by Mari Collier
Rolfe appeared with an antelope. God knew how the bastard could find game when no one else could. Not in this dry, rocky place. MacDonald had hobbled and fed his horse and now was starting a fire behind one of the wagons. Dust stirred with every movement. This was a hellish part of Texas, all sand and rock unlike the prairie they just came through. MacDonald and Rolfe were delivering supplies to one of the new Army forts that had sprung up since the Mexican War. Millard was seriously wondering why he had agreed to work for them. These two drove men like animals and treated the animals better than men. He would have preferred a wagonload of whores instead of sundries for the dragoons.
Rolfe threw the antelope down and started to dismount when his horse began lifting its nose to the wind.
“Mac, something ain't right. Saddle your horse and bring your rifle. Hurley, du best grab your gun and be ready to ride a mule.” He swung his horse around to gaze at the horizon.
MacDonald never questioned Rolfe's instincts. He tossed dirt over the fire, grabbed his rifle and saddle before running towards his horse. On the horizon appeared a line of warriors that broke into a gallop, whooping and shaking something in their hands that looked like a stick with feathers on it.
Millard tried to mount the mule and was promptly dumped on his backside, cursing mules and the men who had brought him to this godforsaken country.
Rolfe aimed a shot at the oncoming men.
“Vhat du think, Mac?”
“There's too damn many of them.” MacDonald voice roared out over the mesquite and scrub brush savanna.
Millard was fighting the mule, trying to get it to stand still. The roar of Rolfe's Henry had startled the mules and they began running, some towards the oncoming men, others back the way they had come. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach and he raised his fist to hit the mule when he was grabbed from behind and lifted bodily off the ground.
MacDonald had one arm around his chest and was carrying him as his feet made running motions.
“Hold still till we get off a ways. Then ye can mount behind me,” came the roar in his ears and mind.
How the hell was the man holding on to him? Millard didn't care. A couple of the yelling bastards were riding after them, but the other yells seemed to grow dimmer.
Rolfe and MacDonald raced around a boulder and drew up.
“Get on behind me.” Millard found himself dumped on the ground and MacDonald's hand extended downward.
Rolfe had slid off his horse and took a quick shot around the rock. Then he jumped back in the saddle and pointed to the north before riding off. With a nod, MacDonald followed.
Two hours later they pulled up and dismounted. Rolfe took a swig out of his canteen and looked at MacDonald.
“Vhere's yours?”
“Back in the saddlebag that tis on the ground.”
“Damn careless.”
“Aye, it twas.”
Millard was shaking. “Be they gone?”
“Mayhap.” The big man shrugged. “What do ye think, friend Rolfe?
“I think they chased down the mules and now they're having a party mitt our goods and tonight's dinner. Vhat the hell do du think they're doing, Mac?”
The big man let out his breath. “Any chance we can make our own attack and recover our merchandise?”
“Vhen ve stopped at that boulder, I saw smoke. Vhat they ain't took, they've burned along mitt der vagons.” Rolfe fought to keep the German out of his speech. “Damn Kiowa. Du think the Comanche vould keep them too busy to bother mitt us. Ve need to move on, Mac. Ve valk the horses now and find wasser, then a good place to camp.”
“What about food?” Millard was regaining his courage.
“Ve go hungry tonight. No fire, and don't complain. Du damn lucky to be alive.” Rolfe glared at him and Millard swallowed. Rolfe probably would have left him back at the wagons.
Chapter 7: Friendship and Gold
MacDonald and Rolfe sat near a small campfire. Their one meal of the day, a small, skinned deer, was in a pit that was lined and covered with hot rocks. A small fire burned over the heated rocks. It was an improvised a cooking chamber constructed by Rolfe. Their money was gone and the people in this part of Texas did not know them.
Their conversation was low and grim. They had dropped Millard Hurley off at the nearest pueblo, a town more Mexican than the towns the Americans and immigrants had built or were building near their farms and plantations. They had left the hot, dry lands of Texas to the Comanche and the 2nd Dragoons. Here the land was green prairie grass with juniper and scrub oak. High bluffs and red rock mountain-like hills covered with trees jutted upward from the plains.
“We're busted, Mac. Do you have any ideas that will get us home alive?”
MacDonald was on his haunches and he rocked back and forth. He kenned where he was. The Golden One was hidden to the north, mayhap three or four days ride. There was still gold there. He had taken enough to buy a horse, equipment, clothes, and food when he left.
The year was 1850 and Texas and California were now part of the United States. It meant this land was being sold to white men like him and Rolfe. He had learned that land records were kept at the county seat and would have the legal description of the land covering his secret. Then he could find out if anyone owned the land, purchase the land from the owners, or from the state of Texas. He would probably need a lawyer, but he could use his mind to determine if people were honest or trying to cheat him.
Still, he had to consider Herman; his friend had taught him to survive in this wild land, lent him money to start in the trading business, and then made him full partner. Rolfe had given him the cover he needed to learn the ways of this world. How could he convince Herman that he had left the gold hidden all these years? Earth beings' short life spans meant they reckoned time differently than Thalians. Would his reaction be indignation or would he agree to go partners and become a rancher? MacDonald relished the idea. In Thalia, Don had supplied the kine to all of the Houses. It did nay matter that kine were called cattle here. It twas the same brown-eyed beastie.
