Iron Ties

by Ann Parker

  And then.

  Something more.

  “What’s this?” She squinched her fingers around it and, unable to hold it properly in the confined space, managed to roll it up the inside wall of the crack and out with her fingertips. Sun glinted on a slender metal tube held between thumb and forefinger. Cylindrical, no longer than a hairpin.

  Sands sucked in his breath and took it from her. Carefully.

  The identity of the object came to her, just as he spoke the words: “A blasting cap.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Many folks carry blasting caps for explosives with them,” said Sands, throwing the statement over his shoulder as they rode down Disappointment Gulch to the track. “Miners—”

  His gray horse slipped slightly on the steep trail. The summer wind blew the plume of dust into Inez’s face just as she opened her mouth to respond.

  “Prospectors,” he continued.

  Fine-grained grit coated her teeth and tongue. Inez pulled a soft, worn handkerchief from the pocket of her long riding skirt and spat into it, letting her horse pick the best way down behind Sands.

  “How many people do you think traveled this road in the past six months, coming up from Granite, Canon City, Colorado Springs, Pueblo? There’s been prospecting around here and in the gulch. Then there’re the railroad surveyors and grading crews. The graders might’ve used giant or black powder through here to make enough room for the siding and railroad bed. There were crews from the Atchison road here last year, then the Rio Grande—”

  “Yes, yes.” She tucked the handkerchief into her pocket. “But you said yourself, what a convenient time for a rockfall.”

  The reverend’s horse reached the level at last. “A casual remark. Didn’t think you’d take it as gospel, Inez.”

  They skirted the kiln field and finally arrived at the tracks and siding.

  Inez squinted up at the rock wall, spotting Susan’s ledge and the scarred section where rocks had peeled off.

  “Stop here.” She brought Lucy to a halt.

  Sands dismounted and approached. “Remind me. What are we looking for?”

  “Anything that will verify Susan’s story.” She took his proffered hand, extracted her left foot from the sidesaddle stirrup, her right leg from around the horn, and slid to the ground. She led Lucy over to the gray while Sands surveyed the landscape.

  “The marshal and the railroad crew have been over this ground,” he said. “What do you hope to find that they might have missed?”

  “I don’t know. But I found that blasting cap. My luck seems good, so I’m not about to stop betting on it now. What time is it?”

  Sands squinted up at the sun. “I’d guess about ten.” He pulled out his gold pocketwatch and flipped open the casing. “Close. Quarter after.”

  “Good. We have an hour, easy. I need to be back by three, and I know you wanted to stop and see how the county poorhouse was coming along on our way back.” She caught the reverend’s resigned expression. “What?”

  “Thought the plan included a picnic by the river.” He glanced toward the streambed beyond the tracks. The sun sparkled off the fast moving water, which did not look muddy for a change.

  “All right. Let’s take half an hour to look around. You check south, and I’ll go north.”

  It was a futile half hour. Inez walked a good fifty yards of track toward Leadville, exploring the ground on either side, while Sands paced off an equal distance in the opposite direction. Inez spied a jumbled pile of damaged wood ties, off to one side. She walked about the pile and finally clambered up on its lower reaches, hoping to find…What? Bloodstains on the wood?

  The nearby Arkansas River tumbled ceaselessly over rocks, chuckling at her frustration.

  “Inez, those could shift in a minute. Best come down.” Sands stood below, horses’ reins gathered in one hand.

  Swallowing her disappointment, Inez climbed down. “Did you find anything?”

  Sands held up a perforated tin can. “A few more like it and the remains of a cooking fire.”

  “Well, that’s more than I found.”

  Sands threw the can onto the woodpile. “I remember seeing a good place for a picnic close to here.”

  They took the access path that meandered along a gravel bench by the river. The rock cliffs pulled away from the river as they neared the mouth of the gulch. They passed the trestle bridge that carried the rails across the river and Braun’s abandoned beehive-shaped charcoal ovens, the tall timber that had fed them once now gone, replaced by a forest of stumps. A little further on, a small copse of slender trees appeared with a glint of green sward.

