Black Hills (9781101559116)

by Thompson, Rod

  “It was a joint effort,” he answered. “You were terrific.”

  Her mother and father came to put their arms around her.

  “We are very grateful to you and extremely proud of our daughter,” said her dad. “Look at her. When the chips were down, our little girl came through with flying colors. We couldn’t be more proud of her . . . and Marcus,” he added.

  “Markie was right at the front of the line, swinging that double-jack sledgehammer and pick longer than anybody,” Laurie told Cormac proudly as Marcus exited the mine with Lucas and came to stand beside her.

  “My baby brother moved more rock than anybody else in my crew,” she said as she put her arm around him. Pausing momentarily, she looked at Cormac. “You’re right, it was a joint effort. We work well together.”

  “No, no, no,” she added quickly at the look on his face. “That’s not what I meant. I know you and I can’t be together. I understand, and I’m okay with it. Unhappy with it, but okay with it. Whoever she is, she’s a very lucky woman. I hope I can find someone to feel that way about me. I just meant that we all did really well.”

  Cormac breathed a sigh of relief.

  He took the Haplanders to the beginning of the cave-in rubble and showed them the marks on the wall that he had noticed previously. “I’ve had time to think about it and those are scratch marks from the driven steel to set an explosion. If you want to look hard enough, you’ll find matching rocks torn out of the walls. This cave-in was no accident, and he was fixin’ to do it again when I got here. If Lop Ear and Horse wouldn’t have gotten me here so fast, he would have succeeded.”

  Taking them to the air shaft, he described how the makeshift dam had been directing the water into the hole and about the tracks of the deformed hoof. He told them of the first time he had found the tracks following some cattle into a stream during the branding roundup.

  “The same hoof tracks are all over the corral right now. Most of them are clear tracks, meaning that the others had left before him.”

  “That horse belongs to Tex,” Lucas broke in. “I’ve seen it often enough. He lives in town. We can find him easy enough if he hasn’t left.”

  “Good,” Cormac said. “Now, let’s go back to the front shaft. I have one more thing to show you.”

  Removing a white quartz rock from his saddlebag, he broke it into pieces with a nearby pick. The inside was bright white with a vein of lead thickly laced with silver.

  “I took this out of the air shaft. I don’t know what all the rest of this stuff I been telling you means, I reckoned you could figure it out, but I think I know what this means,” he said, handing each of them a piece of the silver-filled quartz. “Doesn’t that mean that maybe you have a very thick vein of silver in that damp wall where you couldn’t dig because of it being so damp? I’m thinking someone else found it and wanted to keep you from doing the same.”

  “Well I’ll be damned, Mack!” exclaimed Mr. Haplander. “You just saved us from making one hell of a mistake. The assays have been dropping, and we thought the mine was petering out. The reason we had gone to Denver was to complete the arrangements for the sale of the mine to some investors from San Francisco who said they knew the strike was about dead, but they wanted to keep working it to see if they could find something by going deeper. Now I see why. They had some inside information from somebody here, and with those tracks, he won’t be hard to find. I still have time to stop the sale. Tomorrow would have been too late.

  “This also explains our cattle count. It was much lower than expected this year, and now I know why. Whoever the traitor is has been rustling, too. But he’s gotten too confident. Thanks to you, Mack, we can follow his tracks right to him. Now that Laurie has a handle on the situation, we sure wish you would stick around.”

  “How ’bout it?” Lucas asked him. “You’re too good a man to lose.”

  “Come on, Mack. I’ll be okay, I promise,” coaxed Laurie, smiling.

  “Thanks, but no. I’ve been getting a bad case of trail-itch for some time now; it’s time to scratch it and get back on the trail. But thanks for the offer.”

  Mrs. Haplander put her hand out to shake. “Laurie told us what happened between you two; I want to thank you for not taking advantage of our daughter. You’re a good man. It would have been a pleasure to have you in our family.” Cormac shook her offered hand.

  “By the way,” said Mr. Haplander, “we still owe you some wages. I’ll put it in your account, along with a good-sized bonus by way of a thank you.”

