Ghost Canyon
Anthony M. Strong
West Street Publishing
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to events or places, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Anthony M. Strong
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover art and interior design by Bad Dog Media, LLC.
For Izzie and Hayden (who was the inspiration for Tieg).
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Epilogue
Ready for another John Decker Adventure?
Acknowledgments
Also by Anthony M. Strong
Prologue
August 1874—Southern Nevada
The two men and the mule moved through the darkness; their way illuminated only by the glow of the full moon that hung low in a cloudless sky. Karuk went first, leading his companion along the mountain trail with confidence despite the younger man’s unease.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going,” Travis Biggs asked, peering nervously towards the rocky landscape that spread out on each side of them, rising steeply as they went higher. They had left the mining town far behind and could no longer hear the faint tinkle of the piano or the raucous laughter coming from the bordello that sat on the dusty main street. “Why couldn’t we have come out here in daylight?”
“You know why. We can’t be seen.” Karuk glanced back, the moonlight illuminating his finely sculpted features. A subtle blend of Native American and Old World that highlighted his position as an outcast in both cultures thanks to the union between a white man and his Ojibwe mother. “Do you want to do this, or not?”
“It’s that or share the gold, and there’s not enough in that vein for everyone.”
“Then shut up and stop complaining. We’re almost there,” Karuk said, then lapsed into silence.
They continued on for another fifteen minutes until the trail ended at a rocky plateau dotted with creosote bushes, sagebrush, and Joshua trees. Beyond this the terrain rose even further but was completely impassable.
Karuk led them to a spot marked only by a pile of gathered rocks. He removed them one by one, casting them aside while Travis watched, one hand holding the mule’s reins.
“Hand me the shovel,” Karuk said once he had exposed the ground underneath the rock pile.
Travis led the mule to a bush and tied the reins around a sturdy branch, then removed a shovel from the packsaddle and handed it to his companion.
Karuk took it and began to dig, removing the top layer of sand and dirt. He hadn’t dug far when the white dome of a skull revealed itself, wiry tufts of hair still attached in places.
“Is that what we’re looking for?” Travis asked, suppressing a shiver of revulsion.
“Not the skull,” Karuk said, moving more dirt aside with the shovel’s blade.
There were more bones now. Vertebrae and a rib cage. Arm bones, including the humerus and radius. Moving lower, Karuk uncovered the pelvis and leg bones. He gently lifted a femur and held it out to Travis.
“Here, take this,” he said.
Travis accepted the bone and slipped it into a leather bag hanging from the mule’s pack.
Karuk removed several more bones, passing them to Travis before taking the shovel and pushing dirt back over the now desecrated remains. He piled the rocks back in place, and then stepped aside. “We should leave. The spirits will be angry.”
Travis nodded. He didn’t like it up here. “You won’t get any argument from me.”
He unhitched the mule and together they retraced their steps down the trail, picking their way slowly through the treacherous landscape. When they reached the end of the trail, the pair veered off instead of following the path back into town.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Karuk asked as they approached the entrance to the Ghost Canyon Mine.
“You’re not going to get cold feet now after we already did the hard part, are you?” Travis responded. He’d been concerned about partnering with the half-breed. The man was a loose-lipped alcoholic and spent most of his time hanging around the bordello even when he wasn’t working there sweeping the floors and picking up after the miners and their women. But Karuk knew the legends. He also knew where the disgraced Paiute warrior, Shilah, rested far from the traditional burial grounds.
“I’ll go through with it.” A troubled expression passed across Karuk’s face. “I don’t like playing with dark forces, that’s all. It’s bad luck.”
“It’ll be bad luck for Scratchy Bill and his boys when they come down into this mine tomorrow. That much I know.” Travis chuckled. He sure would like to see the faces of the other miners when they found out what would be waiting for them in the darkness. But he wouldn’t be there. Travis would be far from here in the bordello, enjoying a glass or two of rye whiskey and toasting his own newfound good luck. “Let’s get on with it. I want to get back to town.”
“Hand me the bag with the bones,” Karuk instructed. “Quickly, now.”
