But Clifford used the free end of the rope to lash the wolfhound. Being held so securely prevented Tovarich from dodging the punishment.
Lucas centered his pistol on Clifford’s back. What the man had likely done to humans probably made this torture pale, but Lucas had never thought well of cruelty to animals. It was hard enough shooting rabid dogs or injured animals to put them out of their misery, but what Clifford did had no purpose other than to vent his own rage.
Before he squeezed off the shot, he heard horses behind him. He scrunched down amid the gnarled roots, and in the dark, he became a part of the tree.
“That you, boss?” The challenge came from behind Lucas. A half dozen riders passed by him, made their way down into the ravine, and joined their would-be general.
“Took you long enough to find us,” Clifford said.
“We got bad news. Dennison was dead when we got to that shanty. The woman was nowhere to be seen.”
“None of that matters. I got the dog.”
“Might be the dog’s got you. He don’t seem too inclined to let you scratch his ears. Not without you losin’ a hand.”
As if on cue, Tovarich renewed his ferocious barking and snapping. Clifford used his rope lash while the others jeered and shouted. This only further infuriated the dog. Clifford showed no sign of understanding how he needed the dog to find the gold. Everything he did drove the wolfhound even crazier with fear and rage.
Lucas considered a shot at Tovarich to put him out of his misery, but if he did that, the gold would be lost forever. Without thinking how suicidal it was, he stood and fired his pistol. The tiny pop! was barely heard above the din, but Clifford noticed.
“Get him. Cover him!” Clifford whipped the end of the rope he had been using to beat the dog around a rock and secured it. The man holding the other rope did the same, then slapped leather to get his pistol drawn.
Lucas realized then he had only postponed the dog’s torture—and had signed his own death warrant.
Desperately, he shouted, “Wait! The officer’s jacket isn’t the way to find the gold. The dog can’t follow that. I know how to make him hunt!”
Clifford drew a bead. His cocked pistol never wavered.
“Toss down your gun, if you call that pea shooter a gun. Don’t ventilate him yet, boys. I want to hear what the man has to say.”
Lucas did as he was told. With his pistol too far away for him to hope to dive, grab, aim, and fire at even one of the filibusterers, he slid down the bank and kept his hands high in the air.
“Who the hell are you?”
“That doesn’t matter, Clifford.”
Using the man’s name almost got him shot. The guerrilla motioned for him to move around closer to Tovarich. As he did, the dog quieted his frantic barking.
“Sounds like he’s taken a shine to you, mister. Why’d you want to tell us a damn thing about finding the gold?”
“I want a share. It’s a million-dollar cache. Give me a few thousand and I’ll be happy.”
“Now then, it might be you’re gonna be happy if you don’t end up with a few ounces of lead in your gut. Tell me how to find the gold.”
“Promise me,” Lucas said, forcing himself to hold down the desperate tone in his voice. “I want a share. What do you have to lose? You get the bulk of the gold and sally off to Nicaragua.”
“Boss, he knows too much to have just come on us,” one of the six who had ridden up said. “Let me shoot him right now. He might have the cavalry on us.”
“I don’t cotton much to the law, marshals, or soldiers,” Lucas said. This carried a ring of truth since it was gospel. “I got on to the treasure because of Amanda Baldridge.”
“Dennison was dead,” said one. “Might be he killed him and let the woman go.”
“She wouldn’t run to the law. And Dunbar’s all ready for the bone yard. I saw to that. She doesn’t have anywhere to go—except maybe for this one.” Clifford lifted his six-shooter and aimed straight for Lucas’s head.
“I know how to make the dog find the gold.” Lucas looked at Tovarich. The wolfhound had stopped its frantic barking and just stared at him, as if he understood everything going on.
“Do tell.” Clifford’s six-gun never wavered.
“It’s a scent,” Lucas said. “I have a jar of the perfume here in my pocket. Let me get it out.”
