“You…saved my life…risked your own. Trapp…was going to shoot me…so he and Holliday…could say it was all me.”
“I already figured out what the plan was. You just didn’t bank on me and Ally surviving.”
Gale still clung to the sleeve of Ethan’s coat. “But…you already knew I’d…tried to kill you. Why did you…keep Trapp from…shooting me?”
Ethan pulled his hand away. “Because you’re the only one who can tell the real story. I’ll do what I can to keep you from being hanged, Trevor, as long as you do what you can to put Roy Holliday behind bars, or better yet, see him hang from the end of a rope! I think he’s the one who had John Sebastian killed, and Wayne Trapp probably pulled the trigger!”
He rose and left, grabbing a canteen from one of the horses and taking a long drink. Thirst was beginning to overwhelm him, and he knew it was from the bullet wound. He rounded up Blackfoot, tying his horse and all the mules together. He tied Trevor Gale to the pieces of board and brought a horse over to tie ropes from either side of the makeshift travois to the saddle of the horse. Wayne Trapp remained connected to the other horse by the rope around his neck, still cursing and crying.
Ethan brought Blackfoot over to Allyson and took the gun back from her, noticing a strange look on her face. “Are you hurt worse than I thought?”
“I’ll…be all right,” she answered.
Ethan helped her to her feet. “It’s the baby, isn’t it?”
She shook her head but could not stop the tears. “Ethan, I’m scared.”
“Let’s just get down to Cripple Creek. Can you ride Blackfoot without a saddle? I don’t think I can even lift one to put it on him. I’d let you ride one of the others, but I’ve got Trapp tied to one and Gale to the other. I’ll have to keep an eye on both of them. I’ll kneel down. You can step on me to climb up. I don’t think I can lift you right now.”
Allyson nodded, wondering if they would both die before they got help. She sniffed back her tears and used the blanket to wipe them from her face. Ethan crouched down, and she heard him grunt when she stepped on his back to climb onto Blackfoot. Her own pain was getting worse, but she refused to let Ethan know how bad it was. She noticed it was difficult for Ethan to even get back on his feet. He stood beside Blackfoot for a moment to take a few deep breaths, and Allyson suspected that of all the things he had been through in his scouting days, and whatever other injuries he might have suffered, this was probably the hardest thing he had ever done. He was hanging on for her sake alone, and she loved him even more for it. When he looked up at her his face was bathed in sweat.
“Ethan, maybe we should wait—”
“We can’t. It’s now…or never.” He clung to the horses as he made his way to the one that had Wayne Trapp tied to it. He picked up the reins, then with a great deal of effort managed to mount the horse that had the travois tied to it. “Hang on,” he called to Allyson. “Blackfoot will follow. You don’t need to give him orders. Just hang on to his mane.”
Allyson nodded, and Ethan got the horses underway. The rope pulled at Wayne Trapp’s neck, forcing the man to follow. He tried to scream curses at Ethan, but the tight rope soon taught him to conserve his breath. Trevor Gale lay passed out on the travois, and Ethan prayed he would not die. The man’s testimony would be vital, but then none of it would mean anything if he and Ally didn’t make it. Never had he struggled so hard against pain, and he knew it would be a miracle if he made it to Cripple Creek before he collapsed from loss of blood. The most important thing of all was to get help for Ally. She was losing their baby, and as far as he was concerned, of all the things that had happened this morning, that was the biggest tragedy of all.
Miners and businessmen who happened to be milling about Cripple Creek noticed the sad procession. An Indian walked beside a saddled horse, clinging with one hand to its mane, keeping his right arm around a young, red-headed woman wrapped in a blanket and sitting in the saddle. Both looked ready to pass out. What could be seen of the Indian’s denim pants beneath his fur jacket was bloodstained, and the woman looked white as a ghost. Her horse pulled a heavy-set man by the neck, and many recognized Roy Holliday’s right-hand man, who wore no jacket and looked close to passing out himself. A second horse, linked by a rope to the first, dragged a travois with someone tied to it, and behind that came a bare-backed buckskin horse, a rope around its neck, leading a string of mules.