  “Thank you,” he answered, and started for the corral to get Lop Ear and Horse, then stopped.

  “Say,” he said. “What happened to my two mountain friends? I kinda lost track.”

  Mr. Haplander smiled. “Laurie said those two big ole boys put in a heap a work.”

  “They stuck it out until we broke through,” Laurie said, “and then they lit out. They said to tell you thanks, and they still owe you a big favor that they’ll return anytime you need it. They said for you to just send up a smoke signal in a breeze headed for the Rockies, and they’ll come a runnin’.”

  “They also told us,” Mr. Haplander cut in, “that you unlimbered some big ole cannon and chased off some woolies that was fixin’ to take their hair. Looks like you’ve had a busy few days.”

  Nothing in his experience had prepared Cormac Lynch for such compliments and accolades. He had found it to be extremely embarrassing and quickly changed the subject to how well Marcus and Laurie had done until someone handed him a large bowl of Duffy’s Irish stew. The stew got first priority until it was gone. And then the first lapse in the conversation gave him the chance to say his good-byes and get back on the trail. He took it gladly.

  Cormac wondered at the bloodlines of Horse and Lop Ear. They were holding a ground-eating pace, easy to sit with the miles steadily disappearing behind them. The two appeared capable of loping almost endlessly. In reality, they had to have breaks, and he alternated their pace between a lope and a walk, removing all the gear from them for an hour break at lunchtime, and allowing them the opportunity to rest and roll in the grass. It was November month with Indian summer all around. Snow had not yet fallen, and the weather was still warm. The leaves had already traded their shades of green for more beautiful shades of golden browns. God was redecorating.

  Montana’s mining country was shrinking behind him, the miles melting away. Skirting hilltops rather than cresting them to avoid sky lighting themselves, Cormac remained constantly alert in all directions for other riders or anything that might be a danger. In dry country, dust in the air signaled other movement, but the Great Plains were covered in tall grass as far as the eye could see, with ravines formed by thousands of years of heavy rains cutting into the earth.

  A trickle of water running along the ground making a slight indentation on the surface was followed by more water, which, like most humans, follows the path of least resistance. Over time, the indentation became a rut, then a trench, and finally an arroyo invisible from a distance and deep enough to allow a large war party to lie in wait for unsuspecting travelers. This was the same Indian country as when he had first learned his horses were runners. That and his realization that the fate of Lop Ear and Horse lay in his hands were making him more cautious now.

  Cormac had seen a good bit of country with his legs wrapped around one horse or the other while looking out between their bobbing-up-and-down ears; the trio enjoyed being on the trail. They enjoyed each other’s company, and the horses seemed to enjoy learning what was on the other side of the next hill every bit as much as Cormac.

  Frequently, he checked their back trail for other riders and to be aware of the route they were taking. His pa had taught him that the trail looked different looking back than looking ahead. Looking back painted it into his mind so he could find his way back should it became necessary.

  Although, his thoughts were frequently on Laurie and Lainey, he was continually evaluating the front trail for ambush possib
ilities and mentally rehearsing various reactions to different danger situations. He had learned well the importance of a planned response.

  His daily drawing practice had become a habit. The next time something threatened him, he wanted to be prepared. He wanted his reactions automatic and unthinking, mentally prepared for the unusual things that usually happen. Sometimes these things happened real sudden-like, and in the seconds or fraction of a second it took to think about what to do, it was too late: death sometimes comes very fast and is very final.

  Take that large, dark, inverted C that looked like a shadow on the ground in the distance, for instance. Early-morning and late-afternoon shadows set off the highs and lows of uneven ground making the usually unseen seen. If it were actually an arroyo, it could hold several horses or a couple war parties of Indians below the surface of the surrounding countryside, making them invisible to coming travelers such as him.

