Once through the town Johnny drove faster and passed the grounds of the Hansonville mine without slowing up. But as he neared the Silver Tombstone he began applying the brakes.
“Johnny!” exclaimed Sam. “We’re not going down in the mine again, are we?”
“I hope not,” said johnny grimly as he shut off the engine. He got out of the car, then turned back. “The shotgun, Sam!”
Sam already had it in his hands. He climbed out of the car, scowled as he looked toward the mine shaft.
“Do you see anything of a house around here?” Johnny asked.
Sam looked suspiciously at Johnny. “What kind of a house?”
“A mansion. It says in this book that Jim Walker built a mansion here.” He held up the copy.
“If there’s a mansion anywhere around here,” said Sam, “it’s hiding under a rock.”
“Or behind one.” Johnny looked at the mound behind the mine shaft. “Let’s take a look.”
They started for the mine shaft, Sam glanced darkly at the shaft as they passed. Johnny stopped a moment, then, trying to decide whether to climb the mountain of shale and slag, or circle it. He finally determined on the latter course and started toward the left, in the direction away from the Hansonville mine.
It took several minutes to circle the mountain, but before they completed the circuit, Johnny stopped and sniffed the crisp morning air. “Smoke,” he announced.
Sam’s face set in grim lines. He stepped ahead, the shotgun held at the ready. Fifty feet more and they both saw it — Jim Walker’s “mansion.”
Fifty years is a long time on the desert. Of Jim Walker’s old home there remained only the stone walls — and those were buried in the sand to a depth of two or three feet, up to and even above the levels of the glassless windows. Once, no doubt, Walker’s house had been a showplace, but now it was a heap of stone and rubble.
In front of what had once been the main door was a small fire and huddled over this was Dan Tompkins, erstwhile desert rat. Ho was frying bacon in a blackened pan.
He was a little more engrossed in his job than he should have been, for Johnny and Sam were less than twenty yards away before Tompkins became aware of their presence. Then he set down the frying pan and in the same movement reached toward his hip. His hand stopped in mid-air, however, as he saw the muzzle of Sam’s shotgun covering him.
“Well, for the lova Geronimo!” he exclaimed loudly. “If it ain’t my old pals, Johnny Fletcher and Sam Cragg!”
“Watch him, Sam!” Johnny exclaimed. He dashed past Dan Tompkins and sprang through the doorway. He was just in time to catch Charles Ralston on his knees, trying frantically to open a Boston bag.
Johnny kicked the bag out of his reach. “Outside, chum!”
“Who do you think you’re pushing around?” Ralston demanded.
“I wasn’t pushing you around,” said Johnny. “Not yet. But it’s an idea.” He raised his foot and kicked Charles Ralston where a man is supposed to be kicked. Ralston went sprawling through the door. Johnny followed.
“So now you two have paired up,” he said, when he came outside once more.
Tompkins moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Mr. Ralston sold me a half interest in the Silver Tombstone. He was willing to make me an attractive offer on account of my experience in mining.”
“What’d he sell you — a half interest in the Arizona air?”
Ralston began to bluster. “Look here, Fletcher—”
“It’s too early in the morning to look,” Johnny snapped. “I suggest you and Tompkins start looking... somewhere else.”
Tompkins shook his head sadly. “That’s what I get for bein’ decent to you boys.”
“Stop it, Tompkins,” Johnny cut in impatiently. “That stuff was all around out in Hollywood, but a lot of sand has blown over the desert since then and I haven’t got very much time. You gave me a lot of baloney about...”
He stopped, his eyes fixed on the ground. There were three tin plates beside the fire. He started to turn and then Joe Cotter came leaping out of the house.
Johnny tried to cry out a warning to Sam Cragg, but Cotter’s flailing right hand struck him a terrific blow on the side of the head and Johnny hit the sand so hard that he almost turned a somersault. He was still down when the shotgun boomed.
Johnny scrambled to his knees, then threw himself flat once more. The shotgun, thrown away by Sam, missed his head by inches. Johnny’s face was still in the sand, when he heard the thud of bone and muscle meeting bone and muscle as Sam and Joe Cotter collided.
He heaved up on his hands and saw the two men locked in the long-delayed struggle. He got to his feet and looked quickly to Charles Ralston and Dan Tompkins, both of whom were watching the fighters with expressions of awe.
Chapter Nineteen
Joe Cotter was perhaps four inches taller than Sam, but weighed only a few pounds more. That he was the strongest man in Arizona, as had been claimed for him, Johnny did not doubt when he saw the terrific strain on Sam Cragg’s face. The men, at the moment, were still struggling for grips. As fast as one secured a grip the other broke it.
Sam suddenly broke the deadlock by dropping to his knees and lunging forward. The result was that Cotter went spilling over his shoulder. Sam whirled to throw himself down on Cotter. The big man was too fast, however, His powerful legs doubled, his feet went out and caught Sam Cragg squarely in the midsection.
Sam was hurled backwards for more than a dozen feet. But he was up instantly. So was Joe Cotter. The two men sized each other up, then advanced simultaneously.
This time Cotter decided to slug it out. When he came within range, he feinted with his left, then smashed at Sam with his right. Sam rolled with the blow, taking it high on his shoulder, and came back with a smash that caught Joe Cotter on the chest with the sound of a mallet on a wooden block. Joe Cotter went back a step or two, then braced himself and waited for Sam to come in.
Sam swung with his fist, stopped the punch in mid-air and lunged for Cotter with his head and shoulders. Cotter locked his hands together and as Sam’s head hit his torso smashed down with the hands on the back of Sam’s neck.
Cotter went down but Sam fell on top of him, groggy from the savage rabbit punch. Cotter struggled to throw Sam off. He finally managed, but Sam’s hand snaked out and caught Cotter’s ankle. He jerked and Cotter crashed down once more.
Up to now both men had fought reasonably fair. But Cotter, in landing this time, lashed out with his foot and caught Sam squarely in the face with it. Blood gushed from Sam’s mouth. He reeled back.
“Goddam you!” he swore.
Cotter bounced to his feet. “Watch yourself from here on,” he snarled. “I’m going to beat you to a pulp.”
“Come ahead!” Sam challenged. He rushed in, took a terrific blow on his bleeding mouth, but stuck his right hand through Cotter’s crotch. His left he wrapped about the bigger man’s neck. He lifted Cotter then and hurled him to the ground so hard that Cotter cried out.
Then Sam repeated his mistake of swooping down upon the prostrate Cotter. And again Cotter’s feet caught him in the stomach and hurled him back.
Sam was still down this time, when Cotter charged him, kicking savagely. Sam took a horrible kick in the ribs, tried to roll away, but saw that he couldn’t dodge a second kick. His hands therefore shot out and caught Cotter’s foot. Cotter, unbalanced, fell beside Sam.
Sam clung to the foot, scrambled aside and came to his feet, still holding Cotter’s foot. He began twisting it. Cotter screamed.
“Let go of my foot!”
Viciously he kicked at Sam with his free foot. In a flash Sam had the second foot in his grip. He leaned back then and began turning. Like a hammer thrower throwing a weight, he raised Joe Cotter’s body from the sand, made a swift spin and let go.