Raw Gold | Page 7

see. As I waited for Mac to strike a match my eyes
roved about, seeking to pierce the unnatural blackness that wrapped
itself about us, and while my gaze was for an instant fixed on the
night-enshrouded canyon, a red tongue of flame flashed out for a
moment in the inky shadow below. MacRae saw it also, and held the
match unstruck.
"Must be somebody camped down there," I hazarded.
"A camp-fire would hardly flash and die out like that, Sarge," he
answered thoughtfully. "At least, not an ordinary one. There are some
folk in this country, you know, who manifest a very retiring disposition
at times. That looks to me like a blind fire or a signal. Let's wait a
minute."
We sat there on our horses, grouped close together, a minute that
lengthened to five; then MacRae broke off in the middle of a sentence
as the flare leaped up, flickered an instant, and was blotted out again. I
could have sworn I heard a cry, and one of my men spoke in a tone that
assured me my imagination had not been playing a trick.
"Hear that?" he asked eagerly. "Somebody hollered down there."
"I don't much like that," MacRae said, in a low tone. "I have a hunch
that something crooked is going on, and I reckon I'll go down and see
what that fire means. You fellows better go a little farther and wait for
me."
"Not on your life," I protested. "You might run into most any kind of
formation. We'll go in a bunch, if we go at all."
"Might be Injuns," Bruce Haggin put in. "An', anyhow, whatever play
comes up, four men's a heap better'n one. If you're bound t' mix in, why,
lead the way. I'm kinda curious about what's down there m'self."
So near to the post it was that MacRae almost knew the feel of the
ground underfoot. He led us a hundred yards along the rim of the bank

and stopped again.
"This is as good a place as any, but you'll have to get down and lead
your horses," he warned. "It's a devil of a scramble from here to the
bottom."
We dismounted, and speedily found that MacRae hadn't exaggerated
the evil qualities of that descent. If there had been boulders on that
hillside the noise of our coming would have alarmed a deaf man; but
the soft dirt and slippery grass gave out no sound, though we slid and
tumbled and dug in our heels for a foothold till the sweat streamed
down our cheeks.
At the bottom we mounted again and followed MacRae in a cautious
file around clumps of willow and rustling quaking-asp to the place
where the blaze should have shown. But no glint of fire appeared in any
direction; the coulée-bottom lay more dark and silent, if that were
possible, than the gloomy hills above. Perplexed, MacRae halted, and
we bunched together, whispering, each of us straining his eyes and ears
to catch some sight or sound of life in that black, ghostly quiet. We
might have concluded that our senses had been playing pranks at our
expense, that the flame we had seen from the ridge was purely an
imaginary thing, but for the rank, unmistakable odor of burning
wood--a smell no man bred in a land of camp-fires can mistake. We
were near it, wherever it was, but how near we had no means of
knowing.
After a bit of waiting, Mac decided that the smoke was floating from a
certain direction, and we began to edge carefully that way. Presently we
circled a clump of brush, to come near riding right into a banked fire,
barely visible, even at short range, under its covering of earth. A dimly
outlined bulk lay beside it, and leaning over in our saddles, the faint
glow of the coals revealed a man's body, half stripped of its clothing,
and--oh, well, such things are so utterly devilish you wouldn't credit it.
It's bad enough to kill, even when it's necessary; but I never could
understand how a white man could take a leaf out of the Indian's
torture-book.

The fire had been heaped over with earth--to screen it from prying eyes,
I suppose, while the good work went on. We got off our horses and
stooped over the man, forgetting for the moment that danger might lurk
in the surrounding thicket. Mac swore under his breath when he bent
and peered keenly at the man's face; then he straightened up and kicked
a part of the clay covering from the smoldering embers. As the bright
glow of a little cascade of sparks pierced the darkness, a voice in our
rear called sharply: "Hands up!" and we swung round to behold two
masked faces regarding