Flames of silver, p.18
Flames of Silver, page 18
Mason looked past the three men huddled together against the cascading dust uphill to the mouth of a mine. Dust still rolled out from the explosion deeper in the mountain.
“We’ll make it just fine,” the hawk-nosed man assured his partners. “The assay showed less granite and softer rock.”
Mason wanted to shout that neither the granite nor “softer rock” held one speck of silver or gold. He jumped when a half-dozen men came from inside the mine. They waved to the trio in the road.
“Let’s see if we really are on schedule,” the gravel-voiced man said. He hiked uphill, hawk-nose and the other man following. They discussed something that Mason caught only a word here and there about how many horses each team should use.
They meant the wagons parked behind them, and the horses were sturdy enough to pull a fully laden wagon.
He wiped dust off his face. The men had the look of road agents to him. They weren’t miners. But how were they intending to hijack the silver shipment due next week? Mason considered every speculation he had heard or thought. If only a single wagon was cut out of the silver caravan, a lot of men would be very, very rich. But stealing a half ton or more of silver and running away with it wasn’t possible, not with a hundred armed guards ready to give chase. If the wagon was brought up here and somehow hidden away in the mine they blasted, then the mouth closed, they’d have all the time in the world to split up and scatter to the four winds. In a week or month or even a year, they returned and dug out their precious metal.
Stealing the silver wasn’t a problem if they had a big enough gang and enough guards helped out. Getting away with it was the problem. This scheme made sense to Mason. He worried that Emma Longview was the mastermind. He was quite taken with her, and she had shown interest in him, too.
But was it only to pump him for blasting techniques? She had perked up when he’d told her he was a geologist. Meeting her was something of a blur of conflicting sensations, but he was sure she had said she was a geologist, too. His experience had been in surveying and assaying mines across the Bay. There were many other things a geologist studied. Emma’s expertise might not be in mining or assay, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t knowledgeable about the strength of various rocks, how they laid down in strata and even the crystals formed in the rocks themselves.
Mason brushed himself off and cautiously went up the trail to the open mine. The road that had been cut this far was cleared for a full-sized wagon. They intended to load the rock in and cart it off. He reached the mine and pressed flat against the mountainside, listening hard. Voices echoed along the mine shaft, amplified so he made out what they said as clearly as if they stood in front of him.
“We need to sweep aside the loose rock and extend the tracks.”
“What we need is another crew,” complained another.
“Your share has already been reduced twice doing that,” snapped the hawk-nosed man. “What we take out of here won’t be worth spit if we hire more miners.”
“That’s not a problem,” the gravelly voice man declared. He laughed harshly. “We got to worry now about too many of the crew getting drunk and bragging about how rich they’ll be.”
“We don’t want anyone cutting in on our silver,” hawk-nose said.
“You’re right, but if you want to clean off the floor and get tracks down for carts, get them back from town. They’re not doing anything but what you worry about most, getting drunk and running off at the mouth.”
“We need them guarding the bank,” hawk-nose insisted. “If they catch that firebug, we can get them all back here. We don’t dare take a chance of a fire getting out of control and burning down the bank.”
Mason frowned. He tried to make sense of what he overheard. Miners supposed to be working in this mine patrolled Virginia City doing his job as fire watch? Chancing being seen, he entered the mine and fell to his knees. He winced. The bloody knees almost caused him to betray himself by calling out in pain. Mason dropped to hands and knees and wiped away the fresh layer of dust blown from the depths of the mine.
Iron rails vanished into the dark distance. They intended to run ore carts. To get rid of the dross? The assay denied the existence of silver or any ore with silver-bearing deposits. They ran a full-scale mining operation to mine . . . granite? That didn’t make any more sense than sending a flock of miners into town to stop the firebug.
At least someone else believed such an arsonist existed. That relieved Mason a little. He stood and braced himself against the wall. A cascade of rock and debris created a small hill on his boots. In panic, he looked at the roof. They had blasted the mine shaft but had done nothing to brace the walls or overhead. Continued use of explosives would cause the entire mine to collapse on their heads because they had failed to do the simplest shoring.
The voices from deeper in the mine grew louder. Mason kicked away the rocks and dust and beat a retreat. He popped from the stuffy mine out into the fresh night air. A quick look around showed a place to hide. He dived into a narrow gully and lay still, fingers crossed that the exiting men overlooked him.
They argued over details that made no sense to him as they made their way downhill to the wagons. Mason propped himself up on his elbows, then sat up when he saw a banked campfire. They shielded the fire from the main road but left the side toward the mine open.
“They don’t want anyone traveling to Virginia City to see them,” he mused. This was yet another fact piled onto a heap that made no sense—or very little. When the aroma of brewing coffee drifted up to him, he knew they were settling in for the night. Coffee, a meal, bedding down.
