Mason found himself taking to the man. He motioned for the barkeep to bring over two beers. They were dropped on the table and his silver dollar taken. When the man didn’t immediately reach for the second beer, Mason pointed.

  “Much obliged.” The giant of a man picked up the mug and drained it in one heroic gulp. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and put the empty down on the table. Mason vowed to never get into a drinking contest with him.

  “My big-city manners need to be honed, it seems. Weather’s nice, not a cloud to be seen. So, no rain anytime soon. Since I just breezed into town, I haven’t seen that pretty filly, but if you say so, I’m sure she’s quite a looker. Now, are there jobs to be had?”

  The man laughed again and said, “You didn’t mention the new strike.”

  “I don’t know where this Calabasas Creek is, but if you’re commenting on it, it must be spectacular.” Mason nursed his second beer and studied the man over the rim. “I’m sure I’d have been of real help. Besides being a chemist, I’m a fair geologist.”

  “Do tell.” The giant returned his appraising gaze. “Now it just might be I have need of a geologist. I got a rich strike to work, but the ore’s all scattered about inside the mine. Never seen the like before.”

  “So it’d be a good thing if a man knowledgeable about rock formations and how gold and silver form took a gander, it might just be possible to go straight for the metal and leave the dross for less capable miners?”

  “Something like that. I’d be willing to hire you, but I ain’t got much in the way of money.”

  “So paying me to look around won’t bring me much. Is that what you’re saying?” Mason hesitated, then asked, “How is it you came over, never asked about the weather or the new gal at the Crazy Eights and all the rest and assumed I’m the one to find you a mother lode?”

  “Some folks claim I’m gifted with second sight and just know things. Others say I got it from my first wife. She was Paiute. Or maybe Shoshone. She never was too specific about which, but she claimed her pa was a medicine man of great power. Some of that she inherited and maybe it rubbed off on me.”

  “First wife?”

  “She died of the flu in the winter of ’70. Been a cold seven years since, it has.” The man got a distant look in his eyes. “Never found her like again.” He snorted and spat inaccurately at a brass cuspidor by the bar. “Truth is, never found anyone else who’d have me. Not since. She was mostly blind, half-deaf and she’d got her nose cut off, so she couldn’t smell me. It’s hard to find a woman with all those qualities, believe you me.”

  Mason had to laugh. He had no idea if any of that was true, but the miner spun a good story.

  “I take it you’re the owner of the mine over on Calabasas Creek.”

  “I never said that I was. But that’s a decent strike. There’s going to be nigh on a million dollars in gold and silver clawed out of the ground around here this year. Might be the richest strike what ever was.”

  Mason caught his breath. Those numbers far exceeded the ones he’d heard in San Francisco that moved him to pull up stakes and come to Virginia City. Such wealth always left crumbs here and there. If he licked up just a few, he’d be rich.

  “Why did you come over to me like a fly to honey?” Mason wanted an honest answer.

  “Honey? You got a real high opinion of yourself, now, don’t you? When you’ve been in Virginia City longer, you won’t think honey at all but a pile of—”

  “Why?” Mason got the idea.

  “I picked up a report from Johnny Wilson and he was proud as punch that he had a couple shelves loaded with new chemicals for his assay work. It took some prodding, but you got mentioned along the way.”

  “Johnny? With spectacles? The assayer?”

  “News travels fast in a boomtown. Johnny Four-Eyes, I call him. But he spoke highly of you and your skills.”

  “I doubt that. What’d he say?”

  “You were a lowdown, no-account, thievin’ big-city skunk thinkin’ on cheatin’ honest folks.”

  “That was a recommendation?”

  The man chuckled. “You got a lot to learn. Whatever Johnny Four-Eyes says, is opposite to the truth. He’s always the odd man out at a square dance, he can’t hold his liquor and he thinks he’s about the smartest man in all of Virginia City. Two of them’s the Gospel truth.”

