by Lou Bradshaw
According to my figurings, I expected to hear Glazer and Lacy ride in at any time. So I wasn’t too surprised when I heard horses. But they were moving too fast and too close. Three men flew past the next building hell bent for election…heading in the general direction of Nevada. I recognized Clete as the big man I’d seen coming to the office earlier.
The door slammed open and I heard the Boss run out yelling at the men as they disappeared in a cloud of dust. He stood there for a few seconds, and then he must have turned back and saw the Chinamen not working because he started yelling at them to get to work. Then he went back in and slammed the door.
Moving over to the corner I looked between the two buildings and saw what must have been fifty or sixty Chinamen sitting on their heels just looking at the door. Then I heard horses again and saw Glazer and Lacy walking their horses right through the middle of the coolies.
The Chinese stood and moved out of their way, and then closed up the gap behind the horses and started moving forward. The Chinamen never said a word, just moved forward taking those little steps in those little black slippers. Glazer and Lacy seemed not to notice them. They just rode up to the door and got down.
“Harvey.” Glazer called out. “What the hell are these coolies doin’ just sittin’ on their butts?”
Harvey opened the door, and I heard him say, “The vein’s petered out it’s done, Ed… It just quit. I had them tryin’ to find it again, but there ain’t nothin’ there. The three overseers stole the chest and run off… I think their headin’ for Nevada.”
“Harvey, you idiot! You just let them take it? You said this was the mother lode. You guaranteed it with your life… You swore to it on your mother’s grave!” The little rancher screamed and yelled, to the point, I thought he was having a conniption fit.
“But, Ed, nobody can see into the ground… we just have to make educated guesses… Everything pointed to a long and rich vein. Sometimes they just run out.”
Glazer was silent for a few seconds, and then with a calm and friendly voice he said, “Yeah, Harvey, Things run out. I really don’t have any need for your mother’s grave, so I’ll pass on that… Yeah, Harvey, the vein just ran out, so I guess you ran out too.”
“R..Ran out of what, Ed?”
“Time, Harvey… you just ran out of time.”
I heard two pistol shots. The first was a smaller caliber than the Colt, which followed so fast the sound of it covered the other. And then the Colt spoke again. Something slammed against the plank wall and fell to the boardwalk… I presumed that to be Harvey.
“Come on, Lacy, let’s get my gold.”
There was a shuffling of feet, and the jingle of spurs, and then the sound of a bottom hitting a saddle. Within seconds the shuffling of many small steps was heard.
“Where our money?” came a call from the Chinese workers. It was repeated a number of times by a number of different voices.
“Get back you devils!” was followed by a shot from the smaller weapon, and two horses came tearing through the space between the two shacks. I had just pulled back or else they would have run me down.
Pulling myself through the window, I was inside the shack in the blink of an eye. I was quick to locate the chest; after all it was sitting on the table, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room. The workers were getting restless out in the compound. There was a lot of unrecognizable Chinese yelling, but I got the idea of what they were saying.
Grabbing a handle on one of the ends, and my rifle in the other hand just as Dog came through the window, we went through the door together. When we appeared on the boardwalk, the whole crowd went silent. I guess they didn’t expect to see anyone coming out… let alone someone with a big ugly dog.
Holding up that little chest by the one handle I called out, “Money.” And set it on the planks. The crowd surged forward, and I sent a warning shot into the dust between me and them. Jacking in another cartridge I called out, “Who speakee American?”
Several men raised their hand, but about half the crowd moved aside and made room for a man from the middle of the pack. There wasn’t much to make note of about that fella except he didn’t walk like a Chinaman. His stride was more like a white man, and he carried himself with his head up. He was dressed the same as the rest, and he even had a pigtail, but he was the head man, that much even I could tell. He walked straight up to the porch and stopped in front of me and the growling Dog.
“You talkee American?” I asked.
“I speak English as well as Mandarin Chinese and Spanish.” He said with only a hint of accent. I am Fan Whong, I am also spokesman for the workers.
