“Yep,” Hank replied.
“Were you a friend of that salesman with the big mouth?”
“Not as such.”
“So you were hired by a friend of his?” Plucking the unlit cigarette from his mouth and holding it as though it were already burning, Frakes squinted in thought. “No. You don’t strike me as a hired gun. I suppose it’s possible you’re just not a very good one.”
“You know what else is possible?” Hank snarled through the blood that had welled up in his mouth.
“That you’ll die here in this tent for no good reason?” Frakes asked. “Yes. That is very possible.”
“Actually I was thinking more along the lines of me busting out of here.”
Cocking his head to one side while putting the cigarette back in place between his lips, Frakes said, “Possible, but not very likely.”
One of the guards had remained in the entrance flap as if his only job was to act like a door with a pulse. That door was ripped off its hinges by a dark-skinned arm that snaked around the guard’s throat to pull him backward into the shadows. The rest of the men inside the tent turned toward the door as soon as they heard the guard’s muffled yelp. Frakes moved off to one side, allowing his men to raise their guns and fire. Starkweather was first to pull his trigger, and the report from his gun filled the tent with thunder.
Most of the shots that were fired were done as knee-jerk responses to the swift departure of their partner. As such, the shots ripped fresh holes through the front wall of the tent and blasted jagged chunks from the doorframe. Hank simply tried to keep his head down as low as possible.
The first wave of gunfire came to an abrupt halt, leaving the guards standing in a gritty haze of black smoke.
Something scraped against the dirt outside. When the scraping drew closer and someone crept into the tent, every gun in there was pointed in that direction. The guard that had been plucked from the tent now crawled back inside, much to the displeasure of the man who’d posted him there in the first place.
“What happened to you?” Frakes snapped. “Who’s out there?”
“Don’t know,” the flustered guard replied. He was shaking like a leaf and clawing at the ground with desperate hands. “Didn’t get a look at him.”
“Just one or more than that?”
“I don’t know!”
Before Frakes could chew the guard out any more, Hector fired a shot through the front door. After his shotgun tore a gaping hole in the tent, a knife hissed through the air to land solidly in Hector’s shin. He dropped to one knee and grabbed for the knife. When he felt the sharpened stone blade, he didn’t have the strength to remove it.
“Pull it out!” Hector wailed. “Pull it out!”
While the other men in the tent all hurried to do something or other, not one of them made a move to give the wounded Mexican a hand. Hank almost felt some pity for the guy. Almost, but not quite.
“Go and find who’s out there,” Frakes said. All of the guards still on their feet except for Starkweather inched toward the front of the tent. Hank could hear the slightest rustle somewhere in the night, which caused those guards to hurry outside with guns blazing.
Starkweather approached Hank and jammed the barrel of his pistol beneath Hank’s chin. “Who’s out there?” he snarled.
“The same one who covered my back in Leadville,” Hank replied. “If I was you, I’d pack it in and call it a day.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Frakes said. “I’m through making deals with the likes of you. Either make yourself useful or I cut my losses right here and now.”
“I got nothing for ya,” Hank told him.
“Well, that makes my decision real easy.” Without batting an eye, Frakes looked to Starkweather and said, “Kill him.”
When Hank heard the explosion, he guessed the next thing he’d see was the face of his maker.
Chapter 35
A wave of heat surged through Hank’s upper body as he was knocked flat onto the floor. Even with his ears ringing and head spinning, he found it odd that he wound up facedown instead of -up with the gun being fired directly in front of him. Hank opened his eyes and saw Starkweather staggering backward.
“What was that?” Frakes asked as he pulled himself up to his feet.
Shaking his head in hopes that something would fall back into place between his ears, Hank instinctively reached for his temple. Surprisingly enough, he was able to wipe his brow. Looking at his wrists, he saw the ropes that had been binding him were still there. The rope that had connected his hands behind the post, however, had been messily severed.
“Answer me!” Frakes roared. “What was that?”
Judging by the way Starkweather blinked and rubbed his ear with his free hand, he had a few bolts loose in his head as well. Right about then, Hank noticed the section of the tent’s back wall that had been torn. The edges of shredded canvas were still smoldering, and when he pulled himself to his feet, Hank saw the curved section of metal that was now wedged in the tent’s support post. Most likely, that metal had once been a barrel hoop and was somehow turned into the piece of debris that had set Hank free. A similar chunk of iron still connected to a jagged piece of wood was lodged in Hector’s chest, putting him down for good.
Although he was still unsteady on his feet, Hank headed for the hole in the back of the tent as quickly as he could stagger. Starkweather didn’t need to be able to hear and he certainly didn’t need to speak in order for him to raise his gun and fire a shot at him. Whether it was due to Hank’s wavering steps or some lingering bit of disorientation within Starkweather’s head, the killer’s first shot was well off its mark. The second was fired at nothing but shadows since Hank had already made it outside the tent.
