# Dead Man's Gold/Chapter 7
### CHAPTER VII
#### suspicion

STONE rolled himself up in his blanket but found it hard to sleep. At last he dozed off to wake with a start. Harvey was still on watch. But across the fire, wrapped in their blankets but close together, Healy and Larkin were whispering. The low tone might have been out of thoughtfulness for his slumbers. It was pitched so that he could not distinguish words, only the soft, confidential sibilation. And, like the magic ear of corn that the Indian shamans caused to grow to fruition, the seed of suspicion flourished in the soil of Stone's spirit. Why were Healy and Larkin conspiring at such an hour? It could be no ordinary thing they had to discuss in such a fashion. Lyman had been wise indeed when he had said: "I know what gold does to men." It bred lust, greed, suspicion, hatred, even murder.
The whispering went on, ceased, picked up again, halted, ended. Once more Stone dropped off into uneasy sleep. He woke with the sky olive overhead and one or two faint stars withdrawing, the sound of cicadas whirring, the grateful odour of coffee in his nostrils. He sat up. Harvey was bending over the fire. The other two were snoring. The summit of ​Promontory Peak was vermilion in the sunrise and the rim of the cañon wall beyond the stream was blood red. Outlined against the sky was the figure of a savage on a spotted pony, motionless as if carved from stone, gazing down into the little camp. Stone hissed at Harvey, who looked up.
"An Indian. On the cliff across the stream."
"Uh-huh!" answered Harvey. "I twigged him when he first showed up on the skyline. Let him look his belly full. He ain't goin' to spile my breakfast. That's part of their game, to scare us off. But it's a cinch that the deadline they're goin' to draw is somewheres close by. They won't start nothin' very serious until we're close on that line. Your friend Healy says he knows the location of the camp you want to make. If it's this side of where they figger to stop us, you're in luck. If it ain't, we'll try diplomacy. If that don't work you better content yoreselves with some other location. It'll be healthier. I reckon, though, we're safe as fur up as Stone Men Cañon. They didn't worry me none time I went in to it, prospectin' an' goin' through them caves I told you of. I didn't go all the way up the cañon, though. Not as fur as the men."
"What men?"
"The two the place is named fur. You 'member me tellin' you 'bout the lime streams runnin' out of the rocks, that petrifies anything the water teches? They say thar's a deep pool to'ard the head of the cañon, nigh to where thar's a goat trail up to the top of the big mesa. A tenaya. That's Spanish for sink. ​Wal, they say thar's two men in the bottom of it, turned to stone. Mebbe they fell off'n the cliff. Mebbe someone killed 'em an' pitched 'em in. No way to cover up a murder, you'll say. I'll agree with that, but they may have been left as a warnin'. Like crows in a cornfield. But, as I was sayin', the Indians didn't bother me none. 'Course I might hev' bin lucky an' they didn't see me."
Stone's imagination was kindled by the thought of the two men changed to stone before their dead bodies could decompose, lying in the pool by the trail, a grim "keep-off" sign. He wondered how long they had been there. Lyman's talk about his ancient partners came back to him; "Dave" and "Lem" had gone in to try and relocate and had never come back. Lyman had "figgered the 'Paches got 'em long ago." Dave had had two men with him. Lem had taken in five or six. Were these silent monuments Dave and one of his two, or Lem and a follower? It seemed plausible that it might be one of the two. Few white men came this way. Nothing far east of the green valley of Verde River was considered worth looking into save by foolhardy prospectors. The name of the creek they were following showed that. Tonto Creek—Fool Creek!
"Are the two men whites or Indians?" he asked Harvey.
"You kin search me. Mebbe it's all a fake. Desert's full of yarns. I don't believe all of 'em an' I don't figger to say any of 'em ain't true. Anything might happen out here. That lookout's ​vanished. We'll likely see more of 'em after breakfast. We got to eat, anyyway. Hey, thar, git out an' up," he called to the sleepers. "Chuck's ready."
Healy and Larkin stirred, sat up and yawned, rose and stretched. Harvey swiftly sliced bacon into the frying pan and poured red-hot ashes on the lid of his Dutch kettle where his campbread was baking.
