just inside the mine’s entrance. We had met, as arranged, after supper, sneaking out of our houses without incident. The desert night had turned chilly, the early autumn wind moaning outside, but the Lady Macbeth remained warm. I lit another candle, placed it on a rusty old lunch pail, and looked at my friends, their faces eager yet anxious.
“A lot of things that man says, I find suspect,” I told them. “Some of what he says about Cochise and that time doesn’t exactly match with what I read in some old newspapers that my father has saved. And I asked this old stagecoach man…Mister Shankin sent me to him…this afternoon. Mister Eversen never heard of a Whitey Grey. Nor has Mister Shankin.”
Ian Spencer Henry gasped. “You wasn’t supposed to tell nobody about that white-skinned man, Jack Dunivan. Now you done spoilt everything.”
“I’ve done no such thing….”
“Done, too!”
“Done not. I’m just collecting facts.”
“No, you ruint….”
“Shut up, Ian Spencer Henry,” Jasmine sang out, “and let Jack finish!”
Pouting, my friend folded his arms and shook his head.
I sighed. “I’m going with Whitey Grey,” I said, and Ian Spencer Henry’s face beamed instantly.
“Really?” both of my friends asked, unable to control their excitement.
“Yes. But we can’t trust him. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Well, yeah,” Ian Spencer Henry said. “He’s a Texian. Texians can’t be trusted. I heard this fella outside the FalstaffTavern the other day, and he says if he was standing on his porch with a single-shot shotgun and there was a rattlesnake coiled up in front of him and a Texian coming over to shake his hand, this fellow says he’d shoot the Texian and let the snake bite him.”
I tried to ignore the pointless interruption. “Mister Eversen, he says that he had heard stories about Apaches raiding the Stein’s Peak station right before the rebellion and an attack on a stagecoach at Doubtful Cañon, so that part of the story could be true. Plus, the Giddings name rang a bell, he told me. Seems he heard it more recent, but he couldn’t place when or where. So I say we meet back here at ten. I mean, that’s my plan anyway.”
“Mine, too,” Ian Spencer Henry said.
“Why not wait?” Jasmine asked.
“Too risky. If your mother, my pa, or Ian Spencer Henry’s daddy were to check on us….” Outside, coyotes began yipping in the dark. “We also need to leave a note for them to find.”
“We don’t want them looking for us,” Ian Spencer Henry said. “What if…?”
“They’re going to come looking for us,” I said. “They’ll realize we’re missing at some point. Even my….” I fought off the shudder. “Well, Mister Shankin…someone, at some point…they’ll realize we’re not around and….”
“Maybe they’ll think Apaches took us off,” Ian Spencer Henry suggested.
“The Apaches are all penned up at the San Carlos Reservation over in Arizona Territory,” I said. “Except for maybe five hundred or so down in Mexico. We don’t want to leave notes in our rooms, nothing like that. We have to make it hard for them to find us. First, they’ll start looking around town. That’ll give us time. But eventually they need to find a note saying that we’re running away from home.”
Ian Spencer Henry frowned again. “I don’t want to run away from home, Jack. I just want to make all that money, sixteen hundred dollars and sixty-six cents, and get back before my pa knows I’m gone. Pa’ll switch my hide if he thinks I’ve run off.”
“It’s better than twenty miles to Stein’s Peak,” I said. “Through desert, mean country. Then we have to make it to the cañon, find the gold, split it up, and get back here.” You get back here, I thought. I had no intention of returning, but this wasn’t the time to tell my friends of my plans for after we got our share of the treasure. “I’m pretty certain they’ll find out we’re missing
“A lot of things that man says, I find suspect,” I told them. “Some of what he says about Cochise and that time doesn’t exactly match with what I read in some old newspapers that my father has saved. And I asked this old stagecoach man…Mister Shankin sent me to him…this afternoon. Mister Eversen never heard of a Whitey Grey. Nor has Mister Shankin.”
Ian Spencer Henry gasped. “You wasn’t supposed to tell nobody about that white-skinned man, Jack Dunivan. Now you done spoilt everything.”
“I’ve done no such thing….”
“Done, too!”
“Done not. I’m just collecting facts.”
“No, you ruint….”
“Shut up, Ian Spencer Henry,” Jasmine sang out, “and let Jack finish!”
Pouting, my friend folded his arms and shook his head.
I sighed. “I’m going with Whitey Grey,” I said, and Ian Spencer Henry’s face beamed instantly.
“Really?” both of my friends asked, unable to control their excitement.
“Yes. But we can’t trust him. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Well, yeah,” Ian Spencer Henry said. “He’s a Texian. Texians can’t be trusted. I heard this fella outside the FalstaffTavern the other day, and he says if he was standing on his porch with a single-shot shotgun and there was a rattlesnake coiled up in front of him and a Texian coming over to shake his hand, this fellow says he’d shoot the Texian and let the snake bite him.”
I tried to ignore the pointless interruption. “Mister Eversen, he says that he had heard stories about Apaches raiding the Stein’s Peak station right before the rebellion and an attack on a stagecoach at Doubtful Cañon, so that part of the story could be true. Plus, the Giddings name rang a bell, he told me. Seems he heard it more recent, but he couldn’t place when or where. So I say we meet back here at ten. I mean, that’s my plan anyway.”
“Mine, too,” Ian Spencer Henry said.
“Why not wait?” Jasmine asked.
“Too risky. If your mother, my pa, or Ian Spencer Henry’s daddy were to check on us….” Outside, coyotes began yipping in the dark. “We also need to leave a note for them to find.”
“We don’t want them looking for us,” Ian Spencer Henry said. “What if…?”
“They’re going to come looking for us,” I said. “They’ll realize we’re missing at some point. Even my….” I fought off the shudder. “Well, Mister Shankin…someone, at some point…they’ll realize we’re not around and….”
“Maybe they’ll think Apaches took us off,” Ian Spencer Henry suggested.
“The Apaches are all penned up at the San Carlos Reservation over in Arizona Territory,” I said. “Except for maybe five hundred or so down in Mexico. We don’t want to leave notes in our rooms, nothing like that. We have to make it hard for them to find us. First, they’ll start looking around town. That’ll give us time. But eventually they need to find a note saying that we’re running away from home.”
Ian Spencer Henry frowned again. “I don’t want to run away from home, Jack. I just want to make all that money, sixteen hundred dollars and sixty-six cents, and get back before my pa knows I’m gone. Pa’ll switch my hide if he thinks I’ve run off.”
“It’s better than twenty miles to Stein’s Peak,” I said. “Through desert, mean country. Then we have to make it to the cañon, find the gold, split it up, and get back here.” You get back here, I thought. I had no intention of returning, but this wasn’t the time to tell my friends of my plans for after we got our share of the treasure. “I’m pretty certain they’ll find out we’re missing
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