Alexander Key
The Diamond Pit
Short story
    A fortune in jewels – in the Venezuelan jungle

Diamonds! And only young Henley and a wily killer knew that a fortune lay in that steaming jungle hole....

    Henley studied the green jungle pressing in on two sides, then glanced uneasily down the rocky, bone-dry watercourse that in the rainy season would become an arm of the Rio Torres, fifty yards away. The Venezuelan Cordilleras loomed in the distance, a cool blue wall against the heat waves of the parched river-bed.
    “I know what I’m talking about,” he snapped at big Sandy McAndrews. “Moreno’s suspicious, and he’s due here any time now. We’ve got to pull out and make our haul next year.” McAndrews’ hand shook as he wiped sweat from his face. Beneath his white brows his eyes were red-rimmed, feverish. “Leave now – with a fortune under our feet? Ye can’t leave now!”
    “If Moreno comes back, finds what we’ve got, we’ll lose the whole thing. I’ve lost too much in the past to take any more chances!”
    “Ye know he’ll be a week gittin’ back. Then the rains’ll come an’ we’ll have to quit anyhow. It’s your turn in the hole. Git busy, ye’re wastin’ valuable time!”
    Henley’s lean jaws clicked together. At the tiny spring seeping through the shadows he drank deeply and sloshed water over his sun-bitten face, tanned by ten years of heat until it was three shades darker than his hair. He cursed, remembering those years. He had come down fresh from college, full of hope and youth, expecting to go home in a year or two with all he could spend. But with each new venture, the tropics had beaten him. They seemed ready to beat him again.
    At best McAndrews was a stubborn fool, with no conception of Latin trickery. Now, after their staggering find, the man had grown deaf and blind to all reason.
    With a patience bred of long defeat, Henley tried again. “Sandy, we’re a long way from anywhere here, and Moreno’s the law. There’s slim pickings for an official in this section – and nobody to question what he does. Moreno—”
    “Damn ye, Jim, ye’re mistakin’ the man. He’s been the spirrit of friendliness!”
    “Certainly. And he’s watched us like a hawk to see if we’ve found anything. The minute he knows we’ve got something he can work himself, he’ll pounce on it. That’s why I’ve been stalling him along on that quartz stuff, letting him think we’d bring in machinery for next season. I knew there was placer gold in the pockets here, and I’d been figuring on getting what we could of that and beating it down to the coast some night in the dugout. I wasn’t counting on anything big – never dreamed we’d find what we did at the last minute!”
    “Lord!” muttered old Sandy. “Diamonds! An’ in a pot-hole, fifty feet down!”
    Henley whirled on him. “Can’t you see, man? He’s wondering why we’re sticking around instead of doing something about the machinery. If we bring some machinery in, we’ll have a month next year to clean out this hole on the sly while we’re pretending to get things going. But if he comes back and finds us still here, lie’s liable to get rough. And if he learns we’ve got diamonds—”
    “All right, all right!” growled McAndrews. “Just a couple more days an’ we’ll leave. That’ll give us time enough.”
    Henley turned away, cursing silently. Two more days – -two days too many....
    * * *
    The pit was the largest of several, gouged out of the soft rock of the river-bed by the swirling floods that swept down once a year from the higher ground. Ten feet across at the top, the place swelled like a bottle as it neared the bottom, fifty feet below. While the other holes remained half-filled with murky water, some fault in the lower rock strata kept this one drained. It was tinder dry now, with a furious, suffocating heat at the bottom.
    Henley stripped off his clothes. A sudden afterthought made him buckle on his gunbelt before McAndrews let him down on the block and tackle that had been rigged at one side.
    In the pit he gasped for breath, then went doggedly to work. After the first few minutes he’d get used to it, and be able to dig for an hour or more until the heat became overpowering.
    With a small shovel he raked carefully through the coarse gravel, searching for the tiny, gray-white pebbles that, in the rough, only an expert would recognize. Occasionally he filled a bucket with the gravel and Mc-Andrews hauled it up to examine at the spring. This system speeded the work and at the same time gave each of them intervals of rest.
