# Arizona Argonauts/Chapter 7
### CHAPTER VII
#### STUNG!

SANDY MACKINTAVERS was desert-wise, so far as automobile travel was concerned. He did not travel without spare water-bags and length of rolled chicken-wire, and at Meteorite he had fitted his flivver with a running-board pump.
After passing the marble cañon and negotiating the stretch of bad land where volcanic ash sifted into the air and obsidian glittered under foot, Murray steered the flivver down into the basin where all road was lost, where the loose sifting sands were blazing with the heat of an inferno, and where the car bogged down into the bottomless dust. Sandy deflated the tires, and when this would no longer serve, utilized the chicken-wire to run out of holes; by some miracle of desert sense, he managed to hold the right direction, although the rude map furnished them by Piute was useless to Murray.
It was nearly evening when they arrived at the spot dignified by the name of Morongo Valley, and the westering sun transmuted the sterile scene into one of glorious radiance and scarlet-tinged hues. All around stretched the peaks of the Dead Mountains, not clothed with the glorious forests of New Mexico, but with their naked eminences now gleaming in blue and scarlet fires of sunset, their valleys long streamers of darker purples, their bald slopes a yellow golden glory.
The valley itself was a box cañon, a small one, the upper end a solid mass of greenery. There was water here—a tiny trickle, that had been brought from the hillside to vivify the upper flat, and had given its precious life to all the higher slopes, before it lost itself in the farther sands.
The road, better preserved here, led them to the shack of Hassayamp. It was scarce worthy the name of shack—a rough erection of boards and scraps of tin, designed only to afford shelter from the elements. Sandy, standing beside the car and scrutinizing the hill-slopes, pointed upward.
"That's the mine, I'm thinkin'—that contraption o' timbers halfway up. It seems to have caved in. We're not interested in that, however; ruby silver is what'll make us sit up! Time for that in the morning."
Murray viewed the interior of the shack, and declared for sleeping in the open air.
They were up and about by sunrise. Murray was cool and rather sardonic in regard to the whole affair, but Mackintavers was cheerful and blithe as any boy of a prospector on his first search for earth-gold. The sight of that glittering silver ore, that wondrous ruby silver ore whose arsenic had ruined many a man and whose silver content had made thousands rich, was like a tonic in the blood of Sandy.
By evening they had gone over the ridge wherein lay the unfortunate Hassayamp, and had found no ruby silver vein. They had struck gold in promising lodes, but gold was naught before the ruby silver—if they found it. Sandy continued cheerful, and Murray was coolly complacent, doing as Mackintavers bade him but frankly without hope of success.
With the following morning, they took picks and labored valiantly until shortly before noon. Then Murray descried a little group of figures breaking its way toward them—not from the direction of Two Palms, but from the north, from the desert of the Colorado. The group resolved itself into two plodding, patient burros and the nondescript outline of a desert rat. The latter greeted them as they met him at the shack.
"Howdy, pilgrims! Seen your smoke this morning and sinct I was headin' in for town anyhow, I come this way. My land, but you're in style, ain't ye! Autobile an' all—say, is that a real autobile? I seen one oncet, las' time I was over to Eldorado—but sho! Here I be, forgettin' all decency! My name's George Beam, gents, though most folks address me as Sagebrush."
"Glad to meet you," said Sandy cordially, completing the introductions, "and ye better sit in with us for a snack, old-timer. Any luck?"
"Ain't kickin' none," said Sagebrush, combing the sand from his wealth of sodden gray whiskers. His eyes followed Murray. "Say, is them real bakin' powder biscuits ye got? Well, I never! They look real good, too, for them kind; I allus had a notion folks ought to study sour-dough more back in the settlements, but mebbe there's somethin' to bakin' powder——"
Sagebrush drifted along garrulously, glad of a chance to talk. Presently, when the coffee had been finished and pipes were lighted, he gazed around and grew personal.
"This here is a good place," he observed, "if it's quartz you're after, gents. If it don't intrude none, what ye lookin' for?"
Mackintavers chuckled, and produced his ruby silver samples.
"This," he answered laconically. "Know it?"
Sagebrush took the samples, inspected them, and then began to grin widely.
"Ruby silver!" he ejaculated. "Ye don't mean to say—my gosh! Pilgrims, I'm right pained to hear tell o' this, but——"
"Huh?" queried Sandy with a grunt. "What d'ye mean?"
