by Scott Connor
With a smile now returning to his lips, Zandana tugged Lincoln to his feet, dragged him to the stagecoach, and hurled him inside.
Lincoln resisted the urge to protest, even remaining silent when Zandana ordered him to stay seated and renewed his threats as to what would happen if he gave him any more trouble.
Raul collected Decker and threw him into the stagecoach and on to the seat beside Lincoln, then gathered a six-foot length of chain from another deputy. He doubled the chain over, then attached Lincoln and Decker’s handcuffs together.
Again, Lincoln suffered the indignity in silence.
After much tugging to check that the handcuffs and chains were secure, Raul jumped down and joined the other deputies and Zandana. With much gesticulating in all directions, they debated what to do next.
Through the stagecoach window, Lincoln watched the lawmen, his ear cocked to the side as he strained to hear them. When he failed to hear enough to understand what they were debating, he slumped back into his seat.
He sensed that Decker was looking at him, but he kept his gaze averted until the strain of having someone staring at him broke him and he turned.
Decker was staring at him, with his jaw set in an inquiring smile.
‘What you looking at?’ Lincoln snarled.
‘I don’t know. What am I looking at?’
‘I’m Marshal Lincoln Hawk.’ Lincoln snorted. ‘You’re the famous Decker Calhoun, are you?’
‘I am.’ Decker leaned towards Lincoln and winked. ‘When you’re with me, you don’t need to claim that you’re a lawman.’
‘I do, because I am one,’ Lincoln said, feeling his jaw.
Decker shrugged, then pulled his chain to drag Lincoln’s hands from his face.
‘Then that’s the stupidest lie I’ve ever heard.’
‘The truth isn’t stupid.’
‘It is when it gets you a beating.’ Decker flexed his back and winced. ‘In my experience, lies get you a beating too.’
Lincoln lowered his voice. ‘Zandana has no right to beat one of his prisoners, no matter what his crimes.’
‘Tell that to Zandana.’ Decker smirked and raised a finger. ‘Be warned, if you do, it’ll get you another beating.’
Lincoln sighed and stretched back in his seat, searching for a posture that didn’t force Decker to lean against him. They needed a full minute of silent wriggling before they discovered how to play out the chain on the seat in a way that let them sit back and not get in each other’s way.
‘I can’t defend what Zandana did,’ Lincoln said, ‘but he’s dealing with desperate men and that calls for desperate measures. I’ll find a way to make him see reason.’
‘You only had one chance to do that.’ Decker turned to Lincoln and raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ve already wasted it.’
Lincoln narrowed his eyes, but on seeing Decker’s lively grin, he snorted.
‘You mean I should have escaped instead of giving myself up?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’m not escaping.’ Lincoln tugged on the chain binding them together, pulling Decker hard against his shoulder. ‘In case you get any ideas of your own, remember this – I’ll ensure you don’t escape either.’
Decker pushed away from Lincoln to sit clear of him.
‘Because you’re a lawman?’
‘Because I’m a lawman.’
‘Got proof?’
‘I’m not on duty.’
Decker blew out his cheeks. ‘Either way, Zandana doesn’t believe you, and the moment he has no further use for you, he’ll kill you, lawman or no lawman.’
‘You won’t convince me of that.’ Lincoln folded his arms, dragging Decker’s arm to the side. ‘But believe this – I’m not siding with you in any plans you’re hatching in that devious mind of yours.’
‘I’m not asking you to.’ Decker edged to the side to place his mouth beside Lincoln’s ear. ‘For the last week my belief that an escape chance will come has fortified me against the beatings.’
‘Be quiet. I’m not listening.’
‘Then just think about this.’ Decker slapped Lincoln’s shoulder with the back of his hand, then shuffled away from him. ‘A chance will come, and I’ll take it. The only thing that’ll keep you alive is taking it with me.’
Chapter Eight
Rocco grabbed his spade, only to hurl it to the ground again, then kick a divot of hard earth at the wall.
With rage contorting his face, he dragged his gun from its holster and aimed down at the ground.
‘Don’t,’ Crane shouted pacing past Wallace to stand in the doorway. ‘You can’t blast the earth away with bullets.’