“Well, Mister Whong, I’m known as Cain, and I don’t speak for anyone, but this mine is done…. There’s no gold, and there’s no one in charge. What money there was is in this chest. I would ask only a little for some folks who have lost blood and property down below in the valley. The rest you can split up as you see fit.”
“I have no interest in this mine other than to do some harm to them that were runnin’ it. They’ve raised a mite of hell down in the valley because of their greed and lust for gold.”
We opened the chest and it was about half full of small nuggets and tobacco sacks full of dust. I took one of those tobacco sacks and asked if that would be all right. He said that seemed fair.
“Those two who shot Harvey will be back here soon, so if I was you, I’d take the gold and get out of sight till they’re gone.”
“What is your interest in this business, Mister Cain?”
I thought for a few seconds and said, “Some of that bunch shot and killed an old Mexican sheep herder’s dog, and I just couldn’t abide that.”
“While we’re askin’ questions, where’d you learn to speak English?”
He showed just a shadow of a smile and explained, “I’m a third generation Chinese American… It’s an advantage that many Californians and Spanish think of me as an ignorant coolie. I was caught up with some of the others and shipped in here about three weeks ago…. If you ever need help in San Francisco, I’ll be in China Town at the law offices of Fan Whong.” He grinned and extended his hand.
He handed the chest to two men who were waiting for him. After a few minutes of chatter, they were all gone as was everything of use in the compound, including horses, food, and tools. A Chinaman don’t waste much.
Standing there watching them collect everything on the place, it came to me that I’d better shake a leg and fetch my horse before one of them stumbled onto it.
Chapter 21
The horse was where I’d left him, and thankful I was of that. I couldn’t imagine myself chasing Glazer and Lacy on foot. I wasn’t much concerned with Clete and his friends. I figured they wouldn’t last for more than a couple of hours. As soon as Glazer caught up with them, Lacy would send them to hell quick enough, especially when they found no gold.
They’d rip everything apart looking for it, and then they’d figure the three men had buried it somewhere and kill them trying to get information. When they were satisfied the mine overseers didn’t have it, they’d come back to the mine. Well, Misters Glazer and Lacy… this just ain’t your day.
Their trails were easy enough to follow, since both groups were running at a full gallop. I figured Glazer had some negotiating to do, and Lacy had some pain to inflict. So there wasn’t much reason for me to be in a hurry. Although, I did sort of feel bad for Clete, Murphy, and Stoddard, but they’d been working those Chinamen almighty hard for a while and Lord only knows what kind of pain they’d caused in the process. Life can be a miserable thing when your bad acts come full circle on you.
So I just sort of ambled along making no dust and causing no problems for anybody… at that particular moment.
It was about three hours later than that particular moment when I saw the dust up ahead. I didn’t think I could have possibly caught up with either bunch, so I reckoned it was someone coming back. I was pretty much certain it wasn’t the overseers. Th
at meant Glazer and Lacy had caught up with the others and found out Harvey wasn’t exactly honest with them. Well, that didn’t bode well for Clete, Murphy, or Stoddard.
I’d been following the trail of both groups, which wove its way through the mountains in a series of narrow valleys. We had crossed out of the green side of the Sierras and were heading down into the gray brown side… sometimes called the dry side. It wasn’t dry like some places in Arizona… well, like a lot of places in Arizona. There was water here, there just wasn’t whole bunches of it.
Chances were good, they would follow their own tracks back to the mine, so I found me a place to get out of sight wait for them to pass. When they would go by, I’d just move out behind them and have them covered. Oh, I knew they would try all the tricks, and I knew them to be a deadly pair of snakes. But they were smart enough not to try anything stupid when a man is sitting there with a cocked and loaded rifle in his hand.
So I waited for them off the trail in a little cove. It didn’t take them long, for they wanted to get back and tear that shack down and everything else if need be to find that gold. They loped by and I followed out right behind them and triggered a shot at a drifting cloud.
