Hills of Blood by E. C. Tubb

Author:E. C. Tubb
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spencer Ltd
Published: 1955-03-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

It was hot in the hills. The sun beat down from the bowl of the sky like a molten sphere of brass sending little heat-shimmers from the rocks and the harsh dust, wilting the sparse vegetation which defied the lack of water and good soil as it grew from cracks and crannies in the stones. A lizard darted across a boulder, its eyes like tiny jewels, and a rattler, coiled in the sheltering coolness of a shallow cave, lifted its head and sounded its rattles in warning as three horsemen passed by well out of range of its poisoned fangs.

"Hot," said Sweeny. He mopped his face. "Now I know why preachers always warn us about Hell. Get the sinners up in these hills and they'd sure see the light." He spoke dully as if not really interested in what he was saying but merely talking in an effort to break the silence.

"Dead," said Gilcross. He spat at a stone. "Every one of the diggings empty and the miners dead. All of them down to the last man." He could not seem to get over it.

"Indians?" Terrance knew but he asked just the same.

"What else?" Gilcross spat again. "Damn foolish question."

"Was it?" Terrance stared at the scarred sergeant. "I know a little about Indians and I've never known them to turn robber yet. They steal, sure, horses and food and blankets and anything useful they can get their hands on. But gold? Never known an Indian who cares about gold yet."

"What you thinking, Terrance? Renegades?"

"Could be."

"Sure it could." Gilcross knew that white men had dressed as Indians in order to pass the blame for their depredations on the tribes. He also knew that white men had deserted their own race in order to fight with their Indian friends. "But we bumped into a group of them back where we rescued Bill. They weren't Renegs."

"No," admitted Terrance. He frowned. "Strange about the gold though. In every digging we searched the gold had been taken. In some cases the miners had been tortured and it's a fair guess to say that whoever tortured them wanted to know where the gold was hidden. You agree?"

"Keep talking." Gilcross rode easily in the saddle, his alert eyes flickering about him as he spoke. The old Indian fighter was ready for any danger and, though he seemed to be totally relaxed and almost half asleep, yet he could spring into instant life. He had proved that a few miles back when he had whipped up his rifle and shot the head from a rattler which had darted towards his horse.

"How much gold would you say was produced in these diggings? How much would you guess the miners would keep by them?"

"Hard to say." Gilcross screwed up his face in thought. "To hear them talk you'd think that they only operated their mines for the sake of keeping their hands busy, but that's natural with miners, they just don't like to let on how high their pay dirt assays.

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