# Dead Man's Gold/Chapter 8
### CHAPTER VIII
#### in stone men cañon

FILING out into the sunshine on either side of them from lateral ravines came two troops of mounted Indians. Their blue-black hair hung in two long braids down their shining copper backs, tied with scarlet. Each wore a narrow fillet of scarlet about the brow, in which was stuck an eagle feather. Outside of breech-clouts they wore no clothing. Only a few of them had saddles; their reins were single. But they sat their ponies, which were either pintos, golden buckskin, or white, as if they were Centaurs. Stone counted four rifles among the two parties, ten warriors in each, twenty in all. The rest carried lances and bows, with the quivers on a strap over their shoulders. They took up positions to left and right, close to the cuff walls, about sixty feet on either side of the four white men and their burros, riding slowly on as if they did not see the invaders, an ominous escort.
Stone looked at Healy. The gambler was walking jerkily, as if his limbs were controlled by strings. Globules of sweat rolled down his cheeks. The hand that gripped the butt of his Winchester trembled.
"Get braced, man," Stone snapped at him. "They're sizing us up."
​Healy turned his head with an effort. He looked like an old man.
"What's the use?" he said. "To hell with the gold! Let's go back." He started ahead, as if to go to Harvey and Larkin with his suggestion.
"You stay where you are," said Stone, "or I'll blow your cowardly head off." Healy turned with a snarl. "You will, will you?" he said. "You forget I hold the joker in this deal. With me out of it where are you?"
"If you show your yellow lining at this stage of the game," said Stone, "they'll jump us. Go ahead, if you want to. I won't shoot you. I'll let the Indians handle you. They'll get us anyway if we weaken but I fancy the rest of us will have an easier out than you. They won't get me alive. But you'll run, or try to, you white-livered cur. And they'll have a lot of fun with you after they catch you. Shake yourself together, man, and bluff. You've done it at cards, you say, now do it for your life."
With his face ghastly, Healy glared at him but managed to pull himself together. They marched on, pad over the sand and turf, scrunch through the gravel, the savage cavalry ever parallel. Then Harvey dropped back.
"They ain't painted up for war," he said; "trying to throw a scare into us. Reg'lar tactics." He shot a keen glance at Healy. "Stone Men Cañon's only a little way ahead. We'll turn in there—if we git that fur, an' I reckon we will. The opening's just round the bend."
​The cañon narrowed a little as the stream curved, and Stone got a better chance to watch the immobile faces of the savages, riding grimly on, fierce of feature, keeping pace with the whites.
They came to the side-gorge, its eroded walls of white limestone, sculptured into irregular ledges, pitted with cave hollows where ruins showed; dazzling in the sun. The gorge was about a hundred feet in width. A tiny brook meandered through green patches beneath cottonwoods and tumbled into the main creek. They turned into it, following Harvey and Larkin. Healy had acquired a sort of swaggering bravado. The file of Indians on their left halted to let them pass, regarding them as if they were shadows rather than men, though the guttering of their eyes was plain as the balls shifted in the gleaming whites. The right-hand troop lined up across the main cañon and were joined by the others to form a living barrier. It was evident that the Apaches intended them to go no farther.
A quarter of a mile in the ravine Harvey stopped the burros. The Indians had not yet moved from their position.
"Start in to make noon-camp as usual," he said. "Don't let 'em think we're feazed. They're all young bucks and they're goin' to be difficult to handle. Mebbe they'll be satisfied to warn us. Prob'ly order us back. But if they think we're scared, they'll stampede the whole outfit, take all we've got, an' leave what's left of us for the coyotes after they've had their little fun. It's up to us. Git ​out that camera of yours. I'll spring thet writin' yarn. Here they come. Smile at 'em but don't let 'em git a gun away from ye. It all depends on if they got any sort of a chief with 'em. See thet cave with the cottonwood shadin' it? If the worst happens make a break for that. I've bin in it. They's some walls in it a little way back, an they's water. None too good, but we can stave 'em off thar. An', if we have to run, grab a chunk of grub. We'll need it."
Only six of the bucks were coming into the cañon. They had dismounted, their horses held by the rest who grouped in a semicircle to watch the play. The six grinned as they neared them, smiles that were more contemptuous than civil, with covert sneers between each other. One led the rest with some semblance of authority. He nodded and threw up his hand palm outward.
