Gird nodded. “True. Apaches couldn’t get into the machine unless we wanted them to, but the Javelina isn’t a weapon, not unless you plan to drive into them and grind them into pulp.”
“Oh, we can fix that.” The corner of Ike Clanton’s mouth ticked upward a couple of times as though he laughed silently. “We just attach Corporal Brocius’s lightning gun to your little piggy wagon and nothing would stand in its way!”
Gird sat back and folded his arms. “Lightning gun?”
“I’d be pleased to show you after supper,” said Curly Bill.
Gird wiped his lips with a napkin and glanced down at the empty plate. “That was a mighty good steak, Mr. Clanton.” He looked up at Curly Bill with almost as much hunger as he’d shown toward his meal. “I’d be interested in taking a look, right now.”
Brocious smiled and stood. “Right this way.” The two men walked to the back porch where Curly Bill had left the lightning gun. The Clantons continued their supper, confident Gird would be impressed.
Gird knelt down and examined the device, then opened a hatch on the side. “Interesting. A battery-powered electrical transformer hooked up to an array of spinning magnets. This thing would build up a hell of a charge. I wonder who built it.”
“One of our best scientists,” said Curly Bill. “I’m impressed that you understand it so well. Ammunition is a little hard to come by, of course.”
Amusement flicked over Gird’s face. He stood and looked Curly Bill in the eye. “You’re not in the army, are you Mr. Brocius?”
“Whatever makes you think that?” Curly Bill folded his arms.
“If you were in the army, you wouldn’t be after the Javelina to use it in combat, you’d want the plans so you could build your own.” He put his arms behind his back. “Also, if you were really familiar with this gun, you’d know it doesn’t need ammunition—at least in a traditional sense.”
“What do you mean ‘in a traditional sense’?”
Gird flashed a coy smile and then stepped over to the edge of the porch and looked out toward the San Pedro. “How did you get your hands on that weapon, Mr. Brocius?”
“It’s from Fort Bliss.” Curly Bill settled on the truth without admitting theft.
The lawyer nodded. “That gun was built to fight Russians, not Indians.” He turned around and faced Brocius again. “The Clantons seem sincere in their desire to build a town. Why are you helping them? What do you hope to gain?”
“Me?” Curly Bill shrugged. All kinds of answers flashed through his mind. He looked down at the blue uniform, not so different from the gray he once wore. After the War Between the States, it seemed like he bounced from job to job. The only people who gave him a fair shake were outlaws like Jesse Evans in Las Cruces, but Evans left to be a hired gun for a rancher named Murphy up in Lincoln County. “I’d like to settle down, Mr. Gird, have enough money I don’t have to worry about my next meal, maybe even own a nice saloon where people could come and unwind after a night on the range.”
“You don’t seem like a man who settles easily, Mr. Brocius.”
Curly Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Gird held up his hand.
“Still, I think there’s truth to what you say. The U.S. Army is going to be after that gun. You’ll either have to give it back or make a stand.”
Curly Bill barked a laugh. “The U.S. Army’s been after me a long time, Mr. Gird.”
Gird reached into a pocket and took out a tobacco pouch and a rolling paper. “I have no desire to die alongside someone who has a grudge against the army.”
“It’s not my intention to die,” said Brocius.
Gird placed the tobacco on the paper in a line, then rolled it into a neat cylinder. “I can figure this out and draw up plans. If we did that, there’d be no reason not to give the gun back.”
“They’d still throw me in jail.”
Gird lit the cigarette. “If you were the one fool enough to turn the machine in.” The lawyer blew smoke. “Now, if someone else turned it in for a reward...”
Brocius nodded slowly. “I’m beginning to like the way you think, Mr. Gird.”
“As long as I know where people stand, I’m willing to consider a proposition. The Shieffelins are good men, but I don’t think they’re considering the long term prospects for this area or what they’ll do when other miners arrive.” Gird stepped off the porch and smoked in silence for a few minutes.
The door creaked open behind Curly Bill. “What do you think of the lightning gun?” asked Newman Clanton.
