Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839) (13 page)

Romero lit a match, saying, “I felt the air pressure building. A hard-rock man gets to where he can feel things before they happen, under a mountain.”

He raised the little light over their heads and took a gingerly few steps back the way they'd come, muttering, “Jesus!”

The ore car that had chased them down the track was a pile of shattered debris against the standing wall at the bottom of the slope. The rock it had been filled with lay in a spread-out pile. A lantern lay on its side among the lumps of ore, its chimney shattered and its flame snuffed out. Romero's match went out, but he lit another, picked up the lantern, and lit the wick, saying, “This thing's warm. I think it was Vallejo's.”

As he held the lantern up, Longarm pointed with his chin at a trickle of blood running out from under the piled rock and wreckage and said, “He came down the tracks with the car! He's under all that shit!”

Romero put the lantern down as he dropped to his knees and started lifting rocks, saying, “
Help
me, damn it!”

But Longarm was running up the slope, his drawn Colt in his hand, as he called back, “There's no way he's
alive
under there, but the son of a bitch who killed him can't be far!”

He boiled up out of the ground, dodged to one side as he left the overhang of the mine entrance, and took cover behind another ore wagon sitting quietly on a siding as he scanned the sunlit surroundings.

He seemed to have the mine head to himself. He'd come up out of the darkness so suddenly that the sun hurt his eyes. But he could see to the treeline all around, and it was just dusty and dead-looking in the late-afternoon light. There wasn't even a wisp of hanging dust to hint at anyone's presence.

The back door of MacLeod's cabin opened and the owner's freckled little wife stepped out. Longarm shouted, “Get back inside!” and then, as he saw she was just standing there like a big dumb bird, he swore and ran over to her, grabbing her as he whipped them both inside, slammed the kitchen door, and peered out the dusty kitchen window.

Lottie MacLeod gasped, “What's wrong? What happened?”

Longarm said, “They just killed Vallejo and damn near killed me and that other fellow. Have you been working in this kitchen, ma'am?”

“Of course. Kevin will be home any minute and it's getting on to supper time.”

Longarm nodded at the pot of beans simmering on the kitchen stove and asked, “Did you see anybody moving about out there, just now?”

The girl shook her head and said, “Not since the men knocked off a few minutes ago.”

“Did they all leave directly, or did some of them sort of hang back?”

“Heavens, I wasn't paying that much attention.” She thought for a moment, then shook her head again and said, “I just don't know. I'm so used to seeing men come and go up there by the diggings, I never notice who comes or goes.”

He saw Romero in the mine entrance now. He went to the door again and called the husky Italian over, covering Romero's back as the big man dog-trotted to the cabin. As Romero joined them, he told Longarm, “You were right. They're going to have to carry him out in a sack.” Romero saw the horror in Lottie's eyes and quickly added, “Sorry, ma'am. But facts is facts.”

She gasped, “What happened down there—a cave-in?”

Longarm said, “Runaway ore car, ma'am. Romero, is there any chance at all it was an accident?”

The Italian shook his head and said, “The shift was over. I noticed the other cars were on a siding sloping
away
from the entrance. They've led the burros off, too. Somebody pushed that car in on us the hard way. From the speed it came down, I'd say they followed it a ways, still pushing.”

“Could one man do it, or would it take more?”

Romero shrugged and said, “One man could have moved her if he really put his back into it. Once he had her headed downhill, of course, he was just pushing to be ornery.”

Longarm nodded, looked out the window again, and said, “Whoever it was seems to be long gone. We'd best get you headed back home while it's still light, and I thank you for your help.” He turned to Mrs. MacLeod. “When's your man due back, ma'am?”

She said, “His stage is due before sundown. He left his pony at the livery in Manzanita. Why?”

“I ain't sure it's safe to leave you up here alone. By the way, didn't a dog yap at us when we rode in?”

Lottie looked around at the floor and replied, “Rex? He was here just a minute ago.”

“He ain't here now,” Longarm observed. “He should have been sounding off about all the excitement we've just had.”

Lottie said, “That's funny. He usually does bark at strangers.”