"Howdy," he grunted. "You got tabaki?"
Harvey, one hand gripping the muzzle of his Winchester, reached around to a hip pocket and produced a slab of chewing tobacco which he handed to the Apache.
"Not got much," he said. The young chief grinned and slid the gift entire beneath his breech-clout. Instantly the five others followed his cue, demanding tobacco. Stone and Larkin, profiting by Harvey's experience, deliberately divided the stock in their pouches into half. Healy had his snatched away from him. The gambler's face swam in sweat, his fingers trembled despite all his efforts to ​control them, and the Indians laughed among themselves at his apprehension, exchanging sardonic gutturals.
"What you want this land?" asked the chief. "This Apache land. No good for white men."
Harvey pointed to the camera, showing no offence at the growing arrogance of the interrogator.
"This man," he pointed to Stone, "make book about cueva (cave), make sun-picture. This man," he pointed to Healy, "help him." The savage looked at Stone and then, contemptuously, at Healy.
"That white man too much afraid," he said. "I think he 'fraid because he on Indian land."
"Tonto Crick don't head on the reservation, 'cordin' to the maps," said Harvey. "Plenty people know this man," he indicated Stone again, "he write this book, make this picture for Gov'mint." The Apache's face became convulsed with sudden rage. Stone fancied that he had been deliberately working himself up to an outburst.
"To hell with the Government!" he said, in remarkedly good English. "To hell with the maps! They lie, same as book this man write lie, same as words he put under picture lie. This Indian land. Now you go!"
All this time the five warriors had been exhibiting a lively but forced curiosity as to the general equipment of the white men. They fingered buttons, buckles, took hold of rifles, and attempted, without force, but with persistence, to take them into their ​own hands. They poked at the packs of the burros and tried, like so many mischievous boys, to separate them, until Larkin tied the brutes together by their halters, leashed them to a cottonwood and, smiling, as if he had merely discomfited playfulness, stood guard. But that there was malice in their mischief was plain to see. They watched their spokesman and, when he broke out at last, they stiffened, then fell into a supple alertness. Meantime, all the band had been edging nearer. The chief whirled on Stone, his face cruel, challenging.
"You hear? You go! Now!" he said. Stone glanced at Harvey who nodded slightly for him to answer.
"You go back to your reservation," said Stone, calmly. "We know where we belong; where you belong. We do you no harm. Better you not try to do us harm. Suppose you do, bye and bye plenty talk. They will find out who was off the reservation, and they will know who to punish. Better you leave us alone."
"Ugh! You talk big. Two, three time, white man come along this way when I was very small boy. Look for gold. Gold belong Indian. Those white man die. Maybe one, two, run very fast, they go back. Suppose you look in water, top this cañon, you see two white men who not go back. Suppose we kill you, hide scalp, let coyotes crack your bones? Suppose we hide your body in cave? How any one know? How any one punish?"
"Try it on and you'll find out," said Stone, steadily.
​For a moment the dark eyes of the savage glared into the blue eyes of the white man, hot hatred against cold resistance. Then the Apache indicated the cliffs of the cañon.
"You make picture along this cueva, all right. You write book along this cañon, all right," he said, condescendingly, in an attempt to cover his failure against the wills of the whites. "Suppose more Indian come you tell them Teozatl speak everything all right, tell them you give Teozatl tabaki, cartridge, meat, cloth like this," he touched tentatively the bandana neckkerchief that Stone wore. "You speak Teozatl say all right for this cañon. But you come no more close up Tonto Creek. Sabe?"
Stone took the dirty brown fingers from his neckerchief firmly but not roughly. One of the Indians, he saw, had coaxed or taken from Healy the latter's bandana and was wearing it with a strut. It was up to Stone. Harvey had indicated him as the writer, the head of the expedition, and the chieftain now ignored Harvey, craftily enough, figuring on Stone's inexperience of such occasions.
"You get nothing," said Stone. "Nothing! And we go where we like so long as it is off the reservation."
Again the black and blue eyes met, and once more the black eyes wavered. Then a sudden clamour broke out, with a warning expostulation from Larkin. Two braves who had been hovering in covetous fascination about the burros hurried up to their chief with urgent gutturals. Harvey translated.
