Flames of silver, p.16
Flames of Silver, page 16
Mason knew how to seal the deal.
“Having so many of those, well, shall we say uncouth, gentlemen crowding in with the representatives of the largest mines is certainly troublesome. I can remove that problem.” He ran fingers over his white suspenders. Doing this filled him with confidence that communicated to Bronfeld. Who was a savior of Virginia City and who was merely a banker?
“I’ll let the tellers know, Mr. Mason. Yes, a fine idea. I’m glad you volunteered.” Bronfeld smiled wanly. “That’s kudos for your work with the fire brigade, too, of course.”
“Of course. Thank you.” Mason made a point of vigorously shaking the president’s hand in full view of the tellers. He had sealed his presence in such a way that delivering Duggan’s hoard wouldn’t be a problem. The old miner could remain at his mine, guns cocked, waiting for the invasion of thieves he vowed were after him and his silver. Considering that claim jumpers already stalked Duggan, such an armed presence might not be out of the question.
He left the bank and found himself caught in a turbulent swirl of men on horses, others on foot waving six-shooters around and a general roar that deafened him. Mason wished he had his own six-gun, though another pistol added to the crowd might be just the push needed to tip everyone into violence.
“What’s going on?” Mason shouted the question to a man waving a rifle in the air but who looked less het up than others.
“They stopped hiring.”
It took Mason a few seconds to understand. The offer to pay a hundred dollars for a month’s time guarding the silver shipment had drawn a steady stream of men. Being this close to the actual shipment had produced a flood of latecomers. From the sound of their chants, they demanded to be hired.
Mason edged away and circled the knot of men. Marshal Benteen and two deputies did their best to disperse the crowd. The lawman finally shinnied up a lamppost and signaled his deputies to fire in the air. Both men came close to emptying their guns before the crowd settled down to listen.
“I got news for you all,” Benteen shouted. He clung to the post with both hands, and his boots scrabbled for traction. He was a funny-looking figure, but he faced down a dangerous crowd. Still, Mason found himself thinking the marshal was in a position to take away his job of climbing telegraph poles with the skill he showed clinging to the lamp. “The jobs are all gone. Wells Fargo has hired all the guards they need. Now get on out there, have a drink, find other jobs. There’s plenty of mines looking for miners.”
The crowd turned ugly. This wasn’t what they wanted to hear. A hundred dollars riding all day in the saddle for a month was better than filling their lungs with rock dust for thirty dollars earned monthly from fourteen-hour days, six days a week underground.
“Don’t make me start throwing you in jail. What’s that get you?”
“You’re in cahoots with them thieves, Marshal,” someone shouted. “They’re the crooks. Aren’t they?”
The man rousing the crowd’s ire got no farther. A deputy slugged the man with a drawn six-shooter. The agitator dropped to his knees. Before he uttered another word, the deputy slugged him even harder. This laid him out on the ground. The deputy stepped over the fallen dissenter, straddling him and pointing his six-gun at the man.
“Don’t you go making this uglier than it already is,” the marshal shouted. “Disperse. Get out of here. I don’t want to see any of you buried in the potter’s field downhill from here.”
The deputies worked to shove any would-be ringleader away. Mason was more interested in a half-dozen men at the edge of the crowd. All of them carried long guns or sawed-off shotguns. From the way their eyes danced around, they’d come into any fray on the side of the law. But they didn’t have badges. Mason wondered if Wells Fargo had authorized use of the men already hired to shepherd the silver to protect the bank before the shipment.
Mason perked up when Emma Longview made her way through the crowd to its far side to face a tall, thin man with a hatchet face, scraggy beard, and eyes and nose like an eagle. His clothing carried more dust than could be expected from someone on the trail for a week. Mason tried to see him as a miner but “gunman” kept popping up as more likely from the way he stood, held his gun, missed nothing around him.
