Spanish Gold (21 page)

“Look at this,” said Crockett.

There was a wall of silver there. A gigantic wall of silver, the bars as large as those of gold in the other room.

“This couldn't all have come from one wagon train,” said Travis.

“If they ambushed one, why not two or three or a dozen?” she said.

As they moved around the huge chamber, they found a row of bodies wrapped in blankets. Some of them were lying with rifles. Old-fashioned rifles. Others had swords and knifes. A few were wrapped in buffalo robes.

“Apache chiefs?” she asked

“Probably,” he said.

“Then they'll know about this chamber, too,” she said. “We'll have to keep moving.

Together they examined the walls, looking for another way out of the chamber. They found it at the edge of the wall of silver. A triangular­shaped passageway big enough for them to walk through. It sloped down, twisted to the right, and then began to climb again. There was a sound of water dripping from somewhere beyond them.

They came out into another chamber, this one long and narrow. The sound of the water came from it. There was a pool to one side and when Crockett got close to it, they could see that it was very deep. And very clear.

“Can we drink it?” she asked.

Travis dropped to his knees and tasted it. “No reason not to.”

Crockett handed him the torch and began to drink. When she finished, she looked up. “And now?”

Travis had noticed that the air was getting fresher again. And warmer. The only problem was that the torch was burning down rapidly. It wouldn't be long before they were left in the dark.

“We'd better get going.”

Travis stood and listened, but the only sound was the dripping of the water. Nothing that indicated the Apaches were chasing them.

They moved through the narrow chamber, now climbing upward. Travis stooped as the ceiling came down, but then it raised again and the chamber expanded outward. They turned a corner and in the distance spotted a square of bright sunlight.

“I don't believe it,” she said.

“A second entrance,” said Travis. “I thought there might be one.”

She looked up at the torch. It was about to bum itself out. “I think we've been very lucky,” she said.

“All we've done,” said Travis, “is get away from the Apaches. We're still stuck out here without horses, food or water,”

“There's water back there,” she said.

Travis took a deep breath and looked at her in the fading, flickering light of the torch. He thought about saying something to her, thought about saying something about the danger they'd avoided and then didn't. And then he thought that the gold had saved their lives. Had they not wanted to see it, they would have been with Davis and the others when the Apaches got them. If nothing else, the gold had bought his life for him.

“We'll think of something,” she said.

“Once we get out of here,” said Travis, “things can only improve.”

The patch of sunlight in the distance didn't seem to be getting any larger. They walked toward it, thinking that it would expand until it was a huge opening in the cave, but that didn't happen. It stayed small and as they approached, Travis realized that it was a tiny hole in the side of the cave.

“We're not going to be able to get out there,” said Crockett.

“Sure we are,” said Travis. “We might have to dig a little, but we'll get out okay.”

The ceiling began to come down again so that they were hunched over. Crockett lowered the torch, and as she did the last of the material around the stick fell to the cave's floor. She looked at it and then back at Travis.

“Doesn't matter,” he said. “We can see the way out up there. Just head for it.”

She tossed the remains of the torch to the floor. Ihtvis slipped past her. “I'll lead for a while.”

They continued on until he was forced to his hands and knees and then to his belly. He pulled himself forward carefully, afraid that he was going to get stuck. The whole tunnel narrowed until he could barely move through it. Finally he got stuck, his holster hanging him up. He slipped to the rear and rolled to his side to unbuckle it. Then he pushed it forward in front of them and held his rifle out in his hand. Now he was able to squeeze through the narrowest part of the tunnel.

Once out of there, he chanced back and saw Crockett down on her stomach, crawling after him. “It's tight but you can make it,” he said.

“I know.”

He turned and pushed himself forward, but the tiny rectangle of sunlight didn't grow at all. He was close enough to it now to see that it had lighted part of the cave. A few rocks laying on the floor and the stones sticking from the sides were throwing shadows. The opening couldn't be more than a foot square up on the wall. The tunnel turned the opposite way, diving deeper into the mountain. It was almost as if someone had carved a window in the cave wall.

He didn't say anything to Crockett about that. He moved toward it, blinking in the brightness of it. He had thought that it was on the eastern side of the mountain, but with the sun practically shining right in it, it had to be on the west. It was late afternoon now.

As he approached it, he could feel the hot air from outside on the desert drifting toward him. He felt the sweat bead on his forehead.

Again the tunnel began to narrow. He slipped forward, pushing hard against the sides and top of the cave. He stopped no more than a foot from the hole in the wall. He just couldn't make it to that point.

“Why'd you stop?” asked Crockett.

“Can't go any further.” He started to push himself back.

“Wait!” snapped Crockett. “What are you doing?”

“Backing up,” said Travis. “Move back.”

“Wait a minute.”

Travis turned his head and tried to look to the rear, but the sides of the cave restricted his movement. He slipped to the rear and then looked at her. “Need to widen the opening a bit so we can get out.”

She didn't respond.

Travis pulled his knife and began to scrape at the side of the cave. It had looked like stone, but as he dug into it, he found it to be soft. It crumbled under the digging. He stopped, pushed some of the material to the rear, and began to whittle at the top and right side. Slowly, he worked his way forward until his hand was in a patch of sunlight.

“Getting there,” he said, his voice sounding loud and echoing back. Lowering it, he whispered, “Getting there.”

