CHAPTER VII
Mr. Peter Johnson's arrival in Morning Gate Pass was coincident withthat of a very bright and businesslike sun. Mr. Johnson had made a nightride from the Gavilan country, where he had spent the better part of apleasant week, during which he had contrived to commingle a minimum oflabor with a joyous maximum of innocent amusement. The essence of thesediversions consisted of attempts--purposely clumsy--to elude thevigilance of such conspirator prospectors as yet remained to neighborhim; sudden furtive sallies and excursions, beginning at all unreasonableand unexpected hours, ending always in the nothing they set out for,followed always by the frantic espionage of his mystified and bedeviledguardians--on whom the need fell that some of them must always watchwhile their charge reposed from his labors.
Tiring at last of this pastime, observing also that his playfellows grewirritable and desperate, Mr. Johnson had sagely concluded that hisentertainment palled. Caching most of his plunder and making a light packof the remainder, he departed, yawning, taking trail for Cobre in thelate afternoon of the day preceding his advent in Morning Gate.
He perched on the saddle, with a leg curled round the horn; he whistledthe vivacious air of Tule, Tule Pan, a gay fanfaronade of roisteringnotes, the Mexican words for which are, for considerations of highmorality, best unsung.
The pack-horses paced down the trail, far ahead, with snatched nibblingsat convenient wayside tufts of grass.
Jackson Carr, freighter, was still camped at Hospital Springs. He liftedup his eyes as this careless procession sauntered down the hills; and,rising, intercepted its coming at the forks of the trail, heading thepack-horses in toward his camp. He walked with a twisting limp, his blueeyes were faded and pale, his bearded face was melancholy and sad; but ashe seated himself on a stone and waited for Johnson's coming, some of thesadness passed and his somber face lit up with unwonted animation.
"Howdy, Pete! I heard yuh was coming. I waited for yuh."
Pete leaped from his horse and gripped the freighter's hand.
"Jackson Carr, by all that's wonderful! Jack, old man! How is it withyou?"
Jackson Carr hesitated, speaking slowly:
"Sally's gone, Pete. She died eight years ago. She had a hard life of it,Pete. Gay and cheerful to the last, though. Always such a brave littletrick..."
His voice trailed off to silence. It was long before Pete Johnson brokeupon that silence.
"We'll soon be by with it, Jack. Day before yesterday we was boystogether in Uvalde an' Miss Sally a tomboy with us. To-morrow will be noworse, as I figure it." He looked hard at the hills. "It can't be all asilly joke. That would be too stupid! No jolthead made these hills. It'sall right, I reckon.... And the little shaver? He was only a yearlin'when I saw him last. And I haven't heard a word about you since."
"Right as rain, Bobby is. Goin' on ten now. Of course 'tain't as if hehad his mother to look after him; but I do the best I can by him. Wishhe had a better show for schoolin', though. I haven't been prosperin'much--since Sally died. Seems like I sorter lost my grip. But I aim toput Bobby in school here when it starts up, next fall. I am asking you noquestions about yourself, Pete, because I have done little but askquestions about you since I first heard you were here, four or five daysago."
"By hooky, Jack, I never expected to see you again. Where you been allthese years? And how'd you happen to turn up here?"
"Never mind me, Pete. Here is too much talk of my affairs and none ofyours. Man, I have news for your ear! Your pardner's in jail."
"Ya-as? What's he been doin' now?"
"Highway robbery. He got caught with the goods on. Eight or ninehundred."
"The little old skeesicks! Who'd have thought it of him?" said Petetolerantly. Then his face clouded over. "He might have let me in on it!"he complained. "Jack, you lead me to your grub pile and tell me all aboutit. Sounds real interestin'. Where's Bob? He asleep yet?"
"Huh! Asleep?" said Carr with a sniff that expressed fatherly pride in nosmall degree.
"Not him! Lit out o' here at break o' day--him and that devil horse ofhis, wrangling the work stock. He's a mighty help to me. I ain't veryspry on my pins since--you know."
To eke out the words he gave an extra swing to his twisted leg. They cameto a great freight wagon under a tree, with tackle showing that it was asix-horse outfit.
