The murmur of voices and clanking sounds, like she’d heard when she first entered, drew her forward. The deeper she went, the lower the ceiling became, making her walk bent over.
How did men work like this? She stopped to gauge the height of the passage by reaching to brush her fingertips on the ceiling and made notes. But the smell of fresh air kept her moving forward. The darkness lightened to soft black then became tinged with gray. Around another bend and a few more feet of tunnel, she encountered two miners focused on a hole in the wall. Relieved she wasn’t alone, she straightened. “Well, I’m glad to find you.”
Both men jumped up, their lamps flashing erratic beams on the wall. “Where’d you come from?” The speaker whose face was almost black with soot held a hand behind his back.
“From the surface, I believe that’s the correct vocabulary.”
“Uh huh.” The taller man shot the other man a look.
“So, what have you found in that hole you’re working?” She moved closer and leaned over, careful to plant a hand on top of the miner’s cap to keep the lamp from tilting.
“Not much color in this vein.”
Thora pressed a hand against the wall and felt the tickle of a thick spider web. How could spiders spin in an active tunnel? Being as cautious as she could, she angled her head so the lantern light ran over the miners’ equipment. The men’s lack of response sent a chill down her back. “But any color is good, right?” The handles were bare of the distinctive Morgan Mine brand. Her stomach pitched. These men weren’t supposed to be here. Thieves.
I can’t let on I know. “Digging up gold must be fun.” She crouched and lifted one of the rocks from the bucket. “I’m a writer, and absolutely everything interests me. My readers love learning about brave workers like you with dangerous jobs.” She flashed them both a wide smile. “Could you hold this and point out the precious metal in this rock? I want to sketch it.”
“Yeah, I could do that, I guess.”
As Thora listened, she tore off a piece of a notebook page, wadding the scrap into a ball then dropping it. With her other hand, she made a rough sketch of the rock with arrows pointing toward the shiny spots. I’ve got to keep talking. Rob will hear me. “What do you think that thick stripe of shiny stuff is worth?” She waved a pencil toward the foot-deep hole they’d carved.
“That’s a highly improper question.” The man with the gap between his front teeth scowled. “You don’t ask a man about his earnings.”
“Aren’t these Mister Morgan’s earnings?” She put on a frown then shrugged. “Sorry, I’m new to the area and didn’t realize miners had such an etiquette.” Closing her book, she stood, noticing that the shorter man had come up behind her. Her mouth dried. “The owner granted his permission for only a short tour for my research. I really must find my assigned guide.” She sidled a few inches forward, hoping to slide past the miner. “Rob MacPherson, do you know him?”
“Nothing doing, lady, you’re coming with us.” The tall one grabbed her arm and yanked. “If you’re friends with the high and mighty Morgan, then maybe he’ll pay for your return.”
Ransom? A ringing started in her ears. Her heart raced. Being abducted might be exciting in print, but in real life, the act terrified her. Thora thought of Harte and how he’d come to her rescue before. She had to trust that he’d come again. But would he miss her soon enough?
~**~
“Enjoy your dinner, sir.” Harte waved as his boss sauntered down the hill on his way home. As he lowered his arm, he touched the breast pocket where Thora’s letter rested.
For three days, he’d walked past the hotel and seen a lamp burning in her window. Early in the evening and when he came off the late shift while covering for Gardner, he’d known she was there. But he’d not caught sight of her flashing eyes or challenging grin. He finally admitted to himself he missed her.
Since slipping the missive into his pocket, Harte fought the temptation to pull it out and read what she’d written. Being paid to stay focused and watch for hints of danger was his duty.
But Thora had looked so serious, almost sad, when she pressed the paper into his hand.
Curiosity ate at him. After a quick glance around to make sure he was alone, Harte pulled out the letter and lifted the wax seal, stamped with the relief of a quill pen. Fitting. Before he got to the last paragraph, Harte had to look away and swallow hard. A second, slower reading produced the same effect. He stared at the word ‘affectionately’ not ready to believe what the word hinted. But he wanted with all his heart for the word to be true—that Thora didn’t care about his past and the harsh deeds he’d done.