​"They've spotted the picks and shovels," he said. "I tried to cover 'em up best I could this mornin' but they've got eyes to bore through marble. The jig's up! We got to make a bolt for it. Make for the cave. Grab that bacon, I'll take the flour. Now!"
The chief's face had creased to the likeness of a thwarted devil. Then he gave a shout to the tribesmen lurking in the background. Two of the nearer Apaches grabbed for the line that held the burros but Harvey slashed that with his knife and pricked deeply the haunches of the beasts which went scampering and braying up-cañon. Larkin had caught hold of the rifle of the Indian nearest to him and wrested the weapon away with a quick spurt of strength. The chief, after his yell, swung to grapple Stone, one hand falling to his knife handle, his own rifle either lacking or left behind for the parley. Stone smashed him fairly on the jaw and Teozatl went tottering back, dazed and amazed. Healy was struggling in the hands of two of the savages. Harvey and Stone both jumped to his release. The whole thing happened with the celerity of a too-swiftly cranked motion-picture film. Stone got his fingers about one man's greasy throat, wrenching him loose as he saw Harvey stoop and straighten up again while the second man fell backward. Harvey had passed the blade, that he kept razor-sharp for slicing bacon, across the sinews of the Apache's legs, hamstringing him. Then he and Stone caught hold of Healy's arms, picked up his rifle and the food, and ​forced him to join the rush across the upslope to the cave. The Indians swept down, the unmounted men leaping for their ponies, the wounded one writhing on the ground, the chief slowly recovering from his jarred nerves. In a swirl of dust the four entered the cave and scrambled over a crumbling wall of masonry back of which they crouched. There was a volley outside. There were only three rifles now among the Indians and these barked, one of the bullets entering the cave and ricochetting harmlessly among three of four arrows that glanced off the rock.
"They ain't liable to rush us," said Harvey. "Cartridges likely to be sca'ce enny way. They ain't stuck on close-quarters. Pony fighters. Figger on starvin' us out, or smokin'. Can't smoke us out in this cave, thet's why I picked it. As for starvin', we'll hev to make a break for it, or sneak out ternight. Meantime, we got to try an' stop them from drivin' our burros out of the cañon. They ain't thought of 'em yet, they're too mad. Nightfall, mebbe we kin pick up our outfit. Let 'em whoop an' shoot. They can't hit us. Angle's wrong. If they try to come inter the cave we'll entertain 'em. Pritty rotten bunch of shots ennyway, I'll say."
Looking out of the cool, shady tunnel to the sunlit cañon they could see the Apaches galloping past in a long string, yelling defiance and firing arrow or bullet as they passed the cave mouth at top speed. But few of the missiles gained the entrance and the elevation rendered them harmless.
"Gittin' worked up over that chap whose hocks I ​nicked, 'stead of sticking him in the back. I had a reason fer thet. Ye see these young bucks had trail fever like they allus do this time of year. They're off the reservation without leave. Now they've started somethin', they'll want to git the old bucks lined up with 'em. They'll spring a rare yarn for them an' the shamans an' the gels an' squaws to listen to. Come nightfall, some of 'em 'll go streakin' it back for the reservation while the rest ride herd on us. And they'll take the hamstrung chap back with 'em. The old warriors 'll recognize thet slash as the brand of an old-timer. Thet's what the whites used ter do in the early days. It makes a good Indian out of a bad one, pronto, an' keeps him alive, as a sort of universal reminder not to monkey with a white man or a buzzsaw. The old bucks savvy thet an old-timer prob'ly didn't start the ructions an' they may call off the young uns. Or they may not. Come nightfall we'll snook up the cañon an' hit the mesa. If they find them burros! …"
"Hell, they've sighted 'em ennyway!" he exclaimed, and scrambled over the crumbling wall, taking position flat on his stomach in the cave entrance, Larkin and Stone following. Healy remained in the cave, well behind the protecting wall. A yell of triumph sounded up-cañon, followed by another. "Got to stop 'em with those burros, we need the grub an'—here they come!" cried Harvey. The yells of the Indians increased. Four or five of them came galloping out of the cottonwoods by the little stream. Then came a burro, frantic, herded by two ​warriors using their spears as goads, the burro bucking under its load, firmly hitched by Harvey's expert roping, but threatening to give way under the frenzied jumping.
