“A couple places,” said Daniel. “Only Joe was smarter. He thinks Lemuel hid it up there, then moved it down onto the canyon floor.”

  “Did you two fall down and hit your heads?” Potter made a sound of disgust at their illogic and left the arguing men to return to his sleeping roll by the fire.

  Carson hung back.

  “Why’d he go and do that? Nothing on the map shows that Lemuel hid the gold up high.”

  “You thought the map showed the canyon floor. I thought it meant the sides curled up and he hid it there.” Joe sounded as smug as his brother now.

  “Or, Joe, at the base of the canyon wall.” Carson went to the rock where the map had dried out. He carefully peeled it free and held it up. “There’s nothing here that says what you think. It’s farther up the canyon. We’ll explore more when it gets light.” He thought hard. The map might show that Lemuel hid the money up on the canyon wall … and he said so.

  “See, Joe? Even Clay’s comin’ ’round to your way of seein’ things.” Daniel bobbed about like a cork in a stream.

  “Shut up. We’ll keep looking in the morning. Right now, we’d better worry about Brody. We never spotted the bounty hunter skulking around, so he’s still someone to worry about.” Joe glanced at the fresh grave, started to say something about it, then stalked off without a word.

  “Joe’s right, ain’t he, Clay? We’ll find the gold in the morning?”

  Carson had no answer. If they didn’t locate it, he was inclined to ride off and never look back.

  The wind whistled through the narrow cleft in the canyon, a ghostly sound that carried the weight of years. Somewhere high above, a hawk let out a lonely cry. The sunrise spilled down the canyon walls like blood from a fresh wound, lighting the slope in shades of amber and crimson. Carson stood apart from the others, gazing at the map as if it might somehow change overnight and reveal its secrets.

  “It’s like happiness,” Simon Potter said cheerfully. “It’s always just over the horizon.”

  “Shut your mouth, Potter.”

  “That’s no way to talk to him, Joe. We’re partners. We’re the Dirty Creek Gang.” Daniel sounded defiant.

  “He’s right, Joe. We’re all after the same thing.” Carson held up the map and turned it slowly. Then he turned a quarter of it to give a new orientation. The map was so decrepit now, pieces flaked off. If he looked at it any more, it would crumble to dust.

  “There,” Potter said, looking over his shoulder. “See?”

  “See what?” Joe Easterly trotted over.

  “Rocks piled on top of rocks. They line up with that cave, high on the side of the canyon wall.”

  “Lemuel didn’t hide the gold under the rocks. He used them as an arrow pointing in the right direction.” Carson reluctantly admitted this seemed possible.

  “To that cave in the side of the canyon! Joe, you was right. The gold’s not buried. It’s hid up high.” Daniel let out a war whoop, wheeled his horse around, and galloped toward the canyon wall.

  “That makes as much sense as anything I can figure out,” Carson said.

  Joe galloped after his brother. Carson and Potter followed at a more measured gait.

  “Everything fits. The pile of rocks, the sulfur spring. And I reckon that smudge on the map can be a cave on the canyon wall, like Joe claims. This must be the right place,” Potter said. “How much gold do you remember as being there, Clay?”

  “Lemuel made off with two big sacks of gold coins. A newspaper reported the posse recovered one, but who knows? That might have been a lie to keep depositors at the bank.”

  “You are as bad as Lemuel. Cynical, Clay, you are real cynical.”

  “We’ll find what we find.”

  “You’re saying this is another wild-goose chase? I feel it in my gut that this is the real thing.” Potter laughed at his partner’s skeptical reaction.

  Carson thought a moment, then joined in the laughter. It was directed as much at himself as it was at Potter’s dewy-eyed optimism.

  “I’ve got the feeling, too, but it might be indigestion from that moldy biscuit I ate for breakfast.” He snapped the reins and picked up the pace. They passed the piled rocks and followed a game trail straight to the canyon wall.

  Joe and his brother had dismounted and scrambled up a steep slope, heading for the small cave at the head of a rockfall. They shouted at each other that this was the place, that they were going to be rich.

  “Do you see what I do, Simon?”

