The Dangerous Land

by Ralph Compton

  “Wh-what are you gonna do?” Braden asked.

  “You are going to sit where I told you and then I am going to walk out of here.”

  Braden moved cautiously over to the gap while Paul moved even more cautiously to keep some space between them. Once he felt the two stacks of crates against his shoulders, Braden shifted sideways to get between them and then slowly lowered himself to a seated position. After his rump hit the floor, Braden’s head continued to fall until he wilted as far down as he could go.

  Even though he knew he couldn’t just leave him sitting there, Paul wasn’t certain what he should do about the young man. If he was better at such things, he’d knock Braden out with a blow to the head using the grip of his pistol. There wasn’t any rope to be found, and before he could ask if there was some nearby, shouts rolled through the air from elsewhere within the camp.

  “What’s that?” Paul asked.

  Braden squirmed uncomfortably in his spot. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I swear!”

  A second later, more angry voices arose from the camp outside. When a few gunshots cracked through the air, Paul jabbed a finger at Braden and said, “Stay here and don’t move!”

  The tone in Paul’s voice was enough to keep Braden still, so he pulled open the rear door and looked outside to find Red Feather in the same spot he’d been in before. Not only that, but the Comanche was crouching as if he’d been turned into a stone statue during Paul’s conversation with the young man in the shack. Hunkering down, Paul hurried over to him and was stopped by a swiftly raised hand. Once Red Feather lowered that hand, Paul rushed over to his side and whispered, “What’s going on out here?”

  “Nothing,” Red Feather replied, “until a few seconds ago.”

  “Is that guard still here?”

  “He just left.”

  As soon as the noise died down, a pair of shots was fired that stirred everything up again.

  “Sounds like the whole camp is waking up,” Paul said.

  “Pulled from their beds in a cloud of smoke.” Red Feather smirked. “This might just work in our favor.”

  As more voices filled the night, a few more shots were fired from various spots within the camp. Soon the rumble of horses’ hooves joined the discord.

  Red Feather cocked his head to one side like a wolf that could hear much more than a man. Something amid the rest of the noise must have struck his fancy, because he started moving quickly toward the perimeter of the camp and signaled for Paul to follow. As soon as they moved clear of the shacks, Paul saw a small group of men carrying rifles run directly in front of him about twenty yards away. Thanks to the darkness and plentiful distractions happening all over the place, the men didn’t even cast a glance in his direction. Accustomed to moving without being seen, Red Feather calmly proceeded as soon as the way was clear.

  “Did you get what you needed?” the Comanche asked.

  “I think so. It’s not exactly what I was expecting, but it should do the trick.”

  “Is it enough for you to be willing to leave this place?”

  “Perhaps I could take a look down that way,” he said while looking in the direction of the crevice. “I should be able to get a canteen full of the poison I was after.”

  “That might have to wait,” Red Feather said. “Whatever has stirred this hive has done a very good job of it.”

  They’d made it to the edge of the basin, where the shadows were thicker and a scattered number of scrub bushes provided some much-needed cover. Paul couldn’t get there fast enough, and when he finally got behind a barrier of half-bare branches, he felt as if he’d put a brick wall between himself and the mining camp.

  After hunkering down in the shadows for a minute or so, Paul whispered, “The shooting’s stopped.”

  Red Feather responded with a low grunt.

  “What are they doing now?” Paul asked.

  “I might know if you would let me listen,” the Comanche said.

  Squinting into the distance, Paul spotted a small group of men: one leading two others. As he watched, more men streamed out from the tents and wagons to gather around them. Some men hollered and others laughed.

  “What are they doing?” Paul asked. “Where is that man leading those others?”

  “That man is not leading them,” Red Feather told him. “He is being pushed into one of the tents.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s Hank. He’s been captured.”

  Chapter 33

  When Paul made it back to the little spot they’d staked out for their camp, he felt no comfort. He paced so much that he could have walked back and forth from both camps at least twice. Red Feather, on the other hand, remained perfectly still.

  “How can you just sit there?” Paul hissed. “Hank’s . . . well, there’s no telling where he is now or what’s happening to him.”

  “Those are miners,” Red Feather said. “Not soldiers. Not monsters.”

  “Then why are there armed men guarding this place? Why would they capture someone at all if they’re just innocent miners?”

  “Perhaps they are uneasy after someone broke into one of their buildings and questioned one of their workers.”

  “There was shooting!” Paul said. “What could they have been shooting at? You think Hank was hurt?”

  “Why does he concern you so?”

  “Because he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me!”

  “He may not be here in this spot, but he would have gotten what he deserved while he was in another spot.”

  “You think he deserves this?” Paul snapped. “Those men may have killed him already.”

  “They are miners.”

  “Not all of them. Remember, Starkweather is down there too. He’s one of the gunmen from Leadville.”

  Red Feather drew a long breath and held on to it. His eyes narrowed into slits that seemed to be focused on a point a thousand miles away. “That man is indeed a killer. Hank is a killer too. If either one of them was going to bury the other, they would have done it by now.

