below waved their hands to each other in friendly fashion;
Forbes jogged lazily up the canyon; Dines stamped out the branding fire
and rode whistling on the riverward road.
"Weir, you're dead sure you can pull the trick about the papers? All
right, then--you and Hales go over there and write out joint location
papers in the names of the three of us. Got a pencil? Yes? Burn the
old notices, and burn 'em quick. Burn his kegs and turn his hobbled
horse loose. We will bring his tools as we come back, and hide 'em in
the rocks. Any old scrap of paper will do us. Here's some old letters.
Use the backs of them. After we get to Hillsboro we'll make copies to
file."
These directions came jerkily and piecemeal as the conspirators
scrambled down the hillside.
"Where'll we join you?"
Caney paused with his foot in the stirrup to give Jody Weir a black
look.
"I'll join you, young fellow, and I'll join you at our mine. Do you
know, I don't altogether trust you? I want to see those two sets of
location papers with my two eyes before we start. So you'll have lots
of time. Don't you make no mistakes. And when we go, we go together.
Then if we happen to find Adam Forbes by the fire where he caught
young Dines stealin' a maverick of his--"
"How'll you manage that? Forbes is halfway to the head of the canyon by
now."
"That's your way to the left, gentlemen. Take your time, now. I'm in
no hurry and you needn't be, and our horses are all tired from their
run. And you want to be most mighty sure you keep on going. For the
next half hour nobody's going to know what I'm doing but me and
God--and we won't tell."
Caney turned off to the right. Fifteen minutes later he met Adam
Forbes in a tangle of red hills by the head of Redgate.
"Hi, Adam! We got 'em!" he hailed jubilantly. "Caught 'em with the
goods. Two men and five saddles. Both Mexicans."
"They must have given you one hell of a chase, judging from your
horse."
"They did. We spied 'em jest over the divide at the head of Deadman.
There wasn't any chance to head 'em off. We woulda tagged along out of
sight, but they saw us first. They dropped their lead horses and
pulled out--but we got close enough to begin foggin' lead at 'em in a
straight piece of canyon, and they laid 'em down."
"Know 'em?"
"Neither one. Old Mexico men, I judge by the talk of 'em. Hales and
Jody took 'em on down Deadman--them and the lead horses--while I come
back for you."
"Me? Whadya want o' me?"
"Why, you want to go down to represent for yourself. You know that odd
bit of land, grown up to brush, that you bought of Miguel Silva?"
"Took it on a bad debt. What of it?"
"Why, there's an old tumbledown shack on it, and they've been using
that as a store house, tha'sall. By their tell they got eighteen
assorted saddles hid there."
"Well, I'm damned!" said Adam, turning back. "That's a blame fine
howdy-do, ain't it? How long have they been at this lay?"
"Four or five months. More'n that south of here. But they just lately
been extendin' and branchin' out."
"Making new commercial connections, so to speak. Any of the Garfield
_gente_ implicated?"
"One. Albino Villa Neuva."