"If you'd got up early enough," he grinned at Healy, "you might hev' caught some of them trout you was talkin' about last night. They's some nice ones over by that rock. See 'em risin'? Did ye bring enny tackle with ye?"
They sat down to breakfast cheerily, the swift sun warming them as it mounted and swept the little valley that ran east and west. The act of breaking bread together seemed somehow to Stone to dissolve much of the suspicion engendered by the night. Yet there was little in common between the four of them save the bond of gold that held the partners. And Stone resolved to ask Larkin what he and Healy had been whispering about.
Harvey said nothing about the Indian sentinel and Stone followed suit. There was no sense in spoiling a good breakfast. But after the dishes had been scrubbed with sand and water, and the burros reladen, Harvey called them into council.
"I figger we'd better aim for Stone Men Cañon fer a noon camp," he said. "They's good water there aside from the lime stuff. You needn't be afraid of a petrified stummick. An' this time of year they's good grass for the burros. Also thar's them ​caves I was talkin' to ye of. We might need 'em, case of trouble."
"What trouble?" asked Healy. "Indians?"
"Exactly. You saw their smoke yestiddy. Mister Stone an' me seen one givin' the camp the once-over this mornin' before breakfast. We didn't want to spile yore appetites so we said nothin' about it. But I expec' to see more of 'em afore the mornin's over. Nothin' like bein' prepared. We're afoot an' they're mounted. Some of 'em may have rifles. They hide 'em when they're on reservation, but they gen'ally manage to git hold of some with cartridges. They's allus some skunk to trade 'em to 'em. Now, a young 'Pache warrior, an' it's on'y the young bucks thet go off the reservation on the trail, would rather hev a scalp than anything in the world. Nex' to that comes a rifle an' then whisky. We ain't got no whisky to speak of but we got scalps an' rifles. If they come in close an' begin beggin' fur terbacky you kin giv' 'em some if you've a mind to, but let it stop thar. Don't git mad at 'em. Don't let 'em paw ye over or tech yore weapons, whatever happens. Smile at 'em an' keep firm. An' don't fire till it seems sart'in they're goin' to. One shot an' hell starts to poppin'. Better let me do the talkin', even if they spring any English. Keep close together. Me an' Larkin 'll go ahead, Stone an' Healy in the rear, with the burros in between."
There was a grim character to his instructions that left no doubt as to Harvey's belief that they might be needed. Stone did some serious thinking.
​"Before we go ahead," he suggested, "I want to have a talk with both of you chaps. It's about Harvey," he went on as the three of them drew aside from where Harvey tested the hitches of the burro packs.
"There's no sense in having Harvey lie to the Indians about us being here to investigate cavedwellings. The minute we start work on the placer they'll be down on us. We can't send Harvey home. We need him now more than ever. I don't think we've ever fooled him, in the first place. There will be plenty of gold for all of us, if we get any at all. His interests are bound up with ours not to give the snap away when we get back to the settlements. Let's be frank with him and let him in on the deal."
"If it hain't all a bunk," suggested Larkin.
"What put that into your head. Lefty?"
"Oh, I dunno. Too good to be true, as the bloke said w'en they told 'im 'is muvver-in-law was dead and 'ad left 'im a forchune. 'Arvey sez gold sign is scarce up this w'y. 'E was lookin' for it an' never seed any. But let 'im in for all I care."
"How about you, Healy?"
"Let him in on the placer, if you want to. No sense in tipping off everything. That wall will have to be worked with crushing machinery if it amounts to anything. I'll vote to give him a share in the placer. But there's another thing. I was talking to Lefty about it last night when you were asleep. Stone."
Stone, remembering his suspicions, listened eagerly.
​"Any one of us three is likely to be killed, if we have trouble with the Apaches, before we reach the gold at all. If Lefty is the one, or you, the rest are bunked out of everything. We've signed an agreement binding ourselves and our heirs and all that sort of thing. There's no use in hanging on to secrets that belong to the pool. I've done my part so far and I'm willing to tell the rest of what I know. If I'm killed you and Lefty will be powerless to do anything but turn back. Let's all come clean. No sense in mystery any longer."