Harte shifted aside the top sheet and scanned the description for the hero she created. The character’s name rang with a familiar cadence. Many of the abilities and skills were ones he’d shared. Is this how she truly sees me? The back of his eyes burned. Then movement at the corner of his eye made him stuff the letter into an outside pocket and turn, keeping his head lowered.
MacPherson exited the mine and glanced around. He lifted the lamp hook through the fabric loop of the cap and blew out the wick then ran a hand through his hair. “Hey, Renwyck, did you see that lady come out?”
Harte strode over to within a foot of the miner and glared. “Wasn’t Miss Alviss with you?”
“Well, she was…for a while. Then she just disappeared.”
Harte pictured the interior of the mine from his tour on the first work day. At the thought she’d tumbled down a hole, his chest grabbed tight. “What do you mean by that?” Blood pounded in his ears. He swung an arm toward the entrance. “How could you just leave her behind?”
“Calm down.” The man held his hands palms out in front of his body. “That’s not what happened. I swear.”
Eyes narrowed, Harte leaned close until he could smell the miner’s sweat. “What did happen? Tell me exactly.”
MacPherson rang a finger around the inside of his collar. “I was showing her the old vein, you know the one along the north-facing wall.”
In truth, Harte wasn’t a big fan of small dark places and hadn’t inspected any of the lower levels. But he’d seen the plat of the claim and knew enough about the layout to have an idea of the general area. “Yeah?” He shifted, positioning himself so he had a clear view of the cave entrance. He wanted to be the first one to spot her when she exited.
“We’d walk a few feet, and she’d ask me a question. Boy, she had a lot of questions. Then I’d have to wait while she scribbled in her notebook.”
“You were assigned to give a tour, right?” Harte recalled her concentration and note-taking at the boxing match and knew exactly what MacPherson meant. But that fact did not let the man off the hook. “And?” He barely gritted out the single word.
“I roped down to the half level, because I noticed some cuts that looked fresh in places where we hadn’t been working recently. I swear I was only four or five feet below the primary and gone just a minute or two.” He shrugged. “But when I climbed back, the lady was just gone…like she wandered off. Maybe she went down another tunnel.”
Wandered away? He huffed out a frustrated breath. Of course, she’d go exploring if something caught her interest. I swear I need to attach her to me with shackles to keep her safe. “But you told her to stay in a certain place?”
“Of course. Well, maybe I talked with Simms about those cuts for—”
“Maybe?” Harte shook his head at his demand then pointed. “Show me.” He strode to the entrance and rested the rifle against the wall to the right. His hat hung from the barrel end. He shifted from foot to foot while MacPherson found another cap and filled the font with oil. The mine had been worked long enough that the non-producing shaft and tunnels were abandoned and workers moved elsewhere. What if she fell and was hurt? Could she be calling for help but no one heard her cries? His gut churned.
MacPherson returned and held out a cap. “Worn one of these before?”
“Nope.” He didn’t relish having
a flame that close to this head but he’d deal with it.
“You know how to move, right?”
Impatience roared through him. “I’m not searching for little flecks of metal. I’m looking for one particular adult woman.” The double meaning of what he said hit him square in the chest. “Light the dang thing and get moving. Give me an extra lantern, too.”
Five minutes later, Harte felt like he was in the bowels of hell.
“I left her right here.” MacPherson pointed to a spot about midway in the tunnel.
Harte glanced at the rope the miner used then he looked around, seeing the area as she would. She’d been asking questions and writing notes. “She would have looked for a place to sit and write.” He crossed the tunnel and felt along the wall. “That spot doesn’t look comfortable enough.”
“She’d been writing just fine while we walked.”
“But you left her here, and she would have wanted to jot down everything she saw.” He squinted at the edge of his light circle.
