The Unexpected Champion

by Mary Connealy

  Penny was just thinking he was a handy guy to have as a husband, when his small shovel hit something with a sharp clank. Metal striking metal. He’d found buried treasure.

  John dropped to his knees and pushed dirt aside, uncovering more of a chest with every sweep of his hands.

  The gray steel box was a foot wide, eight inches deep, with a lid that arched on top like a small trunk. It was heavy for its size, and John had a fight on his hands to get it out of the ground.

  “This isn’t some tin box, either. It’s an iron chest.” John dragged it free of the ground and plunked it right in front of the stone that stood guard over it. “A sturdy container that’d make a pirate proud.”

  He fiddled with the latch. The lid was rusty, but it flipped open, hinges screeching. “Not locked.”

  Cam dropped to his knees on John’s right. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “I’m betting it’s not gold and jewels.” Trace went to the other side of the witchrock. “Not much use for them out here anyway. Deb sure would look silly wearing diamonds to cook biscuits.”

  John looked straight at the pointy stone. “Good grief, it looks more like a witch every second.”

  Penny crouched beside John and reached into the open chest without pausing to savor the moment, which John thought wasn’t very fun of her. She pulled out something wrapped in oilcloth and tied with string like a parcel headed for the mail.

  Cam got involved. He produced a razor-sharp knife so fast John almost flinched. He was dealing with some tough men—and woman—out here in the West.

  Not wanting to be left out of his own discovery . . . not counting that Penny had figured out where to dig . . . but honestly it was his shovel . . . John unwrapped another packet wrapped in oilcloth to find a leather pouch.

  “Gotta give him credit for trying to protect it,” Penny said dryly.

  John flipped open a leather flap and reached inside to pull out papers. And another smaller leather pouch.

  Trace must’ve figured he should get to help. He moved to kneel shoulder to shoulder with Penny and lifted a piece of paper off the top and unfolded it and read, “‘Wanted: Dead or Alive.’”

  It was a wanted poster for murder. And a picture.

  Penny gasped. “I remember him from the night at the restaurant.”

  “That’s the man I figured to be Luther Payne. He was at the restaurant wearing Hessian boots, and he’s the one we saw later on the street, when we hid in that doorway.”

  “On his way back from killing the shopkeeper, calm as you please.” Penny sounded sick. “Remember he laughed? He saw us there kissing and laughed.”

  Cam swatted John on the back of the head.

  John scowled. “What? She’s my wife. And kissing her probably saved both our lives.”

  “This is from back east. Ohio. And the poster calls him Lewis Posner.”

  Trace lifted the wanted poster away and another one was revealed. This one with a picture of Raddo. Also wanted for murder. His name was really Randy Posner.

  They all exchanged looks. Cam asked, “They’re brothers?”

  John looked at Penny. “It’s possible. I only saw Raddo that one time for a second, then he was dead. And I saw Payne those two times, and not close, but I’d say they’re both the same size. Both have dark hair. Hard to judge a family resemblance when one man is draped over a saddle.”

  Trace moved to the next in the sheaf of papers. This one was a picture. A stiffly posed family portrait. A father and mother and four children. The two oldest were boys, nearly full grown. In front of them were a little girl and another boy.

  Pointing at the younger of the two mostly grown boys, Cam said, “That’s Raddo.”

  “The oldest kid is Luther,” John said. “And this is a nicely staged picture. It’s mighty worn from being carried around, but it has to be a family picture, and those folks are Mr. and Mrs. Posner. I wonder if the other youngsters turned to a life of crime, too?”

  “Keep hunting. What’s in that leather pouch?” Trace sounded impatient.

  John pulled out several sheets of paper covered with writing. He began reading out loud. It was a list of the crimes the brothers had committed: where they’d stolen money and when they’d killed men. Raddo listed men who’d ridden with them back east and told of them heading west, running from the law. They’d found new hunting grounds for their robbery and murder.