It was a strange sight indeed, and at first people just stared in wonder. Finally a man ran up to the Indian to ask if he could help.
Ethan just stared at the man a moment, hardly aware they had finally made it to town. Allyson had gotten worse along the way, and he had put her on one of the saddled horses so she could hang on better, then decided to walk along beside her to stay close by in case she should start slipping from the saddle. He knew deep inside what was happening to her. She was losing the baby, and it was his fault. If he had told her about the bonanza, they could have come into town a month ago, registered the find, and decided then whether to sell the claim or mine it. The confrontation with Holliday’s men could have been avoided.
“Somebody…get the sheriff,” Ethan told the man who offered help. Others were approaching now, some of them recognizing Ethan and Allyson, most of them knowing who Wayne Trapp was. “Have him…hold Roy Holliday…” Ethan turned and pointed to Trapp and the travois. “These two, also. They work…for Holliday…tried to kill me and Ally…so Holliday could steal our claim.”
A mumble of disbelief circulated through the small group. “I don’t believe it,” one of them spoke up.
“I do,” said another. “We all know the kind of man Holliday is. We’ve just never had proof, till now.”
“Ask…Trevor Gale,” Ethan told them. “On the…travois. Trapp…shot him. Holliday had him set dynamite…try to kill us. He was going to kill Trevor…blame it all…on him…keep Holliday’s name in the clear.” He looked back at the first man, grasping his shoulder. “Need a doctor. Ally’s carrying…losing the baby. I’ve been…shot myself.” With those words he slipped to the ground.
Someone ran for the doctor, another for the sheriff. Some helped Allyson down from the horse and others untied Wayne Trapp at the neck but left his hands tied behind his back. Trapp also fell to the ground, exhausted from having to keep up and not being able to get enough air. Some of the others dispersed to spread the word, heading for the saloons.
“Come on, Indian. We’ll get you and the woman to Doc’s place,” someone told Ethan. He managed to get to his feet again, with the help of two men. Another man carried Allyson.
“Trevor Gale…don’t let him…die,” Ethan told the man helping him. “Bring him…too. He’s my witness.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of all this.”
Ethan could hear shouting, knew how fast word could spread in a little town like Cripple Creek. “Somebody get Holliday!” someone yelled. “He’ll answer for this!”
“Holliday tried to kill that perty little woman!” added another voice.
Ally. What was going to happen to Ally? Would he lose her and the baby? Even if he didn’t lose her to death, he had surely lost her another way—she would blame him for losing the baby. On top of that, she had her bonanza. She would be a rich woman, just like she had always wanted. And just like back in Guthrie, she didn’t need him anymore.
Now it seemed there was running and shouting everywhere. He heard Wayne Trapp yelling some kind of protest, shouting that “it was all Roy Holliday’s doing.”
“We’ll let a judge decide,” someone told him.
“Maybe we’ll hold our own court right here in Cripple Creek!” someone else yelled. “A hanging is what they deserve! Everybody knows the punishment for claim jumpin’, and that’s exactly what Holliday tried to do!”
Ethan grasped the jacket of the stranger helping him. “Lloyd Hunt…the assayer…get him, too. He knew. I think…he knew.”
“Knew what?”
Ethan
struggled to keep from slipping into unconsciousness. “Bonanza. Allyson Mills…a bonanza on…her claim. That’s why…Holliday wanted it. I found it…vein of gold…bonanza.”
“They hit it!” someone yelled. “There’s a bonanza on the woman’s claim! Holliday knew about it!”
More shouting. Ethan turned to look at Ally. Pale! So pale! The picture stayed in his mind as a blackness enveloped him. He heard more voices, felt hands lifting him, then everything went dark and silent.