  Potter glanced over his shoulder. The sun was near the far canyon rim, shining brightly on the cave—and the rockslide under its mouth.

  Dozens of bright yellow specks gleamed in the warm sunlight.

  “Joe,” Carson called, “look down! Under your boots!”

  Daniel slipped and slid to get to the cave, but Joe heeded Carson’s advice. He dropped to his knees and began throwing rocks to the side. In a few seconds, he looked like a prairie dog digging a new burrow. Rocks and dirt flew into the air. He didn’t stop until he held up a shiny gold piece.

  “I found it! This is a twenty-dollar gold double eagle!”

  “What? Lemme look, Joe. Lemme see!” Daniel slid back down to land beside his brother. He reached down, fumbled about among the rocks, and held up another gold coin.

  “That one’s smaller,” observed Potter. “It’s only a ten-dollar gold piece.”

  “Who knows how the bank bagged their coins?” Carson jumped to the ground and went to the base of the slope leading up to the cave.

  With the sun angling in over his shoulder, he saw a dozen glittering specks. He began digging. He told himself not to hurry. Within a minute, dirt and rock flew from his hands as he burrowed down as eagerly as Joe Easterly.

  When he stopped to rest, he had a stack of ten coins. His fingers bled from digging in the rough stone. His greed embarrassed him until he saw how his three partners continued to root about like pigs after truffles.

  Carson returned to the winnowing, then grabbed a piece of canvas stuck under a rock. He gave it a yank. It tore free and spewed out a dozen more gold coins.

  “You found the mother lode, Clay. That’s the canvas bag the coins were in when we robbed the bank.” Potter held out his cupped hands. The gold threatened to tumble out onto the ground.

  “Looks like we’re rich,” Carson said. “Or richer. How much do you have?”

  “A couple hundred,” said Potter. He looked questioningly at his partner.

  “Twice that. A handful of coins caught in the sack.”

  “What do you think happened?” Potter watched as the Easterly brothers continued to mine the rock pile for more coins. They both had a small pile equaling what he had found already.

  “Lemuel tried to get to the cave to stash the gold. On his way climbing up the rockfall, the canvas bag caught on a sharp stone that ripped it open.”

  “The coins spilled out. Why didn’t he gather them and—” Potter slapped his forehead. “He couldn’t take time to find the coins! The posse was hot on his trail.”

  Carson stood and looked down the canyon, trying to reconstruct what Lemuel Jones had seen that day.

  “That trail, the one in the center of the canyon, past the hot springs,” he said. “Lemuel would have spotted the lawmen coming up after him.”

  “He didn’t have time to pick up the coins he dropped,” continued Potter. “His loss, our gain.”

  “I don’t see any more. Do you, Daniel?” Joe took off his felt hat and dropped all the coins he’d found into it. The weight caused the crown to pop out. He added what his brother had found.

  “Nope, Joe. They musta fell down farther.”

  “I don’t see the glint,” Joe said. “This can’t be all. It’s only a couple hundred dollars.”

  “More than that,” Potter said. “Maybe a thousand dollars total.”

  “That’s not enough for all we’ve been through. That’s only, uh, only …”

  “Two or three hundred each,” Carson said. “You’re right, Joe. I expected more than this.”

  “He said he took some and spent it,” Potter reminded them. “Maybe it was more than ‘some’ and was another entire sack of coins?”

  “He was a slippery old fraud,” Carson said. “He wasn’t interested in the gold because he was dying. He wanted to ride at the head of the gang one last time.”

  “There’s got to be more around here. You’re holding out on us, Carson.” Joe Easterly slid down the slope and squared off in front of Clay Carson.

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Joe. We found the place off the map. Together. After you figured out Lemuel likely took the gold here along the canyon wall.”

  “You got here first. While Daniel and I were hunting for the gold last night.”

  “You’ve been out in the sun too long,” Carson said. “You’ve fried what few brains you have.” He stepped back and widened his own stance. His hand hung ready at his hip.

  “I don’t know how you did it. You and Jones! That’s it. The two of you stole the money, except for this.”