  Knowing the Indians wanted Two Horse dead and his scalp on a lodge pole was unsettling, and that they wanted his horses was disturbing. Two Horse for Christ’s sake—utter nonsense, except it wasn’t funny. The Indians also wanted Lop Ear and Horse, and he had heard stories of how some Indians mistreated their horses by riding them to death or eating them. He couldn’t let that happen. Their lives were in his hands. There would be no more lazy-dozing in the saddle. He would remain vigilant and treat each possible threat as seriously as if it were his last.

  For example, if there was a trap planned using the C-shaped arroyo coming up, how might it be planned? He knew Indians took advantage of every opportunity, such as laying in wait for travelers by hiding in the woods and ravines. Were they smart enough to split up into two or more groups with the first group exposing themselves, shooing their prey into the arms of another group maybe?

  Since leaving Dakota, Cormac knew he had been lucky on several occasions. To date, he had only had one altercation with Indians. He couldn’t count on always being so lucky; as his pa had told him, luck was elusive. Something flashed in the late-afternoon sun from the center of the C—something metal? Cormac had altered his course so as to pass on one side of the C and not to get trapped in the center if it proved to be more than an indentation in the ground. The flash had come from about two hundred yards out and a little to his right. Was it intentional? Was it a trap? Were there Indians waiting there? Did they want him to turn into the hands of others?

  These thoughts flashed through his mind along with thoughts of what to do about it if he was being laid for. The answer was simple: get the hell out of there.

  “We’re off to the races, guys. Let’s get us outta here.”

  With the arroyo on their left, Cormac sharp-turned Lop Ear to the right and, in one motion, loosened the reins and slapped his heels against the horse’s flanks while leaning forward to avoid being left sitting in mid-air when Lop Ear’s hindquarters exploded. They shot forward and were off in an instant, narrowly avoiding Horse trotting beside them.

  They got maybe fifty feet before a group of Indians waiting in the gulch directly in front of them, along with those waiting in the gulch farther ahead and to the left who had been expecting him to shy into their midst, rushed out to give chase. Had he turned left as expected, there would have been no escape. Now he had a chance. The land was mostly flat with no obstructions, and he was riding Lop Ear.

  What kinds of Indians were chasing him was of no consequence, any kind would make him just as dead. But Cormac found the thought in his head. From what he had learned from the Flying H riders, traveling south across Wyoming made them most likely Cheyenne, Arapahoe, or possibly Lakota Sioux from the eastern part of Nebraska and Dakota, although it wasn’t totally out of the question that good ole Geronimo might have gotten bored and brought some of his Apache buddies up from Texas to create a little mischief. Geronimo had a way of not staying nailed down anywhere. Most likely though, they were homegrown Cheyennes, for which the city had been named. Didn’t really matter which variety they were though, if Lop Ear stubbed his toe, they were gonna be in a lotta hot water.

  Both horses realized this was trouble and settled into the act of getting somewhere else. Being grain-fed that morning in addition to their standard diet of the rich and moist plain’s grass to increase their stamina for just such an incident, they were prepared for the challenge.

  Had he the time to enjoy the sight, Cormac would have appreciated the smooth movement of the strong muscles rippling under their shiny coats. He loved to watch them run and frisk when they were playing with each other. It was a sight second only to Lainey’s smile; he thought them to be majestic. Right now, though, he had other things on his mind.

  Cormac Lynch bent low against Lop Ear’s neck to reduce wind resistance. His hat, loosely riding on his head, had, as always, blown back to hang by the neck strap, and his eyes began to blur from the wind hitting his face. Luckily, being so confident in the trap they had set for him, there probably were no others lying in wait for him, but he needed to avoid being trapped by contours of the land and the ravines and gulches like the C behind him.

  No dummies and good judges of horseflesh, the Indians knew full well the quality of the horses they were pursuing. Each wanted the horses for their own. Other than a few quick shots in the beginning that let Cormac know they had the new repeating rifles, they held their fire, not wanting to risk hitting the magnificent animals they were chasing. Cormac knew the futility of trying to hit anything at this pace and concentrated on helping Lop Ear win the race for his life. If they wanted Lop Ear and Horse, they were damn well going to have to catch them. An interesting dilemma for them and one for which his mother would probably have had a word. They wanted to chase and catch horses that they wanted because the horses were so fast they couldn’t be caught.

