Read Online Skeleton Lode by Ralph Compton - Free Book Online
Authors: Ralph Compton
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Western Stories, Westerns, Teamsters, West (U.S.) - History, Superstition Mountains (Ariz.)
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Arlo, “remember there are peaks all along the eastern rim. Even if the western rim
is
the horizon on the map, there’s miles and miles of mountain. We still won’t know at what point we must stand or how we’re to recognize the particular peak Hoss refers to.”
“We’re missing something Hoss is trying to tell us,” said Dallas. “I can’t believe he’d leave us without some sign to identify the peak.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Arlo replied. “We’ll have to wait until we get up there. Maybe Hoss is just gettin’ us into position for the mountain to tell us what we need to know.”
It was near dark when Arlo and Dallas returned to camp. They found Paiute frying fish. He nodded toward a willow thicket, and there they saw the pack mule, fully loaded. Without a word, Arlo and Dallas led their still-saddled horses into the willows and picketed them with the mule. Once supper was done, they put out the fire, and when a full moon rose over the Superstitions, Paiute mounted his mule. Arlo and Dallas followed suit and, leading the pack mule, trailed Paiute into the forbidding mountains. It was hard going for a while as the three made their way up the southern end of the range. Then the underbrush began to thin out, and they eventually reached a plateau. In the Superstitions, as in most western mountain ranges, a series of saddlebacks connected the different peaks. As they progressed to the higher elevations, Arlo and Dallas made an alarming discovery. There was no graze! The mountain’s surface seemed flint-hard—and where there was no vegetation, there certainly would be no water.
Eventually Paiute led them through a gap in the western rim, and they followed a deep gash down the side of the mountain, with stone walls towering above their heads. It was a trail that would be invisible from below, ending on a narrow ledge that became a tunnel anglinginto the side of the mountain. Paiute slid off the mule and led the animal. Arlo and Dallas dismounted also and followed, with their horses and the mule. They could hear the welcome sound of running water somewhere ahead. Their footsteps and those of the shod horses and mules rang hollow on the solid rock beneath their feet. The passage soon widened into a cavern as large as Hoss Logan’s cabin, water splashing down a back wall to form a pool and starlit sky visible through an aperture high above their heads. Clearly, this had long been a haven for Hoss, for there was every evidence of a permanent camp. A good supply of firewood had been laid in, and near the center of the cavern was a stone fire ring. From some concealed nook, Paiute brought out a quart bottle in which a cork stopper protected a supply of sulfur matches. The Indian lit one and used it to fire a pine pitch torch, allowing Dallas and Arlo to better appreciate the sanctuary. At one end of the cavern, a portion of the floor had been covered with straw, obviously as an accommodation for Hoss Logan’s mule. There was half a sack of barley and a second unopened hundred-pound sack. Camp utensils consisted of a three-legged iron spider, an iron pot and skillet, and a blackened coffeepot.
“No wonder Hoss could stay out for months at a time,” said Dallas. “With enough grub, a man could spend his life here.”
“That hole in the roof opens out somewhere on the western rim,” Arlo said, “likely up high enough that it’s never been discovered.”
“Why don’t we just unload the pack mule and let this be our permanent camp?” Dallas suggested.
“Good idea,” said Arlo, “but we’ll have to come and go at night. We also have to find some graze for the horses and mules. They can’t survive on just grain, even if we could afford to buy it. Sooner or later, that bunch that’s been followin’ us will find their way to the top, and I don’t want them knowing about this camp. Before we’re done, I think we’ll need the security we have here.”
Dallas and
is
the horizon on the map, there’s miles and miles of mountain. We still won’t know at what point we must stand or how we’re to recognize the particular peak Hoss refers to.”
“We’re missing something Hoss is trying to tell us,” said Dallas. “I can’t believe he’d leave us without some sign to identify the peak.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Arlo replied. “We’ll have to wait until we get up there. Maybe Hoss is just gettin’ us into position for the mountain to tell us what we need to know.”
It was near dark when Arlo and Dallas returned to camp. They found Paiute frying fish. He nodded toward a willow thicket, and there they saw the pack mule, fully loaded. Without a word, Arlo and Dallas led their still-saddled horses into the willows and picketed them with the mule. Once supper was done, they put out the fire, and when a full moon rose over the Superstitions, Paiute mounted his mule. Arlo and Dallas followed suit and, leading the pack mule, trailed Paiute into the forbidding mountains. It was hard going for a while as the three made their way up the southern end of the range. Then the underbrush began to thin out, and they eventually reached a plateau. In the Superstitions, as in most western mountain ranges, a series of saddlebacks connected the different peaks. As they progressed to the higher elevations, Arlo and Dallas made an alarming discovery. There was no graze! The mountain’s surface seemed flint-hard—and where there was no vegetation, there certainly would be no water.
Eventually Paiute led them through a gap in the western rim, and they followed a deep gash down the side of the mountain, with stone walls towering above their heads. It was a trail that would be invisible from below, ending on a narrow ledge that became a tunnel anglinginto the side of the mountain. Paiute slid off the mule and led the animal. Arlo and Dallas dismounted also and followed, with their horses and the mule. They could hear the welcome sound of running water somewhere ahead. Their footsteps and those of the shod horses and mules rang hollow on the solid rock beneath their feet. The passage soon widened into a cavern as large as Hoss Logan’s cabin, water splashing down a back wall to form a pool and starlit sky visible through an aperture high above their heads. Clearly, this had long been a haven for Hoss, for there was every evidence of a permanent camp. A good supply of firewood had been laid in, and near the center of the cavern was a stone fire ring. From some concealed nook, Paiute brought out a quart bottle in which a cork stopper protected a supply of sulfur matches. The Indian lit one and used it to fire a pine pitch torch, allowing Dallas and Arlo to better appreciate the sanctuary. At one end of the cavern, a portion of the floor had been covered with straw, obviously as an accommodation for Hoss Logan’s mule. There was half a sack of barley and a second unopened hundred-pound sack. Camp utensils consisted of a three-legged iron spider, an iron pot and skillet, and a blackened coffeepot.
“No wonder Hoss could stay out for months at a time,” said Dallas. “With enough grub, a man could spend his life here.”
“That hole in the roof opens out somewhere on the western rim,” Arlo said, “likely up high enough that it’s never been discovered.”
“Why don’t we just unload the pack mule and let this be our permanent camp?” Dallas suggested.
“Good idea,” said Arlo, “but we’ll have to come and go at night. We also have to find some graze for the horses and mules. They can’t survive on just grain, even if we could afford to buy it. Sooner or later, that bunch that’s been followin’ us will find their way to the top, and I don’t want them knowing about this camp. Before we’re done, I think we’ll need the security we have here.”
Dallas and
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