Gird dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with his heel, then turned. “I’m impressed and I like your plans to build a town here. I think we can come to an agreement.”
<<>>
Larissa made a final adjustment to the mechanical owl’s wing, then stood and evaluated the machine. Aside from the color of its fabric it was identical to the professor’s original ornithopters. She could tell care had been taken to make the structure as light and strong as possible. In fact, she guessed that wherever the frame was machined, they had made it even lighter than Maravilla’s originals.
She opened a flap in the side of the ornithopter’s fuselage and inspected the engine compartment. Two fuel rods were already in position. Larissa climbed into the control seat and brought the rods together. The chemical reaction soon sent puffs of steam out the exhaust pipe. She then eased the wing-control lever forward. She was pleased to see both wings flap equally well. A light breeze kicked up and the mechanical owl lurched from the ground for a moment. She put her hand on her stomach, but smiled.
Sergeant Harris walked around the corner of the building and folded his arms. “It looks good, but will it fly?”
“It’s trying to right now. If you’re willing to help me, we can find out for sure.” Larissa pulled the lever that disengaged the fuel rods, then climbed out of the cockpit.
“What do we need to do?”
“Go get a wagon from the stable.” She looked over toward the Franklin Mountains. “It’s best if we launch the owl from high ground.”
“You got it.” With that Harris disappeared around the corner into the stables. Larissa busied herself readying the ornithopter for flight. As she worked, her confidence waned. How well was the machine built? Was her repair good enough? Fortunately, the damage to the wing didn’t seem to result from poor design. Instead, it seemed as though someone had tried to land the ornithopter on its side. All she had done was straighten the frame and put the wing back together.
Twenty minutes later, Sergeant Harris appeared with a wagon pulled by a pair of tall draft horses. He brought them to a stop a little ahead of the flying machine. “How heavy is this thing? Should I get a couple more men?”
“It’s actually pretty light. I think the two of us can handle it,” said Larissa. She climbed in the ornithopter and pushed an ankle-height lever, which brought the wings close to the fuselage for transport.
The sergeant pulled a board from the wagon and made a ramp. Then the two of them pushed the ornithopter onto the wagon and lashed its legs down so it wouldn’t topple over if they hit a rock or encountered a stiff breeze. Satisfied the machine was ready to go, they climbed onto the wagon’s buckboard and rode through the gate into El Paso. Instead of going north to the pass where they had entered the city, Harris went west, toward some lower foothills three miles away. That suited Larissa’s needs just fine.
Once they reached the foothills, the two pushed the ornithopter out of the wagon and Larissa inspected it again. Satisfied, she removed her coachman’s hat and pulled the goggles from the hatband. She then looked up at the sergeant’s low-slung army kepi. “Could I borrow your hat?”
The sergeant shrugged. “Sure thing, just make sure I get it back.”
After exchanging hats, she donned the goggles and the kepi. It was a little large, but even so, it didn’t feel like it would fly off in a stiff breeze. She climbed in the cockpit and brought the fuel rods together, watching as the steam pre
ssure increased.
Once the dial pointed to the green zone, she gave the small lever near her left hand a couple of quick jerks, causing the ornithopter to bound upward on its spring-loaded legs. As it did, she started the wings flapping at full power and soon they caught the breeze, lifting the ornithopter into the air. “Woo hoo!” she shouted.
Sergeant Harris waved the coachman’s hat. He popped it on his head, where it perched like some silly lady’s accessory.
Larissa grasped the steering rod, made a circle around the sergeant’s position, then flew northward along the Franklins. The army’s ornithopter maneuvered so well, she had to take care not to move the stick too far, or she’d overshoot her mark. Looking to her right, a hawk rode the thermal updrafts rising from the mountains. She followed suit and gained altitude without going too far forward. This was what she had wanted to do when she joined up with Professor Maravilla. She closed her eyes for a moment and savored her dream.