  “Look at this,” Penny said, reading over John’s shoulder. “Raddo says the wagon train massacres were all Luther’s ideas. And he said they did a few back east, too, but it was harder, the wagon trains were too big. Luther thought it’d be easier pickings once they got farther west. The men were tired, and their guard was down. Then the gang quit the wagon train massacres and turned to robbing miners caught out alone. Finally, they both turned their hands to mining.”

  “What’s this talk of a guardian?” John asked. “Raddo sounds like he’s getting a little bit touched in the head. He talks of ghosts haunting the trail. Superstitious nonsense.”

  Trace looked across Penny and John to meet Cam’s eyes.

  “Oh, tell him.” Penny nudged Trace.

  Trace tipped his head sheepishly. “I’m who he’s talking about. I’m the ghost who haunted that trail. They called me The Guardian. The first couple years out here, after these coyotes killed my pa, I was madder’n a bear with its tail on fire. I stood sentry over that trail. I thinned out the outlaws some, but mostly I just scared them away.”

  John stared at Trace, then read the letter again, then stared at Trace some more. “Raddo acts like he’s scared of you. Like he thinks you’re the ghost of someone he killed and you were out to get him.”

  “I never showed myself. I moved quiet . . . except when my gun started blasting. I reckon I drove Raddo and Luther into another line of work. But I sure didn’t change the kind of men they were. I made the trail safer, but I didn’t solve anything. He’s telling here about robbing miners. Then stealing whole mines.”

  “Yep, Raddo has a list here of Luther’s victims. The last killing is dated ten years ago. I’m guessing that’s how long ago he buried the box.”

  “Mr. Bolling said Payne started building this fortress ten years ago.” Penny sifted through the papers.

  “And he’s been holding this over Luther’s head ever since.” Cam looked up from the wanted poster he was holding. “Remember when we caught up to Raddo in that cave? He ran and left everything behind—and everything wasn’t much. He was dressed in rags. He was wearing those skis, no sign of a horse. He had a bullet in him, too.”

  Trace handed the wanted poster with Raddo’s picture on it to Penny. “Then a few weeks go by, and here he comes at us again. Only he’s got gold in his saddlebags. He’s all healed up and wearing fine clothes, riding a fine horse. He went here, to Luther.”

  “And Raddo blackmailed Luther into helping him.”

  John tapped on a few lines at the bottom of the page he was reading. “He says Luther was fierce about not leaving any witnesses.” John handed off all the papers and stood.

  “Well,” Trace said, “we know that Raddo wanted to silence witnesses.”

  Penny expected John to start pacing, and he didn’t disappoint.

  Cam said, “What we need to do is get the army in here with a cannon and blast our way through that wall.”

  “Arresting a killer isn’t a problem you take to the army, Cam.” Trace studied the papers some more.

  “Then we need the sheriff and a posse.” Cam glared at that huge fortress wall. “And an army with a cannon.”

  “I’ve met two sheriffs around here. The one in Dismal I wouldn’t trust to water my horse.” Trace shook his head. “The one in Carson City is a good man, but he doesn’t look for trouble outside of town.”

  “We avoided the law in Virginia City,” Penny said. “We didn’t trust the lawmen. They might be fine, but Luther’s gotten away with his crimes right under their noses for years. They’re either poor at their jo
b, afraid, or they’ve been bought and paid for by Payne.”

  “Add to that,” Cam said, “John was wanted for kidnapping and murder.”

  John kept walking back and forth. “For all those reasons we weren’t inspired to take our troubles to the law.”

  John happened to walk past Cam at that moment, and he slugged him in the shoulder.

  “Sorry about that.” Cam didn’t hit back, which meant he knew he deserved one good punch for reporting John as a kidnapper. “So, it’s left to us to do what I think needs an army.” He rubbed his shoulder and added, “You said you had a plan?”

  John stopped and turned to face the wall, just visible through the trees. “My plan is to go for a swim.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  Penny threw herself in front of John and spread her arms wide like she was heading off a stubborn bull.

