Sary's Gold

by Sharon Shipley

  He squatted on his haunches. Nothing but ta do it! Seb tested a boot on the first shaky rung but couldn’t tell if it was his boot or the ladder shaking as he suspiciously eyed the rusty cleats sunk in rock. The first rung held. There. That wasn’t so bad.

  His head dropped past the rotting edge of the square shaft-head. He had the rope tied about his waist, the other end fixed to the mule’s halter, tethered above. In truth, Seb still didn’t look extra thrilled, facing clammy walls, his eyes closed as he descended clinging to the wood rails, half-crouching, his rear end sticking out into nothing but dead air.

  He looked up, panicked at a sudden notion.

  What if the ladder crumples, or peels off the wall? The wooden treads were worn by many feet, the bolt before him even now rattled loose and rusty…The whole durn ladder quivers.

  No one’d blame me iffen I didn't do it. Hell, Sary wouldn't even know. Yet he hung on, unsure if the quaking was the ladder, the shaft, or his own self.

  Of course, he could just rough himself up a bit and say he done did it. He stopped till his neck pulse slowed to a canter, then continued his quavery blind way down to the abyss. As he looked up, the sky was a bright blue square now, far above. Another world.

  ****

  Jules and Ev’ret rode in, the clatter of their hooves masked by Sary’s splashing.

  ****

  Three feet from the shaft bottom, Seb warily dropped off the ladder, clutching his arms close. Christ! It’s dark down here, and blamed cold. He peered up again to the square of blue and then back to the dark. This far down, all he could see were the hands in front of his face. Panicking, he dug pockets for his Lucifers, striking one.

  Instantly, a silent gale extinguished it; with the third precious match, his lantern flared. Adjusting the wick to conserve fuel, Seb timidly checked the gloom.

  Dank. Littered with rusty miner detritus - a crushed lamp…a moldering cap…Not good.

  Turning slowly, Seb spotted the black mouths like giant wormholes snaking off the central shaft. Hesitantly, one eye on the box of cheerful light filtering down, Seb sidled to one of the gaping maws and edged in. “Just scratch me a little arrow here,” he cajoled. “Won’t catch me sleeping at the switch…” Whistling comfort through dry lips, he shuffled on, led by his raised lantern, scratching arrows with hunks of rock on walls chipped by past picks, pacing further into the unknown. Seb realized with sudden sick insight he didn’t know precisely just what he was looking for or what he was supposed to do as a newly minted miner.

  Think to find a God-danged pot a gold just sittin’ there? Well, yes, he did.

  ****

  Horse’s hooves entered the creek, masked by Sary’s angry imaginary conversation with Sebastian and the splashing. Startled, Sary scanned the first hoof entering the stream, looked up and kept looking up, scrambling back an instant before Ev’ret and Jules rode her down.

  What’s wrong with them! She kept backing, treading on her skirt, hearing it rip, tripping, and almost going down.

  Jules smiled. Ev’ret grinned.

  Jumping up, Sary yanked her skirt. “Afternoon?” She managed a smile, but her lips tightened. The big one was the same barn door she’d run into in Big Bear—broad buffalo shoulders, a square face, and an eager, almost childlike innocence.

  The other, well, she still scarcely knew what to make of him.

  He smiled, but those dark eyes drifted and gleamed liquid, as if laughing at a delicious jest only he could hear.

  The big man looked back expectantly at his boss. Jules still smiled his dreamy smile. That was just beginnin’ to chafe Ev’ret some.

  Sary edged off, calling, “Seb? There’s—callers for you.”

  Ev’ret dismounted, showing his big square teeth.

  “My brother—” Sary began, backing carefully. If she could just make it to the trees…

  ****

  Seb flailed at the rock wall with a broken pick scavenged from a litter of discarded tools. Now and then, sweating in the clammy must, he flicked glances at the green wink of a bottle, then, uneasily watching timber braces, cocked his ear at the creaks and tortured groans—wood on wood. Flinched. Did one move? He eyed it, but in time he went back to hacking.

  ****

  “Ain’t here.” Ev’ret grinned amiably at Sary. “We done watched.” He stood close, too close. She couldn’t see beyond him—his breath was on her face, full of peppermint and tobacco. She smelt heat, sweat, and sunbaked shirt. He reached and wound her hair around a thick forefinger. She jerked away with his fingers caught in the twist, pulling her.

