Skeleton Lode by Ralph Compton Page A

day.”
     
    Davis paid them and then stalked off into the darkness to escape the bitter comments of his companions. But there was some laughter, for Kelly and Kelsey Logan were quite satisfied with the day’s events. Bollinger took note of their pleasure and turned on them.
     
    “It’s time your daddy took a strap to you she-cats,” he said angrily. “It’s nigh time the pair of you was tamed and made to be civil.”
     
    “Gary Davis is not our daddy,” said Kelsey coldly, “and anytime you’re of a mind to tame me, mister gun-slinger, just come on. I’ll claw your eyes out.”
     
    Yavapai and Sanchez ignored all the hard words being flung about and set to work unloading the Davis pack mule. The pair started a fire, cooked their supper, and sat down to eat.
     
    “What about the rest of us?” Rust asked indignantly. “Where’s our supper?”
     
    “Señor Davis pay us to follow this Wells and Holt,” said Yavapai, “and this we do. We do not hire on as cooks. You are welcome to use our fire if you wish.”
     
    Gary Davis had returned to camp in time to hear Yavapai’s response, and he glared at the Mexican guides. They continued eating as though Davis didn’t exist, and he turned to Paulette, who lay unmoving, her head on her saddle.
     
    “Why don’t you get supper for the rest of us?” said Davis.
     
    “Why don’t you go to hell?” Paulette snarled. “I can scarcely move, and I don’t care if all of you starve.”
     
    Kelly and Kelsey Logan exchanged looks. They were hungry, and whatever were their feelings toward their surly companions, they also needed food.
     
    “Kelsey and me will do the cooking,” said Kelly, “until somebody complains. If you don’t like our cooking, you can do your own.”
     
    “Well, it’s about time the two of you contributed
something,”
Davis said ungraciously.
     
    “We don’t expect any thanks from you,” said Kelly defiantly, “but we won’t take any abuse either. Remember that.”
     
    Supper was a silent meal—nobody was speaking to anybody else. Yavapai and Sanchez got well away from the hostile camp before rolling up in their blankets. Davis sat looking into the fire, conscious that Bollinger and Rust were covertly watching him. If so much as a hint of gold were found, Davis thought, Bollinger would double-cross him. He found himself harboring the same doubts about Rust. While the two of them had been through many shady deals together, he couldn’t be sure Rust wouldn’t turn on him if there was enough gold andthe opportunity presented itself. Reflecting on his circumstances, Davis decided he couldn’t return to Missouri. True, he had taken over Jed Logan’s freighting business, but he had bankrupted it along with his own, robbing his wagons and collecting the insurance. Not only had he lost all his clients, but the insurance people were investigating him with an eye toward prosecution. Hoss Logan’s mine had gotten him out of Missouri just one jump ahead of the law. He had brought Rust and Bollinger with him not so much because he needed them but because they knew too much. He dared not leave them behind. Sooner or later he would have to dispose of the pair, along with Paulette and those troublesome daughters. Finally, he turned his thoughts to Yavapai and Sanchez. Were they what they seemed—a pair of simple Mexicans who would be satisfied with the few dollars they earned as guides—or were they after the gold as well? A thief himself, Gary Davis trusted nobody.
     
    “Tomorrow ought to be interesting,” Dallas said, “if Paiute takes us on another dry run through the Superstitions with that bunch of gold hunters following.”
    “They have no choice,” said Arlo. “Once they back off from what looks like another hopeless chase, they don’t know that we won’t drift up a canyon and lose them.”
     
    “We can’t go on forever, trying to discourage them,” Dallas said. “Sooner or later we’re goin’ to have to begin our