  “You’re not swimming around that wall. You have no idea what you’ll face when you get inside. Luther could be standing there waiting for you with a rifle. You can’t take a gun with you because it won’t survive getting wet. No, absolutely not.”

  John looked over his shoulder at Trace and Cam. “I need rope. At least thirty feet of it. I have some but not that much. Did you carry some on your saddles?”

  “Yep, we have more than enough.” Trace didn’t go for the rope yet. He was busy shifting his eyes between Penny and John.

  “That wall is fifteen feet tall, I’d estimate. I’ll swim around the wall with the rope, toss it over to you, and you’ll come over. I’ll be fast. I won’t take any chances I don’t need to, and I’m a good swimmer so I can—”

  “This isn’t about being able to swim,” Penny shouted. Then she dropped her voice, but the anger was loud and clear. “This is about a multiple murderer waiting for you when you surface. We’ll find another way in. We can . . . can . . . We can build a ladder.” Penny gave him a firm nod of satisfaction. “Have you got an ax in your pack?”

  “Remember me telling you about the Anaconda Plan?”

  “Stop talking and get the ax. Cam can ride home and get one if we finally found something you don’t carry with you.”

  “I’ve heard of the Anaconda Plan,” Cam said.

  “What’s an anaconda?” Trace asked.

  “It’s a big snake. Some say an anaconda can get twenty feet long and weigh one or two hundred pounds, and they can drop out of trees and crush you in their coils. I’ve even heard they can swallow a man whole.”

  Trace looked overhead. “I’ve been out here a long time. I don’t think we have any of those. In fact—”

  “The Anaconda Plan,” John interrupted firmly, “was a tactic they used in the navy during the war to cut off ports to end trade and shipping. They created a long blockade and wrapped it around the East Coast, Florida, and up the Mississippi River. I was in the navy, and I was involved in it. We meant to bring the South to its knees without a bloody, vicious war with Americans on both sides killing each other.”

  His expression grim, Cam said, “They failed at that.”

  John nodded.

  “Stop trying to change the subject,” Penny interjected. “You’re not swimming around that fence alone, unarmed, with nothing but a rope you hope to have a chance to toss over the wall.”

  “I was a spy for the navy. I didn’t just sit on a boat. It was common for us to launch small boats, dock offshore, and swim to land. As part of the Anaconda Plan, I’d spy on the officers while they concocted battle plans. I’d locate troops, count their numbers, and see how well-armed and supplied they were.”

  “Decent work for a man who’s a trained detective.”

  “I was perfect for it. I also on occasion blew up munitions, stole papers, spiked cannons, destroyed supplies. Oh, I caused all sorts of mischief.”

  “I’ll bet you were good at that,” Penny said dryly.

  John grinned. “So, I’m an excellent swimmer, and I’m used to making it to land quietly, cautiously. I won’t just stand up on the beach and shake the water off me like a dog. I’ll slip in, keep low, see where the house is, find a place I can toss this rope over the wall without being too noticeable, and get all of you and your guns in there. It sounds like there’s a good chance the only people in there are Luther and the Chiltons. I’ll be careful. I’ll be all right. I’m good at this.”

  “Take someone with you at least. Cam, you were a soldier. Trace, you know the frontier like few men alive. One of you go with him.” Penny snapped her fingers, and her eyes blazed. “I know. I’ll wrap the gun in that oilcloth that Raddo had in the treasure chest. There’s not a whole lot of it. But enough to keep at least one gun dry.”

  She looked from John to Cam to Trace. They stood, three in a row, right in front of her. The last two looking a little uncomfortable.

  “What are you waiting for? One of you volunteer to go.”

  Cam opened his mouth, closed it, and shrugged. Trace exchanged a glance with Cam, studied the sky, then clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the toes of his boots.

  “What is it?”

  “I oughta go, but the thing is . . . is . . . well, I . . . I . . .” Trace shrugged and said sheepishly, “I can’t swim.”

  Cam heaved out a sigh of relief.

  Penny glared at her brother. “Why are you happy to hear that?”

  “Because I can’t swim, either. I don’t feel like I’m the only failure in the group now.”