The sound of a rifle right behind a fella will have one of two reactions. He will either come to a halt, or he will wet himself and take off like his horse’s tail was on fire. They showed good sense and pulled up. Neither looked back, they probably thought it was the law and were expecting more than one man. I told them to turn around. Slowly, they turned their horses around and faced me. We were no more than forty feet apart. My attention was centered on Lacy, with the corner eye vision keeping track of Glazer.
Lacy was the gunman, but Glazer was the brains and the boss… and he had turned his horse with his little gun already drawn. In that split second, when my attention was turned his way he pulled the trigger. But he missed me by a mile. As I was swinging my rifle, I caught Lacy’s movement out of the corner of the other eye. It was too late. I should have shot Lacy first and then worried about that little gun Glazer was totin.
Two things made me want to open my eyes. One was the cold. Those high deserts can get mighty chilly at night. The other thing was the pain in my head. I was pretty much sure I was dead, and Lucifer or one of his minions was pounding the side of my head with sledge hammer.
Raising my arms to ward off the blows, I found there wasn’t anything there but cold air. The pain wasn’t quitting, even though I had my eyes open and couldn’t see any devils or demons anywhere near me. But it was dark and I couldn’t see much of anything.
I knew, I wouldn’t be able to sit up without passing out again. So I rolled over and started trying to get my knees under me. It seemed like it took an eternity to rise to my hands and knees. Under my current circumstances, knowing how close I’d come to eternity, I figured that was the proper word.
As my eyes cleared and I began to focus better, I saw my rifle in the sand. That must be where I must have flung it, when I was shot off my horse. Shot?
Where was I hit, and how bad was I hit? The pain in my head gave me a pretty fair clue as to where. I braced myself with my right hand and lifted my left to the side of my head, and found the source of my discomfort. I found a nice little groove that felt as long as the Rio Grande, but probably wasn’t much longer than my little finger. My hair was matted with blood, and that groove was still leaking a might.
I couldn’t do any doctoring on my hands and knees. I needed a place to sit against something, so I wouldn’t fall over. But first I had to get my rifle, so I crawled to it and wrapped the rawhide sling around my wrist and crawled to the nearest rock, and I propped myself up against it. After resting a few minutes, I took my kerchief and folded it into a pad. It was none too clean, but I needed it to stop the bleeding. Then I cut about half of the rifle sling and tied it over the kerchief pad.
My hat would never fit over it, but hell, I didn’t even know where my hat was. I needed water, but my canteen was with my horse… Funny how one thing triggered another? That was the moment I realized my horse was gone. Things were going from bad to rotten in a hurry. At that point, my stomach turned over.
Where was Dog? I couldn’t believe he would leave me. He wouldn’t and if he did, he’d come back…if he could. If they killed Dog, they better find a place on the moon because if they stay on this earth, I will find them. And when I do…
I tried to whistle him in, but my mouth was too dry. So I popped a small pebble into my mouth to get some moisture going. It seems to trick the mouth into thinking it’s eating and gets the juices flowing. Once my mouth was moist enough to whistle, I gave it a try. The whistle was fine, so I tried it again and again. Each time I’d whistle, I’d wait a bit for some sign or sound, but there was nothing.
I needed a fire. I needed it for warmth, but Dog would come to a fire looking for me, if he could. Scraping up the makings of a small fire, I got it going and was able to stand using my rifle as a cane, I went looking for firewood. The movement made my head hurt, but I felt site better than when I first woke up.
It had been a long time since I had been as all out mad and looking for revenge as I was at that moment. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so cold blooded and so hot to make someone pay for the life of that poor dumb beautifully homely beast. And they would pay.
The night was long and cold and lonely. I spent a good deal of time cussing my own stupidity for being distracted by Glazer and his pop gun. But what was done was done, and feeling guilty about Dog wasn’t going to bring him back. So for the time being, I set my mind on living long enough to get Dog some kind of justice. I must have slept from time to time because I would wake up and look around for Dog. I would have been easy pickins for any Mohave’s, who might be out looking for a scalp… even a bloody one.
