Trail Of the Apache and Other Stories (1951) by Elmore Leonard Page B
Authors: Elmore Leonard
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looking his way. Then Hyde leaned close and said something to the boy. He heard Billy Guay swear, but not so loud, and then there was silence.
Now, ten days from the time the message had brought him to the hotel in Willcox, he wasn't so sure it was worth it.
In the hotel room Hyde had come to the point immediately. Anxiety showed on his face, but he smiled when he asked the point-blank question How'd you like to be worth half a hundred thousand dollars? With that he waved the piece of dirty paper in front of Angsman's face. It's right here. Find us the picture of a Spanish sombrero and we're rich. That simply.
Angsman had all the time in the world. He You Never See Apaches . . . s moked a cigarette and thought. Then he asked, Why me? There're a lot of prospectors around here.
Hyde did something with his eye that resembled a wink. You're well recommended here in Willcox. They say you know the country better than most. And the Apaches better than anybody,
Hyde said with a hint of self-pride for knowing so much about the scout. Billy here and I'll give you an equal share of everything we find if you can guide us to one little X on a piece of paper.
Billy Guay had said little that first meeting. He half-sat on the small window ledge trying to stare Angsman down when the scout looked at him. And Angsman smiled when he noticed the boy's two lowslung pistols, thinking a man must be a pretty poor shot with one pistol that he'd have to carry another.
And when Billy Guay tried to stare him down, he stared back with the half smile and it made the boy all the madder; so mad that often, then, he interrupted Hyde to let somebody know that he had something to say about the business at hand.
Ed Hyde told a story of a lost mine and a prospector who had found the mine, but was unable to take any gold out because of Indians, and who was lucky to get out with just his skin. He referred to the prospector always as my friend, and finally it turned out that my friend was buffalo hunting out of Tascosa in the Panhandle, along with Ed Hyde, raising a stake to try the mine again, when he took sick and died. The two of them were out on a hunt when it happened and he left the map to Hyde, since I saw him through his sickness. Ed Hyde remained silent for a considerable length of time after telling of the death of his friend.
Then he added, I met Billy here later on and took to him 'cause he's got the nerve for this kind of business. He looked at Billy Guay as a man looks at a younger man and sees his own youth.
Just one thing more, mister, he added. If you say yes and look at the map, you don't leave our sight.
In the Southwest, lost-mine stories are common.
Angsman had heard many, and knew even more prospectors who chased the legends. He had seen a few become rich. But it wasn't so much the desire for gold that finally prompted him to go along.
Cochise had promised peace and Geronimo had scurried south to the Sierra Madres. All was quiet in his territory. Too quiet. He had told himself he would go merely as an escape from boredom. Still, it was hard to keep the wealth aspect from cropping into the thought. Angsman saw the years slipping by with nothing to show for them but a scarred Spanish saddle and an old-model Winchester. All he had to do was lead them to a canyon and a rock formation that looked like a Spanish hat.
You Never See Apaches . . .
Two days to collect the equipment and round up a mozo who wasn't afraid to drive mules into that part of Apacheria where there was no peace. For cigarettes and a full belly Ygenio Baca would drive his mules to the gates of hell.
It was almost a mile past the arroyo crossing that Angsman noticed his black specks had disappeared from the open n1/4eats. For the past few hundred yards his vision to the left had been blocked by dense pines. Now the plains yawned wide again, and his glasses inched over the vastness in all directions, then stopped where a spur jutted out from the hillside ahead to cut
Now, ten days from the time the message had brought him to the hotel in Willcox, he wasn't so sure it was worth it.
In the hotel room Hyde had come to the point immediately. Anxiety showed on his face, but he smiled when he asked the point-blank question How'd you like to be worth half a hundred thousand dollars? With that he waved the piece of dirty paper in front of Angsman's face. It's right here. Find us the picture of a Spanish sombrero and we're rich. That simply.
Angsman had all the time in the world. He You Never See Apaches . . . s moked a cigarette and thought. Then he asked, Why me? There're a lot of prospectors around here.
Hyde did something with his eye that resembled a wink. You're well recommended here in Willcox. They say you know the country better than most. And the Apaches better than anybody,
Hyde said with a hint of self-pride for knowing so much about the scout. Billy here and I'll give you an equal share of everything we find if you can guide us to one little X on a piece of paper.
Billy Guay had said little that first meeting. He half-sat on the small window ledge trying to stare Angsman down when the scout looked at him. And Angsman smiled when he noticed the boy's two lowslung pistols, thinking a man must be a pretty poor shot with one pistol that he'd have to carry another.
And when Billy Guay tried to stare him down, he stared back with the half smile and it made the boy all the madder; so mad that often, then, he interrupted Hyde to let somebody know that he had something to say about the business at hand.
Ed Hyde told a story of a lost mine and a prospector who had found the mine, but was unable to take any gold out because of Indians, and who was lucky to get out with just his skin. He referred to the prospector always as my friend, and finally it turned out that my friend was buffalo hunting out of Tascosa in the Panhandle, along with Ed Hyde, raising a stake to try the mine again, when he took sick and died. The two of them were out on a hunt when it happened and he left the map to Hyde, since I saw him through his sickness. Ed Hyde remained silent for a considerable length of time after telling of the death of his friend.
Then he added, I met Billy here later on and took to him 'cause he's got the nerve for this kind of business. He looked at Billy Guay as a man looks at a younger man and sees his own youth.
Just one thing more, mister, he added. If you say yes and look at the map, you don't leave our sight.
In the Southwest, lost-mine stories are common.
Angsman had heard many, and knew even more prospectors who chased the legends. He had seen a few become rich. But it wasn't so much the desire for gold that finally prompted him to go along.
Cochise had promised peace and Geronimo had scurried south to the Sierra Madres. All was quiet in his territory. Too quiet. He had told himself he would go merely as an escape from boredom. Still, it was hard to keep the wealth aspect from cropping into the thought. Angsman saw the years slipping by with nothing to show for them but a scarred Spanish saddle and an old-model Winchester. All he had to do was lead them to a canyon and a rock formation that looked like a Spanish hat.
You Never See Apaches . . .
Two days to collect the equipment and round up a mozo who wasn't afraid to drive mules into that part of Apacheria where there was no peace. For cigarettes and a full belly Ygenio Baca would drive his mules to the gates of hell.
It was almost a mile past the arroyo crossing that Angsman noticed his black specks had disappeared from the open n1/4eats. For the past few hundred yards his vision to the left had been blocked by dense pines. Now the plains yawned wide again, and his glasses inched over the vastness in all directions, then stopped where a spur jutted out from the hillside ahead to cut
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