29
Roy Holliday picked up a fountain pen to finish signing some papers, wondering why Wayne Trapp wasn’t back. The deed should be done. In fact, he was sure he’d heard the explosion himself early this morning. It had a different sound from the explosions in the mines deep inside the mountain. This one was louder, less muffled. He had breathed a sigh of relief when he heard it, while still lying in his bed. Now it was getting dark, and he was beginning to worry. Wayne was supposed to shoot Trevor Gale and be back in town by now, spreading the news of what he had found up on the mountain. Trevor Gale had gotten his revenge, and Wayne had caught him in the act.
He signed a few papers, then heard a commotion in the street below. He turned to the window, put the pen back in its base, and rose. There was a lot of shouting going on below, and he thought he heard his own name. Was Wayne back with Trevor’s body? An intense excitement gripped him. At last he could get his hands on Allyson Mills’s bonanza! He had no doubt it was worth millions. They might as well rename Eagle Mountain Holliday Mountain, because he would own most of it now!
He walked to the window to look out. Men were running about, shouting, some carrying torches, others heading toward the hotel with guns! He frowned and glanced down the street as far as he could see. They were helping someone…a woman and an Indian! “My God!” he muttered. Something had gone wrong! Now he could see Wayne. The man’s hands were tied and they were herding him toward the jailhouse! “That stupid, fat sonofabitch,” Holliday snarled. “I should have hired a professional!” By now Wayne Trapp should be a professional. And what about Trevor? He was a man who knew explosives better than anyone in Colorado. How could he have failed? And where was he?
He turned away from the window and rushed to his desk to pull out a pistol. He shoved it into the waist of his pants, then hurried to a wall safe and scrambled to remember the right numbers. He could already hear footsteps and voices in the lobby below, then the sound of men heading up the stairs. He grabbed wads of money from the safe and crammed it into his pockets, then headed for a back way out of the office, but too late. The main doorway burst open, and a mob stormed inside. “Hold it right there, Mr. Holliday!” one of them warned.
Holliday turned and faced them, standing a little straighter, putting on an air of authority. “What the hell is going on here? You have no right barging into my office this way!”
“From the looks of things, you already knew we were comin’,” one of them answered. “What you runnin’ from, Mr. Holliday? Attempted murder? Claim jumpin’?”
Holliday could not control the flush that suffused his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Wayne Trapp spilled it all while he was bein’ dragged to the sheriff’s office,” another told him. “Ain’t nothin’ left to try to cover up, Mr. Holliday. You’ve got some explainin’ to do to the U. S. Marshal. In the meantime, you can come with us and wait for him over at the jail.”
Holliday backed up slightly, then pulled the pistol out and waved it at all of them. “I’m not going anyplace with any of you!”
“Use your head, Holliday.” The owner of a nearby supply store stepped forward. “You’d better come peaceful-like, and maybe everybody will just wait for the marshal and let this be handled the right way. You can get yourself a lawyer and all. If you try to shoot one of us or get away, this mob will just get angrier. Think about it. Most of these people are miners who already have some grievances against you. I wouldn’t piss them off any worse. I’ve seen lynch mobs before. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“You had John Sebastian killed, didn’t you?” one of the others shouted.
“You tried to kill that little lady up there who was mindin’ her own business, tryin’ to work her legal claim. Ain’t none of us much approve of her bein’ up there with the Indian, but we know he’s a good man, and it looks like he saved her life today; and no matter what we think of folks workin’ a claim, ain’t no man got a right to try to kill them and steal it.”
Holliday slowly lowered the pistol, then reached out to lay it on his desk. “You’re all crazy, and Wayne Trapp is a liar! I didn’t have anything to do with trying to kill anyone!”
“It’s four against one, Holliday,” another answered. “The Indian, the woman, Trapp, and Trevor Gale. He’s still alive, too. We know Trapp tried to kill him so’s he could say it was all Trevor’s doin’.”
Holliday went white. He’d thought that at least Trevor was dead. Then maybe somehow he could say Wayne was angry with him about wages or something and had staged all of this for revenge. With Trevor alive to verify the plan, and most certainly furious at realizing he’d been used and tricked, there was no escaping the truth. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “I’ll go with you peacefully, but I want a telegram sent to my attorney in Colorado Springs. I want him here at once!”
