Baishan tended his own horse. “What news do you have for Geronimo?”
The professor opened his mouth to speak, but Larissa held up her hand. She stepped over to the hansom cab and opened the door. Sitting next to crates and duffel bags was the skeleton.
Baishan gasped and shuffled backward three steps. “You bring the dead among us?”
“That’s why I unhitched the wagon where I did,” said Larissa. “I didn’t want to bring the skeleton into your camp.”
“Still, you brought it close.” Baishan’s eyes widened.
“We wanted to show Geronimo that it’s no spirit.” The professor took a step toward the wagon to show the young warrior, but Larissa put her hand on his arm and shook her head. Maravilla sighed, then continued his explanation. “Men wired the skeleton together and placed clockworks inside.”
“We have photographs of the area where we found this,” said Larissa. “We hoped one of the warriors could tell us where the men who made this could be camping.”
Baishan nodded. “Come with me.” He led them through the village to a wickiup near the center. He called through the door in Apache.
A moment later, Geronimo stepped out followed by a woman. He indicated they should sit, then spoke to the woman. The woman nodded, then disappeared behind another wickiup where smoke from a campfire drifted skyward.
Geronimo leaned toward Baishan and asked a question, which the young warrior translated. “What have you found?”
The professor retrieved the photograph of the camel from his coat pocket and passed it to the warrior. “The camel rider is a skeleton, but men have altered it. We hoped you would send a guide to help us figure out where it came from.”
Baishan translated while Geronimo studied the negative photo with furrowed brow. He held it up the light, then nodded and spoke.
“He knows the area well,” said Baishan. “Evil spirits inhabit those lands. Your people call the area Goose Flats. We call it the land of the tombstone, because it is dry and many people have died there.”
The woman returned, carrying bowls loaded with meat and a poofy flatbread. The professor sniffed at his bowl dubiously while Larissa took several bites. “This is delicious,” she said. “What is it?”
“The meat is rabbit,” said Baishan. “The bread is called Chigustei.”
Larissa sopped up the juices with the Chigustei. “What else can you tell us about Goose Flats and the mountains that rise just beyond?”
Geronimo handed the photograph back to Professor Maravilla and spoke to Baishan.
“The caves in those mountains lead to silver veins.” The translator held up his own silver necklace. “White men have been known to go into the caves to look for the metal.”
“White men looking for silver would like to keep strangers away.” Maravilla retrieved his map from the other pocket and unfolded it. “Could you tell me where those caves are?”
Baishan relayed the question. Geronimo took the map, pointed, and handed it back. Maravilla circled the location with a pencil. The warrior then leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.
Baishan swallowed, then translated. “His advice to you is to leave those caves alone. The men who inhabit them do not have a healthy fear of death.”
Larissa put her hand to her gun. “If they try anything, they’ll meet death, whether they fear it or not.”
Chapter Six
Propositions
After spending the night in the Apache camp, Professor Maravilla and Larissa rode to Goose Flats, past the place where Larissa lost the camel’s trail, while the sun was high overhead. The land shimmered with heat waves. Overhead, vultures circled on the thermals. Wistful, Larissa wondered both what they circled and what it would be like to ride those rising air currents in an ornithopter.
The professor consulted his map and studied the countryside. His lips moved, almost imperceptibly, as though he were talking to himself again. A moment later, he nodded and clucked his tongue, urging his horse forward. Larissa followed. She soon spotted a wide gully which cut its way through the rising landscape toward the low mesa. If Larissa understood the map, that ridge was Goose Flats. Rounded stones and scrub brush filled the gully, but she thought she could pull a wagon laden with supplies through there. Her hansom should be able to make it as well.
Inspecting for spoor, she saw no clear signs others had come this way before. If people had set up camp along the gully, they were either experts at covering their trail or had come in a long time before. The professor’s soft murmurings also held a skeptical tone. Finally, with a nod indicating he’d reached a conclusion, he snapped the reins and forged ahead.
