"I thought you'd gone," Martha gasped as she jogged in Edge's arms.
"Only out of my head," he muttered as he set her down on a patch of coarse grass among an area of brush.
"What about Anatali?"
Edge snatched up the Winchester and gestured with it back towards the building. She gasped as she saw the wagon jerk forward and recognized the Zulu wielding the whip. In the next moment, raucous cries of alarm exploded from within the building and as the wagon swayed into a tight turn a fusillade of shots sent lead streaking towards it.
"Do something!" the woman shrieked, swiveling her attention back to Edge, bewilderment suddenly clouding her face.
Edge was sprawled on the ground, steadying the Winchester in the palm of his hand, elbow pressed hard against the ground. His left eye was screwed tightly shut as the narrow glint that was the right one lined up the fore with the back-sight. The first report of the Winchester so close by caused her to gasp in alarm and then a whole volley followed it, the sound of the shots running into each other as Edge squeezed the trigger and pumped the action in a continuous, fluid motion.
Up the slope the heavy caliber bullets smashed into the narrow base of the monolithic column of rock, spraying splinters across the hillside. The Winchester clicked empty and the column seemed to sway, but did not topple.
"My God, the wagon!" Martha yelled.
Edge took the time to slide two more rounds into the rifle and then looked in the direction of the woman's horrified gaze. The Zulu was standing erect, held in a delicate balance by his grip on the reins as the back of his pin-stripe suit jacket blossomed with the ugly red flowers of blood. Gunfire cut across the rumbling noise of the trundling wagon wheels and the derby hat went spinning from its wiry resting place. Anatali's head seemed to explode under the impact of the bullets, spraying blood and bone splinters across the silver behind him. The weight of his body falling across the backs of the team panicked them and they bolted. One of the loose horses cut free by Luke ran into their path and they veered sharply. Edge, Martha and the men in Merriman's Folly watched in stunned silence as the terrified horses in the shafts realized the inevitable result of their headlong rush and tried to turn. But the weight of the wagon traveling at such a speed was too much for the beasts. For long moments it looked as if it would change course, but then it jackknifed, snapping one shaft and sweeping the two-horse team on to their sides with the other. It entered the lake broadside on and started to roll. The load shifted and dragged the wagon and horses into the icy water, sinking in an instant and sending up a great spout of water.
The surface calmed was disturbed by rising air bubbles for a few moments, then became as placid as a sheet of glass.
"It's bottomless," Martha gasped.
Edge sighed, "Hiyo sliver, away!" he sneered and sent two more shots plumb into the base of the column of rock.
The monolith fell like a lopped redwood, sending a massive tremor through the ground as it crashed, shattering into a thousand pieces which fell like a meteoric shower and cascaded with murderous force towards the building housing the Tabor gang.
It was as if nothing short of an earthquake could have shaken the men free of their stunned shock at seeing the fortune of silver lost for all time. Hyman was the first to leave the building, moving with such speed it seemed he had been fired from a catapult. An enormous boulder smashed into the roof of the building, gained momentum from the bounce and crashed down on to the running man, leaving him a bloodied pulp, unrecognizable as a human form. Keene and the man with the bandaged hand also tried to outrun the minor avalanche but had covered only a few yards before a rush of small rocks knocked their legs from under them and they fell, screaming for help before the full weight of the crumpled column smashed into the rear of the building and pushed it as a single unit down the slope before it disintegrated and buried the two men in a pile of rubble.
Edge watched in silent impassiveness as the leading boulders of the rockfall tumbled into the lake and those that were following lost their momentum and rolled to a stop. The woman's face still showed the horror of losing the silver, as if the expression was frozen on her bloated features.
"It's all gone," she blurted out at last.
Edge shrugged. "Only the silver. That can be replaced. Your virtue's still intact, ain't it?"
Despite all that had happened to her, Martha Wilder was still able to blush. She opened her mouth to speak, but another voice cut across the still afternoon air.
"Virginity is no password into the gates of heaven," Jake Tabor said.
Chapter Fifteen
THE man's beard was no longer red, for like his face and his tattered clothing it was coated with the grey dust that had been raised by the destruction of the building. But his hands were colored a deeper hue than ever his hair had been for they were shapeless extensions on the ends of his arms, dripping blood on the rocky ground before him from between the gleaming bones of the fleshless fingers. Resting across his extended arms was the Henry rifle that had claimed so many lives. Edge moved towards the man, carrying the empty Winchester easily in his right hand, hanging low. Martha Wilder fell in behind him, as if anxious to keep the lean body between her and the ghastly figure of Tabor. Edge halted two yards in front of Tabor and was able to see what had saved the other man from the rockfall—a sofa had been overturned, trapping Tabor beneath its thick padding. But it was obvious his hands had been left beyond this protection. His curiosity satisfied, he regarded Tabor impassively.
"Being a Quaker entitles you to the odd miracle now and then?" he asked easily.
"I do not question the ways of the Lord," Tabor answered, his voice still having something of the tone of an evangelical preacher. "I am content that he has delivered thee to me."
"What do you plan to do about it?" Edge taunted.
"Kill a murderer and a thief," Tabor thundered.
Edge grinned coldly. "Seems like He'll have to give you a hand, feller. Maybe two."
"Thee are a blasphemer as well as a murderer and a thief." His voice was still strong, but his eyes betrayed his sense of helplessness as he looked at the crushed hands.
"It was your silver, wasn't it?" Edge asked, taking the makings of a cigarette from his pocket.
"No!" Martha Wilder cried.
"Yes!" roared Tabor. "My son and I dug it out of the ground ourselves to build a church to the glory of God. Warner and his gunmen stole it from us and this woman's father stole it from them."
