Davis tapped the face of the compass and shook his head. “I don’t get it. According to this here map, we should be right on top of it.”

Davis pushed his wide-brimmed hat back on his head, rubbed the stubble on his face, and looked up at the sun. It was warm for October but not for Arizona. Luckily, the nearby canyon walls provided a bit of shade, but still Davis was sweating. It had been a long hike from town.

McGillicutty, the other man, was also affected by the heat. Even more so, judging from the way his thinning red hair was matted against his skull. He pulled a red bandanna from his pocket and wiped his forehead dry.

“Maybe we should just turn back, Davis.”

“No! There’s a reason that Swedish bastard was keeping this map hidden.”

“Well, maybe it’s a fake.”

Davis spit. “Can’t be. Olaf didn’t have the silver on ‘im. He must’ve hid it round here. Now keep lookin’.”

“There ain’t nothin’ here, Davis. If you need some cash, why don’t you hock that fancy compass of yours?”

“It ain’t about the money, stupid. It’s principle.”

“But Olaf’s dead! Shouldn’t that be enough?”

In a flash, Davis drew his Colt and pressed it against McGillicutty’s forehead. “No, it ain’t enough! I trusted that damn snake, and he bit me on the ass! He turned against both of us, Gill. And I don’t care if he is killed six ways to Sunday, he ain’t winnin’ by hidin’ our take from us. Now if you want to give up your share and go on home, I ain’t gonna stop you. Otherwise, quit your bellyachin’ and help me look!”

McGillicuttyswallowed hard and blinked. “Ok, Davis. Fine. It’s all yours.” He slowly backed away, his hands in the air. When the other man lowered his pistol, he mounted his burro and rode out of the canyon.

Davis watched him go before returning to his search. Almost an hour later, Davis spotted a hole about three feet across hidden behind some red rocks and scrub. He let out a yelp of triumph and reached inside.

Nothing. Not a bag, sack, or satchel to be found. Cursing, Davis lit a match and held it just inside the mouth of the hole. It looked like a shaft, running deep into the earth. And it seemed to widen just a bit a few feet down. Davis dropped the match down the hole and thought he spotted something leather before the match flickered out.

“Damn you, Olaf,” Davis muttered. He stripped off his vest, his boots, and his firearm, checked his supply of matches, and wished he had brought a lamp with him.

The first few feet were slow-going. Davis had to splay his arms in front of him and wiggle his body to get any kind of forward movement. Gravity helped a bit but the walls of the shaft were rough. The passage did open up eventually, just wide enough for Davis to gather his feet under him and crouch. He retrieved a match from his pocket and lit it.

Just a few feet lie a pair of saddlebags, identical to the kind that Olaf kept on his horse back when they did that bank job in Texas. As Davis reached for them, there was a rumbling noise and the outside light from the shaft suddenly disappeared. A few pebbles and a small cloud of dust swarmed around Davis’s feet.

“Aw, shit no!” Davis cried. He grabbed the saddlebags and was about to shimmy his way back up the shaft when he noticed that the bags were lighter than they should be. He flipped them open.

Empty. Not a trace of the silver they stole. There was a scrap of paper, however. By the light of his dying match, Davis unfolded it and read:

"Davis-- If you’re reading this, then your greed has gotten the better of you. Perhaps your precious compass will be able to lead you out of these caves. I look forward to spending your share of the haul. --McGillicutty"

The match went out.