Ready or not, the G-man knew he had to act. He feared what may happen inside that mountain and he would have to throw caution to the wind and get in that mine opening. He couldn’t let them put that boy where he could never find him.
Quickly, he stripped off the army holster, tunic , and hat. He then off pulled his own leather vest and shoulder holster harness. Now in shirt sleeves, he tucked the pistol in his belt underneath his shirt. Then he crawled to the rear of the wagon and pitched forward over the edge and landed in the dirt between the two wagons. He turned himself around on his belly, deliberately trying to grind as much dirt and grime into his clothes, hands and face as possible. He them gripped the elbows of each shirt sleeve and tore the cloth. Hopefully he could make himself look like one of the workers and make his way across the compound.
With a prayer in his heart, Jack mustered his courage and rolled out from under the wagons and pushed himself to his feet, and started walking as if tired and unsteady on his feet. He had gone about six steps when a swarthy, big oaf of a man grabbed him by the collar and threw him face downward into the dirt. “Where do you think you’re going?” The man growled and slapped his whip across Jack’s broad back.
“Water. I need water.” Jack croaked looking up under his arm that he held across his face as if for protection from the lash, but actually hiding his face.
“You’ll get water when I say,” The guard bellowed. He lashed Jack’s back twice more, ripping the shirt each time and cutting the skin, letting blood flow. Clayton’s disguise as a worker slave was now perfect; beaten and dirty like all the rest. “Now get up on that pile and get to work.”
Jack scrambled to all fours and was practically crawling up the mountainside, churned soil and rock slipping beneath his feet until he reached the top of the first level of digging. A half dozen slaves wielded picks and shovels chipping away at the earth. Another guard on this level greeted Clayton with another lash of his whip. Jack fell to the ground and rolled next to another worker lying flat on his on back “Get that shovel.” The guard ordered pointing to the man lying there. “And get to work!”
Jack rolled over and looked at the man. He held a shovel clutched in his hands across his chest, but didn’t move. His eyes were glazed and empty staring blankly into the sun directly above. Flies were buzzing around the dead man’s open mouth and his stiff body was giving off a stench.
Quickly, as if fearing for his life, Jack jumped to his feet, gripping the shovel handle and pulling it loose from the death grip. He plunged it into the dirt and started to dig, shoveling dirt into an ore car. He furiously shoveled, keeping up with the other workers as if he were actually one of them. What now? He had to reach the next level and enter the tunnel and he could not afford to waste time. The guards were ever vigilant and if he made his move, it would be in full view all the time.
As he worked, he watched the elevator platform descend from above. There were three men aboard. He recognized one man right away. It was Latrell. The winch halted and the platform came to rest below. Latrell and his companions stepped off the platform and walked away.
Clayton kept working, watching and waiting . A little later, he saw Latrell returning to the platform. He climbed aboard and released a lever which put the platform in motion and start to ascend upward.
The platform had lifted almost three quarters of the way up to the first level when a blast from the northeast tunnel shook the ground. Though explosions were the order of the day, the blasts did tend to distract workers and guards momentarily. The rising platform swung from side to side, reeling with the impact of the blast. Almost without thought, Clayton took advantage of the distraction and ran toward the cable shaft way of the approaching platform. “Hey! Get back there!” A guard shouted, spreading his arms to hold Jack back.
CRAAAAK! The G-Man’s shovel clanked against the guard’s face with a tremendous blow. The guard fell back, his face a bloody mess, Clayton’s shovel landing on top of his writhing body as he discarded it and dove for the platform cables. A hail of bullets flew over his head as he dived into the air space above the platform.
He landed with a thud onto the platform, wrapping his arms around Latrell’s buckskin clad body and pinning his arms down at his sides. Latrell was already gripping his pistol and had it half out of its holster when the G-Man’s grip prevented him from drawing it completely. “What the….?” Latrell stammered with a grunt, not yet fully reacting to the sudden surprise action. The platform, still rising, swung violently back and forth from the impact and struggle onboard.
Bullets crashed into the platform cage framing. Splinters spat into Latrell’s face as Jack spun him around in front of him, using him as a shield. Latrell realizing the danger from his own men screamed. “Hold your fire! For God’s sake, stop! You’re liable to hit me.” The firing slowed and then ceased as the platform reached the next level. Jack kicked his foot against the release lever and the platform jerked to a sudden halt. He backed off the platform, dragging Latrell with him and backing into the mouth of the tunnel.
Three feet into the darkness of the tunnel, Clayton spun Latrell around and shoved him face first into the rock wall, the impact stunning him and forcing him to release his hold on the pistol butt. Jack released his bear hug hold, pulled the pistol from Latrell’s holster and jammed the hard barrel into the side of his neck. “You’ll live as long as you do as I say.” Jacked whispered in Latrell’s ear. “Now, turn around.” Jack pulled him back from the wall, practically turning him around, himself.
Latrell, head bent, glared up from under his bushy brows. Pain and rage roaring in those dark pupils. “Clayton,” He grunted. “I should have known.” Then added. “You’re the one who is going to die G-Man.”
“Maybe so,” Clayton acknowledged. “But you will die with me. I promise.” He shoved Latrell forward ahead of him into the tunnel. “You’re taking me to the others, understand?” He pressed the gun barrel deeper into Latrell’s neck. “Now move.”
Slowly they progressed deeper into the tunnel, the only light coming from torches at varying distances along the tunnel walls. There seemed to be no one else in the tunnel. Obviously, this was not a working shaft, for there were no workers or guards. Wherever Thorpe and his companions had gone, it must have been far enough into mountain, that they did not hear the ruckus outside. They had reached a fork in the tunnel where it branched out in two opposite directions, when a horde of guards clamored through the mine opening, firing high into the tunnel ceiling. Obviously, they didn’t want to hit Latrell, but by firing they might be able to warn the bosses that there was trouble.
The G-man spun Latrell again, holding him in front of him and backing up. “Where are they? Which way?” Jack demanded. Latrell nodded toward the right.. The guards continued to advance, weapons ready, but holding fire.
Jack fired twice into the mellee. Two men fell. The others panicked and retreated. Jack backed into the left branch, dragging Latrell with him. Surely, the gunfire had alerted his adversaries by now and they would be rushing to see what the trouble was. Jack strained his eyes to see movement coming from the right branch. Strained his ears, listening for some sound. So intent was he that he did not hear nor detect movement behind him. As he backed further into the branch, he felt his back pressing against hard steel. “Hold it right there, Jack.” Clayton recognized Bert Fleming’s voice. “Now let him go and hand me the gun.”
Jack froze. The hackles on the back of his neck bristled. He jammed the gun muzzle deeper into Latrell’s flesh. “Uh..uh.” Jack answered. “I’ll kill your man, here.”
“Go ahead,” Fleming chided. “We don’t need him.”
“What are saying, Bert?.” Latrell babbled angrily. “Don’t let him kill me.”
The guards had now regrouped and came rushing into the tunnel, halted in front of Clayton and Latrell, rifles pointed directly at the two men. It would be useless to fight now. With a sigh of defeat, Jack released his hold on Latrell, stepped back and held his hands up, letting the pisto
l fall limply hanging by his trigger finger in the trigger guard. Bert promptly plucked it from him as Latrell turned to face him and smashed his big brutish fist into the G-Man’s face. Fleming stepped to the side and let Clayton’s body splatter against the hard rock floor of the tunnel as he sunk into the darkness of semi unconsciousness.
****
Chapter Nineteen
Trapped
Death Rides the Black Hills: A Frontier G-Man Novel Page 18
