Valley of Thunder

by Sam Clancy

  ‘We blast every second day then they take the rock about a hundred yards that way,’ Finn said and indicated in the direction the workers travelled. ‘There’s a small creek where they wash the rock and sort out the ones with the gold in them.’

  Ford’s back was starting to stiffen and he doubted that he would be much use for the work crew that day. He stretched it and instantly regretted the move as pain shot in small jolts from the shredded tissue.

  ‘Once we get inside,’ Finn explained, ‘we’ll find you a place where you can rest up. Your back should be fine for you to work tomorrow since we put that salt on it.’

  ‘Where did you get the idea of the salt anyway?’ Ford asked him as he recalled the way it had burned on application.

  Finn shrugged. ‘It’s somethin’ we’ve always done. Ever since I can remember. His Lordship told us to do it after the very first flogging here. We’ve been doin’ it ever since.’

  Ford remained silent while he processed the snippet of information he’d been given.

  Inside the mine, it was dusty, dim and odorous. The rough-hewn walls had jagged edges and lanterns cast their sickly glow. The enclosed space was rank with the smell of quiet despair and unwashed bodies. As they proceeded deeper into the shaft, people brushed past with their heavy loads. Their hopeless faces, anonymous masks of dust, grime and sores.

  They reached the drive branch and took the left fork. Another fifty yards brought them to an abrupt halt as they were confronted with a solid mass of rock.

  Ford found an out of the way spot to sit while the others went to work with picks on the rock face. The debris was scooped back behind them and shovelled into sacks to be carried out by the porters.

  ‘Hey, Thaddeus,’ Ford called to Finn, who leaned on his pick for a brief rest from his exertions. ‘How come there ain’t no guard up here?’

  ‘They don’t need one. A guard will look in every now and then but we’re not exactly goin’ anywhere, are we?’

  ‘Nope,’ Ford said. ‘I suppose not. You don’t happen to know how Ferguson came across this strike, do you?’

  ‘Him.’ Finn snorted in disgust. ‘That damn son of a bitch couldn’t find his nose even if he had a mirror and it was pointed out to him.’

  ‘What in hell is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means that he didn’t find it,’ Finn explained. ‘It’s my damned mine. The bastard took it from me.’

  Chapter 10

  The slaves worked steadily all day without rest. When evening finally arrived, the procession of bone weary, filthy bodies evacuating the mine was akin to ants leaving their colony on a frosty morning. Their shuffling feet carried them automatically to their cells for their meagre evening ration.

  Supper was a watery broth with questionable green flotsam. On closer inspection, the protein content of the meal was nothing more than fat white maggots.

  Ford tossed his bowl on the ground in disgust and Brady followed suit.

  ‘I ain’t gonna drink that damn swill,’ Ford grated. ‘I’ll go to hell before I eat anythin’ like that.’

  ‘But you must eat,’ Finn insisted as he picked out a plump larvae. ‘If you don’t, you won’t last long.’

  ‘I won’t be here long enough to worry about going any distance,’ Ford whispered harshly. ‘I’m gettin’ out.’

  ‘When? How?’ Finn seemed genuinely shocked that anyone would contemplate such a rash move. ‘Those who tried before you failed. Some even died. It is impossible.’

  ‘Tomorrow. At the end of the day,’ Ford started to explain. ‘When we come out of the mine, I’ll slip away into the brush—’

  ‘Ah, make that we,’ Brady interjected.

  Ford stared at him then nodded. ‘We. We’ll hide out until dark then we do what we can to get out.’

  ‘The guards will see you if you try to escape from the mine,’ Finn pointed out.

  ‘Well then, we’ll need a distraction,’ Brady stated.

  Ford looked intently at Finn. ‘Can you organize something for us?’

  The man was hesitant at first, but after some thought, he nodded. ‘I think so. But even if this crazy idea works, what will you do? It is at least a hundred miles to the nearest help.’

  ‘Help may be closer than you think,’ Ford said and went on to elaborate when both men gave him quizzical looks.