  “Din’ we, Jules?” He stroked, or rather pawed, at her breast as if he’d never before seen one.

  Sary swatted his hand. Subconsciously brushing the Derringer beneath her petticoats, she yelled, “Sebastian!” and ripped away, knowing he couldn’t hear but hoping, futilely, while fearing he would hide if he were near.

  Faster than he looked, Ev’ret grappled Sary, barely hanging on as she fought back, all elbows, knees, and fingernails. Wildly, she desperately searched Jules out. He’d aided her once. “Mister! Please…call him off!”

  Ev’ret gestured to his boss as if to say, “After you?” As if not too sure how long he could hang on to this female, all sharp edges under her soft-as-kittycat looks.

  Saddled, Jules, giggling, demurred, enjoying the show.

  Sary broke free, leaving half her sleeve. Where can I go? Where’s Seb’s shotgun? Aware of the banging on her thigh, she was reminded again. Yes, Handi’s Derringer!

  The thought was jolted out of her as Ev’ret tackled her in a belly leap, landing short, dragging her clumsily to the ground. In the fall; gripping her about the knees, he snagged her skirts half off, and they both tumbled to the dirty snow. “Ooooph,” Sary grunted. Her hip took the brunt.

  Sary rolled, still fighting—nails, hands, knees—using Ev’ret’s clumsiness against him, once more ripping free, only now she hobbled.

  Altering grins with frowns, Ev’ret blundered after, wearing her down with his sheer size. Sary threw a last, exhausted, roundhouse punch. The big man hunched, spreading his arms wide and curved, and, taking a giant step under her swing, plastered her in a bear hug. Sary twisted within his bear-like arms and kneed him, hitting his tree-trunk thigh instead. “No. You. Won’t!” She gritted, shoving against him with all she had.

  It was like trying to shove a barn.

  Ev’ret scowled, throwing appeals at Jules—“Now what, Boss?”—and spinning on Sary, remembering to be infuriated.

  “You done took my candy!” he bellowed. “I done give you my peppermint, too.”

  ****

  Deep in the mine, Seb hefted a green bottle in palms slimy with sweat. The cool bottle slipped. Seb caught it before it hit rock. He slid, gasping and quaking, against the rough wall.

  ****

  With a meaty hand the size of a ham hock, Ev’ret slammed Sary against a tree, pinning her by the neck, then unbuckled and slung his gun belt aside and fumbled pants buttons with his free hand.

  Sary gagged, grimacing, and gripped him hard down there. She knew from Jonathan how a man could hurt “wicked bad” if hit in the wrong place. She shoved again at the mountain of a man.

  Yet, Ev’ret, unperturbed, didn’t flinch.

  She looked dismayed—uncomprehending. One big paw still gripped her neck, the other now ripping at her blouse. Buttons flew, making little pinging sounds. Part of her was angry over those buttons. One more job! She wrenched free.

  Jules frowned as Sary left most of her blouse in his erstwhile bodyguard’s cabbage-sized fist, as Ev’ret, lurching, half-downed trousers binding his knees, clipped Sary from behind, felling her.

  Jules yawned, adjusting his cape.

  Ev’ret hauled Sary by her hair and the torn sleeve to the creek—and Jules. There, he sat on her, gasping hard. Sary couldn’t breathe—her face had landed half under water. Coughing, gasping, she managed to crick her neck up and suck in air, only to be rolled under again. Fu
tilely she clawed and grabbed at his clothing. The big man didn’t even know it. Face under water, on her last breath, Sary groped for the little Derringer tangled somewhere in her petticoats.

  Can’t—reach it!

  She stretched her arm blindly back and overhead, bashing the huge man with rocks, a mining pan, and, with her last breath, her sewing basket. Bright thread, ribbons, shining thimbles, and the scissors were flung across the snow.

  Jules twisted, greedily following the bright treasure of color and sheen flying through the air and landing on a patch of white. Then he glanced back at Sary and Ev’ret, odd emotion flickering across his face as they rolled in and out of the creek, getting muddier and more undone every second, their wrestling spattering him.

  Frowning, Jules drew a pristine monogrammed handkerchief and daubed prissily at the mud landing on his breeches as Sary, bashing Ev’ret about the head and shoulders, beseeched him, “Call off your dog!”