"Here we are! 'Light down and unsaddle, Petey, and we'll take off thepacks. Turn your horses loose. Bobby'll look out for them when he comes.No need to hobble. There! Wash up? Over yonder's the pan. I'll pour yourcoffee and one for myself. I've eaten already. Pitch in!"
Pete equipped himself with tinware and cutlery, doubled one leg under andsat upon it before the fire. From the ovens and skillets on the embersPete heaped his plate with a savory stew, hot sourdough bread, friedrabbit, and canned corn fried to a delicate golden brown. Pete took adeep draught of the unsweetened hot black coffee, placed the cup on thesand beside him, and gathered up knife and fork.
From the farther side of the fire Carr brought another skillet,containing jerky, with onions and canned tomatoes.
"From the recipe of a nobleman in the county," he said.
"Now, then," said Pete, "tell it to me."
So Carr told him at length the story of the robbery and StanleyMitchell's arrest, aided by a few questions from Pete.
"And the funny thing is, there's a lot of folks not so well satisfiedyet, for all they found the money and notwithstandin' the young fellerhimself didn't make no holler. They say he wasn't that kind. The deputysher'f, 'special, says he don't believe but what it was a frame-up to dohim. And Bull Pepper, that found the money hid in the saddle riggin',says he: 'That money was put there a-purpose to be found; fixed so itwouldn't be missed.'"
He looked a question.
"Ya-as," said Pete.
Thus encouraged, Carr continued:
"And Old Mose Taylor, at the Mountain House--Mitchell got his hearin'before him, you know--he says Mitchell ain't surprised or excited or muchworried, and makes no big kick, just sits quiet, a-studyin', and he'sdamned if he believes he ever done it. Oh, yes! Mose told me if I see youto tell you young Mitchell left some money in the safe for you."
"Ya-as," said Pete. "Here comes your _caballada_. Likely looking horses,Jack."
"A leetle thin," said Carr.
He took six nose-bags, already filled, and fed his wagon stock. Bobbypulled the saddle from the Nan-na pony, tied him to a bush, and gavehim breakfast from his own small _morral_. Then he sidled toward thefire.
"Bobby, come over here," said Bobby's father. "This is your stepunclePete."
Bobby complied. He gave Pete a small grimy hand and looked him overthoughtfully from tip to tip, opening his blue eyes to their widest forthat purpose, under their long black lashes.
"You Stan Mitchell's pardner?"
"I am that."
"You goin' to break him out o' the pen?"
"Surest thing you know!" said Pete.
"That's good!" He relaxed his grip on Pete's hand and addressed himselfto breakfast. "I like Stan," he announced, with his head in thechuck-box.
Pete used the opportunity to exchange a look with Bobby's father.
Bobby emerged from the chuck-box and resumed the topic of StanleyMitchell.
"He'll make a hand after he's been here a spell--Stan will," he statedgravely.
"Oh, you know him, then?"
"I was with him the evenin' before the big doin's. He didn't steal nomoney!"
"What makes you think so?"
"Easy! He's got brains, hain't he? I rode with him maybe a mile, but Icould see that. Well! If he'd stole that money, they wouldn't 'a' foundit yet. Them fellows make me tired!"
Pete made a pretext of thirst and brought a bucket for water from thespring, crooking a finger at Jackson Carr to follow. Carr found himseated at the spring, shaking with laughter.
"Jack, he's all there--your boy! Couldn't any judge size it up better."
"Frame-up, then?"
"Sure! That part's all
right."
"I see you wasn't much taken aback."
"No. We was expectin' something like that and had discounted it. I'm justas well pleased Stan's in jail just now, and I'm goin' to leave him therea spell. Safer there. You remember old Hank Bergman?"
Carr nodded.
"Well, Hank's the sheriff here--and he'll give us a square deal. Now I'mgoin' back to interview that boy of yours some more. I reckon you'reright proud of that kid, Jack."
"Yes; I am. Bobby's a pretty good boy most ways. But he swears somethingdreadful."
"Pull a strap off of him," said Pete warmly. "That's a damn fine boy, andyou want to start him right. That's half the battle."
