Mystery of the Haunted Mine

13 Trapped

The canyon was quiet again except for the moaning of the wind. The acrid odor of burnt powder drifted away. Nothing had been seen of the hidden marksman except the quick, stabbing spurt of flame from his rifle muzzle. His accuracy had been remarkable at that distance, firing uphill and in the uncertain light. If he had done nothing else, he had at least cleared poor Lije Purtis of any suspicion — not that it would help Lije now.

Gary passed the shotgun to Tuck and took the rifle. Tuck was a good shot but not in a class with Gary. There was no use in fooling themselves. The chips were down and it might soon be a question of kill or be killed. Strangely enough to Gary, there was almost a feeling of relief within him as he peered through the shifting light. He had become tired of the unknown and the unseen. He knew now it was no ghost that haunted the Espectros. It was a man of flesh and blood, armed with a heavy-caliber rifle, who thought nothing of killing. Lije Purtis had known who he was; therefore Lije had died. It was as simple as that.

This time Gary would shoot to kill rather than fire warning shots as he had done at the shadowy figure who had been watching for them that moonlit night in the canyon of the water hole.

Lobo rounded a huge slab of rock and dropped to the ground beside Gary. Gary looked curiously at the dog. If it had been Lije Purtis whom Sue had seen, it was logical enough that Lobo wouldn't have barked at him. Lobo knew Lije and knew he was harmless. What puzzled Gary was the fact that Lobo was so calm now. Had he seen the man who had killed Lije? Did he know that man as well as he had known Lije? Was that why he was so unconcerned?

Tuck was evidently puzzled as well. He looked down at Lobo and then up at Gary, shrugging his shoulders. Gary worked his way over to Tuck. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Quien sabe? Lobo must know who it is. Someone he thinks is all right."

"That's what I'm thinking. On the other hand, if it was Asesino, he wouldn't stay any longer in one spot than it takes to fire a shot. He's too slick for that, Tuck."

Thunder rumbled in the sky. A few cold drops of rain pattered quickly on the rocks. Gary eyed the position they were in. The mine was just below them, probing beneath the sheer cliff behind them. To the right and the left the cliff walls curved down toward the floor of the canyon. Before them was the tangled slope covered with shattered rock from which the killer had fired. If he were still on that slope he could easily see anyone trying to make the floor of the canyon. When full darkness came he could move in, taking his chances on the fact that Lobo knew him. He could wait through the darkness of the night, watching and listening for any movement, and when the light of dawn flooded the canyon, he could pick his position so that he could see a fly crawling across those rocks near the mine.

Gary took stock. They had enough water for another day or so and enough food for about the same amount of time — with short rations, of course. Gary had a full magazine in his rifle and about a dozen extra cartridges, totaling twenty rounds; Tuck, with the short-range shotgun, had only half a dozen cartridges. At close range the shotgun was a deadly weapon, but if the unseen marksman stayed away from it he would be safe enough.

The wind shifted and carried another sound with it — a thin, mocking laugh that came from up high. Gary raised his rifle, but he decided there would be no sense in shooting at the elusive voice. Maybe that was what the killer wanted; the quick, spurting of fire from the Winchester would enable him to pinpoint Gary. The way he could shoot, he'd hardly need more than that.

Tuck paled. He crouched lower, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the shotgun. He looked toward the sound of the voice, and even as he did so the swift red-orange spurt of flame etched itself high on the canyon wall to the right. The slug splattered itself on the rock a yard above the two boys as the echo of the shot tumbled in raucous confusion down the canyon.

"Get down," said Gary. He jumped up and then dropped. The rifle flashed again. This time Gary saw the darkness of a man behind the flash of the rifle, and he fired twice. He knew instantly that he had fallen victim to the instinctive bad habit of firing too low when shooting upward.

The mocking laughter came again from a different place. There was an eerie, haunting quality about it, as though it came from the lips of a madman.

Gary lay low. The quick sight he had had of the man had been long enough for him to see that the man did not wear a hat. He remembered the old saying of years ago in Arizona in reference to fighting Apaches. "Shoot 'em if they don't wear a hat!" It was a fair rule of thumb.

"Asesino?" queried Tuck hoarsely.

"I don't know."

"Who else could it be?"