Emma Longview moved close to him and spoke rapidly. The man shook his head, causing Emma to react sharply. She drove her index finger into his chest and pressed him against the bank wall. Mason tried to hear what she said, but the sounds of the protesting crowd breaking up muffled her words. He bounced from one man to another to go to Emma, but by the time he got there, she was gone and the hawklike man was rounding up a half-dozen henchmen to leave.
Mason watched them march off. His curiosity burned like a fire. What was Emma Longview’s connection to these men? She wasn’t in the least cowed by them. In fact, she seemed to order them around. But those orders escaped Mason. If anything, they had been ready to come to Marshal Benteen’s aid if the crowd had gotten out of control. From their clothing and dusty condition, they were miners and not interested in signing on as guards.
But they carried their weapons like they knew how to use them.
Mason wasn’t able to piece any of it together. The only way to settle it was to find Emma Longview and ask. A smile came to his lips. Finding Miss Longview was worth the effort, no matter what.
“Marshal! Can I have a word with you?” Mason ran to catch up with the lawman. Benteen’s two deputies had roughed up the man in the crowd, dunked him in a water trough and then sent him stumbling on his way. When Mason called to the marshal, the deputies rested their hands on the butts of their shooting irons.
“What do you want, Mason?” The marshal took him in with a quick glance. Mason thought a hint of admiration went with the appraisal. He made sure his belt buckle was seen by all three lawmen.
“You did a good job back there calming down the crowd.”
“Tell the mayor. Maybe he’ll pony up last week’s pay. He’s late with it.” Benteen started away again. Mason matched the lawman’s long stride. At least he had been at this altitude and was fit enough now not to gasp as he exerted himself.
“The men lined up against the bank wall. Who were they? They were ready to come to help you out, if you’d needed them.”
Benteen looked at Mason and sneered.
“That more of your fairy tales? There’s nobody else in this town who’ll come to my aid. In fact, I lost another deputy only this morning. He was about the final one hired onto the posse guarding the silver shipment.”
“I was thinking they might be Pinkertons hired by Wells Fargo. Or part of the guards from the shipment.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” Benteen walked a few more steps, then said, “I’m usually the last to know, but if they were Pinks, your boss Ammer would have twigged to it from ’grams and told me. Don’t you go spreading that around or I’ll see he fires you so fast your head’ll spin.”
Mason had wondered how secure any telegram coming into Virginia City was. His boss at least kept the news held close to his chest unless the marshal needed to know. That made Mason feel a tad better. But nothing sent along the wires was secure because a man had to send it and another had to decipher the code and see that the written ’gram was delivered.
“Have you spotted anybody trying to set a new fire?”
Benteen stopped dead in his tracks and spun on Mason. He grabbed a double handful of Mason’s coat and lifted the shorter man onto his toes.
“I warned you about saying things like that. You go around scaring people and they start shooting first and thinking about it later. Texas Jack warned me you had this bee in your bonnet. I don’t care if you are a fireman—you go spreading rumors like that and cause panic and I’ll tar and feather you.”
“I think I saw the firebug when he was setting fires earlier. And there’s something I can’t explain.”
Benteen dropped him down and thrust his face within inches. Mason wanted to tell him his razor was nicked and left tiny cuts and patches of beard, but he didn’t. He realized everything snapped into focus for him because he was afraid not only of the lawman but the accusation he had to make.
“The other night. That fire. I was on fire watch and blew my whistle, but Fire Brigade No. 2 got there while I was still giving the alarm. There wasn’t any way they could have reached the fire that fast, not coming uphill with a pumper wagon.”
“You’ve got something else to say?”
“Marshal, I saw a fireman setting fires. I think it’s someone in No. 2 trying to burn Virginia City to the ground.”
“Who was it?”
“I only saw his belt buckle. It . . . it was a fireman’s brass. I didn’t see his face, but he was setting the fires.”
“So we’ve got a firebug fireman, eh? How do I know it’s not you? You came to town and got accepted mighty fast. Most gents take a year to even get noticed. The lure of men you don’t know buying you drinks and women you get to know better all nuzzling up against your flank. That’s more than most men could resist. All you have to do is drop a lucifer and whoosh!” The marshal clapped his hands together and lifted his hands like rising smoke.