As he fled into the night, Hank heard Frakes shouting behind him. Since he was more interested in escaping than responding to any threats or commands, Hank didn’t bother stopping to listen to what the businessman had to say. All around him, the camp was enveloped in chaos. Men rushed in every direction, most of them clad in nothing more than long underwear or nightshirts after having been roused from their sleep. The ones that spotted Hank weren’t overly concerned with him since there were still gunshots and a fire to capture their attention.
The shots were cracking through the air from several different spots. The fire, however, was much easier to pinpoint. One of the shacks situated away from the others had been reduced to a smoking ruin. Several tents between it and Hank were on fire as well. As flustered men tried to stomp out the flames, Hank rushed past them to approach one of the few figures who didn’t seem to be surprised by everything that had just happened. As Hank got closer, the figure he’d spotted retreated into a small section of the camp that wasn’t alive with commotion. He followed it behind a tall wooden rack of pipes near a cart resting on a set of temporary tracks that led into the nearby crevice.
“Get over here before you bring everyone straight to us,” the figure scolded while furiously waving Hank over.
Hank rushed over to the figure’s side and was immediately handed a pistol. The weight of the .44 was the best thing he’d felt in quite a while.
“I took that from one of the tents after the explosion,” Paul said. “I hope it’s loaded.”
After checking for himself, Hank said, “It is.”
“Red Feather should be around here somewhere.”
“He took out one of the guards in the tent where I was being held. You mind telling me what caused that ball of fire a few moments ago?”
“One of the shacks was being used to store dynamite,” Paul explained. “All it took was something to pry one of the crates open and a lit match to heat things up. I was making my way to try to free you when I saw you run out on your own.”
“Part of a barrel came flying through the tent and provided an escape route instead of taking my head off. Muc
h obliged.”
Paul took a quick look around. Since most of the men in camp were still running about in a frenzy, he asked, “How did they get ahold of you anyway?”
“Scouts must have seen me,” Hank told him. “Or someone happened to catch sight of the fire. All I know is that I nodded off for a minute or two and was woken up by a swift kick to my gut. Two men with guns pulled me to my feet and were joined by a few more. They walked me back into camp so the man in charge could start asking questions.”
“Man in charge?”
“Someone by the name of Frakes. Sound familiar?”
Paul didn’t have to think for long before shaking his head. “Never heard of him, but I wouldn’t know anyone connected to Territorial Mining. What did he want from you?”
“Just to know who we are and why we’re causing him so much trouble.”
“Did you mention anything about the poisoning?” Paul asked.
Before Hank could respond, a feral war cry rose above the other sounds filling the basin. Several men shouted in confusion while more shots were fired.
“Sounds like our mutual friend,” Hank said. “To answer your question, I did mention something about the poisonings just to see how he’d react.”
“And?”
“And he didn’t seem to care much about it. His only concern was that his hired guns take care of anyone who might make it a bigger problem for him. I can tell you firsthand that he’s got no qualms with putting a man into the ground to keep his operation here running smoothly.”
“It won’t be running smoothly after tonight,” Paul said as he twitched from the sound of more gunfire. “Not this mine anyway. Before I lit the fuse to that barrel of dynamite, Red Feather took a few sticks to—”
A smaller explosion ripped through the far side of the camp, followed by the sound of flames roaring to life.
“I think I just figured out what he intends on doing with his share of the dynamite,” Hank said through a wide grin. “After getting knocked around by some of those men, I’m ready to raise a little Cain myself.”
“Go right ahead,” Paul told him. “With everyone distracted, I’m going to get a look inside that crevice to see if I can find a sample of what’s being dumped into the water.”
“What makes you sure you’ll find it there?”
“Because I’ve already checked the other spots in this camp where chemicals were being stored, and that crevice is the last place where I might find some of the runoff water that’s actually making its way into the streams. Once I get a sample of that, I will have done every last thing I could do within the amount of time I’ve got to work.”
“Then we can head back?” Hank asked.
“Yes. Then we can head back.”
Hank held the .44 so it was ready to fire. “So now’s my last chance for a bit of revelry. Once I draw them away, you head for that crevice. Got it?”
Paul might not have been completely ready for what was coming next, but he was as ready as he would ever be. Nodding that he understood what Hank was telling him, he placed his hand on the holstered Schofield and set his sights on the crevice. There was at least sixty to seventy yards between him and the opening that had been blasted into the rock wall. Most of that space was empty, but there were more than enough startled workers and armed men wandering nearby to make him uneasy. Before Paul could worry himself into a useless heap, Hank bolted away from the rack of pipes.
His first several steps were as swift as they were silent. Once he found his stride, Hank hollered like a madman and rushed one of the guards who was carrying a shotgun. The shotgunner was taken so completely by surprise that he only had time to let out half a grunt before Hank’s knee was driven into his stomach with all of his momentum behind it. When the shotgunner doubled over, his weapon fell from his hands and was caught by Hank before it hit the ground. Now carrying a firearm in each hand, Hank ran between two rows of smaller tents that were being used as sleeping quarters for the miners.
