horse. When he was within twenty yards, Matt stopped him.
"Lost something?"
Gay grinned. "The Lost Wagons. You know me."
"I don't take kindly to folks who come up behind me."
"Don't blame you. But you'd better take to me, because I may be the only friend you've got."
"So?"
"After you left, Bill Chesney showed up.
Neill and Kimmel were with him. Short and McAlpin told them about you two, but Chesney wouldn't buy the Skull Valley story."
"We tried."
"Neerland is already up here with two other men."
Matt gestured toward the man below them. "That one of them?"
Gay Cooley stepped nearer, then leaned forward and peered. He swore softly. "Matt, that's Muley. That's the kid who was with the gold wagons."
Lost to his surroundings, Muley moved along the foot of the mesa near them. "Look at him!"
Cooley whispered hoarsely. "He knows where he is! He's found something!"
It did look that way, for Muley was moving along more rapidly, his excitement obvious. If he had not found a sign or landmark, he certainly believed he had.
At that moment there was a rattle of hoofs and a shout. "Muley! Damn it, man! Where you going?"
The rider was a stocky, barrel-chested stranger, who must be the other man with Neerland.
"You better hightail it back. He's sore as a galled mule, you traipsing off like that. What you huntin'?"
"Scoutin' tracks. Thought I seen something."
"All right, let's go back."
The newcomer turned his mount and for an instant his back was full on Muley. The Winchester lifted slowly, then halted.
Gay Cooley glanced over at Matt. "That gent will never come closer and not get killed," he said. "OP Muley was ready. You could see it in every line of him."
"That could be the man-The one who killed all those men," Matt said.
"Muley?" Gay Cooley's tone was not as incredulous as it might have been. Evidently the thought had occurred to him, too. "He was only a youngster."
"How old do you have to be?" Keylock inquired dryly. "I was fightin' Indians when I was twelve."
The two riders turned and rode away, and Gay Cooley slowly relaxed. Matt could see the beads of sweat on his forehead.
"You see what that means? Everybody's been wrong. Everybody believed it was south of here, and everybody has looked to the south. You can just bet Muley saw something he recognized, and whatever it was told him he was close to the Lost Wagons."
He looked at Kris, then back at Matt Keylock . "I'm goin' to be a rich man, you see that, don't you?"
"I see you aren't alone. Those boys out there are huntin' me, but if they get the smell of gold they'll forget all about me. You find that gold now, Gay, and you're chewin' on grief."
Gay Cooley was not listening. "Matt, look at it this way. That Muley boy, they left him tied when they went off to hide that gold. So what could he recognize? Either the place where he was tied up, or something he saw before or after." Cooley looked around, dazed with the shock of it. "Matt, I'd make a fancy bet that gold ain't a mile from us right this minute . . . and maybe closer!"
Matt was looking in the direction in which the two men had disappeared. If Muley was truly the boy who had been with the wagons, he would not want to leave the area, now that he was so close to the treasure. So what would he do? Would he lose himself and let them go on without him? Would he resort to murder again, as he seemed to have done before? In any case, Matt Keylock knew that the noose was slowly tightening about his own neck.
There was no place to go from here. To the north lay the canyon of the San Juan, only a few miles away. Towering cliffs were all about, and all travel was channeled by them. To the east lay the valley of the weird monuments, but miles of open country were all around them.
With a woman to think of, there was only one thing to do-stay where he was, make no tracks, and hope they would pass him by.
"I'm goin' down there," Gay Cooley said, and he was on his feet, rifle in hand.
But before he could take a
"Lost something?"
Gay grinned. "The Lost Wagons. You know me."
"I don't take kindly to folks who come up behind me."
"Don't blame you. But you'd better take to me, because I may be the only friend you've got."
"So?"
"After you left, Bill Chesney showed up.
Neill and Kimmel were with him. Short and McAlpin told them about you two, but Chesney wouldn't buy the Skull Valley story."
"We tried."
"Neerland is already up here with two other men."
Matt gestured toward the man below them. "That one of them?"
Gay Cooley stepped nearer, then leaned forward and peered. He swore softly. "Matt, that's Muley. That's the kid who was with the gold wagons."
Lost to his surroundings, Muley moved along the foot of the mesa near them. "Look at him!"
Cooley whispered hoarsely. "He knows where he is! He's found something!"
It did look that way, for Muley was moving along more rapidly, his excitement obvious. If he had not found a sign or landmark, he certainly believed he had.
At that moment there was a rattle of hoofs and a shout. "Muley! Damn it, man! Where you going?"
The rider was a stocky, barrel-chested stranger, who must be the other man with Neerland.
"You better hightail it back. He's sore as a galled mule, you traipsing off like that. What you huntin'?"
"Scoutin' tracks. Thought I seen something."
"All right, let's go back."
The newcomer turned his mount and for an instant his back was full on Muley. The Winchester lifted slowly, then halted.
Gay Cooley glanced over at Matt. "That gent will never come closer and not get killed," he said. "OP Muley was ready. You could see it in every line of him."
"That could be the man-The one who killed all those men," Matt said.
"Muley?" Gay Cooley's tone was not as incredulous as it might have been. Evidently the thought had occurred to him, too. "He was only a youngster."
"How old do you have to be?" Keylock inquired dryly. "I was fightin' Indians when I was twelve."
The two riders turned and rode away, and Gay Cooley slowly relaxed. Matt could see the beads of sweat on his forehead.
"You see what that means? Everybody's been wrong. Everybody believed it was south of here, and everybody has looked to the south. You can just bet Muley saw something he recognized, and whatever it was told him he was close to the Lost Wagons."
He looked at Kris, then back at Matt Keylock . "I'm goin' to be a rich man, you see that, don't you?"
"I see you aren't alone. Those boys out there are huntin' me, but if they get the smell of gold they'll forget all about me. You find that gold now, Gay, and you're chewin' on grief."
Gay Cooley was not listening. "Matt, look at it this way. That Muley boy, they left him tied when they went off to hide that gold. So what could he recognize? Either the place where he was tied up, or something he saw before or after." Cooley looked around, dazed with the shock of it. "Matt, I'd make a fancy bet that gold ain't a mile from us right this minute . . . and maybe closer!"
Matt was looking in the direction in which the two men had disappeared. If Muley was truly the boy who had been with the wagons, he would not want to leave the area, now that he was so close to the treasure. So what would he do? Would he lose himself and let them go on without him? Would he resort to murder again, as he seemed to have done before? In any case, Matt Keylock knew that the noose was slowly tightening about his own neck.
There was no place to go from here. To the north lay the canyon of the San Juan, only a few miles away. Towering cliffs were all about, and all travel was channeled by them. To the east lay the valley of the weird monuments, but miles of open country were all around them.
With a woman to think of, there was only one thing to do-stay where he was, make no tracks, and hope they would pass him by.
"I'm goin' down there," Gay Cooley said, and he was on his feet, rifle in hand.
But before he could take a
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