She went to the back door and called out, “Rex? Here, boy!” a couple of times. No dog appeared.

Longarm glanced at Romero and said, “Stay with her a minute, will you?”

The miner nodded and put a casual hand on the grips of his six-gun.

Longarm stepped outside and walked over to the untrodden earth at the edge of the dust surrounding the cabin and mine works. He worked the grassy edge for tracks, but there was too much sign to read a pattern. He found rabbit tracks and deer scat along with plenty of prints that he assumed had been left by Rex. The dog had probably patrolled the grounds thoroughly and pissed on nearly every tree and bush.

There were human tracks too. Too many human tracks. The workmen lived in every direction and had walked home every damned way. So Longarm started looking for hoof prints.

He circled the whole site, crossing the road and the rail siding without spotting anything worth following up. He cut back toward the cabin, holding his gun loosely at his side as he walked. As he passed the mine entrance again, he wondered who he was going to send to break the news to the dead man's kin. They were probably waiting supper on him right this minute. He passed an ore car parked near the tipple. A flash of chestnut caught his eye between the wheels and he stopped. He walked over to the car, bent over, and muttered, “Oh, damn!”

The dog, Rex, lay under the car on his side. A bluebottle fly was crawling over his open eye and others were sipping at the bloody edges of his bared fangs. Someone had smashed the dog's head in with a club or a rock. The poor brute had died defending the property as best he knew how.

Longarm walked slowly back to the cabin. That woman was going to cry some when he told her. They were going to have to take her with them when they left. It wasn't safe to leave her up here alone.

Longarm had a sudden thought and stopped in his tracks, muttering, “Wait a minute!” Then he turned and moved back the way he'd come. The dead Vallejo had mentioned night watchmen. Sure. Nobody was waiting supper on Vallejo—he lived with two other workmen in that little shack just up the rise beyond the tipple!

Longarm cautiously approached the bunkhouse. The plank door was ajar a slit, but when he called out there was no answer.

He moved in carefully, kicked open the door, and stepped inside. There were two Mexicans in the bunkhouse. One lay on the floor and the other was sprawled across his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The bunkhouse was filled with the smell of bitter almonds and both dead men had cherry-red faces, as if they'd blushed themselves to death.

Longarm had seen Death wearing this expression before. He knew cyanide was used in gold mining, so there was no mystery as to how they had died.

He stepped over to the body on the bunk and felt its cheek. The corpse was lukewarm. They'd died at about the same time as the dog, while he and the others had been down in the mine.

A bottle lay on the floor near the other corpse. Longarm picked it up and sniffed. The bottle was one-quarter full of red wine with just a hint of bitter almond to its bouquet. The dead men hadn't been fussy drinkers, but they'd probably known the man who had given them the free wine. That didn't tell him a damned thing. He already knew it was someone in Calaveras County.

*   *   *

Lottie MacLeod had been right about the stage. It arrived just before sundown and she was with Longarm when her husband got down from it. She threw herself against him and started to weep loudly as Longarm filled him in on what had happened up at his mine. He added that the bodies had been hauled into town and handed over to their kin for burial. MacLeod said, “Damn it, just as I get another bank loan, they start killing us!”

Longarm said, “Yeah, I'll be at the Manzanita Inn later, if you have any ideas. Constable Lovejoy's posted some deputies up at your diggings with orders not to drink any wine. So it's likely safe for you two to go home when you've a mind to. I've got work to do.”

He'd noticed the stage crew ducking into the saloon across the street while the team was being changed for the next trot up to Angel's Camp. So he left the MacLeods to sort things out and moseyed over after them. He introduced himself to the jehu leaning on the bar and asked, “What time did you boys pull out of Sacramento this afternoon? I've got good reasons for asking.”

The driver shrugged and said, “I never looked at my watch, but we've been on the road a good five or six hours. Why?”

“I'll pay for your drinks. You just saved me a ride in to Sacramento to talk with some bankers.”

He placed a coin on the bar and went outside. He'd eliminated MacLeod as well as himself and Romero. That wasn't much, but every little bit helped.