Following Hank’s example, Paul stuffed his fears down deep, kept his eyes on his destination, and made a run for it.
Chapter 36
More than once as he was running, Paul was certain he would be discovered. Every time he had that thought, he expected that he would be shot. Fortunately Hank was extremely proficient at making a spectacle of himself. Whenever a guard saw past the commotion and started moving too close to the path that Paul had chosen, he was distracted by something from the shadows that Paul could only assume was Red Feather. The Comanche was a perfect complement to Hank’s efforts. He was a creeping predator moving on the periphery of Hank’s roiling storm. When Paul made it to the rock wall, he did so without being accosted in the slightest.
Towering rocks on either side of him were ridged in a linear, symmetrical pattern. The air hanging between them was thick with humidity and stank of stagnant water. Paul could smell the chemicals, but either he was getting used to their odor or they weren’t as prevalent in that spot compared to the shacks where the purity testing and other work was being done. After he walked for only a few more feet, the noise from the camp seemed to be miles away. It was only when he had a moment to think in what felt like relative solitude that Paul realized he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for.
Moonlight trickled in from above through a narrow fissure in the rock. Starlight came through a wider angle, and the combined illumination was just enough to reflect on portions of the wall that were more than simple stone. Whether he was looking at embedded mineral deposits or a vein of silver, Paul couldn’t tell. He didn’t even feel a reaction to any of it until he saw a few rivulets of water running down the surface of the wall. Paul’s eyes followed the water down to little pools that had collected along either side of the path. Smiling victoriously, he reached into the pocket of his jacket for a flask he’d brought along for that very purpose. When he dropped to one knee so he could dip the flask into the largest pool of water he could find, Paul felt richer than if he’d pulled a nugget of solid gold from the ground.
“Whatever you’re looking for,” someone said in a voice that rolled down the narrow path and bounced off the walls, “you won’t find it down there.”
Paul turned to look at who was speaking, afraid of what he might find. Those fears were realized when he found Starkweather looking back at him.
The gunman slowly walked down the path and stopped within a dozen paces of the spot Paul had chosen. “Mr. Frakes is real particular about scooping up anything valuable that might be taken from these mountains.”
“I don’t care about whatever you’re mining for,” Paul said while collecting every drop of water he could. “All I care about is what’s left behind.”
“You one of them folks with a sad story about people getting sick from the water?” Starkweather scoffed.
Paul shook his head and returned to his task. “I’m almost done here. I’ll be on my way and you men can get back to your business.”
“I think we both know it won’t happen that way.”
“Why not? I’m not after anything of value.” He held up the flask, flipped the lid shut, and said, “This is it. I’m finished.”
“Yes. You are.”
Paul wanted to stand but felt his nerves jangle if he so much as blinked. Every move he might consider making from that point forward could be his last, which froze him in his tracks.
Starkweather grinned in a way that made a sun-bleached skull seem downright friendly. “It’s real easy to come in the dead of night and set a few fires, especially when you got a savage working for you.”
“You killed Leandro Prescott.”
After thinking for a moment, Starkweather said, “That salesman? What’s he got to do with anything?”
“You’ve killed men on orders from other men.”
“That’s how it works.”
“Do you even know what
I’ve got in this flask?” Paul asked. “Or why I want it?”
“Don’t care.”
“Exactly. What I’ve done . . . what I’m here to do . . . it’s nothing compared to the damage you’ve done. And as far as the damage done by the men who hired you is concerned . . . I don’t even want to think about it. All I wanted was to look out for my young ones and get on with my life.”
Starkweather slowly shook his head. “Too late for that, mister.”
“Right,” Paul sighed. “I suppose it is.”
When Paul put the flask away, his trembling hand caused the dented metal container to rattle against one of the buttons on his jacket. As he moved his hand closer to his holster, he opened and closed his fist, flexing his fingers to keep them from trembling too much to be of any use.
The morbid smile returned to Starkweather’s face. “You’re afraid.” He sneered. “Just a sniveling little mutt with a yellow streak running a mile wide down his back. Pathetic.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a determined line.
“Oh, you don’t like hearing that, do ya?” Starkweather chided. “That might mean something if it came from a man. But from a dog . . . it’s kinda funny.”
Paul knew what the gunman was trying to do. Even though he fought to keep himself from getting sloppy because of the anger boiling inside him, the struggle was difficult to control. Starkweather’s was such a simple strategy, which made it even more maddening that it had such a good chance of working.
“You’re a coward, mister,” Starkweather said. “And I imagine them young ones you want to protect so badly are cut from the same cloth as you.”
Paul lowered his head as those words sank in. When he heard the slightest rustle of Starkweather’s sleeve, Paul snapped his head up, pulled the Schofield from its holster, and pulled the trigger.
The Dangerous Land Page 23