Pete returned to the fire for a final cup of coffee.
"Young man," he said, "would you know that brown horse Stan was ridin'when you met up with him?"
"Awguan? Sure! I'd know him in hell!" said Bobby.
"Well, Stan turned that horse loose to rustle for himself, of course. Doyou reckon you could stir round and find him for me--if your dad canspare you? I want to go to the railroad to-night, and Awguan, he's fresh.My horses are tired."
"If you don't want that horse," said Bobby, "don't send me after him."
"Now, Jack," said Pete after Bobby had departed on the search for Awguan,"you go away and don't pester me. I want to think."
To the processes of thought, for the space of four pipes, he gave aid byhugging his knees, as if he had called them in consultation. Then hesummoned Jackson Carr.
"How're you fixed for work, Jack?"
"None. I reckon to get plenty, though, when I get my teams fitted up.They're jaded from a lumber job."
"You're hired--for a year, month, and day. And as much longer as youlike. Suit you?"
"Suits me."
"You're my foreman, then. Hire your teams the first thing. Make your ownterms. I'll tell you this much--it's a big thing. A mine--a he-mine;copper. That's partly why Stan is in jail. And if it comes off, you won'tneed to worry about the kid's schooling. I aim to give you, extra, fiveper cent of my share--and, for men like you and me, five per cent of thislay is exactly the same as all of it. It's that big.
"I'm askin' you to obey orders in the dark. If you don't know any detailsyou won't be mad, and you won't know who to be mad at; so you won't jumpin to save the day if I fail to come through with my end of it onschedule, and get yourself killed off. That ain't all, either. Your facealways gives you away; if you knew all the very shrewd people I'mbuckin', you'd give 'em the marble eye, and they'd watch you. Not knowin''em, you'll treat 'em all alike, and you won't act suspicious.
"Listen now: You drift out quiet and go down on the Gila, somewherebetween Mohawk Siding and Walton. Know that country? Yes? That's good.Leave your teams there and you go down to Yuma on the train. I'llget a bit of money for you in Tucson, and it'll be waitin' for you in OldMan Brownell's store, in Yuma. You get a minin' outfit, complete, and agood layout of grub, enough to last six or seven men till it's all gone,and some beddin', two or three thirty-thirty rifles, any large quantityof cartridges, and 'most anything else you see.
"Here's the particular part: Buy two more wagons, three-and-a-half-inchaxles; about twenty barrels; two pack-saddles and kegs for same, forpacking water from some tanks when your water wagons don't do the trick.Ship all this plunder up to Mohawk.
"Here's the idea: I'm goin' back East for capital, and I'm comin' backsoon. Me and my friends--not a big bunch, but every man-jack of 'em to bea regular person--are goin' to start from Tucson, or Douglas, and hug theMexican border west across the desert, ridin' light and fast; you're togo south with water; and Cobre is to be none the wiser. Here, I'll makeyou a map."
He traced the map in the sand.
"Here's the railroad, and Mohawk; here's your camp on the Gila. Just assoon as you get back, load up one of your new wagons with water and gosouth. There's no road, but there's two ranges that makes a lane, twentymiles wide, leadin' to the southeast: Lomas Negras, the black mountaindue south of Mohawk, and Cabeza Prieta, a brown-colored range, fartherwest. Keep right down the middle, but miss all the sand you can; you'llbe layin' out a road you'll have to travel a heap. Only, of course, youcan straighten it out and better it after you learn the country. It mightbe a pious idea for you to ship up a mowing machine and a hayrake fromYuma, like you was fixin' to cut wild hay. It's a good plan always toleave something to satisfy curiosity. Or, play you was aimin' todry-farm. You shape up your rig to suit yourself--but play up to it."
"I'll hay it," said Carr.
"All right--hay it, by all means. Take your first load of water out abouttwenty-five miles and leave it--using as little as you can to camp on.You'll have to have three full sets of chains and whiffletrees for yoursix-horse team, of course. You can't bother with dragging a buckboardalong behind to take 'em back with. Go back to the railroad, take asecond load of water, camp the first night out at your first wagon, andleave the second load of water farther south, twenty-five miles or so.