They were interrupted by a shaky little voice emanating from the shaft behind them. "I'm scared down here," said Sue.

"I'm scared up here," said Tuck.

Darkness was swiftly filling the canyon. The thought of lying there in the open in the coming darkness with a madman stalking them was a frightening one. Ten minutes passed. Something struck the rocks ten feet in front of them and shattered, scattering shards of broken rock through the air like grenade fragments. A moment later another rock plummeted down and crashed five feet to one side of Tuck. He grunted in pain as a bit of the rock slashed across the back of his right hand. The laughter floated across the canyon and echoed back so that no one could say where it came from, so confusing were the echoes. The laughter was followed by the crashing impact of more rocks.

"Get into the shaft," said Gary quickly.

"We'll be trapped," said Tuck.

"You want your skull smashed! We haven't any choice!"

Tuck scuttled down the ladder. Gary backed up against the rock wall. He pulled up the nylon rope and tied it about Lobo, then lowered the heavy dog into the shaft. It was too dark to see anything now. Swiftly he lowered their gear down into the hole. He looked up at the dark rim of the canyon and saw someone flit past, then vanish. "Who are you?" he yelled. "What do you want?" The echoes fled down the canyon. "Who are you? Who are you? Who are you? What do you want? What do you want? What do you want?" They died away to be replaced by the moaning of the dusk wind.

There was no answer. Gary glanced once more toward the still form of poor Lije Purtis. His last words came back to Gary. "I followed him through that cave way back there, at the water hole. I was goin' to ask him for some…" What had he wanted from the unknown?

The voice came clearly from the darkness, now to the left. "Asesino… Asesino… Asesino…" It was followed by that eerie, mocking laughter slowly dying away.

Gary wasted no time, He clambered down the chicken ladder, with the strong premonition that it wasn't quite the thing to do; they might be trapped in there forever. But there was no choice. He was confused and he could not think clearly. "Get back into the drift," he said.

The three of them stood there in the pool of light from the bull's-eye lamp. The draft played about them. Gary looked along the dark drift. "The draft means there must be an opening somewhere along there," he said.

"Somewhere," echoed Tuck. He swallowed hard.

"It's a chance we have to take," said Gary.

Tuck looked upward. "Maybe he knows where the opening is. Maybe he'll be waiting there for us."

"Cut it!" snapped Gary. "We've got guns! We can shoot too! We're not licked yet!"

"Hear! Hear!" said Sue.

Something pattered on the floor of the shaft.

Gary flashed the lamp that way. Silvery drops of rain showed in the yellow light. Faintly and insistently the muttering of thunder came to them.

"Well anyway, we're out of the rain," cracked Tuck. He subsided immediately when he saw the looks shot at him.

"Keep guard here, Tuck," said Gary. "I'm going to explore this drift." He walked to the pile of sotol stalks he had seen and gathered some of them, returning to Tuck to give him the lamp. He lighted one of the sotol stalks and started down the tunnel, followed by Lobo. "Go back," he said. He went on alone, following the winding passage, holding the flaring stalk high. His footsteps echoed on the hard, dusty floor of the drift. Now and then he had to squeeze under dangerous places where the props had sagged; at other times he had to clamber over piles of rock and earth that had fallen from the sides and top of the drift. It was reassuring to feel the constant draft blowing about him. The air was a little musty, but it was fresh enough to indicate that it came from the outside, no matter how far it was up the drift.

Here and there were the dark and narrow entrances to crosscuttings. Some of them had been filled by earth and rock when the props collapsed. Some of them were not very deep. The old miners had followed the winding of the vein, scooping out the rich ore wherever it was. So far he had seen nothing of the ore itself, for they had been thorough enough in their digging. He wasn't much interested at this point in the legendary tales of the wealth of the Lost Espectro, if this was indeed the Lost Espectro. He knew now that life was more precious than finding the treasure reputed to be buried in the old mine. Lead fever had replaced gold fever; the lead from Asesino's rifle.

The flickering light revealed a roughly squared-off room cut into the drift. Suddenly, Gary realized he had just enough of the sotol stalks to light his way back to the shaft. He peered into the room, saw that there was a further continuation of the drift on the opposite side, then turned back. He did not want to have to traverse any of the distance back in the darkness.