He reached slowly for the spikenard and drew out the glass jar and held it up. In the dark it was indistinct.
“What’s that?” Clifford looked away from Lucas when the dog sat on its haunches and let out a long howl. “You just might have the key there, after all. Throw it to me.”
“You might drop it in the dark. You don’t want to do that.”
“Bring it to me. I’ll shoot you down if you make a funny move.”
Lucas hesitated. Curious noises reached his ears. He closed his eyes to better focus on the distant sounds, trying to make sense of them. Opening his eyes again, he looked at the knot of Clifford’s men. The number had been whittled down by one. Where had the filibusterer gone?
Then the night ripped apart with fierce howls and snapping. He looked at Tovarich. The dog came back to his feet and snarled again but was still firmly held by two ropes around his neck. Motion from the corner of his eye told the story. A pack of wolfhounds stormed out of the black night. One of Clifford’s men got off a shot that wounded one dog. Two others attacked him, one going for his crotch and the other his throat. He died before he collapsed to the sandy ravine bottom. But the hounds never slowed to rip and tear at the flesh of their victim.
They charged on and grabbed at wrists, legs, and exposed parts on the other filibusterers.
“What the hell!” Clifford swung about and fired. He missed the lead dog.
The wolfhound took to the air and crashed hard into the man, driving him backward so he landed flat on his back. Lucas tried to look away but couldn’t. Clifford had fallen directly in front of Tovarich, where the dog could sink its fangs into his throat. Tovarich gripped powerfully, then gave a toss of his head. Strong neck muscles corded as the dog pulled away. Blood flew into the night.
Lucas knelt and scooped up his Colt, not sure who to shoot. All of Clifford’s men had died or were so close to death that it didn’t matter. He held out his pistol if any of the wolfhounds came for him. His experience with the big, powerful hunting dogs told him of the futility of shooting them and hoping to escape, but he had done stupider things that night.
Showing himself to Clifford to save Tovarich from being tortured was as dumb as it got.
“Don’t move.”
“I won’t.” Lucas put his hands in the air but still clung to his pistol in the futile hope he might use it to save himself.
Tovarich stood with blood dripping from his jowls. The dog’s eyes fixed on him but Tovarich made no move to come for him. He wished that could be said of a half dozen other wolfhounds. They circled him, backed him against the ravine wall, and began coming closer. Snarling, drooling blood from jaws that had already killed all of Clifford’s expeditionary force, they advanced.
A sharp command in Russian stayed the dogs’ attack. They remained in a ring around him but only barred his escape.
“You saved Tovarich.”
“Good evening, Vera,” he said. Taking his eyes off the dogs was hard but he did. The Russian revolutionary strode out. Trailing her were several men from her band. “Sorry to hear about Dmitri.”
She spat. “He was a traitor. How dare he sell out to them?” She spat in the direction of Clifford’s body.
She went to Tovarich, used a knife, and slashed at the ropes holding him. He nuzzled her, and she patted him, soothing him, trying to rub away the torture already endured.
“Could you call off the other dogs?”
Vera called something in Russian that caused the wolfhounds to b
ack away, then trot over and lie down beside her. As she turned, Tovarich broke free and ran for Lucas. He lifted his Colt but wasn’t able to fire before he was bowled over. The dog pinned his shoulders to the rocky ground with both paws and started licking him with a bloody tongue.
“You have made a friend. Tovarich is the smartest of them all and knows you saved him.”
“I’m glad,” Lucas said, meaning it with all his heart. “How’d you know where to find Clifford and Tovarich?”
Good moved into his field of vision, arms crossed over his chest.
“I thought you’d left me. You went to fetch Vera and her men—her dogs?”
The Indian nodded once.
“You made it just in time.” Lucas shifted his weight, but Tovarich refused to let him up until Vera threw her arms around the dog’s neck and pulled him away.
“He likes you,” she said.
“What are you going to do?”