"Ye didn't allow them samples come from here, did ye?"
"Understood so," returned Sandy, frowning. "What d'ye mean, huh?"
Sagebrush grinned again. "Why," he said, hefting the samples, "las' time I seen these here spec'mens, they was reposin' on the desk o' Piute Tomkins, back to Two Palms. Piute brung 'em home from Tonopah three year ago, and was right proud of 'em, too. I reckon that there no-account Deadoak pirated 'em from him and passed 'em off on you. Deadoak is right smart, some ways——"
Murray looked at the gaping Mackintavers, and rolled over with a shout of laughter.
"Stung, Sandy!" he cried, sitting up. "Hurray! The bad man of New Mexico stung by a simple Arizona native—whoop! The biter got bit—oh, Sandy, Sandy! And look at the big blisters on my perfectly good hands——"
Sandy growled something inarticulate, then rose to his feet.
"I'm goin' to look at them quartz lodes," he grunted. "See ye later!"
Sagebrush gazed after him with sober mirth.
"Too bad ye got took in," he observed. "But I'm right glad ye take it calm, pilgrim. If ye didn't get bit too deep, ye got a fine place right here. Me, I like to git farther away from settlements—too many folks around spoil the desert. But if ye like this here oasis, she ain't bad. Say, if you're a doctor, wisht ye'd look at that there Jenny burro o' mine. She ain't been right peart for two-three days; kind o' down on her feed. Ye might light right on what she needed——"
Murray assented and strolled over to the burro in the train of Sagebrush. The whimsical irony of it struck him full; Douglas Murray, peer of the finest surgeons in the land, giving advice upon a sick burro! But he gave the advice, and grinned as he watched the aged desert rat shuffle off down the valley with his animals.
Sagebrush wended his way down the valley in patient tolerance of sun and sand. But of a sudden he wakened to the startling fact that his name was being called; amazedly, he peered up at the hillsides, shaded his eyes with his hand, and descried the figure of Deadoak Stevens approaching, carefully leading one of Piute's cayuses down the rocky descent.
An hour afterward, Deadoak was riding up to the shack in the valley, with a fine appearance of just finishing the end of a toilsome journey. A meeting with Sagebrush had afforded him a plan of campaign. He observed Murray sitting before the shack cleaning a revolver, and dismounted with a cheerful greeting; his cheerful expression vanished quickly, however, when Murray pointed the revolver at him and rose, blazing with wrath.
"So you've come to the scene of your crime. Deadoak! Put those hands up—that's right! And stand still—don't back away; you've nowhere to back."
"Wh-what's the matter?" stammered the paralyzed Deadoak.
"The matter?" repeated Murray. "You know! You've defrauded honest men, and now you're going to settle up. If you've any last words to say, say 'em quick! My finger's trembling on the trigger. Tonight you'll be reposing under that tree; we're here alone, Deadoak Stevens, and you shall perish lit the hands of the man whom you——"
Deadoak trembled, and his jaw sagged.
"Say!" he croaked. "I—I—honest, now, I come out here to square things up! I heard that Mac was lookin' for ruby silver—them samples was a mistake! Piute said he'd put 'em in with Hassayamp's stuff one time. I rid here to——"
"What!" Murray lowered his weapon, in genuine amazement. Deadoak leaped at the chance.
"Yep, that's right. Doc! I didn't go to defraud nobody! If you ain't satisfied with the deal, I'll take back the prop'ty and no hard feelin's—that's what I rid out here to say, if ye give me a chance. Ding my dogs, I ain't no gunman. P'int that thing another way!"
Murray obeyed.
"You don't mean that you'll take back the property? At the price we paid?"
"Certain!" assented Deadoak, fervently virtuous and hugely relieved. "Give ye a profit, if ye feel bad. Why, Doc, we wouldn't go to pirootin' no pilgrims—future denizens o' this here great an' glorious Two Palms! We wouldn't have ye feel that we was anythin' but honest an' simple natives, welcomin' you to our midst. We'll go to 'most any length to make things good. If we'd knowed that Mac was attracted by them ruby silver samples—which same I didn't know—we'd have run down the thing then an' there——"
"Hold on," interjected Murray. "Here's Mackintavers now."
