by Tim Champlin
Return shots zinged off the bell, but Charvein was out of reach of the gunfire as he reached the bottom and stepped away. Lucy and Sandoval stood on either side of the open doorway, exchanging sporadic fire with the men across the street. Lucy paused and stepped back to reload.
“Charvein, if we can keep them shooting, they will run out of ammunition before we do,” Sandoval said. “I have more at my cave but could not carry all I wanted to bring.”
Charvein grunted his assent, his mind elsewhere as he tried to grasp pieces of a puzzle and pull them into place. But they swirled just out of his mental reach.
Lucy snapped the loading gate of her revolver shut and looked up. “Marc, you’re hurt!” She approached and touched the drying blood on his cheek.
He barely heard her. “Sandoval, what are those bell clappers made of?”
Sandoval continued facing away from him, crouching beside the doorway and sneaking a look at the building across the street. “Brass… iron. I do not know. No es importante. We have men trying to kill us just now.”
“Did you paint those clappers?”
“Why do you ask?” Sandoval got to his feet and turned toward him.
“They’ve been recently painted. The paint is not yet worn.”
“Yes, I painted them. I like the sound of the bell and do what I can to keep it in good condition. I have many hours to fill when I am here alone.”
“If you like the sound, why didn’t you attach a rope so you could ring it from down here?”
“The wind rings it when God wants it rung.”
“Perhaps He does, and the notes have a golden tone, verdad?” He gazed hard at Sandoval’s impassive face.
“What do you mean?” The hooded eyes gave no hint of what was behind them.
“I mean those clappers are made of gold.”
Lucy suppressed a gasp and looked from one to the other.
Sandoval shrugged. “I suppose they are. I had to do something with those ingots.”
“You mean…” Lucy’s eyes were wide.
“Yes,” Charvein said, not taking his eyes from Sandoval. “For days, men have been running around, fighting each other, looking for that golden stash. And all the time it was hanging in the belfry of this church.”
TWENTY-ONE
For a few moments the three of them stared at one another, the gunmen across the street forgotten.
Sandoval was the key to this all along. As the shock wore off, a feeling of betrayal crept over Charvein. Betrayed by a man he’d thought his friend and benefactor. But this feeling quickly passed when he realized Sandoval didn’t have to save his life at all, or give him food and water, shelter him from the dust storm, hide him from his enemies. He took a deep breath. If their situations had been reversed, Charvein would’ve done the same. “Then you were the one who left that gold ingot where Stepenaw and Weasel would find it by the cave?”
“Sí. I wanted to distract them, so I could perhaps try a rescue. I didn’t know Boyd had already released you.”
“Thanks.” Charvein was sorry for his anger. “When did you find the gold?”
“Only weeks after I first came here. About four years ago. I explored every inch of this town. The bars were in canvas sacks stored in a crevice in that cave where you were held hostage. The stampings on the metal bars meant nothing to me, except those which told the weight in ounces. I didn’t know where it came from.”
“But you knew it wasn’t yours.”
“In a mining town, silver and gold belongs to the man who finds it. I was the only one here, so, by custom, it is mine.”
“That only applies to ore found in the earth.”
Sandoval shrugged. “Who can argue over a fine point such as that?”
Charvein knew the man was only trying to justify his actions. If caught, he could always state it wasn’t his job to go hunting for the owner. He was just sitting on the gold, waiting for the right person to show up and claim it.
“I used the assay office to melt the bars,” Sandoval continued. “Formed clay molds and cast the gold into two thirty-pound clappers. I kept a few ingots to cut up and melt into small nuggets to trade for supplies when I went to town.” He cast a look upward. “It was a terrible struggle trying to hang those heavy clappers in that bell. I had to rig a hoist.”
Lucy had gone to the foot of the ladder and was looking up at the subject of discussion.
“Those clappers account for only about half of the total weight of the ingots,” Charvein said.
