The Winged Ones by H Read online

his thin lips grimly. If he had half a chance,

  Mexican’s pencil.

  the deed would be done!

  Splint was absorbed in this task when

  Roth and Vasquez did make camp his ears caught the faint tinkle of a mule bell soon. When their fire had died to a dull red

  coming down the trail from the direction in

  glow of embers, Splint stalked the pair again,

  which the treasure seekers had been headed.

  crept upon them with all the silence of a snake Swiftly, he considered what to do. If he should slipping from cover to cover. He reached a

  leave the fire and flee in the darkness the

  screen of boulders that lay a scant dozen feet

  traveler would discover the bodies and raise a

  away from the recumbent men. He listened

  hue and cry that would hound him far beyond

  keenly. Deep and steady breathing told him

  hope of ever reaching the treasure. Better to

  that both Roth and the Mexican were sleeping

  hide the bodies. Then whoever might be

  soundly. So sure of their treasure, now, approaching would suspect nothing.

  thought Splint, that they were not troubling to Spurred to action by the growing

  keep guard. He left the boulders, breathing a

  music of the bell, the murderer dragged the

  fervent hope that the horses hobbled at no

  bodies of Roth and the Mexican out of sight

  great distance away would not wind him and

  behind the nearby boulders. He was smoking

  snort an alarm.

  calmly beside the fire when the traveler came

  On he crept. The distance between within its radiance. He was an old man, this himself and the sleeping men narrowed to a

  wayfarer, with skin like wrinkled leather and

  body’s length. And then the sharp streaking

  hair as white as mountain snow. He wore a tall

  flash of Splint’s automatic cut into the night.

  sombrero of straw and a dingy scrape. He was

  That first bullet caught the Mexican,

  mounted on a scrawny mule. And Splint

  Vasquez, fair and true in the temple. Beyond a

  discerned two or three more of the beasts,

  convulsive flexing of muscles he never without riders, in the shadowy dark behind the moved. But Roth, at that first crashing report, old Mexican.

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  The old man greeted Splint

  A look of fear leaped into the old

  courteously.

  man’s eyes.

  “I beg the warmth of your fire, señor,

  “No! No!” he protested. “Señor, there

  for an old man. The night is chill.”

  is no treasure!”

  Splint grunted inhospitably. He had no

  “That is a lie,” said Splint coldly.

  desire for this man to linger. The weary

  His beady eyes narrowed upon the old

  ancient might elect to stay the night! He must

  man’s countenance.

  get rid of the unwelcome caller as quickly as

  “A lie. And you know well the hiding

  might be possible.

  place of that treasure. You shall reveal it to

  “You have far to go, old man?” he

  me!”

  queried as the venerable Mexican dismounted

  “No, señor. There is no treasure,”

  and spread his bony hands to the blaze.

  repeated the old Mexican. “Long since has the

  “Not far, señor. I go to meet my son. A

  chest been despoiled by some vandal, and the

  runner from the mission brought me word of

  place is accursed. It is now but the abode of

  his coming, with another man, and also a

  the Winged Ones! No man ventures there. The

  request that I have mules in readiness for a

  wrath of the Winged Ones—”

  journey into the mountains. I bring the mules

  “Hell take your Winged Ones,”

  now, for I could not wait his arrival. When I

  interrupted Splint. “I fear nothing! You shall

  saw your fire in the distance I thought it might guide me to that treasure.”

  be the place of his camping, and my heart beat

  “Señor, there is no—”

  faster, señor. I have not looked upon the face

  “Enough! That lie will not save you

  of my son for twelve long years.”

  from going with me.”

  Surprise flashed across the dark face of

  “But I cannot go, señor. I am on my

  Splint Moraine—surprise that quickly gave way to meet my son. It is twelve years—”

  way to glint of cunning in his hard eyes. Here

  “Look you, old one!” snarled Splint.

  was luck indeed. Old Vasquez himself a

  He seized a brand from the fire and got

  possible guide to the treasure!

  to his feet and took the old man by his skinny

  “I, too, am headed into the mountains,”

  arm.

  said Splint. “I seek the old shrine beyond San

  “Come with me!”

  Borja.”

  Splint led the old man, who protested

  The old Mexican regarded him feebly, to the rocks where he had dragged the curiously across the flickering fire.

  bodies of his victims. He whirled the brand

  “It is in ruins, señor. No man goes

  into fire and thrust it close to illumine the face there now!”

  of the dead Mexican—the face of Vasquez

  Splint said nothing for a moment. He

  with the bullet hole in his temple and the livid occupied the interval of silence by refilling the scar across his cheek.

  magazine of his automatic. When he had

  “Amor di Dios! ” cried the old man. “It finished he laid the weapon across his knee so

  is my son!”

  that its muzzle pointed at the lank midriff of

  He would have fallen to his knees,

  the old man.

  praying, but Splint rammed the muzzle of the

  “I seek not alone the shrine,” declared

  automatic into his ribs and jerked him roughly

  Splint coldly. “I seek also the hidden treasure upright.

  there. The offerings! Gold, silver, jewels . . .! I

  “Your son, yes,” he spat out viciously.

  have a map, old one, but you shall guide me

  “And you will go with great speed to join him

  there and save me time and trouble.”

  in hell if you refuse to do as I wish. An hour

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  7

  ago he lived. An hour ago I shot him. And

  some high cavern among the rocks. In that

  there is another bullet waiting for you if you

  forbidding world of jagged peaks and dark

  prove obstinate. You will lead me to the gorges the very silence of his patient guide treasure, now?”

  began to work upon Splint Moraine’s nerves.

