by Ann Charles
“So could you.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you either, Mac, and I nearly lost you twice in those damned mines.” She stepped closer, catching his hands, squeezing. “I want to go with you. Waiting back here, worrying if you’re alive or dead, is a worse fate than being hurt on the way up to that mine. Don’t make me stay behind again.”
He wanted to stand firm, but the pleading look in her eyes was his undoing. “Fine, you can come, but you need to do as I say in that mine. Got it?”
She nodded, going up on her toes to kiss his jaw. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
“I’ve heard that before,” he muttered to her back as she went over to let her sisters know the plan.
Mac waited out under the stars while Claire collected her jacket from behind the bar before joining him. He shivered on his way to his truck, where he grabbed his coat along with his GPS, backpack, and flashlights. He pocketed his favorite compass, too, along with a can of spray paint in case they decided to hike into the mine and needed to leave a trail of breadcrumbs.
Butch met them behind The Shaft. “You got your gear?”
“Yep.”
“Claire won the argument, huh?”
Mac held the back door of Butch’s Chevy Silverado SS open for her. “Like I said, the Morgan sisters can really mess with your head.”
Smiling, she patted his cheek as she climbed up into the truck. “It’s all part of our grand diabolical plan.” She threw his earlier words back at him in jest.
He pinched her butt before she sat on the backseat, making her squeak and laugh. In the front seat, he showed Butch the location of the mine on the quad map.
“Really?” Butch started his truck. “I’ve hiked close to that range. There are animal trails here and there, but no sign of a mine.”
“Maybe the entrance is overgrown with bushes,” Claire suggested from the back seat.
“Could be.” Butch headed south out of the parking lot. “But I’d expect to have noticed tailings. Although I suppose they could have been dumped out a different entrance higher up or around the other side.”
Or maybe, Mac thought, someone went to a lot of trouble to cover up the entrance and any other indications of a mine to keep it hidden. And maybe that someone was out there waiting for them in the darkness tonight.
Mac frowned out the window at the waning moon. Damn it. He wished to hell Claire had wanted to stay at the bar.
Chapter Nine
The moon had painted the desert using smears of silver and gray. Under its feeble light, Claire crunched across the gritty alluvial slope, a mixture of gravel and sand and undoubtedly other types of rocks that Mac could name in his sleep.
Playing monkey in the middle between Butch and Mac, she marched through the shadow-draped landscape dotted with grabby cacti—barrel, cholla, and prickly pear the worst offenders. To the right, a series of fin-like mountains loomed high and intimidating in the semidarkness.
Butch paused, sniffing the air. “You smell that?”
“Smells kind of skunky.” Claire took a step closer to Mac. After being sprayed by one last summer, she steered clear of the damned striped stinkers.
Mac glanced around the darkened desert. “No, it’s javelina. I saw a small herd of them grazing about a quarter mile back.”
The sound of paper rustling came from Butch’s direction. “From what I can tell on the map, the mine should be right up there somewhere.” He pointed his flashlight up the steep hillside dotted with creosote bushes, diamond cholla cacti, and boulders here and there.
Mac added a second spotlight to the hillside, lingering on an area with a grouping of boulders high up on the left. “That looks like a trail coming from those rocks.”
Butch redirected his light. “You sure that’s a trail?”
Mac’s beam followed it along. “Look at the depth of the shadows there and there before it goes around that bend and disappears. It’s a trail. Not much of it’s probably visible in the full sunlight unless the sun’s angle is just right and sets off the shadows, like what we have tonight with these flashlights.” He aimed his light at a small group of desert willows further down the slope. “I’m betting it comes out over there by those willows. When it rains, water probably pools there, drawing in the wildlife.”
Claire squinted, noticing another trail leading away from the willows in a different direction. “So do we follow it up?”
“We could go straight up the slope,” Butch focused his beam on the landscape in front of them.
“Maybe,” Mac said. “The talus at the base is mostly small rock, not too steep. The footing appears solid enough judging by all of the plants that have taken hold. But there’s one snag.”
“What’s that?”
“You haven’t seen Slugger here climb.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Claire turned to him, hands on her hips.
“You’re no mountain goat.”
“I can climb just fine.”
“Sure,” he grinned down at her in the shadows, “with a winch.”
Butch chuckled.
“Smartass.” Claire poked Mac in the stomach. “I can climb that slope without a problem. It’s not that steep.”
“Your depth perception is off because of the dark.”
“Maybe we should backtrack and try the trail,” Butch suggested, playing referee.
“You can try that route, Butch, but I’m going straight up.” With all of the work she’d been doing around the R.V. park lately, she wasn’t as soft and doughy as she used to be. “I’m going to make Mac eat his words when I reach the top first.” Without waiting for either of them, she pulled her own flashlight from her jacket pocket, flicked it on, and started up the hillside.
“Claire,” Mac said, following her, “this is a bad idea. Let’s take the trail.”
“If I let every bad idea stop me from what I wanted to do in life,” she dodged a large grouping of prickly pear, “I’d never have kissed you under Ruby’s willow tree that first time.”