He spoke plausibly enough but Larkin winked across at Stone from behind Healy's back. Stone took the cue.
"What did you tell him, Lefty?"
"I told 'im that, since the war, no agreement looked hany better to me than a scrap of pyper, not heven the League of Nashuns. Lyman 'ad 'is reasons for splittin' up the thing the w'y 'e did. I'm for stickin' to it. Hit's a bizness deal, to begin wiv, and, in biz'ness an' in cards I don't trust nobody to hover look my 'and hor play it. Lor', lummy, I wouldn't trust my own wife."
"I agree with Lefty," said Stone, serenely regardless of the scowl on Healy's face. "This is Lyman's money, left to us in trust, and I believe he had a right to dictate the terms in which that trust should be carried out. Lefty and I will take a chance of losing out if you get killed, Healy, before we get to the head-waters, and so on through the whole combination."
"Let's each write down our directions and keep ​the paper," said Healy. "That's fair enough. Lyman didn't mean that two of us should lose out entirely if one got killed."
"I ain't so bloomin' sure about that," said Larkin. "Wot's the good of beatin' all round the bloody bush? The on'y one Lyman reely trusted was Mister Stone there. 'E didn't trust me hover much and 'e trusted you a sight less, Healy. No use gettin' sore hover it. Wot 'e told me hain't a patch on w'ot 'e told Stone. Stone's got the big thing in this. If Lyman had wanted to play the thing different, 'e'd 'ave done it. Stone's right, it's Lyman's money, if 'e is dead."
"How do I know you and Stone aren't in cahoots over this thing?" said Healy. "You seem mighty thick, and mighty fussy over handling it your own way." Larkin's face seamed itself into belligerent ugliness. He walked over to Healy and stood almost touching him, his nose on a level with Healy's chin.
"Look 'ere, you bloody fakir," he said in a voice that was quiet enough but which made Healy's face turn ashy under his tan. "You saw w'ot Stone did to that Mexican in Castro's? That ain't a circumstance to w'ot I'll do to you if I ever start on yer. I'll bash yore dial in till yore own muvver wouldn't know yer. It's no guff I'm givin' yer. I'm straight wiv my pals, I am, if I am a crook. But you—you're yeller and you know that I know it. You're so crooked they could sell your finger-bones for corkscrews. Tyke your 'and aw'y from that gun 'andle. If you touch it I'll tyke it aw'y from you, and I'll ​beat your brains to a bloody pulp wiv it, so 'elp me Gawd!"
There was something appalling about the quiet voice, charged with absolute determination, and Healy backing slowly away from the Cockney, his face gray and his jaw sagging in the bright sunshine.
"If I'm thick wiv Stone," went on Larkin, "it's becos Stone an' me is straight. You—you hain't heven straight wiv yourself. I've seen you cheat yourself at solitaire, I 'ave. If you're playin' this hon the level, w'ot habout hall the tellygrams you've sent and 'ad sent to you? W'ot price that one the landlord of the Matrix at Miami slipped to you, tucked into a newspaper? Don't figger you can fool me, Frank Healy, you bloody card-shuffler. And I'll tell you one thing more"—he set the tip of his forefinger on Healy's breastbone and the gambler shuddered—"if I wanted, hany old time, to get hout of you hall you know habout this location of Lyman's, hall I 'ad to do was to poke a gun hinter your ribs and you'd 'ave squealed it hout like a pig w'en the knife begins to let the air inter 'is froat. You're a coward and a cheat hany time you think you can git aw'y wiv it. But not wiv me. I got your number and it's larst hunder the wire hevery time. Now you know w'y I don't tip you off before'and to what I know. And you know w'y Stone don't do it, becos w'ot I just told you is w'ot 'e thinks, honly he's more careful of 'is langwidge and time than I am."
Larkin turned away contemptuously from the gambler, who mopped from his forehead more ​nervous sweat than ever the sun had extracted. He did not look at Stone, who had affected not to notice the character of the conversation, but who had not failed to see the startled expression in Healy's shifty eyes when Larkin mentioned the telegrams. The Cockney had targeted there, whether or not he had sped the shaft at random.
