The Danger Within

by Valerie Hansen

  That said, she took another step. Her heel slipped. Rocks clattered into a hidden abyss. Starting to lose her balance, she made a futile grab for the wall.

  Instead of halting her slide, the effort propelled her, feetfirst, down an incline strewn with gravel left over from the mining operation.

  By the time she reached the bottom she was surrounded by a cloud of dust and hoping her jeans had held up. The part of her covered by them was certainly protesting over the rough landing.

  Layla was sitting at the bottom of the sloping shaft, counting her blessings and taking stock of her physical condition, when Michael shone the light on her.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Her first thought was to joke by asking him if he was getting tired of that question. Aware of the concern and anger in his tone, however, she squelched that thought and said, instead, “Fine. Just dirty.”

  Dusting off her hands, she noticed that her fall had broken the cord that held her beaded silver bracelets together. She felt her wrist and found the bangles missing. “Oh, no!”

  “What?” Michael shouted.

  Before Layla could reassure him, she heard a clatter behind her. Rocks the size of golf balls began raining down. The beam from the flashlight danced over the walls and ceiling of the shaft ahead in a dizzyingly erratic pattern. Her self-appointed guardian was joining her.

  She struggled to get out of Michael’s way and let him pass. A fresh cloud of dust nearly obliterated him when he finally came to a stop several yards farther down.

  “I told you I was fine,” Layla said. “Why do you insist I can’t handle things without your help?”

  “Because you can’t.” Michael got to his feet, brushed himself off, and held out his free hand. “Show me your wrist. Did you break it?”

  She was glad he couldn’t see her expression because she was so put out she knew it must show. “Of course not.”

  “Then why were you holding it?”

  “I was checking my bracelets,” she said flatly. “They broke. Shine the light on the floor for a second and I’ll see if I can find the beads.”

  “Bracelets? This was about bracelets?”

  “You don’t have to yell. I told you I was fine. It’s not my fault you didn’t take my word for it. I didn’t ask you to come whooshing down here like a kid on a playground slide.”

  His lack of response told her more than she wanted to know about his mood. Instead of reaching for his hand, she clambered to her feet on her own and covered the last few feet to the tunnel floor where Michael now stood.

  “If you’re not going to help me find what’s left of my jewelry, then let’s go get Wilbur. That is what we came for.”

  “Maybe it’s what you came for,” he said, ire still coloring his speech. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been reckless enough to fall down a mine shaft.”

  “I didn’t fall. I slid.”

  “Pardon me. You slid. That makes it all okay.”

  “It sure makes it better,” Layla gibed. “Lighten up, okay? We’re both down here and we’re both unhurt, so we may as well go get the calf. Together. Unless you have something else to suggest.”

  “Would it do me any good?”

  Layla laughed. “Nope. Come on. Let’s go rescue Wilbur.”

  Michael led the way. He wasn’t about to pass the flashlight to Layla and give her control of their pace. He’d explored these old shafts as a boy and knew plenty about the inherent dangers. Not only did the various mines run for miles beneath Cripple Creek and Colorado Springs, they were filled with twists and turns. Even if people didn’t get lost, chances were good they’d come across vertical shafts that led to deeper and deeper grids of crosshatching, horizontal tunnels. It was no place for a novice.

  “I still hear him mooing,” Layla said, pulling on Michael’s sleeve. “I think he’s over here.”

  “No. This way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “More sure than you are.” He shone the light into the niche she’d indicated to show her how shallow it was. “I’ve been in this mine before.” To his surprise, she stopped arguing.

  “Tell me more,” Layla urged. “What’s the layout?”

  “Pretty basic. They tunneled horizontally till they ran out of rich deposits, then followed the silver veins as well as they could. That’s why it sometimes seems like we’re wandering.”

  She tugged on his coat again. “What about over here?”

  “It’s probably a dead end, just like the last one.”

  “But you’re not sure? Show me.”

  Michael obliged. His jaw clenched. Leave it to Layla to point out one of the only passable tunnels besides the one they were in.

  “I haven’t explored down that way for years,” he said. “It may have caved in. The shafts weren’t all shored up as well as this one is.”

  Pausing, she called, “Wilbur? Where are you?”

  The answering bleating echoed, sounding as if it came from all sides.

  “We’re never going to find him at this rate.” She snatched the flashlight out of Michael’s hand and whirled, lighting the smaller arch of the side shaft as she hurried toward it.

  He lunged after her. “Stop!”

  Layla ignored him.

  He had no choice but to follow and try to reclaim the light. Muttering under his breath, he gritted his teeth and forged ahead, using the reflected illumination to guide his steps. If she got too far away he’d be left in total darkness. And she’d be on her own. Neither outcome was acceptable.

  The tunnel grayed. Layla had obviously turned a corner. Michael was about to call to her to slow down when he heard her cut loose with a shriek that stood his hair on end.

  Layla froze. The body lying on the expanse of floor was grotesque. She stared. Someone had just screamed. Was it her? She was too numbed by the horrible sight to be certain.

  Michael bolted into the cavern and skidded to a stop.

  She waved the light at the object on the floor, her hand shaking. “Who…?”