  “If there is anything else you needed from that basin,” Red Feather continued, “now is the time to go and get it.”

  Paul looked around at the dark, swaying shadows surrounding the campsite as a cold breeze raked across his face and neck. The chaos that had filled the mining camp not so long ago had faded, leaving the mountain pass feeling barren and abandoned. Even the jangling nerves along his back that made him worry about a man wandering up from the basin to stumble upon him were silent. A few days ago, he would have welcomed calmness like that. Now it was unnerving.

  “And what about Hank? We just leave him to whatever is going to happen to him down there?”

  “Yes.”

  “It can’t be that easy for you. I may have only known you for a short stretch of time, but that’s long enough to see that you’re a good man. Leaving another man to die like that . . .”

  “Do you know what that man is?” Red Feather snarled as he looked over at Paul sharply enough to cause the ends of his dark hair to snap like whips. “You may think he is your friend, but he is a killer. He takes money for killing my people. If he can do that, then he can kill your people just as easily.”

  Paul met the Comanche’s stare. Like putting his nose within an inch of a fire and looking for the embers within, the longer he tried to keep it up, the harder it was. “When I think about any man making money from killing another, it turns my stomach. To be honest, I’m amazed you haven’t put Hank down like a dog just for being what he is. After a while, I figured that’s the best way to change what he is. You’d have to be blind to not see how he’s already changed. He doesn’t look at you the way he did at first,” Paul said.

  “And I should be thankful for that?” Red Feather spat. “I should be happy a killer no longer sees me as someone he wants to kill?”

>   “A killer wouldn’t go this far just to help a couple of children he doesn’t even know.”

  “There is something in it for him. Otherwise he would not be here.”

  “So that means we should just leave him to whatever awaits him at the hands of men we know are capable of murdering him? What does that say about us?” Paul asked. “Think what you want about everyone else, what matters is how we act ourselves.”

  Red Feather’s voice became colder than his eyes when he said, “You act for you and your family. That is not such a difficult decision to make.”

  “If that was true, I could take this medicine I got and start riding home. Odds are, it’s the best I can do to helping my little ones get well. Or I could take your advice without question and loot that basin for anything else that might help me and mine while those miners are distracted. Instead I’m still here trying to think of what can be done to get Hank out of this jam he’s in.”

  “Then perhaps you are a good man. That doesn’t mean he is.”

  Knowing that he was running out of options, Paul said, “You’re still here as well. That makes you a good man too. Right?”

  “I agreed to help you. Not help a murderer.”

  “It’s more than that. There’s something else.”

  “Like what?” Red Feather asked.

  “Like the same something that made you lead a raid on a trading post where someone could have gotten killed just so a few windows could be broken.”

  “No one would have gotten killed,” Red Feather said in a solemn tone.

  “If the arrow that hit my daughter had been aimed a little higher, it would have done her in for sure.”

  If Paul ever had doubts that Red Feather truly did have children, they would have been wiped away when he saw the look in the Comanche’s eyes as he contemplated the death of a little girl.

  “Why were those arrows fired at a store?” Paul asked.

  “You already know why. The mining companies want to take what is not theirs and are willing to push my people away from their homes to get it. The men in suits would not hear our words, so they must see what we do.”

  “Injustices will make any man want to fight back. Even though my girl was in the way of that fight, I understand how it started. Accidents happen. Ugly ones. It’s part of living and so is working to set things right again.”

  “That is why I ride with you,” Red Feather said.

  “Maybe, but this ride also gives you a chance to take another stab at this mining company. You get to come here and stir up a little more trouble.”

  “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

  “What I’d rather is that you stop acting like you’re doing everything for honor and righteousness and the rest of us are out for ourselves,” Paul said. “Everyone’s got to look out for themselves and their kin because hardly anyone else out there will do it for them. If those interests happen to line up with what’s honorable and righteous . . . then so be it. Folks make mistakes. They do bad things. They should also be given a chance to make up for those things. Every now and then, those same folks also do good things. If you just keep your eyes open for those times, it makes this world seem a lot less harsh.”

  Although Red Feather didn’t do much more than blink, a change came about him that could be felt more than seen.

  “I’ve got no way of keeping you here, but your help would be appreciated,” Paul continued. “Just don’t look down your nose at us while you’re doing it.”

  The Comanche stood up and grabbed his rifle.

  “What are you doing?” Paul asked nervously.

  “We’re going to get that savage away from those hired killers.”

  Chapter 34

  Some of the tents in the camp were supported by wooden frames to become even larger than the shacks on the opposite side. One of the largest of those tents was away from the smaller tents on one side of the camp where it had a good view of the angular crevice cut into the nearby rock wall. Hank was dragged into that tent and thrown up against one of the wooden beams supporting the roof. Whenever he tried to give them any lip, he was punched or otherwise beaten until he shut up. Hank being Hank, he quickly wound up with a face covered in welts.

