Why? Why had this happened? Why had they been driving so fast? So out of control? What had caused the rockslide that blocked their way? She’d trusted stagecoach driver Ed Bingham, who’d met them at the end of the line in La Junta, Colorado. He’d seen them safely through the mountains of New Mexico to Arizona. They’d managed to avoid the Apaches she had been so fearful of. They were now less than a day’s ride from Tucson, where the two sisters planned to wait for the army wagons to transport the remainder of their belongings.
Our belongings...The claim checks! Do I still have them? Her stomach dropped. She clapped a hand to her inside breast pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. The metal tabs remained safely nestled where she’d placed them; one for each waiting crate. Something had told her to keep them close to her at all times. Without them, she and Mara would be destitute. Thank You, Lord, she prayed and then turned her thoughts back to the accident.
The falling rocks must have spooked the horses. But what had caused the slide? RuthAnne thought she recalled a loud noise of some sort. Perhaps thunder? A low, deep rumble from above answered her question.
“Let’s get going.” RuthAnne rose to her feet.
“Ruthie...I can’t. I don’t think I can make it up there.” Mara rested against a boulder, her head between her knees, gasping.
RuthAnne sank to Mara’s side. The humid, hot desert air seared with each ragged breath. Sweat dampened her shirt, rolled down her back. Her mouth parched, throat screaming for water.
In awe, RuthAnne shaded her eyes, watching enormous storm clouds roiling from behind the mountain. Thunder echoed, and then answered itself with fervor. The white-hot sun disappeared behind the churning, blue-black sky.
The sisters fell into shadow, and the temperature dropped sharply. Fat droplets of rain began to fall. Thunder growled overhead. A ripple of lightning set the clouds aglow as the floodgates opened.
“Just a few more steps, Mara. We can make it.” RuthAnne grabbed her sister’s elbow as she helped her to stand. Together, they scrambled up boulders in the near vertical drainage and into the dark and pounding rain.
Water trickled at their feet as they pushed and pulled each other. The torrential downpour steamed the heated earth. Soon, the water ran freely around their ankles in rivulets that threatened to wash them over and into the void below. Lightning ripped at the sky with greedy fingers. Thunder cracked directly overhead. RuthAnne dragged herself up onto another ledge; she rubbed feeling back into her numb, scratched, and muddied hands.
Wind-driven rain plastered her traveling shirt to her body. Her brown skirt—now soaked, torn, and muddy—hung heavily about her legs. When they finally reached the flat surface of the roadway, the two sisters collapsed into a heap. RuthAnne focused on their survival as she hauled them up and set to moving once again.
Looking left through the driving rain, she saw nothing but the sharp curve that had finally done them in with the out-of-control stagecoach. It was all too easy to see why they had gone over the edge, with the sheer cliff on one side and the pile of rocks that had once been the mountain slope on the other. The rockslide blocked more than half of the narrow road.
RuthAnne’s heart sank for Mr. Bingham, who had tried so hard to save them, now lost to the world. Down the road in the other direction, muddy water ran a river that cut rills into the rough-hewn trail. No one would be traveling through this way for some time. The wind drove sheets of rain that stung and slashed with broad strokes. Making progress in this weather would be impossible
“How can it be so cold?” Mara’s teeth chattered. With thin arms wrapped around her body, she looked more like a child than a young woman of sixteen. Rainwater slicked Mara’s ebony hair, obscuring her pale face.
RuthAnne knew she’d pushed her little sister to the very limit just getting her this far. “We have to find somewhere to wait out the storm...somehow.”
With no help in sight, they trudged down the flooded path in search of shelter.
Chapter 3
“What’s that up ahead?” Mara pointed at a ledge to their left and a deep shadow obscured by a waterfall.
“I think it’s a cave. Come on, let’s find out.” RuthAnne dragged her stumbling sister. Hand in hand they trudged on through the mud. Through the rain, the scent of a bonfire filled RuthAnne’s nose. Perhaps lightning had struck further down the mountain. But what could burn in a torrential summer monsoon?
The waterfall poured freely in front of the odd opening in the rocks. They picked their way behind the curtain of water and out of the driving storm to dry ground.