  Penny looked at John, who arched one brow and fought a smile.

  She said, “Fine, I’ll go. I can swim like a fish.”

  The two nonswimmers looked stunned.

  All amusement faded from John’s expression. “You’re not going.”

  “You can’t do this alone, and neither of these two half-wits are capable.”

  “Hey,” Cam growled.

  “I’ll take that little pepper gun with me, there’s plenty of oilcloth to wrap that up. Okay, we’re burning daylight. Cam and Trace, get down there close to the wall so you don’t have far to go when the rope comes over. John—”

  “Will you just hold on a minute? If I let you go, and I’m thinking maybe I will, then I’m sure enough not going to let you be in charge.”

  “I’ll fetch the rope.” Trace walked into the woods.

  “There are a couple of things I wasn’t going to bother to tell you about the swim, since I planned to go alone.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t want to be stuck with cold, wet clothes while I’m hunting Luther and the Chiltons.”

  “We don’t always get what we want in life.” Penny sounded like a philosopher now.

  “I do, in this case.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “I do it by . . . ahem . . .” He glanced at Cam, then Penny. “I do it by swimming . . . in my drawers.”

  With a gasp of outrage, Penny said, “If you think I’m going to be in my undergarments in front of three men, I may have to use that little pistol on all of you.”

  “Trace and I could turn our backs away from the lake. John could face the water, then wade straight in without a single backward look.”

  “You picked a great time to start coming up with ideas,” Penny snarled at her brother.

  Trace came back with the rope.

  Penny said, “I’m not swimming in my undergarments and neither are you. We’ll just have to get wet.”

  “Cam can throw the rope back over the wall and have our clothes tied in a bundle. We can get our clothes back on first thing.”

  “First thing is way too late.”

  “It doesn’t matter because you’re not going.”

  Trace handed John the rope. John studied it a second—it looked like three lassos tied together to make enough length—then slung it over his head and under one arm. He said, “Turn your back, Penny. Even though you’re my wife, we don’t know each other all that well yet.”

  “I’m mighty pleased to hear that,” Cam said with a smug smile.

  �
��I’m going,” she said. “And I’m keeping all my clothes on, and so are you, McCall. Being wet isn’t as important as being modest. I’m sure we’ll dry quick enough.”

  John glowered.

  Penny said, “Wait a minute, why’d you say Cam can throw the rope over the wall. What about Trace?”

  “He’s not going to be here.”

  “I’m here right now.” Trace crossed his arms and glared at John.

  “Someone”—John’s voice got deadly earnest—“needs to take that evidence and ride to town. We can’t take a risk like we’re getting ready to take and end up not proving Luther’s crimes.”

  “You’ll have a lot better chance of winning this fight with me.”

  “I know it, and I’ve tried to figure out a way to ride to Carson City, hand that proof to the sheriff, and get back here in time to capture Luther. For that matter, I’d like to wait until dark to try this stunt.”

  “It’s the middle of the afternoon.” Penny looked at the sun, still high in the sky. “Dark is hours away.”

  “I’m hoping we can just slip around that wall, underwater, find some cover, and get Cam inside without being noticed. But our chances of success drop with every moment that passes, because Luther is going to be on high alert when his men don’t come back.”

  “He may start shooting at anything that moves,” Penny said. She was afraid he was going to do that anyway.

  “Trace, you know Sheriff Moore best. You’re the man he’s most likely to trust. Get this evidence to Carson City and tell the sheriff what’s going on. Then bring back a posse. Ask the sheriff to bring the most uncompromising, honorable men in town. Men Luther can’t buy or frighten. It won’t be that easy to find men like that, but if we trust the sheriff, then you’ll have to trust him to select good men. Things should be over here, and I’ll have that gate open. You can come in and collect our prisoners.”

  Trace looked at the little chest. “It sits wrong to leave you here.”

  “I’d send Penny if I didn’t hate the idea of her riding alone . . . and the sheriff doesn’t know her . . . and neither of you can swim.”