Skeleton Lode by Ralph Compton Read Free Book Online Page A

Yavapai and Sanchez.
     
    “What’s Wells and Holt doing?” Davis demanded.
     
    “They have returned for the Indian who once rode with Señor Logan,” said Sanchez.
     
    “We’re already in the foothills to the north of the Superstitions,” Davis growled, “so why are they ridin’ south?”
     
    “Who knows?” said Yavapai, shrugging his shoulders. “It is you who said we are to follow these hombres. You do not say we must know what they are about to do and why they do it.”
     
    Davis choked back an angry reply. He was paying thisinsolent pair twice what they were worth, and
they
were talking down to
him.
He slowed his horse, allowing the rest of the party to catch up, only to encounter more of Paulette’s whining.
     
    “Gary,” she groaned, “I haven’t ridden in years, and this is killing me. I must stop for a while.”
     
    “Go ahead,” said Davis brutally. “The Apaches will put you out of your misery.”
     
    Davis ignored her unladylike response, and Kelly and Kelsey laughed at her plight. Paulette leaned forward, her arms around the horse’s neck, trying to take some of the pressure off her ample backside. Barry Rust wasn’t faring any better, but he had just observed Gary Davis’s less than understanding reaction to complaints from his own wife, so Rust gritted his teeth and rode on.
     
    “Where you reckon this Indian’s takin’ us?” Dallas wondered.
     
    “Likely along the trails Hoss always rode,” said Arlo. “Canyons and washes slope down from the Superstitions and fan out for miles, every one a wilderness of cactus, thorns, and brambles. I’m countin’ on Paiute knowin’ the trails and how to find water.”
     
    “We should have paid more attention when Hoss rambled on,” Dallas said glumly. “But how could we know we’d end up backtrailing him through the Superstitions?”
     
    The Superstitions range extended south to the Salt River, which flowed on to its confluence with the Gila and the San Pedro, just west of Phoenix. They were almost to the Salt before Paiute turned west, entering the Superstitions from the south. In his approach to the mountains, he had chosen the most impenetrable flank possible, but he managed to find a trail where there seemingly was none. He hunched over the neck of his mule, ducking under low-hanging limbs, and pursued a zigzag course westward. They crossed hummocks of solid rock, where nothing grew except cacti, only to plunge immediately into yet another thicket of grease-wood, catclaw, stunted cedar, and a devilish array ofthorn-bearing underbrush whose barbs seemed to reach for any living thing that came close. Out of necessity they rode single file, and Arlo and Dallas had to push hard to keep up with the old Indian. So swiftly did they progress, twisting and turning, that it began to seem as though it was the mule who knew the trail and Paiute was just along for the ride. Suddenly from their back trail, there was a shriek, the frightened nicker of a horse, and the thud of hooves.
     
    “Somebody just lost a horse,” said Arlo. “I hope it wasn’t one of the girls.”
     
    “I’m bettin’ it was the she-buffalo,” Dallas said. “She straddles a horse like an off-balance sack of shelled corn on its way to the mill.”
     
    Only Arlo and Dallas were close enough to observe Paiute’s devious twists and turns. All those in pursuit knew only the general direction the three lead riders were taking as they rode headlong into impenetrable thickets of thorns and brambles. Paulette Davis, fighting the barbs and brambles clawing at her, had been snatched out of the saddle by a low-hanging limb. Her shriek frightened the horse, and the animal almost trampled her as it lit out down the back trail. Gary Davis ignored the furious Paulette and galloped after her fleeing mount. Thankful for any respite from the brutal journey, Barry Rust reined his horse in, as did Kelly and Kelsey Logan. They all regarded Paulette with amusement, which only