A short time later, Larissa spotted familiar tracks and grew hopeful. “Professor, what do you think? Camel tracks?”
The professor brought his horse around and looked where she pointed. He reached into his saddlebags and brought out a notepad, flipped through a few pages, then nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”
Larissa looked at how the land folded and buckled around them. It wasn’t as claustrophobic as the area near the Apache camp in the Dragoon Mountains, but it would be easy for someone to hide. A nervous flutter ran through her belly. “We should be careful.”
The professor looked around, listening. “Agreed,” he whispered.
They followed the gully another hundred yards to a point where it wound past an outcropping of yellow rock. A shot rang out overhead, echoing around them. “That’s far enough, strangers,” called an unseen voice. “Turn around and go back the way you came.”
“We aren’t interested in your claim,” called the professor. “We’re just here to return some property you misplaced.”
“I don’t recall misplacing any property.”
“Are you sure? Some rather impressive clockworks were mounted inside a skeleton. They fell from a camel a few miles back.”
There was no reply. Larissa guessed that the person who challenged them pondered his response to the professor’s words. Finally, he called out again. “Come on up, but don’t try anything funny. There’s more of us than there are of you and we have you covered.”
“Very well,” agreed the professor and he snapped his reins.
Around the bend, the gully passed in front of a cave’s mouth. Two men sat near a campfire, holding six-guns. Larissa noticed buckets, pickaxes, ropes, bedrolls and a trash heap. A wagon stood nearby and two mules chewed at mesquite brush. As she suspected, these men had been there for a while.
A man in a buckskin shirt and fringed britches scrambled down from the rocks to their left. His beard came down to the shirt’s first button. Larissa guessed he was some kind of mountain man or scout. The other two men wore canvas pants and cotton shirts, more in keeping with other prospectors she’d met. She guessed the man with the long beard must keep lookout while the others hunted for silver.
“So, tell me what exactly you found.” The man in buckskin held his rifle ready, though he didn’t point it toward Larissa or the professor.
Maravilla held his hands aloft to show he was unarmed. “May I dismount and open the door of my companion’s wagon?” His eyes twinkled, more excited to show off than concerned about the prospector’s guns.
“All right.” The scout nodded.
Maravilla dismounted and walked over to the hansom cab. Opening the doors, he revealed the skeleton. “This rather thin gentleman has been scaring quite a few people away.”
“That’s his job,” said the scout. “I take it he finally fell off the camel.”
The professor nodded.
“So, why’d you bring him back here? You look smart enough to know this means people ain’t wanted.”
“The clockworks inside indicated something of a kindred spirit.” The professor looked from the scout to the other two men, who watched with keen interest. “My name is Professor M.K. Maravilla and I’m a naturalist who utilizes clockwork machines and steam power. My associate is Larissa Crimson.”
“Crimson!” One of the prospector
s leaped to his feet. He sported unusually well groomed sideburns and a mustache for a person who had been camping out for several weeks. “You’re that lady bounty hunter! We haven’t done anything illegal.”
“I’m not here to collect a bounty, Mister. I’m just here to solve a mystery.” She took the measure of the guns pointed her direction. She could drop quickly and the cab would provide some shelter if needed, but the professor was vulnerable. “Now, the good professor has introduced us to you. Maybe you could return the favor.”
The scout looked to his companions, who nodded. “I’m Ed Shieffelin.” He nodded to the other bearded man. “That’s my brother Al.”
“I’m Richard Gird, their financier and attorney,” said the well groomed man.
“Pleased to meet you.” Larissa tipped her hat. “Now perhaps we can put the guns away and visit for a spell, then we can be on our way.”
Ed lowered his rifle. Al and the attorney followed suit a moment later, placing their guns on the ground, but in easy reach. “We’ll visit,” said Ed, “but we’ll have to see about letting you be on your way. We don’t want no one jumping our claim.”