Vera looked at Good, smiled a little, then dragged Tovarich off. Lucas climbed to his feet.
“You’re going after the gold, aren’t you?”
“I will see that she finds it, then get to the coast.”
“What’s there?”
“There is a Russian colony at Fort Ross. She and her friends will take ship back to her home.”
Good tried but could not keep the sadness out of his voice.
“Are you going with her?”
“There is no place for me in Russia.” Good spun and strode away. The pack of dogs sprang to their feet and trailed him as he disappeared into the night with Vera Zasulich.
Lucas stared at the carnage. Clifford and his men were all dead. How many of Vera’s had died, he had no way of guessing. The pack of wolfhounds roved at full strength, and now that Tovarich had returned, they would trot along and sniff out the gold.
At that thought, he had to laugh. Lucas held the jar of perfume and started to unscrew the lid, then thrust it back into his pocket. No matter how sensitive the dog’s nose, it could not sniff out hidden gold smeared with the spikenard. Too many questions cropped up as he thought about Good leading the way to some hidden cache.
Who had put the perfume on the gold and then thought to train the dog? A simple map made more sense and required less effort. Even the best trained dog might leave the trail to go racing after a rabbit. After all the tribulations the dog had been through, death would have left the gold forever hidden. Tovarich was a fierce fighter, but eventually the rats or other dogs would have killed him in Makepeace’s rat pits.
Amanda had somehow gotten the perfume from Vera’s wagon, but how did she know this was the key to unlocking the dog’s sensitive nose? Lucas shook his head sadly. There wasn’t any way. No way at all.
In the silence of the night, Lucas looked up at the crystalline stars. The dogs were long gone, and not even a breeze stirred the bushes. Bodies strewn all over the ravine began to smell, forcing Lucas to climb back to the bank of the ravine. From here he found his horse, mounted, winced, and then settled down.
Tovarich might be the key to finding the gold, but the perfume had nothing to do with it. In spite of the pain in his butt, back, and legs, Lucas trotted back to Denver because he knew how to find the gold.
25
Lucas got more excited with every mile he rode on the way back to Denver. When Amanda’s Cherry Creek shack came into view, he let out a whoop of glee. He was right. He had to be since nothing else made a lick of sense. With a quick move, he dropped to the ground. His earlier weakness had passed, and the certainty he’d gained while turning over every possibility in his mind gave him renewed confidence and strength. Even his legs were strong and worked well as he kicked back the door and went inside.
The interior was too dark for him to find what he wanted. He lit a match and held it aloft as it sputtered and flared. He turned slowly until he found the corner where Tovarich had been chained. The mute testimony to the dog’s confinement lay on the dirt floor. He dropped to his knees and pawed through the debris, hunting for what had to be here. Amanda had freed Tovarich from the collar and dropped it. When he pushed aside a pile of offal, he touched the thick leather strap.
He fell back and found a dirty rag to wipe off his hand and Tovarich’s collar. A second match provided enough light for him to examine the collar. Along the inside the thread had been ripped away. His fingernail completed the cut so he could peel back the leather to expose a metal strip. By the time Lucas pried it away from the collar, his match had burnt to a black, charred stick. He went to the door and held up the metallic strip so starlight shone off it.
More by touch than sight, he made out lines and dots stamped into the metal. Holding it close, he got a good look at it. A slow smile came to his lips. Tovarich had been the answer to finding the gold, but it had nothing to do with the dog’s keen nose. The map had been sewn into his collar.
Lucas ran his fingers over the metal strip until dawn broke and gave enough light for him to get a better look. The small triangles had to be mountain peaks. Dots showed a river or perhaps a road. But where? It took him another few minutes to understand the final part of the map. Corners on one end had been folded back and a notch on the bottom cut out. An arrow. An arrow like a compass needle.