“There’s no reason for me to tell you if I was the one. Besides, the fires started before I got here.”
“Get lost, Mason. Don’t stir up any more trouble, and keep out of my sight. I don’t give two hoots and a holler if you’re a fireman or the owner of the Ophir Mine! You’re wasting my time.” Marshal Benteen shoved Mason back and stormed off. His deputies trailed away after him. One looked back at Mason, said something to his partner that made them both snicker, then they rushed to catch up with the marshal.
Mason felt the currents flowing all around him in Virginia City, and he had no idea what any of it meant. If he didn’t figure it out by himself, no one else would.
It was time for his fire watch, and for the next two hours he stewed over all he had seen. None of it made a whit of sense. None of it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Just go on and shoot me. Put me out of my misery, you old galoot.” Morgan Mason rose from behind the bullet-nicked boulder and lifted his hands. If Blue Dirt Duggan noticed the six-shooter strapped to his waist in a brand-spanking-new holster, it might be over for him. He stepped away and worked his way up the rocky slope toward the mouth of the Mira Nell Mine.
“That you, Mason?”
“You know it is. Put the rifle down. Put away all your guns or I’ll turn around and go back to town.”
“You can’t do that!” Duggan hobbled from the mine, using the rifle as a crutch. Mason worried that enough dirt clogged the barrel that it would blow up on Duggan’s face if he tried firing without first cleaning the rifle. “You promised!”
“And you promised you wouldn’t take potshots at me when I came with the wagon. There. See it? Down by your cabin? I even rented two mules like you asked, though I cannot see why. You don’t have enough silver for me to take to the bank.”
“Are them real sturdy mules? Able to pull a quarter ton or better?”
Mason lowered his hands and stared at the miner. The blow to the head had left him a mite loco. Considering how he had been before getting his skull bashed in, he hadn’t changed all that much. But the ring of real concern in the old miner’s voice made Mason question his own sanity.
“You’ve got more than a quarter ton of silver to transport? That’s nigh on five hundred pounds.”
“Well, good for you, boy. You weren’t asleep in the third grade after all.”
Mason finished the hike to the mouth of the mine. He sank to a rock and studied Duggan. The old miner looked about the same as he had a couple days ago when Mason had visited him and agreed to transport what silver had been mined here.
“Most of the mines are signing over a hundred pounds or less—lots less. The two at the Lost Cause said they had close to ten pounds, and that sounded like a fortune to me.”
“It would. You think small, boy.” Duggan used the rifle as a support to sink to the edge of a turned-over, corroded ore cart. From the rust stains on the seat of his trousers, he sat here often. “Why didn’t you believe me that the good ole Mira Nell was the richest mine along Calabasas Creek? The Ophir and some of them company mines claw out more than I do, but I don’t have a dozen floors and a winch-powered elevator for all my miners, either.”
“They’ve opened up close to twenty levels at the Ophir, or so they tell me.”
“They, they, they. Go on and say it outright. You mean Delahunt.” Duggan spat at a lizard and missed. The lizard scurried away to find a better rock for sunning.
“We have to be ready if there’s a fire in the mine. Those are hard to fight, or so they tell me.” Mason bit his lip to quiet himself.
“If there’s a fire down there, more ’n miners will die. Anybody damn fool stupid enough to go down to put out the fire will die. Did Captain Delahunt tell you that?”
“The Yellow Boy fire,” Mason said, recollecting all the captain had said. “That was a bad one.”
“They’re all bad ones. The miners slosh around in knee-deep hot water, then hit a gas pocket. The damp fills the mine, chokes the men, then explodes. I don’t have that trouble since I don’t have to dig that deep.”
“You just have the roof caving in on your head,” Mason said. “I don’t have much time off. I promised Mr. Ammer to deliver a passel of telegrams later on. Being only four days from the wagon train shipment leaving, there’s a lot of telegraphic traffic between here and the San Francisco bankers.”