  Jules winced at her voice, more fixated on Sary’s ribbons and scissors glittering in the weak sun than on the bizarre action beneath him. Snagging a ribbon with his crop—a red one—he focused instead on weaving it in and out of his jacket buttonholes, while Ev’ret, bleeding from the head, sputtering from the first bath he'd suffered in years, fell atop Sary, again in a meaty heap.

  Sary’s head snapped. Groggy, once again Sary went for Handi’s pistol, but she couldn’t wedge her hand far enough, with Ev’ret pressing her fast to the creek bed.

  Ev’ret once more offered a barely subdued, muddy, brawling, angry, shrieking Sary to Jules, with bravado. “Well, Boss! Are ya, or ain’t ya?” was his querelous demand.

  ****

  Seb pinched his eyes shut tight.

  Trembling, he hesitated, then timidly lobbed the green bottle around a leg of the tunnel, ducking, with his fists clenched over his head, whimpering a silent plea. Oh, Lordy—!

  He waited agonized seconds, lifting his head as worlds imploded with awesome heat, light, and concussive power, enveloping Seb in a stinging dark shower of earth, rock, and wicked spears of splintery wood.

  Glass shattered in Seb’s ears. Maybe he imagined it.

  ****

  Jules, eyes flashing purple and wet, watched the scene—a drenched Sary, with mud-stringed hair dripping in her face and down over a filthy wet chemise, and Ev’ret’s mulish, hurt face. Jules sneered and made a bored “Let’s get on with it” gesture.

  Sary’s hands finally groped chill metal—her small sewing scissors were sunk deep in the snow next to the creek. Without thought, she hopelessly arced them swiftly overhead. Like sticking an elephant with a needle.

  Ev’ret blinked, yanked them irritably from his meaty back, flung them off, and ripped Sary’s skirts up in a frenzy of outrage, hurt, and lust. Jules at last showed concern, drawing a long-barreled blue-black Colt he dangled from one pale hand as his horse danced a few steps back.

  Down at the creek, Ev’ret bawled at Sary, “You done took my candy!”

  Sary focused on the red perspiring face above her, and her hand felt the slippery mother-of-pearl handle.

  “Peppermint’s my best-est kind!”

  ****

  A muffled explosion coincided with a horrendous explosion from the direction of the mine tunnel. Sary’s gun hand still jammed between them, Ev’ret sucked air, jolting back in a painful jackknife arc. He twitched once before his body slumped onto Sary like a dead horse, weighting her head beneath the creek’s surface one last time. She gagged as the frigid, muddy water gushed up her nose. I’m dying…

  Crushed by the inert heftiness, Sary still managed to crane her face half out of the icy stream, aware of tobacco-scent and still-living sweat and sunbleached shirt, on what she grasped was dead weight. Then Ev’ret’s heartbeat, thudding against her breast, stilled, mid-beat. His shirt blossomed with scarlet flowers that bloomed ever wider, soaking what was left of her blouse with loathsome heat.

  She panicked. She forgot all about the other man, the one who had helped her in the store. She shoved, wriggled her fists beneath his wide chest, and thrust up. He wouldn’t budge.

  Jules, rubbing his pale forehead, looked on, dazed, with ribbons half woven through his waistcoat buttonholes.

  ****

  Deep down an obsidian tunnel, an overhead beam splitting its rotten heart groaned a death rattle, letting loose a thunderous hail of earth, clay, rock, and vicious shards of wood as a relay of rotted timbers caved, releasing tons of crushing debris.

  In that split second before oblivion blanketed him in torrents of suffocating earth, Seb looked up in terror as a beam spike plummeted, nailing him to the tunnel floor.

  ****

  Jules flinched on his skittish horse, giggling and frowning in turn, watching Sary struggle with Ev’ret’s body. He backed his mount when the female clawed her way out from under his bodyguard—caretaker—court jester—slave. To him it was with comical effort that the female dragged her legs out.

  Jules’s pants showed a sign of fear as Ev’ret toppled back into the creek and lay still as a lump of dog meat. He chewed his nail and stonily studied Ev’ret, waiting for him to sputter and curse and rise from the dead. He waited. Water still rushed over blind eyes.

  Then he swiveled his hot mad gaze to Sary as she hauled up.

