by Ann Parker
“Thought I was scouting to blow up the train?” Inez laughed.
Holt didn’t.
“I’m paid to watch for strangers who seem a mite too interested in the goings-on. And to keep an eye on things.” He nodded toward the sweating, dust-covered workers below. “That tracklaying gang’s got two unfrocked clergy, a bonafide professor, two Yale men, and forty Irishmen. Not a one qualifies for sainthood. The closer we get to town, the more chances for trouble. I hear the Rio Grande wasn’t the horse most Leadville folks were backing. But you might know more about that than I do. Ma’am.”
“Mrs. Stannert,” she said belatedly.
“Well, Mrs. Stannert, the railroad never knows where trouble’ll blow in from, far away or up close. That’s why I’m here. How about you? Out gathering wildflowers?” His eyes flicked over her unconventional riding habit of men’s trousers and shirt, and lingered on the rifle.
“I was on my way to meet a friend, who was riding up from Twin Lakes this morning. Perhaps you saw her earlier, if you rode up from the south. A young woman riding a horse and leading a burro weighted down with photographic equipment—cameras, boxes, and such.”
“No, ma’am.” As their horses hit level ground, Holt pulled up alongside Inez. “I’ve been on the side trails. Your friend probably took the main road.” He looked over the stooped backs of the men and the flash of picks and mauls rising and falling in the sun’s glare. “There’s someone yonder who might’ve seen her.”
He stowed the rifle, much to Inez’s relief, cupped his mouth, and shouted, “Reuben!”
A horse and rider on the far side of the rails swerved around the work group and approached. Inez noticed the boy at the reins sported the same out-sized hands as Preston Holt. Only, on the youngster, those hands reminded her of the giant paws of a puppy still growing into its size. The boy’s face was scarred from smallpox, and Inez thought she could detect a faint fuzz masquerading as a beard along his jawline. Hard to tell his age—could be anywhere from sixteen to nineteen.
But the rifle at his side hinted that he was old enough for a man’s job.
Holt did the introductions, slow and deliberate. “Reuben Holt, Mrs. Stannert. Reuben, the lady here has a question for you.”
Reuben’s gaze settled on her trousered legs.
Holt reached over, pulled Reuben’s hat off, and slapped it against the boy’s too-large shirt. “Hats off for ladies.”
Reuben’s pockmarked face flamed cherry red, and Inez revised her estimate of his age downward. He glared sullenly at Holt before fixing his eyes on the knobby knuckled hand clenching the crown of his hat. Even the part in his pale hair was red with embarrassment.
“No offense taken, Mr. Holt,” Inez said quickly. “Pleased to meet you, Reuben. Did you by chance see a young woman riding up the road near the Twin Lakes junction earlier this morning? She would have been trailing a burro.”
“Naw.”
The bay swayed as Holt shifted in his saddle, and Reuben modified his statement hastily. “No, ma’am.”
Preston Holt scanned the road as if Susan might suddenly appear on the horizon. “Probably still south of here, then. Unless she changed her mind and rode by earlier.”
“Miss Carothers change her mind? Not likely.”
Holt nodded. “Could be she took the main road while you were behind the ridge. If I see her, I’ll tell her you rode by. And Mrs. Stannert, stay to the main road coming back. It’s safer.”
“Thanks for the advice, Mr. Holt. Next time you’re in Leadville, stop by the Silver Queen Saloon, corner of Harrison and State. I’ll see you a free drink.”
“You work in the saloon?” He appraised her again. Eyes sharper this time.
She gave him a faint smile. “I own the saloon.”
Preston Holt touched his hat in farewell, with a ghost of a returning smile. “I’ll keep your offer in mind, Mrs. Stannert.”
With a final nod to the two Holts, Inez turned Lucy toward the road. Behind her, she heard Reuben say, “How was I supposed to know? She don’t dress like a lady!”
Holt’s reply was lost as Lucy mounted the graded bank to the road.
Inez urged Lucy to a canter. At her back, she could sense storm clouds building, pushing her apprehension on the wind. Time flowed past.
Rounding a bend in the road, Inez yanked on the reins. Lucy slid to a stop.