Travis unhitched the leather satchel from the mule’s pack, gave it to Karuk. He eyed the mine opening. “How far in do we need to place the bones?”
“Near the seam. We want to make sure that no one comes out alive.”
“We have to go that far into the mine at this time of night?” Travis felt his gut clench.
“You don’t need to come. I can take care of it if you want. Someone should stay and watch the mule, anyway.”
“Sounds fair to me.” Travis unclipped a lamp from the pack and held it out to Karuk.
“You’ll need this.”
“Thank you.” Karuk took the oil lamp and lit it, then slung the leather satchel over one shoulder. “I’ll be as quick as I can. Wait for me here. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be right here when you get back,” Travis replied.
“Make sure that you are.” Karuk headed off toward the mine entrance.
Travis watched him enter. For a while he could see the glow from the miner’s lamp as Karuk moved deeper into the tunnel, but soon even that faded, and Travis was left with only the mule for company.
He glanced back down the trail, wishing he could return to town and partake of a couple of Mule Skinners, rye whiskey cut with blackberry liquor. His throat was dry and dusty from the trek up into the mountains. But he’d promised Karuk that he wouldn’t leave, and he would be as good as his word. His plan wasn’t fully executed yet. There was one thing he still needed to do once Karuk returned. Then there would be no one else to lay claim to the seam. As far as anyone knew, the mine was tapped out, which was why most of the miners had already departed the town looking for new opportunities. Some had gone to California. Others headed north toward Carson City. He briefly considered following them, but then Travis and his crew had found a fresh source of gold in the Ghost Canyon Mine. And since they’d sworn each other to secrecy, no one else knew about it.
From somewhere out in the desert a coyote howled, the sound lonesome and chilling. It sent a shiver down Travis’ spine. He looked toward the mine entrance and willed Karuk to return. How long could it take to scatter some old bones?
He’d barely finished thinking the question when he saw a yellow glow light the entrance. Moments later, Karuk emerged with the satchel still slung across one shoulder.
“You get it done?” Travis asked as Karuk drew close.
“It’s taken care of.” Karuk extinguished the lamp and hooked it back onto the mule pack along with the satchel. He pulled his duster tight around his thin frame and walked past Travis toward the path leading back to town. As he did, he spoke over his shoulder. “Bring the mule and let’s get out of here. I’m thirsty.”
“Right behind you,” Travis said. But instead of following along, he reached down to the six-shooter holstered at his hip. He pulled the gun free and took aim at the retreating man, cocking the hammer at the same time.
Karuk registered the slight noise and started to turn, alarmed, just as Travis pulled the trigger.
The bullet slammed into Karuk between his shoulder blades and sent him to the ground in a spinning tumble.
The mule whinnied, frightened by the sudden noise.
Travis pulled the hammer back again and kept the revolver trained on the prone man as he approached him. But Karuk was in no shape to fight back. He lay in a swiftly widening pool of his own blood and looked up at Travis with pleading eyes.
“Help me,” he said in a wheezing voice. “It hurts.”
Travis said nothing. He merely released the hammer and slipped the revolver back into its holster. There was no need to make more noise than necessary and shooting Karuk again would only waste a good bullet. He bent down and took Karuk’s arms, then dragged him to the side of the path.
“What are you doing?” The older man’s eyes widened in terror. He coughed up a mix of phlegm and blood.
Travis ignored the question. He paused a moment to catch his breath, noting how Karuk’s face was already becoming slack as his spirit took flight. Then he gripped his dying companion with both hands and pushed him off the path.
Karuk half slid, half rolled down a steep incline and disappeared from sight into the dense brush at the bottom.
The unpleasant task completed, Travis kicked dirt over the blood until it was no longer visible and then returned to the mule. Tomorrow the other miners would come up here and encounter the traps that he and Karuk had laid for them. Then, once they were as dead as the half-breed, he would enter the mine, collect the bones, and reinter them now that he knew where the old warrior lay buried.
Then the gold would be his, and his alone.
