yelled at him, 'what's the matter with you and your old clothes? There ain't enough of them to dust a fiddle with anyway. What do you think I'd want with them? They're safe enough.''
'Let me have them,' he begged.
'Now, look here,' said I, 'you can't get up to-day. You ain't fit.'
'I know,' he pleaded, 'but let me see them.'
Just to satisfy him I passed over his old duds.
'I've been robbed,' he cried.
'Well,' said I, 'what did you expect would happen to you lying around Yuma after midnight with a hole in your head?'
'Where's my coat?' he asked.
'You had no coat when I picked you up,' I replied.
He looked at me mighty suspicious, but didn't say anything more - he wouldn't even answer when I spoke to him. After he'd eaten a fair meal he fell asleep. When I came back that evening the bunk was empty and he was gone. I didn't see him again for two days. Then I caught sight of him quite a ways off. He nodded at me very sour, and dodged around the corner of the store.
'Guess he suspicions I stole that old coat of his,' thinks I; and afterwards I found that my surmise had been correct.
However, he didn't stay long in that frame of mind. It was along towards evening, and I was walking on the banks looking down over the muddy old Colorado, as I always liked to do. The sun had just set, and the mountains had turned hard and stiff, as they do after the glow, and the sky above them was a thousand million miles deep of pale green-gold light. A pair of Greasers were ahead of me, but I could see only their outlines, and they didn't seem to interfere any with the scenery. Suddenly a black figure seemed to rise up out of the ground; the Mexican man went down as though he'd been jerked with a string, and the woman screeched. I ran up, pulling my gun. The Mex was flat on his face, his arms stretched out. On the middle of his back knelt my one-armed friend. And that sharp hook was caught neatly under the point of the Mexican's jaw. You bet he lay still. I really think I was just in time to save the man's life. According to my belief another minute would have buried the hook in the Mexican's neck. Anyway, I thrust the muzzle of my Colt's into the sailor's face. 'What's this?' I asked.
The sailor looked up at me without changing his position. He was not the least bit afraid. 'This man has my coat,' he explained. 'Where'd you get the coat?' I asked the Mex. 'I ween heem at monte off Antonio Curvez,' said he. 'Maybe,' growled the sailor. He still held the hook under the man's jaw, but with the other hand he ran rapidly under and over the Mexican's left shoulder. In the half light I could see his face change. The gleam died from his eye; the snarl left his lips. Without further delay he arose to his feet. 'Get up and give it here!' he demanded. The Mexican was only too glad to get off so easy. I don't know whether he'd really won the coat at monte or not. In any case, he flew poco pronto, leaving me and my friend together. The man with the hook felt the left shoulder of the coat again, looked up, met my eye, muttered something intended to be pleasant, and walked away. This was in December. During the next two months he was a good deal about town, mostly doing odd jobs. I saw him off and on. He always spoke to me as pleasantly as he knew how, and once made some sort of a bluff about paying me back for my trouble in bringing him around. However, I didn't pay much attention to that, being at the time almighty busy holding down my card games. The last day of February I was sitting in my shack smoking a pipe after supper, when my one-armed friend opened the door a foot, slipped in, and shut it immediately. By the time he looked towards me I knew where my six-shooter was. 'That's all right,' said I, 'but you better stay right there.' I intended to take no more chances with that hook. He stood there looking straight at me without winking or offering to move. 'What do you want?' I asked. 'I want to make up to you for your trouble,' said he. 'I've got a good thing, and I want to let you in on it.' 'What kind of a good thing?' I asked. 'Treasure,' said he. 'H'm,' said I.
I examined him closely. He looked all right enough, neither drunk nor loco.
'Sit down,' said I - 'over there; the other side the table.' He did so. 'Now, fire away,' said I. He told me his name was Solomon Anderson, but that he was generally known as Handy Solomon, on account of his hook; that he had always followed the sea; that lately he had coasted the west shores of Mexico; that at Guaymas he had fallen in with Spanish friends, in company with whom he had visited the mines in the Sierra Madre; that on this expedition the party had been attacked by Yaquis and wiped out, he alone surviving; that his blanket-mate before expiring had told him of gold buried in a cove of Lower California by the man's grandfather; that the man had given him a chart showing the location of the treasure; that he had sewn this chart in the shoulder of his coat, whence his suspicion of me and his being so loco about getting it back. 'And it's a big thing,' said Handy Solomon to me, 'for they's not only gold, but altar jewels and diamonds. It will make us rich, and a dozen like us, and you can kiss the Book on that.'
'That may all be true,' said I, 'but why do you tell me? Why don't you get your treasure without the need of dividing it?'
'Why, mate,' he answered, 'it's just plain gratitude. Didn't you save my life, and nuss me, and take care of me when I was nigh killed?' 'Look here, Anderson, or Handy Solomon, or whatever you please to call yourself,' I rejoined to this, 'if you're going to do business with me - and I do not understand yet just what it is you want of me - you'll have to talk straight. It's all very well to say gratitude, but that don't go with me. You've been around here three months, and barring a half-dozen civil words and twice as many of the other kind, I've failed to see any indications of your gratitude before. It's a quality with a hell of a hang-fire to it.' He looked at me sideways, spat, and looked at me sideways again. Then he burst into a laugh. 'The devil's a preacher, if you ain't lost your pinfeathers,'' said he. 'Well, it's this then: I got to have a boat to get there; and she must be stocked. And I got to have help with the treasure, if it's like this fellow said it was. And the Yaquis and cannibals from Tiburon is through the country. It's money I got to have, and it's money I haven't got, and can't get unless I let somebody in as pardner.' 'Why me?' I asked. 'Why not?' he retorted. 'I ain't see anybody I like better.' We talked the matter over at length. I had to force him to each point, for suspicion was strong in him. I stood out for a larger party. He strongly opposed this as depreciating the shares, but I had no intention of going alone into what was then considered a wild and dangerous country. Finally we compromised. A third of the treasure was to go to him, a third to me, and the rest was to be divided among the men whom I should select. This scheme did not appeal to him. 'How do I know you plays fair?' he complained. 'They'll be four of you to one of me; and I don't like it, and you can kiss the Book on that.' 'If you don't like it, leave it,' said I, 'and get out, and be damned to you.' Finally he agreed; but he refused me a look at the chart, saying that he had left it in a safe place. I believe in reality he wanted to be surer of me, and for that I can hardly blame him.
CHAPTER TWELVE - THE MURDER ON THE BEACH
I had a chum named Billy Simpson, and I rung him in for friendship. Then there was a solemn, tall Texas young fellow, strong as a bull, straight and tough, brought up fighting Injins. He never said much, but I knew he'd be right there when the gong struck. For fourth man I picked out a German named Schwartz. He and Simpson had just come back from the mines together. I took him because he was a friend of Billy's, and besides was young and strong, and was the only man in town excepting the sailor, Anderson, who knew anything about running a boat. I forgot to say that the Texas fellow was named Denton. Handy Solomon had his boat all picked out. It belonged to some Basques who had sailed her around from California. I must say when I saw her I felt inclined to renig, for she wasn't more'n about twenty-five feet long, was open except for a little sort of cubbyhole up in the front of her, had one mast, and was pointed at both ends. However, Schwartz said she was all right. He claimed he knew the kind; that she was the sort used by French fishermen, and could stand all sorts of trouble. She didn't look it. We worked her up to Yuma, partly with oars and partly by sails. Then we loaded her with grub for a month. Each of us had his own weapons, of course. In addition we put in picks and shovels, and a small cask of water. Handy Solomon said