  “I can figure out which isn’t,” Mason said. “How much are you willing to spend on having a top-notch geologist like myself poke around Calabasas Creek and map out the veins?”

  The giant started to answer but was interrupted by the loud clanging of a bell. Every man in the saloon stiffened, then downed their drinks and ran for the door, knocking one another over in their rush to get outside.

  “What’s going on?” Mason half stood in reaction.

  “You come on, if you want to see. There’s a fire.” That was all the miner said as he kicked over his chair and ran for the street. He bowled over the men still in the doorway like they were skittles. Mason followed in his wake and burst outside. The smoky smell of metals being smelted was shrouded in cloying wood smoke. From the next layer of town downslope rose flames the like of which Morgan Mason had never seen in all his born days.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The strident fire bells deafened him. Morgan Mason turned from side to side and the alarms came from every direction. More than this, miners ran past, yelling at the top of their lungs. He followed one knot of men as they ran down the street. The doors to what he had thought was a barn were thrown open, revealing a fire engine. The men struggled into red shirts and pulled on leather helmets as they hitched up a team and pushed the engine into the street.

  It had been stark chaos up to this point. With a half-dozen uniformed firemen hanging on to the engine, the driver guided the team expertly past Mason to a crossing street. They slewed dangerously, took the corner and rolled downhill toward the fire. Behind them came a dozen more red-clad men carrying fire axes. Mason had seen cavalry troopers at the Presidio parade ground, moving in unison. Again the chaos evaporated. These men might not have been astride horses or even marching like troopers, but they moved as a single unit as they followed the fire engine down the slope.

  The flames licked upward and were hot enough to cause Mason discomfort. He protected his face from the rising conflagration and lit out after the firemen. He skidded and slipped as he went down the steep hill to the next level of Virginia City. A crowd had formed a bucket line to fill the fire engine’s tank. Two firemen worked feverishly on a boiler to build a head of steam. The tank filled about the time they got the steam engine coughing and choking out its fumes.

  Four firemen unfurled the hose from a large roller, hooked it into the pump and dragged the end forward. They braced themselves as the fire captain counted to five. When he shouted, “Five!” the valves were turned and spigots opened. At first a tiny trickle of water dripped from the end of the hose. Then pressure built and all four men struggled to hold the bucking snake. They fought it around so the water sprayed onto the ever-growing fire.

  From downhill, on the next lower level of Virginia City, came new fire alarms. The bells quieted as another fire engine struggled up the hill and pulled in beside the first.

  Mason thought the two fire captains would come to blows. They shoved and pushed and bumped bellies. The one arriving first pointed down the street to a lesser fire working to devour a structure that once had held a hardware store. He couldn’t hear over the roar of the fire but thought the two men were arguing over who got to extinguish the main fire.

  All the while, the bucket brigade continued to pass along water to fill the fire engine’s tank. Newly arriving men pushed him aside and took their place in the line. Mason considered doing the same, but the second fire crew gave up trying to horn in on the main fire and rolled away to tackle the hardware store fire. He followed them, thinking they needed his help more than the better-organized engine company valiantly advancing, using their spewing hose as a shield.

  The crowd dwindled as he trailed the second engine company. He marveled that they, too, were outfitted in uniforms like the first firemen. The only distinctive difference he saw was the large brass belt buckle each man sported. He couldn’t read the inscription but thought it spelled out Virginia City, possibly with the number of the engine company emblazoned on the center. Also, these firemen had brass studs pinned onto their suspenders. Some men had more, and two showed only a single large button. These had to be insignia or awards of some kind. The fire captain shouted out, “Put your back into it, men. Earn your medallion. Let’s whip that fire before it eats the whole town!”

  Mason stood back and watched. This company lacked the coordination of the first, but they still worked their hose into position and started spraying the flames. They either had filled their water tank before arriving or perhaps left it filled in case of such an emergency. Mason doubted that, because even the strong plow horses hitched to the engine would struggle hauling an already-filled tank engine up the slope from the lower part of the city.