“A niche is carved out of the wall up yonder. Could be she walked there.”
“Go.” Harte dogged the man’s heels for about ten feet to a curved spot with a rickety chair. Keeping his head level, he dropped to a crouch but from this angle he couldn’t study the floor. Moving the lantern near the ground, he spotted where the high points of the tunnel floor were swept clean in places. “She was here…and she went that way.”
“Why? That’s the opposite direction from where she came.”
That fact wouldn’t have deterred Thora. “Not dealing with whys right now. I’m following clues.” Using his training provided him with a purpose again. After several turns, he shone the light on stones with a layer of dust. He’d lost the trail. “Back up. I missed something.”
Walking backward, he scrutinized every inch of the tunnel floor until he spotted a wooden board with the top swept clean from the hems of her skirts. He exhaled a pent-up breath. “Where does that lead?” He held the lamp into the opening. A second board lay along the wall.
“Abandoned tunnel. That’s why the boards are there. But usually four or five boards are used to close off an area.”
“I can see where she stepped into this tunnel. I can feel air on my cheek. Does this tunnel end in an exit?” The miner’s answer didn’t come so Harte turned and held up the lamp. “Well?”
“I’ve never worked this section. It was closed off before my time.” He shrugged. “Maybe I should go back and grab the plat.” He turned to leave.
Too much wasted time. “I’m going forward.” Harte stepped into the tunnel and spotted recent digging. “Hey, MacPherson, come look at this.” He held the lamp close and a golden stripe glowed.
The man ran over and bent down. “Would you look at that. I don’t think Simms or Johnson assigned anyone to work this location.” MacPherson knelt in front of the hole and ran his hand over the gold vein.
“Are you saying thieves could have been here?” Harte’s calm at finding the trail disappeared. Standing, he held the lamp high, wanting to bellow Thora’s name to let her know help was coming. But if she’d run into these miscreants then him calling out might jeopardize her safety. If she’s still alive. A knot landed in his gut. Killing someone in a mine is too easy.
“Is that a wad of paper?”
Harte snatched up the ball and spread it flat. A corner of a piece of paper with a single loop like from a ‘g.’ Thora had left a clue. Resourceful and compassionate.
After tucking the wad into his pocket, he moved forward. Although Harte had to bend over almost to half his height, he walked as fast as he could, gun drawn, following the scent of fresh air.
Every so often, he held the lantern low, searching for more paper wads. Even though he found none, Harte knew he was on the right path.
Thankfully, around the next corner, gray light beckoned. An exit. Hearing no voices, he set down the lantern, removed his cap, and blew out the lamp, before creeping forward.
Crouched in the shadow of the three-foot hole, he surveyed the area, seeing a rocky trail. All he could hope was that no one lay in wait for someone to exit here.
When Harte determined the area was clear, he dove through and rolled to the side, pressing his back against the mountain. He looked in several angles to listen for the scuffle of a boot sole on a rock or the rustle of a branch being moved, but he heard only birds.
About to ease his body up to a stand, he spotted a patch of blue under a nearby bush. A rectangular journal with the gilt initials TLA. Thora wouldn’t willingly part with her notebook.
He snatched up the blue journal and flipped through the pages. The last one had a drawing in the middle of the page of a rock with arrows.
Harte held the book closer and saw tiny letters under the arrows.
Abducted. 2 men. 1 tall. 1 gap toothed.
His skin chilled. The print blurred then sharpened. Thora at the mercy of thieves. He sagged against the mountain, struggling to pull air into his cramped chest.
At least, she’s alive. After a moment, he scrubbed a hand over his face and reholstered his gun.
Think, Renwyck. Thieves would need a way to leave fast. Where would they have tied their horses? Not too far from the entrance.
He walked in widening arcs with the escape hole as the center. On the third pass, he found disturbed dirt and a pile of manure. A twig poked into the center showed the droppings were fresh.
