CHAPTER TWELVE
THE MURDER ON THE BEACH
At this moment the cook stuck his head in at the open door.
"Say, you fellows," he complained, "I got to be up at three o'clock.Ain't you never going to turn in?"
"Shut up, Doctor!" "Somebody kill him!" "Here, sit down and listen tothis yarn!" yelled a savage chorus.
There ensued a slight scuffle, a few objections. Then silence, and thestranger took up his story.
I had a chum named Billy Simpson, and I rung him in for friendship.Then there was a solemn, tall Texas young fellow, strong as a bull,straight and tough, brought up fighting Injins. He never said much,but I knew he'd be right there when the gong struck. For fourth man Ipicked out a German named Schwartz. He and Simpson had just come backfrom the mines together. I took him because he was a friend ofBilly's, and besides was young and strong, and was the only man in townexcepting the sailor, Anderson, who knew anything about running a boat.I forgot to say that the Texas fellow was named Denton.
Handy Solomon had his boat all picked out. It belonged to some Basqueswho had sailed her around from California. I must say when I saw her Ifelt inclined to renig, for she wasn't more'n about twenty-five feetlong, was open except for a little sort of cubbyhole up in the front ofher, had one mast, and was pointed at both ends. However, Schwartzsaid she was all right. He claimed he knew the kind; that she was thesort used by French fishermen, and could stand all sorts of trouble.She didn't look it.
We worked her up to Yuma, partly with oars and partly by sails. Thenwe loaded her with grub for a month. Each of us had his own weapons,of course. In addition we put in picks and shovels, and a small caskof water. Handy Solomon said that would be enough, as there was watermarked down on his chart. We told the gang that we were going trading.
At the end of the week we started, and were out four days. Therewasn't much room, what with the supplies and the baggage, for the fiveof us. We had to curl up 'most anywheres to sleep. And it certainlyseemed to me that we were in lots of danger. The waves were muchbigger than she was, and splashed on us considerable, but Schwartz andAnderson didn't seem to mind. They laughed at us. Anderson sang thatsong of his, and Schwartz told us of the placers he had worked. He andSimpson had made a pretty good clean-up, just enough to make them wantto get rich. The first day out Simpson showed us a belt with about anhundred ounces of dust. This he got tired of wearing, so he kept it ina compass-box, which was empty.
At the end of the four days we turned in at a deep bay and came toanchor. The country was the usual proposition--very light-brown,brittle-looking mountains, about two thousand feet high; lots of sageand cactus, a pebbly beach, and not a sign of anything fresh and green.
But Denton and I were mighty glad to see any sort of land. Besides,our keg of water was pretty low, and it was getting about time todiscover the spring the chart spoke of. So we piled our camp stuff inthe small boat and rowed ashore.
Anderson led the way confidently enough up a dry arroyo, whose sideswere clay and conglomerate. But, though we followed it to the end, wecould find no indications that it was anything more than a wash forrain floods.
"That's main queer," muttered Anderson, and returned to the beach.
There he spread out the chart--the first look at it we'd had--and setto studying it.
It was a careful piece of work done in India ink, pretty old, to judgeby the look of it, and with all sorts of pictures of mountains anddolphins and ships and anchors around the edge. There was our bay, allright. Two crosses were marked on the land part--one labelled "oro"and the other "agua."
"Now there's the high cliff," says Anderson, following it out, "andthere's the round hill with the boulder--and if them bearings don'tpoint due for that ravine, the devil's a preacher."
We tried it again, with the same result. A second inspection of themap brought us no light on the question. We talked it over, and lookedat it from all points, but we couldn't dodge the truth: the chart waswrong.
Then we explored several of the nearest gullies, but without findinganything but loose stones baked hot in the sun.
By now it was getting towards sundown, so we built us a fire ofmesquite on the beach, made us supper, and boiled a pot of beans.
We talked it over. The water was about gone.
"That's what we've got to find first," said Simpson, "no question ofit. It's God knows how far to the next water, and we don't know howlong it will take us to get there in that little boat. If we run ourwater entirely out before we start, we're going to be in trouble.We'll have a good look to-morrow, and if we don't find her, we'll rundown to Mollyhay[4] and get a few extra casks."
"Perhaps that map is wrong about the treasure, too," suggested Denton.
"I thought of that," said Handy Solomon, "but then, thinks I to myself,this old rip probably don't make no long stay here--just dodges in andout like, between tides, to bury his loot. He would need no water atthe time; but he might when he came back, so he marked the water on hismap. But he wasn't noways particular AND exact, being in a hurry. Butyou can kiss the Book to it that he didn't make no such mistakes aboutthe swag."
"I believe you're right," said I.