RuthAnne trailed her fingers along the rough-hewn opening. Someone had carved out this passageway, its edges too even and too angular to be a natural formation. The narrow tunnel led through to a dimly lit chamber within. Fine dust powdered underfoot and turned to pools of mud where water dripped from their long and tattered skirts.
Mara leaned against the wall of the cave; her fingers trailed along a vein of white quartz in the granite rock face. “What is this place?”
RuthAnne blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. “We’re inside a mine...maybe gold or silver.”
“It’s dry. Thank God.” Mara shivered, sinking to the tunnel floor.
RuthAnne fell next to her and wrapped her little sister up in her arms. Chilled and exhausted, they drew warmth from one another as the rain pounded and the wind wailed outside. A low growl of thunder spoke in answer, and RuthAnne fell into a restless sleep.
****
Evan leaned against the wall of the cave, wearing the same herringbone suit RuthAnne had last seen him in. He fidgeted with the pocket watch in his breast pocket and smoked his pipe thoughtfully in that manner he thought made him appear older than his thirty years.
RuthAnne smiled sleepily. “You know, smoking doesn’t make you distinguished, Evan. It just makes you smell like my father’s office.”
“Your father isn’t anywhere near here, Ruthie.” He took another puff of the rich tobacco. She breathed it in, like coming home.
“No. We didn’t go back to him. You knew we wouldn’t.”
He was proud of her decision, she could tell; proud, but melancholy.
“Why are you sad, Evan?”
His eyes were tender but concerned as he faded from view. “It’s time to wake up, Ruthie...”
“Evan! Wait!” she called, but he was gone.
****
Gray light filtered through the cave entrance. Mara still slept heavily, head upon RuthAnne’s lap. RuthAnne stroked the girl’s dark hair and pale forehead. She thought about Evan, the dream, and why they had left Kansas City.
There had been no earthly reason to remain in Missouri after Evan’s untimely passing. With no money and only the one prospect of completing their military contract, she and Mara were forced to finish their obligations with the Army Supplier.
RuthAnne had seen to it that their crates full of army uniforms, dress blues, trousers, and gray work shirts were checked through to the end of the line in La Junta, Colorado. The weight of responsibility was now up to the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe station; she held the handful of metal claim checks to prove it. If all went well, the army would claim her wares within a week, and she and Mara would be free to follow their own aspirations.
First, she would do what was necessary to build a life, so that they would be well settled when the railroad finally reached Tucson. She and Mara could have a shop for ladies, much like she had seen in the garment district of Kansas City. RuthAnne could envision every part of it and often had while slaving away long into the night, eyes straining by kerosene light. Fingertips raw from pushing fabric through the machine, RuthAnne dreamed of a store with wide open doors, where sunlight streamed in. Ladies would come and have tea. Discuss the latest fashions. She would sketch for them, measure and smile as she traded money for the dresses of their dreams. But things had gone wrong ever since they’d crossed into the mountains of Arizona. Her carefully laid plans had tumbled into oblivio
n with rocks down the mountain slope.
A loud crack echoed from deeper in the cave, snapping RuthAnne out of her reverie and into the present. Another pop was followed by a clatter of stones. Now fully alert, the girls jumped in unison.
“What was that?” Mara whispered, wide eyes peering into the darkness.
“I think there might be someone back there,” RuthAnne whispered back, a shot of adrenaline racing in her veins as she rose.
“Where are you going?”
“Stay put. I’ll be right back.” RuthAnne straightened her brown travel skirts out of habit more than vanity, considering their disheveled state.
“Hello?” Her own echo answered. RuthAnne shoved her uneasiness aside and let curiosity get the better of her. With renewed vigor, she squeezed through the tunnel, and she found herself inside a large cathedral-high chamber.
A light drizzle of rain dripped through a seam in the ceiling and trailed down the wall, forming a small pool in the rock floor. Dim, gray light filtered into the cavernous space and lit the surrounding stones and boulders from above. A small opening in the back wall led deeper into the mine and the utter blackness beyond.
“Hello! Is there anyone back there?” There was no response.
