Lefty swallowed nervously. “Them fuses is burnt down perty far, Phineus.”
“Right you are,” Phineus said. “Get ready!”
A fusillade blasted near them again.
“Set!” Phineus said. “Throw!”
The three sticks went sailing through an opening in the trees, then disappeared from view.
“I heartily recommend we lie down, lads,” Phineus said, lazily settling down to a prone position.
Lefty and Kiowa immediately dropped to the ground.
Two of the charges went off simultaneously and the third followed five full seconds later. The noise, deafening and shocking, engulfed the scene with its roaring fury. Bits of rock, trees, brush, and dirt rained down on the three as they huddled on the ground.
The concussion was so great that Lefty, Kiowa, and Phineus felt sharp pains in their ears and experienced an acute discomfort as if the breath had been pulled from their lungs. Finally, except for the dust, things seemed to return to normal.
“I forgot that it helps considerably if one emits a continuous shout during the detonation,” Phineus said. “It relieves the pressure of concussion on the eardrums.”
They listened for any sound from the bandits. For a few moments there was silence, then the ground began to tremble and another sort of roar erupted.
“Avalanche!” Phineus yelled.
For fifteen minutes the entire mountain shook while boulders, uprooted trees, and hundreds of square yards of earth crashed downward.
Then, like the aftermath of the dynamite explosions, silence once again reigned in the Montana Rockies.
Phineus stood up. “It’s time to see if our plan has worked.”
The trio, leading their animals, went down to look for the trail. It was gone. An entire section of the mountain had slid away as if a giant’s foot had kicked it in a fit of anger. The only thing left of the bandits was one man’s dirty hand sticking upward from the rubble of dirt and rock.
Phineus took a deep breath. “That’s that, my boys. Let’s resume our journey that was so rudely interrupted.”
Picking their way carefully over the huge pile of rubble, they once again traveled toward Luckville.
Lefty glanced back at the ruins. “Now ain’t that something?”
“It do boggle the mind,” Kiowa agreed.
Eleven
The boy worked carefully to avoid getting splinters as he pulled a few sticks of kindling out of the woodpile. After gathering an armful, the ten-year-old hurried across the small yard to the cabin with his load. But the sight of three men approaching over the distant rise caused him to stop, dropping the wood in his excitement. Completely flustered, he forgot the chore and ran to the solid log structure he called home.
“Ma! Ma!”
Mae Paxton came to the door. “What in the world’s ailing you, boy?”
“Pa’s coming,” Willie Paxton yelled happily. “Uncle Bill and Uncle Orly is with him!”
Mae looked up toward the hill. “It’s them sure ’nuff,” she said.
The voice of an old man could be heard inside. “What’s that?”
Willie peered in the door. “It’s Pa and Uncle Bill and Uncle Orly, Grandpa.”
Zeb Hays, slowed by rheumatism and age, struggled out of the rocker and limped over to join his daughter and grandson. He looked out in the distance, but he could only perceive shimmering shadows in his dim vision. “All three of ’em?”
“Yes, sir, Grandpa,” Willie answered.
“How far be they?”
“They’re just coming down the hill to the flats, Grandpa,” Willie said.
Mae grabbed her father in excitement. “They’ll be here directly, Daddy!”
“I hope they brung some fresh tobaccy,” the old man said. “The stuff they fetched afore has got a mite stale.”
It took the riders another fifteen minutes before they reached the cabin. The three, dusty and grimy from the long trip, swung out of their saddles. Milo Paxton embraced his wife then grabbed his son and swung him up before setting him back to the ground. “I swear you growed another inch while we was gone, boy,” he said.
“I’m getting big alright,” Willie said.
“Howdy, Sis,” Bill Hays said. “Hello, Pa.”
Zeb Hays nodded to his son. “How you be, boy?”
“Mighty good,” Bill said. “And our luck’s hanging on, too.”
Orly Hays only smiled shyly, saying nothing. He was given a hug by his sister Mae while he waited for Milo Paxton and Bill Hays to take the saddlebags from the horses. Then he led the animals around to the back and saw to the unsaddling chores while the other members of the family went into the cabin.