When we came to turn in, Anderson suggested that he should sleep aboardthe boat. But Billy Simpson, in mind perhaps of the hundred ounces inthe compass-box, insisted that he'd just as soon as not. After alittle objection Handy Solomon gave in, but I thought he seemed sourabout it. We built a good fire, and in about ten seconds were asleep.
Now, usually I sleep like a log, and did this time until aboutmidnight. Then all at once I came broad awake and sitting up in myblankets. Nothing had happened--I wasn't even dreaming--but there Iwas as alert and clear as though it were broad noon.
By the light of the fire I saw Handy Solomon sitting, and at his sideour five rifles gathered.
I must have made some noise, for he turned quietly toward me, saw I wasawake, and nodded. The moonlight was sparkling on the hard stonylandscape, and a thin dampness came out from the sea.
After a minute Anderson threw on another stick of wood, yawned, andstood up.
"It's wet," said he; "I've been fixing the guns."
He showed me how he was inserting a little patch of felt between thehammer and the nipple, a scheme of his own for keeping damp from thepowder. Then he rolled up in his blanket. At the time it all seemedquite natural--I suppose my mind wasn't fully awake, for all my headfelt so clear. Afterwards I realised what a ridiculous bluff he wasmaking: for of course the cap already on the nipple was plenty to keepout the damp. I fully believe he intended to kill us as we lay. Onlymy sudden awakening spoiled his plan.
I had absolutely no idea of this at the time, however. Not theslightest suspicion entered my head. In view of that fact, I havesince believed in guardian angels. For my next move, which at the timeseemed to me absolutely aimless, was to change my blankets from oneside of the fire to the other. And that brought me alongside the fiverifles.
Owing to this fact, I am now convinced, we awoke safe at daylight,cooked breakfast, and laid the plan for the day. Anderson directed us.I was to climb over the ridge before us and search in the ravine on theother side. Schwartz was to explore up the beach to the left, andDenton to the right. Anderson said he would wait for Billy Simpson,who had overslept in the darkness of the cubbyhole, and who was nowpaddling ashore. The two of them would push inland to the west until ahigh hill would give them a chance to look around for greenery.
We started at once, before the sun would be hot. The hill I had toclimb was steep and covered with chollas, so I didn't get along veryfast. When I was about half way to the top I heard a shot from thebeach. I looked back. Anderson was in the small boat, rowing rapidlyout to the vessel. Denton was running up the beach from one directionand Schwartz from the other. I slid and slipped down the bluff,getting pretty well stuck up with the cholla spines.
At the beach we found Billy Simpson lying on his ace, shot
through theback. We turned him over, but he was apparently dead. Anderson hadhoisted the sail, had cut loose from the anchor, and was sailing away.
Denton stood up straight and tall, looking. Then he pulled his belt ina hole, grabbed my arm, and started to run up the long curve of thebeach. Behind us came Schwartz. We ran near a mile, and then fellamong some tules in an inlet at the farther point.
"What is it?" I gasped.
"Our only chance--to get him--" said Denton. "He's got to go aroundthis point--big wind--perhaps his mast will bust--then he'll comeashore--" He opened and shut his big brown hands.
So there we two fools lay, like panthers in the tules, taking our onlyone-in-a-million chance to lay hands on Anderson. Any sailor couldhave told us that the mast wouldn't break, but we had winded Schwartz aquarter of a mile back. And so we waited, our eyes fixed on the boat'ssail, grudging her every inch, just burning to fix things to suit us alittle better. And naturally she made the point in what I now know wasonly a fresh breeze, squared away, and dropped down before the windtoward Guaymas.
We walked back slowly to our camp, swallowing the copper taste of toohard a run. Schwartz we picked up from a boulder, just recovering. Wewere all of us crazy mad. Schwartz half wept, and blamed and cussed.Denton glowered away in silence. I ground my feet into the sand in ahelp less sort of anger, not only at the man himself, but also at thewhole way things had turned out. I don't believe the least notion ofour predicament had come to any of us. All we knew yet was that we hadbeen done up, and we were hostile about it.
But at camp we found something to occupy us for the moment. Poor Billywas not dead, as we had supposed, but very weak and sick, and a holesquare through him. When we returned he was conscious, but that wasabout all. His eyes were shut, and he was moaning. I tore open hisshirt to stanch the blood. He felt my hand and opened his eyes. Theywere glazed, and I don't think he saw me.
"Water, water!" he cried.
At that we others saw all at once where we stood. I remember I rose tomy feet and found myself staring straight into Tom Denton's eyes. Welooked at each other that way for I guess it was a full minute. ThenTom shook his head.
"Water, water!" begged poor Billy.
Tom leaned over him.
"My God, Billy, there ain't any water!" said he.
[4] Mulege--I retain the Old Timer's pronunciation.