"Thet's Pete," said Harvey. "Quietest of the four of 'em. But he don't like them sticking their spears into him. By Jinks—hol' on—don't shoot fer jest a minit, ennyway!"
"Wot's the hidea?" said Larkin. "Pete's got most of the grub."
"No, he ain't," grinned Harvey. "I shifted loads this mornin' jest becos he had more brains than the rest of 'em an' warn't so apt to stampede. Now, dern 'em, look at thet! Whoopee!"
The Indians, who seemed to consider themselves unseen and therefore immune, since no fire came from the cave, tried to round up the burro which attempted to bolt back up-cañon and nearly succeeded. Six of them ringed him about and one, who boasted a saddle, threw a rawhide lariat that settled fair and square over Pete's long ears and hammerhead although he tossed and shook the latter as he felt the falling circle. The warrior snubbed the end of the lariat to his saddlehorn, his pony braced, and Pete, charging madly, was fairly swept off his feet.
He came down on his side with a bump that was lost in a roar and a cloud of smoke and dust and swift-stabbing orange flame. When it cleared there was no sign of the burro or its load, no sign of three of the Apaches and their ponies, only a deep gash torn in the ​earth with a fallen splintered cotton wood lying across it. Two Indians were racing wildly down-cañon past the cave, another lay across the dismembered, disembowelled carcass of his pony, himself a bloody mass.
"The dynamite?" said Stone. Harvey nodded.
"I shifted it to Pete this mornin'. The pore cuss has gone out but he sure paid them out for monkeyin' with him. They's one thing," he added, more soberly, "they ain't goin' to let up on us so easy after this."
His reasoning was made evident by the appearance of the remainder of the tribesmen who now came galloping down the cañon with the three other burros of the pack-train. They wheeled for a moment about the remains of their comrades, mutely reading the tragedy and then, with one accord, they faced the cave and, their arms extended, shaking their weapons, yelled in blood-curdling unison.
"We're in for it," said Harvey. "Let 'em have it." The three rifles roared in the hollow. One Indian doubled up, shot through the stomach, sliding from his startled pony. A second gripped at a shattered shoulder. A third rode off among the cottonwoods, swaying in his seat, grip and balance alone sustaining him, a scarlet stream starting to spurt above his left nipple.
"Some shootin'!" exclaimed Harvey as the savages disappeared. "If they'd only show 'emselves we c'ud clean 'em up. Did each of ye hit the one ye aimed at?" he asked, half quizzically.
​"I think I did," said Stone, "I tried for the man on the white horse."
"I'm bloody sure I did," said Larkin, jubilantly. "I hused to be in the Territorials back 'ome before the war broke hout. I wiped the heyes of a bunch of the good uns in the Big Shoot at Bisley. That's height of the Injuns we got now, includin' the one 'Arvey touched up."
"They won't give us many more chances," said Harvey. "I'm tellin' ye, we're up against a hard game. They'll leave us alone fer a bit but they'll send back to the reservation right off now for reinforcements. You men never see an Indian camp when the news of the dead is brought in. The squaws howl for vengeance an' the Apaches are fighters first and last. This 'll stir up a real muss. They'll sneak off the reservation on the quiet, 'count of the troop at Fort Apache, an' they'll have us holed up good. Danm 'em, they got our burros, but we've got ca'tridges for a spell, an' water, an' the bacon an' stuff we lugged across.
"No use makin' a dash for it on foot," he muttered. They're lined up back of them cottonwoods where we can't see them. An' no use wastin' ca'tridges. Got to wait till dark, ennyway."
"What then?" asked Healy from back of the wall.
"Wot then?" parroted Larkin. "Wy, we're goin' to beat it w'ile the beatin' his good, afore they bring up the 'ole bloody reservation. Want to stay 'ere and get scalped or else starve to death, do ye? I don't."