Milo Paxton set all the saddlebags on the table while the old man, woman, and boy crowded around in excited anticipation.
“Did you bring any fresh tobaccy?” Zeb Hays asked.
“Yeah, Pa,” Bill said. He pulled a half-dozen plugs from his vest pocket. “And we got you some spectacles, too.” He handed over a pair of the lenses in wire frames he’d gotten in their last train robbery. “Try these out. Maybe they’ll help you some.”
Zeb slipped on the devices and peered around the room. “Goddamnit!” He pulled them off and tossed them toward the fireplace. “Don’t help a bit.”
“Well keep trying, Pa,” Bill Hays promised.
Zeb, still barely able to perceive the sight in his ancient eyes, grinned happily nevertheless. “So that claim you boys is working has still plenty o’ ore in it, hey?”
“You bet, Pa,” Hays said.
“Yeah,” Paxton added. “When we turned it into the assayers’ office, the folks there said it was one o’ the richest they seen in these parts.”
Mae looked skyward, clasping her hands together in a prayerful attitude. “Hallelujah! Thank you, Lord!”
Paxton dumped the bags, spilling coins and greenbacks out. “There she be, folks.”
Mae looked at her husband. “Milo, do we have enough to move down from the mountains into a nice town yet?”
Paxton grinned over at Bill Hays before he slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. “It’d be real silly to leave that claim to others while we can still drag gold out of it, honey. We’ll work there ’til she’s dried up.”
Mae nodded. “O’ course you’re right, darling. But I’ve grown so sick of being up here all by ourselves. I’d like to have a normal kinda life. You know. Like there being neighbors close by for visits. And Willie ain’t been inside a church in so long he can hardly remember what it’s like.”
“Sure I do!” Willie piped up. “That’s where there’s singing and then an old man starts talkin ’til Grandpa falls asleep.”
They all laughed as Orly Hays came into the cabin. He carried a large cloth sack with him. He set it down with the saddlebags.
“Look what Orly brung,” Bill Hays said.
“What’s you bring us, little brother?” Mae asked. Orly, grinning, began pulling things out of the bag. He produced flour, beans, and various condiments.
“Orly’s been a lot of help,” Paxton said. “He works real hard.”
“Good on you, Orly,” Zeb Hays said. “That’s my boy!”
Willie tugged on his dimwitted uncle’s sleeve. “You been digging gold, too, Orly?”
Orly grinned and looked over at Milo Paxton and Bill Hays. They signaled to him and he suddenly and vigorously nodded in an affirmative manner.
Mae hugged her brother. ‘You’re just doing fine, baby brother. I’m real, real proud o’ you.”
“We couldn’t do it without him,” Bill said.
Orly took a deep breath. “I—” He hesitated and started again. “I done – I done ever’thing – real good.”
“Good on you, Orly!” Zeb said again.
As a signal he had nothing more to say, Orly walked over to the bunk in the corner of the room that was his. He sat down on it to watch the other family members.
Mae looked at the fresh food. “I just had a good idea for s
upper. Let’s kill a coupla them hens. I can make dumplings out of the flour.”
“Chicken and dumplings!” Paxton exclaimed. “Now that’s worth coming home to, ain’t it, Bill?”
Bill Hays grinned. “It sure is. And we could use a few days’ rest, too.”
Old Zeb walked toward the door. “I’ll get the hatchet out by the woodpile. I can still at least kill a damn chicken when it’s got to be did.”
‘You be careful, Daddy!” Mae cautioned him. “Don’t you go chopping off any fingers.”
“Damn womenfolk. Always expecting the worse to happen,” Zeb complained as he walked out the door.
“I’ll go help, Grandpa,” Willie said following.
“You stay outta the way,” Zeb warned him, “Or it’ll be your fingers that get chopped off.”
Giggling, Willie followed him.
Milo Paxton and Bill Hays laughed as they settled down on the chairs around the table. “Is that coffee you got over there by the fireplace, Mae?” Paxton asked his wife.