  The fire built in intensity and drove him back. He shielded his face with his arm to keep his skin from blistering. How the firemen endured the heat was a mystery, but they did. The spray from the hose nozzle might partly protect them. He didn’t know.

  “Water. We need more water. Form a bucket brigade!” The fire captain exhorted the crowd watching to begin refilling the tank on the fire engine.

  Mason looked around for a bucket but saw none. A heavy hand pushed him forward. He stumbled, then regained his balance.

  “On the back of the engine. That’s where Fire Brigade No. 2 keeps the buckets. Grab one. The water’s back down the street.”

  The giant who had been on the point of offering him a job as geologist herded him forward, then reached a long arm past and took a bucket from the rear of the engine. A spotted dog barked and tried to herd them. The man behind Mason growled and returned the dog’s barks. The dalmatian backed off, tail between its legs, chastened.

  “That ole dog’s more bark than bite. Get on back.” The dog obeyed. He grabbed two buckets and handed one to Mason. “Get to it, old son, or the whole town’ll go up.”

  With that, the huge man spun and ran back down the street. Mason followed more slowly until he saw the pump and trough where the bucket brigade formed. He scooped up a full bucket and passed it along to the next man in time to turn and take another full bucket from his would-be employer. A dozen buckets were passed before a youngster ran back from the fire carrying three empty buckets.

  These were filled quickly but not before another towheaded boy of about ten ran past with more empty buckets. The two urchins provided the return buckets for the men to fill and pass along. Mason fell into the rhythm of taking the full bucket and twisting at the waist to pass his load along to the next man, then rotate back and do it all again. The fire roared, the steam engine huffed and puffed as it spewed forth extinguishing water and the normal sounds of a vibrant boomtown all faded away. Mason became part of a machine whose only purpose was to put out the dangerous fire.

  He passed along one bucket and turned back, only to find his potential benefactor was gone. No bucket waited for him. Rather than stop the line, Mason edged closer to the trough. At the other end a boy hardly old enough to shave worked the pump handle to keep the trough overflowing. Mason had buckets shoved into his hands by one of the young couriers. He took over the end of the line since the miner had disappeared. Mason didn’t begrudge him a momentary rest, but he had made himself scarce in the face of real danger from the fire.

  The smoke made it hard to see more than a few yards down the street, but Mason saw no trace of the man. Feeling deserted made Mason aware of how dog-tired he was. His arms ached and his belly muscles protested from the constant strain of hefting the heavy water-filled bucket and twisting around. He was used to more sedentary work. His hands were blistered, and tears ran down his cheeks from the smoke. He reached up to brush one away and his finger turned black from soot. For the first time he saw how the others around him looked. They were blackened and moved as if every muscle in their bodies hurt, too.

  That made him feel a mite better. But where had the miner gone?

  As he looked around, a cold knot formed in his stomach. The hardware store was a loss. Only blackened studs remained where once there had been walls. The roof had collapsed, and the only possible salvage from the store would be metallic. He knew heat did bad things to even tempered steel, sometimes turning it brittle. But sparks from the fire had flown through the air in both directions, not only back up the street toward the major blaze still raging in spite of the other engine company’s best effort, and farther along this street.

  He saw the miner in the door of an office where tiny fires danced on the roof. Other than this, the building was untouched.

  “Look out!” Mason called. His voice came out cracked and weak. He had inhaled too much smoke to be in full throat. He stepped out of the bucket brigade line toward the distant office. Squinting, rubbing his eyes clear of smoke and tears, he saw the miner hesitate to enter, then plunge forward just as the roof exploded in fierce flames.

  Mason tried to attract the attention of someone in the fire brigade. They were too occupied with the last traces in the hardware store. He heard the captain and two of his lieutenants arguing over moving to the building next to the hardware store or joining forces with the firemen from the street above. Seeing it wasn’t possible to get their attention, Mason grabbed a fire axe and ran to the law office where the miner had entered, not knowing the danger.