On the other side of the river, beyond the gulch, boulders and debris buried the tracks and spilled out across the access path at the foot of the steep slope. Halfway up the slope, Inez could make out what might have once been a building, destroyed by rubble. Something metallic winked from the wreckage. Looking higher, Inez saw black winged shapes, circling.
Chapter Three
Inez cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Susan!”
The wind snatched the word away.
Dread curled around Inez’s spine, icy as the air.
Inez left the main road and crossed the river, urging Lucy up switchbacks on the side of the gulch as fast as she dared, finally arriving atop a small plateau covered with dusty sagebrush and firs. She looked around, and her heart fell at the sight of a horse and burdened-down burro tied off under the trees. The burro had dislodged a box of glass photographic plates from its panniers. Glass slivers glittered in the dirt and spare grass. The horse’s eyes were wide and wild, its reins thoroughly tangled in the brush, its coat caked with dried sweat.
Inez wound Lucy’s reins around the trunk of an anemic evergreen and gazed across the slope to the broad ledge.
The temperature had dropped throughout the afternoon, and dark clouds now loomed. A snowflake fell. Another. The wind picked up, blowing dust and desultory bits of snow over the ground.
Taking a deep breath, Inez plunged onto the narrow trail faint across the talus slope. Where the slope steepened into a cliff, she stepped onto the path. With the ledge only ten feet away, she stopped. The rock avalanche that had destroyed the cabin, littered the ledge with boulders, and sent rock and dirt hurtling to the tracks below had brushed the last of the path as well, covering it with loose rubble. Inez gazed at the ledge. So close.
She bit her bottom lip hard and scrutinized the rocks concealing the path ahead. I’ll keep a firm hand on the rock face and stay away from the edge. Three steps in, her boot slipped on loose rubble.
Inez screamed, leaped forward, and grabbed a sharp-edged outcropping.
Her scream rang in her ears, mixed with the clacking of stones as they fell to the ground far below. Blood pounding, Inez waited until the small avalanche ceased, then she steeled herself and bounded the last few steps to firmer footing.
Once on the large shelf, Inez sprinted across the stone-littered area to the shack. Jagged boulders and slabs blanketed what was left of the cabin. Inez’s breath caught when she spotted a glint of metal that resolved into a mangled, half-buried camera.
“No,” she whispered. “Please, don’t let it be.”
She glanced around. The only spot that offered even a modicum of protection was the mine itself. If she had time to get there. The portal gaped, its entrance partially blocked by debris.
Angling around a massive boulder, Inez spotted a dust-covered lump of rags just inside the mining entrance.
“Susan!”
She was curled into an unresponsive ball, face buried in her arms. Her green skirts and bloomers were streaked with red rock dust—at least, Inez hoped it was only dust.
Inez hurried forward and knelt at her friend’s side. She touched Susan’s shoulder and, when there was no reaction, rolled her onto her back. Susan’s hat was knocked askew, ribbons still tied tight, her face streaked with dirt and blood. A nasty purple bruise swelled at the hairline.
“Jesus,” Inez whispered. Then louder, “Can you hear me?”
No response.
Inez ripped off a riding glove, cupped her hand close to Susan’s nose, and was relieved to feel the stir of breath.
Inez pulled a flask from her jacket and soaked her kerchief liberally. She gingerly dabbed at her friend’s face.
Susan’s eyes fluttered open, confused, then wild with fear. She screamed.
Inez jumped. The contents of the flask sloshed. “Susan! It’s me!”
Susan struggled to focus. “Inez? I thought you were….”
“Who?”
She took a shaky breath. “The killer.”
“What?”
“Dead men…on the track. Shot.”
“Men on the….” Inez thought of the enormous pile of debris covering the rails.
A clatter sounded high above them. Inez ducked instinctively. Fist-sized rocks bounced onto the terrace, accompanied by blowing dirt.
Inez stood, trying to force strength back into knees gone rubbery. “We’ve got to get off this ledge. The slope above us isn’t stable.”
“My camera.”
“It’s smashed up. We’ll end up the same way if we linger.” Inez grasped Susan’s arm. “Can you walk?”