“Sure is,” she said. “I’ll fetch you a cup directly.”
Bill Hays looked over at his brother-in-law. “It’s good to be home again, ain’t it, Milo?”
“Yeah,” Paxton agreed. “It’s a hard cruel life away from here.”
“Amen,” Hays said.
~*~
The silver mining enterprise of Messrs. McNally, Kid, and Carrington was together for the last evening before splitting up. They had decided to splurge a bit by having a meal in the most elegant eatery in Luckville.
Luckville was a rollicking, dangerous, and boisterous blotch of semi-civilization near the mining and trapping areas. Once beyond that settlement, there was nothing but primitive camps and isolated stations similar to Dawson’s Meadow. Luckville’s commercial enterprises, though overpriced and run by surly businessmen, were luxurious when compared to the services offered farther up the mountains.
The restaurant that Lefty, Kiowa, and Phineus decided to patronize was no more than an elaborate lean-to with a counter where the clients had to stand to eat. The cooking was done behind the shanty on the one item that the proprietor had brought with him from his native Prussia. It was a type of small, wheeled, military cart used by the German army for cooking in the field. Complete with a combination self-contained stove and large pot, it served its purpose well and efficiently.
The owner of the place, a greasy German called Bratwurst by the locals, wore a filthy white apron over his clothes and sported an old-fashioned top hat made of beaver fur. He approached the trio and belched. “Ja?”
Since Phineus still had some loose cash left over from his grubstake, he had offered to treat at this farewell supper. “Bitte bringen Sie mir die Speisekarte.”
Bratwurst laughed. “Speisecarte?” He tapped his skull with his fingers. “You don’t need no menu. It’s all in here. I got t’ree t’ings. Ham und beans, or ham, or beans.”
“Schinken und Bohnen,” Phineus said indicating an order of ham and beans for each of them.
“You got money?” Bratwurst asked.
Lefty smirked. “Damn right.”
Phineus reached in his pocket and produced some coins. “Are you satisfied now, my good man? Will you see to our order?”
“Lots of fellers around here try to make the fool for me,” Bratwurst said. “So first I see the money, then I make the meal, ja?” He went back to get the food.
“What was you saying to him, Phineus?” Lefty asked.
“I was speaking in the German tongue, my boy,” Phineus said. “I don’t wish to boast, but I am fluent in that idiom as well as French.”
“Kiowa here speaks his own lingo,” Lefty said.
“How interesting,” Phineus said. “Many of the aborigine languages may die out someday. Perhaps you should write a dictionary of sorts, Kiowa. I would be more than happy to assist you.”
“We don’t write in our language,” Kiowa said with a shrug.
“That’s nothing. He don’t write in ours neither,” Lefty said.
“My tribe don’t need to write,” Kiowa said. “We draw pitcher?”
Phineus was intrigued. “What is that all about, my boy?”
“Well,” Kiowa explained. “Twice a year the best artists in the tribe draw pitchers of important events on animal skins. We got some that go back a long, long time.”
“Ah!” Phineus exclaimed. “Pictographs, hey?”
“I reckon,” Kiowa said not really knowing what Phineus meant.
“At any rate,” Phineus went on, “perhaps we should render the Kiowa language into the Latin alphabet. That is something we could do as wealthy men of leisure.”
“I sort o’ thought we’d just kinda sit around and smoke cigars,” Lefty said. He thought a moment. “Just what do rich fellers do, Phineus?”
“They enjoy the good life,” Phineus said. “Which reminds me. Why do you boys insist on returning to Oklahoma Territory after you become wealthy? Why not go back East with me and merge yourselves into our land’s highest society?”
Lefty looked at Kiowa and shrugged. “I don’t think we’d fit in.”
“You could eventually,” Phineus said. “I would be glad to assist you in attaining a respectable amount of deportment. Then, of course, you could hire tutors and go to the theater and opera.” He leaned forward and winked. “There would be every opportunity to meet beautiful women.”
Lefty grinned. “Now that’d be something!”
“A word of caution,” Phineus said raising a finger. “Marry wise, even if it means marrying an unattractive woman. The right connections are as important as the money.”