The last stalk flickered out as he turned the last bend in the drift before reaching the shaft. The light went out and he was in complete darkness. He should have been able to see the light from the lamp by now. He hesitated as he stared into the blackness, feeling sweat from his perspiring hands beginning to grease the stock of his rifle. Supposing something had happened to his two friends? Supposing he was now alone in that drift? Supposing somebody was waiting for him in the blackness after disposing of Sue and Tuck?

He tried to call out but his mouth was as dry as ashes. Then he whistled softly. Something pattered on the floor of the tunnel and he heard Lobo's welcoming bark. "Tuck?" called Gary softly.

"Quiet!" said the lean one from the blackness.

Gary felt his way along until he touched Tuck. "What is it?"

"We thought we heard someone up there."

Gary cocked his head to listen. The rain was still pattering down and some of the drops fell into the shaft. He was about to chide Tuck for a false alarm when he heard the scuffling of feet at the top of the shaft. He stepped back into the drift and raised the shotgun. Gravel dropped into the shaft. A moment later the eerie, mocking laughter came to them. There was a haunting madness to it.

This time Lobo sensed something. He barked savagely and then growled deep in his throat. Gary held him back as more gravel tumbled into the shaft. If that unknown made a move to reach the chicken ladder he would meet the full blast of both shotgun barrels. And even Asesino couldn't evade that.

There was a scuffling noise and something heavy dropped at the top of the shaft. Gary reached for Tuck and took the lamp from his hands. The scuffling noise came again. This time Gary chanced a light, flicking it up the shaft in time to see a heavy tree trunk fall across the opening and the quick withdrawal of a wet hand. He saw, with a sickening conclusion, that there were several other timbers already in place across the narrow opening. He flicked out the light as gravel tumbled down toward him.

Cold sweat trickled down Gary's sides. The madman was blocking them in as he had blocked the dry entrance to the cavern far back in the canyon of the water hole. "What do you want?" yelled Gary. "Tell us! What do you want?" His voice seemed to boom in the shaft.

"Gold," said a faraway-sounding voice. "The gold…"

"We haven't found any!"

Gravel trickled down again. The scuffling continued. Gary chanced another lighting of the lamp. This time he clearly saw the wet face peering down between two of the logs. The dark hair, bound by a dirty wet cloth, and painted across the nose were two bands of white paint, while the dark eyes seemed to burn with madness and hate. Then the face vanished and the eerie laughter drifted down to them again.

Gary stepped back. His hands were shaking. Tuck gripped him around the shoulders. "Who was it?"

Gary shivered. "It was him all right. Asesino. I saw him, Tuck. I saw him!" Gary's voice rose sharply.

Tuck's hand cracked against Gary's head. "Snap out of it, amigo!" he said. "Don't you go loco on us! We need you, Gary! You can't let us down now!"

Gary's nerves calmed down. "Thanks," he said quietly. "Never thought I'd be thanking a fella for bopping me."

Gary walked back into the drift. They could hear their attacker hard at work up there, blocking the way. It would have been better to have hunted for him, as he had hunted for them. But with a man like that, an outlaw hunted for so many years, his senses would have been honed to the edge native only to animals.

"He said he only wanted the gold," said Sue.

"He said he wanted gold, and there wasn't any only in what he said," corrected Tuck. "In the first place, we haven't got any gold. In the second place, if we did have it, and we let him have it, do you think he'd let us get out of here alive?"

Lobo was now almost in a paroxysm of rage. He barked and growled, and the sound of it was a terrible thing. Gary finally managed to quiet him. There was no sound coming from above. Gary aimed the light up the shaft again. All he could see were the logs, with packed dirt and rock showing between them. They had been neatly sealed into the shaft, and there wasn't any doubt in Gary's mind about who was waiting up there for them if they tried to dig their way to freedom.

Gary lighted the lamp again when he was in the drift. "Come on," he said. "There's air coming in here from somewhere. We've got food and water. We're not licked yet!"

Tuck grinned. "I never thought I'd have to belt you, Gary, but now that I did, I'm not sorry. ¡Adelante!"