"Then go back to the Gila and pack the rest of your plunder in this wagonof yours, all ready to start the minute you get a telegram from me. Wireback to me so I'll know when to start. You will have water for yourhorses at twenty-five miles and fifty, and enough left to use when you goback for your next trip. After that we'll have other men to help you.
"When you leave the last wagon, put on all the water your horses candraw. You'll strike little or no sand after that and we'll need all thewater we can get. With no bad luck, you come out opposite the south endof your black mountain the third day. Wait there for us. It's three longdays, horseback, from Tucson; we ought to get to your camp that night.
"If we don't come, wait till noon the next day. Then saddle up, take yourpack-saddles and kegs, and drag it for the extreme south end of themountains on your west, about twenty miles. That ought to leave enoughwater at the wagon for us to camp on if we come later. If you wait forus, your horses will use it all up.
"When you come to the south end of your Cabeza Prieta Mountain, rightspang on the border, you'll find a canon there, coming down from thenorth, splitting the range. Turn up that canon, and when it gets so roughyou can't go any farther, keep right on; you'll find some rock tanks fullof water, in a box where the sun can't get 'em. That's all. Got that?"
"I've got it," said Carr. "But Pete, aren't you taking too long a chance?Why can't I--or both of us--just slip down there quietly and do enoughwork on your mine to hold it? They're liable to beat you to it."
"I've been tryin' to make myself believe that a long time," said Peteearnestly; "but I am far too intelligent. These people are capable of anyrudeness. And they are strictly on the lookout. I do not count myselftimid, but I don't want to tackle it. That mine ain't worth over six oreight millions at best."
"But they won't be watching me," said Carr.
"Maybe not. I hope not. For one thing, you'll have a good excuse to pullout from Cobre. You won't get any freighting here. Old Zurich has got itall grabbed and contracted for. All you could get would be a subcontract,giving you a chance to do the work and let Zurich take the profit.
"Now, to come back to this mine: No one knows where it is. It's prettysafe till I go after it; and I'm pretty safe till I go after it. Oncewe get to it, it's going to be a case of armed pickets and Who goesthere?--night and day, till we get legal title. And it's going to takeslews of money and men and horses to get water and supplies to thoseminers and warriors. Listen: One or the other of two things--two--isgoing to happen. Count 'em off on your fingers. Either no one will findthat mine before me and my friends meet up with you and your water, orelse some one will find it before then. If no one finds it first, we'velost nothing. That's plain. But if my Cobre friends--the push thatrailroaded Stan to jail--if they should find that place while I'm back inNew York, and little Jackson Carr working on it--Good-bye, Jackson Carr!They'd kill you without a word. That's another thing I'm going back toNew York for besides getting money. There's something behind Stanley'sjail trip besides the copper prop
osition; and that something is back inNew York. I'm going to see what about it.
"Just one thing more: If we don't come, and you have to strike out forthe tanks in Cabeza Mountain, you'll notice a mess of low, little,insignificant, roan-colored, squatty hills spraddled along to the southof you. You shun them hills, bearing off to your right. There's where ourmine is. And some one might be watching you or following your tracks.That's all. Now I'm going to sleep. Wake me about an hour by sun."
* * * * *
Mr. Peter Johnson sat in the office of the Tucson Jail and smiled kindlyupon Mr. Stanley Mitchell.
"Well, you got here at last," said Stan. "Gee, but I'm glad to see you!What kept you so long?"
"Stanley, I am surprised at you. I am so. You keep on like this andyou're going to have people down on you. Too bad! But I suppose boys willbe boys," said Pete tolerantly.
"I knew you'd spring something like this," said Stan. "Take your time."
"I'm afraid it's you that will take time, my boy. Can't you dig up anyevidence to help you?"
"I don't see how. I went to sleep and didn't hear a thing; didn't wake uptill they arrested me."