“I’d rather have a purty gal,” Lefty said.
“Of course! Your mistress would be a beautiful creature,” Phineus said. “That’s one way to make your wealth count.”
They had finished the meal by then. After paying off Bratwurst, they gathered around the animals. Both Lefty and Kiowa offered their hands.
“We’ll see you right soon,” Kiowa said.
“You bet!” Lefty added.
“Until sixty days, boys,” Phineus said. “And if I find El Capitan in the meantime, I shall still share the bounty with you fine lads. There’ll be plenty of work to be done, so don’t you worry a bit about it.”
“You’re a square feller, Phineus,” Lefty said.
“And think about what I said,” Phineus said. “Don’t fritter your money away in the wilderness of Oklahoma. Move back to Philadelphia or New York with me.”
“We’ll ponder on it, Phineus,” Lefty said. “So long.”
“So long, Phineus,” Kiowa said.
“Adios, lads,” Phineus said. He waved, then grabbed his burro’s reins and led the donkey toward the edge of town to resume his journey higher into the mountains.
Lefty glanced over at Kiowa. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Do you reckon any o’ Milo’s boys is in town here?”
“You don’t relax a minute, do you?”
“I’m anxious to get on to finding El Capitan,” Lefty said. “Want to take a look around?”
“I reckon we might as well,” Kiowa said.
“Then let’s see if we can find ’em,” Lefty said.
“I just hope we don’t work ourselves into no more lynchings,” Kiowa said.
~*~
Long shadows fell across the yard in front of the cabin as the mountain sun dipped into its quick descent. Milo Paxton and Bill Hays, their bellies stuffed with chicken and dumplings, sat on the small porch, silently digesting the large meal.
Hays finally said, “Winter’ll be setting in another coupla months.”
“Yeah,” Milo Paxton agreed.
“Are you thinking on pulling out and looking for a new home or—” He turned his head and glanced carefully back into the cabin where the others were, “—pulling another job or two.”
Paxton fished in his pocket and pulled out a cigar. After biting off the end he lit it. “We’re doing dam
ned good right now,” he observed.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Hays said.
“Maybe we oughta change our plans about leaving so soon,” Paxton mused. “Another wintering here won’t be too bad. If we can hit the Northwest and Canadian for another summer, we’ll even be better off.”
Hays thought about his sister. “Mae won’t like the idea. That religious side o’ her is saying we can’t keep making hogs of ourselves by pulling gold and silver out o’ the Lord’s earth.”
Paxton chuckled. “What would she think if she knowed we was getting that money from robbing trains instead o’ mining ore?”
“If you don’t tell her, I won’t,” Hays said with a laugh.
“Well, what the hell do you think we should do?” Paxton asked.
“I think you’re right. Another summer ought to set us right,” Hays said. “Especially the way things is organized. The set-up is got to come to an end sometime anyhow, but let’s not cut it off short. Our insider is gonna fold someday or trip hisself up. So I say that when the time’s right, we can sneak outta these mountains and move into a town somewheres.”
“It won’t be in this part o’ the country. There’s folks that might recognize us,” Paxton said. “But we got Californy just sitting there and waiting for a nice family like us. We can change our names or something.”
“The hell if we can!” Hays said. “What would Mae think about that?”
“We can tell her that we don’t want nobody knowing we got rich back in Montana or something,” Paxton said. “If she thought we had enemies in the goldfields, she’d understand.”
“I doubt it,” Hays said sullenly.
“Then we’ll have to get as far from Montana as we can,” Paxton said.
“That settles it. Californy is where we’ll go,” Hays said.
The conversation was interrupted by Willie’s sudden arrival. “Pa! Uncle Bill!” he yelled, “Uncle Orly is having a fit!”
The two men leaped to their feet and ran inside. Orly, thrashing on the floor with his eyes rolled back in his head, was being grasped by the arms and legs by Mae and old Zeb Hays.
“Help us,” Mae said. “The poor dear is hard to hold down.”
Colorado Crossfire (A Piccadilly Pulishing Western Book 15) Page 11