Gary led the way back to the large squared-off room and into the drift beyond it. Ten minutes later the three of them stopped in dismay. The drift had narrowed and a heavy fall of rock had almost completely sealed the passageway. Air drifted through the narrow space between the top of the drift and the piled-up debris. Gary crawled up the pile and flashed the lamp over it. The air blew damply against his face, but he could see little with the lamp. They'd have to dig through.

The three of them set to work, with Sue relieving the boys in turn, while Lobo stood guard behind them. Now that the entrance to the shaft had been sealed behind them, the draft died away and the stifling dust hung heavily in the drift, but the air was fresh enough.

Gary was ten feet into the pile when Sue crawled up beside him. "Maybe we ought to rest," she suggested wearily.

Gary shook his head. "No," he said. "We keep on!"

"It's after eleven o'clock, Gary!" she protested.

Gary jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. "He isn't sleeping," he said quietly. She knew whom he meant.

Hours passed, and then Tuck weakly drove his entrenching tool against a big rock. The handle snapped and then the rock slid heavily down a steep slope, followed by Tuck riding the slide to the bottom of the drift. Gary crawled after him and flashed the weakening lamp up the drift. The way seemed clear enough now. The two of them crawled through their little tunnel to get Sue. She was sound asleep with her back against a pit prop and with Lobo's head nestled on her lap.

Gary walked partway back into the drift to listen. It was as quiet as the grave. He winced mentally at the simile. That squared-off room had been puzzling him all night. He walked slowly back to it and flicked out his lamp to replace the batteries. He lighted the lamp again and instantly saw a niche cut into the far wall with something resting upon it.

"Come on, Gary!" called Tuck. "The bus is leaving!"

"Wait a bit!"

The two Brownes came into the room. Gary walked toward the niche and flashed the lamp upon the shelf. His breath caught in his throat. There were half a dozen objects resting upon it, somewhat brick-shaped, but about half the size of a common brick, and the edges were roughly rounded. Dust was thick upon them. He reached out a hand and then quickly withdrew it, stepping back to flash the light on the roughly hewn wall.

"What is it, Gary?" asked Tuck.

Gary turned slowly. "I think we have found what we've been looking for," he said quietly.

"A way out?"

"No. Gold, amigo!"

"Those bricks?"

Gary nodded.

"Let's get 'em and get out then!" Tuck started forward.

"Wait!" snapped Gary.

Tuck turned slowly. "Why? You loco?"

Gary shook his head. "We've got to watch for traps." He picked up his entrenching tool and firmly lashed it to the barrels of the shotgun. He raised the gun, then jerked his head at the two Brownes. "Get back into the drift," he cautioned. He reached forward, slid the edge of the tool beneath an end brick, and lifted it up. He turned and passed it back to Tuck. Again he reached out and scooped up another brick, passing it back to Tuck. Sweat appeared on his brow as he lifted the third one. Nothing happened. He was almost ready to grab the rest of them by hand, but something held him back. He scooped up the fourth brick and as it cleared the shelf, something creaked dryly.

"These are pure gold!" said Tuck wildly.

"Gold!" shrieked Sue. "Gold!" She danced madly about. "Get the rest of 'em! GOLD!"

Gary began to lift the fifth brick, and as he did so the creaking noise came again, but this time it was louder. He dropped the brick and jumped back. As he did so Tuck flashed the light on the wall. The wall was moving, falling forward with a creaking, grating noise. Then it fell heavily and solidly, some of the material striking Gary's feet. The wall was completely collapsed, and the rays of the lamp reflected dully off piles of the roughly shaped bricks set into the hewn-out area behind the wall. Then the roof dropped to conceal the amassed wealth of the Lost Espectro. Gary slammed full tilt into Tuck and Sue, driving them along the drift as rock and earth thudded behind them, raising a thick, choking cloud of dust. "Run!" yelled Gary. He turned to look back. Tuck flashed the lamp and through the thickening dust they could see a bizarre sight. A lean wet face, streaked with white paint, peered through the swirling haze, then the mouth opened to shriek madly.

Gary raised the shotgun and wildly fired both barrels, not even bothering about the lashed entrenching tool that thrust itself out from the barrels like a spade bayonet of ancient times. The noise from the gun was deafening. The face vanished behind the dust and more falling rock and earth. Gary did not stop to see the result of his firing. He was running for dear life along the drift, with rock and dirt pattering down behind him. He saw Tuck's legs wriggling out of sight atop the tunnel block and he dived in after them. Tuck broke into the open and slid wildly down the slope, with Gary helter-skelter, head over heels, atop his partner and Lobo atop Gary.