Susan shakily stood. “Ow!” She lurched. “My ankle!”
Inez winced in sympathy and thrust the flask at her. “Drink this. It’ll dull the pain. You have to walk. At least to the horses. I can help, but I can’t carry you. The first few steps are the worst. We’ll need to move fast.”
Susan took a small sip and spat. “Ugh!”
“That’s my best brandy!”
Another rock clattered down.
“We’ve got to go. Here, lean on me.”
Inez wrapped an arm around Susan’s waist, taking some of her weight. Together they lurched to the path. Inez half-carried, half-dragged her friend across the rubble, propelled forward by a harrowing vision of the two of them tumbling down the slope and landing like crumpled dolls at the bottom.
They finally reached stable terrain and picked their way back across the talus field. Susan moved like one half awake. Inez felt as if her arm would pull from the socket with the strain of holding her friend upright.
At the horses, Susan collapsed on the ground. Inez checked the animals, wondering whether her friend would be able to ride at all. She turned to ask and saw a fresh trickle of blood ooze down Susan’s cheek. Susan brushed at her cheek, then stared at the wet smear on her glove.
Inez pulled out her flask, took a sip to burn the dust from her mouth, and thrust it at Susan. “Finish this. Now, I want to have a look at your head.”
She untied hat ribbons, peeled off the blood-soaked felt, and parted Susan’s sleek brown hair. The gash, she was relieved to see, didn’t go to the bone. But the swelling and Susan’s hazy state of mind concerned her. Nonetheless, she pushed her worries aside and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “Looks like you might need some stitches in your scalp. Now, what’s this about men on the track and a killer?”
Her friend began shivering. Inez stripped off her own jacket and vest and snugged them around Susan, silently cursing herself for not bringing a waterproof coat or at least a blanket against inclement weather.
Susan forced out words between chattering teeth. “T-two men were below. They argued about…killing generals? There was a s-strip of colored cloth. Red, blue, and white. Important, I think.” She covered her face. “Someone above me, I didn’t see who, shot at them. What happened to me? I can’t remember.”
Someone above.
The back of Inez’s neck prickled with apprehension. She rose from a crouch and examined the landscape. Nothing stirred in Disappointment Gulch, on its slopes, or in the kiln field. The only sound was the hiss and roar of the river. The ridgeline above the gulch looked empty. A thumb of rock capping the cliff thrust skyward toward the threatening clouds as if to emphasize the need to get off the hill and back to the main road.
An inhuman screech drew her attention to the entombed rails. The carrion birds had landed. One flapped its wings and screeched again as if staking a claim on what was buried beneath.
Chapter Four
When the railroad camp came into view through the mist of rain, Inez felt like singing hallelujah. She’d been riding double on Lucy for what felt like hours, holding Susan in front of her and trailing a pack string of riderless mounts—Susan’s rented horse and burro plus two other horses Inez had found by the river, reins dragging on the ground. Mindful of Susan’s story, Inez had spent precious minutes calming the animals and adding them to her string.
Canvas tents drooped in a field next to new-laid tracks and railroad cars. Some of the cars were two stories high and looked like frame shacks on wheels, complete with doors, windows, and stovepipes. A limp line of wash sagged along a rooftop. Inez spotted a long line of men waiting by what she guessed was a payroll car.
A huge bay horse stood patiently by one of the two-story cars while its rider, shrouded in waterproof, conversed with someone inside. For a moment, Inez forgot her frozen hands and aching arms. She half-stood in the stirrups, shouting “Mr. Holt!”
Preston Holt turned.
Inez closed the distance. “My friend, Miss Carothers, needs a doctor. She was caught in a rockslide by Disappointment Gulch. It buried your rails and perhaps a couple of men as well.”
As Holt dismounted and headed toward the women, a figure swayed into view through the open doorway: shirttails out, waistcoat unbuttoned, near empty bottle hanging loosely from one hand. Pencil-thin black mustache and inkwell eyes to match. “What the divvil’s this about?” he slurred. “Rockslides? Buried men?”
He pointed the bottle at Preston Holt. “Dammit, Holt! You’re hired t’ keep trouble from happening! The general doesn’t pay you and your kind t’—”
Susan struggled to alertness. “They talked about a general….” Her voice drifted off.