  ‘I plan to head for the Nez Perce camp on the Rapid River,’ Ford told them. ‘Yellow Bull said that he and his people are there. If I can convince him that the valley isn’t full of bad spirits, we might just have a chance.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll believe you?’ Brady asked doubtfully.

  ‘I guess we’ll find out if and when we get there.’

  Finn shook his head resignedly. ‘This is a bad idea.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Ford said. ‘But it’s the only one we have.’

  The sound of raised voices drifted across the weary gathering and all three men looked to see what was happening.

  The first person Ford spied was Gibson. The man confronting the sadistic brute was someone Ford didn’t recognize.

  ‘Damn it,’ Brady cursed softly.

  ‘Well, you obviously know that feller,’ Ford said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s Ellis. He’s the feller I told you about that was havin’ trouble with Gibson harassin’ his daughter Allison.’

  ‘Looks like he’s been at it again then,’ Ford said.

  Before either of them could move, the situation rapidly escalated from bad to deadly.

  Gibson grabbed the arm of a pretty young woman with blonde hair. Ford guessed that she was the man’s daughter and the subject of Gibson’s unwanted advances. She had placed herself between the two men in an attempt to calm her father and prevent a situation that may get him killed. Her efforts were to no avail. The instant Gibson grabbed her by the arm, Ellis launched himself, like a rabid snarling beast at the outlaw.

  Gibson staggered back as Ellis careened into him, claw-like hands reached for his throat. Gibson was forced to let go of the young woman’s arm to defend himself.

  Reflexively, he clubbed Ellis’ arms to one side with his left fist and his right snaked out. As Ellis staggered backwards under the onslaught, the blow only clipped him and had no impact on the enraged man.

  Off balance, Gibson’s feet tangled and he went down. Ellis threw himself atop the fallen outlaw and fixed his hands in a vice-like grip around his throat and began to squeeze the breath out of his assailant.

  Two muffled shots rang out and Ellis stiffened then went limp, all fight extinguished.

  Gibson rolled the dead man off, two patches of scarlet exposed on the man’s chest, a still smoking six-gun in the outlaw’s hand. Somehow, in the struggle, he’d managed to get it loose and discharge it with deadly efficiency.

  The blonde woman screamed and dropped to her knees beside the body of Ellis.

  ‘Hell,’ snarled Brady and went to move forward.

  Ford put out an arm to restrain him and said, ‘Wait.’

  Brady opened his mouth to protest but changed his mind and snapped it shut.

  Gibson dragged himself to his feet, holstered his gun and brushed himself off. He stepped over to where the young woman wept over the body of her dead father.

  She looked up at him with hate in her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she wept openly.

  She spat at him and hissed, ‘Damn you to hell, you murderer.’

  Gibson smiled a cold, yellowed toothed smile, reached down and took a fistful of hair, then dragged her to her feet.

  The young woman cried out in pain and kicked savagely at her father’s killer. Her fists drummed out a staccato beat on Gibson’s chest but he laughed maniacally and dragged her close.

  ‘Ford,’ Brady snapped. ‘Are we just goin’ to stand here and watch this?’

  ‘Nope.’ Ford shook his head. ‘I’d say not.’

  Both of them hurried towards the still laughing Gibson and his struggling prisoner.

  ‘Let her g
o, Gibson,’ Ford ordered.

  The laugh stopped instantly and Gibson’s face changed colour as he turned to meet his challenger. When he realized who had spoken, his face fell even further.

  ‘Well, well,’ he started, menace evident in his tone. ‘If it ain’t the marshal. Guess what, Ford? You don’t get to tell me what to do here.’

  Gibson dragged the woman closer and forced a kiss upon her. He looked back at the two men and smiled, the dare to them obvious.

  ‘See. Here, I do what I want.’

  Ford moved closer to Gibson and stood an arm’s length from him. He glared into the man’s eyes and said quietly, ‘Let the woman go. Now.’

  Once more, Gibson’s face turned a reddish hue as his anger built.

  ‘Why you!’ he snarled and shoved the young woman to the ground.

