Sam Brokay, at the wheel of the light, fast car, piloted it with deft skill along the pavement which stretched like a shimmering ribbon in the direct rays of the desert sun. Huge mountains rose in purple silhouettes against the blue-black of the sky. The tang of morning was still in the desert air, but there was a promise of intense heat.
"We turn off here," he said.
He slowed the car, turned to the left, started climbing over a dirt road which ran through a long, narrow cañon, climbed to a table-land, wound for miles along a barren stretch and then turned into a country that was wild, isolated and distinctive.
Great granite dikes had been flung hundreds of feet above the surface of the desert; this granite had been interspersed with veins of softer material that had decomposed when exposed to the weather, causing huge squares, thousands of tons in weight, to detach themselves from the main body of rock, to balance precariously upon a corner, or to tumble down into the desert.
Between these granite dikes were stretches of sandy desert. Joshua palms, yucca, sage, cholla cactus, prickly-pear and greasewood furnished a dense growth. The winding road twisted and turned along the base of the granite dikes, cutting through narrow defiles.
Brokay slowed the car, looked for some landmark which was so faint as to be indistinguishable to Bowman and Grood. The car turned abruptly and started fighting its way through the sandy desert.
"It's up in here a few miles," Brokay said.
The car began to heat up; twice they stopped to let the radiator cool. Mile after mile the wheels churned into the sandy labyrinth.
Big Jim Grood nudged his companion. Both men held their right hands near the lapels of their coats.
There was a faint wisp of smoke. A camp loomed suddenly against the dark trunk of a Joshua palm. A burro, standing in a dejected attitude, raised his head and aroused sufficient energy to cock one ear toward the approaching automobile. A man clad in ragged garments, with a white beard straggling down his face, sun-bleached eyes staring from under bushy eyebrows, appeared in the door of the tent. A gun was strapped about his waist. His clothes were glazed with dirt.
Brokay brought the car to a stop.
"Hello, dad," he said.
The man acknowledged the salutation.
"Whatcha doing in here?" asked Brokay.
"Prospectin'. Whatchu doin'?"
"Came in to look for some Indian relics," Brokay said.
"Country's lousy with 'em," the old prospector remarked, giving his pants a hitch, tightening the rope that served as a belt.
"Getting anything?" asked Brokay.
"Gettin' enough to retire on," the prospector said. "I'm going to sell out soon as I can find somebody that wants to buy ... Say, there was a fellow in here a couple of days ago that was looking for Indian relics too. The country must be getting popular. I ain't seen a human soul for nine months, and now two automobile loads come within a week."
"That's the way it goes," said Brokay, yawning. "Gosh, I envy you. I'd sure like to have a mine in here myself."
"Well, I've got one that's for sale," the prospector said.
Brokay's face lit.
"Now there," he said, "would be an idea. We could trade positions. You take our automobile and we'll take your mine."
"Heh, heh, heh!" cackled the old prospector. "You ain't seen nothing yet. I got thirty thousand dollars worth of gold."
Brokay's laugh was scornful and skeptical.
"Don't tell me," he said, "that there's any such amount of gold as that in this country."
The prospector looked around shrewdly and suspiciously, then jerked his head toward Brokay's two companions.
"These boys all right?" he asked.
"Sure," Brokay said, "they're partners of mine. They'd come in with me on any kind of a deal I made."
"Come in here and take a look," the prospector invited.
Jax Bowman's hand was on his gun as he stooped to enter the little tent, but there was no blast of gunfire to greet him. Instead, the prospector, in utter simplicity, opened a chest and disclosed a hoard of yellow metal in the form of ingots, stacked as though they had been cord-wood.
"How'd you melt it up?" asked Brokay.
"Oh, I've got a blow-torch and a crucible. I've got lots of time and it's easier to carry that way."
"How pure is it?"
"Darn near pure. That's the way it's been running. I had some assayed. That was before I made the big strike."
"Is there much more in the mine?" asked Brokay.
The old prospector squinted his eyes.
"I'm going to be frank with you, buddy," he said. "What I struck was a pocket. There's fair wages picking around in the mine, and, of course, maybe you can strike another pocket. But I made my stake out of it and I'm going to get out. The only trouble is, I don't know how I'm going to get it out. I don't want to leave it here while I go and get a car somewhere, and there's too much to be packed on the burro. I might get it on his back, but it would bust out of anything I've got to hold it in, and then, when I hit the highway, I'd be at the mercy of all those bandits that prowl around in automobiles."
"How much is there there?"
"Oh, around thirty thousand dollars," said the prospector. "Enough to give me a good time for quite a spell."
Jax Bowman exchanged a significant glance with his companion.
"I think we'd like to come in on it with you," he said to Brokay.
"That's fine," said the affable man with the iron-gray mustache. "It sure looks good to me. Buddy, I think you've made a deal."
Brokay pulled a well filled wallet from his pocket. His face was wreathed in an affable smile. Bowman surreptitiously opened his pocket knife, suddenly bent over the chest and drew the point of the pocket knife across one of the yellow ingots.
The gilded surface crinkled under the sharp point of the scratching knife, disclosing the glint of lead.
The face of the prospector underwent a ludicrous transformation. The affable smile vanished entirely from the face of Sam Brokay.
Jax Bowman, his hand sliding under the lapel of his coat, stared steadily at the prospector. Big Jim Grood kept his eyes glued on Brokay.
"Skin-game," said Jax Bowman.
Brokay took a deep breath.
"Well, of all the nerve," he said. "My God, I should have known better! It was the build-up that got me. It was finding this old prospector out here in the desert, and all of that stuff that goes with it."
Jax Bowman nodded.
The prospector suddenly stepped out of character. He ran his hands over the white stubble and laughed.
"Well," he said, "I damn near put it over. I'll tell you what, you boys be sports and keep this to yourselves and I'll hook some other fellow. After all, it's a question of some one trying to skin me out of about half of my profits. I simply beat him to it."
Brokay's laugh was booming and hearty.
"Okay," he said, "no hard feelings. I guess when you come right down to it, we're as deep in the mud as he is in the mire. How about it, boys?"
Bowman nodded.
"Well," the prospector said, "you slickers might just as well stick around for a while. I've been in here for more than two weeks on the build-up and growing this crop of stubble. My partner is out drumming me up suckers. I'm so damn lonesome for companionship I go out and talk to the burro. Stick around and I'll cook you up some desert chow."
"Are there," asked Bowman, "any prehistoric relics around here?"
"Lots of them," the man said. "You can find them around almost anywhere. Look in the crevices of the rock."
"Suppose we take a stroll," Bowman said, "and look the place over a bit."
Sam Brokay stretched and yawned.