by T. T. Flynn
The room where Shorty slept had one shuttered window, closed and barred on the inside. He had barely fallen asleep, it seemed, when a fist hammering on the door brought him out of the covers with his gun cocked.
Wood chunks had burned to white ash in the small corner fireplace. The late afternoon sun was lancing rays through the shutter chinks. The fist hammered again.
"Yeah?" said Shorty cautiously.
"It's Lannigan. The old man started for Lodeville an' said to get you ready to leave by dark. You got time to eat."
Shorty's horse had been fed and rested. Lannigan had him at the door in the early winter twilight when Shorty was ready to ride.
"Follow the creek road for about four miles an' you'll cut a trail headin' south," said Lannigan. "It'll put you the way you want to go."
"I'm obliged."
"Don't thank me," growled Lannigan. "I'd take you back. The old man's too damned soft-hearted. I'll tell him so in town tonight."
"Halliday'd be more your style, I reckon," said Shorty, swinging into the saddle.
"You didri t fool Halliday, from what I hear."
"That posse seems to have left word about everything." Shorty grinned. "Well, adios, amigo. I'll see you in hell an' let the devil decide."
Shorty took the creek trail until he was out of sight, and then started a wide swing. The night chill came down. The moon was not yet up as his horse made heavy going across the open range. An hour brought him back to the traveled ranch road. The moon came up and he had clear going until he circled around Lodeville, and came into the small corral and shelter shed behind Pop Marcy's house.
The house windows were lighted. The horse nickered before Shorty could stop it. And the back door opened and Kathleen's voice called: "Is that you, Pop?"
"Come out here!" called Shorty in a low voice.
He knew by her sudden silence that Kathleen recognized him. She hurried out a moment later, wearing a small sheepskin coat, a riding skirt, and boots.
Against the gray-white snow sheen on the ground Kathleen looked slimmer, younger than ever. Her face was a pale oval against the white wool of the coat collar. When she spoke, something turned over in Shorty that he had hoped was gone for good.
"Shorty, what are you doing back here? They're looking for you. They'll ... they'll hang you if they catch you."
"Is Pop Marcy in there?"
"No. I won't tell you where he is. Please leave."
"It wouldn't matter much if they caught me."
"It would to me," said Kathleen, and there was the faintest catch in her voice.
"You sound like you mean that," said Shorty.
"What makes you think I wouldn't mean it, Shorty?"
"I didn't know you had room to think much about anyone but Pop Marcy an'... Halliday."
Kathleen waited a moment before she spoke. "You've never forgotten that I asked you not to kill Nelse, have you?" she asked in a low voice.
Shorty did not try to hide his pent-up bitterness. "I did what you wanted, didn't I? He came lookin' for trouble ... an' I backed down from him. He called me yellow ... an' I let the town see I was yellow. Did you want more than that?"
"Shorty," said Kathleen, "you must believe me. I didn't want that. How could I know Nelse would do what he did? I thought you were the one who would make trouble."
"It doesn't matter now. Where's Pop Marcy?"
"He went to the mine with Pete Morrison, his foreman. And the posse's back. Shorty, is something wrong? Why did you come back here?"
"Because I'm a fool, I reckon. Halliday'd tell you so."
"Nelse was here about half an hour ago," said Kathleen. "One of his miners came for him. Something seemed to be wrong at the mine. He left hurriedly."
"Funny he and Pop headed for their mines this time of night," muttered Shorty. "Night shifts aren't working now. I'll go to Pop's mine."
"No," Kathleen refused. "Someone will see you. I'll go to the mine and see who's there, and meet you beyond it and tell you. Don't try to stop me."
"I'll look for you at the mine," Shorty yielded.
The shaft-head lights of the Gunsight Mine were bright points against the rising mountains beyond. To the right, not far away, lights glinted at Halliday's Oriole Mine. Beyond the Oriole, a shoulder of the mountain hid the lights of Halliday's other mine, the Blackbird.
Shorty waited in the night. He could see three horses tied near Pop Marcy's hoist house. He heard the faint clang of a shovel in the boiler-room. Then Kathleen's slender figure walked out on the snow and looked around. Shorty whistled softly, rode toward her.