  His hand immediately dropped to the holstered six-gun but Ford reacted quickly and moved in closer. With his left hand, he chopped down onto the wrist of Gibson’s gun arm. The outlaw cried out in pain and his hand went numb and the gun fell into the dirt at his feet.

  Ford’s right hand streaked out with the speed of a striking rattler and his closed fist hit Gibson flush in the mouth.

  Ford felt the wounds on his back break open with the exertion of the violent reaction but he was satisfied when Gibson went down hard.

  The killer shook his head to clear his vision then wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away red with blood and he spat a globule into the dirt beside him.

  With a loud snarl, Gibson lunged for the fallen Colt but as his hand closed about the walnut grip, a shout stopped him cold.

  ‘Gibson, stop!’

  Ford turned to look at the large figure of Hayes as he emerged from the front row of the gathered crowd.

  ‘Leave it where it is, Matt,’ Hayes said, ‘and tell me what the hell is goin’ on.’

  ‘I’m about to kill me a lawman is what’s goin’ on,’ Gibson said.

  ‘Looks to me like you’ve already done enough killin’ for one day,’ said Hayes as he indicated Ellis’ corpse on the ground.

  ‘He should have minded his own business,’ Gibson said.

  ‘You were about to force yourself upon his daughter,’ Brady pointed out.

  ‘You shut up,’ Gibson spat caustically. ‘No one asked you.’

  Hayes bent down and picked up Gibson’s Colt. He stuck it in his belt then looked hard at the killer.

  ‘Get ’em locked away then bury the body,’ he commanded.

  ‘The hell . . .’ Gibson started.

  ‘Just do it!’ Hayes barked.

  Gibson nodded stiffly then turned away. ‘All right, you lot. Get inside.’

  Hayes turned his attention to Ford. ‘Any more trouble from you and I’ll shoot you myself.’

  Ellis’ daughter gave Ford and Brady a pitiful look as she was helped to her feet. She mouthed the words, ‘Thank you,’ and was guided away to her prison for the night.

  ‘I’m goin’ to kill that son of a bitch,’ Brady seethed.

  ‘You’ll have to join the line,’ Ford said. ‘Because I already promised him that.’

  Chapter 11

  Throughout the following day, both Ford and Brady managed to rest as much as they could without drawing too much attention to themselves. They would require all the energy and stamina they could muster if they were to be successful in their escape attempt.

  On approach to the mouth of the mine at the end of the day, Ford asked Finn, ‘Are you ready?’

  The man nodded. ‘Just don’t get caught.’

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ Ford assured him.

  There were three guards at the exit to the mine. Each one watched and counted to make certain the number that had gone in that morning equalled those coming out.

  A few of the slaves carried bags of ore, Finn included. As he walked past a guard, he staggered under the bag’s weight. A little at first, then he lost balance and crashed into the unsuspecting man which caused both of them to go down in a tangle of arms and legs.

  The ensuing commotion of shouts, curses, and laughter from the remaining guards created enough distraction, and Ford and Brady slipped into the brush unseen.

  The downed guard extracted himself from Finn and climbed to his feet. He lashed out with his boot.

  ‘Damned old fool, why don’t you watch where you’re goin’?’

  Finn managed to get to his feet and he picked up the bag once more and continued on his way.

  ‘Damn it,’ one of the guards cursed.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked another.

  ‘I damn well lost count.’

  The guard shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about it. They’re all there.’

  Little did he know, but those words would come back to haunt him.

  Ford and Brady moved swiftly through the trees until they found a place amongst some rocks and spruce to hide.

  ‘What do you think?’ Brady asked Ford as he caught his breath.

  ‘So far, so good. If we can remain out of sight until dark, that will even things up a little and we’ll stand a better chance.’

  ‘Wish we had a couple of broncs,’ Brady pondered.

  Ford thought briefly about the roan. He hated to leave such a good horse behind but he knew that if all went well, he’d be back.

  ‘We can’t risk it,’ he told Brady.

  He nodded in acceptance. All they could do now was wait and hope that no one noticed their absence.

  When the front door burst open, the huge Irish Wolfhound leapt to his feet from the bearskin rug in front of the fire. A low growl rumbled from deep within his throat and he bared his teeth at the intruder.