    Henley stopped once, staring at the sheer walls of the pit. Who’d have thought diamonds would be found here! But like the gold they’d come looking for, diamonds had also been washed down from some place higher up. Henley swore softly. A solid month they’d wasted here, cleaning rubble out of the place and rooting for stray nuggets. If they’d only discovered the truth at first instead of three days ago, they’d have been through and on their way to the coast now.
    A small sound jerked him to attention. Was that a motor – Moreno’s launch over on the river? Hardly; Moreno was still upstream collecting revenue from the impoverished settlements. He called McAndrews, waited, and called again. McAndrews did not appear.
    Suddenly, from above, came a low hum of voices. Something in him went cold; his hand shot to the rope. Fatigue forgotten, he began hauling himself swiftly upward.
    When he was halfway to the top a wedge of shadow cut into the shaft of sunlight beating on his shoulders. His head snapped back and he stared into the flat, smiling face of Manuel Moreno.
    “The good señor did not expect us so soon, eh ?” came the official’s smooth Spanish. “You should have called upon me for help, my friend. I would gladly have furnished hands to do your digging for you!”
    Henley gained the surface; his glance took in the three men Moreno had with him. Two were his regular bodyguards, professional killers. The other was a white man, a thin, hatchet-faced fellow whom he’d noticed once before on Moreno’s launch.
    Too late to do anything now except talk, play the stupid Yanqui, and watch his chance.
    “Thanks for the offer,” he said, forcing a smile. “If I had realized what we were up against, I’d certainly have asked for help. We ran into a new problem after you left and it’s going to require some changes in our machinery plans.”
    “I have heard so much talk of machinery, señor. You had best explain.” Moreno’s voice was suave, dangerous.
    * * *
    Henley pretended not to hear. He slapped sweat from his gaunt, sinewy frame, strode to the spring and splashed cool water over himself. Laying his revolver within instant reach, he dressed slowly.
    All the while, though, he was carefully studying Moreno and his crew. Moreno, paunchy, dirty, stood in the deep shade beyond him. Thumbs hooked into his cartridge belt, his pig-like eyes roved ceaselessly from the piles of gravel McAndrews had been working, to the timbers supporting the block and tackle in the pit. Behind him, grim, silent, were the others.
    The swarthy guards would not be difficult, but the white man worried Henley. Beneath his battered sun helmet, the fellow’s slitted, ice-cold eyes never left him. There was a heavy Luger in his belt.
    McAndrews, tight-lipped now, squatted in front of the tent. He showed the stunned surprise of one who has suddenly learned something he had not thought possible.
    A grin widened Moreno’s Billiken face. He waved a fat hand toward the white man with him. “Señor Lucas is a mining man. Perhaps he can offer some advice on your, ah – machinery plans.”
    “Machinery hell!” sneered Lucas. “With placer stuff as rich as this you don’t need machinery!” He stooped swiftly and picked up something from the pile of gravel. It was a raw nugget as large as the end of his thumb.
    Moreno’s eyes narrowed to sleepy, dangerous slits. Henley cursed himself for his stupidity. After finding the diamonds he’d entirely forgotten about the loose gold occurring in the same deposit.
    Abruptly, though, Henley found himself talking like a man bubbling with enthusiasm. “Oh, we are not much concerned with the small stuff in the pockets,” he said in Spanish. “It is not a hundredth part of what lies buried in the slope up yonder. With high-powered hydraulic apparatus and water piped from the river, we can take out gold by the ton. We’ve been going through the pit to see if there’s an underground vein, but it’s just some odd bits washed down from the main lode.”
    Moreno’s mouth gasped. Even Lucas seemed convinced, for he half turned and gave the jungle-crowded slope a keen glance.
    Heart hammering, but outwardly calm, Henley pressed his advantage. “I’d glad you came back, for now we can ask you for a lift down to the coast. We can pick up this hydraulic outfit anywhere, and once in place we’ll be able to work right on through the rainy season.”
    Henley waited. It all depended on how much Lucas knew of mining. Anyone with experience would soon learn that the only gold in the vicinity would be found in the river-bed.
    Abruptly, Lucas gave a snarling laugh. “There’s something damned fishy about this!” he rasped. His gun flashed into his hand and his foot streaked out viciously at McAndrews, still crouched silently by the tent. “Get up! If there’s real gold around here, you two’ll show us exactly where it is!”