He kept at it, the sweat beginning to drip into his eyes, burning them. He ducked his head, wiping his brow on his shoulder and then got back at work, scraping at the cave.. He knew he had to be careful. If he broke the knife, they would be stuck. There was no way they would be able to find their way back without light, and the torch was gone.

His arm began to ache and he stopped to rest. He lowered his head because his neck hurt. Lying there cm his left side, his knee braced against the wall, his body was twisted into an awkward position.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Travis. “I'm resting.”

“Want me to take over?”

“Just be patient,” he said. He then slipped forward and began to work at the sides again.

“The Apaches,” she said.

Travis stopped working. He tried to see her, but she was nothing more than a dark shape surrounded by black. “What about them?”

“They're coming.”

“How do you know?”

Crockett was silent and the only sounds in the cave were the dripping of the water and a quiet rush of air as the desert wind blew in the hole.

Travis slipped away from it and tried to see or hear something behind her. It stood to reason that the Apaches would infiltrate the cave when no one shot at them. They'd have to be careful, but they'd be moving through it, searching for them. Now Travis didn't know whether to try to finish digging his way out, return to one of the narrow tunnels to make a stand, or to press farther back into the mountain.

“What are you doing?” asked Crockett, her voice hushed.

“Thinking,” he snapped. “Thinking.”

He turned and began to dig at the wall of the cave, pulling the dirt and rock out in big chunks. He pushed it out of the way, forcing himself to keep working even as his arms turned to lead and his fingers were scraped raw.

He could feel Crockett pressing forward. She had moved up in the tunnel, getting as close to him and the opening as possible. She didn't have to say a word. He could feel her there without hearing her or having to look at her.

Finally she broke the silence. ‘They're coming.”

Travis stopped scraping and pushed himself away from the hole he was creating. Now, over the sound of the dripping water and the rush of desert air into the cave, he could hear the Apaches moving. Quiet sounds, as they felt their way through the darkness of the cave.

With a renewed vigor, he stabbed at the cave's walls, popping bits of the soft limestone away and then scraping to make it even. He forced himself forward, his shoulders jammed against the sides. But he managed to get far enough that he could look out.

“What?” she asked.

Travis slipped back. “We're on the side of the mountain. It slopes down gently. Can't see the front, the river, or any sign of the Apaches.”

“Can you get out?”

“Just a moment,” he said. With very little effort he thought he could force himself out, but he wasn't quite sure that he wanted to do it yet. Not without being sure what was around them. He'd hate to get out, turn around, and find himself staring into the rifle of one of the Apaches.

He wiped at the sweat on his face with the back of his hand and began to chip away at the last few inches of the cave. Now he was shoving the limestone and dirt out of the cave.

“They're coming,” said Crockett. “Get out now.”

Travis reached out and tugged a point of rock. It wobbled but didn't come loose. Now he could hear the Apaches. Their voices were echoing along the passage. Maybe they were trying to be quiet or maybe they were trying to frighten Travis into making a panicked mistake.

Using his knife, jamming it into the soft soil of the cave's wall, he popped a chunk of earth free and then yanked at the side. For a moment everything held fast and then, suddenly, it came free. A hole opened in the side large enough to get out.

‘That's about it,” he said suddenly. He reached back and grabbed the barrel of his rifle, pulling it toward him carefully. The last thing he wanted to have happen was the trigger get hung up on something.

Now he was pushing himself forward. His shoulders scraped on the sides of the cave, but he made it. Suddenly his head and shoulders were outside the cave. He turned slightly, looked up the mountain, and saw nothing except clouds building in the west. The mountainside was empty.

Pushing, he rolled out onto the desert. He scrambled around, the rifle in his hands, but spotted no one. Down the mountain was a wide valley. There were clumps of Joshua trees, cactus, yucca plants, and thick grass. There was no movement anywhere except for a couple of birds in the sky windmilling on the currents.

Crockett shoved herself up and reached out toward him. “Help me.”

Travis looked down and then grabbed her hand. He pulled her up, haul­ing her out of the cave in a single, fluid motion. She fell to the ground.

“They're coming,” she said. “They're behind me.”

Now, from the cave, he could hear the pursuit. The Apaches were no longer worried about stealth. They were running forward, the light from the hole guiding them.

“Come on,” said Travis. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the slope, toward a distant outcropping of rock.

As they reached it, the first of the Apaches poked his head out the hole. He dropped out of sight quickly. Travis dropped to the ground and then drew his revolver from his holster. “Here. Hang onto that.”

He cocked the rifle and aimed at the hole, waiting. He knew that the instant he pulled the trigger he would alert the rest of the Apaches. They had gotten out of the cave, had gotten away from the massacre on the other side of the mountain, but it was going to do them no good.

The Apache didn't peek out again. He leaped up and out, rolling away. Travis fired, but the round hit the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust and dirt. The Indian whooped, jumped to his feet, and began running at him. Travis aimed and fired. The bullet struck home, knocking the man from his feet.

But now others were coming out. They were shouting and shooting. Bullets snapped through the air overhead. One hit a rock and tumbled off with a ricochetting noise.

Travis worked the lever, fired, and then swung around. Two more Indians were running at him, both shooting as they ran. He felt chips of stone, kicked up by the bullets, cut his face.