He stood and slowly moved to the mine shaft. With a quick spin he entered the mine and faced the darkness. Mason slid one foot ahead and followed it with the other until he found the shelf with miner’s candles and a few lucifers in a metal tin. He stuffed several half-used candles in his pocket and lit the only new one. Yellow light flared and momentarily dazzled him. When his eyes adjusted, he followed the tracks deeper into the mine.
Walking slowly and steadily, he studied the walls and the rock strata. For the first fifty feet or so, the rock was soft and easily dug away. Then the formation turned harder. A hundred feet deeper he reached the solid granite that had been such a concern to the men clawing their way into the hillside. He walked faster, hunting for any hint of blue dirt.
“Nothing,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Why so much effort to drill the tunnel?”
After the candle began burning down and spilling hot wax over his fingers, he switched to a half-used stub. As it flared, his eyes went wide. The tunnel entered a broad fault. No digging or blasting was necessary here. Miners had widened the crack. The ore cart rails still stretched ahead.
Mason almost ran getting through this section. The crevice narrowed, and a granite plug showed where the most recent blasting had occurred. He slowed and saw the boundary between the granite and softer rock.
And nowhere along the shaft had he seen a speck of silver. There hadn’t even been quartz that might yield silver or gold.
Mason scooped up bits of rock and put them in his pockets. The miner’s candle gave enough light to see but hardly enough to closely examine the rock. He must have missed something important for them to put in so much work. Why dig all the way through the mountain just to hide a silver wagon cut out from the rest of the train? A few yards into the mountainside would have been enough to bury their ill-gotten gains.
Returning as fast as he could without falling down, Mason picked up chips of stone until his pockets bulged. He wasn’t sure he’d find anything at all. For all his nasty demeanor, Wilson at the assay office seemed to be competent enough. If his analysis showed common rock, then that’s what all this was.
Mason snuffed the candle and dropped it onto the shelf near the mine opening, then froze.
Voices. Coming back uphill from the camp toward the mine.
He touched his six-gun, but shooting his way out was a sorry tactic. He was in the mine. A million ideas jumbled in his head as hawk-nose and a voice he remembered all too well neared. Frozen in place, he awaited to be discovered.
CHAPTER TWENTY
He could run fast and try to leave the mine before they spotted him. But they were too close now. He had hesitated too long. Or gun them down when they silhouetted themselves against the mouth of the mine. Mason’s hand trembled as he touched his six-shooter. He might be able to cut down the hawk-nosed man, but not his companion.
Mason recognized the other voice.
He wasn’t able to shoot Emma Longview in cold blood.
A full frontal charge was out of the question. Fighting wasn’t in the cards. He’d be the one ventilated by every round in the gunman’s six-shooter if he stood his ground. There was only one thing to do. He turned and ran back into the mine. As he passed the ledge with the candles and matches, he scooped up more of each. Fumbling as he ran, he finally lit one candle. Its wan, flickering light was hidden by his body, but if he didn’t stay far enough ahead of those behind him, they’d see even a faint candle burning in the Stygian darkness.
Mason had studied the walls both entering and almost leaving. There wasn’t much in the way of a crevice to hide in. Not successfully. Most mines followed ore veins and wandered away from the straight central shaft. This one had drilled and blasted straight as an arrow into the mountain.
As much as the pair behind him seeing his candle, he worried he made too much noise as he ran. Everything, anything, could betray him. They unwittingly had him trapped. If he warned them of his presence, they wouldn’t even need to finish him off themselves. There were others in the camp to provide the firepower.
Mason plunged on. More than once, the candle almost blew out. Since he had one stub only a quarter as long as a new one, he had to replenish and use other candles.
He slowed once, trying not to gasp too loud. Blood pounded in his ears, but as his heart settled down, he heard Emma Longview and her henchman far behind him. Their words were indistinct as they whispered rather than spoke, but he knew the woman’s voice. And by now he recognized the hawk-nosed man’s as well. The only consolation he took was that they hadn’t brought others along with them. Clanking, rumbling noises smothered them entirely. He tried to figure what that sound was. Whatever it was, it was metallic and drowned out the two approaching.
Wild ideas of gunning down Emma’s companion and forcing her at gunpoint to leave with him filled his imagination. Once he got her back to Virginia City, he could sort out this mess and find what her role was. Somehow, he doubted her explanation would satisfy him. As much as the idea horrified him, he had to let Marshal Benteen figure it all out.
Only . . . only . . .
If he shot down the man with Emma and took her back to town, he’d be guilty of murder and kidnapping. And what crime did he accuse her of committing? There wasn’t anything she had done that would convince Benteen, nothing they could properly see, anyway.
Morgan Mason would be the criminal, not Emma or her companion.
This made him break stride and almost fall. He caught himself and scraped more skin, this time off his left palm. More cautiously he continued deeper into the mine, through the crevice and to the other side, where the granite plug had been blasted to gravel. He reached the end of the mine shaft and hunted for a hiding place. There wasn’t one, even with rubble from the blast piled against the end of the tunnel. Mason scrambled to the top, thinking he might burrow through to an open space beyond.
