“Now, you big slob,” Sam Cragg snarled at Joe Cotter.
“Hold it!” snapped Danny Sage.
Sam Cragg caught hold of Joe Cotter’s wrist, yanked heavily on it. Danny Sage pulled the trigger of the automatic and a bullet kicked up gravel near Sam’s feet.
Sam let go of Joe Cotter and began to whirl. “I said — hold it!” Danny Sage repeated.
“Cutting yourself a piece of cake?” Johnny Fletcher asked, thinly.
“If there’s any cake to cut — yes.” He nodded toward Helen Walker. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure...”
Johnny said: “Miss Walker, Mr. Sage. He claims your great-uncle murdered Jim Fargo.”
“I would say Mr. Sage is crazy,” Helen Walker retorted promptly.
Danny Sage smiled pleasantly. “Mr. Fletcher didn’t complete his statement. My mother’s uncle — a full-blooded Hopi Indian — saw the job.”
“I prefer to believe my great-uncle.”
Danny Sage shrugged. “It doesn’t really make any difference.”
“No,” said Johnny, “so how about putting up the gun?”
Joe Cotter said sharply: “All right, Danny — throw it over. I can handle this.”
“You usually do, but I think it’s time the Indian got back some of his. I’m in.”
“You’re in on what?” Cotter demanded.
“This,” said Danny Sage, gesturing about him.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested in the sand and gravel business.”
“If you’re interested in sand — I am.”
“I’m the law here, that’s all I’m interested in.”
“What law?” asked Johnny Fletcher. “You’re a lawyer, not a cop.”
“Among other things I’m also a deputy sheriff.”
Johnny looked at Danny Sage for confirmation. The latter nodded. “He’s Mayor of Hansonville, deputy sheriff, jailer and also owns the grocery store.”
Cotter bared his teeth. “Your number’s up, wise guy. There’s a murder rap waiting for you back in California...”
“Murder?” Danny Sage’s face showed sudden respect. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I haven’t. A little larceny maybe, but no murder. I never even met the victim until after he was dead.” He looked thoughtfully at Danny Sage. “Didn’t it make the papers out here?”
“I haven’t been reading papers lately.” Danny Sage nodded suddenly, coming to a decision. “Murder, eh? And you think it’s only a matter of sand.” He looked at the shaft, which led down into the vitals of the earth. “Maybe Dan Tompkins hit it, after all... The mine belongs to you, Miss Walker?”
“There’s some difference of opinion about that,” said Johnny. “Jim Walker has a grandson; a no-good from the looks of him. But anyway, Miss Walker had the mine willed to her and I imagine her claim to it is the best.”
“Danny,” said Joe Cotter ominously, “for the last time — hand over that gun and cut out the nonsense. You’ve got away with a lot of things in your time, but your family can’t keep you out of trouble if you mix into this...”
“Take a walk, Joe,” Danny Sage said.
“All right,” Cotter said. He turned to Helen Walker. “Coming?”
“I’ll stay here,” Helen said promptly.
“You, too?” Cotter’s mouth twisted. “You might be making a mistake.”
“I’ll take the chance.”
Without another word, Cotter strode off, heading for his car. The little group at the mine watched him go. Cotter reached his car, headed for the far side and leaning over opened the glove compartment. He took something out and ducked down behind his car.
A second later, a gun barked and lead kicked up sand near Danny Sage. Danny returned a quick snap shot, before springing for the meager shelter of the mine shaft. The others were not much behind him.
“He had another gun!” exclaimed Danny. He dropped to one knee, took careful aim and sent another bullet toward Cotter’s car.
But Cotter’s position was a more advantageous one, his car offering ideal shelter. The range was a little far for too accurate shooting but with time enough for careful aiming, Cotter — unless he was an atrociously bad shot — should score some hits.
He wasn’t a bad shot as his next one proved. A bullet splintered wood about a half inch from Johnny’s nose. He threw himself frantically onto the elevator platform. Then he was up on his feet instantly, stepping off and reaching for the fly wheel of the gasoline engine that operated the winch. He yanked viciously on the rope starter. The engine coughed, began roaring. A bullet from Cotter’s gun clanged against the iron, ricocheted off into space.
“Get on the platform!” Johnny cried.
Danny Sage came over. “You get on — I’ll let you down a few feet, out of range...”
Sam and Helen stepped onto the platform with alacrity. Johnny hesitated a moment, then stepped on the platform, stooping. Danny Sage sent two quick shots at Joe Cotter, then reached for the winch lever.
The descent into the shaft was so swift that all three on the elevator were thrown off their feet. The platform went down into the dark shaft with frightening speed. Johnny clawed at the cable, got hold of it and braced himself. He turned up his face.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Not this far.”
Helen Walker cried out in sudden fear. But the elevator continued to plummet down into the earth. The opening above grew smaller and smaller. And after a moment or two it became a mere pinpoint of light.
Then the elevator stopped so suddenly that they were again thrown into a heap.
“Godalmighty!” choked Sam Cragg, picking himself up. “He let us drop all the way down.”
“Maybe he was hit,” said Johnny and a sudden shudder ran through him.
The blackness in the shaft was Stygian. Johnny picked himself up and reached out with a hand. It touched slimy earth. He groped about, brushed clothing that he assumed was Helen Walker’s. She was sobbing.
He reached into his pocket and found a book of paper matches. He struck one, held it for a moment until it burned bright. Then he took a step forward, off the elevator platform onto solid shale.
“There’s a shaft here,” he announced.
The match burned his finger and he dropped it. Fumbling, he struck another and noted that there were only about a half dozen in the book. He took a couple of steps into the shaft and exclaimed.
On a wooden shelf stood a half dozen carbide lamps. He picked up one, shook it and heard water slosh inside. He touched the match end to the opening, but no gas light shot into flame. He realized then that the lamp was empty of carbide. The match in his hand was burning short, too.
Just as it went out he saw a round tin canister on another shelf, stepped forward and struck a third match. As he had guessed the canister contained carbide. He heaved a sigh of relief, opened the canister and lamp and dumped carbide from the canister into the lamp. He sloshed water on it and applied a fourth match to the opening. A bright white flame shot out.
He turned and found Sam and Helen behind him. He handed Helen the lamp, fixed two more, one for himself and one for Sam.
“How do we get out, climb up the cable?” Sam asked.
Johnny stepped back to the elevator shaft, stooped and peered down under the platform. He got to his feet again and shook his head, soberly.
“This is the bottom.”
“All right,” growled Sam. “I haven’t done any rope climbing for quite awhile, but if I have too, I guess I can climb fifty feet, hand over hand.”
“Can you climb six hundred feet?” Johnny asked.
“Six hundred! We didn’t fall that far...”
“I’m afraid we did. This is the bottom of the shaft, the six hundred foot level...”