​Healy did not answer the taunt. Since the first sighting of the signal smokes. Stone reflected, the gambler had lost his nerve. Physically, that was. Mentally his processes seemed well enough oiled for his own purposes. Just why Healy was so anxious to collect all the information concerning the locations into one pool, when they were within a few hours of discovery—or so it had seemed until the Apaches took a hand—Stone had not absolutely determined though he was sure the idea was a purely selfish one. He inclined toward the belief that Healy expected to desert with the information at the earliest opportunity. To this theory the suggestion that he and Harvey were in league gave and was given colour. Stone had meant to question Larkin more fully as to whether he had anything but surmise concerning this previous acquaintanceship. Instinctively he trusted Harvey absolutely. It might be that Healy expected or hoped that the Apaches would murder Larkin and Stone after he deserted, leaving him the sole beneficiary, to return later with sufficient force to offset any Indian raid. There was something sinister. Stone was positive, in this persistent effort of Healy to find out all about the locations. And something deeper than cowardice had prompted it, though his fear had spurred his attempt. Something to do, Stone fancied, with the telegrams mentioned by Larkin so much to Healy's dislike.
Now the man did not seem inclined to make any attempt to leave the cave though every hour was apt to increase their peril and diminish their resistance ​from lack of food. They had only what had been laid aside for the noon meal. At any rate. Stone decided, this was no time to thrash out suppositions as to Healy's treachery. They were in dire peril, despite Harvey's suggestion of "snookin' up the cañon after dark."
Stone had their map of the region, none too elaborate, in his hip pocket, and he took it out and laid it on the cave floor to study it. Stone Men Cañon was not shown by name and the general breakdown of Mogollon Mesa only indicated by shadings. Harvey said again that there was a trail to the mesa at the head of the cañon.
"It ain't much but we kin make it, if we git the chance. Top of the mesa thar ain't much to look at. Stretches way to the north fairly level 'cept for San Francisco Peaks. No water as I knows on, though there might be a waterhole or so, nigh that big butte you see thar."
"How about Clear Creek, to the west here?" asked Stone. "It seems to head on the mesa.'"
"Reckon she does," said Harvey. "I never hankered to trail across Mogollon Level myself. But I know where Clear Crick joins the Verde. That's fair in the valley, nigh Camp Verde an' the Santa Fé branch. In civilization. But the head of Clear Crick is a two-day trip, or more, over the mesa, which means over desert. I heerd tell thar was a 'con' camp of some sort started up on the mesa four or five years ago but I don't know rightly wharabouts. We might strike that if we had luck. Otherwise it's ​goin' to be a tough trip. Lucky we got our canteens."
"'Con camp' meaning a tuberculosis sanitarium?" asked Stone.
"Yep. Jest a bunch of tents an' mebbe a shack or two. The tubs eat an' sleep an' live out in the open. They say it cures 'em. They must be water thar but the Lord knows whar it is. We're kinder up against it. I'm goin' to take a shot over among them cottonwoods, jest to see if them devils are thar. We got ter keep our eyes peeled long to'ard dark or they'll rush us when they git help from the reservation. No good mincin' matters, they're after our scalps."
He sighted and fired where some willow scrub masked the lower trunks of a cottonwood clump. Instantly three rifles answered, their lead spatting the limestone over their heads, one bullet singing far back into the cave.
"Better shootin' from whar they are now," commented Harvey. "We best go to work an' fix up a barricade closer the entrance, well as they'll let us. We don't need to show ennything but our hands as we raise it. Then we got to git water. Thar's a trickle back in the cave thet feeds a pool. Kind of limey. We'll hev to go easy on it. And pick up wood for a fire. It's hot enough now, but it's liable to be damn cold later on. One comfort, the 'Paches 'll be chilly, too. That outfit ain't got blankets 'less they fetch some in to 'em."
The afternoon wore on without further molestation ​from the Indians who were apparently content to await reinforcements and the dark. No attempt was made to take into cover the corpses in the open, though now and then shots were fired from the cottonwoods to scare off the buzzards that persistently hovered over the pit blasted by the dynamite.
"They'll git 'em after dark," said Harvey, "'fore the coyotes come down."
They found wood enough from old timbers among the crumbled walls of the cave-house that had once filled the cavity, and they drank sparingly of the water, though the heat was terrific as they lugged up heavy stones and cautiously built up their barricade. What little they were absolutely forced to swallow brought on cramps. Healy took no share in the work and was not asked to.