Solid rock.
He slid back down and sat, sweat beading his forehead. A rattling sounded that brought him to his feet. Holding the candle up high, he looked back along the tunnel in the direction of the approaching man and woman. An ore cart swayed along the tracks and came to a halt a few yards from him.
Mason pressed the candle against his chest, snuffing it out. Remembering where the cart stopped, he took three quick steps, banged into it and fell forward. He landed on his side inside the cart. Twisting about, he fought to get his six-gun from its holster, but he had landed so his entire body weight pinned his right arm down against the cart’s rusty metal bottom. He stopped struggling when Emma and the man neared.
“It worked just like you said,” hawk-nose said. “Should we repeat it?”
“This is closer to schist. It’s not as hard as granite.”
Mason held his breath. Over the edge of the cart appeared long, slender fingers. Emma’s. They slipped along the rusted edge as the woman went closer to the tunnel end.
The cart rocked as the man pressed between the cart and wall on the other side. Mason winced as a drop of hot wax spattered into his cheek. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. The man sidled past but didn’t look down.
“Look here, Slick,” Emma called. “This is what you need to do. I’ll mark the spots to drill.”
Mason almost cried in relief. The man pressed on and joined Emma. Slick?
“Do you think we’ll make it?”
“We have to,” she said. “I’ll get the survey equipment in here tomorrow and see.”
“You’re quite a peach, you know that?” Slick’s voice became husky. “That’s why I love you.”
“You’re just saying that.” Emma spoke with a hint of amusement.
“Who else could lay out a scheme like this, find men to do it?”
“Do you mean who else could find a man like you to help me with such an audacious scheme? I suppose that makes me special, doesn’t it, Slick?”
Mason swallowed hard when he heard them kissing. Moving painfully, a fraction of an inch with every jerk to reposition himself, he ended up on his back. His legs were doubled under him. No amount of effort brought him to a kneeling position. Aware that he might be seen, he reached up and caught the edges of the cart. He pulled hard and raised his head enough to look over the end of the cart toward the rock plug.
He blushed at what he saw as flickering candles cast shadows dancing in unison. He sank down and wondered what to do next. His six-gun was handy now, but what did he do after he got the drop on them?
He heard the rustle of Emma’s dress and the thud as Slick dropped his gun belt. The chance of the gunman drawing went away now. Mason held the upper hand, if he wanted. The question remained. What would happen after he leveled his six-gun at the pair?
Their sounds became more passionate. Mason rose once more and peered over the edge of the rusty ore cart. There was almost no chance they would hear him, even if he made some noise. It was now or never. He turned and flopped over the far end of the ore cart. Slithering like a snake, he dropped to the mine floor, got his feet under him and began creeping away like a spider. Only when he was in complete darkness did he slow and hunt for the candles and matches in his pocket.
Lighting the candle wasn’t much of a risk now. The ore cart hid him from the pair, if they’d notice anything at all going on around them. He turned his face away from the bright candle flame until his eyes adjusted to it. Then he started walking quickly, holding the candle close and at waist level to hide as much of the light as possible. After ten minutes of hiking, he breathed easier.
Wind slipping into the mine from outside caused his candle to sputter and dance about. He cupped his left hand and protected the flame. But Mason concentrated too much on the candle not being extinguished and not enough on watching where he went.
He almost collided with one of Slick’s partners.
“Watch where you’re going, will you?” The man shoved Mason back a step.
“Sorry,” he said. He blew out the candle to keep from revealing his identity.
“Wait.” A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Who’re you?”
“I was with Slick and”—Mason struggled to name the woman properly—“Miss Longview.”
“Who?”
“Slick and Emma,” he corrected, hoping this played a trump card in a deadly game.
“Oh, sure. Why’d you call her Longview?”
“That’s what she’s calling herself in town. I want to keep comfortable with it.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. I didn’t know that was what she called herself this time.”
Mason started past the man blocking the mine mouth and was again stopped.
“You didn’t answer who you are. I’ve never seen you around before. Are you one of the men they recruited in town yesterday?” The man rested his hand on his gun, ready to throw down and shoot.
“Dynamite,” Mason muttered. “I’m supposed to get into town and bring back more dynamite.”
“More? We got enough stashed to turn the whole mountain into pebbles.”
“The final blast, Emma said. She knows about these things. She told me what to fetch, and was specific about it.”
“She does know what she’s doing,” the man admitted, nodding in admiration. He relaxed and slid his hand away from his gun. Mason considered going for his own. The crazy notion vanished for the same reason he hadn’t held Emma and Slick at gunpoint. What was he supposed to do after they surrendered? Shoot them in cold blood? Taking prisoners was useful only if he had somewhere to lock them up right away.
“I’m riding to town right away, so I can be back before sunup.”
“Time’s running out for us, that’s for certain sure,” the man agreed. He paused and said again, “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“Emma said not to stand around lollygagging. You want to come into town and give me a hand? There’s going to be a ton of supplies to load.”