  He pushed past, bent down, then straightened slowly. “It’s Ben. My missing foreman.”

  “But, how—why—?”

  “Why is he so well-preserved after all this time? It’s my guess the cold weather and dryness in the mine this time of year is responsible. I don’t think his death is recent.”

  Again, Wilbur’s bleating echoed. This time, when Layla swung the light in the direction of the sound, she spotted the calf.

  Thankful for a more uplifting find, she left Michael and ran to the calf.

  “Oh, Wilbur, honey. You poor thing. You must be starving. Who tied you up like this, huh?”

  The Hereford butted her with his head, begging for food. Rather than take the chance of releasing him and having him bolt, she used the rope to fashion a makeshift halter and lead.

  Turning back to Michael, she smiled. “He’s okay.”

  “Good. Let me see that light. Over here.”

  Layla joined him with Wilbur in tow. “What is it? What did you find? Not another victim, I hope.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He took the flashlight and swung it in an arc that encompassed a pile of plastic jugs, then gave one of them a kick. It lightly bounced away. “See? They’re empty.”

  “Antifreeze containers?” She was astounded. “What are those doing way down here?”

  “They were obviously hidden,” Michael answered. “The question is, did Ben do it or was he killed because he discovered what was going on?”

  Layla shivered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “In a minute. I want to take some of these empty jugs to use as markers so I can find my way back here with Sam.”

  “Good idea. You carry those and I’ll handle Wilbur. He’s really hungry. I wouldn’t want him to lick one of them and be accidentally poisoned.”

  “Okay.” Michael filled his fists with jug handles. “You go first. I’ll place these behind us as we walk out.”

  Layla started for the tunnel
that had brought them there. Wilbur balked at entering the dark opening. She’d turned back and was tugging on his makeshift halter, urging him with softly spoken words, when Michael suddenly said, “Hush. Listen!”

  “What?”

  “I think I hear a motor.”

  Layla scowled. Her breathing increased. Her heart thudded so loudly she had trouble hearing anything else. “I’m not sure I do.”

  Suddenly, there was a flash.

  The concussion of the blast blew her off her feet.

  She stumbled over the calf and landed in Michael’s open arms. They hit the ground. Hard.

  Bits of rock were falling like sleet. Layla opened her eyes to a cloud of dust so thick she could barely see. She blinked to get her bearings. Her ears were buzzing. Her head throbbed.

  Michael had cushioned her landing and saved her from serious injury. She stared at his expressionless face and felt her heart leap into her throat.

  “Michael? Michael, speak to me!”

  No answer came. He was unconscious.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Norberto was in the main house, helping Imelda prepare Michael’s special dinner, when he heard King and Molly barking excitedly. He peered out the window.

  “What is it,” his wife asked.

  “The horses!” Shouting, he straight-armed the door and paused in the opening. “Call 911! Get a rescue squad out here.”

  “Why? What has happened?”

  Norberto grabbed the two-way radio. “Señor Vance? Señor Vance, answer me!”

  He shook his head. “It is no use. Do as I told you. And have them tell Sam Vance what has happened, too. He will want to be here.”

  “Where are you going? What will you do?” Imelda hobbled to the door as her husband dashed for the barm.”

  “I don’t know.” Norberto was shouting for Hector and the other ranch hands as he ran.

  Entering the stable, he found both horses lathered with sweat, their sides heaving as if they’d been running at breakneck speed. They blew condensation into the icy air, reminding Norberto that another frigid night was fast approaching.

  He checked the saddles, thankful to find no sign that either rider had been injured. So what had unseated them? And where were they now?

  Crossing himself, he sent up a silent prayer for Michael and Layla’s safety, then picked up the telephone extension in the barn and buzzed the house.

  Imelda answered immediately. “I called the police. Have you found anything?”

  “No. Go look on Mr. Vance’s desk and get me Detective Sam’s private number. Hurry.”

  In what seemed like an eternity, Imelda was back on the line. She read her husband the number, then hung up.

  He dialed. An answering machine took the call.

  Frustrated and panicky, Norberto had to force himself to speak English. “Detective. Something muy malo—bad—has happened to my boss, Señor Michael. You must come. Bring a search…you know what I mean. The dogs. Bring the dogs. Get Julianna Red Feather. She will know what to do. Her dog, Angel, can find anyone. Hurry!”

  When he hung up and turned, three other ranch hands were standing there, waiting to hear more. By the time Norberto had explained about the horses returning without riders, Hector had joined the group.

  “I’ll take over,” Hector said. “As foreman, it’s my duty.” He nodded at Norberto and the others. “You men finish cooling down the horses, then go back to your regular chores.”

  “What about following the tracks?” Norberto asked.

  “If anyone goes out looking before the police arrive, it will be me,” Hector answered flatly. “If you want to be useful, drive to the highway and flag down the rescue truck so it doesn’t go past. We want it here as soon as possible.”

  Norberto’s jaw clenched. So did his fists, but he reluctantly obeyed. If anything happened to his boss or the kind lady vet because of those stupid orders, he’d beat Hector to a pulp.

  In the meantime, he’d pray harder than he had since Imelda gave birth to their daughter, Mercedes, twenty-five years ago.