He saw that the MacLeods had left. Constable Lovejoy had been in his office when Longarm and Romero had carried Lottie MacLeod and the news to town, but that meant nothing. The Baxters were staying in Longarm's hotel, but when he'd knocked on their door he had gotten no answer. Their horses were in the livery and nobody in town knew where they might have gone on foot.

He went to the Manzanita Inn and asked the desk clerk if they'd come back. The desk clerk said no, so he went upstairs. His own room was just down the hall from the suite Sylvia and her brother had rented. He knocked softly on Ralph Baxter's door, got no answer, and hit it a few hard licks. Then he took out his penknife and quietly opened the latch.

The room was empty, as he'd hoped. Knowing the room clerk was right under him, Longarm moved quietly on the balls of his feet as he gave the room a casual search, not sure what he was looking for.

Baxter's clothes were hanging in a closet. Longarm found a carpetbag under the bed, opened it, and found it filled with nothing incriminating or even interesting. The engineer's chemistry kit was in a dresser drawer. He uncorked every bottle and sniffed for bitter almonds. Some of the stuff smelled godawful, but he found no cyanide. He remembered that Baxter had said he was afraid of the stuff.

There was a sheaf of envelopes and papers in the same drawer. They seemed to be assay reports and a telegram. Longarm read:

ONE AND A HALF MILLION IS FINAL OFFER
STOP
WHATS HOLDING UP THE PARADE
STOP
MORRISON

He folded the telegram and put it back the way he'd found it.

Wondering where in thunder the two of them could have gone, Longarm eased over to the connecting door between their rooms and tried the knob. The door wasn't locked. He opened it. Then he froze in the doorway.

They were in Sylvia's bed—asleep or dead, he couldn't tell which. They'd tossed the sheets aside to cool off. He imagined they'd been having a lively time. They were both naked. Baxter lay spread-eagled on his back with Sylvia cuddled against him. She was still wearing her black stockings and frilly garters, but nothing else. They didn't look as if they'd been poisoned.

As Longarm studied them for signs of life, Sylvia opened her eyes. Longarm stepped back and softly closed the door. He was halfway to his own room when Sylvia caught up with him and clutched at his sleeve. She'd slipped on a robe. She said, “You have to let me explain, darling.”

Longarm opened the door to his own room and she followed him inside as he said wryly, “There's no need, ma'am. Incest ain't a federal offense, lucky for lots of folks.”

“Damn it,” she said, “he's not my brother. He's my husband.”

“Adultery ain't a federal crime either, Mrs. Baxter. I wasn't prying into your personal habits. The high-graders have started killing folks and I was worried about you. I can see you're alive and healthy, so what the hell.”

“Listen, Ralph understands my needs, darling. He knows I hold advanced views about sex.”

“I figured that was why he's been so testy with me. But what's your play, Sylvia? How come you two are posing as brother and sister if you ain't?”

“We're a team,” she explained, “We're fronting for a financial syndicate and, well, sometimes it gives us an edge if I'm free to have a romance or two along the way.”

“The two of you are out to fuck folks either way, huh?”

“Don't be brutal. What happened on the steamboat was not in the line of duty. I let you make love to me simply because I wanted you.”

“Maybe. Have you had Kevin MacLeod in your pants, too?”

“Of course not,” she said righteously. “He's happily married.”

Longarm noticed she had shut the door behind them and was already out of her robe. He asked, “If Ralph didn't sic you on me and you're not out to seduce MacLeod, why are you up here in the Mother Lode?”

“Why? He's my husband, of course. Don't you think poor Ralph has needs and feelings too?”

“He's got them under better control than most gents, I imagine. You'd best get back to him before he starts getting desperate again, Sylvia.”

She smiled lewdly and said, “Ralph's done for the day. But I'm a warm-natured woman.”

As she dropped to her knees and started to unbutton him, he shook his head and said, “I noticed that on the steamboat. But I'll pass, this time around.”

She fumbled for him. As he backed away she followed him on her knees, protesting, “Pooh, you know you want me.”