They’d figured that we were trapped inside that hogan, and when they found out that we weren’t it was something of a shock to ’em. Their bullets had been tearing through the mud-and-timber structure, and if we’d been inside, it’d have been just too bad. However, we weren’t there. The first hail of lead that came from our guns, toppled over the man who had been shooting through the entrance to the hogan.
But that first volley was all the advantage we had. After that, they whirled and concentrated their fire on us. They had rifles — we had six-guns.
I saw that things were getting too hot for us to stick it out, and so I told Ed and Bess to separate and start working back. I dropped down to the ground and reloaded my six-shooter to guard the rear.
When our fire stopped, the others began to draw together. That was a poor move. They were huddling together like sheep, and from that I figured the one we’d knocked down was the man who had been the brains of the thing, the one who had circled out into the darkness and picked up Ed Kaplin.
But I didn’t do any more shooting. Most of my surplus cartridges were in my shoulder pack, and I’d left that pretty far back. Having shown their hands, I didn’t know but what they might be foolish enough to try and make a rush. If they’d done that, I’d have needed every shell in the gun to protect the two who were retreating.
They didn’t rush. Evidently they figured we might be trying to circle around them.
They got nervous, and after a while they went away.
I got up and walked to the west, whistling like a whippoorwill to attract Ed’s attention. He’d heard me give that call on previous occasions; and after a while he answered me. I worked over and joined Bess and him.
About that time a rifle cracked from over by the hogan — just a single shot. I listened. There weren’t any more shots, and there was not anything to indicate the cause of that one shot.
“They got the Indian,” I said. “Somehow or other they got wise to what he had, and they followed him in here. But the Indian was wise. He knew they intended to kill him. He couldn’t leave us any other message, warning us of danger, except to change the entrance on his hogan.
“The man who knew the desert better than any of the others knew it pretty well, but he didn’t know this section of it. That is, he didn’t know the Indians. Otherwise he’d have known that that switched entrance was a danger signal. No Navajo ever lived in a hogan with the entrance to the west.
“So Hoste-Ne-Bega left us a warning — that was all he could do.”
“The Indian must have discovered the cache of treasure, and maybe the mine itself,” said Ed.
“Sure. That’s why they followed him in here. But they didn’t find the mine; otherwise they’d have lifted the treasure and gone. And they probably didn’t know we were coming, or they’d have ambushed us somewhere along the trail in.”
Bess sighed. “Anyway you’ve a mind to look at it now, we’re in an awful pickle!”
I nodded silent agreement to that. We’d expected that there might be a little trouble of some sort, and we’d packed six-guns and a few shells. But we certainly hadn’t expected that we’d run into a band of desperate criminals who were armed with rifles as well as revolvers, and who would shoot to kill, without warning.
“The first thing to do is to go get our sleeping bags and provisions,” I said. “Then we’ll try and locate what the Indian found.”
“But they’ll be waiting for us to find it, and then they’ll open up on us with rifles,” said Bess.
“Sure,” I told her; “that’s part of the fortunes of war. We’ve just got to take that as it comes.”
She sighed. That sigh sounded tremulous in the darkness. I knew how she felt. Personally, I’d rather take a chance on being killed than on backing up. It was different with her. She was young and she had a lot to live for.
We trudged on through the darkness.
Of a sudden an idea hit me. It was an explanation for that lone rifle shot that I’d heard.
“Wait a minute,” I told them. “I’m going to go on a little look-see trip before I make any sudden moves. I’ve just had an idea. — The night’s young yet. You folks wait here.”
So I got them located in the shelter of a little greasebush, and started feeling my way back toward the hogan. There was a possibility that those bandits had been hard, and that their very greed had trapped them.
I worked pretty cautiously, getting in toward the hogan. But the men seemed to have gone. I figured they’d worked back toward their campfire.
After I got within fifteen or twenty yards of the hogan I could see a figure sprawled out on the sand. I went up to it cautiously. It was the man who had been firing through the entranceway, into the hogan.
He was dead. We had wounded him with a bullet.
As near as I could tell in the dim light which came from the stars, we’d fired a shot through his leg that had brought him down. The others had done the rest. They’d fired a rifle shell through his heart, at point blank. He had his hands up, as though he’d been trying to ward off a blow or stop a bullet or something. The quiet clay was more eloquent than words of the futility of the gesture.
I saw the situation now. This man had stumbled on to the Indian’s secret. He’d known that Hoste-Ne-Bega had found a treasure. He’d known the general direction in which the Indian was going, and he’d enlisted his band of city cutthroats to help him. They’d followed the Indian, and had probably killed him. Then when we happened along, they decided to wipe us out. But we’d managed to get free, and they’d found themselves with a fight on their hands. The leader had been wounded, and they’d decided that there was no use bothering with a wounded man; so they’d killed him off, which made one man less to share in the treasure. — But in killing him, they’d lost their only man who knew the desert.
I ran my hands over the figure. They’d stripped him of everything of value. Rifle, revolver and even his jackknife were gone.
I moved on past him and took a chance on going inside the hogan. It was as bare as only an Indian’s hogan can be. There was a little parched com in a buckskin sack, and that was all.
I struck matches, once I was inside, knowing I was taking a chance, but realizing I was in a tough spot. Then I mentally kicked myself for being a fool. The entrance pointing toward the west was more than a signal of danger; it gave a direction. To make sure that we would get the direction, Hoste-Ne-Bega had left another of the little forked sticks on the sandy floor of the place. It was just a dead branch of desert shrub, and it was pointing to the west, the same direction as the entrance to the hogan pointed.
I went back and found the others, telling them of what I’d found. Then I led the way in a long half circle back to the place where we’d dropped our blankets. I got out some of the concentrated provisions, and we had a bite to eat, washing it down with water from the canteens.
Then Ed and I took turns standing watch, and Bess crawled into her blankets and slept.
With the first faint suggestion of dawn in the east, we were up. I didn’t dare to chance a fire, no matter how much we screened it. We munched on some more cold rations, and then rolled up the blankets and cached them as best we could.
Filling our canteens back at the spring, by the time the sun was up, we were ready for a day of fighting.
It didn’t take us long to see what we were up against.