The professor chuckled as Larissa climbed out of her seat. “I assure you, we have no interest in your claim.” Larissa thought the professor shouldn’t be hasty. Successful miners might be able to fund their mechanical owl experiments, especially if they had some motivation. The professor continued. “We’re more interested in seeing what devices you’ve developed for mining.”
Al Shieffelin shook his head and laughed. “Machinery would certainly help us out. This mine is proving one tough nut to crack. That skeleton is about the extent of my tinkering.”
“Really?” The professor sounded disappointed as he crouched down next to the campfire. The attorney poured him a cup of coffee as Larissa and Ed both sat down on crates.
“So why don’t you just stake a claim and then hire men to work the mine?” asked Larissa.
“We would.” The attorney looked at his fingers with some disgust, not seeming to like his cracked and dirty nails. “The problem is that all the men we’d hire as miners have gone west to fight in the war.”
“Working the mine and guarding the claim takes just about all our time,” grumbled Ed.
Larissa sighed. Success had eluded these miners. So much for them being able to fund a new generation of ornithopter.
Al pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “We found the skeleton here in the cave.” Larissa realized that must be why the Apaches referred to the area as the land of the tombstone. “When we saw that ol’ camel wander by, I had the idea for using it to keep people away.”
“It was a good idea.” Larissa nodded. “It sure scared me when I first saw it.” As they spoke, she noticed that Maravilla’s gaze rested on the cave. His lips moved for a moment, but he made no sound, then he cocked his head, as though listening to an answer.
“I might be able to help you out.” The professor reached for his pocket and soon found three guns aimed his direction. He lifted his hands. “I’m just retrieving my sketchpad.” The guns lowered again. Undoubtedly, they realized there was no bulge in the professor’s coat that betrayed a weapon. He withdrew his pad and a pencil and began sketching. A few minutes later, he completed the drawing and passed it to Al.
The prospector’s eyes widened. “It’s like a monster. A mining machine, I take it?” He passed the drawing to his brother.
Maravilla nodded. “Those are digging tools in front. It pulls the rocks up into its body and sorts the material by density, separating the silver from the rest of the ore.”
Ed passed the drawing to Larissa. Gird looked over her shoulder. “It looks like one of those wild pigs,” said the attorney. “Like a javelina.”
“They’re not actually pigs, they’re peccaries.” The professor sighed. “Nevertheless, they were my inspiration.”
“Could you really build such a thing?” asked Ed.
“It would take some funding—” Maravilla looked from Larissa to Ed. “—and a little help, but yes, I believe it could be built.”
“Give you money and let you leave,” mused Gird. “That sounds like some kind of con to me.”
“One of you could come with us,” offered Larissa. “You wouldn’t have to give us any money.”
“And, we can offer proof that we can build the type of machine we suggest.” The professor stood and pointed to the hansom cab. “If I may?”
Ed nodded. The professor walked over to the cab and threw open the crate which held the clockwork lobo. Again, they raised their guns, but lowered them a moment later when the creature didn’t even twitch. Maravilla beckoned the men to come close. Al whistled as the professor opened the hatch on the mechanical wolf’s flank.
“He also built the owls that destroyed the Russian airships in the Battle of Denver,” said Larissa.
Al narrowed his gaze, considering. “Okay, so maybe you can build this thing, but why help us?”
Gird folded his arms and scowled. “Maybe a better question is why should we let you join our claim?”
“The first answer is simple.” Maravilla stroked his pencil-thin mustache. “We’re short of funds. If we succeed, not only would we get a share of the silver from this mine, we would be able to patent the machine and make money from its manufacture.”
Gird’s eyebrows lifted for just a moment. Ed and Al’s eyes flicked toward each other.
Larissa saw an opening. “If you fund this machine, it only seems fair you’d be entitled to a share of the patent. We’d all benefit.”
Gird looked around at the Shieffelins. “I think we should talk about it.”
