CHAPTER SIX

As Joe arrived at Signal Rock, Adam was still hard at work in Kane's mine. He led Epicene out with a full load of rock for what felt like the hundredth time and then dropped, coughing, onto the ground near Kane to get a drink from the canteen. Even nearly twenty-four hours after his trek through the desert, he craved water, and the dust from the mine wasn't helping. He glanced at Kane and saw the older man was making more dynamite.

"We won't need any more of that powder until we get that new shoring in," he said, gesturing to the mine. He'd been in a cave-in before and didn't fancy repeating the experience.

"We have to hurry, Mr. Cartwright," Kane said, looking up at him. "We only have two of our three days left." He returned to his work.

"Yeah, but if we do any more blasting before putting in more timber, that whole thing's just gonna collapse." He was already annoyed with Kane. While he'd been breaking his back chipping away at the rock in the mine and hauling out the worthless rubble, Kane had been sitting comfortably pouring gunpowder into dynamite sticks.

"I'd like to hit that vein before you leave," Kane said.

"Yeah, so would I," Adam said. "And it looks to me like that's the only way you're gonna give me any rest." He rose stiffly and grabbed the mule's lead. "Once more unto the breach," he quoted and headed back into the mine.

He spent the rest of the day inside the mine constructing the supports necessary for safe blasting. He was filthy and exhausted, and his torn shirt was falling to pieces, but at least he was out of the sun.

"One more day, Cartwright," he told himself. "Just one more day. Then you can meet Little Joe, find the men who jumped you, and get Sport back."

The thought did little to cheer him.

When the sun rose the next morning, Little Joe and Cochise were still waiting at Signal Rock. Joe leaned casually against a rock with his legs stretched out as he sipped some coffee.

"Can you imagine that?" Joe playfully asked his horse. "'Be on time' he says, and here he is already a day late." He shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. "Well, Cochise, we can either sit around this rock pile, or we can start out looking for him. What do you think we oughta do?" He looked up at the pinto, who gave no response. "That's right. You don't talk before you've had your morning coffee. Here you go." He held the cup up to the horse's mouth, and Cochise slurped the coffee happily. "Careful!" Little Joe said as Cochise dripped coffee on his hand. "It's hot! It's hot!" He giggled and rose to his feet to set off after Adam.

Little Joe searched for most of the day but found no sign of his brother. This was too out of character for Adam. He must be in serious trouble. His playful mood gone, he turned Cochise toward the nearest town to get some supplies.

Late that morning, as Kane continued to sit comfortably and inspect the rocks Adam had dragged out of the mine, Adam stumbled from the mine entrance, choking on the dust that coated him from head to toe. His shirttail had come loose, and his right sleeve was held on by only a few threads. He leaned against a rock wall to catch his breath.

Kane stared at a rock through a magnifying glass. "What are you doing out here?" he asked coolly, not bothering to look at Adam.

"Just getting a breath of fresh air before I keel over in that oven," Adam replied as he uncorked the canteen. The mine was out of the sun, but there was little air exchange, and the atmosphere was stifling. He drank deeply.

"Well hurry up," Kane drawled.

Anger surged through him. He'd been working himself half to death for two days while the mine's owner lounged around and played with rocks. His patience was gone.

"Mr. Kane," he began, his chest heaving, "for the past two days, you have worked me from sunup to sundown without a break. And any time I straighten up for one second, you are breathing down my neck, complaining about not wasting time." His voice rose as he struggled to control his anger.

Kane still didn't look at him. He stayed focused on his magnifying glass. "I thought you were used to hard work, Mr. Cartwright. Isn't that what you said built the Ponderosa?"

Defeated, Adam threw down the canteen and stalked back into the mine.

He toiled the rest of day. Toward the end of the afternoon, he led Epicene from the mine once again and dumped the rocks from the bags slung across the mule's back. Kane looked on disapprovingly.

"Those sacks are only half full," he complained.