  Layla levered herself into a kneeling position and stared down at Michael, hoping and praying his injury wasn’t serious. His chest moved. He coughed. He was breathing! Thank You, God.

  Trying not to jostle him, she edged to one side and gently stroked his cheek. Since there was a chance of a spinal cord injury, he shouldn’t be allowed to move once he regained consciousness. If he did.

  That thought pierced her like a knife. Michael had to be all right. He had to be. What would she do without him?

  Tears dropped from her cheeks onto his. She blotted them with the cuff of her sweater, using the moisture to help clean off the worst of the dust coating his eyelids. They fluttered.

  “Michael?” she whispered.

  He blinked. “What…?”

  “There was an explosion,” Layla said. She used both hands on his shoulders to keep him from rising. “Lie still. You might have a head or back injury. You mustn’t move till we’re sure.”

  To her relief, he relaxed beneath her ministering touch and brought one hand to his forehead. “It must have been a lulu. I don’t remember a thing.”

  “All I know is, there was a really bright flash and a bang. It knocked me into you and we both went down. I’m afraid that’s why you hit the ground so hard.”

  Michael winced and smiled at the same time. “Better me than you. Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She sniffled. “I feel much better now that you’re conscious.”

  He reached for her face, cradling her damp cheek. “Are you crying?”

  “Maybe.” She sniffled again and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

  “You care that much?”

  Layla nodded.

  Threading his fingers through her tousled, dusty hair he drew her face closer before he said, “I love you, too, Doc. I guess I have for a long time.”

  Speechless, she answered the only way she could. She bent and kissed him.

  Norberto had sent one of the younger men to wait by the road and had stationed himself near the barn, planning to be included in the rescue team no matter what.

  He was overjoyed to see his prayers had been answered. Julianna Red Feather was there and had brought her famous search dog. Angel was a German shepherd with an amazing reputation for finding victims of disasters, but Julianna had burned out on the job last year. It was good to see she wasn’t letting her personal feelings keep her from helping. At least not this time.

  Pumping her hand, Norberto said, “Bless you, señorita. I know you will find them.”

  The petite, half-Pueblo swung her long, black braids behind her, laid her hand on the dog’s head and smiled sadly. “I’ll do my best. You know I can’t promise that Angel and I will succeed.”

  “I know.” Norberto nodded. “Like I told Detective Sam, Señor Michael and Señorita Layla went looking for a lost calf. The cow is still crying for her little one. If we let her out and follow her, she can lead us in the right direction.”

  Julianna frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know. That could muddy up the tracks and confuse the scent trail. Tell you what. Why don’t you let Angel get her bearings first? Then, if she strikes out, we’ll try it your way.”

  Norberto choked up. “Gracias, señorita.”

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  All business, the dog handler turned her attention to Sam Vance. “I’ll need a sample of something the missing people wore recently. I want to see the saddles and horses, too. We’re asking a lot of Angel if they’ve traveled a long distance.”

  “All of that’s waiting for you in the barn,” Sam said. “Judging by the deep hoofprints they left, those horses were really spooked. Looks like they were running full-out, scared to death, headed straight for home. It should be a pretty easy trail to backtrack.”

  “Then let’s get started,” Julianna said, setting her jaw and standing as tall as her five-foot-three-inch height would allow. �
��This time, I intend to get to the victims before it’s too late.”

  Layla had finally satisfied herself that Michael wasn’t badly hurt and had allowed him to get up. His pupils were equal and reactive, meaning he probably didn’t have a concussion, and she could find no visible injuries except a small cut on his scalp.

  Once she was sure the man she loved was all right, she checked Wilbur. The poor little calf was shaking and seemed stunned, but all in all, the three of them had made it through the explosion in remarkably good shape.

  Michael shone the light on the blocked exit as he picked his way across the rock-littered floor. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “There must be another way out. You said these hills were riddled with tunnels.”

  “Not necessarily interconnected ones. There are lots of dead ends, places where they lost the vein, dug around till they had a cavern like this one, then gave up and went back to start over.”

  Layla tried to hide her shivering. Michael had enough to worry him. She wasn’t about to let on how frightened she was and add to his concerns.

  “Okay,” she said. “What now?”

  “Beats me. I guess we try to dig our way out.”

  “Looks like that might take a long time.”

  “True.” He slipped his arm around her and gave her a brief hug before placing a kiss on her temple. “Umm. Gritty. Just the way I like my women.”

  She knew he was trying to lift her spirits and played along. “Thanks bunches. You’re not exactly ready for the Broadmoor, either, cowboy.”

  “Now you tell me.” Handing her the light, he said, “Shine that on the slide. I’ll get started.”

  “I’m going to help.”

  “Then prop it on a rock or something and let’s get to work. I’m not sure how long those batteries will last.”

  Layla knew exactly what he meant. She’d had the same morbid thought. For now, they had light to work by and air to breathe. Sooner or later, they’d run out of both.

  Laying aside the flashlight, she rejoined Michael and began to attack the loose rock. Jagged edges tore at her fingers. Dust filled her throat, made her eyes water, her head ache even more than before.