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.
Action Stories
6
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
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
The Winged Ones
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
Action Stories
8
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