“We’ll be sure to do your bidding,” a man answered sarcastically. Holliday recognized him as one of the miners who had joined Trevor Gale in trying to organize a strike. The man reached out for him. “Let’s go.”
Holliday jerked away. “Keep your hands off me!”
“Hey, what’s that bulgin’ in his pockets?” another put in.
In seconds Holliday was surrounded and searched. Men pulled wads of money from his pants pockets and from inside his jacket, then pulled the jacket completely off. “Stop it! Give me back that money!” Holliday protested, but to no avail. Men whooped and hollered and cheered. Paper money in bills of large amounts was tossed into the air and began raining down for the men to grab as they could. Holliday was tossed about, his vest torn off, his gold watch ripped from its cord. It was impossible to see which man had taken what or how much. The rings came off his fingers. Some of the more respectable businessmen tried to stop the melee, but it was too late. All they could do was try to protect Roy Holliday. They got hold of him and rushed him out the door to escort him to the jail, while some of the men remained behind to ransack his office for more money and valuables.
“Look here! A silver cigar box!” one of them shouted.
Holliday was forced out into the street, his hair a-tumble, his shirt hanging out and torn. Men who had once called themselves his friends hurried him over to the jail, while more miners gathered around, shouting that he ought to be hanged.
“There’s trouble coming,” one of the men escorting Holliday observed. “These miners are ready to explode. They’ve just been looking for an excuse, and now they’ve got one.”
“It’s gonna be one hell of a night,” another replied.
“You just keep those worthless sonsobitches away from me!” a frightened Roy Holliday demanded.
He was whisked inside the jail and thrown into a cell. He heard the iron door slam shut, then heard the bang of a thick, wooden door also being closed, muffling the noise of the shouting. He turned, and in a rage he grabbed the thin mattress from the cot in his cell and growled as he whirled with it and tossed it against a wall. That was when he noticed someone sitting in the cell across from him, a heavy-set man with a swollen, bloodstained face. His dark eyes widened with hatred and disgust. “You!” he seethed. “You fat, worthless bastard! You messed up, didn’t you? I should have known! God damn you!”
Wayne Trapp knew there was nothing left but to tell the truth. There was no reason to try to please Roy Holliday, and he’d suffered his last insult. He rose, going to the front of his cell and staring at Holliday for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, reared back a little and spat at the man, a wad o
f tobacco juice landing on Holliday’s pant leg. “God damn you,” Wayne sneered.
Allyson awoke feeling weak and spent. She studied the flowered wallpaper in the small bedroom, taking several minutes to gather her thoughts and realize where she was. She remembered someone carrying her in here, remembered the pain, the awful pain, and a doctor telling her there was no reason why she couldn’t have more children. “The shock of what happened up on that mountain, probably mixed together with the fact that you have been working far too hard for a woman of your slender stature, made you lose the baby,” he had said. “Maybe if you hadn’t had to make that trip down the mountain on top of it all, you might have hung on to it. Who is to say? But you are so young. You will have more. And, after all, you weren’t married to the baby’s father. Maybe it’s best this way.”
Best this way? The tears came again. How typical of a man not to understand how she was feeling. Didn’t he know that the baby had been the most precious thing she had ever possessed? It had been a part of her and Ethan. No matter how tiny was the life she had aborted, it was still life, her child, her hope for love. Now that hope was gone, just like everything else she had ever loved. Maybe even Ethan was gone. She had no idea if he was even still alive.
After all, you weren’t married to the baby’s father. What a crude remark to make! Did that mean she was supposed to love her baby less? That its existence didn’t matter just because Ethan wasn’t her husband? In her heart he was still just as much her husband as when she had married him back in Guthrie. She put a hand to her belly, wondering if losing the baby was God’s punishment for how she had hurt Ethan back then, or for lying with him after having the marriage annulled. Surely not, for that would mean He was punishing Ethan, too, and as far as she was concerned Ethan had never done anything wrong.
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