Chapter Eleven

Adam walked out into the blistering sunlight, squinting after being inside the dim shack. He made his way back to the saloon.

"You again. What'll it be?" asked the bartender.

"I've been tracking some riders, probably five or six, and a wagon. Have you seen anything like that here?"

"More n' once."

"What do you mean?"

The bartender leaned over the bar, looking around them before he spoke quietly. "It's the lead mines in the desert. Men go in; they don't come out. A man's out riding alone, he could end up in one of those wagons."

A man wearing buckskin walked into the saloon, stood eyeing the bartender for a moment, then went to a table and sat, watching everything that happened in the room. The bartender leaned back, slightly nodding toward the man. "Army scout," he said, handing Adam a beer.

Adam scratched his ear. "Are there any other guides in town?" he asked.

The bartender chuckled and continued quietly, keeping his eye on the scout. "She turned you down. Reason wasn't good enough, eh? Mister, if she won't go, no one else will."

"Why is that?"

"She's spent most of her life in the desert with her father. The Indians know her. She knows their ways. And even though the Mojave don't appreciate her white blood, they allow her in their lands. Because of the war, they'll kill anyone else on sight, and the white guides here know that." He stopped to wipe out a glass, glancing back up at Adam, who was looking at him warily. "A word of advice, Mister. If anyone else finds out you went to her first, and she's not taking you, you won't find any takers." He snorted, cutting his eyes back at Adam with an envious smile. "She'll keep you alive."

Adam blew out his cheeks, and pushed himself away from the bar, dropping a coin. "Thanks," he said, tipping his hat.

"Mister," called the bartender. Adam turned around. "Be careful who you talk to," he said, glancing over Adam's shoulder at the Army scout. "Trust is a funny thing."

Adam nodded and left, walking over to the telegraph office then back to the livery.

Mike was mucking stalls when Adam came in and walked over to Sport's stall. At first, he watched her, wondering if she knew anything about the lead mines. If she was part of the Aha macave, surely she would know.

"Mike, would you answer a question for me?" She looked up at him then continued her work, saying nothing. "What do you know about the lead mines?"

She stopped, propping her hands on the end of the pitchfork handle. "The white man has many mines in the desert, both gold and silver. It is easy to get men to work in those mines. But the lead mines are not so. The lead mines are cruel places. The men are given barely enough to live, and meet their deaths in cave-ins or by the weight of a falling rock or by starvation. They are replaced quietly and quickly. No one knows where they come from. Is this what you think has happened to your brother?"

"He could have been taken for money, and we just haven't received a demand yet."

She snorted. "You found his horse with nothing missing. You found his gun. You found any personal things he carried…a watch, a photograph...everything that could identify him. You found wagon tracks nearby. True?"

Adam's mouth opened slightly as he stared at her. "I've been tracking a wagon and five or six horses."

She continued mucking the stall as she spoke. "There is nowhere in the desert anyone would want to hide if they wanted money. If your brother was taken into the desert, it would be to work in the lead mines. Chances are someone died along the way, and he was replaced by your brother. The men are tied like animals in covered wagons. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Do you know the way to the mines?"

She propped the pitchfork against a wall and motioned for him to follow her. When they were in her cabin, she looked out the door before she closed it then went to the window, looking. "You cannot go into the desert alone by the road or you will be taken for the lead mines."

"How do I go in?"

"You left to find another guide. Did you?" She turned to him, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow…waiting.

Adam held his hands out to his sides as if in surrender. "I apologize."

She harrumphed. They usually came back begging. But then, he didn't look like the type to beg. "You got a first name white man?"

"Adam."

"Get your tack from the barn and bring it here. We will talk."