  Miles melted away, and an occasional look over his shoulder showed Cormac that most of the Indians were falling away, unable to maintain the pace. Warmed to their task, Lop Ear and Horse were running easy and loose and enjoying themselves, but realizing the sense of urgency.

  Looking far back, Cormac could see the fifty or sixty Indian group had shrunk to one and that one had somehow come up with a spare horse that ran beside him on a long halter rope. This Indian was being easily out-distanced by Lop Ear and Horse but Cormac sensed him to be serious. As one fighting man to another, something flowed between them. Cormac knew the Indian had no intention of giving up and, somehow, he knew that the Indian knew that he knew.

  As he looked back, Cormac could see the Indian jump from one horse to the other, still clinging to the rope of his first mount. By alternating horses, he could maintain a greater speed for a longer distance than the others. Cormac tightened the reins ever so slightly so as to slow Lop Ear just a bit and conserve his strength as much as possible. This was going to be a long race, and the prize to the winner was his life.

  Although no longer effortlessly, the horses were still running easily and were far from drained. Cormac could no longer see their pursuer, but he knew the chase was still on. That was one determined redskin. A group of boulders on the horizon was growing larger and looked to be out of place on the otherwise flat prairie of this part of Wyoming: an anomaly.

  The word reminded him of his mother’s teaching at every opportunity. He remembered a particular lesson that had come immediately after she and his pa had quarreled over some trivial concern, and his pa had sheepishly conceded her to be right.

  “Anomaly,” Cormac remembered her saying. “Anything inconsistent or odd.” Then with a sly glance at the husband she dearly loved, “Like your father thinking he is ever going to win an argument with me.” Remembering them was such a sad sweetness.

  “All right, Lynch, quit daydreaming and figure out what you’re going to do about the Injun on your trail,” he said aloud. And then, louder, “Hey, Lop Ear, you gettin’ tired yet?” Over his right shoulder he watched Horse running happily beside and just a little behind them. “How ’bout you? You ready to take a rest or you want to go another hundred mi
les or so?”

  The boulders were of varying sizes and appeared to have been dropped from the sky, some large, some small, and some huge that had landed on top of each other looking as if Mrs. God was cleaning house and just swept them out the doors of heaven. Some looked like God was showing off by delicately balancing one on top of the other, two or three or four high. A few appeared to have split in two from the force of the fall. Over all, an interesting display of workmanship.

  “Good job,” he said, looking up into the sky. “I’m impressed. You mind if I use them for a while?”

  Then, to the horses, “Okay guys. Enough is enough. Lets us find us a comfortable rock to sit down on and wait for the fellow that’s trying so hard to catch up. He’s been wantin’ to catch up, so let’s let him. You did your job, now let’s let GERT do hers.”

  The boulders appeared to have fallen in a roughly laid out circle about a couple hundred yards in diameter with boulders ranging from bucket size of thirty or forty pounds to some large enough to hide Horse and Lop Ear behind.

  “Wow, guys, look at the size of these things. They must weigh about a gazillion pounds.”

  Removing GERT from her scabbard riding under his right leg, Cormac stood on Horse’s saddle to climb up the back side of a huge boulder that had broken in half and rolled apart, leaving an exposed stone tabletop large enough and flat enough to lay upon with a slight rise on the front side high enough for concealment. On hands and knees he crawled across to the other side to lie down to wait.

  He found several empty cartridges scattered about along with quirlie tobacco, burnt and un-burnt, showing the remains of partially smoked cigarettes, the papers long since blown away. He smiled grimly and shook his head at the meaning. Others had also used this to ambush some unsuspecting traveler. Now he was about to do the same. The thought stuck in his craw.

  CHAPTER 13

  Cormac stood up and waited until he could make out his pursuer. Most would have called it a lost cause, but the Indian had not given up. Obviously, he was a fighting man, and as such deserved respect, although Cormac knew the same treatment would not have been given him if the situation were reversed.