“You were drunk, remember?”
Oh, yeah. “But not the second time.”
“The second time I kissed you.”
“True, but it was still a bad idea.”
“And it still is.”
She paused to frown down at him and noticed they were alone. “Where’s Butch?”
“He’s trying the trail. We might need a safer way back down.”
“Why is kissing me still a bad idea?”
He caught up with her, tightening the straps of his backpack. “Because it usually leads to me removing your clothes.”
“I like it when you remove my clothes.”
“So do I. Too much. In fact, on the drive to Jackrabbit Junction earlier tonight, I was thinking about doing that very thing to you.”
“Really?” She led the way further up the slope. “And how did that go for you?”
“Not as far as I’d have liked.”
“Why’s that?”
“You weren’t there.”
“I’m here now.”
“Yes, you are and slowing down to boot.” He stood next to her as she huffed and puffed a little, gearing up to blow down his house.
He on the other hand merely sniffed. “The javelinas are moving away.”
“Thank God … for that.” She sucked in a breath and pushed onward and upward.
At the halfway point, Mac offered to throw her over his shoulder and haul her up the rest of the way in firefighter tradition.
“Bite me.” She massaged the pain in her side and took several more steps before needing another short break, holding up her index finger for Mac to give her a minute to catch her breath.
He caught her hand on the way past, tugging her along behind him. “Are you even trying, Slugger?”
“Damn you … and your …”
“How’s it going?” Butch called down to them from what must have been the trail another twenty or s
o feet up.
“We should be ready to join you as soon as Claire finishes damning me.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. “Any last words, milady?”
She had plenty but had no breath to utter them. Instead she pulled her hand free and smacked him on the butt before trudging onward and upward.
Mac played bulldozer the rest of the way, pushing her rump northward until they reached the trail, his hands doing as much squeezing as pushing along the way.
“See,” she said to Mac between breaths. “I told you … the climb … wasn’t so tough.”
He kissed her temple. “Well, you’re certainly in better shape than you used to be.”
“It’s all the work … around the R.V. park.” Not to mention the lack of smoking. She jokingly flexed her bicep in front of Butch. “I’m getting buff. See?”
Butch’s hand practically wrapped around her little egg of a muscle. He whistled between his teeth. “You better be careful, Mac. She’ll be wearing the pants in the family soon.”
“I like her better without pants,” Mac said, stepping around Claire. “Let’s see if there’s a mine up here or not.” He led the way further along the trail.
The climb was much less steep now, but Claire’s thighs continued their slow burn. Mac offered his hand at one point, but she refused, determined to keep up on her own. After insisting on coming along, she didn’t want to be a burden.
Finally they came to the collection of boulders and dense cluster of creosote bushes and mesquite.
“I can smell the mine’s breath,” Mac said, pushing through the foliage. “It’s up ahead.”
Claire followed, catching a wiry branch in the face.
And then another.
“Dang it, Mac.” She spit out a waxy leaf and hooked onto his belt below his backpack, trying not to weigh anchor too much. “Wait up.”
On the other side of Mother Nature’s camouflage was a hole in the side of the hillside. A couple of boards crisscrossed the entrance barring the way. Spray painted on the boards someone had written: Stay out! Bad air!
“Bad air.” Claire stepped to the side, making room in front of the mine entrance for Butch, who was shoving his way through the last of the brush. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Usually it means there’s a pocket of carbon dioxide somewhere in the mine,” Mac answered. “A silent killer of canaries and miners alike.” He fished in his backpack and pulled out something that looked like a fancy walkie-talkie with an LED screen. He hit a button and the sucker lit up the surrounding hillside.
“What is that?” Claire asked, leaning forward for a closer look. “An alien beacon?”
He grinned down at his toy. “A portable gas detector.”
“Wow, you don’t mess around, do you?” Butch asked, looking down at it over Claire’s shoulder. “Does that thing do your taxes, too?”
Mac snorted. “No, that’s one step up from this puppy.”
“How many gases can that thing monitor?”
“Up to six at a time.” Mac held it out for Butch and Claire to see it better. “It can operate as a single gas PID unit or multifunctional tool.” He turned it this way and that. “It’s dust and water resistant, plus comes with man-down and panic alarms.”
“The LED display is incredible,” Butch took the detector, pushing the button Mac indicated. “Is that one of those detectors that comes with a library of VOC?”
Claire was trying to keep up with the conversation, but she kept getting hung up on the acronyms they were tossing around. She waited for Mac to finish his show-and-tell presentation, noticing that several of the boards crisscrossing the entrance looked loose. She pointed at his fancy gadget. “Is that thing picking up any gases right now?”
“Nothing dangerous.”
“What about when you hold it on the other side of the boards?”
Mac reached through the gaps in the boards, pushed a few buttons and waited. When he pulled the gas detector back out, he stared down at the bright LED screen. “It’s all clear.”
“Good.” She grabbed onto a board. It wiggled slightly, weathered loose by years of sun, wind, and rain. Bracing her foot against one of the other boards, she yanked on it. With a solid tug, it pulled free.