  Sands had spied it as well. “Over there.” He pointed.

  Inez unpacked the rolled blanket and carried it to the grass sheltered in the ring of trees and bushes. She shook out the blanket and smoothed it on the ground, then straightened up and looked around. The access path and rock ridge were hidden behind the trees. The ring was broken facing the river, giving her an unobstructed view of the water and the steep bank beyond.

  On the other side of the bank ran the main road up and down the Arkansas Valley. The same road that delivered the multitudes hoping for new lives and a lucky break in Leadville, as well as the many who gave up and left, searching for a future a little less hard, a little less cold.

  Sands brought the bundled luncheon to the blanket, took Inez’s hand, and pulled her down beside him. She sat against a tree and rearranged her riding skirt. Sands removed his hat and lay back, resting his head on Inez’s lap. “This is more like it.”

  Inez rested her hand on the bundle. “Hungry?”

  He smiled up at her. The sunlight made his eyes blaze a startling light blue, nearly electric in intensity. “Not for food.” He took her hand in his, and held it to his chest. “For your company. And a few quiet moments. ‘My soul thirsts for the Lord.’ Psalm 23.”

  She wove her fingers with his, and tipped her head back against the tree trunk. The leaves hissed in the breeze, creating a random pattern of shifting shapes against the sky. She closed her eyes, listening to the river, feeling the weight of the reverend’s head, the comfort of their fingers twined together.

  Maybe it was the way his eyes had suddenly looked so blue—like Mark’s eyes. Maybe it was the sound of the river—a melody and discourse no musical instrument by man could recreate. Whatever it was, the feeling of the moment stirred something in her memory.

  A recollection, long discarded, long forgotten, surfaced.

  Another river, another stand of trees. Inez’s back resting firm against a boulder. Mark, his head in her lap. Their hands entwined, resting on Mark’s chest, where she could feel his breath rise and fall. Warmth of sun on her face. Katydids whirring. Abe sat close by, the soft sound of riffling cards almost hidden by the river’s speech, as he practiced a particularly complicated false shuffle. Mark looking up at her, his electric blue eyes teasing and warm, then glancing over at Abe. “This is the life. No responsibilities. No worries.”

  Abe grinned back, teeth flashing as his hands smoothly, automatically, maneuvered the deck. “No worries? Thought those cowboys in that last town were gonna hog-tie and brand you for takin’ their wages.”

  “All’s fair in love—” Mark winked at Inez— “war, and poker. Besides, that’s why I like havin’ a pretty woman sittin’ at the table and shuffling the cards. Figured the boys wouldn’t get too rambunctious with a lady nearby.” He squeezed her hand, and his voice dropped, wrapping about her like a private embrace. “My own queen of diamonds. You did right well at that cowtown back there. Always said you had the magic touch with those hands.”

  He raised her hand to his lips. His kiss warmed her skin and sent a tingling down to her toes.

  Mark murmured, “When we get to San Francisco down the road, I’ll see you have a different diamond ring for every day of the week. But to get to San Francisco, we work together.” His voice rose in volume to include Abe
, and he looked from Inez to Abe, tying the three of them together with his voice and his gaze. “Equal partners, three ways. Taking on new towns, new adventures, whatever waits round the bend.”

  New adventures.

  The memory vanished, the voices from long ago merging into the murmur of the stream.

  Inez sighed, opened her eyes, and stared out at the riverbank, unseeing.

  Was that why he disappeared last year? He’d had enough of being tied down. Exhausted wife. Sick baby. The business of running the saloon. Saw a chance to move on to greener pastures. No responsibilities. No worries.

  She shook her head and tried to banish the twisting ache in her heart, the ache she’d thought she buried so deep that even giant powder couldn’t blast it out into the open ever again.

  The reverend squeezed her hand. She looked down at him.

  His eyes no longer shone brilliant blue, but had faded back to gray. “Penny for your thoughts, Inez.”

