by Logan, Jake
They hiked up to the spot, but Slocum didn’t like it as a vantage. The field of fire was too limited.
“Higher,” he said. “We need to get up where we have a better view of the road and what Trueheart’s doing.”
Melissa grimly climbed, every muscle tense. She kept up with Slocum as he explored to find the right spot. She ran into him when he stopped suddenly.
“What is it?” she asked.
Slocum took a few seconds to understand what he was seeing.
“That’s your brother, and he’s going to shoot Trueheart.”
Stephen Baransky was going to bring the entire gang down on him, ending all their chances for living to see another sunrise.
18
“Stephen!” Melissa cried. Slocum clapped a hand over her mouth. She struggled, then subsided when the wagon passed below them, slewing in the mud and making enough noise to drown out her outcry.
Slocum scooped up a handful of pebbles and heaved them with all his might. They pelted Stephen, causing him to roll onto his back and swing his rifle around. For a moment he didn’t see who had thrown the stones, then he spotted Slocum. The expression of stark hatred on his face made Slocum think he was going to fire.
“Melissa! What are you doing here?”
The young man’s question took Slocum by surprise. He had seen his sister and thought she’d tossed the rocks. As Slocum moved, Stephen spotted him for the first time. Again the rifle swayed, as if to fire, but this time it centered on Slocum.
“Put that down, you little fool,” Melissa said hotly. She dropped to her knees beside her brother and forced the rifle away.
Slocum didn’t relax as he made his way down the rocky incline. He kept Stephen squarely in view. For the world, it had seemed he was going to gun down his own sister—after he had recognized her. He hadn’t seen Slocum until a second or two later.
“You disappeared. I had to track these … vultures … myself.”
“Papa is their prisoner. If you’d shot at Trueheart and missed, he would have killed Papa. We’re trying to get him free.”
Slocum shoved Stephen flat when another wagon made its way past below them on the road. He recognized Atkins driving and wanted to turn Stephen loose but common sense made him hold back. They had no chance in a shoot-out with Trueheart and his men.
“Have you see him? Your pa?” Slocum demanded.
The answer was slow in coming. Stephen finally shook his head and muttered, “No.”
Slocum wondered why he was lying when he wasn’t any good at it. And why would he lie about this at all?
“You stay here. I’ll go after your pa.”
“No!”
Slocum looked hard at the young man. Was he finally growing a pair?
“Stay here with your sister. I won’t be long.”
Slocum slid farther down the incline, then began moving so that midsize rocks shielded him from the road. A third wagon passed on its way down to the town below. Whatever Trueheart had promised those in his own little town, they were being robbed blind. The gold-laden wagon that Mackley had driven was only the beginning of the caravan. While he couldn’t tell what rode in these wagon beds, from the way the wood sagged and the axles creaked, a considerable amount more of gold had been stolen from the miners on the far side of the mountain.
Slocum worked his way farther along, then ducked when he saw Trueheart sitting as proud as a peacock in the driver’s box of a fourth wagon. His fingers tapped the butt of his six-shooter, but Slocum knew he would never win the war if he opened fire. Trueheart might be dead, but so would he. The scavenger leader had his usual three bodyguards riding in the back, all of them holding their rifles and looking far too alert to allow anyone to get away with even a single quick shot.
After the wagon rounded the sharp bend in the road, Slocum skidded the rest of the way into the mud and began slogging toward the mine opening. He saw a few horses tethered nearby, warning him that some of the scavengers remained. It told him nothing about Baransky or if he still lived.
He paused in the mouth of the tunnel, not wanting to venture into the depths of the mountain again. Faint sounds from the large cavern echoed out to him.
“…when we gonna get rid of him?”
“The boss said we could play with him awhile, if we wanted.”
Slocum recognized Plover’s voice. His heart beat faster with expectation because the snippet of conversation he’d heard meant Baransky wasn’t dead. Not yet.