    McAndrews rocked sideways; something fell from his tight-clenched hand. A few pebbles flashed dully in the light. McAndrews’ mouth opened, closed. Muscles knotted in his face.
    Lucas snatched up the pebbles, examined them intently. Feverishly, then, he scraped one with his knife.
    “So!...” he spoke slowly. “It’s not the gold after all, eh? It’s – great God! Diamonds!”
    * * *
    Stark silence for a moment. Diamonds! An electric tenseness was in the air. Henley felt it tighten like a drawn wire, ready to break. His fingers crept to his gun.
    McAndrews lurched suddenly upright, white-faced, an insane light in his red-rimmed eyes. His fist caught Lucas off guard, crashed into his jaw and sent him spinning. “Damned wolves!” he bellowed. “Git out!”
    There was a pistol in his belt, but heat, strain and Lucas’s discovery seemed to have snapped the man’s reason. The guards leaped away from his mad rush, tugging at their guns. McAndrews whirled, and seeing Moreno, lunged at him.
    Henley’s gun was already out, smoking. A dozen yards away Lucas had gained his knees and his Luger stabbed the shadow with flame. Henley’s gun barked once again and Lucas pitched backward, fingers clawing convulsively.
    Henley jerked around, sent a quick shot at a guard, and swung on Moreno. But McAndrews’ hurtling figure blocked shooting in that direction. Henley whirled as a bullet fanned his jaw. The second guard was behind a tree, taking deliberate aim now. Henley dropped to his toes and his trigger finger tightened. The guard stumbled back, a black hole in his head.
    Once more Henley spun around. He saw the first guard crumple, dull surprise on his face; his attention flashed to McAndrews.
    Roaring, blood streaming from wounds in his back, the big man dove straight into the face of Moreno’s blazing revolver. His great body seemed to absorb the shock of tearing lead – for, oblivious to it all, he caught Moreno about the neck and bore him to the ground.
    McAndrews was dead before he fell. Henley saw him stiffen, roll over and lay still. He tried to shoot again as Moreno struggled upright.
    The gun was empty.
    “Caramba! Arriba las manos!” Moreno was crouched, a fat spider ready for the kill. His hand held McAndrews’ pistol.
    Henley started to raise his arms, then let them fall. He felt suddenly tired, old. “Well,” he said grimly, “get it over with!”
    Moreno rested on his heels, an evil smile twitching the corners of his thick mouth. “There is no hurry, my friend,” he answered. “A bullet is so easy – too easy. For weeks I have listened to your Yanqui lies, and I still feel the insult of this carrion’s claws about my neck.” He kicked the still figure of McAndrews.
    “First, Señor Yanqui, carry this offal to the river. The little caribe shall enjoy a feast.”
    Deftly, gun ready, Moreno went over the bodies of Lucas, McAndrews and the two guards for money or weapons. Then, one by one, Henley was forced to carry them to the river. They vanished almost instantly as the small, vicious cannibal fish appeared by the thousands, lashing the water to a froth in their eagerness for blood.
    “Ah, now, my friend,” Moreno said, “there are just the two of us left, and we share a little secret. Come, you have diamonds. Where are they hidden?”
    “They’re down in the pit, you fat pig! We didn’t discover them until three days ago.”
    “For each insult,” Moreno spoke softly, “you will have to pay. In the pit, are they? Waiting to be dug?”
    “Yeah,” muttered Henley. “You were too damned hasty. You should have waited a few days; we might have had some real stones then.”
    Moreno raised one eyebrow and then lowered it. He smiled suddenly as if he had reached a decision.
    “I see. There is much wealth in the pit, though first it must be taken out. Manuel Moreno needs wealth, a great deal of wealth – but he has never cared for digging. Nor does he think it wise to share this secret with others. It is a little problem, señor; perhaps you know the answer to it ?”
    * * *
    Henley said nothing. Moreno smiled again.
    “Ah, señor, the answer is simple. You are a mining man, and digging is your profession. With your experience, you should find many stones while Manuel Moreno takes his siesta.... About face!” he barked abruptly. “Adalante! Down into the pit with you!’’