  “They’re not worth even half of that.” She withdrew her hand and reached for the picnic bundle. “We should dive into the food or we’ll be eating from the saddle. It’s simple fare. Bread. Cheese. Pickles. Some hardboiled eggs.”

  “‘Man eats the food of angels.’ Psalm 78. Simple is good.”

  He offered her his flask. She paused in her efforts to saw the loaf of bread with his pocketknife, accepted it, took a sip, and grimaced. “Water.”

  “What? It didn’t turn into wine? Must have lost my knack.”

  She rescued her own flask, lying on the blanket where she’d tossed it earlier. “I know you don’t indulge. But since I have no qualms….” The brandy went down smooth, warming her nearly as much as his smile and the sun.

  He took his knife back from her and began slicing the cheese. Inez noticed that he was doing a much neater job of it than her ragged slices of bread. He paused, pointing the knife at her flask. “Do you carry liquor in that as a rule?”

  “Never know when the weather will turn. Or when it might be needed for medicinal purposes. It came in handy for Susan.” Susan’s battered face flashed through her mind, followed by the blasting cap, safely wrapped in a linen napkin and tucked in her saddlebag.

  Inez finished a bite of bread and cheese. “I still think that blasting cap indicates the rockfall might have been set off deliberately. Surely those who know about such things could look up at the face and tell whether it was an act of nature or man.”

  Sands reached for the pickles wrapped in waxed paper. “Have you been to see Casey yet?”

  “Who?” Inez was lost for a moment. “Oh! The lawyer. I’ve had no time.”

  “No time?”

  “I would have gone this morning, but we’re here instead.”

  A rustling overhead exploded into a flurry of chirping and screeching. A large bird arrowed into the sky, chased by two others not even a quarter its size.

  “You make time to chase after Susan’s ghosts but not to take care of business.” His voice was neutral. Flat.

  “I will make time. I promise you.” Her voice grew hard in return. She picked up a slice of cheese, rolled it between her fingers. It formed a small cylinder, nearly the size of the blasting cap. “What do you mean ‘Susan’s ghosts’? Her injuries are real. The blasting cap is real. I thought you believed her.”

  “I’m not saying I disbelieve her. But nothing so far supports her story.”

  “There are two men missing,” Inez persisted. “Elijah Carter and a railroader. And, just before Carter disappeared, he told one of the local constables he was looking for Ayres, but he wouldn’t say why.”

  “I don’t know Carter’s business with the deputy federal marshal. But if it was confidential, I can see why he’d not confide it to the local law force. Hard to say what’s happened with Carter. He might just be out of town for a while, despite Hollis’ words. Then again, he might’ve had enough of Leadville and gone to Denver or points south, west, north, or east. He could’ve been on his way to see Ayres and met up with road agents and come to harm. At this point, we can only toss guesses into the air. As for the railroad man, Preston and I talked about that. He said since the Rio Grande started laying tracks up the valley, the construction crews lose two or three men a day. Guess they figure prospecting or mining is more profitable than spiking ties or gandy dancing.” Sands glanced at the sun. “We’d best get moving if you must be back by three.”

  Inez rolled the picnic remains into the blanket and Sands loaded the bundle into her saddlebag. He walked Inez’s horse over, remarking, “I’m not saying I have all the answers. But I’ve noticed that you’re spending a lot of time on this matter.”

  “Susan is my friend,” Inez rested her right hand on the sidesaddle seat and placed her right foot in his laced hands. “It’s not as if I’ve friends in plentiful supply. I stand by the ones I have.”

  She straightened her right leg; Sands pushed her foot upward. Once Inez was settled in the saddle, Sands mounted his own gray and they rode through the brush to the road by the railroad tracks. Ahead was the bridge that would take them over the river to the main road.

  The near white sheen of the bridge’s fresh-cut lumber made her think of Mr. Braun, his remark about the church pews, his abandoned charcoal enterprise—now behind them—and his lumber company, still ahead on the way to town. “So has Herr Braun convinced the church board to replace all the pews with wood from his mill?”