“I want to get the hell out of here. I’m sick of bein’ surrounded by nothin’ but rock. Don’t know how them miners stand it.”
“You’re getting paid a pretty penny,” Plover said. “Buck up, man. We’re all rich men.”
“Five wagons of gold.” The wistfulness in the voice caused Slocum to draw his six-shooter and begin a silent stalk into the tunnel. “Each of us gets ten bars. We’re rich.”
“What are you going to do with yours?” Plover asked.
Slocum crept closer.
“Whores. Whiskey. Maybe buy myself a spread, but not in this godforsaken country. Too many mountains. There’s got to be a piece of land in Nebraska wanting to get parted by my plow.”
“You’re not the farming kind. You’d miss the excitement.”
“Like hell.”
“There comes Doc,” warned Plover. “Over there, in case he tries anything.”
“What can he do?”
Slocum moved to a spot just beyond the cavern to see both men bathed in the brilliant purple-white light of carbide lanterns. Plover had his pistol out, and his partner held a rifle.
“The fuse is lit,” Baransky said, stepping into the light. He held up four sticks of dynamite taped together, a long black fuse sizzling with eye-popping fury in the darkness. “You try to kill me, you’ll never get to the dynamite in time and it goes off and brings down the roof.”
“You’d kill yourself,” Plover said. A bit of anxiety tinged his words, but he wasn’t outright afraid. He thought he held the upper hand.
“One way or the other, I’ll be dead. I blasted down the roof back there. Twice I brought it down because the miners were tunneling through after you.”
“Should have counted how many sticks of dynamite you were given and how many you used,” Plover said. “Guess it’s a mite late for such foresight.”
“If you both get over to one side and let me out of the tunnel, I won’t kill you.”
“Now that’s plumb stupid, Doc. We let you run and you’re sure to blow the tunnel and seal us in.”
“What’re you sayin’, Plover?” The other outlaw’s voice trembled. “We got ourselves a Mexican standoff?”
“Looks to be. None of us is goin’ to get out of here alive ’less we declare a truce.”
Slocum saw Plover nod to his partner. Plover moved away to draw Baransky’s attention. Stepping out, Slocum squinted against the bright light, lifted his six-shooter, and fired in a smooth motion. The man with the rifle grunted, dropped his rifle, and pressed both hands against his chest.
He looked up dully and said, “I’m hit, Plover. I been hit.” He sat down, then slumped over, dead.
Plover wasn’t standing still. He got off a shot at Baransky, then spun and fired fast and wild at Slocum. Driven to the ground, Slocum had no chance to finish the chore he had started.
“I’ll blow you all up!” shrieked Baransky. “Give up or I swear I’ll blow us all up!”
“Get down,” Slocum shouted. “You’re making yourself into a target. And put out the fuse!”
For a moment it seemed as if Baransky was paralyzed. He stared at the dynamite in his hand, as if he had no idea what it was. Then he plucked the fuse out and threw it from him as if he had inadvertently picked up a rattlesnake.
Slocum rose enough to take a shot at Plover. The scavenger managed to take a couple shots at Baransky, but they missed by a country mile. The sounds of the slugs bouncing off rock and whistling about lit a fire under Baransky, driving him back in th
e direction of the blasting he had done.
“You still in one piece?” Slocum called out the question more to occupy Plover than to get an answer from Baransky. The mining engineer had moved right sprightly, so he wasn’t hurt. The shock of everything happening around him was more likely to slow him than a bullet through a leg or arm.
“You’re like a bad penny, Slocum. You keep comin’ on back, over and over, where you ain’t wanted.”
Slocum tried to get a good shot at Plover, but the stalagmites provided too much cover. He dropped back and scooted along on his belly, hunting for a better place to attack.
“That you, Slocum? You came back for me?”
“Me and your daughter and son.”
“I can’t believe it. They risked their lives for me?”
Slocum wanted Baransky to keep talking. Nothing distracted Plover, however. He knew Baransky didn’t have a weapon now that the fuse had been pulled from the bundle of dynamite. That left only Slocum as a danger.