Adam scrubbed an arm across his brow. "I don't want to work the animal to death. A dead mule isn't gonna get your gold, or us, out of here."

Kane glared at him. "Get back to work."

Adam considered the man for a moment and then turned his grimy face skyward to check the position of the sun. "No thanks, Mr. Kane," he said evenly and dropped the empty rock bag to the ground. "My three days are up as of right now." He grabbed Epicene's lead and started to drag the animal away.

Kane's reaction was as quick as lightning. He snagged the mule's bridle and spun Adam around to face him at the same time. "Cartwright!" he seethed. "I give the orders around here! Now get back to work!"

Adam straightened up, making a show of the advantage in physical size that he held. "We made a bargain, Mr. Kane, and we're gonna keep it."

"The only bargain you're going to keep is to work that mine 'til I strike it!"

"That mine isn't gonna be good for anything but a grave!" Adam shot back, thrusting a finger in the direction of the mine. "We don't have enough food and water to stay and get out alive. We have to leave right now!" He yanked at the mule's lead again and headed to the wagon to gather supplies.

As Adam filled a canteen from the water barrel in the lean-to, Kane pulled a rifle from behind his workbench, turned, and fired toward him. Adam jumped at the blast and looked around wildly. His eyes landed on the mule, now lying dead next to the shelter. He stared in horror and dropped the canteen. His first thought was, "This man is insane." His second was, "I am in big, big trouble."

"Do you know what you've done?" He asked as Kane approached him, still carrying the rifle. "How do we get out of here now?" There was no way they could carry sufficient supplies without the mule.

"We don't," Kane replied coldly, "until I hit that vein." His use of the pronoun "I" only made Adam angrier. Kane hadn't done a bit of work in the mine since Adam arrived.

"Without the mule?"

"There's you, Mr. Cartwright."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Adam caught on. "And if I refuse to be your pack animal?" he asked, settling his hands on his hips.

"You won't refuse," Kane said. "No work, no water."

Adam stared at him with disgust as he realized his savior was no better than the men who had placed him in this position in the first place. He'd tried to give Peter Kane the benefit of the doubt. Being alone out here and working a worthless mine would make anyone squirrelly. But this went beyond eccentricity. This was evil incarnate.

"I'm giving you a chance to live," Kane continued, as if Adam should be grateful. "And after all, every animal's first instinct is to survive."

Adam knew he was trapped.

"Please come find me, Joe," he thought desperately.

Day after day, Adam toiled from dawn to dusk, drilling through the rock, filling the bags until they were so heavy he had to hunch over to drag them out of the mine, only to dump them and turn around to do it all again. His shirt hung in tatters from his shoulders, leaving his arms and chest with no protection from the sharp rocks. What little fabric remained was spotted with his blood from the countless scrapes that now covered his body. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest. While Adam labored, Kane sat in the shade of the lean-to, his rifle never more than a foot away.

On the sixth—or was it the seventh?—day, as Adam dragged a load of rocks from the mine, Kane looked up at him.

"We can stop this foolish cat-and-mouse game if you give me your word you won't try to escape. Then maybe both of us can relax." He pointed to a pot simmering over the small cooking fire. "There's a day's rations. You can take half and serve me the rest."

Adam glared at Kane, his blood boiling. He wanted to take the entire pot and fling it into the skinny man's face, but he needed the food badly, especially if he hoped to get out of this predicament. He grabbed two plates, crouched next to the pot, and spooned half the beans onto each plate. He approached the table with the nicer of the two plates and reached out to hand it to Kane.

"Not too close," the man said hatefully.

He stopped and leaned over farther to set the plate and a cup of coffee on the table in front of his captor. He turned back and picked up his own plate and started to sit down in the shade of the shelter to eat when Kane stopped him again and ordered him to sit in the blazing sun.