  The entire roof was ablaze when he reached the door. It stood ajar. Mason poked at it with his axe and called, “Roof! The roof’s on fire. Get out!” His voice squeaked, a parody of his usual baritone. He spat. The cottony, gummy blob told him he should have taken a drink of water. Before, he had been so intent on moving water from the trough to the engine’s tank to fight the fire, he hadn’t thought to take even a small sip.

  “Out. Get out!”

  He saw the miner moving about inside, rummaging through a file cabinet. Papers flew everywhere as the man searched for something. The roof gave a small moan and then fell in. For a brief instant, Mason saw the miner perfectly. The look of exaltation on the man’s face told he had found whatever he sought. Then the triumph turned to fear as fiery timbers crashed down all around him.

  Mason summoned all his strength and shouted for the firemen. One glanced in his direction, then turned away. The fire company was too far off for him to explain. Using the axe handle to push the door open wider, he hunted for the miner. The giant man was nowhere to be seen through the smoke and dancing fire. Morgan Mason considered himself a sensible man, one who thought first and acted only when every possible outcome had been carefully calculated.

  He swung his axe in a wide arc and knocked away a burning chair as he plunged into the inferno. Squinting, coughing, he advanced one step at a time in the face of intense heat. Never in his life had he reacted without thinking, but another man’s life depended on what he did now.

  “Can you get out? Come toward my voice!” He waited to see if the miner responded. Nothing. Mason swung the axe back and forth to hack a path through the debris.

  He quickly saw why there hadn’t been an answer. The miner lay stretched out on the floor by the filing cabinet. A falling roof support had struck him on the top of the head. Mason chopped his way forward and reached the man’s side. He poked him with the butt of the axe handle.

  “Wha? What’s happened?” The miner stirred, then let out a yelp as he flailed about and touched a hot coal. His eyes shot wide open. It took a second for him to understand where he was and the danger he faced. “Got the papers. Got ’em. Let’s get out of here. I’m not dead, am I?”

  “Why do you ask?” Mason grabbed a handful of the miner’s shirt and pulled him upright. He struggled to force the man to his feet.

  “Hotter ’n hell. Musta died and gone to the nether regions, it’s so hot.”

  “You broke into a burning building. What were you hunting for? Never mind. Tell me outside.” Mason used the axe handle to lever himself to his feet. He bent and got a grip on the miner’s hand and heaved. The man groaned but gathered his long legs and got them under him. He stood on shaky feet.

  “Where’s the way out?”

  Mason started to deride the man, then realized the smoke and fire had blocked the way to the door. There wasn’t any way through.

  “There must be another exit.” Mason pointed using the axe. All he did was fan some of the smoke around without finding an escape.

  “Back room. There’s a back room.” The miner stumbled to the files, then worked his way around.

  Mason let the miner lead the way. He obviously knew the layout of the office. He’d save them both.

  “Hurry up,” Mason urged. “My clothes are starting to smolder.” He tried beating out the embers landing on his coat sleeve. He failed. Then he realized that was the least of his worries. His feet felt as if he had marched a thousand miles across a burning desert. And every breath he took made him wonder if the miner wasn’t right about this being hell and not a simple Virginia City office.

  He reached out and put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. The smoke billowing about obscured all vision. Then came a sound unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was a creaking and snapping and a moan that was eerily human. A sudden upward gust cleared the smoke for a brief instant, showing the bright blue Nevada sky.

  Then the roof collapsed. Mason recoiled and tried to drag the miner with him. A heavy beam crashed smack-dab onto the man. Mason felt him jerk away as he fell to the floor. Before he could move to pull the burning beam away, another, larger one fell amid a shower of sparks. Mason stepped back instinctively, caught his heel and sat heavily. He smashed into a desk.

 

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