But daylight came and I could see again. I didn’t want to move, but I didn’t want to spend another minute propped up against that rock. The fire was down to ash and coals and no coffee or bacon or any other reason to build it up again. Working my way up to a standing position, I looked around for some kind of stout stick to use as a staff. My Winchester was too short to lean on, and I wanted it ready to go in a half a second when I needed it.
So I took the first stick that even looked like it would work and took off up the trail. By my best calculations, the mine was maybe ten to twelve miles away. I felt I could make that in a day’s time, but I wasn’t looking forward to it.
The tracks were there, and they told the story. Those jay birds shot me and dug out with Dog on their tails. My horse bolted and followed… He probably knew the others from being in the same pastures and corrals. After nearly a mile, they had slowed to a walk and Dog caught up with them.
His tracks showed that he was dodging in and out between the horse’s legs probably trying to nip them. He was creating havoc. The horses were acting up and one tripped and fell. And Dog headed for a brush choked ravine. He had run ahead of the downed horse for twenty or thirty yards before he took to the brush. He was favoring his right rear leg, so he must have been hurt in the fracas. Then I saw the blood in the sand.
I went in after him. Like most critters, when hurt he would hole up and wait to get better or die. I was counting on getting to him before that became an issue. The ravine he had gone down was steep and rocky with brush and plants of all descriptions, and everything that grew there sported thorns of stickers of some sort. So I slung my rifle, with its short sling, over my right shoulder and used my staff to keep from getting cut up too bad. I would have to rely on my Colt if there was a need for a weapon.
A quick draw was never something I was good at, but I could get it out, and I could shoot as straight as the next hombre. So down I went, stopping now and then to rest. My head was thumping like a Ute tom tom before a big battle.
Having gone down close to fifty feet in elevation, my head was spinning. It was hotter than blazes with no wind or even a slight breeze to dry the sweat. I could see a clearing up ahe
ad with a small cottonwood or two poking their tops out. That would mean there was water down there. My only hope was that Dog had found it and I wasn’t just a damp spot.
Moving ahead without caution, I was half afraid of what I might find, and a heart full of hope at what I might find. Bursting through the last of the brush, ignoring the thorns, the first thing I saw was the pool. And the second thing I saw was Dog crawling out of the brush. I must have woke him because he looked befuddled and confused. Then the tail started to wag and he limped forward.
Fussing with him, I couldn’t tell which of us was the happiest. But I used the fussing as an excuse to give him a going over. He had a bruised leg, but I couldn’t find any kind of break. He was sore and had some tender spots but I didn’t think anything was broken. And there was a patch of raw skin across his hip where a bullet had taken some meat out. I washed it real well, but it was already starting to scab over. He didn’t seem to be too concerned about it. His nose was wet, so I didn’t think he had a fever.
Neither of us had eaten anything that I knew of in at least a day. We needed food, and I knew Dog was in no condition to do any hunting. So I told him to stay, while I went out to see what I could scrounge up from nature’s pantry. I came back with a pair of ground squirrels, which I had dispatched with my walking stick. There wasn’t much meat on them, but they would keep my dog alive.
On the way back I nearly stepped on a large rattler sunning its self on a ledge. He was a big one. I guessed him to be at least five feet long and as big around as my forearm. He must have been living the good life fattening up on ground squirrels and anything else that came to the pool.
It lay there in a loose crooked formation. I’d say he’d been in cold shadows for a while and needed to get the body temperature up. Dropping the ground squirrels, I got ready to make my move. He looked to be asleep, but I knew he could come awake real quick like. So I moved up very carefully and raised my staff. The tongue came out and flicked a few times before it went back in, and then it came out again. He was testing the air, and he had smelled me. The head came up, the muscles in his body started to bunch, and the walking stick came down. His movement had caused me to miss his head, but the stick had smashed his throat just behind it. The body was coiling and squirming with the rattle buzzing. With the throat pinned, it was a quick matter for my Bowie to take the head off.