Kathleen came to meet him. She said hurriedly: "Pop's underground with Morrison. He left this note with the hoist man, to send to me later. Shorty, I'm worried."
Shorty dismounted. "What's in it?"
"It says ... 'I'm taking Morrison into Halliday's Oriole Mine on the old fourth level. We're heading for the sixth and seventh levels in the Oriole. If we ain't back up by midnight, better send the deputy in after us. Don't do anything until midnight."'
"Gone into Halliday's Oriole Mine," Shorty muttered. "Now what's he got on his mind?"
Kathleen's small hand went to Shorty's arm. "I'm afraid, Shorty. There's trouble. Pop doesn't like Nelse. He thinks Nelse is trying to cheat him about the Gunsight Mine. And ... and I don't know about Nelse anymore. But Pop wouldn't go into the Oriole Mine this way unless something was wrong."
"Looks that way, doesn't it?" Shorty agreed, frowning
"Pop," said Kathleen, "has been like a father to me. He's old and so alone I can't wait until midnight. Anything might happen to him down there. Have you ever been underground, Shorty?"
"Never have," admitted Shorty.
"You don't know how it is then. You're cut off from the world. It ... it frightens me to be under there very long."
"Does the hoist man know how to find 'em?"
"I don't think so. But Pete Morrison's brother, Tom, does. He worked in the Oriole Mine before Nelse's uncle died. He's been working in the Gunsight since then."
"Get him then," said Shorty. "I'll wait in the hoist house."
Steam was hissing softly at the hoist engine when Shorty walked into the cavernous hoist house. The engineer, wearing overalls and a grease-smudged bandanna around his neck, called a greeting-then stared when he saw who it was.
Shorty grinned thinly. "Just take it easy. Had a signal from Pop Marcy yet?"
The gray-headed hoist engineer moistened his lips, shook his head. He looked uneasily at the gun on Shorty's hip, and spoke uncertainly. "Sit down. I'm waiting for them to signal any minute."
"I'll keep standing," said Shorty. "If anyone comes, I'll get back outta sight. Got any idea why they're down in the mine?"
"They didn't say." The engineer moistened his lips again. "Folks around here figure you left these parts an' kept going."
"Which shows," said Shorty, "you can't always believe folks. Build yourself a smoke an' be easy. You got nothiri but an engine to worry about."
Shorty moved restlessly about the hoist house. Hoisting cables stretched tautly up to the crown blocks from the great cable drums and down into the mine. What a slender contact they made with the outer world.
Shorty looked over his shoulder quickly as someone rode up outside and dismounted. He was back in the shadows behind the cable drums, gun out, when a man entered.
It was the small man who had helped take him to Pop Marcy's ranch house. He came in now, and called to the engineer.
"Somebody said Marcy came here to the mine."
Shorty came out from the shadows. "Anything on your mind?"
"Hell's fire! Where'd you come from?"
"I drifted in. Why're you lookin' for Pop this time of night?"
"None of your business. But the boys are wonderin' if he's got anything else on his mind tonight before they turn in."
"You brought that body in?"
"Uhn-huh. The three of us did."
"Then round up the others," said Shorty. "Br
ing 'em here, with their guns. A couple of you ease over an' keep an eye on the Oriole shaft house."
"How come you're around here givin' orders?"
"I'm tellin' you what to do, in case Pop Marcy runs into trouble. It looks like he might. You ain't dodgin' trouble if he needs you?"
"Hell, no. What's wrong?"
"He'll tell you when he comes up outta the mine. Get your men here an' tell 'em to keep quiet about it."
Pop Marcy's man appealed to the hoist engineer. "What about it?"
"I reckon he knows what he's doing. The old man's down the hole."
"He better know what he's doing," was the muttered reply as Pop's man walked out.
Kathleen Allen returned with a thick-chested, broad-shouldered man who needed a shave. His nod was curt. Kathleen had evidently told him what to expect. He wore a gun belt.
"This," said Kathleen, "is Tom Morrison. He knows both mines well."
"Let's get down," said Shorty.
Morrison opened a chest against the wall and began to fill his pockets with thick miner's candles. He held out a handful.