Larissa studied the prospectors as they huddled together. Al and Ed seemed like good men trying to make an honest living. She thought she could trust them. She was less certain about Gird, but maybe that was just because he was an attorney. Maravilla cocked his head to the side again, even though the men spoke in low tones. Was he trying to listen in on the hushed conversation, or something else?
Ed looked up from the huddle. “All right, we’re interested. We want to see some more detailed plans and a supply list. We’d also like to see some evidence that you are who you say.”
“I think we can satisfy your curiosity,” said Maravilla.
Larissa folded her arms and studied the professor. General Sheridan had given them letters thanking them for their service at the Battle of Denver. Had he brought his copy along? She looked back at his bags in the cab and considered it a possibility. If so, her week might improve. The professor had come up with a brilliant idea for making money and there was a good chance they could win over the prospectors. Maybe there would be funding for the ornithopters after all.
<<>>
“You must allow the sword to be a natural extension of your arm.” Hoshi demonstrated a swing that traveled from his right shoulder to his left hip. “Work with the katana’s momentum. Don’t fight it.”
Billy looked over his shoulder. “What if someone rushes me from that side?” He held the katana in the position Hoshi expected it to end up. “If I’m like this, they can just rush me while I’m vulnerable.”
Hoshi went to the porch and grabbed a broom. “Do the swing as you would, and show me how you would defend yourself.”
Billy swung the sword in an arc. As he did, Hoshi rushed at him with the broom. Billy brought the sword up and Hoshi smacked it from his hands.
“You do not have a good grip when you do that,” explained Hoshi.
Billy rubbed his sore hand. “All right, then. Show me how you’d defend yourself.”
Hoshi handed Billy the broom, then retrieved the sword. As Billy took up a stance, Hoshi swung the sword. Billy rushed at Hoshi. Just as he was about to smack the warrior with the broom, Hoshi thrust the pommel backward, into Billy’s gut.
Billy dropped the broom and crumpled to the ground. “Do not assume the blade is the only dangerous part of a sword,” said Hoshi.
Billy rolled into a ball and
cursed. “I wish you weren’t always right,” he said after he’d recovered somewhat.
“I’m not always right.” Hoshi reached down and helped Billy to his feet. “Otherwise, I’d still be a samurai in Japan. But I am more experienced with a sword.” He handed the katana to Billy, who executed the swing as instructed.
“That does feel better.” Looking up, he noticed a dust cloud on the road. “I do believe we have a visitor.” A moment later, Billy noted the horseman’s pinstripe suit and bowler hat.
Hoshi scowled at the sight of Luther Duncan. “Hasn’t he bothered us with enough questions?”
“I really don’t mind.” Billy wondered whether Duncan had offered to pay the samurai warrior for his stories. Of course, Billy suspected that even if he had been offered money, Hoshi would have refused.
A couple minutes later, Duncan tugged on the reins and brought his horse to a stop. He dismounted and tipped his hat as he led the horse to a nearby water trough. “Sorry to barge in like this, but I received a telegram for you.”
“A telegram… for me?” Billy’s eyebrows came together.
Duncan reached into his inside jacket pocket and handed a slip of paper to Billy. “It’s from Fatemeh Karimi.”
“Fatemeh!” Billy’s eyes brightened. “Is it a wedding invitation?”
“No, nothing like that. She telegrammed yesterday asking if I knew where you were. When I responded that I did, she sent this and asked me to forward it.”
Billy narrowed his gaze at the reporter’s grim tone, suspecting bad news. He read the telegram to himself, then looked up. “Did you read this?”
Duncan nodded.
“She can’t be serious.”
“You must not know Fatemeh that well, then.” Duncan shrugged.
Hoshi folded his arms and scowled. “I do not know this Fatemeh, nor do I know the telegram’s contents.”
“Fatemeh Karimi is the woman I told you about who organized the owl riders,” explained Billy. “She had us all go to Flagstaff to learn how to fly Professor Maravilla’s ornithopters.”
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