My burros shuffled off at a rapid pace. Behind me, the serrated line of the Chocolate Mountains was sharply outlined against the deep blue-black of the desert sky. The air was so clear that it was possible to see every detail for long distances until the heat waves started distorting the scenery.
From time to time I turned in my saddle and looked back at the claim we had staked out. I could see two figures standing there watching me. From time to time they would wave. At length, the heat waves started making them do all sorts of weird dances, and then I dropped down into a depression and rode along a sandy wash, the claim shut from my sight.
I was following the trail we had made in going to the place we had located. Had I been trying to avoid Bill Ordway, I naturally would never have taken the same trail, but would either have kept on going until I hit Niland or Ogilby, and then gone by railroad to the county seat, or I would have swung back in a big circle. As it was, however, I played right into their hands, but kept a sharp watch to see if they were hidden along the trail. At that, they made a good job of it. I had no warning of the ambush until the hot rays of the sun glinted on the blue-steel barrel of a rifle within less than twenty yards.
“Stick ’em up!” said a man’s voice.
I hesitated just a moment, not long enough to actually collect lead, but long enough not to make my obedience seem suspicious.
A voice from behind me shouted: “Get them up quick, Bob, or you’ll get perforated!”
I turned.
Another man was hidden behind a rocky outcropping some fifteen yards to the rear. They had me between a cross-fire. I elevated my hands. A third man came out from the sandy wash. He was Bill Ordway, a big, ungainly figure, with a paunchy stomach, cheeks that were flabby and a mouth and eyes that were hard as steel.
“Get off the burro, Bob,” he said, “and unbuckle your six-gun as you get off. Don’t make any sudden motions. You’re between two fires.”
I slid to the ground and unbuckled my six-gun.
“March over against that rock,” Ordway said, gesturing with the barrel of a six-shooter.
I backed over against the rock.
“Search his burro, boys,” said Bill Ordway. “You’ll find a description of the claim in the saddle bags probably.”
“Perhaps he’s got it on him,” one of the men said, walking up with a rifle in the crook of his elbow.
“We’ll make sure of that, too,” Ordway said. “Don’t worry.”
One of the men went through the saddle bags. I heard him exclaim when he found the gold.
The three men clustered together for a moment, their eyes bulging as they saw the gold. Then they uncovered the notice I had ready for recording. They were excited, but not so excited that they overlooked their hand. They kept me covered. After a while, Bill Ordway came over to me.
“Looks pretty good, Bob,” he said. “Too bad you didn’t locate it first.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“That’s our claim,” he said. “Didn’t you see our location notice?”
I twisted my lips into a sneer.
“A fat chance that it’s your claim,” I said.
“Sure it is,” he said. “We located it yesterday. We were starting back to record it when we saw you go on past. Then we watched you go in and jump our claim. We were coming down to do something about it when you rode right into our arms. We had our location notices there, all duly in order.”
“Not when I located it,” I said.
“Oh yes we did,” he said. “You can’t pull that stuff on us, Bob Zane, no matter how smart a guy you think you are, nor how much experience you’ve had in the desert.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Oh, what the hell’s the use?” I said. “You’re going to steal the claim — go ahead and do it and cut out all the conversation!”
Big Bill Ordway said nothing. His face was cold and determined. His hands patted my pockets. Searched for a shoulder holster under my armpit.
“Okay, boys,” he said, “he’s clean.”
He made further search, looking for any additional location notices. When he had satisfied himself that I had none he nodded toward the desert.
“All right, Bob,” he said. “You’ve got the reputation of being a good man in the desert. Take a canteen of water and a couple of cans of beans and start.”
“How about my burro?” I asked.
“You never had any burro,” he told me.
“I can’t get very far on water and a couple of cans of beans,” I said.
“You can get as far as you’re going,” he told me, “and don’t think we don’t know it. You’ll probably beat us into Blythe, but it won’t do you any good. There are too many witnesses against you. Do you understand?”
“Understand what?” I asked.
“Understand that you tried to jump our claim,” he said. “You couldn’t make it stick. We were on the ground and in possession. You did the best you could, but we were there first. Do you get that straight?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“All right,” he said, “get started.”
I made a gesture of resignation, started walking along through the hot, blinding sand of the desert, my head forward dejectedly, the two cans of beans they bad given me thrust in a bit of sacking and thrown over my shoulder, the water canteen pounding on my hip as I walked. The others got on burros and rode away. I watched them until they were out of sight, then I started shuffling along once more. After a while I took care to leave my tracks where it wouldn’t be too easy to follow them, picking out the rocky stretches and working along those, until I found an outcropping, up which I climbed until I struck a ridge. I worked along the ridge and headed over toward the Chuckwalla claim.
I was just digging up the rifle and revolvers that I’d cached, when I heard the sound of distant shooting.
The hot, dry air of the desert absorbed the sound, until the roar of the guns sounded like the dull pop of distant firecrackers.
I sat and listened to the firing for some little time. I couldn’t figure it out. Sally Ehlers had specifically understood that she was to keep George Ringley from doing any shooting. I figured that Big Bill Ordway wouldn’t shoot unless he had to. He was perfectly willing to commit murder, but he didn’t want to do it.
I put up monuments and made a location on the Chuckwalla claims, then I got the stuff ready to take into the recorder’s office, and sat and waited.
The firing was still going on.
I couldn’t figure that out. The shadows were commencing to stretch across the desert. It was nearly time for me to take some definite action, and Big Bill Ordway and his gang were still popping rifles over the rocky ridge which prevented me from seeing what was going on.
The more I thought of it, the less I liked it. Finally I went around and took down all of my location notices and leveled the location monuments. Then I shouldered my rifle, saw that the two six-guns were working freely in their holsters and started trudging back toward the place where I’d left Sally Ehlers and George Ringley.
I didn’t go by the same route that I had come, but worked around the ridge toward the west, so that I would be coming up on the attackers with the sun at my back.
The firing continued. The sun was just touching the rim of the western hills when I got to a point where I could see what was going on.
Sally Ehlers and George Ringley had built themselves a rock barricade, a first class little fortress. They’d built it in such a way that they commanded the surrounding country. Big Bill Ordway and his gang were strung around in a big circle. They had the place virtually surrounded. There was a big peak off to the rear, but it was pretty much out of rifle range, and they hadn’t tried as yet to get up on there and drop shells down into the fort, but I could see them crawling around in gullies and washes, looking like black beetles dragging themselves across the white sand. Occasionally they’d fire a few shells, apparently in order to keep the defenders from getting into a position where they could deliver an accurate fire.