  The old Mexican gazed fixedly for a

  A vague and indefinable foreboding of evil

  long moment into the crafty eyes of his son’s

  hovering, of death lurking in the mysteries

  murderer. Finally he said softly:

  ahead, began to lay hold upon his

  “It shall be as you command, señor.”

  overwrought imagination. But thought of

  Splint grunted his satisfaction and led

  fabulous treasure almost within his grasp was

  the old man back to the fire. With the strong

  an anchor to hold him fast to the grim rea
lities cord he had used to draw water at the Mine of

  of the journey.

  the Three Shafts, he bound the unresisting

  Dusk was not far distant when they

  Mexican securely.

  came into the shadow of a mighty gorge

  “I tie you, old one, so that you may not

  flanked on either hand by towering cliffs and

  play me false while I sleep,” said Splint as he bleak mountains upthrust to the darkening sky.

  tightened the last knot. “We start at dawn.”

  Midway of the gorge the old Mexican called a

  At the first hint of morning light Splint

  halt. Pointing to worn steps cut in the wall of Moraine was awake and had the old man free.

  the cliff, steps leading up to a great niche

  Beyond a suggestion that his captor abandon

  where fallen timbers were tangled like the

  his horse for a mount on one of the mules, the

  bones of long dead men, he said:

  old Mexican held silence unbroken.

  “The shrine, senor.”

  Before the falling of dark they came to

  “Never mind the shrine. Show me the

  the tumbled ruins of the old Mission San

  place of the treasure!” commanded Splint.

  Borja. Here they spent the night, corraling the Without more words the old man led

  mules within the still standing remnants of

  the way along the bottom of the gorge for

  adobe walls, and themselves spreading what seemed to Splint Moraine an blankets in the ruined nave. Again Splint interminable distance. At last he paused and carefully tied the old man as a measure of

  directed Splint’s attention to a dusky orifice

  safety.

  high up on the face of a cracked and wind-cut

  In the gray chill of early dawn the old

  cliff.

  Mexican indicated to Splint the trail they must

  “A deep cavern is there, senor. Within

  take away from the ruined mission into the

  is the Chest of the Offerings.”

  somber mountains. And Splint assured himself

  Splint Moraine’s blood was

  by a glance at the map that the old man was

  hammering in his veins.

  guiding him aright.

  “How do you reach it? Show me the

  Hour after weary hour the dim trail

  way!”

  wormed its way into the heart of the mighty

  With the point of a bony forefinger the

  splintered hills. It led them now toiling up the old man picked out for Splint the faint cracks

  boulder-studded bottom of some rough-hewed

  and seams and inequalities of stone that would

  canyon, now whipsawing their way up along

  give him hold for hands and feet. Eager to be

  the bold face of some sheer precipice by a way

  at the treasure, Splint began to climb.

  that was no more than a path for a mountain

  It required the exercise of all Splint

  goat.

  Moraine’s wiry agility to make his way up

  Time after time Splint caught glimpses

  that bold face of cliff until he at last stood

  of tawny cougars slinking away to vanish in

  upon the lip of stone at the mouth of the

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  cavern. Looking down, he saw the face of the

  calm satisfaction stole over his wrinkled face

  old man upturned, watching him with a as there came to his ears from the depths of curious intentness.

  the cavern a muffled shriek—the cry of a man

  Splint had a fleeting moment of in deadly agony.

  apprehension. He remembered vividly those

  With a swift agility that belied his

  tawny cougars he had glimpsed along the trail.

  hoary years the old man herded the mules a

  He wondered if this cave might be the den of

  little way down the gorge. He halted where he

  such beasts. But the lure of treasure was had full view of the cavern’s mouth. And strong. It overrode his momentary fears and

  quickly the murderer appeared there,

  drew him on into the shadows that filled the

  screaming and desperately fighting, beating at

  cavern.

  the air about his face.

  Once inside that vault of stone, Splint

  He threshed wildly about upon the

  struck a match to dispel the dusky shadows

  high lip of stone. Suddenly he lost his balance, and looked eagerly about him. Ah! The old

  pitched over the edge, and came whirling

  Mexican had not played him false! The chest,

  down the cliff face to meet the stony floor of

  a massive receptacle of hewed wood bound

  the gorge with bone-breaking impact.

  and studded with hand-wrought iron of quaint

  Behind him, all about him, settling to

  design, stood upon a low shelf of rock at the

  attack until their numbers hid face and hands

  far end of the cavern. The chest was old, very

  and grotesquely floundering body, streamed

  old, and holes of boring insects large as a

  an angry horde of moscardones—those great finger were in profusion all along its front.

  vicious black and yellow hornets of Baja

  This much Splint saw before the match burned

  California.

  out.

  After half an hour had passed and the

  He did not pause to light another. He

  swarm of moscardones had returned to their leaped swiftly forward and threw back the

  ruined home in the long-empty Chest of the

  ponderous lid of the chest. With an Offerings, the old man came in the twilight inarticulate cry of triumph he plunged both

  and stood looking down upon the blotched and

  arms deep in its interior, groping hands tearing swollen face of the broken thing that had been

  feverishly at a substance, that had the feel of Splint Moraine.

  tough and ancient parchment. . . .

  “Carlos, thou art avenged!” he

  whispered softly.

  AT the base of the great cliff, face upturned

  Then he spurned with his boot the

  and eyes burning with a strange smoldering

  body of the murderer.

  fire upon the opening where the murderer of

  “And

  thou,

  animale! Didst like those

  his son had disappeared, stood the old man,

  caresses of the Winged Ones?”

  watching . . . listening. . . . And a smile of