‘I don’t care,’ Rocco said. ‘The damn spade isn’t doing nothing.’
‘Perhaps it isn’t, but gunfire will just attract those raiders.’ Crane strode to the edge of the abortive hole. ‘Put down the gun.’
‘But I . . .’ Rocco took long, deep breaths then, muttering to himself, kicked his spade away. He thrust his gun into its holster and stood aside to let Crane wander into the center of the cleared-away area and tap the ground with his heel.
Only a small lump of dirt broke off and rolled away.
‘Any ideas?’ Crane said, glancing through the doorway at Wallace and Elwood.
As Wallace and Elwood furrowed their brows, from the adjoining room, chuckling invaded the silence.
Crane swirled round to peer through the doorway and see that Seymour had a hand over his mouth. His shoulders were shaking with his suppressed mirth.
With Rocco at his heels, Crane stormed through the doorway.
‘What are you finding funny?’ he demanded.
‘I . . . I don’t know.’ Seymour gulped. ‘I guess I thought I was going to die. Then this happens and I just think that . . .’
‘You just think what?’
‘I guess I’d heard how impressive the Calhoun gang were,’ Seymour said, looking at his feet. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Suppose they got it wrong.’
As Crane opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, Rocco barged past him and stormed across the room towards Seymour with his fists raised. Crane hurried after him and slammed a hand on Rocco’s arm.
‘Don’t threaten our hostages.’
‘I’m not threatening no one no more.’ Rocco ripped his arm from Crane’s grip. ‘I’m going to use Seymour’s head to hammer the ground until it softens.’
‘Rocco, arguing won’t get us our gold,’ Crane snapped. ‘We need to think.’
Rocco snorted and strode another pace, but Seymour fell to his knees and cringed into the corner of the room, his legs wheeling as he pressed himself as far into the corner as he could. Open-mouthed fear replaced his amusement as he raised his hands to ward off Rocco’s anticipated blows.
Rocco stared at him, distaste curling his upper lip, then slackened his fists and turned to face Crane.
‘All right,’ he said, nothing in his flared nostrils and wide eyes suggesting that his anger had abated. ‘Stop them taunting us or I will shut someone up, permanently.’
Crane nodded and walked by Rocco to look down at the tight ball of arms and legs that was their hostage, Seymour.
‘Rocco’s right. You were mocking us.’
Seymour peered out from under an arm and finding that Rocco had now backed across the room, he rolled to his knees then feet. With as much dignity as he could muster, he batted the dust from his knees, straightened his jacket, and stood tall.
‘I wasn’t. I was just . . .’
‘You were just, what?’
‘He was just scared,’ Truman said, spreading his hands. ‘Like I guess we all are, and will be until you get the gold and leave us alone.’
‘That’s what we want, too,’ Crane said, ‘but the ground isn’t soft enough to dig.’
Truman snorted. ‘I can see you men haven’t done an honest day’s work in your lives. Hard frosts mean hard ground and we aren’t expecting the thaw for a while.’
‘The g
round shouldn’t be that solid inside the house.’
Truman pointed at the open doors. ‘Doors have been open all winter, and the frosts have been heavy for the last week.’
‘Then what do we do?’
Truman shrugged. ‘Wait for the thaw.’
Crane took a deep breath. ‘What do we do today?’
Truman walked across the room and peered through the doorway at Rocco and Wallace’s abortive attempt to dig a hole, then pointed at Rocco’s spade lying on the ground.
‘You need tools a lot stronger than that spade to slice through ground this hard – like a pick-axe.’ Truman strode to the hole and joined Crane in stabbing at it with the heel of his boot. ‘Or perhaps dynamite.’
With a great roar, Rocco grabbed his spade and advanced on Truman with it held high above his head.
In desperation, Crane swung round and lunged for Rocco’s arm. He missed, his grasp closing on air, as Rocco veered to the side to avoid him while he swung the spade.
The spade whistled through the air and, as Truman flinched away, the flailing blade just sliced past his right hip, then gouged into the ground six inches from his heel.
With a wild shriek, Truman danced back to cringe against the wall.