"Thar's no moon," said Harvey, discussing the chances. "I'm hopin' they'll hold off till dawn an' give us a chance to get away. Mostly the tribes is afraid of the dark 'count of witches. Anything they can't see or don't understand usually feazes 'em, but they used to attack the cliff pueblos nights, when their shamans was with 'em to egg 'em on, an' give 'em protection. They'll be boilin' mad now, 'count of the killin', an' likely the shamans 'll come along. I figger they'll wait till dark 'fore they leave the reservation, but ye can't tell. It's plumb hell waitin'. We better git some grub inter our systems. Dern 'em, they got all our stuff 'cept what was on Pete. They got some of thet, too, they warn't lookin' for."
The meal of bacon and flour-and-water bannocks, ​cocked on hot stones, was eaten slowly to help pass the time. Their cave was on the west side of the cañon and was first to (all in shadow as the sun sank. There was no sound from the Indians, no sign of them though any movements could hare been easily masked by the trees. It was oppressively warm, even after the shadow crept down the eastern side and left the entire ravine in twilight. Harvey sniffed the air.
"Smells kind of coppery," he announced. "Thunder breeding up on the mesa. Might be rain. Doggone my hide, what in tarnation's thet?'
The cave mouth was perhaps thirty feet above the cañon floor. Smoke was beginning to drift up. There was a crackling sound, the smell of burning wood, and occasional floating sparks. Harvey and Stone crawled over their barrier and peered down, screened by the darkness. The silence of the Indians had not been purposeless. Under cover of the trees they had stolen up and down cañon, secured driftwood and other timber, returning cat-footed, close to the western cliff, unobserved and unsuspected, and piled up their fuel against the face of the precipice directly under the entrance, and winging out to right and left. The uneven character of the escarpment protected them now from sight of Stone and Harvey as they stayed under protruding ledges and occasionally fed the fire.
The purpose was plain. The blaze would be kept up through the night, or as long as it served their purpose. There would be no escaping unseen from ​the cave. The last hope vanished. Another meal, two at the most, would see their food gone, even if they were successful in holding off a rush.
Whoops sounded from the direction of the main cañon. They were answered from under the ledges by the firemakers. Then silence. The white men peered in vain into the darkness. The starlight was hazy, the floor of the ravine held ample cover of rock and bush and tree for two hundred foes, skilled in stealthy approach, to gather unseen for one sudden, overwhelming attack. The path to the cave, none too wide for one at a time, evened things somewhat, but to command it they would be forced to expose themselves, and the light from the cunningly laid fires below kept the entrance in a lurid glow. Without doubt the reinforcements had brought more rifles.
"We'll have to wait until they try to jump our wall," said Stone. "It'll be warm work. Better have one of us keep loading or they'll break through as soon as we empty our guns."
"Good scheme," said Harvey. His steady voice was reassuring. Stone's own pulses were pumping with excitement and he could hear the heavy breathing of Larkin beside him in the blackness of the shadow and of Healy farther back still. Diamond Dick Harvey showed no signs of perturbation as he eased the guns in his holsters.
"That'll be your job, 'Ealy," said Larkin. "You hain't too scared to slip in cartridges, I s'pose, are yer?"
​"I could do it better if I had a light," said Healy. It was the first time he had spoken for hours. Some rally of courage had come to him with desperation.
"We're all lit up now on the outside," said Harvey. "Might as well keep a fire goin'. Help our aim a bit, an' we don't want to lose any ca'tridges in the dirt. Might need every last one. Damation, but it's hot."
At the foot of the cliff the fires were blazing fiercely and the heat reflected far back into the cavern. Doubtless an opening had been left to permit use of the path but it was idiocy for the defenders to expose themselves in the glare. They waited in strained silence, only broken by the snapping, hissing flames and the steady roar of the updraught. Then, as if by magic, the crescent opening left between the top of their breastwork and the arching brow of the cave was blocked by wild figures leaping in from the path and swinging down by lines from where they had climbed the cliff to ledges above the cave and now, regardless of the fire, pendulumed in like apes. The night was filled with yells, the first swift swish of arrows, the crack-crack of pistols, the deeper bark of rifles, and then clubbed weapons were whirled in desperate defence against spears and axes. The cave reeked with gases from the powder, echoed with guttural shots, war-cries, and the panting of strong men slugging and struggling.
