"No use talkin' of it," Cusbe said.
"Even if you two fit an' you whopped him, there's no reason to believe he'd hold to his word. That's a dangerous, treacherous man yonder, and nobody for a schoolteacher to face up to." I was nettled... angry. "Many scholars have been men of uncommon strength," I said irritably. "Socrates, for example. He once threw Alcibiades and held him down, and Alcibiades was not only very strong, a noted athlete, but a young rowdy.
"Leonardo da Vinci could bend iron horseshoes with his hands, and Plato was a noted athlete before he became a teacher. Plato was actually a nickname, given him because of his broad shoulders." "We ain't talkin' of them," Cusbe replied. "You just forget any such nonsense.
That's a dangerous man, yonder. A fighter from wayback." Perhaps I was a fool, but their objections only made me angrier. To meet Falvey and destroy him seemed the only immediate answer.
How long we had been underground I had not realized, but the morning sun was bright, dancing on the ripples of the stream far below. No man could have dreamed a scene more lovely or more peaceful.
Looking up at the peaks, my heart felt good.
"You goin' down yonder?" Van Runkle asked.
"We are." "You got no call to take me. I got no use for them down there, but I surely ain't goin' to 'em without me a wee'-pon." "You've weapons enough in those caves," I said.
"Go get one of them. I've no wish to take a load of buckshot in the back." "I'd not shoot you," Van Runkle protested, "but I set store by that gun. That's a gen-you-ine Henry Nock scattergun.
They don't make them no better." "You're right, sir. I had the good fortune to meet Mr. Nock in England when he was developing this gun. I'll care for it, and with luck, I'll return it to you. Now crawl into your hole and be off." The Ferguson I slung on my back. For the moment the shotgun might be more useful. It was a powerful, double-barreled weapon, much superior to the long-barreled fowling pieces that preceded shotguns, some with barrels as much as six and one-half feet long, and cumbersome to handle.
We started forward. It was beautiful, it was serene, it was still, but somewhere down there, death awaited. Perhaps mine.
CHAPTER 20
Pride can be a dangerous associate, and a thinking man should beware of it, for it can lead him into risks and troubles he would not otherwise endure.
My friends as well as Lucinda doubted my ability to meet Rafen Falvey in anything like even combat, and the idea rankled.
Heretofore, I had considered myself a calm, intelligent human being, and all good sense told me that what I should now do would be to find the treasure, gather my friends about me, and get out of the country as fast as ever I could.
If we could get to our horses, there was a chance we might leave them completely behind, and reach the Mandan villages before they could come anywhere near.
My common sense assured me this course of action was best, and as my anger cooled, I started out to bring it to completion. Yet irritation remained with me.
Cautiously we scouted toward the area where I had last seen Davy Shanagan. We found blood upon the leaves, the marks left by his body, but he was gone.
Crouching in the trees, we considered the situation. Plainly visible was the former encampment of Falvey's men, now abandoned. One horse remained there, but I did not like the look of it.
"Bait," I said. "They must be waiting for us to come after it." "We better light out an' find our horses again. If them Falvey men ain't found them, they'll be where we hid them after you went off up the slope that night and we decided to scoot when we heard Falvey's men go by." "Where was that?" "Neat little hollow in the hills, yonder.
There's a spring, and a scattering of trees, good grass. Bob Sandy was to stay with our stock, him being in no shape to traipse over the country." We backed off from the camp area. It was unlikely a horse would remain in an abandoned camp without reason. That it was picketed or somehow kept there seemed obvious.
We went back from the edge of the scarp and worked our way by game trails through stunted oaks, oak brush, and a few pines. Stopping from time to time to listen, we heard nothing. At the copse where the horses had been left, all was quiet. The horses were there, cropping grass or standing head to tail to swish flies from each other's noses.
For some minutes we lay still, studying the situation.
There was no sign of life, but there easily could be somebody in the shadows at several points. And Bob should be there.
The shotgun I carried was growing heavy, and I wanted nothing so much as a chance to put it down, to drink some coffee, eat something, and then saddle up and pull out.
After a few minutes of observation when we saw no one, we descended into the hollow and saddled our mounts and the others as well.
It was an eerie feeling, and all of us had a sense of foreboding. Falvey was in the area, he had a good-sized force, and without doubt some at least had recaptured their horses. Undoubtedly they were expecting a move from us, just as we were from them.
To the east of the hollow, there was a thick stand of pines, and we led the horses into ^the and through them to a smaller but more easily defended hollow on the far side. There was fuel in plenty, and risking discovery, we made coffee and a meal.
Fitfully, we napped, taking turns at watching. As darkness came nearer, we knew a move must be made. I had been thinking about the Maltese Cross in the cave. Presumably there was another one outside as well, the one Van Runkle had found, but I could not be certain.
On the ground near me, I traced out a line showing the edge of the scarp and the mountain opposite, the location of the cave with the cross, and our own position. If I was not mistaken, we were not more than three hundred yards back of that cave in a southeasterly direction.
Choosing a tall, ragged pine standing on the rim of the scarp for a landmark, I sighted along a line from our position to that tree. About halfway to the pine was an outcropping of rock. Between there and here a small pine was a deadfall. I should be able to hold a true course even in darkness. I found a couple of pine knots loaded with pitch and put them in a convenient place.
Lucinda came over to me. "What do you plan to do?" "Get the treasure and get out," I replied.
"Good!" she said quickly. "I want to go.
even without it. Let's just go!" She was silent for a moment, and then she said, "I'm afraid of him. I believe he'd willingly kill us all... every one!" Despite my bold wish to challenge him, I was not unafraid myself. That Rafen Falvey was a fighting man almost without peer was something we accepted. He was a bold, daring man who kept his crew of roughs in submission partly through fear and partly through sheer personality. Yet, stubbornly, I refused to admit defeat. I would have the treasure... then we would go.
The country around was deceptively calm.
Nobody moved wherever we looked.
For the moment, we seemed secure, which is a dangerous feeling. At such times one becomes vulnerable, and we had no wish to be attacked.
As I studied the terrain, looking not only for movement but for any suggestion of past movement, it seemed to me that the thing to do was to make one quick attempt to obtain the treasure, and then to get out of the country as swiftly as possible. Our main object was to protect Lucinda, on this all would agree, and that meant getting away. Sandy, Talley, Kemble, Shanagan, and Jorge knew our destination and could follow, if they lived, and if we did.