Part of Plover’s hat poked over a rock. Slocum knew better than to let the man draw his fire. He waited, patience his major virtue now. When the hat didn’t move, Slocum knew Plover had propped it up and was moving to get the drop on him. A slow smile came to his lips. Only one course was possible.
Turning in the direction where Plover had to appear, Slocum waited. And waited. When the light suddenly died in the cavern, Slocum fired. Plover had snuffed out the carbide light in an attempt to confuse Slocum. If he had continued to watch the hat for movement, he would have fallen easy prey.
Slocum’s six-shooter showed foot-long tongues of orange flame as he fired three more times. The first shot was dead center where he thought Plover would be in the dark. The other two shots bracketed the first, one left and the other right, to be sure he hadn’t guessed wrong.
A new muzzle flash showed, this one aimed downward. The bullet hit rock and sent up a shower of debris.
“Can you get to the other carbide lantern?” Slocum called. “I think I nailed him, but I don’t know. I have to see to be sure.”
Slithering sounds allowed Slocum to follow Baransky’s progress. When the light poked up and gave enough illumination, he knew the man had reached the fallen carbide light.
“Shine it toward my voice.”
Slocum shifted his aim when he saw a dark form slumped over a rock. He started to squeeze off another round, just to be sure, but Plover didn’t move a muscle. Baransky moved closer with the light, and Slocum saw his barrage had proven deadly. His first shot had struck Plover in the left arm. One of his others had hit the man in the cheek. He approached, indicated how Baransky should use the light, and saw that another of his bullets had drilled through the man’s other cheek and into his head. The slug had exited out the back of Plover’s head, leaving a hole the size of a silver dollar.
“Good riddance,” Baransky said.
Slocum looked at him.
“What happened? In the tunnel?”
“Trueheart had me set dynamite but wouldn’t let me set it off. Too many of his men already in the goldfield hadn’t gotten through to this side yet.”
“More likely, they all had gold, and he was too greedy to abandon them—and it.”
“Probably,” Baransky said. “I finally set off a small charge but hadn’t calculated it right. It brought down a small piece of roof in the old water channel.”
“The miners dug through it?”
“Fast. They were like moles. Never heard men work so fast. Trueheart had me set off another blast to trap them.”
“You miscalculated that on purpose?” Slocum saw a different answer on the engineer’s face.
“I … no. I tried to blow them up. Something went wrong with the dynamite, and it sputtered rather than exploded. They kept coming. The third blast got them all.”
“Trueheart would have killed you if you hadn’t. How’d you come to have that bundle of dynamite?”
“Trueheart thought I’d died in the last blast, but Plover was smarter. He knew I was coming. He stayed back with his partner to kill me, but I found more dynamite. I wasn’t joshing them. I would have blown us all up. I would have!”
“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Slocum closed his eyes for a moment and thought he heard scraping sounds. Or maybe it was the tommyknockers, the creatures that inhabited mines that warned miners of danger.
They stepped out into clean air. The rain has washed it clean of dust and left the day bright as a shiny new copper penny.
“I can’t believe they would have come for me, not after everything.”
“Melissa’s a hellion,” Slocum said. “Surprised me a mite that Stephen was willing to kill Trueheart to avenge you. He thought you were dead.”
“Amazing how life can change a man. Stephen was always a lazy good-for-nothing. When we had the money, it wasn’t so bad, but when my wife’s medicine soaked up more and more of our money—” Baransky shook his head. “Stephen wouldn’t get a job. Insisted on spending what little we had.”
“Melissa like that, too?”
Baransky laughed at Slocum’s question. “She is a frisky colt, always jumping about and racing around. But there’s not a lazy bone in her body.”
“I know that,” Slocum said, remembering how they had explored each other’s bodies. He was particularly fond of the flesh on her bones.
“How’s that?”
“Mount up. We can get back down the road to where I left them.”