  Waving Handi’s Derringer, hurting and bloodied, she shrieked like a mad woman, advancing on him. “Git! Take this—this thing with you!”

  She watched his insane face as he hacked at his cape, snagged on the pommel, then dropped the knife shakily to aim his Colt, steadily enough, two-handed, right at her. He couldn't recall whatever attracted him to this filthy thing. She was mucky, wild-eyed, shivering uncontrollably, hair hanging in muddy strings.

  Sary saw the end of the Colt, a black hole to eternity. She backed till she hit a tree. She heard the click of the pistol in the still mountain air. Squinting her eyes, she lifted the Derringer, pressed the tiny trigger, and fired wildly in his direction. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no…

  Shock reigned as Jules clutched his neck and gawped, horrified, at blood pumping like a fountain through his drenched fingers—a particularly messy wound. He gaped at Sary, and as the black wager-horse shied, Jules tumbled to the ground, still wrapped in the cape. The horse cantered off.

  Sary staggered over, dropped beside Jules, and pressed the horrific wound. Blood pumped through her fingers too, but soon slackened to a dribble. She pressed harder, aware of his bruised eyes and white face looking up at her. Please, please, please…

  Jules finally spasmed, gargling something that sounded like, “Beholden…”

  Murmuring inarticulate prayer, Sary could only give comfort with her eyes, until finally Jules bled out.

  ****

  Sary hugged her knees, rocking until the sun slanted low, yet her eyes were dry and distant. Aches, hurts, and a raw ragged feeling she hadn’t been conscious of till now descended like a barbarian army invading her body.

  A sudden shiver coursed through her. She flinched as her dull gaze traveled the muddy wallow and trampled bloody snow.

  She started at the sight of the two bodies—one large and lumpy, the other slight, all in black, bloody and sprawled—as if they were apparitions. She crawled a little closer, wary, focusing. It was real, then.

  Sary wearily hitched herself up. Only the pain between her legs and the scrapes and bruises seemed real. Her aches and the battle had solidified her muscles and bone and mind. Still she must do something—Some urgent chore. The thought came vaguely, with irritation. So cold, so very cold. Her flesh was one big shuddering goose bump, and her teeth chattered like musical spoons.

  Seb will be back soon. The thought galvanized her. She could just hear him, now, somehow blaming her. Suddenly, she found she had reached the bodies. Sary poked Ev’ret. Dead weight. Numbly she inched and tugged Ev’ret from the creek. At first, he wouldn’t budge, until she rocked the body like a huge log. Looking away, she draped his trousers over his nakedness and then looked to Jules, but su
ddenly she could wait no longer.

  Rolling in the creek, ignoring the body on the bank, Sary let water baptize her fresh and wash Ev’ret away. She scrubbed herself raw, dug sand and gravel into her flesh, ripping her skin, relishing the pure cold cauterizing hurt with her hot tears blending with the frigid water.

  Shuddering, Sary limped to camp, crammed herself into dry clothes, blew the dead fire to life, and tossed in kindling that should have lasted a week, until it roared to the sky. Still she shuddered, mind empty as the stars beyond the coldest, deadest, farthest moon.

  “I’m a murderess,” she finally whispered. “I killed them. Oh, God. What have I done? Seb will be back soon. Sebastian! Where are you? I need you.”

  Her eyes lit on Ev’ret’s saddlebags. She crawled over and timorously searched, at one point looking wonderingly from a sepia tintype of a lumpy girl to Ev’ret’s hard-favored face.

  “You had—a sweetheart?” She shook her head, and jammed the tintype back. Coins fell into her hand, and she wavered. “No. Stealing’s stealing, pure and simple.”

  So is murder, her mind crabbed. It wasn’t murder—it wasn’t!

  Slipping the coins back, her hands dragged out a sticky mass of hard candy. “Unghhh!” She tossed it vehemently into the creek.

  Next, Sary found the round shape of an apple. “Oh, Lordy,” she breathed, and shamefully devoured it on the spot, feeling her strength renew with each bite. She found two jugs of whiskey and set them aside, and a dirty comb. “Euuuw!” She dropped it, and then thumbed a child’s picture book about a pony, murmuring, “How odd.” Disturbed somehow, suspicioning it was Ev’ret’s; she laid it aside, too. Digging further, she withdrew a frayed envelope, the name on it writ in pencil: “Everett Elliot Eckhardt…”