  “If I’d done that, why bother leading you here? What do I get out of it? Lemuel was our boss. He was our leader, not me. If I had the gold, you’d never have known. I’d be living it up in New Orleans.”

  “However you did it, you took most of the loot from the bank. I want my cut, Carson. Every last dollar of it.”

  “Don’t fergit about me, Joe. I get a cut, too.” Daniel stood beside his brother, hand on his six-gun. He was ready to throw down on Carson.

  “Stay back, Simon.” Carson eyed the brothers darkly. “I can handle this.”

  “Give us what you found. Maybe we’ll call it even,” said Joe.

  “You have a greedy streak in you, Joe. I reckon I always knew it was there, but never admitted it.”

  “We were friends, Carson. No more. Not when you’re out to cheat me.”

  “Us!” piped up Daniel Easterly. “You’re stealin’ our gold!”

  The younger Easterly went for his gun.

  The shot through his forehead killed him instantly.

  CHAPTER 36

  For a frenzied heartbeat, Clay Carson stood frozen, staring at the dead youngster. Daniel Easterly hadn’t drawn his six-gun. Carson looked up. Joe Easterly was similarly frozen. A quick glance from the corner of his eye showed that Simon Potter stood with his hand on his pistol. He hadn’t drawn, much less fired.

  Carson looked at his own side. His hand rested on the butt of his six-shooter. He hadn’t fired. But Daniel was dead. Very dead.

  His heart hammered out another beat. This sparked him into action. He dropped to his knees and whipped around. His gun came out as he turned. Eyes darting hither and yon, he found the spot in the rocks where the killing shot had originated. Left hand fanning the hammer, he sent a hail of bullets into the rocks.

  He flushed a man.

  By now, Potter and Easterly both shook off the shock. They fired. Joe’s rounds went wild. He was still shaken up, but Potter had his emotions under control. It hadn’t been his brother who’d been cut down. Carson reflected that in some detached way, he and Potter shared the same opinion of Daniel Easterly.

  No loss.

  They hadn’t wanted him along, and he didn’t deserve an equal cut of the gold, what there was of it. Carson still felt a touch of sympathy for Joe. When he had ridden with them before, he’d been a trusted friend. The bond had been real—drunken nights in Pecos, shoot-outs in Laredo, huddling behind a freight wagon in the rain, each man’s life in the other men’s hands. Joe might’ve been a fool, but he was once Clay’s kind of fool.

  “Who’s doing the shooting?” Potter flopped onto his belly and wiggled forward behind a small boulder. He popped up, fired a couple times, then ducked back to reload.

  “I didn’t get a look at him.”

  “He killed Daniel!” Joe roared like a mountain lion and started to make a full-frontal assault.

  Carson grabbed him, yanked hard, and flung him to the ground. That saved his life. Another sniper opened fire. If Easterly had made his mad dash, he’d have been exposed. And dead.

  “You want revenge for Daniel, then stay low. It’ll take all three of our guns,” he said harshly.

  “There’s at least two of them. One sorta leaked out of the landscape.”

  A new volley smashed into the rocks all around. Carson rode out the lead storm. He screwed shut his eyes and listened hard. When the firing stopped, he called out to Potter, “There’re two of them!”

  “You sure?”

  “Two different rifles. One’s a Winchester. The other’s a Henry.” Carson cocked his head, listening hard.

  “You’re making that up. Your ears aren’t that good.” Potter glared at him, defying him to admit he was making it all up.

  “There’re two of them. How do we go after them?”

  “We’re pinned down here. Out in the open. What’s the plan?” This much Potter believed and relied on Carson for a plan—any plan—to get them out of this mess.

  Carson started to deny he was leading the gang now. Then he realized it wasn’t much of a gang if the only three survivors were caught out in the open by a pair of snipers. There was no Lemuel to bark out orders, no Easterly brothers squabbling at his side. It was down to the dregs now—Clay, Simon, Joe—and maybe that was the truth of it all along.

  “Joe, you still whole?”

  “Daniel’s gone. They killed him!”

  “Settle down,” Carson said. “You want revenge, we have to do it right or we’ll all end up as buzzard bait.”