"Oh! You're claiming that you didn't do the robbin' at all? I see-e!Standing on your previous record and insistin' you're the victim of foulplay? Sympathy dodge?... Hum! You stick to that, my boy," said Petebenevolently. "Maybe that's as good a show as any. Get a good lawyer.If you could hire some real fine old gentleman and a nice little oldgray-haired lady to be your parents and weep at the jury, it might help aheap.... If you'd only had sense enough to have hid that money where itcouldn't have been found, or where it wouldn't have been a give-away onyou, at least! I suppose you was scared. But it sorter reflects back onme, since you've been running with me lately. Folks will think I shouldhave taught you better. What made you do it, Stanley?"
"I suppose you think you're going to get me roiled, you old fool! You'vegot another guess, then. You can't get my nanny! But I do think you mighttell me what's been going on. Even a guilty man has his curiosity. Didyou get the money I left for you?"
Pete's jaw sagged; his eye expressed foggy bewilderment.
"Money? What money? I thought they got it all when they arrested you?"
"Oh, don't be a gloomy ass! The money I left with Old Man Taylor; themoney you got down here for preliminary expenses on the mine."
"Mine?" echoed Pete blankly. "What mine?"
"Old stuff!" Stanley laughed aloud. "Go to it, old-timer! You can't fazeme. When you get good and ready to ring off, let me know."
"Well, then," said Pete, "I will. Here we go, fresh. And you may not bejust the best-pleased with my plan at first, son. I'm not going to bailyou out."
"What the hell!" said Stan. "Why not?"
"I've thought it all out," said Pete, "and I've talked it over with thesheriff. He's agreed. You have to meet the action of the Grand Jury,anyhow; you couldn't leave the county; and you're better off in jailwhile I go back to New York to rustle money."
"Oh--you're going, are you?"
"To-night. You couldn't leave the county even if you were out on bond.The sheriff's a square man; he'll treat you right; you'll have a chanceto get shut of that insomnia, and right here's the safest place in PimaCounty for you. I want a letter to that cousin of yours in Abingdon."
"'Tisn't Abingdon--it's Vesper. And I'm not particularly anxious to tellhim that I'm in jail on a felony charge."
"Don't want you to tell him--or anybody. I suppose you've told your girlalready? Yes? Thought so. Well, don't you tell any one else. You tellCousin Oscar I'm your pardner, and all right; and that you've got a mine,and you'll guarantee the expenses for him and an expert in case they'renot satisfied upon investigation. I'll do the rest. And don't you letanybody bail you out of jail. You stay here."
"If I hadn't seen you perform a miracle or two before now, I'd see youdamned first!" said Stan. "But I suppose you know what you're about. It'smore than I do. Make it a quick one, will you? I find myself bored here."
"I will. Let me outline two of the many possibilities: If I don't bailyou out, I'm doin' you dirt, ain't I? Well, then, if Zurich & Gang thinkI'm double-crossin' you they'll make me a proposition to throw in withthem and throw you down on the copper mine. That's my best chance to findout how to keep you from goin' to the pen, isn't it? And if you don'ttell Vesper that you're in jail--but Vesper finds it out, anyhow--thatgives me a chance to see who it is that lives in Vesper and keeps intouch with Cobre. And I'll tell you something else: When I come back I'llbail you out of jail and we'll start from here."
"For the mine, you mean?"
"Sure! Start right from the jail door at midnight and ride west. Zurich &Company won't be expecting that--seein' as how I left you in the lurch,this-a-way."
"But my cousin will never be able to stand that ride. It's a hundred andsixty miles--more too."
"Your cousin can join us later--or whoever ever comes along withdevelopment money. There'll be about four or five of us--picked men. I'mgoin' this afternoon to see an old friend--Joe Benavides--and have himmake all arrangements and be all ready to start whenever we get back,without any delay. I won't take the sheriff, because we might havenegotiations to transact that would be highly indecorous in a sheriff.But he's to share my share, because he put up a lot more money for themine to-day. I sent it on to Yuma, where an old friend of mine and thesheriff's is to buy a six-horse load of supplies and carry 'em down tojoin us, startin' when I telegraph him.
"Got it all worked out. You do as I tell you and you'll wear diamonds onyour stripes. Give me a note for that girl of yours, too."