By the time Rocco had prized the spade from the ground and swung it up again, Wallace and Elwood had both grabbed Rocco’s arms and dragged him back to the opposite wall.
‘Rocco, stop this,’ Crane said.
Rocco struggled, but on finding no give in Wallace and Elwood’s firm grip, he stood tall and released his hold of the spade.
‘I will,’ he grunted, then pointed at Truman. ‘But he’s enjoying this too much.’
‘I want this over as much as everyone else,’ Truman said, edging along the wall to get even further away from Rocco.
Rocco rolled his shoulders then hurled Elwood and Wallace from him. He advanced a long pace on Truman, but as Truman backed into a corner, he snorted and planted his feet firmly in the center of the hole.
‘You knew this would happen,’ he said. ‘You knew.’
As Truman lowered his head, Crane stood before Rocco and faced Truman.
‘For once Rocco’s right,’ Crane said. ‘You knew we couldn’t dig up our gold.’
‘I didn’t,’ Truman whined, looking up and flashing a tentative smile. ‘I promised to take you to the gold. I just thought men who had spent twenty years planning how to get that gold would have had the right tools for the job.’
‘We didn’t know that you’d reburied it and that the ground would be this hard.’
‘You should have . . .’ Truman glanced at the glowering Rocco, then lowered his head.
‘Now, think about this,’ Crane said, ‘Rocco is all set to pound somebody’s head into the dirt until something softens. I’ll let him do that unless you tell me how we get to our gold.’
Truman glanced at the hole, then back up to Crane.
‘I’ve never faced this problem before.’
Crane slammed his hands on his hips. ‘What would you do if you wanted to dig a hole and the ground was this hard?’
‘Yeah, like if you wanted to bury somebody,’ Rocco muttered.
As Truman shrugged, Elwood raised a hand.
‘If we want to soften the earth, we should build a fire,’ he said.
‘Good idea,’ Crane said, turning from Truman. He glanced at the window to his side then around the small building. ‘Except we can’t. The room isn’t big enough for a fire and the smoke has nowhere to go.’
‘If it does go anywhere, it’ll just attract those raiders,’ Wallace said.
Elwood shrugged. ‘Perhaps it will, but I don’t reckon we have a choice.’
Crane rubbed his chin, searching for an alternative. Finding none, he nodded.
‘A fire it is,’ he said. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to hope that the fire gets us to our gold before the fire gets those raiders to us.’
Chapter Nine
Lincoln rolled back into the seat to look through the stagecoach window. To his relief, Decker relented from his efforts to talk him into helping him and looked through the opposite window.
Outside, Zandana sent two deputies into the fog.
In Lincoln’s opinion, the fog had lifted somewhat and it must now be easier to pick up Crane’s trail as he was on foot, but the deputies returned, shaking their heads.
Zandana sent another two deputies in the opposite direction. Again, they returned within five minutes.
After four expeditions, Zandana called his deputies in for a conference and after much pointing and nodding, Zandana stalked towards the stagecoach.
‘Get out,’ he demanded, standing before the stagecoach door.
‘Tell him you’re a lawman again,’ Decker said, leaning towards Lincoln. ‘See how much of a beating you get.’
Lincoln kicked open the door and jumped down from the stagecoach, dragging Decker along behind him.
With a few brisk movements, Zandana unhooked the chain that bound them together. Before Lincoln could enjoy his freedom, Zandana attached chains to both Lincoln and Decker’s wrists, then attached those chains to a single metal wristband, which he gave to the bulkiest of his deputies, Raul.
Once he’d checked that his prisoners were secure, Raul clicked the band around a left wrist that was as wide as Decker’s calf, then dragged Lincoln and Decker into the stagecoach.
They sat while outside Zandana ordered his deputies to harness the horses to the stagecoach.
Raul shuffled down. On failing to find a way to sit with both Lincoln and Decker in view, he pushed Decker into the seat opposite him and Lincoln into the center of his seat while he pushed back into the corner.
Lincoln and Decker sat silently while Raul roved his gaze back and forth between them.
Within fifteen minutes, the stagecoach lurched to a start, then headed off down the trail.