  “You calling my brother buzzard bait? You—”

  He stood to come after Carson. The rifle round caught him in the side. He grunted and bent over, falling onto hands and knees.

  To reach him, Carson had to cross an open patch and present a clear target to the pair of ambushers. He wasn’t inclined to risk his neck for the other man. Not now.

  “We need his gun, Clay,” said Potter. “I can’t get to him. You’re closer.”

  Cursing, Carson holstered his gun, got his feet under him, and launched himself like a striking snake. He stretched out, thin and reaching as far as he could. His fingers closed around Easterly’s coat sleeve. A hard yank pulled Easterly down to the ground.

  Bullets tore through the air above their heads. Carson wasn’t proud of it, but he used Easterly as a shield as he dragged him behind another rock. This one was broad but lacked height, forcing him to keep his head down or get it blown off.

  At the thought, he glanced over at Daniel. The top of the young man’s head had disappeared when the rifle bullet smashed into his forehead.

  It was the look in Daniel’s eyes that stuck—still wide with hope, like he thought any second now someone would vouch for him. That he belonged.

  He shook Joe and said, “There. Look at him. Your brother’s dead. We will be, too, unless we stop whoever’s shooting at us.”

  “The bounty hunter,” Joe mumbled. “It must be him.”

  “Not unless he’s teamed up with someone after I put Billy into his grave. There’s at least one more gunman out there.”

  Carson thought for a moment and then said, “He’d use his Sharps. Neither rifle’s got the report of a buffalo gun.”

  “So, who is it?” Carson tried another quick look and was rewarded with a flight of buzzing leaden insects around his head. He ducked back.

  “It’s not Sutcliff and his posse,” Potter said. “We took care of the marshal good and proper.”

  Carson agreed. When the marshal died, the posse evaporated. They didn’t have any reason to keep hunting down men who were that deadly.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? Whoever’s flinging the lead in our direction wants to kill us.”

  “And the reason’s obvious.” Potter glanced toward the pile of gold coins near Daniel’s corpse.

  “Do you think they’d leave us be if we gave them the gold?”

  For a moment, an ominous silence descended. Carson felt as if a pressure had squeezed into his belly. Both Easterly and Potter stared at him like he’d suffered a bad case of sunstroke.

  “We use it to get the upper hand,” he explained. The pressure vanished when both men nodded. They agreed to use the coins as bait.

  “Tell them we’re leaving the gold for them and then retreat?” Potter asked.

  “They’d never believe us,” Easterly added.

  Carson thought a bit more on the problem. “They’d still want us dead, to keep from jumping at shadows when we came after them to get it back.”

  “They’ve got rifles. We don’t,” Carson said. “How do we get within range?”

  “Split up. Force them to decide which of us to go after. If there’re three of us and two of them, that leaves one of us free to attack.” Potter checked his gun. “I’m ready. I’ll make my way down canyon.”

  “You head back toward the camp, Joe.” Carson sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’ll take them head-on. Be sure one of you gets a good shot before they take me out.”

  Screaming, Potter lit out along the canyon wall. He held his fire when neither of their attackers popped up to take a shot at him. Joe Easterly stumbled toward the camp near the spring-fed pond. He sprayed lead all over.

  That made him the target.

  Carson saw his chance and took it. A rifle poked up over a boulder. The gunman had to show the top of his head to get off a shot at Easterly. Carson slipped around the rock shielding him and charged like a bull seeing red. He got off an accurate shot at the exposed head.

  He let out a cry of triumph when he saw the sniper’s hat fly off. A tiny fountain of red showed his bullet had dug into the man’s skull. The rifle barrel lifted toward the sky as the man clung to the stack and sank to the ground.

  Carson slammed into the rock and scrambled over it. He thrust out his gun, ready to pull the trigger. The rifleman lay on his back, arms flung out and rifle on the ground. Blood spurted from the head wound. It took a second for Carson to realize the man’s eyelids fluttered and his lips tried to squeak out his final words.

  Swinging around, Carson dropped into a crouch beside the man he’d just shot. Taking the man’s bandanna from around his neck, he wiped away blood masking his face.