Sandy had descried the arrival of the visitor from afar, and was now hastening toward the cabin. It was a rare thing, an unknown thing, for Sandy Mackintavers to meet any man who had successfully bilked him; he arrived upon the spot somewhat out of breath, and gazed upon Deadoak more in sorrow than in wrath.
Deadoak, however, hastened to avoid any trouble by apprising Sandy of the reason which he avowed had caused his visit.
"And now," he added, screwing up his leathery countenance into sanctimonious lines, "I stand ready to do the right thing, gents. I'm offerin', this bein' on behalf o' me and Piute together, what ye paid for the prop'ty and five hundred to boot."
"What about your mortgage?" queried Sandy shrewdly.
"Include that in the takin' back if ye like. All I want is to do the right thing."
"All right," said Sandy. "Murray, let me speak with ye to one side."
Deadoak sat down and rolled a cigarette. Taking Murray's arm, Sandy mopped his face and walked out of earshot, then he paused. As he met Murray's puzzled gaze, an earnest look crept into his heavy features.
"Ye'll leave this matter to me?" he queried. "In other words, will you be willing to let me gamble for the good o' the firm?"
Murray smiled quizzically. "Go as far as you like, Sandy! I'll back your play."
"And if we go broke on it, no hard feelings?"
Murray laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't be a fool! We're men and not children. Play your own game!"
Sandy looked vastly relieved, then strode back to Deadoak.
"Well, now, your proposition is good," he said cordially, even genially. "I'm proud to meet a man like you, Deadoak Stevens! We thought you and Mr. Tomkins had trimmed us, and were inclined to be sore about it—now that we've found the mistake, we apologize."
"Then you take me up?" queried Deadoak eagerly.
"No."
"Wh—what! Ye said no?"
"Of course!" returned Sandy warmly, taking no heed of the thunderstruck look which had clouded Deadoak's staggered features. "Would we take advantage of ye that way? Not us! We're not that sort! We don't whine, Deadoak; we're not kids. We'll keep what we got, and make the best of it!"
Deadoak's countenance was a study in futility.
"You—d'ye mean——" he choked, then continued feebly. "Have ye found somethin'?"
"Maybe, we have!" Sandy beamed upon him. "Just between ourselves, friend, I'll tell ye that we have. So—ye see?" His wink was significant.
"I see," agreed Deadoak mournfully.
"'Twill make ye rejoice, no doubt," pursued Sandy, "to know that our luck was good. We appreciate your disinterested——"
"'Senough!" blurted Deadoak, turning. "I'll be weavin' back, I guess. So long."
"Won't ye wait till mornin', anyhow?" queried Sandy with concern.
"Nope, thanks."
Dejectedly, hopelessly, Deadoak stumbled to his cayuse, pulled himself aboard, waved a limp hand, and rode down the valley. He was slumped in the saddle like a man who sees no hope in the future.
"He's mighty cheerful over something," said Murray drily, and chuckled.
"Cheerful?"
"Well, Sandy, suppose you elucidate? Why did you turn him down?"
Sandy faced his friend and made a wide gesture. "Murray," he said earnestly, "I'm playin' a hunch. Why should that fellow come here and make us an offer? I don't know—but there was something behind it. We've got something that somebody wants. And I've a notion who that somebody is."
"Oh!" Murray gave him a keen glance. "Then you really found something?"
Sandy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Come with me and I'll show you."
Murray accompanied him past the shack, up toward the head of the canyon. Sandy led the way to one side, where a high rocky wall formed a solid background. Before this was a stretch of sand, perfectly level, a hundred feet wide; this was enclosed on either hand by a low growth of manzanita, whose grotesque, wine-red limbs curled eerily in the sunlight.
"Look there," said Sandy, pointing.
On either side of this little clearing, a stake had been thrust into the sand. About the head of either stake, had been bound a scrap of red paper. One scrap had been torn away by the wind. On the scrap which fluttered from the other stake, was a flaring black Chinese ideograph.
"Aiblins, now," said Sandy, while Murray examined the paper, "that looks like a chink laundry-man's mark, eh? And ye said that the chink, Tom Lee, had been out here and was comin' home when ye treated his leg. What did he put those stakes in for?"
"I'll bite," said Murray, gazing at the scene with a frown of perplexity. "What?"
"Blamed if I know," returned Sandy.