She adjusted the wings’ angle, turning the ornithopter in a long, lazy arc. She looked back toward El Paso and Fort Bliss. As she did, she remembered the whole reason the army sought technical help. She had to think about how to make the ornithopters effective in combat. The reason they were effective against the airships was their relative high speed and small size. They never actually tried to fire a gun from one. She wondered how that would work. She drew her revolver and looked for something to aim at. The drifting hawk made a tempting target, but didn’t have the heart to shoot it. Still she felt she could have hit it if she wanted.
Larissa descended so she could see the ground better. A lone juniper pine stood a short distance back from a cliff. She took aim and found she had a hard time keeping her sights on a grounded target. In spite of the difficulty, she squeezed the trigger. The recoil caused the ornithopter to lurch sideways and roll with its nose facing the ground. She gritted her teeth, brought the nose up slightly and increased the flap rate until she gained control again. Once done, she blew out a strong sigh of relief.
She turned and flew back toward Fort Bliss. On her way, she waved to Sergeant Harris and motioned that she was returning to the fort. He waved back and she hoped he understood.
She turned east, slowly descending over the streets. Several people below called out and shouted as she flew overhead. She smiled at the stir she caused. Finally she landed in Fort Bliss’s courtyard, scattering a detachment of men. A bicycle courier darted out of her way and then continued on his errand. She watched the bicycle while she deactivated the engine. It was one of those new safety bicycles that used a chain and gear to achieve speed rather than a large front wheel. Once the bicycle rounded the corner, she saw Colonel Johnson near the stables, nodding approval.
<<>>
In the barn, Curly Bill, Gird, and Phin prepared their horses for the trip to Goose Flats when a figure in a strange, bright robe rode up to the house. Phin noticed first. “What do you suppose that Chinaman is doing here?”
“Chinaman?” asked Richard Gird.
“Let me see.” Curly Bill stepped up to the barn door, but ducked back inside when he recognized Masuda Hoshi, the man who had taken him captive outside Mesilla. “That there Chinaman’s trouble. He’s been after me since I left Fort Bliss. I think he’s trying to steal the lightnin’ gun for his own purposes.”
Phin’s brow furrowed. “I never trusted them Chinamen.”
Newman Clanton answered the door and spoke to Hoshi. Hushing Phin, Curly Bill did his best to listen to what they said.
“I have been sent here by Lt. Colonel Johnson of Fort Bliss in El Paso.” Hoshi pulled out a wanted poster. “I am looking for a man called William Bresnahan.”
Old Man Clanton’s eyes widened as he looked at it, but then his gaze narrowed as he examined Hoshi. “Why would the colonel send a Chinaman? Wouldn’t he send a soldier?”
“I am no Chinaman. I’m Japanese.”
“Makes no difference to me,” said Old Man Clanton. “You still didn’t answer the important part of my question.”
Hoshi retrieved an envelope from his pouch. “I have a letter here from the colonel, authorizing me to act on his behalf.”
Curly Bill looked up at Phin. “I think you better go make sure your Pa doesn’t get any ideas about leading that Coolie mudsill over here.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Phin.
“I’m betting that letter’s a real good forgery of stationary from the fort,” said Brocius. “You go tell him that I rode off toward Fort Huachuca. That’ll keep him busy for a while.”
Brocius and Gird watched as Phin walked to the house.
Old Man Clanton frowned after reading Johnson’s letter. “Phin, are Mr. Brocius and Mr. Gird still in the barn?”
“No, Pa,” said Phin. “They saw this feller ride up and they skedaddled out the back way. I heard ’em say something about going to Fort Huachuca.”
“They run off?” Curly Bill could hear the hurt in the old man’s voice. Either he was a good actor, or he genuinely believed what Phin told him. Phin only nodded in response. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you then.”
Hoshi rolled up the wanted poster and took the letter. “May I have some water?”
“Certainly,” said Old Man Clanton.
They watched as Hoshi led his horse to the water trough. He went to the well, pulled up the bucket, and refilled two containers made of wood or some kind of reed. Once his horse lifted his head from the trough, Hoshi mounted and rode west. Soon, Phin and his father walked to the barn.
“That Chinaman’s letter sure looked authentic,” said Old Man Clanton.