“I have been thinking, Friend Rolfe. I like this land. Most of it tis open grassland and cattle do well here. They are running around free since the turmoil of the Mexican War and Texas claiming the Spanish land grants here and the United States in California. How would ye like to become a rancher?”
“Have you gone stark, raving mad? What the hell would we use for money?”
MacDonald glanced up. “Before I met ye, I stumbled on a cache of uh, well, it tis gold. I twas new in this land and did nay ken how to use it or where. It remains hidden, and the location tis near here; about four days ride at the most. Without yere teachings, I twould have died in this land or been reduced to starvation. Tis more than willing I am to share it with ye.”
“And this isn't a way to keep me silent if it's been stolen?”
MacDonald stood. “Friend Rolfe, ye canna believe that!”
“Well, was it stolen?”
“Nay by me. The owner twas nay there.”
“How much gold?”
“I am nay sure. It seemed a great amount, but then I did nay ken the currency of this land.”
Rolfe looked at him and weighed his choices. “Coins or bars?”
“They are bars, ingots I believe ye call them.”
“What did the marks on it look like?”
“There twere nay marks that I recall.”
“Mac, I've not been in church out here, but that don't mean I don't believe God's Word. You show me this gold, and then I'll decide.”
“I ask only that ye nay divulge its location. I have kept it secret all these years.”
“If it's stolen from some bank or company, I can't keep it a secret.”
“How can ye determine that from looking at it?”
“The marks on it, dammit, they tell where they are from.”
MacDonald gave a tight smile. “I told ye, there are nay marks.”
* * *
They had
ridden for three days through gently swelling prairie, the grass high, green, and sweet smelling. On the fourth day they were into the foothills of an almost mountainous area covered with pines and scrub oak that rose above the prairie. They had ridden past a small spring in a flatter area surrounded by trees.
Damn, thought Rolfe, a perfect place for a camp. He had noted the abundance of game, wild cattle, and signs of wild horses. This was verging on perfect land for ranching. Water flowed here and there were trees for felling, trees that could be used for building or for heat. They continued winding their way upward until they rounded a large rock and entered a small flat area between the piles of beige and rose-beige boulders. This side was hidden from view by the tumbled rocks and hilly terrain. One small tree tried to battle its way heavenward from the rocky soil. The stunted vegetation growing out of the cracks in the rocky face looked as though they were trying to overcome some type of contamination.
“This tis where the gold tis hidden.” MacDonald dismounted and tied his horse to the tree.
Rolfe eyed the area and looked at him. He spewed out his chaw. “Mac, this place doesn't look natural. Everything is too stunted. Why did you even stop here? And how the hell do you intend to get into any cave?” He pointed at the large, almost round boulder.
MacDonald gave a half-grin and walked to the boulder. He put his back to it, set his legs and began to push. The boulder moved slowly scattering the small stones that had gathered or fallen in the ensuing years until an opening wide enough for a man became visible. MacDonald straightened and took several deep breaths. His face had reddened during the exertion and sweat poured down from his forehead and temples.
“If ye prefer to wait, I twill go in and bring it back. It twill take a few minutes as tis deeper than the front of the cave. Someone did nay wish it found.” This wasn't a lie. He hadn't wanted anything found and had hidden the Golden One deep in the earth after finding this earthquake-free region. He had discovered the extra gold in Ricca's quarters when he searched for anything that would aid him in surviving in this alien world.
Rolfe frowned and swung down from his horse. “Why do I get the feeling you are hiding something from me, Mac?”
“Because, I am.”
He turned to face Rolfe. “If ye see what I have hidden below, ye twill have the knowledge to destroy me and my time here.”
“Who did you kill to steal the gold? Are there bones hidden by the gold?”
“Nay! Ye ken me better than that.” His voice was emphatic.
“Friend Rolfe, if the world sees what tis below, certain people twill wish to claim it. Without me, they canna enter it. They twill nay understand it, they twill try to possess it or destroy it. The weapons available in this world canna do that. Then they twill fear it and me.”
Rolfe's face was devoid of understanding. “You are not making sense. You said 'world.' Do you mean the U.S. or Texas?”
“I meant this world. Come with me, and then ye decide if ye twill keep my secret.”
He turned and moved sideways through the open space.
Rolfe tied his horse to the tree, not really sure it was sturdy enough to hold both horses if something should frighten them. Like MacDonald, he had to turn his wide frame sideways to enter. For a moment he stood, blinking, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. When he could discern the features of the cave he looked up and around. The place was wrong; the walls too smooth, the ceiling looked as smooth as the floor. He turned to face MacDonald and his mouth fell open.
The huge form was standing at the mouth of a tunnel waiting for him and in his hand was something giving out a beam of light stronger than any lamp Rolfe had ever seen. Questions, curse words, all ran through his mind in a jumble, but he was unable to utter a word for a few seconds. He fought the urge to run and stepped closer.
“What the hell, Mac? Can you explain that?” The light was so strong he could even see the half-smile on MacDonald's face.