The attack faltered—died away. Dead Indians lay across the barricade. Some of them had fallen ​from their scant footholds into the furnace below, three had been dragged inside the cave where Harvey had stabbed the last resistance out of one and Stone had smashed in another's skull. Larkin had choked his to submission and then finished him with his own tomahawk. They were not unscathed. Bruises and slashes in the flesh were the worst, however, with nothing serious. Larkin gaspingly cursed at Healy.
"You bloody mucker, you measly quitter!" he panted. "Why didn't yer reload the pistols? Didn't heven 'and hover your hown. You hain't got the nerve of a newborn louse!"
"They got me with an arrow through my right arm," said Healy, exhibiting his wound, with the shaft clinging to the forearm. "I couldn't load with one hand."
Larkin was swift in contrition.
"'Ere, I'm sorry," he said. "I tyke it hall back. Let's 'ave a look at it. Gawd! Went clean through. That barb's narsty."
The metal, sharply serrated point of the arrow protruded a couple of inches from the flesh. The shaft had gone fairly between the two bones. Healy was suffering as much from terror as pain. Stone fancied.
"Think it's poisoned?" the gambler asked, faintly.
"No," said Harvey. "But we got to git it out an' thar's on'y one way." He took the arm and with his knife sheared off the butt of the shaft with its feathers close to the flesh. Then gripping the point ​between his strong fingers he yanked the divided arrow cleanly through. Healy gave one long, shuddering ya-a-ah-ah! and, as the blood spouted, keeled over.
"I'll fix this up best I kin," said Harvey. "You two keep a lookout an' git them guns loaded up. Can't tell what they'll be up to next." He set to work by the firelight to stanch and bandage the arrow wound as Stone and Larkin got ready for the next hostile move.
The surprise element of the attack had failed and the Indians did not seem disposed to repeat the manœuvre. For the time they appeared content to replenish the fire and keep watch. Once or twice either Stone or Larkin tried to peer out but the movement was noted by watchful eyes and a shot responded promptly.
"Nothing to do but sit tight," said Stone.
"Tight hand light," replied Larkin. "I could 'ave et more larst time. Wot's left as my share is a joke. I'll match yer for it. Looks as hif we'd come to the hend of our rope, don't it?" he asked, presently. "Lyman 'ad sense w'en 'e left the stuff halone. His pals got croaked and now we're hup against it for fair. They allus said I'd die wiv my boots on, but not the w'y I'm goin' to."
"They may miss them on the reservation and send the soldiers to round them up," suggested Stone. "No use giving up all hope, Lefty."
"Gawd lumme, I hain't!" answered the Cockney, cheerfully. "'Ere's the w'y I look hat it. If you're ​goin' to go you carn't stop it, can yer? And you can honly go once, so you might has well go smilin'.
"W'ot's the huse of worryin'. It never was worf w'ile; So, pack hall yer trubbles in yer hold kit bag Hand smile, smile, smile.
"The gal loses," he said, presently. "Mebbe the damned gold hain't there hanyw'y. And she never knew hanything habout the stuff, hany'ow. Wow! What's that?"
A sudden, grinding crash was followed by a burst of flame and sparks shooting far up above the cave, live embers falling amid a chorus of yells that tokened surprise and pain. Larkin wriggled over the wall close to the side of the cave and came gliding back to report. A ledge of the limestone had cracked in the intense heat and fallen on the fire, scattering much of it and alarming, if not injuring, some of the Apaches. The half-burned boughs were tossed and spread out for some distance, breaking up the shadows and showing little groups of Indians springing up from where they had been watching the cave, hurrying to and fro in excitement. Harvey came out from Healy to learn what had happened.
"May hev' fixed a few of 'em," he said. "Hope so. But it won't do us much good. They'll keep thet fire goin' and us penned up, doggone 'em. They know we're short on grub, for one thing. Got nothin' to fix up Healy with. Thet wound 'll be in bad shape ​before long, without permanganate or something to disinfect it. Them arrers ain't pizened but they ain't extry clean. Boys, come mornin', if they don't rush us before, our goose is cooked. We'll kill all we kin and I'll tip you off not to let 'em git you alive, for they got a long score ag'in us an' they're an inventive bunch of cusses when it comes to torture. They won't git me. Are ye all loaded?" he went on, standing against the side wall in a shadowed niche and gazing out. "They're fixing for another rush. I kin see the fire on their weapons."