Edge turned his hooded eyes towards Martha. "Figured that was why you wouldn't name the miner who brought up the ore in the first place, Miss Wilder," he said softly.
"Then why...?" she started.
"No difference to me who owned it," he answered. "Your Pa paid me to freight it. I work for the man, who picks up the tab."
He lit the cigarette and returned his attention to Tabor as the bearded man began to tremble with frustrated rage. He aimed the Winchester into the air and squeezed the trigger. The hammer clicked against an empty breech and he handed the rifle to the woman. Tabor allowed his arms to fall to his side and the Henry clattered down on to the rocks.
"I have to kill you, Tabor," Edge said, going down into a crouch and bunching his hands into fists. He pushed them under the fallen rifle until it was resting across his forearms. Then he spat out the cigarette. "I killed your boy and you wouldn't stop coming after me until I was dead."
He looked, up from his crouching position, squinting towards Tabor's head which was silhouetted against the rain-heavy cloud. The head bobbed in agreement.
"What I figured," Edge said easily.
"He's defenseless!" Martha implored.
Edge scowled. "So was a girl named Adele and the people who came to see her get married." His eyes searched the ground until he saw a narrow length of wood splintered from a piece of furniture. "I'm giving him a real chance. He can't use his hands, so I won't use mine." He caught hold of one end in his teeth and straightened up.
Perhaps for t
he first time in his life, Jake Tabor showed fear in his eyes and he began to move, walking backwards in an ungainly gait. Each heel of his boots explored the uneven scattering of rubble before he set down a foot. Edge moved forward, maintaining the distance between himself' and the man of God turned killer. Finally Tabor was forced to halt as the back of his legs came up against a low section of wall that had once formed part of the side of the building.
Edge carefully maneuvered the Henry until the stock was nestling against his hunched shoulder and the barrel pointed across the opposite forearm towards Tabor's chest.
"No, Edge!" Martha screamed, running forward as Edge bent his neck, rested the length of wood against the trigger and jerked sideways with his head.
The recoil caused the rifle to aim high. Instead of taking the bullet in the heart, Tabor died with the lead ripping through his beard into his throat. He was flipped backwards over the wall and disappeared with a splash that sent evil-smelling liquid spraying high into the air. With utter dispassion, Edge moved forward and looked over the wall, not even altering his expression as he glanced down at Tabor's long beard floating on the rancid surface of the cesspool.
"Murderer!" Martha screamed in accusation.
"So was he," Edge replied, turning away and taking the Winchester from, her unprotesting grasp. "Now he's only going through the motions."
He threw the Henry aside and began to reload the Winchester as he walked through the rubble, heading for the trail curving away at the side of the lake. Martha looked around her in desperation, caught sight of the dismembered arm of one of Tabor's gang lying amid the rocks and suddenly broke into a run to catch up with Edge. She held her tattered dress tightly against her upper body.
"Where are you going?" she asked suddenly after limping out at his side for several moments without speaking.
"San Francisco." He didn't look at her, but took one rueful glance in the direction of the lake before starting on the downward path.
Silence went with them again, until they rounded one of the many twists in the trail and saw a horse, ready saddled, chopping at a patch of grass. Edge coaxed it near with soft words, recognizing the animal.
"It's Anatali's," the woman said as Edge swung up into the saddle.
"He wasn't a bad guy," Edge answered. "I figure he'd like us to have it."
He reached out a hand and after a moment's hesitation she accepted it and he hauled her up behind him. As they jogged down the sloping trail he was warmly aware of her naked breasts pressing against his back through the parka.
"What happened to your bad ankle?" he asked after awhile.
"It still hurts," she snapped back. "But with so many men dying so horribly a bruised bone isn't that important."
The afternoon dimmed towards evening as they dropped down into the valley and on the final stretch Edge spotted a westbound stage making speed along the trail. He heeled the horse into a fast gallop and did not halt until they came to the side of the trail, a quarter of a mile in front of the stage.
"This is where you transfer," he said, sliding from the saddle and holding out his arms to help her dismount.
She looked at him angrily. "The deal was San Francisco, Mr. Edge."
"That's where the stage will be going," he pointed out.
"What about you?"
"I'll make my own way, Miss Wilder."
"Why were you going to San Francisco anyway?" She sounded as if she genuinely wanted to know.
He sighed and looked down the trail towards the fast approaching stage. "Places to me are like mountains to climbers," he said quietly. "I go to them because they're there." He raised a hand and the stage driver hauled on the reins. The guard snatched up the shotgun which had been resting across his knees. Martha renewed her efforts to cover herself with the remains of her dress.
"Take the lady to San Francisco?" Edge asked.
"I think you're a bastard, Edge," Martha snapped, wrenching open the stage door.
"Even if she ain't no lady?" Edge asked.
"That's where we're going," the driver answered.
"Holy cow!" the lone passenger on the stage exclaimed, a nervous tongue darting out to moisten dry lips as he stared at Edge. "I thought you was a holdup man."
Edge swung into the saddle of the big black horse. "Carrying much?"
"Ten thousand in silver, I heard," the man answered.
"Not interested," Edge came back with an easy grin hovering on the fringe of a sneer.
The woman laughed harshly without humor as she slammed the door. "He knows where there's a hundred times that much."
The passenger gulped. "I find that very difficult to believe, ma'am."
Edge shrugged ruefully as he wheeled the horse and the stage driver whipped his team into motion.
"Yeah," he muttered. "It sure as hell is all wet."
EDGE
Red River & California Kill
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EDGE: Blood on Silver (Edge series Book 5) Page 12