“What of Trueheart?”
Slocum explained how the wagons, laden with gold, had left, and he finished with his suggestion that Trueheart be allowed to go on his way.
“No! I’ll find the law. I’ll see him swing from the gallows!”
“Fine words, but there’s no marshal here. Don’t know how far off the county seat is, and I doubt the sheriff would be much interested if Trueheart offered him some of that gold.”
“He killed men. He stole. Worse, he robbed miners of their dreams! He has to be brought to justice!”
“Let’s find him first, then decide,” Slocum said. He pretty well had made his decision to let Trueheart go his way. The man had a small army and a mountain of gold. That combination bought a lot of forgiveness—or forgetfulness—in this part of the world.
As much as he would have liked to see Trueheart in jail, Slocum faced the truth. It wasn’t likely to happen.
“I’ll make it my life’s work. He kidnapped Melissa. What he did to her is a terrible crime!”
“He’ll come to a bad end eventually. Go back to Philadelphia with your son and daughter. Make a new life and forget Trueheart.”
Baransky rode in silence until Slocum raised his hand to stop his descent along the road.
“I left them here,” Slocum said.
“Melissa likely took justice into her own hands.”
“That was what Stephen wanted, not her.” Slocum dismounted and studied the trail left in the mud. The ground held a silent message that required a considerable amount of work on Slocum’s part to decipher. He swung back into the saddle.
“What is it, Slocum?”
The words burned Slocum’s tongue, but he had to tell Baransky the truth.
“Trueheart has taken both Melissa and Stephen prisoner.”
“What happened?” Baransky choked out.
Slocum didn’t know, but he had to find out. For Melissa’s sake. For his own peace of mind. Too many times he had let down members of the Baransky family. But not this time. Not now.
19
As he rode, Slocum kept looking over the edge of the road, fearing that he would see two bodies cast down the slope and angry when he didn’t. Why had Trueheart taken both Melissa and Stephen prisoner? Melissa was easily enough explained. She was a beautiful woman, and Trueheart might want her for his own before either killing her or sending her back to Sally’s cathouse. But Stephen Baransky was another matter.
“He might be following Trueheart to free her,” Clem Baransky said, breaking Slocum
’s concentration.
“How’s he following? He was on foot.” Even as Slocum spoke, he realized that might not be true. He and Melissa had come upon her brother as he lay in ambush. He might have hidden a mule or horse off the road. It had not been a matter to consider at the time, not with Stephen intent on shooting down Trueheart.
“Stephen and I never got along well, but one thing I can say about him, he’s not a dull boy. Always thinking.”
Slocum would have said “scheming” but he didn’t know Stephen as well as his pa. His gut feeling remained, though. He didn’t much care for Stephen or his attitude toward his sister or anything else.
“I keep looking down the road to see if I can spot the wagons, but they made better time than I would have thought,” Slocum said.
“Where’s this road go? I was brought up from Trueheart’s town.”
“It feeds into the main road just east of Almost There. Trueheart must have stumbled on it because I can’t see him cutting a road on his own.”
“He has a small army doing whatever he wants,” Baransky said. “I found that out every time they took me to his town. For all I know, he owns all the businesses there. He certainly had dozens of miners working to scrabble out gold for months until he hit on the idea of flooding the goldfields. So he might have built it just for his own purposes.”
Slocum doubted that. Trueheart was a scavenger. He stole things others dropped. If it was necessary, he would kill so they’d drop items. In many ways he wasn’t even an honest thief. A road agent had no problem shoving a gun under his victim’s nose, but Trueheart worked in the shadows, darting in as a sneak thief. Slocum wondered if the grandiose plot to flood the goldfields and steal whatever floated up was Trueheart’s idea or if one of his henchmen had come up with it.
“When did he discover the underground river?”
“What?” Baransky jerked around to face Slocum. “I don’t know. Plover was proud as punch about the idea of drowning the miners. He had a beef with somebody there.”