Gary handed the shotgun to Tuck and took the rifle. The three of them had their gear slung about them. It was no time to be choosy. There was one way to go. They slogged on along the echoing drift, spurred on by their fear.

Twice more they had to clear their way through blockages, but they were nothing as compared to the big one far behind them. The drift sloped upward and the draft became stronger; a wet, freshening smell replaced the dusty odor of the drift.

Gary rounded a sharp turn in the tunnel and saw a steep slope. He scrambled up it. They had been climbing steadily almost since the time they had left the gold cache. Water was trickling along the side of the drift now and he could have sworn he heard the faint rumbling of thunder. He rounded yet another turn and found himself in another large room. At the far side was a tattered sheet of cloth waving in the strong breeze that blew into the room. He started toward it, then stopped short. An odd, eerie feeling came over him. Tuck and Sue came into the room, puffing and blowing.

Gary turned slowly and swung the lamp. To one side was a crude bunk and in the bunk was a hunched figure, covered with a filthy blanket. One arm hung over the side of the bunk, and the hand that rested on the floor was nothing but drawn, parchmentlike skin that clearly showed the bones.

"What is it?" said Sue weakly. "Not again, Gary!"

"He's long dead," said Tuck. "The dead ones don't bother me any more."

Gary's feet grated on rusted tin cans as he walked toward the bunk. He slowly and steadily pulled back the blanket to look into a mummified face framed by thick, coarse black hair. The mummy had been there a long, long time, preserved by cool dry air. A dingy headband bound the hair to the head. Gary stepped back. His feet struck tin cans again. He flashed the light down on them. Some of the labels were still legible. "Elberta peaches," he said quietly. He raised the lamp. A Winchester rifle leaned against the wall, covered with a patina of rust and dust. Gary walked to it and picked it up. He knew enough about guns to recognize a Model 1886. He worked the stiff action and ejected a heavy brass cartridge. He picked it up and looked at the base of it. "A .50/110 caliber," he said. Gary looked at his two friends. "I think we've found Asesino. He's been dead many years."

Sue shivered in the draft. The wind whipped the tattered cloth at the room entrance and moaned down the drift.

"If that's Asesino, and I don't know who else it could be," said Tuck quietly, "who was that back there?"

Gary leaned the heavy rifle against the wall, flicked out the lamp, and walked to the curtain. He pulled it to one side and stepped out onto a rock shelf with a rough and almost natural-looking breastwork of rocks along the outer edge. For a moment he expected to be looking down the canyon of The Needle. Instead he saw the thick grayness of the false dawn and far below, a canyon. For a moment he was confused, until he realized it was the very canyon in which the entrance to the Lost Espectro was. From where he stood he could easily see anyone who moved on the slopes or in the canyon. Even now he saw a stealthy movement. Someone was skulking along the edge of the canyon. Someone with a heavy rifle in his hands and a dirty cloth bound about his dark wet hair. He was looking down toward where the entrance to the mine should be.

Gary stepped back into the room. He lighted the lamp, knowing well enough the man outside could not see the light. "Our little friend is out there," he said, eying his two partners closely, "looking down toward the mine entrance. Maybe he figures we just might dig ourselves out that way. He knows now we found the gold. What do we do? Sit it out here? Try to make a break to get away? Or clean his clock for him?"

Tuck grinned. "You think I'm leaving here without taking a crack at him? After the way he scared me? No, sir!"

Sue spit inelegantly into her left palm and smacked it with her small right fist. "Let me at him," she growled fiercely. Lobo began to growl, too, as he started for the entrance.

Gary flicked off the lamp. "Quiet, Lobo," he said. "Stay! Our boy probably won't look back this way. That's a break for us. If we get close enough we can get the drop on him."

"Supposing he doesn't surrender?" said Sue anxiously.

There was a long moment of quietness.

Sue spoke again. "Now that was a stupid question, wasn't it?"

The rain pattered down steadily and the wind whined through the canyon as the three of them made their plan.