  “It’s not what I entered the ministry for,” Sands grumbled, “to referee discussions over—”

  A flash of red, trapped against the timbered piling of the bridge, caught Inez’s attention. The rest of his comment was lost to her.

  She pulled up and hastily slid off Lucy, holding tight to the horn to keep from falling face first to the ground. “One moment,” she called out, then half skidded down the embankment to the bridge’s trestle at the water’s edge. The crumpled rag was caught between wood and gravel bedding. Inez gingerly retrieved it. A strip of cloth, in red, blue, and what she thought might have been white at one time. Neatly bound on one end, unraveled threads on the other.

  She turned to Sands, clutching it in her hand, her heart thumping wildly. “It must be! Susan mentioned a piece of colored cloth.”

  Sands looked at her oddly.

  “She said it seemed to be important.” Inez examined it. “This is long enough to wrap around a neck, tuck into a shirt. And a star here, near one end.”

  “Would you like me to go back for the tin can?”

  Inez looked up, surprised. “What on earth for?”

  “Susan didn’t say anything about sharpshooters taking pot shots at cans?”

  “That is quite uncalled for. It’s entirely possible that this cloth was blown up the track by the wind.”

  “Throw it away, Inez. You’re turning trash into clues. If we were to scour the road into Leadville, I daresay we’d find more rags ground into the dust, a lost hat or two, a glove, thrown horseshoes.” He urged the gray onto the bridge. “But if we do that, you’ll not get to town by three.”

  Inez wavered. The end of the rag unfurled from her slackening grip and trailed into the water. The river tugged, eager to claim a new plaything. She snatched it back, dripping, wrung it out, and balled it into her hand.

  “Do you want help getting back on the saddle?” His voice drifted down from the bridge.

  “I can manage. Go ahead and cross the bridge. I’ll be there.”

  After clambering up the bank to Lucy, Inez stuffed the cloth into her saddlebag. Lucy swiveled an ear in her direction. Inez stepped up onto a nearby rock and mounted with practiced ease. Clicking her tongue, she urged her horse over the bridge and cantered to catch up to Sands.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Inez and Sands separated at the turnoff to the county poorhouse. The afternoon was racing by, and Inez was determined to arrive back at the time she’d specified to Abe.

  She took back streets to avoid the congestion on Ches
tnut and Harrison. She wondered whether Hollis might be around the livery—and wasn’t sure whether she hoped he was or wasn’t.

  Lucy stepped lively to avoid an empty ore wagon and its team, preparing to head up to the mining district. Inez dismounted and led Lucy through the yawning stable entrance into a world of dust, shadows, and the soft movements and whickerings of horses. The place seemed quiet, deserted—strange for that time of day, she thought. She was walking Lucy to her stall in the back when the sound of a gate squeaking shut drew her attention. One-Eyed Jack, a skinny, dour-faced fellow with a patch over his left eye, limped into view.

  “Hello, Jack.” She smiled warmly at him.

  Jack touched his dented bowler perfunctorily. In addition to his ocular deficiency, two fingers from Jack’s left hand, along with his left foot, had long since met his Maker where they waited for the rest of him to arrive.

  Inez took in his shabby black greatcoat, bits of straw stuck to it, and his general demeanor. “Why the long face? Has your luck gone bad?”

  The one eye rolled expressively in its socket. From somewhere beneath his coal-black beard, a voice croaked out, “Crooked dice.”

  “Well, I told you that chuck-a-luck isn’t a winning game. You want to have a chance of hanging onto your wages, you should stick to faro or poker.”

  He grunted, reached for the reins, and ran an expert hand over Lucy’s withers. “Rode hard. Oats?”

  “Extra would be excellent.” Inez gave Lucy a fond pat. “We had a good romp south along the Arkansas. She’s a trooper.”

  Lucy twitched an ear and turned an eye to Inez.

  “Jack, have you seen Eli around lately?” She picked a stray burr from Lucy’s mane, trying to make the inquiry casual.

  “Gone. Sold out.”

  “Sold out? To Hollis?”

  “Yup.”

  “Hollis around?” She tried to keep her dislike for Hollis out of her voice.