"Ow habout 'Ealy?" asked Larkin. "If they get us?"
"I'll 'tend to him," said Harvey, grimly. "He ain't got the nerve to do it for himself."
"By the way," asked Stone, bluntly. "Did you ever know Healy before this trip? Larkin rather fancied you did. It don't amount to much the way things are, but. … "
"I saw you an' 'im chewin' a long spiel together back of the hotel in Miami," said Larkin. "I was in my room wivout a light. He seemed a bit chummy."
"He asked me not to mention the fac' thet I knew him," said Harvey. "I don't know of any special reason. Since ye ask me p'int blank I'm tellin' ye. He asked me as a favour. I couldn't well refuse him seein' he'd grubstaked me one time down in Cochise County ten year ago. Git ready! See 'em massin' over thar' by the stream? Here they come."
They gripped their weapons as they saw, here and ​there, writhing across the ground for closer cover, Indians in open order. Spurts of fire showed and a hail of bullets drove them back to crouch behind the wall, waiting for the assault that should follow the rifle fire. They had shifted some of the rocks for peepholes though they were not of much use.
"We ought to have blocked thet trail somehow," growled Harvey.
"'Ell!" said Larkin. "W'y don't they come?" And Stone echoed his sentiment.
Suddenly the whole valley was lit up with an incandescent glare of lavender lightning high in the heavens through which javelined a zigzag streak that seemed to rend the sky and let out the fearful crash of thunder that deafened them, while the cliff above them appeared to rock on its foundations and the reverberations rolled reëchoing down the cañon. Another frightful flare followed instantly with more thunder that sounded like the grinding together of great drums of metal. The air was sulphurous, choking. Then, while the peals still shook the narrow valley, there came a sound that topped it, the roaring, lashing noise of many waters.
The fire beneath them hissed and went out in steam. A third flash showed blurry through a wall of rain that fell in heavy volume, its spray drenching them as the mass of it struck the lip of the cave. It was as if the sky had been the roof of a submarine tunnel and the sea had smashed through.
Stone saw Harvey's lips move in the last livid light that flickered before the downpour blotted out every​thing and left them in roaring blackness. He sensed the syllables, "cloud-burst!" The battle of super-heated air strata against the swift cooling at nightfall had bred storm. Vapour, surcharged with moisture, had been driven down the cañon by the suddenly engendered wind, and the dynamics of the tempest had ripped the cloud-bags with frictional electricity. Great vacuums were pierced with wild explosions and primal forces had broken loose in the ravine. Above the turmoil of the cascading water the thunder dully volleyed while they sat dumb, half suffocating. The air of the cavern seemed to have been sucked out and their lungs laboured while their pulses pounded.
The first fury of it could not have lasted many minutes. How long they never knew. But thousands of tons of water had fallen and, when the relieved clouds passed on to beat their sagging remnants against the battlements of the main cañon, the lightning, intermittent now and growing rarer, revealed the whole bed of the ravine changed into a mad torrent of foaming waves in which showed tossing trees ripped from their root-clutch flinging their broken arms about helplessly as they whirled down.
And still they sat speechless, motionless, while the flood that had come to their deliverance mounted until it lapped the level of the cave and even sent a ram in the shape of a stout cottonwood to batter down their barricade and strand there, as if to emphasize their own escape. Slowly the water subsided, ​sucking, seething past, while the cold, damp wind that blew through the cañon as through a chimney, chilled them to the bone.
Harvey replenished the fire. There was no need to save wood now. They had only to wait for daylight to pick their way down to the cañon floor and up through the débris to the mesa trail if they decided on that way out and it proved still feasible. They had nothing more to fear from the Apaches. The bucks had gone on their last war-trail. Nothing living on the bottom of Stone Men Cañon or on that of the main cañon for a considerable distance could possibly have survived that deluge. And only the buzzards would ever count the dead.