Chapter One
Today—Haley Ghost Town, Nevada
Robyn Miller stood on the front porch of the Last Chance Saloon and Hotel and looked at her watch. It was already gone eleven in the morning and the group of geologists she was waiting to meet were late. Standing at her heel was Tieg, the blond mop of a mutt she’d rescued from the animal shelter three years before. He looked up at her and let out a low woof, as if he agreed that the men Robyn was waiting for were unacceptably tardy.
She sighed and went back inside, the dog tagging along at her side.
The sound of hammers and various power tools echoed through the building thanks to the workers renovating the rooms on the second floor. The hotel’s restoration was behind schedule, with the third floor not even touched yet. She had resigned herself to the fact that it wouldn’t be open before the spring.
“Are you still waiting on those guys from Vegas?” Carlton Miller, her great uncle, appeared from the direction of the recently completed saloon bar. He stood on the other side of the lobby, arms folded, and observed her with a stare that barely concealed his animosity.
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” Robyn replied. Carlton reminded her of an old crow, with a gaunt face and beady black eyes that hid an intelligent yet sardonic personality. She wished, not for the first time, that he wasn’t a one-third owner in the old ghost town that had been in their family for generations. He was a thorn in her side. A constant prickle that refused to go away. That she owned the other two-thirds of the property was a bone of contention that would never resolve itself until the old man was in his grave. Not that she wished him dead. She merely wanted the curmudgeonly senior to share her vision for what could become a profitable business and restore the family fortunes.
Tieg, who liked Carlton about as much as Robyn did, slipped off to the back of the building, pausing once to look back at his owner, then disappearing into the small office behind the stairs where his bed was located.
Carlton shook his head in disdain. “I bet they’re not coming. They probably found something better to do.”
“They’re coming. Why wouldn’t they? I made the arrangements weeks ago.” But even as she said the words, Robyn felt a pang of anxiety. What if they had forgotten the appointment? If she couldn’t get the mine inspected to make sure it was safe, she wouldn’t be able to take people down there. That would remove a much-needed income stream, especially since she’d already shelled out the money to have the entrance blasted open again.
“I don’t know why you want to play around with that dirty old mine, anyway.” Carlton let out a derisive snort. “It’s a foolhardy venture, if you ask me.”
“No one’s asking you.” Robyn turned away and glanced back through the open door. The long and dusty canyon road into town was still empty.
“Like you didn’t ask me about doing up this place,” Carlton said, sweeping his arms around the old hotel’s lobby. “Who the hell’s going to want to stay in a rickety old bordello, anyway?”
“Lots of people.” Robyn had gone through this with her great-uncle before and had no desire to relitigate old arguments. “We’re less than an hour’s drive from Las Vegas. You should know. You’ve been living up here and selling unofficial tours for years.”
“There’s a big difference between letting folks who drive out from the Strip wander around for ten bucks a pop and pretend they’re cowboys for a few hours and trying to get people to give up their glamorous hotels and fancy restaurants to stay in a falling down old wooden box that saw its heyday in the 1870s.”
“Well, I disagree.” Robyn was getting antsy. If the geologists would hurry and arrive, she could end this conversation. “Unusual wedding venues are big business these days, and we need somewhere for the guests to stay if we want to turn this into a true destination.”
“That’s another thing. You’re ruining the integrity of the town with that ridiculous wedding chapel you want to
build. Not to mention the camping area. That’s all we need, a bunch of hulking RVs driven by yahoos cruising in and tearing it up.”
“How in blazes am I ruining the integrity of the town? I’m burning with curiosity. Please, tell me?” Robyn felt the familiar surge of frustration that bubbled up whenever she dealt with Carlton. “Before I got here, this place was practically falling into the ground. You weren’t doing any maintenance on the buildings and you didn’t even have liability insurance. All it would’ve taken was one person to slip and fall or cut themselves on one of the rusty relics of cars and machinery you have lying around here, and we’d have lost the place to a lawsuit.”
“That wouldn’t happen. People aren’t stupid.”
“You don’t know that. One careless mishap and we’d lose everything.”
“Good riddance. If it were up to me, I’d have sold the town when that developer was buying up all the land hereabouts for their fancy-ass planned community.”
Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) Page 1