Mochita spat in contempt.
“Apaches owe the white eyes nothing! Nothingbut death—slow death!”
“Your father talked peaceable with mebefore,” Collier reminded him. “We made good medicine—and a deal.Now you treat me as an enemy. Why?”
“Devil-guns!” gasped Mochita. “You wantgive devil-guns to Apaches—kill many braves ...”
“Talk slower, consarn you,” chided Sunday.“You ain’t makin’ sense.”
“White eyes soldiers come to reservation,”muttered Mochita, “tell my father these long guns are bad—no use toApaches.”
“They lied to you!” snapped Collier.
“They prove!” retorted Mochita. “They showhow!”
“What the hell...?” beganEllis.
“Shuddup, Arnie,” frowned Sunday. “We betterlet Webb handle this parley his own way.”
Curtly, Collier interrogated the chiefs son.Mochita’s answers were prompt, bitter and punctuated with muchprofanity, Apache-style. Sunday and Ellis listened with their jawssagging.
“They’re crazy!” asserted Sunday.
“No.” Collier slowly shook his head. “Youcan’t blame them for losing their heads.” He eyed Mochitathoughtfully. “You were tricked, my friend, but not by me. Thewhite eyes soldiers lied to you. I speak straight. The long gunthey showed to you was not of the kind I have promised to yourfather.”
“More lies,” sneered Mochita.
“By the great horned toad,” scowled Sunday,“I’d admire to teach this buck a lesson—kick him from here toUtah.”
“Do you want to foul up the whole deal?”countered Collier, “spoil our one and only chance of getting ourhands on the gold? Use your head, Rube. We can’t afford to lay afist on these hotheaded bucks.” He looked at Mochita again.“Mochita, I will prove to you that I have not lied to yourfather.”
“How you prove?” Mochita sourlychallenged.
“Arnie,” said Collier, “hustle back towherever you left your horses. Fetch rope.”
“What’re we gonna do with ’em?” demandedSunday.
“The only thing we can do,” said Collier.“Make them our prisoners—temporarily at least, just long enough totake them to the Lucky Dutchman.”
“Well ...” Sunday frowneduneasily.
“Can you think of any other way ofconvincing them?” challenged Collier. “They have to see forthemselves, Rube. How else can we convince these hardheads that wehaven’t tried to trick them? We have two choices, Rube. Either welet them examine some of those repeaters, prove to them that themerchandise is in good order—or we forget the whole thing. Is thatwhat you’d rather do? Kiss goodbye to a fortune?”
“It’s just I never did admire to arguewith Injuns,” shrugged Sunday.
Ellis fetched the rope, cut off threelengths and set about rendering the braves helpless. Their wristswere secured behind their backs. They could, Collier assuredhimself, negotiate the narrow mountain track without falling fromtheir ponies. Weren’t the Apaches, and all other redskins, supposedto be expert horsemen? He swung astride the bay, restored his Coltto his holster and nodded affably to the scowling Mochita.
“We go now, my young friend. Soon, youwill handle these fine long guns—test them—prove to yourself that Ihave not betrayed your people.”
“All right,” growled Sunday. “Let’s getmovin’.”
In the clearing, standing between the horseswith their hands clasped about their muzzles, the taller Texanforced himself to patience. High above, his partner had trained hisfield glasses on the arroyo. The six riders reappeared now. Sundaywas leading. After him came Ellis and the three Apaches, withCollier bringing up the rear. Quitting the arroyo, they came backalong the seldom-used trail that skirted the mesquite. Larrystudied them intently, as they drew closer to his vantage point.The redskins rode with their arms behind them. How about that? Itseemed Collier and his sidekicks were the unpredictable kind.Usually, the Indians captured the white men.
He waited only long enough to ascertain thatthe six riders were headed into the foothills, before beginning hisdescent.
By the time he reached the clearing, Stretchhad the horses saddled and ready to move.
“I couldn’t see a blame thing,” hecomplained.
“Fill your saddle,” ordered Larry. “I’lltell you the whole score while we’re ridin’.”
They advanced to the foothills with thehorse tracks of their quarry clear before them. During that ride,Larry told of all he had witnessed from his vantage point. Then,while Stretch expressed bewilderment, Larry assured him,
“I’m as puzzled as you. I keep askin’ myselfwhy would Collier and his pards want to kidnap three Injuns.”
“So,” guessed Stretch, “there’s only one waywe can get an answer. We tag ’em.”
“It could be we’ll have to tag ’em all theway to that mine,” warned Larry. “The Lucky Dutchman.”
Moving through the foothills, they wereobliged to slow their pace. Their quarry weren’t all that farahead, and Larry was loath to risk their hearing the extrahoofbeats—a warning counterpoint to the plodding of the otherhorses. At the beginning of the first long ascent, they backedtheir mounts into the concealment of a rock-cleft. Larry stood onhis saddle to cautiously follow the progress of the six horsemen,and didn’t lower himself until they had turned the first sharp bendhigh above.
“Here we go,” he grunted. “But slow andcareful.”
The track proved to be as narrow as the onethey’d travelled yesterday, on their way up to the reservation.Larry took the lead and his sorrel climbed gingerly, picking itsway with care, always skittish of the increasing elevation, asindicated by the depth of the ravine to their right. Within a veryshort time, that ravine became deeper, its floor that much furtheraway.
They rounded the first bend and, catchingno sight of their quarry, pushed onward. A second bend wasnegotiated, then a third. By now, they were a goodly distance upthe mountainside. The breeze was colder and, by rising in theirstirrups and craning their necks, they could see the near edge ofthe gigantic shelf. They were close to their goal, but closer stillto disaster, because they had been spotted by RubeSunday.
Nine
The Hard-to-Kill Texans
The six horses stood nose totail, nudging the cliff face. Ellis had twisted in his saddle andwas covering the Apaches with his rifle. Collier was staringanxiously atSunday, who lay on his belly at the extreme edge of the trail,intently staring downward.
“Are you dead sure, Rube?” he demanded.
“Ain’t a doubt about it,” muttered Sunday.“We’re bein’ bird-dogged—by a couple hombres that enjoy to pokeinto other folks’ business.”
“You mean you recognize them?” frownedCollier.
“We’ve seen ’em before,” Sunday sourlyassured him. “Come take a look for yourself.”
Collier dismounted, steppedgingerly to the edge of