  Darkness had fallen and Ferguson was seated at a large wooden table for his supper of venison and beans, a repast prepared by a widow of an emigrant long dead.

  The fork stopped halfway to his mouth and he glared at the interloper who wore an alarmed expression.

  ‘What is it, Hayes?’ he demanded, resentful of the interruption.

  ‘We have a problem,’ Hayes answered. His lack of formality didn’t go unnoticed. ‘Ford and the scout, Brady, have gone.’

  Ferguson calmly placed the fork onto his plate, retrieved the napkin from his lap, and wiped his mouth. He stood and leaned forward, braced himself with his fists pressed onto the tabletop.

  ‘How?’ The question was low and full of menace.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Hayes shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I’ve got men organized to look now. But it will be full dark soon and that could prove a problem. In saying that, they couldn’t have gone far.’

  ‘I see,’ Ferguson said in the same tone. ‘Tell them to take Caesar and find them. And they are not to come back until they bloody well have!’

  Ferguson bellowed the last part of the sentence and spittle flew from his lips as his rage erupted.

  ‘If they make it out of the valley, there is no telling who they could come across. If it’s a cavalry patrol, we would be in no end of trouble. So I say again, tell them don’t rest until they have them.’

  Hayes nodded.

  Ferguson looked down at his dog. ‘Caesar. Hunt.’

  The huge canine stood up and moved towards the door. Hayes opened it and allowed the dog to lead him out.

  ‘Come on, keep moving,’ Ford urged Brady. ‘If we stop, we’re done for.’

  Behind them, their pursuers were gaining ground as they crashed through the trees. Ford figured they weren’t far from the pass which had brought them into the valley.

  The pair had been on the run and hiding out for the past few hours. With the addition of Ferguson’s dog to the hunt, the men who chased them were now close behind.

  Ford and Brady had been flushed from their hiding spot just before dark amid a flurry of gunfire but they’d managed to escape.

  Darkness for the past couple of hours made things marginally better but the danger of being seen was replaced by the perils of what they couldn’t see.

  At one point,
Brady had cannoned into a tree, which had opened up a cut on his cheek and given him an aching head. Though the moon was up and cast a silvery glow across the valley, the trees blocked most of its limited illumination.

  From the shadows stepped the figure of a man.

  ‘What the hell is goin’ on?’ he called to them as they approached. He’d assumed that they were friendly. ‘What was all that gunfire I heard earlier?’

  Ford dropped his shoulder and crashed headlong into the man. There was a loud grunt as the air whooshed from the guard and both he and Ford spilled to the damp ground.

  They rolled around, clawing at each other until Ford gained the upper hand. The marshal drove a fist into the guard’s face and there was an audible crunch as the man’s nose broke in a spurt of blood.

  He howled in pain and threw his head to one side. Ford slammed another punch into the injured man’s face. The cries ceased and movement stopped as unconsciousness claimed him.

  ‘Find his rifle,’ Ford said to Brady as he relieved the outlaw of his six-gun and belt.

  Brady scratched around until he found the Winchester dropped by the man when Ford had cannoned into him.

  With heavy breaths from his exertions, Ford strapped on the man’s gun belt and adjusted it until it was comfortable.

  The night was rent with the sound of a blood-curdling howl which caused both men to freeze.

  ‘Somehow I don’t think that was a wolf,’ Brady said.

  ‘Nope,’ Ford agreed. ‘And I don’t plan on hangin’ around until it gets here, neither. That damn thing scares the hell out of me.’

  ‘What? You, scared?’

  ‘Just shut up and start runnin’ if you don’t want to end up on its blamed menu.’

  As the noise of the chasers behind them grew louder, Ford and Brady disappeared into the darkness of the tree-choked pass.

  ‘We’re getting’ close now,’ one of the pursuers called out after the wolfhound’s howl had died away.

  The hunters numbered four. All were on foot because they found it easier when working with the dog. Their names were Cook, Bell, Jordan, and Venters, and all of them were cold-hearted killers. This was the job they’d been recruited for.