  The group of men who brought him into the tent dispersed once Hank was tied securely. One man remained behind: Hector, who still had a shotgun in his hands and a mean scowl on his face. There was plenty of movement outside the tent along with hushed voices speaking excitedly back and forth. Hank couldn’t help smirking when he heard mention of some young chemist who’d been knocked around and left shaking in his boots earlier that night. At least Paul and Red Feather had been busy while he’d been getting dragged through the mountains.

  “So, what now?” Hank asked.

  Hector tightened his grip on the shotgun and said, “Now you shut your damn mouth.”

  “Then what?”

  Instead of playing Hank’s game, Hector followed his own advice and kept quiet. He only had to stay that way for another minute or two before another small group of men entered the tent. Two of them were the guards who’d brought Hank in. The other was a bearded fellow with high cheekbones, bright eyes, and dark hair. Everything from the boots on his feet to the hat on his head looked to be of higher quality than anything worn by any of the other men in camp.

  “Hello there,” the well-dressed man said in a cordial tone. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Why would I?” Hank shot back.

  “You and your partners have gone through a lot of trouble to find me and disrupt my men’s sleep, so I figured you might already know my name.”

  “Nope. Me and my partners were just passing through. I was just trying to warm my hands when I was rudely interrupted by a gang of armed men with ropes.”

  Narrowing his eyes a bit, the man replied, “I believe the second part of that but not the first. I’m Jonas Frakes, by the way. Have you heard of me?”

  “Yeah. I suppose it’s important to you that I have.”

  “It saves me a bit of time,” Frakes said. “Since you already know the resources and money at my disposal, you shouldn’t have any trouble believing that I can follow up on any promises I make. When it comes to the more . . . unsavory promises . . . the Territorial Mining Company has already hired someone to follow through on my behalf.”

  Those words were obviously meant as a threat in themselves. Maintaining his coarse exterior, Hank said, “That don’t explain why you had your boys here drag me in when I was just sitting by a fire.”

  “Don’t treat me like a fool, sir. You were here for a reason and you weren’t alone. Since some of my men have recently had unpleasant encounters with cowards who’ve been attacking from the shadows, I can only guess the reason for you being here isn’t something I would approve of.”

  “Tell me one thing,” Hank said through a leering smile. “How unpleasant, exactly, were those encounters?”

  Frakes looked over to Hector and nodded. After setting his shotgun down, Hector stepped forward to deliver a punch that had all of his considerable weight behind it. Beefy knuckles pounded against Hank’s face, snapping his head around and sending a spray of bloody spit from his mouth.

  “You want to give him another reason to strike you?” Frakes asked.

  “I didn’t want to give the first one,” Hank replied.

  “Then tell me why you’re here, how many of you there are, and what the others are doing.”

  “After what happened to me,” Hank said, “my guess is that they’re rushing right on over to introduce themselves.”

  Hector didn’t wait for a nod before giving Hank another thump to the head.

  Frakes stepped in a bit closer and hunkered down as if he were addressing a small child when he said, “Trust me. From here on, things get a lot worse for you than taking a few knocks. What are you men doing here?”


  “Camping,” Hank said. Hector gave Hank one punch that dropped him to his knees and then gave him a solid kick to the ribs that sent a wave of pain thundering throughout his entire body. When Hank tried to draw a breath, the gunman’s boot slammed straight down onto his leg.

  “Tell me,” Frakes said, “while you still have the ability to form words.”

  Hank was curled up into a ball. When he uncurled a bit so he could look up at Frakes, every fiber inside him let him know just how strongly it objected to the idea. “We’re here . . . on account of the poison you’re dumping into the water,” he grunted.

  What Frakes did wasn’t exactly a flinch. It was just a subtle shift in his facial muscles as he ingested what he’d heard. There was no surprise and no feigned disgust with the accusation. “I wouldn’t call it poison, exactly,” he said. “That would imply an intention to harm people. Mining is a messy business, and when enough of that mess runs away from a camp, it might find its way into a stream. The same could be said for animal dung or mud and yet nobody accuses those things of poisoning the water. They simply find cleaner streams and get on with their lives.”

  “And what happens to the folks who find out about the list of things Territorial Mining is dumping?” Hank asked. “What happens to someone who gets angry or concerned enough to do something about it?”

  “Something tells me you already know what happens to them. Isn’t that right?”

  Hank didn’t answer that, which was just as well since the question wasn’t meant for him. One of the other guards who’d come in was like so many others in the camp who had a good portion of his face covered by a bandanna. This one pulled the bandanna down to reveal the cruel mouth and brushy goatee of a killer who’d already made Hank’s acquaintance.

  “Yeah,” Starkweather said. “He knows.”

  Frakes nodded slowly and brought himself up to his normal height. He stood ramrod straight as he fished into one of the pockets of an expensive leather jacket for a cigarette case. The polished metal container flipped open so he could take a cigarette rolled in light brown paper and place it in the corner of his mouth. Snapping the case shut and putting it back where he’d found it, he said, “That explains part of it. You were in Leadville.”