“About twenty pounds I kept for expenses, as I said. The rest I melted. Tried to cast a small bell for the sanctuary.” He shrugged. “But I failed. I am not a craftsman. I fashioned a simple cross of the remaining forty pounds. It is hidden inside the altar. The Christ child did not refuse the gift of gold from the Magi, so I pray He will accept mine.”
Charvein didn’t know whether this man was only pretending to be devout to justify his taking of another’s gold, or if he was really sincere. “You know I have to report this to the rightful owner who hired me to find it,” Charvein said.
“Ah, Señor Charvein, you do not wear well the mask of a self-righteous man. Remember the gospel story of the Pharisee and the Publican? You do not want to cast your lot with the Publican and be condemned by Jesus.”
“Nothing self-righteous about being honest,” Charvein said.
“We are a long way from Virginia City, señor,” Sandoval reminded him. “And we have no real reason to think we’ll live to get back there.”
Charvein took this as a veiled threat, whether or not it was meant that way. As if to emphasize the truth of Sandoval’s words, two shots rang out close together and a bullet came through the open doorway, smashing one of the wine bottles holding a candle on the altar in the sanctuary. The three of them jumped and moved quickly back to their positions just inside the doorway.
“Men will do anything to possess gold,” Sandoval said. “Even my Spanish ancestor came across the ocean in search of it, killed many of my Indian ancestors and took it.”
“Those men over there have no knowledge of the clappers,” Charvein mused.
“Verdad. That’s why we must defend this church. If they get in, they could easily find it,” Sandoval said.
“So this is our Alamo,” Lucy said, eyes bright.
“Except the odds are a little more even,” Charvein said, hoping she was not reverting to imagining herself in some sort of heroic setting. “Thousands of Mexican soldiers with cannons would be a far different story.”
Sandoval’s words had planted the seed of an idea. “I said we would wait until dark to see what develops.” He looked at each of them, and then at the long shadows stretching down Center Street. “Probably two hours until dark this time of year.”
“Sooner, tonight,” Sandoval remarked, pointing at the bank of dark gray clouds sliding in from the west on a steady breeze.
“No blowing dust tonight?”
“Not tonight. The wind is high up, driving clouds across the mountains from the western sea, many miles away. The clouds will not bring water. It is not the right time of year.”
“When night falls, we’ll break the rungs from that ladder so they cannot climb to the belfry. Then we abandon this church. Instead of worrying about where they are in the dark, let them worry about where we are.”
Lucy gave a slight shiver. “It’s all so mysterious and dangerous.”
“Deadly dangerous,” Charvein emphasized. “This is no game of hide-and-seek, Lucy. Remember that.”
“I’m not sure that is the best thing to do,” Sandoval said.
“Do you have a better plan? You are part Indian. We’re both wearing moccasins and can surprise them in the dark. If we keep our nerve, we can take them. Lucy can go back to your cave for ammunition if we need it. We would have all the advantage.”
“Do you plan to kill them?” Lucy asked.
“If it comes to that, yes. We can’t take chances. They’ve shown they mean to kill us. We
’ll give them every opportunity to surrender, but it’ll be on our terms—if we can corner them. Not an easy thing to do.”
Since Boyd and Rankin had the belfry under fire, Charvein, Sandoval, and Lucy stayed out of it for the rest of the afternoon. They took turns guarding the back door of the church that led out of the sanctuary, to be sure they weren’t surprised.
The other two guarded the wide front doorway. Charvein saw some movement behind the broken window across the street and wondered what his two enemies were doing to pass the time. He couldn’t imagine how Boyd and Rankin, an ex-convict and an ex-lawman, could agree to work together. The threat of a common enemy? He pondered this. More likely they’d fused Rankin’s hatred of Sandoval and Boyd’s lust for gold. Something had brought Boyd back to Lodestar, something had convinced him the gold was still here and hadn’t been discovered and hauled away by some unknown thief. Charvein heard the mumble of voices from across the street and wished he could become invisible in order to eavesdrop on their conversation.