Holt took in Susan’s condition in a glance, then addressed the drunk in the car. “It’ll wait, Delaney. An injured woman needs help.”
Delaney squinted at Susan and Inez. “Woman?”
“Mrs. Stannert and Miss Carothers are from Leadville,” Holt said, emphasizing the words Mrs., Miss, and Leadville.
Delaney passed a hand over his face. “Christ. Women. From town.” When he looked up, he appeared almost sober. “Get a wagon and get them out of here. See t’ the rockslide. Get the men t’ clear it out tonight. With lanterns, if necessary. McMurtrie can’t hear about this.” Delaney retreated to the dark interior, muttering.
Holt gazed after Delaney and shook his head. He addressed a driver lingering nearby with an empty wagon. “Fetch Reuben. Leave the wagon here.” He turned a somber gaze to Inez. “Steady, Mrs. Stannert. We’ll get you and your friend back to town.”
Inez nodded and held Susan tighter.
Holt disappeared inside the nearest shack-on-wheels and reappeared moments later with several blankets. After arranging them in the empty wagon, he lifted Susan from Inez’s saddle as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour and carried her to the wagon bed. He was rigging a canvas cover against the rain when Reuben rode up, looking like a half-drowned pup that had been rolling in mud. Close on his heels and no drier was a short, wiry man also wearing a waterproof coat and sporting a soaked derby, dripping spectacles, and a Lincolnesque beard. He clutched a briefcase tight as if afraid someone might take it from him.
“Mr. Holt!” the short man called. “I was by the payroll car when your message was delivered to the young man here. I thought, if a hand was needed helping folks to town, I’m heading that way with papers for Snow from Palmer and the board.”
Holt nodded. “Much obliged.” He made the introduction. “Mrs. Stannert, this is Mr. Duncan. Works for the Rio Grande lawyers and such.”
The short fellow removed his hat in courtesy, hastily replacing it as the rain pattered on his already plastered hair. “Most call me Professor.”
Reuben stood stock-still, eyes glued about a foot south of Inez’s face. Glancing down, she saw her flannel shirt was plastered to her breasts like a second skin.
Inez grimaced
and plucked at the soaked shirt. It pulled away with a sucking sound.
“Reuben!” Holt’s voice held an edge. Reuben tore his gaze away from Inez’s chest. “Fetch my jacket. In the saddlebag.”
Face flushed, Reuben brought the jacket to Holt.
Holt handed it to Inez. “It’s a fair piece to go in the rain.” As she gratefully thrust her hands through sleeves the size of tunnels, he continued, “I’d take you myself, but sounds like I’ve got marching orders from Delaney. Professor and Reuben will see you safe to town.” He spared a sharp glance at the boy, before turning to her string of horses. “Where’d you find these?”
“The gray and the burro are Miss Carothers’. The other two were wandering loose by the river, about half a mile this side of the gulch.”
Holt put a calming hand on the pinto and examined its markings. He grunted. “This one’s ours.” He stood, hand on the horse, head bowed in thought. Finally, he looked at Reuben. “You stay here.”
“But—”
Holt cut him off. “Rockslide might’ve buried some men. Professor’s fixin’ to go to town as it is.”
Reuben’s face darkened, taking on the aspect of the clouds overhead.
Holt walked to the wagon for a last look at Susan. “When your friend’s feeling better, I’ve got some questions for her.” He squinted up at Inez. “And for you, Mrs. Stannert.”
Her heart skittered at his steady gaze. “Certainly, Mr. Holt. I believe you know where to find me.” Inez said the words with a distant politeness she didn’t feel. It was the heavy wool of the oversized jacket, she decided, that was causing her to perspire.
The professor hopped into the wagon and picked up the reins. As Inez turned Lucy toward the road, she heard Holt say to Reuben, low but pointed, “…questions for you, too.”
Chapter Five
Inez rode close to the wagon, one eye on Susan, the other on the muddy road.
After some time, the professor cleared his throat. “Poor lassie. I heard about her accident. Did she say what happened?”