“I could, but ye twould nay believe me until ye see what tis below. Shall we walk?”
Rolfe reached out and grabbed him by the bicep. “How far do we walk, Mac?” His voice sounded strangled to his own ears. “Will you let me walk back up if I don't like what I see?”
“Twould ye kill me, Friend Rolfe?”
“Ja, if you tried to kill me.” His mouth was in a stubborn line and his blue eyes hard. He saw the white teeth of MacDonald flash and heard the laughter in his voice.
“That tis what I like about ye, Herman. Ye are the most honest man I ken. I could nay kill the man who taught me so much. If ye come with me, the decision tis yeres as to what we do next.” He turned and began the descent.
Rolfe's emotions fought with his reasoning, but something was down there—something that his friend had discovered. That MacDonald could have possibly fashioned the tunnel never occurred to him as the height and width of it rivaled that of a three story mansion. The light began to recede and Rolfe hurried after MacDonald rather than be left to wonder the rest of his life.
As they descended, Rolfe could see a faint glow becoming brighter, sending the darkness back into the walls. As they neared the bottom, MacDonald shut down the light in his hand and Rolfe realized that the golden dome he had spotted was a huge ovoid-F-shaped machine built by men. But when? How?
MacDonald kept striding toward that monstrosity. Rolfe found he could not move. He had faced blizzards, floods, Indians, madmen, thieves, and grizzlies, but whatever squatted in front of him was beyond his comprehension. If the tunnel had not been dark, he would have turned and fled upward. The world began to dim and he remembered to breathe.
MacDonald stopped at the machine and turned. “This, Friend Rolfe, tis the vessel that brought me to this world…” He realized that Rolfe had not followed him into the chamber and he hurried back to him.
“The gold tis inside. Do ye wish to go in with me or do ye prefer to remain here?”
Rolfe could not take his eyes off the golden machine, but MacDonald was in front of him, blocking his view.
“Mein Gott! It's…it's…inside? How the hell do you go inside, Mac? There isn't a door. Are you going to tell me that you walk through metal or whatever that thing is made of?”
“I canna walk through metal, and, yes, tis made from metal. The metal twas manufactured on another world perhaps three hundred years or more ago by another race of beings called the Justines.”
“Your people didn't make that? What did you do? Take it from them?”
“Nay exactly, Herman. My people do not have the ability to build this Golden One. I twas aboard this ship when it came here looking for another Justine. A mob in Ireland killed the navigator. He twas a relative of the missing Justine named Toma. I twas left with the ship. I canna fly it back to their land or mine. I dinna have the training or kenning to pilot through the stars.”
Rolfe closed his eyes and shook his head as though trying to clear it. “You know what, Mac, I think I'll wait right here.”
MacDonald started to ask him if he would be all right, but decided against it. That would be an insult and right now his friend did not need an insult to his bravery.
“It twill take a few minutes.”
He returned to the Golden One and laid his hand on the correct panel. It slid back into the frame and a ramp extended downward. MacDonald left the panel open, although in normal circumstances he would have closed it. He hurried to the lift and ascended to the third level to access Ricca's quarters.
The bluish glow from the walls and floors were a familiar, comforting emanation. His biggest regret was the fact that he would need to hurry and there would nay be time to take a shower. How he longed to enter the cleansing room and feel the flow of warm, soapy water. It was impossible to take proper cleansings in this land, but Herman twas too upset for him to linger. He entered Ricca's room and pulled the gold from the storage unit beneath the bed. Ricca had placed the gold in a box purchased in Denmark while they were there. The key remained in the lock. No Kr
eppie would have dared remove the gold while Ricca lived.
In Denmark, it had been fascinating to hear how rapidly Ricca could assimilate an alien language. A few words and he would grasp it. Llewellyn found it took him several days to master an alien tongue and he could nay erase his Thalian speech. His German was still heavily accented.
The box was heavy and he hoisted it to his shoulder as he began the trip back. Once outside the Golden One, he paused to close the panel before striding back to Rolfe. The box was beginning to bite into his shoulder and he hefted it to the other side.
Rolfe was leaning against the tunnel opening looking at the Golden One and him as he approached.
“Isn't there anybody in there?”
“All are dead.”
“All? You said a mob in Ireland killed the man who navigated this thing and he owned the gold. Who else was there?”
MacDonald swallowed. He had made a verbal slip. The years with Rolfe had eroded the caution he used when speaking to most beings on this world.
“There twas a crew—six in all.”
“And what happened to them?”
“I twisted their heads off and buried them in space.”
Rolfe looked at him, his eyes still hard, but puzzled.
“Mac, I never knew you to be a violent man. You protect yourself and others, but you don't kill for the fun of it. Why did you kill them?”
“We twere enemies. There had been a war between our worlds and there tis much bitterness. They would have killed me rather than take me back to their world. They twere a bit hampered as they could nay navigate the Golden One. I did nay want them loose on this world. They twould have tried to take over and rule it.”
“Six men take over this world? That's crazy.”
“They twould have had the Golden One. Ye have nay idea of the fire power that exists in its weapons. They could have destroyed every civilization on this planet.”