Curly Bill climbed into his saddle. “He’s a tricky one. I’m sure he’s after the lightnin’ gun and whatever else he can get his hands on. If he comes back, don’t trust him.”
“We’ll be ready for him,” said the old man.
Phin and Gird mounted their horses and then rode out toward Goose Flats. They stopped before they reached the last rise that would put them in sight of the mine. Gird and Brocius dismounted. Out of habit, Brocius checked his six-gun and replaced it in the army holster he wore. Gird took a rifle and Brocius wore the lightning gun on his back. They climbed to the top of the rise and looked over to the mine. The Javelina was parked out on the ridge some distance from the cave entrance. Maravilla and the Shieffelins were nowhere in sight. “Today’s their day to shore up the mine,” said Gird. “With all the hammering and sawing, they won’t hear us until it’s too late.”
Brocius nodded, then turned. He waved, giving the signal to Phin that he should take the horses back to the ranch. With that, he and Gird walked across the wash.
Curly Bill sighed relief when they reached the machine unobstructed. Sure, Gird’s presence would have let them enter the camp, but they might have lost time in conversation.
Gird collected some kindling from a pile near the machine, then opened the door and clambered into the cab. Brocius followed him. The cab reminded Brocius of a locomotive. There was room to stand and move around. Two tiny windows looked forward, through the cutting blades. The windows on the doors were bigger. Two chairs faced an assortment of gauges, wheels, and levers. Pipes and more gauges covered the back wall.
Gird examined a glass tube on the back wall that showed the boiler’s water level, then reached down and opened the hatch to the coal chute just below. He shoveled some past the two chairs into the firebox, atop the kindling he’d already added. He ignited the kindling with a striker and tended the small fire until the coals turned gray and the pressure indicators rose. He then shoveled more coal into the box to build more pressure. Curly Bill took off the lightning gun and placed it by one of the chairs. He stood just inside the door, a revolver in his hand. This left him free to maneuver should he need to move between doors or hop from the machine to defend it.
The Javelina began chugging quietly and Gird looked up. “I think we’re ready to go. It’ll make a racket when we start out. It won’t take long for the others to realize what’s happeni
ng.”
“Then let’s get going,” said Curly Bill. Just as he reached out to close the door, a voice cried out. “William Bresnahan! You will surrender yourself to me on order of Colonel Johnson!”
Hoshi sat astride his horse on the opposite side of the wash, aiming a gun at them. Brocius fired a shot that went wide while Gird released the brake. Hoshi cracked his reins, and the horse ran toward them. A moment later a bullet ricocheted off the doorframe. Gird shoveled more coal into the box and the Javelina rolled faster. Curly Bill looked around the door to return fire, but didn’t see Hoshi. “He’s gone!”
“He wasn’t fool enough to attack us when we were all ganged up against him at the Clantons. He’s not fool enough to rush in through the door by himself,” said Gird. “He’s probably gone to the mine to get help.”
Brocius nodded. “I’m sure they’ve heard us by now.”
“Give me a hand with the boiler. Our best chance is to get out of here quickly.” Gird pointed up at some spigots and valves, then spouted out some instructions to Brocius who did his best to turn the color-coded dials in the order indicated.
Gird resumed shoveling coal and the Javelina rumbled louder. Despite that, Brocius thought he could hear people shouting outside. He looked around and found a metal rod and jammed it into the door mechanism.
“Can’t this thing go faster?”
Gird reached over from his position by the firebox and opened up the throttle. The Javelina shot forward, barreling over rocks and uneven terrain. Brocius thought his teeth were rattling out of his head as the cab’s floor tipped and bucked.
“You better make sure no one’s following,” shouted Gird over the engine’s roar.
“How?”
“Use the lightning gun!”
Brocius nodded. He hefted the pack onto his back, then grabbed the rod he’d jammed in the door and opened it. Hoshi was on his horse and catching up. The Japanese warrior didn’t waste time. He fired a shot. Brocius ducked back inside, then whipped his body around the corner and fired the lightning gun. The blast missed Hoshi, but his mount reared, causing him to fall off. Brocius whooped out a laugh.
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