Callahan's Gold (Southwest Desert Series Book 3) by Mary Tate Engels
Authors: Mary Tate Engels
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and Dodge's tight-lipped reaction put a damper on the light mood between them, and they continued in strained silence.
An hour and a half later, Dodge pulled off the road and stopped in a small clearing near some pines. "Well, we're here."
They had traveled from the cactus-growing desert floor of Tombstone through scrub brush to sparse pines. Yazzie's cabin was a rough-hewn building, half rock, half logs, in a small stand of pines. Behind it was an ocotillo fence corralling a dozen or so mules.
"Now, who is Yazzie, exactly?" Tory asked as she mentally noted the rugged terrain. "And why are we meeting the others here?"
"Yazzie's a man of the mountain, has always lived here, as far as I know. This is a good starting place, where trekkers usually converge for food and drink. Plus, we'll rent our mules from him and take him along as guide and cook."
Tory frowned. "Do we have to go with him?"
"If you're worried about sharing the diggings with him, don't be. We need his expertise. There have been whole teams of people lost forever in these mountains. Believe me, he'll be worth every cent we have to share with him."
"Sharing is not my worry, Dodge."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. Just a feeling, I guess. You were the one wanting to keep this excursion quiet in Tombstone, and now you're including someone else. I don't understand."
He clasped her hand and squeezed. "It'll be okay, Tory. Yazzie has always been a part of these mountains. Sharkey and I always rented our mules from him. He isn't exactly a stranger."
"Did you and Sharkey always take him along with you?"
He smiled at her perception. "Nope. But this is different. We have a group of people who are unfamiliar with conditions on the mountain, including you, my dear. Also, there's Rex. Even though he put money into the mining company, he's hardly ever been up here. Plus, we're searching for specific landmarks that I figure only Yazzie knows."
She nodded in silent agreement and looked over Yazzie's small, dilapidated spread. "What does he do up here? Just rent mules? How does he live?"
"Well, obviously it doesn't take much for him. I think he occasionally brings in a little gold dust or a few turquoise stones in exchange for bread and bacon."
"And he lives up here all alone?"
"Yep. Had an Indian wife, but she died years ago. According to Sharkey, Yazzie's mother was an Apache woman who ran off with a miner from Yuma. Because of his split heritage, Yazzie never really belonged anywhere. He's been here as long as anyone can remember."
She shook her head slowly. "It's like a story out of an old movie."
Dodge glanced at her with a curious grin. "This is the Old West, Tory. Some things are slow to change."
"So I see," she murmured, thinking her friends in Los Angeles wouldn't believe this when she got back home.
Dodge sensed her reluctance and knew he had to convince her it was okay. "Tory, you realize that Yazzie and Ramona searched for Sharkey together. And when they discovered him at the bottom of the ravine, they brought his body into town. Yazzie was a great help to her."
"Yes, I know about that."
"It'll be okay—believe me."
"I ... I trust you, Dodge." Her eyes met his, and she silently pledged her trust in his instincts. What else could she do?
Yazzie was an enigma from another era. His Indian heritage was blatantly evident in his appearance. His long black hair was bound by a red bandana, his skin was brown and leathery, his eyes were sharp and black above high cheekbones, and his gait was flawed by a slight limp. His tan pants were attached to black suspenders, and heavy work boots, not cowboy boots, were laced up to his calves. Tory stared in amazement at the ageless man who seemed to have stepped off the silver screen at the height of the cowboy-and-Indian movie craze.
"Yazzie, this is Sharkey's daughter, Tory Talbot."
The mountain man gave her a nodding glance, and Tory shuffled from foot to foot, trying to decide whether to extend her hand. She
An hour and a half later, Dodge pulled off the road and stopped in a small clearing near some pines. "Well, we're here."
They had traveled from the cactus-growing desert floor of Tombstone through scrub brush to sparse pines. Yazzie's cabin was a rough-hewn building, half rock, half logs, in a small stand of pines. Behind it was an ocotillo fence corralling a dozen or so mules.
"Now, who is Yazzie, exactly?" Tory asked as she mentally noted the rugged terrain. "And why are we meeting the others here?"
"Yazzie's a man of the mountain, has always lived here, as far as I know. This is a good starting place, where trekkers usually converge for food and drink. Plus, we'll rent our mules from him and take him along as guide and cook."
Tory frowned. "Do we have to go with him?"
"If you're worried about sharing the diggings with him, don't be. We need his expertise. There have been whole teams of people lost forever in these mountains. Believe me, he'll be worth every cent we have to share with him."
"Sharing is not my worry, Dodge."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. Just a feeling, I guess. You were the one wanting to keep this excursion quiet in Tombstone, and now you're including someone else. I don't understand."
He clasped her hand and squeezed. "It'll be okay, Tory. Yazzie has always been a part of these mountains. Sharkey and I always rented our mules from him. He isn't exactly a stranger."
"Did you and Sharkey always take him along with you?"
He smiled at her perception. "Nope. But this is different. We have a group of people who are unfamiliar with conditions on the mountain, including you, my dear. Also, there's Rex. Even though he put money into the mining company, he's hardly ever been up here. Plus, we're searching for specific landmarks that I figure only Yazzie knows."
She nodded in silent agreement and looked over Yazzie's small, dilapidated spread. "What does he do up here? Just rent mules? How does he live?"
"Well, obviously it doesn't take much for him. I think he occasionally brings in a little gold dust or a few turquoise stones in exchange for bread and bacon."
"And he lives up here all alone?"
"Yep. Had an Indian wife, but she died years ago. According to Sharkey, Yazzie's mother was an Apache woman who ran off with a miner from Yuma. Because of his split heritage, Yazzie never really belonged anywhere. He's been here as long as anyone can remember."
She shook her head slowly. "It's like a story out of an old movie."
Dodge glanced at her with a curious grin. "This is the Old West, Tory. Some things are slow to change."
"So I see," she murmured, thinking her friends in Los Angeles wouldn't believe this when she got back home.
Dodge sensed her reluctance and knew he had to convince her it was okay. "Tory, you realize that Yazzie and Ramona searched for Sharkey together. And when they discovered him at the bottom of the ravine, they brought his body into town. Yazzie was a great help to her."
"Yes, I know about that."
"It'll be okay—believe me."
"I ... I trust you, Dodge." Her eyes met his, and she silently pledged her trust in his instincts. What else could she do?
Yazzie was an enigma from another era. His Indian heritage was blatantly evident in his appearance. His long black hair was bound by a red bandana, his skin was brown and leathery, his eyes were sharp and black above high cheekbones, and his gait was flawed by a slight limp. His tan pants were attached to black suspenders, and heavy work boots, not cowboy boots, were laced up to his calves. Tory stared in amazement at the ageless man who seemed to have stepped off the silver screen at the height of the cowboy-and-Indian movie craze.
"Yazzie, this is Sharkey's daughter, Tory Talbot."
The mountain man gave her a nodding glance, and Tory shuffled from foot to foot, trying to decide whether to extend her hand. She
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