The mine buildings sprawled, three structures staggered down a slope, clearly abandoned and deteriorated. As soon as I got a glimpse of them I pulled the jeep into the throat of a side gully, stopped and got out, a little surprised that I'd seen no sign of a vehicle. I picked up my canteen, then the carbine I'd brought along, a lightweight Browning semi-auto in .22 Magnum. I was also carrying a .357 Magnum revolver -- better to carry weapons and not need them than the reverse.

I stood quietly listening, re-impressed by the absolute silence of desert terrain in the day's still heat, aware that anyone in the old mine buildings could have heard my jeep for at least the last mile of its approach. I could detect no sound, no visible movement, although from here I couldn't see the buildings themselves.

Working my way uphill and across one lip of the gully I was in brought me within sight of the buildings from above. Then I began to work down toward the uppermost one, the shaft house, keeping behind what cover I could find, scattered boulders and scraggly brush. I saw the gun barrel poke out a window, then the flash of a shot, in time to drop behind a rock and roll to one side well before the sharp crack of the shot reached me. Stupid. Should have waited until I was closer, with less time to react.

Looking from blazing sunlight into the black shadow of the building's interior I could see nothing of the shooter, but it surely wasn't an armed services veteran. The first thing a combat soldier learns about shooting from inside a building is to keep his weapon a couple of feet inside and shoot through a window from one side.

I studied the buildings and the area around them, still seeing no vehicles, then worked my way downslope. I kept to adequate cover now, which meant I couldn't see the buildings full time. It took a while, and I wasn't all that quiet, but I got no more fire. Once close enough to rush the wall of the shaft house I raised the carbine and let off three rounds to cover my approach, ending flat against the wall at one side of a door at ground level. The ear-splitting crack of the .22 Magnum rounds and their echoes died slowly into silence. Nothing. No other sound. The acrid odors of gunpowder and my own sweat, mixed with dust and the dry heat, stung my nostrils. It was hot even here, in the narrow shadow close to the building.

I dove through the door and rolled, coming back to my feet with the carbine leveled. Large mistake. The four day old, shallow shotgun wounds on my back and shoulder sent screaming signals. There was no more gunfire. I waited while the pain eased and my eyes adjusted to the comparative dark inside, seeing nothing to shoot at. Then I made a thorough, cautious tour of the building I was in. No one.

The three mine buildings were connected. I made my way down an inside stair into the dirt-floored middle building, once the site for jaw crushers or stamp mills but bare now other than for a couple of empty ore bins. I was alert for sound or movement. Nothing. Checked around. Still nothing. Another stair led down to the last building, once the final stage of the operation.

As I dropped below the level of the rafters I saw a man's body lying face up on the floor near a window opening. As I closed in there was no movement, no sound, even of his breathing. A mix of odors, gunpowder, the faint coppery smell of dried blood and the stench of death, intensified by the close heat, hung in the still air. I'd found one of the two people I'd been looking for.

The body had been Johnny Balfour. Shot twice in the chest from the front, I guessed several hours ago. The shots had driven him back, dumped him on his back. Heavy caliber Magnum weapon; blood and tissue had sprayed for several feet, the direction indicating he'd probably been shot from outside, through the window. No weapon was in sight anywhere near the body. I wondered at that, and at the absence of the Balfour girl I'd expected to find with him.

Thinking ahead, something that's often necessary in the detecting business, I relieved the body of the wallet I found in a hip pocket. It might be as well if identification took some time.

Outside, I came upon two cartridge cases. I picked up one by sticking a pencil into the case so I could look without leaving prints. Forty-four Magnum. Probably an Israeli Eagle, the only large-caliber semi-automatic pistol handling rimmed cartridges, as .357 and .44 Magnums are. Pistols kick out the fired cases; revolvers don't. I put the case back in place.

Scanning the dry ground I could see partial tracks left by several boots, and it was apparent those who made them had gone inside, then come out and left. The departing marks were all men's boots. A bad sign or a good one, depending.

Making a circuit of the buildings I found a set of smaller tracks, wide spaced, headed off in a different direction. The girl, I hoped. Running. She might have hidden out until after the men who'd finished Johnny had gone, then when I'd turned up took a shot at me and left on the run.