Moving back to the base of the mountain, he studied the trail for hoot prints. As soon as he spotted the most recent sets, Harte jogged away from the front of the mine. He’d heard of a back way off the mountain but he’d never explored it.
Ahead, a large boulder forced the trail to angle wide and he slowed. Pressing his chest to the rock, he leaned his head around the edge to inspect the area. Something hit the boulder above his head, and he ducked, drawing his gun. But he hadn’t heard the shot. He glanced around.
A rock rolled into dry leaves a couple feet away, crinkling them.
Most thieves he’d tracked used guns. “Thora?” He stood and inched around the boulder, scanning the underbrush.
“Oh, Harte, you came. I’m tied to a tree.”
For a moment, he closed his eyes and let out a breath. Her quivery voice came from his right, and he stepped off the trail. “Keep talking, sweetheart, so I can find you.”
“We’ve got to warn Michael that thieves found a back way into his mine.”
Thora, the brave. From the volume of her voice, she was close by. Breathing deep he hoped to get his fear under control before he found her.
Harte wove through dried berry bushes and small trees until, through the evergreen branches, he spotted a flash of her red hair through the evergreens. He moved to see her more closely and paused behind a bushy juniper. Then he took a final deep breath and looked her over, searching for injuries.
Dirty and disheveled, Thora was still beautiful. Ropes criss-crossing her chest, she sat with her back against the tree, her legs out straight in front of her. The ground near her right hand was scraped in long stripes, and several rocks piled together. A crumpled handkerchief lay nearby. She’d worked that arm free from the bindings, removed her gag, and found a way to defend herself.
He walked forward, shaking his head as he moved. “You sure are hard on your clothes, lady.”
Her head turned in his direction, and she smiled. Tendrils of hair hung loose along her cheeks. She narrowed her gaze. “This time, Mister Renwyck, I do believe you were following me.”
“That I was, Miss Alviss.” He lowered himself to the ground so he faced her and braced a hand at her opposite hip. From inside his boot, he pulled a knife and slashed the rope. “And from now on, I think I’ll keep you real close.”
Eyes wide, she searched his face, her lips parted.
As he leaned forward, Harte watched her eyes light and eased closer to press his mouth to hers, finding warmth in places he’d been cold for so long. He cradled the back of her head, letting her know with
his kisses how much she meant to him. he gave thanks for her safety and her love. The knowledge that he’d found the woman who fit just right in his arms seeped into his very being.
Epilogue
The Grand Palace Hotel
Helena, Montana Territory
Sitting on a velvet sofa in a fancy hotel room, Thora tore away the wrapping from a package and displayed the latest edition of The Oceanside Library dated November 26, 1887. The movement turned her left hand so the ring inset with a small diamond flashed in the chandelier light. Smiling, she held up her hand and traced a finger over the setting.
She and Harte had to wait until Reverend Norton made his regular visit to Morgan’s Crossing, but the impromptu wedding had been a joyous occasion. She’d been Harte’s wife for five weeks now and loved him more every day.
“Darling, come see what just arrived.” She brushed a hand over the front cover depicting a man on a rearing horse above two cowering men with bulging bags in each hand. The curving title read, “Marshal Ransom Wrestles a Fortune From the Hands of Gold Thieves.” Well, the sum hadn’t really been what most would call a fortune.
Harte emerged from behind the opened door of the armoire. “Do I have this tie straight?”
She turned and gazed at her handsome husband in his stylish suit. “Let me see.” Dressed as a rough-and-tumble deputy or as the head of security, Harte Renwyck cut a striking figure.
Thanks to a grateful Michael Morgan who’d spread the word of Harte’s work, job offers poured in from several of Helena’s millionaires. He now worked for the Leon Beauregard family coordinating protection for their mansion, both gold mines, and Mister Beauregard’s office building downtown.
Moving to his side, Thora evened the loops in his string tie and rested a hand on his chest then lifted up on tiptoes to kiss his clean-shaven chin. “You look very dashing.”
Chasing Adventure Page 13