As time began to drag, he and Lucy and Sandoval stopped talking among themselves. They consumed the food and drank the wine Sandoval had brought and replenished their canteens from the big, wicker-covered bottle. The boost of energy provided by the nourishment gradually wore off by sunset. Charvein wondered what food, if any, the men over there had to eat. Hunger and thirst had to be nagging at them by now.
Would sunset never come? Charvein fought drowsiness, but dared not relax too much.
The sun finally died in a welter of reds and golds. Beyond the buildings, the sky flushed a spectacular rose, the last rays reflecting airborne dust and the undersides of approaching clouds.
Shadows inked in the spaces between buildings, slowly blurring their view of the street. Silence reigned.
Sandoval was watching the back door; Charvein looked across at Lucy on the opposite side of the big open doorway. She was sagging with fatigue and boredom.
When it was almost too dark to see, Charvein crept over and touched her shoulder. She jerked up. “Sshh!” he whispered, and took her by the elbow to guide her quietly toward the sanctuary, where Sandoval looked up at their coming. “Time to go,” Charvein said, sotto voce.
“Do we break the rungs of the ladder as we planned?”
Charvein shook his head. “Changed my mind. Too noisy. Besides, if they notice the newly destroyed ladder, they’ll suspect there’s something up above we don’t want them to find. If they happen to climb up there, it’s now too dark to notice the scuff marks on the clappers.”
“Follow me,” Sandoval said, gliding away into the deepening dusk and out the side door into the alleyway. The air hadn’t cooled much, but the slight breeze felt fresher than the stifling interior of the church.
Sandoval’s poncho sagged with extra boxes of cartridges carried in the inside pockets, so he cinched it around him with a piece of rope to keep the garment from swinging and banging against his body.
The trio made their way along the alley to the lower end of town, moving carefully in the dark to avoid making noise. Two hundred yards from the church, Sandoval held up his hand and they halted. “Something moving there,” he whispered. He took a few steps forward. “Ahh, only Boyd’s mules,” Sandoval said. “Grazing with my livestock.”
Charvein heard and saw nothing. Indian instincts? Then a slight shift in the breeze brought the faint sound of teeth ripping at the sparse clumps of grass. And he caught a slight whiff of the animals.
“Are your weapons fully loaded?” Charvein asked.
They checked their guns. Sandoval thrust a few more .44 rimfire cartridges into the tubular magazine of his old Henry. Charvein and Lucy used the same .45s in their Colts. Charvein took the box from Sandoval, opened it, and roughly divided the remaining loose cartridges between them. Lucy dropped hers into the pocket of her dress.
Before they began stalking the two men, Charvein tried to think of some plausible errand for Lucy so she wouldn’t suspect she was being sent out of danger. Each of them had a canteen, they’d already eaten, and they had loaded guns. Perhaps he could assign her to return to the cavern and lure the animals closer with some grain so she could unsaddle Boyd’s mules. But that would be chancy in the dark. She was bound to make some noise doing it, and he wasn’t too sure how familiar she was with managing strange livestock.
He decided to use her as a lookout. She could be their backup if they ran into serious trouble. “Let’s go. Lucy, stay down here near the end of the street. Sandoval and I’ll swing around behind the building where those men were hiding. I was going to suggest you could get hold of those animals, but don’t bother with that; they won’t wander off. Just stay close to the street and watch and listen.” The three walked between the buildings from the alley into the main street. “You hear shooting, don’t come near. If they get us, I don’t want them getting you, too. Take to the cavern, where you can hide and defend yourself, if need be. If we come out on top, one or both of us will meet you right here near this striped barber pole. Keep your gun handy.”
“I will.”
“Feel like a little blind hunting, amigo?”
Sandoval muttered his assent.
“Then, let’s go.”
“Oh!” Lucy gasped when they were all startled by a flicker of lightning in the distance. They paused, looking toward the northwestern sky. A few seconds later, it came again, backlighting a heavy, ragged cloud formation. There was no following rumble of thunder.
“Heat lightning,” Sandoval said. “No rain for us in those clouds. They are miles away.”