Only then did she begin to truly survey her surroundings. A small, well-used fire ring sat in the center of the floor; a long stick leaned nearby. She used it to poke the smoldering coals. White smoke lifted toward the ceiling through the crevasse above that acted as a chimney.
On the edge of the fire ring, a battered tin coffeepot held coffee; a matching mug rested, unused, nearby. A quick touch found the pot still warm. Necessity overtook nerves, and she quickly restarted the fire from the stack of branches left for kindling. Her skin drank in the warmth from the licking yellow flames. The roomy cave quickly filled with firelight and dancing shadows.
“Mara! It’s all right. Come and get warm.” Moments later, the two huddled around the campfire.
RuthAnne observed the crates and trunks stacked along the wall. There were no picks or shovels. This obviously was no longer a working mine.
“Who left this fire? Where did they go? Do you suppose that they’re looking for us?” Mara’s hopeful question hung in the dank and dusty air.
RuthAnne stood and stretched. No time like the present to investigate their situation. She pulled a canvas tarp away from the haphazardly stacked boxes, barrels, and trunks. They each had names she didn’t recognize emblazoned upon them. Pickney Tulley, Incorporated. Ochoa Markets, the location stamp read Tucson, Arizona Territory. Her stomach tightened with trepidation.
A dark wood steamer trunk was wedged into a corner, its lock twisted and bent. RuthAnne lifted the lid; the broken fastening fell from the latch. One look at the contents told her all she needed to know. Someone had rifled through a woman’s carefully packed belongings. Clothing. Pictures. Broken china. Opened letters, scattered. Someone’s future, forever lost to them and now existing in a stone cavern.
The next crate over caught her eye, its lid at an angle, pried open with packing spilling out. She peeked inside to see red cylinders, green fuses, and the black lettering warning: Dynamite.
She dropped the canvas and backpedaled.
“What is it?” Mara rose, but RuthAnne waved her back.
This was no mine...
RuthAnne realized she and Mara had inadvertently stumbled into something worse than they could have imagined. They were in a hideout for thieves, people who were willing to use force to get what they wanted.
“The rain has stopped. We’re leaving.”
“Ruthie, can’t we wait here? What if they have horses? We could ride down the mountain. I don’t think I can walk another foot.”
“I’m not asking, Mara.” Her gaze darted to each entrance to make sure they were alone. But it was too late.
A shadow fell across the entrance to the tunnel. RuthAnne quietly closed the trunk lid and backed away from her discovery toward the fire. There would be no running. She would have to meet this threat head-on.
Chapter 4
RuthAnne watched the silhouette of a man as he dragged a wooden strongbox and muttered a curse under his breath. Her heart pounded a fury. She instinctively stepped in front of Mara, as if her body could shield her sister from whatever evil lurked at the cave entrance. They were cornered.
She dared not take them farther into the cave; when he saw that the fire had been stoked, he would just search them out. Better to tell the truth and shame the devil, as her mother always said. RuthAnne said a quick, silent prayer for protection from whatever lay ahead.
“Hello! Is someone there?” she called out.
The figure stopped, his shadow long against the wall. He hesitated as she called out again.
“Thank heaven, Mara! Someone finally came to save us.” RuthAnne let her rich, southern Alabama accent flow forth. She imagined how her mother would have played heavily the part of a damsel in distress, back when she still had her mind. Such a dramatic display was foreign to RuthAnne’s nature. Mara’s jaw dropped, obviously confused. RuthAnne gestured for her to play along.
“Please, sir. Can you help us?” Mara gave a half smile and shrug as she joined the charade.
The shadow hesitated a moment, then reached behind and pulled something from his back pocket. He placed some sort of a hood over his head, almost ceremonially. The man stepped out of the darkness and into the flickering firelight.
RuthAnne’s breath hitched. Her blood went cold at the looming figure walking toward them. He wore a white sackcloth mask over his head. Rough-cut holes revealed his glittering black eyes. An angry slash of red marked where his mouth should have been. Such a disguise did more than conceal his identity; it was intended to breed fear into the hearts of all who saw him. And it worked. RuthAnne knew at that moment playing a southern belle in distress had been the wrong tactic.
