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their foolish day in court had cost them. The men now following them made no attempt to conceal their presence.
    “By God, Barry,” said Davis sarcastically, “that was smart, showin’ our hand to every bastard in town. Now we got to hunt the gold with one eye and watch our backs with the other.”
     
    “All right,” Rust said curtly, “you’ve made your point. I’m not perfect like you. I’m new to Western ways, but I’m smart enough to know we’re in no danger of being shot in the back until we find the gold. Now that brings us to an important question you haven’t answered: What of these troublesome cowboys, who not only have the rest of the map but know what’s in our half?”
     
    “There’s only one answer,” replied Davis. “Henry Logan has made a fool of me. He had no intention of me findin’ his claim. Otherwise, why did he trust two fiddle-footed cowboys with the whole map, while sending only half of it to Kelly and Kelsey?”
     
    “That won’t make no difference,” Bollinger said. “Once we’re out of town, away from this hick sheriff, I’ll gun those hombres down and we’ll take their map.”
     
    “Don’t be a damn fool,” scolded Davis. “We know nothing about the Superstitions. If we
had
the map, what chance would we have of ever finding the mine? Let’s allow these friends of Logan to find the gold and
then
gun them down.”
     
    “So you have no intention of looking for the gold at all,” Rust said. “We’ll just be following Wells and Holt.”
     
    “Exactly,” said Davis. “Can you come up with a better plan?”
     
    “No,” Rust admitted, “but I’d be more impressed if we didn’t have to share it with the rest of the town, maybe even the territory.”
     
    “Well, you know whose fault that is,” said Davis roughly.
     
    “So I made a mistake,” Rust snapped. “Now get off it. We have to put up a convincing front. What’s our first move?”
     
    “We’ll hire a guide,” answered Davis. “First, so we don’t get lost in the mountains, and second, so it will appear that we’re searching for the gold in our own right,instead of just following Wells and Holt, like everybody else.”
     
    Part of south Phoenix had become so Mexican-dominated, it was referred to as Mex Town. Here in a smoke-filled cantina called the Paisano, sat Yavapai and Sanchez, a pair of ne’er-do-well Mexicans who made a dishonest living by working both sides of the border. Presently down on their luck, they were seeking some means—however devious—of bettering their position.
    “I have heard of this Henry Logan,” said Sanchez, “and I have long believed there is gold in the Superstitions.”
     
    “Ah,” Yavapai said, “who but foolish
gringos
would reveal such a secret before seeking to discover the truth of it for themselves?”
     
    “Por Dios,”
sighed Sanchez, “it is a wretched time for us to be without even a
peso
for food. If we had supplies, it would be so simple to follow these
gringos
until they have found the gold, and then take it from them.”
     
    “The Apaches believe their Thunder God lives in the Superstitions,” Yavapai said, “and I think before these mountains give up their gold, men will die. Per’ap there’s yet a chance for us to share this gold—or take it all.”
     
    Assayer Herk Peterson heartily regretted ever having told that bunch from Missouri anything, even if some of them
were
Hoss Logan’s blood kin. Gary Davis and Barry Rust talked down to Peterson as though he was beneath them, a
pelado
who hadn’t revealed all he knew. Their attitude had rankled Peterson, and he had thoroughly enjoyed seeing them take a beating in court. He now watched with misgivings as the detested pair, accompanied by R. J. Bollinger, approached the assayer’s office. Whatever they wanted, Peterson would be courteous, but that was all. When the three men entered, it was Davis who spoke.
    “Peterson, I need to hire a guide, a man familiar with the