"No lights where we're going. You'll need these."
"Give me some," said Kathleen.
"Let's get started down there," said Morrison gruffly.
Kathleen walked closely beside Shorty. When he held the candle up and looked at her, she smiled uncertainly. "Like it?" she asked under her breath.
"I'd like some sky better," replied Shorty. "An' I wish you hadn't come down here."
"I couldn't wait up there in the hoist house, wondering what was happening down here."
"Kinda like Pop, don' t you?"
"Don't laugh at me," said Kathleen. "I didn't come back to town while a posse was looking for me."
The tunnel roof dropped lower. Old joists and bracing timbers had cracked, sagged. They had to climb around and over rock falls. They turned into a side tunnel, smaller and lower, so that they were bending half over as they walked. Presently there was not even that much room. Finally a wall of rock and debris blocked the way. There was barely room to crawl and inch through a narrow space over the top of loose rock.
Morrison's muffled voice came back. "We're comin' into the Oriole."
Handicapped by his bad arm, Shorty barely made it. He was panting, and his candle was almost flickering out when the loose rock gave way to a higher tunnel into Halliday's mine, where Morrison was standing with his candle.
"Here we are," said Morrison, moving on ahead.
They passed the low black mouth of a side tunnel. As yet there was no warning of danger. Then Kathleen cried: "Shorty!"
There was a rush of movement. Shorty's hand was streaking to his gun when a heavy blow from behind knocked him limply against the rough, wet rock at his side. His knees sagged helplessly. Someone brushed roughly past him, rasping: "Stand still, Morrison, damn you!"
Shorty had dropped his candle. The feeble flame was guttering out as someone caught him from behind, jerked his limp arm away from the gun, and drove him to the floor. His head struck a rock-and then his hazy impressions vanished as his candle went out....
The candles were burning again when Shorty opened his eyes. He knew instantly what had happened and found he was still on the tunnel floor.
Kathleen's low, clear voice was saying: "You're lying! Of course you know what happened to them!"
In the flickering candlelight the upright figures loomed grotesquely unreal. Kathleen was there, and Morrison-and two other men. They were booted, bearded miners, and Morrison seemed to know them.
"All right, Baker," Morrison growled. "If we're in the Oriole Mine, we'll get back on our side of the line. Jumping us this way wasn't called for. It'll only start trouble, if that's what you're lookin' for."
"You was lookin' for trouble when you came," growled Baker through his short heavy beard. "You got what you asked for ... although damned if I see why you brought the girl." Baker moved his candle. "This other one's got his eyes open. Get him up, Al."
Shorty rose to his feet, stooping under the low rock roof. He was curiously calm inside. The tomblike rock around them might have had something to do with it.
"Halliday put you two here to watch," he said. "What's the idea?"
White teeth gleamed in Baker's black beard as he grinned. "Ask Halliday when you see him. You ought've had enough of foolin' with Halliday by now. You three come on with us."
"We might as well," said Morrison glumly. "They've got the guns."
Kathleen walked by Shorty, and spoke in a low voice: "I'm afraid for Pop."
Shorty was trying to think fast. Baker was walking ahead with a candle; the man named Al was following some paces behind them with another candle, his gun ready.
The damp rock, the blackness against which the candles feebly pushed, and the silence in which sounds were hollow and unreal made their remote world strange and depressing. Here, far underground, you could think of the open range with a fierce hunger.
They entered other low tunnels, descended old rotting ladders, crept down rocky chutes that burrowed deeper and deeper into the earth. Chances of help were vanishing behind as they were swallowed by the depths of Nelse Halliday's mine.
They were in one of the rocky chutes, descending cautiously into the pit of night below, when the sudden hollow crash of gunfire boomed beyond.
"What's that?" Morrison's startled voice whipped out. "Did you hear it?"
"Get down against the wall," Shorty said under his breath to Kathleen.
Shorty scooped a jagged piece of quartz from the floor and dived past Morrison, plunging into range of the first candle as a shout from the rear warned of his move.
