A dry wash suddenly showed and Badger turned into it, the wagon making no sound in the soft sand. They drove on around the bend, then Badger said, “Beyond that rock cut the team loose and mount up. Here!” He tossed Harbin a hackamore that he took from inside his shirt.
Swiftly, they stripped the harness from the two horses and, slipping the hackamores on, they mounted up, bareback. They rode south, holding to the soft sand where the hoofs of the horses left no definite prints, merely indentations in the loose soil.
From the wash they rode into the bottoms and went a devious route through the acres of willows growing near the river. Suddenly Badger turned sharply and left the willows, riding again into the drift sand of the dunes.
Joe Harbin, following a horse’s length behind, could only admire. It was obvious that Tom Badger had planned every bit of this. He had entered the willows where no tracks would be left, and now he left them at a place where tracking would be equally difficult.
Badger kept glancing at the sky, and for the first time Harbin thought of the hour. That, too was well chosen. It would be sundown in a matter of minutes, and dark soon after, as always in desert country. Then they could ride on, comparatively secure until dawn.
But Joe Harbin was a suspicious man. Badger had planned well, every step of the way … what plans did he have for the time after they got the gold? It was an unpleasant thought, but Joe Harbin had been doing his own thinking along those lines and he was wondering just how far he wanted to go with Badger.
The trouble was they needed that boat, and Harbin was not at all sure how the crew of the boat could be handled. He was sure that Badger had a plan for that too, and Harbin might need him to help. Moreover, if the Yaquis came after them each of them would need the other to help. Standing off desert-wise Yaquis would be no simple task.
Among the sand dunes, Badger drew up and waited for Harbin to come alongside.
“You tell me straight, Joe, and no hedging. Does anybody know where that gold is hidden?”
“You think I’m crazy? Nobody knows.”
Badger considered that. If nobody knew, it was unlikely that either the Yaquis or the warden would guess their direction for despite their need to get away they would be riding east rather than south … at least until they found the gold.
But if anybody knew, and if the warden was tipped off, he could be in the vicinity of the gold, watching for them. In that case they might as well throw in their hand.
“If you’re lyin’,” Badger said, “it’ll be your neck as well as mine. If one person other than you knows where that gold is, or even knows about where it is, then you can lay a bet somebody else knows, and we’ll be walkin’ into a trap.”
“Nobody knows,” Harbin said shortly. Only somebody did know, Harbin was thinking. That girl knew … he had talked big, talked when he should have been listening.
Hell, what did that matter? She was probably long gone out of the country.
Three
When the sun was still half an hour above the horizon, Dan Rodelo took the trail. He had always enjoyed walking, something rare among riding men, and he enjoyed it now. After a year in prison it was a grand feeling to be out on the open road, swinging along at a good gait. Above all, it gave him time to think, and to plan.
It was not yet dark when he heard the rattle of a light wagon behind him, and turned to see a four-horse team approaching, drawing a light wagon with a saddle horse tied behind. In the wagon were two men and a woman.
When they came abreast of him, they drew up. “You goin’ some place, mister?”
“Gold City.”
“If you’re huntin’ gold it’s no place to go. The only gold they ever found there was in the name.”
“I might be lucky.”
“Get in. We’re goin’ thataway.” The big man spoke to the team, slapped them lightly with the reins, and the wagon rolled off with Rodelo in the back, sitting near a girl, and a damned attractive one, he decided.
“That’s a ghost town now, mister. You realize that?”
“It’s not quite a ghost town. Old Sam Burrows is still around. He runs the store and saloon. I left my horse with him some time back.”
“Seems a far-off place to leave a horse,” the big man commented.
“Does, doesn’t it?”
Dan Rodelo looked at the girl, who regarded him coolly, showing no interest. The two men exchanged comments from time to time, and Rodelo gathered their names were Clint and Jake.
The night was still, and when the horses slowed to walk up a long bill, there was no sound to be heard but that of their own passage. Dan Rodelo stretched out his legs. It felt good to be riding. He eased his holster into a handy position and caught the girl’s glance as she noticed it.
They were wondering about him, as he was about them. Two men and a girl going to Gold City … for what?
Gold City was not only a ghost town, but it was the end of the trail. Beyond lay the desert … a desert that was empty all the way to the border, and far beyond. Dan Rodelo was not really a suspicious man, but at the moment he was wondering if somebody else had the same idea he had. It would be wise to be careful, very careful.
Gold City was not much more than a ramshackle store and saloon, three steps up from the walk to the porch under the overhang. Across the street stood an adobe, crumbling to ruin, and there was a scattering of other abandoned buildings along this street and back from it on both sides. There was no tree in sight, nothing but creosote brush, brittle bush, and a scattering of prickly pear and ocotillo.
Sam, smoking his pipe on the porch, watched the wagon approach. The dog lying at his feet growled, then subsided. Sam wore a belt gun, which he could use, and there was a shotgun just inside the door.
As the wagon rolled to a halt his wary old eyes slid over the occupants, then held on Rodelo.
“Hiya, Sam!”
“Bless my soul, if it ain’t Rodelo. I’d no idea your time was up.”
Dan dropped to the ground. “These strangers gave me a lift. Mighty kind of them.”
He had underlined the word “strangers” just a little, and Sam understood. He glanced at them, smiling. “Reckon you boys could do with a bit of something.”
“You got some whiskey?” Jake asked.
“Best in town,” Sam said. He struggled to his feet and lumbered through the door ahead of them. “Can’t say I’ve got much competition.”
Placing two glasses and a bottle before them, he then glanced at the girl. “And you, ma’am, a spot of coffee?”
“Show me where it is and I’ll make it.”
“Right through the door, ma’am. You’ll find everything easy to hand.”
“You carry quite a stock for a ghost town,” the man called Clint commented.
“We ain’t as lonesome here as a body would think. Lots of cattlemen, and sometimes there’s one of them Arizona Rangers or some Wells Fargo man … prospectors too, and the like of that.”
“I didn’t think there was anything between here and the Gulf.”
“There ain’t. Port Isabel down there ships some beef stock. That’s about it.” He nodded his head toward the desert. “Most God-forsaken country on earth.”
Sam refilled the glasses. “Have one on the house. Always like company, and any friend of Dan’s is a friend of mine.” He glanced at them, his eyes innocent. “Plenty of accommodation in this town, such as it is. Where you from mister?”
“Flagstaff,” Clint replied.
Jake shifted his weight and glanced irritably at Clint.
“Ain’t much worth seein’ down here unless you’re prospectin’,” Sam said.
“Anything wrong with that?”
“You know your own business.”
“That we do, old-timer.” Jake tossed off his drink. “Let’s go, Clint,” he said.
“You ain’t had your coffee yet.”
“That was for Nora—Nora Paxton. If she wants coffee, let her have it. I want to find a place to bed down.”
“I’d better see if the lady needs help.” Sam turned toward the door at the back of the bar but Jake stepped in front of him. “I’ll do that, mister.”
Dan Rodelo sat very still. He had found a kitchen chair near the other end of the bar and had seated himself, keeping out of the way, but with everything within range of his vision. He could hear the faint murmur of voices from the kitchen but he could not distinguish what they were saying.