It had only taken a few minutes before Larkin had said his say and strutted away, for all the world like a pugnacious sparrow. Harvey had fixed his diamond-hitches to his liking and they started off, in the face of the sun, up the valley.
The stream was beginning to narrow fast, the cañon walls were getting lower, broken up here and there by side ravines. The water ran in fretting trickles alternating with cascades, and the way was steadily uphill. Ahead, the masses of the Mogollon Mesa swung southward where they entered the Indian reservation. Stone moved up beside Harvey for a few minutes, leaving Healy alone.
"Before you get into any palaver with the Indians, Harvey," said Stone, "I want to set you right about the purpose of this trip of ours. We have talked it over and decided it would be unwise, and unfair, to keep our reason covered any longer. We have got definite directions where to find gold near the head-waters of this creek. There should be a great deal of it. You, of course, will have your opportunity to stake a claim or so."
The Desert Rat cocked a droll eye at Stone and another at Larkin on the other side of him.
​"I can't say you're givin' me a heap of information," he said, "I've packed yore outfit three mornin's now and, outside of a camera, I ain't seen much in the writin' an' sketchin' line an' I have noticed a pick or two, not to mention a shovel or so with a couple of flasks of mercury and a few other things, sech as that box marked explosives, that made me fancy you might be goin' to do a leetle prospectin'. More 'n that, I fancy it ain't the first time you've handled a pick or sledge, Mr. Stone. Yore hands are nice-shaped enough but they've got calluses on 'em that never came from pushin' a pen. But it was squar' to tip me. I ain't denyin' it's goin' to make things more difficult—if they happens to be any gold up this cañon which, personally, I doubts. They ain't any in Stone Cañon, I know that. But the Indians might leave you alone if they thought you was jest takin' picters an' sech, providin' we made our talk good. But gold's different, whether they know it's there or not. In the first place, it's only their shamans who are allowed to tech it. They do git some of it, despite Gov'mint regulations, an' trade it for rifles an' booze an* ca'tridges. They know the value of it all right and they consider all the gold nigh their reservations their proputty. Sacred metal, sort of. Gift from the gods, the shamans say. Also they figger that, if any amount was found nigh their reservations, they'd be turned off to some other place while the white men established a diggings, an' they're sort of sick about bein' moved on.
"They's one thing thet ain't gen'ally known, but ​its a fac'. Nigh on to eighty years ago, when the United States made a treaty with Guadalupe Hidalgo of Mexico to take over all this territory, before, durin' and after the war with Mexico, our Gov'mint gave a solemn pledge to give the Indians all the rights of American citizenship, includin' the ballot. Wal, they ain't bin let to vote none. But they ain't forgot it. I don't hold myself in favour of Indians in general, or 'Paches in special, but they got some real grievances. If they see us diggin' gold they's goin' to be an argyment. No use side-steppin' that fac'. An', I don't want to discouridge ye, but I don't believe they's gold in this region. If there was they'd be some on these bars an' I washed this crick pritty thorough up as fur as Stone Men Cañon."
Larkin's face was ludicrous in its disappointment.
"I 'ad a 'unch it was hall a bunk," he said. Stone laughed. He took from his pocket a metal matchbox into which he had emptied the contents of the quills. The specimens from the Madre d'Oro he did not display. Harvey opened the box and shook out some of the gleaming grains on to his palm.
"Prime stuff," he said, "but you didn't see it taken up."
"We're lookin' for a dry placer, Harvey," said Stone. "Isn't it possible, if this placer once drained into this creek we're on, that a log or a ledge of rock at its mouth might form the core of a sandbar big enough to stop the freshets from washing down the gold into the main stream?"
"Yes, sir," answered Harvey, "that might happen. ​Or—git back that with Healy! Here come the 'Paches both sides of us. 'Member what I told ye this mornin'. Don' take no notice of 'em unless they close in. Git back and watch out for Healy. Thet's why I wanted you to be with him. He's shy on sand."