Baker swung to meet him. Shorty dodged against the rough side of the chute, slamming the quartz rock as he did so. And then Baker dropped, with a crushed and mangled ear. His candle went out as the shot behind them drowned all other sounds. Shorty dived low and sprawled over the prostrate man. It wrenched his splinted arm, and he paid no attention as he groped frantically for Baker's gun.
He found the gun beside Baker's limp hand. The man called Al shot twice more in that close space. Shorty hugged the rough rock rubble and thumbed back the gun hammer. His ears rang, the sharp powder bite tinged the damp mine smell. On down in the pitch-black depths other guns were booming hollowly. Close in front of him someone was groaning.
That would be Morrison; he was wounded, perhaps dying The blackness had a solid, terrifying quality. You could feel millions of tons of rock pressing down.
The second miner made no sound. He was there, Shorty knew, with his gun ready. He was waiting, listening, every nerve tense for a sound that would give him a target.
A choked sob nearby tightened Shorty's throat. "Shorty ... did he shoot you?" It was Kathleen.
Carefully Shorty put his gun down and groped for a small rock. Morrison was breathing through clenched teeth, in gasps that betrayed his pain. Kathleen gulped: "He's killed Shorty."
"Keep quiet," Morrison gritted in the blackness.
Shorty got the small rock, and threw it overhead and slightly in front of where he lay-and at the same time snatched for his gun.
The sharp click of the rock was plain. Behind Morrison and Kathleen a red tongue of flame silhouetted a vague figure. Shorty doubled the shot blast with his own shot. He fired at the gun flame, and the man behind fell, choking. "You got me. Don't shoot. I tell you, you've got me."
Bent-legged, Shorty crept forward. Ahead of him Morrison said: "Gimme that gun, damn you, before he kills you!" A moment later Morrison added: "I got his gun! It's all right."
"I was an idiot to call to you, Shorty," said Kathleen unsteadily.
She was an arm's length away in the blackness. Shorty holstered the gun and reached for her.
"I saved Nelse Halliday for you," he said huskily. "But it's a long way up to open air. Maybe I won't see it again. I love you, Kathleen, an' I can't help it. I've wanted to tell you ever since I first met you."
Morrison's agonized protest bro
ke in. "For God's sake, are you makin' love down in this hell hole at a time like this? I've got his gun. My shoulder's all tore up, but I'm some good yet. Let's get outta here while we got the chance. In a little while it may be too late."
Giddy from the perfume of her soft hair and the yielding of her slender body, Shorty answered. "Pop Marcy's down there, cornered. We came down to find him an' help him if he needed it. They wouldn't be fightin' if there was any idea of lettin' Pop get outta here. Kathleen, take a candle an' go back, if you can."
Morrison lighted a candle as Shorty shoved another candle and matches in Kathleen's hand. Then he turned down the chute.
The booming shots down lower in the mine were intermittent now. Guns seemed to be lashing out at sudden sounds, and other guns spat quick answer.
"They're on the sixth level," husked Morrison as he followed Shorty. "Damn these echoes. You can't tell how many are down there."
They came out of the rocky chute over a rough ladder into a cross drift, and, when they emerged from the drift into a larger tunnel, the gunfire was suddenly louder. Morrison blew out his candle.
"This is the main tunnel on the sixth level."
Morrison was again leading. He knew these mines like the recesses of his mind. Shorty followed him, stumbling often, uncertain, hesitant.
The gunfire was very close now, and, as they moved closer, the firing stopped. A muffled, unnatural voice echoed along the tunnel to them.
"Dixon ... take a man into that second drift and see if they're trying to come that way." It sounded vaguely like Halliday's voice.
Shorty bumped into Morrison, who had stopped. Crunching steps hurried toward them. Morrison's gun shattered the brief lull, and his yell rang through the tunnel. "Go after 'em, boys! Don't let 'em get away!" Morrison fired again. Shorty joined him, shouting and yelling-until the damp tunnel rang and echoed with sounds that a dozen men might have made.
Morrison was standing still. Shorty groped past him. "Come on," he urged. "If they're waitin' for us, we might as well find it out."
The tunnel curved, and, as they followed the curving wall around, the red flame of a gunshot licked out ahead. Shorty threw a shot back at the flash. His ringing ears caught the warning shout ahead. "Here they come!"