‘What’s your plan?’ Decker asked Raul, his voice light and seemingly indifferent.
Raul just glared at him from the corner of his eye, then shuffled back so that his vast form filled the corner of the stagecoach. He pulled a leg up on to the seat and looped a handful of Decker’s chain into his left hand, then rested that hand on his knee.
With a long lick of his lips, he spat on the floor, then drew his gun and aimed it at Decker.
‘He isn’t talkative,’ Decker said. ‘What do you reckon, Lincoln?’
‘I reckon he likes the quiet and his own business,’ Lincoln said. He played his chain out across the seat, letting him shuffle another foot away from Raul and Decker. ‘Just like I do.’
When Raul grunted his agreement, with a sideways glance at each man, Decker smiled.
‘You reckon you’re closer to the gold?’
‘Yeah.’ Raul said with a sneer. ‘Perhaps I’ll just beat the exact location out of you.’
‘I’d like to see you—’
‘Decker, just be quiet,’ Lincoln snapped.
Decker shrugged. ‘Just wanted to check that he isn’t dumb.’
As Raul firmed his jaw, Decker shuffled back into his seat and pursed his lips, making an obvious show of being quiet.
They trundled along, the gentle swaying of the stagecoach rocking them back and forth. Just like Marvin before, Zandana didn’t encourage the new driver to risk any great speed.
Five minutes into their journey, Raul glanced at Lincoln and chuckled to himself.
‘So, you’re Lincoln Hawk?’ he said.
‘That’s Marshal Lincoln Hawk,’ Lincoln said.
‘Been a lawman long?’
‘A few years.’
‘When you’re busy being a lawman, do you keep all the bad guys like Decker Calhoun here in line?’
‘Yep.’
Raul licked his lips. ‘Do you normally let the likes of Crane Powell take hostages while you stand by and watch?’
Lincoln looked through the window at the swirling fog outside, confirming when he saw a tree pass by that the fog was lifting
, then set his gaze back on Raul.
‘I just did what I thought I had to do to keep innocent bystanders safe, but I misjudged the situation. I didn’t expect Crane to take everyone with him.’
‘You don’t sound like much of a lawman to me. Now me, I never let scum like Decker Calhoun cause trouble in the first place.’
Decker shrugged and edged along his seat.
‘Why don’t you unchain me?’ he said, leaning forward. ‘Then you can see if you can stop this piece of scum causing trouble.’
‘I’m not doing that.’ Raul kicked out, his boot slamming into Decker’s knee and tumbling him to the floor. ‘Keep away. You’re not sitting that close to me.’
Lincoln winced. ‘You’ve got no need to do that.’
‘I reckon I have. As a lawman you obviously haven’t had to dealt with the likes of Decker.’ Raul grinned, displaying a wide arc of blackened teeth. ‘It just makes me reckon you aren’t one.’
‘I am, and I treat my prisoners right.’
Decker shuffled back on to his seat and slid into the same position as he was before with his hands on his knees and leaning towards Raul.
‘I said, stay away from me,’ Raul grunted, raising his gun to aim it at Decker’s chest.
‘Or you’ll kill me?’ Decker said, smirking.
‘You got it.’
‘Zandana won’t like that. He wants to keep me alive because he reckons I might help him get the gold. That means your orders are to do what you need to do to control me, short of killing me.’
Raul sneered. ‘Don’t risk too much on that.’
Decker shuffled forward on his seat so that he perched on the edge.
‘I am, and that means I’ll sit closer to you if I like.’
Decker gulped, then firmed his jaw and belched out a great waft of foul air.
‘Get away,’ Raul said, rocking his leg to the floor and cringing from Decker.
Lincoln snorted. ‘Listen to the man, Decker. You don’t need this trouble.’
‘I just reckon you need to see what kind of man you’re supporting,’ Decker said.
Decker edged towards Raul another six inches.
Raul pulled on his chain, aiming to tug Decker to the floor, but with surprising strength, Decker bunched his fists and resisted, even pulling Raul a few inches from his seat. Raul relented from his tugging, and, with a smirk, Decker shuffled along his seat to sit perched in the corner of the stagecoach, his face just two feet from Raul’s gun.