“What are you doing?” Mac asked, taking the board she handed him.
She tugged a second board free, handing it to Butch. “We’re going inside, remember?”
“No, we’re not.” Mac caught her arm in a no-nonsense grip. “Just because the air is clear here doesn’t mean you won’t get ten feet in and keel over. Let’s wait until daylight.”
“You’re the one who said that once we’re inside it doesn’t matter if it’s day or night out here.”
“That was before I knew about the possibility of poisonous gas.”
She pointed at the warning sign. “This mine belonged to Joe. If you’ll remember, he has a colorful history of swindling, stealing, and lying.”
“What’s your point?” Mac was still holding onto her arm.
“I bet this Bad Air sign is another lie. It’s a lot more effective than a No Trespassing sign.”
Mac stared down at her in the glow of the LED display, his forehead creased. “What if you’re wrong?”
“Then your fancy air-checking gadget will tell us.” When he continued to hesitate, she added, “Weren’t you the one telling me last month that most hard rock mines don’t have problems with gas leaching out of the surrounding rock? Only the soft rock ones, like coal mines.”
“I said ‘most,’ not all.” He pointed his gas detector at the mine entrance. “This could be an exception to the norm.”
“Mac, my gut tells me this,” she tapped the Bad Air sign, “is another one of Joe’s shams.” Hell, the asshole probably had stashed those damned gold boxes stolen from England’s Waddesdon Manor in here. Lord knows she’d looked everywhere else around the R.V. park and come up empty. “But to be safe we have your detector to lead the way and see if I’m wrong or right.”
Mac still hesitated. “I don’t suppose you’d be game to Butch and me going in while you wait out here until I make sure it’s clear.”
“Butch has a baby on the way. I don’t. Let me go in with you. I won’t touch a thing this time.”
“You promise?”
She laid her hand over her heart. “Swear on my mother’s grave.”
That made him smile. “Okay, Slugger, just stick close to my side.” Mac looked at Butch. “You cool with staying out here?”
He shrugged. “I’m easy.”
“Is your phone working?”
Butch checked it. “Yep.”
“If we’re not back out in twenty minutes, call the Sheriff. Whatever you do, don’t come in.” He checked his watch and then held it up for Butch to compare time.
She wondered why only twenty minutes, but since Mac was running tonight’s show, she didn’t ask.
“We’d better get cracking,” he said and slid between the boards.
“Any readings on the gas detector?” she asked before joining him. She was feeling brave tonight but not stupid.
Peeking between the boards, she watched Mac fiddle with the detector. The LED screens—all three of them—lit up the rock around him and on down to where the throat of the mine narrowed to only a shoulder width or so.
“All clear. Get in here.”
He helped her through the boards, brushing off her backside.
“I don’t remember getting the seat of my pants dirty.”
“I’m just taking precautions.” He pointed his detector toward the mine’s throat. “Let’s go.”
She followed as they inched along the narrow tunnel, Mac pressing buttons on his detector as they walked. Several yards in he paused, sliding off his pack. “Hold on, I want to get something.”
Claire nodded, glancing around. The mine looked pretty much like the others she’d been in: rock walls etched with fissure cracks, old timber support beams, dirt floors. No rails in
this mine, at least not at the entrance, but there was what looked like an ore chute coming out of the wall about ten feet further ahead. Right below it, angled against the wall at the base of the chute, was a two-by-four that was several feet long. It had been left leaning against the rock wall partially blocking the way into the throat of the mine, as if someone would be coming back to grab it on the way out later.
Her gaze returned to the chute. Why would there be an ore chute if there were no rails? Then she remembered several old-time photos she’d seen of the miners in the area with their pickaxes and jackasses. Maybe one of the previous miners used pack animals to haul out chunks of ore, leaving one of those iron-wheeled ore wagons she’d seen in the museum up in Deadwood waiting on the desert floor below the trail.
“Mac,” she whispered.
He looked up from where he was rifling through his bag.
“I want to go look at that chute.”
He glanced down at his gas detector and then nodded.
She tiptoed back to the ore chute, shining her flashlight up into the square conduit cut into the rock wall. A sheet of rusted metal blocked the top. That must be the hatch, she thought. If the chute dumped out here, how many levels of drifts were above her? The hillside did rise for thirty or so feet above the mine entrance before slanting toward the peak.
At the base of the hatch door was a nest of some sort, along with a length of newer looking rope. Her gaze followed the rope from the hatch door rigging down along the bottom of the chute and then the wall. It ended at the leaning board, appearing to be looped around the base. Maybe the board had something to do with securing the hatch. That would explain why it had been left wedged against the wall.
Her focus returned to the chute and a nest of dead branches, cactus spines, and pieces of chewed plastic bags. It looked like something was living up near the hatch. She searched the nest for a shiny reflection, seeing if this one had any treasures like those she had found hidden in the stopes in the Rattlesnake Ridge mine. When her visual inspection turned up nothing, she used her flashlight to carefully push around the matted mess.
Drat. Just a nest.
“Find anything?” Mac came up behind her, his hand warming her lower back.