Heaving a sigh, Adam rose and leaned over to take a fork from the table. He paused when he heard the click of a revolver cocking, and he looked up into the barrel of Kane's Colt six-shooter. He should just let Kane shoot him. He probably would eventually anyway. But an image of his family flashed through his mind, and he backed away from the table and sat down in the burning sun next to the cooking fire. He wiped his hand as clean as he could get it on the shreds of his shirt and plunged his fingers into the beans.

Kane smiled cruelly as he watched Adam eat. "So, you've come down another notch as a civilized man," he sneered. "Eating with your fingers, like an animal."

That was it. Adam threw down his plate and launched to his feet. "Who's an animal?" he snarled, not caring that Kane was pointing the Colt at his chest again.

Kane had risen to his feet, too, and thrust the gun closer to Adam. "Don't you judge me!"

"I still have that right!"

"Judge not, lest ye be judged!" Kane quoted. Adam found this ironic, but he merely glared at Kane, his hatred no longer masked. "Get back to work," Kane seethed. "Time's running out." When Adam held his ground, Kane leaped around the small table, grabbed one of the rock sacks, and flung it at him. "Go on!" he screamed. He advanced on him, forcing him backward step by step into the mine.

Little Joe stopped at a small village about thirty miles from Signal Rock. He'd been searching for Adam for four days to no avail, and now Cochise had split a hoof on these damn rocks. The local blacksmith offered to let him stay until Cochise's hoof healed enough to be ridden. Little Joe thanked him but said he had to keep going.

"You got a horse I can use?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," the blacksmith said, "but, son, I'd advise you to stay here tonight. The next town is Salt Flats. Mighty long haul from here."

"I'm not going to Salt Flats. I'm heading south."

"Aw, mister, there ain't nothin' out there but sand and mountains and dry bones."

Joe flinched at the mention of dry bones. "What about that horse you said I could use?"

The blacksmith stepped into his barn to fetch the horse. When he reemerged, Little Joe's eyes nearly popped out of his head. The blacksmith was leading a familiar chestnut gelding with four white socks and a white stripe down his nose.

"Where'd you get this horse?" he demanded.

"Why? Is something wrong with him?"

"That's my brother's horse," Joe said, eyeing the man suspiciously.

"Well, now look, mister, I don't know anything about your brother–" the blacksmith began. Joe grabbed the man's shirt collar with his right hand and drew his gun with his left. He jabbed the muzzle of the gun into the man's jaw.

"I asked you where you got the horse!" he growled, his green eyes flashing with anger. This man knew something about Adam, and he was going to find out what.

The blacksmith eyed the gun nervously. "I, uh, I bought him from a couple fellers."

"You got a bill of sale?" Joe didn't lower his weapon.

"Yeah."

"Where is it?"

The blacksmith gestured to his shop, and Joe shoved him that direction, keeping his gun trained on the man's back as they walked. The blacksmith flipped open a small tin box and pulled out the bill of sale, which Little Joe ripped from his hands. He unfolded it and skimmed the names listed.

"All right, who's this Jim Gann?" Joe asked.

"No idea. All I know is he wanted to sell a horse."

"What about the other fellow? You know his name?"

"If I recollect, Gann called him, uh, Frank."

Now he was getting somewhere. He softened his tone a little. "Do you have any idea at all where they were headed?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," the blacksmith said, looking pleased that he could offer some useful information. "They mentioned that they was going on to Salt Flats."

"Thanks," Joe said sincerely and handed the man back the bill of sale. "Looks like I'm going to Salt Flats after all."

Little Joe untacked Cochise and bid him farewell, promising the horse he'd return for him soon. He knew Cochise couldn't understand a word, but it made Joe feel better. He put his saddle and bridle onto Sport and patted the chestnut's neck fondly, his stomach in knots. Adam must be in serious trouble if he got separated from his beloved horse. Joe tried not to imagine the worst.

"What happened to him, huh?" Joe whispered to the gelding. Sport tossed his head in reply. Joe mounted up, waved to the blacksmith, and tore out of the village on his brother's horse.