It was understood that in the absence of the sheriff Richard Bellamy
should have charge of the posse, and after the disappearance of Flatray he
took command.
With the passing years Bellamy had become a larger figure in the
community. The Monte Cristo mine had made him independently wealthy, even
though he had deeded one-third of it to Melissy Lee. Arizona had forgiven
him his experiment at importing sheep and he was being spoken of as a
territorial delegate to Congress, a place the mine owner by no means
wanted. For his interests were now bound up in the Southwest. His home was
there. Already a little toddler's soft fat fist was clinging to the skirt
of Ferne.
At first Bellamy, as well as Farnum, McKinstra, young Yarnell and the rest
of the posse looked expectantly for the return of the sheriff. It was hard
to believe that one so virile, so competent, so much a dominant factor of
every situation he confronted, could have fallen a victim to the men he
hunted. But as the days passed with no news of him the conviction grew
that he had been waylaid and shot. The hunt went on, but the rule now was
that no move should be made singly. Not even for an hour did the couples
separate.
One evening a woman drifted into camp just as they were getting ready to
roll into their blankets. McKinstra was on sentry duty, but she got by him
unobserved and startled Farnum into drawing his gun.
Yet all she said was: "Buenos tardes, señor."
The woman was a wrinkled Mexican with a close-shut, bitter mouth and
bright, snappy eyes.
Farnum stared at her in surprise. "Who in Arizona are you?"
It was decidedly disturbing to think what might have happened if
MacQueen's outfit had dropped in on them, instead of one lone old woman.
"Rosario Chaves."
"Glad to meet you, ma'am. Won't you sit down?"
The others had by this time gathered around.
Rosario spoke in Spanish, and Bob Farnum answered in the same language.
"You want to find the way into Dead Man's Cache, señor?"
"Do we? I reckon yes!"
"Let me be your guide."
"You know the way in?"
"I live there."
"Connected with MacQueen's outfit, maybe?"
"I cook for him. My son was one of his men."
"Was?"
"Yes. He was killed--shot by Lieutenant O'Connor, the same man who was a
prisoner at the Cache until yesterday morning."