He aligned it with north, then studied the Front Range as sunlight struck the mountains fully. Was it intended to be magnetic north or should he find the North Star? Lucas realized that hardly mattered since the map lacked detail. This was a broad hint where the gold had been cached and nothing more. He pressed his thumb down over the X that would make him fabulously wealthy.
Anxious to get on the trail, he realized he needed to prepare. He needed supplies for at least a week, and more immediately, he needed food now and rest.
Lucas got his supplies and ate in the saddle as he rode into the foothills. Excitement kept him alert and on the trail until he fell asleep and almost toppled from the saddle. Realizing how dangerous it would be to tumble off his horse and down the increasingly precipitous drop-offs along the trail, he found a cave, gave his horse what grass he could pull up, and then lay down out on his blanket, intending only to take a quick nap.
Ten hours later, he came awake with a start. He stretched, moaned a little at the effort, and made sure his horse got more fodder before eating some of the food he had brought along. The time it took to prepare galled him, but his hunger had grown to the point his hands shook and dizziness hit him whenever he moved suddenly. That might be due to the increasing altitude, but Lucas had pushed himself to the edge of exhaustion.
He told himself he needed to be sharp, alert, and able to appreciate the treasure trove when he found it.
After eating, he took out the thin strip map. He pressed his thumbnail into it. The metal might have been tin or some other malleable metal. The map was plainly punched into the strip that had been hidden in Tovarich’s collar. He almost wished the dog could be here to share his triumph. Then he realized how little he liked dogs. Vera’s pack had attacked him in town, even if it had saved him from Clifford and his men.
He oriented the strip and found the highest peaks to the left. Only the loftiest 14,000-foot mountains had been used as markers on the map. His heart raced when he realized he was getting closer. The cache had been placed remarkably close to town, but from what he had overheard, this was Confederate gold so had to have been moved from its original hiding place.
In places he had to walk. This caused him to worry how the gold had been moved this route in the first place. More and more he checked the metal strip to reassure himself he wasn’t going in the wrong direction. Then he went down a steep slope and into a grassy valley feeling winter’s first bite. Snow dotted the ground. He caught his breath when he saw how a horse had come from the other end of the valley and turned due west—the direction his map showed. He dismounted and studied the tracks. They weren’t too recent, but he wasn’t much
of a frontiersman and couldn’t be certain. It had been several days since it had snowed. The icy crust that formed in the warm autumn sun had folded over some of the hoofprints. Or maybe he was only minutes behind the other rider. How anyone else knew of the location baffled him, but he was willing to fight for his share.
He was willing to fight for it all.
He lost the tracks across a rocky patch. Lucas stopped looking for the other tracks when he saw what had to be the hiding place. Twin rocky spires rose on either side of a narrow valley entrance. In spite of gasping from the altitude, he ran forward. His horse balked, but he tugged at the reins. Lucas dropped the reins and scrambled up a rock-strewn slope to what had to be the hiding place.
The dirt and frozen mud had been disturbed. He wasn’t the only one who had been here. That didn’t mean whoever had entered knew anything about the gold. He had slept in a shallow cave the first day out. This might be another pilgrim on the trail to—where? Lucas had no idea.
Anxiously entering the cave, he took a deep whiff to be sure there wasn’t bear or wolf spoor. Finding nothing, he pushed deeper. At this point, he would have wrestled the bear and the wolf, both at the same time, to get a million dollars of gold bars. Or was it coins? How had the Confederates poured their gold?
He moved to one side and let the light from the cave mouth show him the way. The only possible spot where anything might have been hidden was a narrow crevice jammed with loose rocks. He tore at the rocks and threw them to the cave floor until he came to a wooden box. Small enough to hold in his hands, it could not possibly hold even a few hundred dollars in gold, much less a million dollars.
Hardly daring to act, Lucas summoned the courage and pried open the lid. Nothing inside. Nothing. He carried the box outside into the bright sun, where he could better examine the box. It had once held fine Cuban cigars. Now not even dust was inside.
The Great West Detective Agency Page 21