“Listen to you, spouting all that lingo. ‘Telegraphic traffic.’ What else can you try to dazzle me with?”
Mason heaved to his feet and said, “Your silver for the shipment. Now. I’m heading back right away, whether it’s loaded or not. And you’re going to pay me for renting that wagon and those mules, two of them balky, cantankerous mules!”
Duggan clutched his rifle to his chest and looked around as if a million robbers were thundering down on him.
“You hear that?” He cocked his head to one side.
Mason’s hand went to the six-shooter in its holster, but he didn’t draw. Instead, he pressed his hand down hard against the rock where he sat.
“Earthquake?”
“Blasting. Somebody’s doing some powerful blasting.” Duggan looked back toward town and used his rifle to point. “There. Behind Gold Hill.”
“There’s no reason for anyone to be blasting now. Everyone’s anxious to get their silver to the bank,” Mason said.
“Just because we’re sending off our silver doesn’t mean anybody’s giving up on finding more and digging it from the ground.”
“For the next shipment,” Mason mused. “That makes sense,” he agreed. “Ship the silver and smelt more. Only the smallest mines have reason to shutter now.”
“The ones what with a single miner working the claim,” Duggan said. “At the Mira Nell, that’s me. And you’re the one carting my precious metal into town. Are you sure it’ll be safe?”
Mason hesitated. Freighting the silver into Virginia City was the riskiest part of the trip to San Francisco. If a half-dozen road agents jumped him, he’d have a fight on his hands he wasn’t likely to survive. Once in Bronfeld’s vault and then onto wagons bound for San Francisco, there was an army of men ready, willing and able to defend it to the death. The largest outlaw gang Mason had ever heard of hardly numbered twenty. That was a five-to-one superiority for the guards. And after the ruckus in town, Wells Fargo might have hired a few more of the crowd to help protect the shipment.
More than a hundred men could hold off any attack possible. There weren’t enough Paiutes in the territory, and why would they bother attacking? Silver meant little to them, but to road agents? This was where a full couple companies of gunmen mattered most. Even with Gatling guns and military determination, the fight would be too costly to contemplate.
But between Duggan’s mine and town? Mason fingered his six-shooter. He had been practicing and was good enough to hit what he aimed at now. Usually. In an all-out gun battle, though, he’d be overwhelmed.
He considered asking Duggan to ride back with him. The miner sported enough armaments for a squad of men. Then he discarded the idea. Duggan was as likely to shoot him as he was an outlaw. Better to load the silver and get it back to town as fast as possible. The less time he spent on the road, the less chance an outlaw gang had of robbing him.
“Do you have the silver ready to load?” Mason wasn’t looking forward to the work required, even for stowing a few pounds.
“Got it stashed all around. Some’s under the floor of my cabin. Got another bag hid out in the shed. Then—”
“Let’s start with those,” Mason said, resigning himself to a long afternoon of treasure hunting. “I’ll dig up the cabin floor. You can root around in the shed.” He suspected Duggan had hidden it where the horse dung accumulated the fastest.
“Do you think it’ll be all right for me to leave the mine unguarded? I don’t want them varmints sneaking in and stealing anything from me.” Duggan’s guns clanked as he swayed on his one good leg.
“We’ll check every now and then. Come on. Let me help you down off the hill.” Mason let Duggan lean heavily on him all the way to the cabin, where he made the miner show him the spot where the silver was buried.
“I’ll get on over to the shed. There’s a hoe leaning in the corner you can use to dig up my silver.” Duggan reluctantly made his way to the shed, glancing back over his shoulder several times to make sure Mason wasn’t hightailing it.
With a sigh, Mason set to work scraping away the cabin’s dirt floor. He’d gone down a foot and started wondering if Duggan had forgotten where he had buried the trove. Then he hit a piece of wood. Digging away the lid surprised him. This was a goodly sized crate. When he pried off the top, his eyes went wide.