After many days of blistering sun and blowing dust, Charvein welcomed even a suggestion of possible moisture.
But they had other things to think about now, and he gave Lucy’s hand a reassuring squeeze before he and Sandoval moved off diagonally across the street in the blackness and then circled back toward the church. They walked in the dirt street so their footfalls wouldn’t be heard on the hollow boardwalk. The solid blanket of cloud over the moon ensured they couldn’t be seen. Sandoval, intimately familiar with the town, was able to navigate with confidence in complete darkness. Charvein wasn’t convinced the man didn’t have the night vision of a cat.
They were less than fifty yards from the front of the church when torchlight suddenly outlined the big doorway from within. Boyd and Rankin had wasted no time. They’d also waited for dark before moving in for an attack. The light flickered from window to window. Unintelligible conversation, then angry curses came to their ears on the light breeze. The sweat on Charvein’s skin felt cool under his shirt. Boyd and Rankin had discovered them gone and now it was their turn to worry, Charvein thought, grimly.
Then he realized that the light came not from a torch but from two candles—probably the candles they’d found on the altar.
He and Sandoval crouched in the darkness, waiting, watching. Slowly, the belfry began to lighten and the bell come into view as one of the men climbed the ladder. Charvein stood, extended his gun, and steadied his arm against a porch post. He sighted carefully on the bell, cocked his Colt, and fired once, then again, quickly.
“Son of a bitch!” The candle went out and there was a thumping noise of something falling or being dropped.
“You tickled his funny bone, señor.”
“Or something.”
“He won’t climb back into the bell tower with a light.”
“And without a light he won’t see the marks of the exposed gold.”
Jumbled voices emanated from the church. What would be their next move? They didn’t have to wait long to find out. The other candle went out and all was silent for the space of five heartbeats. Then boots thumped hollowly on the floor and a flash of heat lightning showed a glimpse of two men dashing out the front door. The Colt and the Henry roared as one, but the figures were moving too fast, and the darkness was too profound.
“Damn!” A cold knot formed in Charvein’s stomach. The two men on the loose were more manhunters than he and Sandoval, who
now had to stay on the move. He touched Sandoval’s arm. “Vamanos!”
They faded down the street the way they’d come. Charvein didn’t want either Boyd or Rankin to stumble upon Lucy by herself. Reluctant as he was to let her join them, he now had no choice. With that pair roaming the streets, the three of them had to stick together. The deadly stalking game had begun.
TWENTY-TWO
Even without blowing dust to obscure the atmosphere, Charvein was amazed at the blackness of the night. Cloud covered moon and stars. He thought the white stripes of the barber pole would be at least dimly visible. They were not.
“Where’s that damned barbershop?” he whispered to Sandoval, hesitating, thinking they’d retreated far enough. Without answering, Sandoval went ahead. Twenty paces later they stumbled against the raised boardwalk and Charvein vaguely picked out the striped pole. “Lucy!” he hissed.
“Here!” came a subdued voice to his right.
“We flushed them out of the church.”
“I think they headed toward the other end of town,” Sandoval said.
“I believe it’s better we hole up and not move around,” Charvein said. “Pick them off if they come near us.”
“Yes. It is a quiet night. We can hear them moving,” Sandoval agreed. “I know a good place near the middle of town. Follow me.”
He padded away with Lucy following and Charvein last. They didn’t speak. Charvein wondered if they were making any sound that could be heard more than a few yards away. He didn’t know where Sandoval was going, but they seemed to take a long time getting there. Distances were distorted in the darkness.
Finally, Sandoval crept up to a small building that stood on a corner. He eased aside the door that had only one hinge, and the others followed him inside.
After a few seconds of feeling their way around, Charvein thought the layout was familiar, judging by the outlines of the windows briefly lit up by the lightning. “This is the assay office.”
“Sí. We can defend it from two sides.”
Charvein formed a mental picture of the two-room building, office in front and workroom and smelter in an adjacent rear room. “This is where we found the trapdoor to the tunnel,” he whispered to Lucy.