He set the wooden crate down with a hefty chink as its heavy contents came to rest inside. A solid metal lock secured it closed. RuthAnne knew she had seen the same strongbox under the feet of their driver, Mr. Bingham. His brother’s delivery of silver ingots from their Leadville, Colorado test shaft was locked inside, bound for the bank in Tucson.
His voice echoed in her mind, how silver was the new gold! He had boasted about it quite proudly while stowing their trunks at the station. He’d reached up, patting the locker, as if to reassure himself it was still underneath the driver’s seat. But, there was something else. Something he’d said low, for her ears only; in case of bandits, there was a secret compartment with a shiny Smith and Wesson .38 revolver with a custom shortened barrel hidden on the underside. He had counted on a robbery, just not one as elaborate as this. Now, he was dead, with his precious cargo being gone over like pirate’s treasure. Righteous indignation for this travesty filled her chest. She must do something—but what?
“Well, now. What do we have here?” The bandit’s rich, gravelly voice held a hint of a Hispanic accent that sounded off somehow. Could it be fake? Part of his disguise, somehow? RuthAnne tried to focus on the ambiguity of it. Her heart hammered and blood rushed a waterfall in her ears.
“We’re lost, cold, and hungry, sir. Our stage went over the edge because of the rockslide...we only sought shelter from the rain.” RuthAnne cringed at the shrillness of her voice.
“Is that right? Amazing two little bits like you could survive such a tumble.”
His coarse, guttural laugh bounced off the rocky walls. “I watched you go over the side. You almost ended up at the bottom, didn’t you? You and your sister are very lucky. If I’d waited one minute later, you would have been buried under all of those rocks...”
“You did this? You spooked the horses. Caused the rockslide that almost killed us? Just so you could rob the stage?”
He held his hands out as he hunkered down on the other side of the fire ring. His mask eerily caught the firelight. “Rockslides happen all of the time, señorita. But, if one should occur when a stage loaded
with silver happens to be driving through, the better for me.”
“You stole that from our stage...” RuthAnne gulped.
“Your driver had a big mouth and a false sense of security.” He gave the strongbox a good pat. “This will make me a very wealthy man.”
RuthAnne did her best not to shy away from the outlaw. Her thoughts swept to Mr. Bingham and the horses. “You’re nothing but a murderer.” She spat out the words, disgusted.
He moved to strike her, arm cocked, palm open and ready. RuthAnne cowered instinctively. After a moment’s hesitation, he lowered his arm and nodded, then he walked to his cache of stolen goods, as if taking inventory.
Anger grew in her breast as she watched him casually lean his double-barreled shotgun against the black hole at the back of the cave by his prize. So, he’d evaluated them and merely considered them helpless women warming themselves in his hideout? He had already underestimated them. Her resolve solidified along with a plan for escape.
Once she was sure her voice wouldn’t waiver, RuthAnne spoke. “You can let us go, you know. We haven’t seen your face. We’ve no idea who you are or where we are. Your secret is safe.”
RuthAnne rose to her feet, her head held high, a hand to Mara. But she didn’t make it one step toward the mouth of the cave. A pistol appeared out of nowhere and filled his hand in a flash. He aimed it solidly at her breast, and she stifled a shriek.
“Sit back down while I decide what to do with you.”
Slowly, with an appearance of calm, she lowered herself to the cave floor. The sisters clasped each other’s hands tightly. RuthAnne’s eyes never left his. Slowly, deliberately, he holstered his weapon.
He went back to unlocking the strongbox, his voice low and guttural. “I remember you two from the train, the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe out of Kansas City. You had already charmed the whole car by the time I slipped on. Don’t waste your time trying to place me. I have many disguises. Many names. By the time we got to the Colorado border, I was well aware of your...predicament. All of that cargo to care for. I overheard your enthusiastic driver begging you to go with him. He said it would be a benefit to him to have you along. No one would suspect a stage carrying a widow and her sister would also be carrying a fortune in silver. No one that is, except for me.”
All or Nothing Page 2