    Henley’s fists knotted, red anger swept the hard planes of his jaws. Abruptly he checked himself, turned slowly. He had learned patience, and patience now was his only hope.
    The pit would be like a furnace; already his exertions had brought thirst burning in his throat. He stooped by the spring to fill a bottle and drink.
    Moreno’s bullet shattered the water under his face.
    “Manuel Moreno has not said you could drink,” came the official’s smooth voice. “First you must dig and find diamonds!”
    Cursing, Henley turned back to the hole. Moreno stood over him with drawn gun while he let himself down on the ropes. He touched bottom, swayed; instantly Moreno drew block and tackle out of sight. He was a prisoner – no, a rat bottled up in a deathtrap.
    In the cauldron heat at the bottom he stood gasping. Suddenly his eyes lighted on the canteen McAndrews had filled at noon. He snatched it up eagerly, then let it drop. It was empty.
    Finally he ground his teeth, stripped off his clothes, and dropped to his hands and knees. He must have water, and to get it he would first have to find the means by which to bargain for it.
    He worked very slowly, conserving his energy, and kept in the shadow to one side of the reflected sunlight thrown on the bottom by the polished concave walls. It was mid-afternoon, the heat at its worst. At no time had he remained over two hours here, and then only in the cool of morning.
    While his fingers picked through the gravel, he wondered how long a man could stay in such a place and live. Two days, maybe three – if he had enough water. Without it...
    “You have something for me, my friend?” Moreno called down once. “No? Ah, well, Manuel Moreno is in no hurry, señor. He can wait a long time!” He chuckled. “It is cool up here. I have stretched a tarpaulin over the timbers to shade me while I watch.”
    Henley’s clawing fingers uncovered what he sought. “I have found something!” he called hoarsely. “Give me water!”
    A bottle was lowered on a slender fishing line. Henley snatched it to his lips, then saw it contained nothing.
    “Place the diamond in the bottle, my friend,” said Moreno. “If it is large, you shall drink.”
    Again the bottle was lowered, empty as before. “Water is so precious,” the taunting voice went on, “and the diamond small. I must have two more.”
    “Go to hell!” snarled Henley. But his fingers clawed through the gravel again, searching. Time passed. Eventually two stones clinked into the bottle and it was drawn upward.
    A long while afterward it came swinging down, half filled with the slimy liquid from one of the upper pot-holes.
    * * *
    Henley’s trembling hands caught it, raised it to his mouth. Abruptly his jaws set. He jerked the bottle from the line and hurled it against the farther wall. What did Moreno think he was – some spineless fool whom he could torment to insanity? If Moreno wanted diamonds, let him come down and get them!
    Slowly, expending as little effort as possible, he crawled around the bottom. There was a spot near where the bottle had burst that shelved slightly inward. He’d noticed that morning that the lower gravel there was damp, a degree or two cooler than anywhere else.
    He gained the place and methodically scooped away the dry surface until he had made room for his body. Then he flattened upon it and lay still.
    It helped little. The rock around him seemed to gather the heat, multiply it a hundred times. Breath came torturously, rasping to his lungs in fiery gulps that sent his heart pounding. He must have water.
    Hell, he could stick it out an hour or two longer. After a while Moreno would become tired of the game and he’d be eager for diamonds.
    It all revolved to a matter of patience. And somehow, before he was too weak, he had to tempt Moreno down here with him.
    If he could have water – just a few drops.... Groping through the gravel, he found a damp pebble and thrust it into his mouth to increase the saliva flow. After awhile he took it out, staring at it curiously.
    He sat up. His hand flashed to the mound of gravel he had scooped aside. Startled, amazed, he began picking other large pebbles from the pile. Seventeen. More wealth than he had ever dreamed of finding. Unwittingly, he had stumbled upon the one spot where the stones were plentiful!
    He glanced up, made certain Moreno could not see him, and thrust the things into the empty canteen. A more careful search brought an additional half-dozen stones. He sank downward, spent.
    Overhead, Moreno was shouting impatiently. The game was not going to his liking.
    Henley roused himself. He blinked at the canteen, considering. If Moreno could see its contents, what would happen? The fellow would be astonished, greedy, but he wouldn’t come down until it could be done safely.
    Then Henley smiled. Two could play at Moreno’s game.
    First he must prepare the way, whet the other’s appetite. Removing three of the larger stones from the canteen, he staggered out into the light. “Water!” he cried. “Water! I have found diamonds – big ones! See?”
    A soft chuckle came from above. A can was lowered for the stones. When it was let down a second time there were a few tablespoons of water in it.
    “More diamonds, larger ones,” urged Moreno, “and you shall have more water.”
    Henley drank quickly, exaggerating his eagerness and reeling drunkenly for Moreno’s benefit. “Water!” he shrieked. “Oh, God! I must have more!”
    * * *
    He spun out of sight under the sloping walls. The water, small amount though it was, revived him somewhat and helped him now to think more clearly. He poured the remainder of the stones into his palm, studied them. The next move must be a startling one, something that would dazzle Moreno beyond all bounds of caution.
    No, the diamonds would not do. Rough stones were dull, lifeless. If Lucas hadn’t told him, Moreno would never have known what they were.
    Henley saw the fragments of the broken bottle lying in the shadow. He examined the pieces, chose one to his liking, and tottered forth into the light.
    “Water!” he screamed. “I want water! Gallons – gallons! I can pay for it!” His voice was broken, crazed. Something flashed in his hand, sending a dozen brilliant points of light upward.
    Now Henley staggered, slumped to his knees. “I’m rich!” he sobbed. “Great God – diamond – bigger than all!”
    The can dropped swiftly on the line.
    Henley tried to rise. He fell, then began crawling toward the can, something flashing between his fingers. When he had almost reached the line lie sagged, fell mumbling on his face. Once more he tried to claw forward, arms moving feebly, but he couldn’t quite reach the can. Suddenly his body grew still. His hand relaxed, covering the thing it held.
    From overhead came a torrent of angry Spanish, cursing. Minutes passed. A bucket of water sluiced clown upon him. Henley did not stir.
    He waited, listening, fighting the muscles in his chest to breathe carefully.
    At last came the sound he had been expecting. The slow creak of the blocks as Moreno swung downward... .
    From the corners of his half-closed eyes, Henley watched the man strike bottom. Moreno waddled forward, hands stretching forth eagerly for the thing he coveted.
    Henley felt his touch upon him. He came instantly to life. He seized Moreno’s hand, jerked. The two rolled over together.
    Gasping, cursing, their threshing feet slithering through the gravel, they struggled. Moreno, taken completely by surprise, for the first minute fought in a frenzy. He bit, clawed, screamed in the furnace heat, his one thought to break away and gain breath.
    With a grim patience, Henley found his throat. His fingers closed around it, tightened.
    Suddenly Moreno lunged upright. He broke free, mouth slobbering without sound, and tugged frantically at his gun-belt. The pistol came out.
    For a brief instant Henley stared at death. As his foot lashed out, the roar of the gun filled the pit. A bullet scorched his shoulder – but he had caught the fat man’s wrist, and the weapon went spinning to the farther wall. Moreno dove for it. Henley’s other foot caught him in mid-stride. Moreno sprawled full length, lay for an instant dazed.
    Slowly, exerting all his remaining strength, Henley crawled forward. The pit seemed to revolve around him. His fingers touched the weapon, closed over the butt. He turned, saw Moreno scrambling to his knees. He fired.
    Moreno sat down abruptly, clutching a dark blotch on his shirt. His face twitched, relaxed.
    “You are the winner, señor,” he mumbled, and pitched forward.
    Somehow, then, Henley crawled out of the pit and made his way to the spring. He drank deeply, savoring the taste. Next year he would be able to come back; with adequate machinery and official support freely bought, he could gain wealth beyond estimate.
    He cursed suddenly, laughed. In the canteen and the leather bag beside him was more wealth than he’d ever spend. It had cost him the ten best years of his life. Come back for more? Hell! It wasn’t worth it!
    As he plunged his face in the cool water again, some of his forgotten youth seemed to have returned.

    1936
    (Argosy, vol. 266, #2, August 1, pp.133-140)

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