The crowd became more subdued for a moment as they were faced with the evidence of guilt. The man who had been shot by the marshal had indeed been fleeing from a crime.
"You still didn't have to kill him, Elbridge," a townsman abruptly said. A chorus of agreement echoed his angry statement.
"Wasn't going to stand there and wait for him to shoot me," the lawman replied. "Some of you help out your friend here, and the rest of you break it up."
Two men went to help Mose the gunsmith over to the doctor's office, and the others slowly, grudgingly went about their business.
Fox and Landrum were left standing in the street. The marshal glanced at them in irritation and snapped, "I said move along."
"You're a United States marshal, aren't you?" Landrum asked. He had seen the telltale insignia on the badge the man wore.
"That's right. What's it to you, mister?"
Landrum held up his hands placatingly. "Nothing to me, Marshal. You just don't see too many federal officers out here."
"That's not my fault," the lawman growled around his cigar. "It's that damned vigilante way of thinking you people have. You think you can handle all your problems yourself, and you look on the federal government as the enemy." He shook his head. "Don't know why the hell I'm even bothering to talk about it with you. It doesn't do a damn bit of good."
Fox stepped forward. He was still very impressed with this man. As far as he could see, the marshal had the right attitude about things.
"We're not vigilantes," he said sincerely. "We're new to the territory ourselves. I'm Preston Colfax, and this is my brother Landrum." Fox extended his hand toward the marshal.
After a moment, the man took it. "Gideon Elbridge," he introduced himself. "You men come to look for gold?"
"That's right." Fox glanced at Landrum, saw that the Confederate was hanging back, a disapproving look on his face, making no effort to shake hands with Elbridge. "Don't mind my brother. He's just the unfriendly type."
For the first time, a hint of a smile showed on Elbridge's stern face. "Well, you won't have made yourselves any friends by shaking hands with me, either. Word will get around town that you were sucking up to the marshal, and then folks will treat you like they do me-like horse droppings."
Fox frowned at the lawman's bluntness. "Surely it can't be that bad."
"Hide and watch, pilgrim."
Landrum grasped Fox's arm. "Come on, Preston," he said. "We've got to get back to camp.
Fox nodded. "So long, Marshal. Perhaps we'll see you again." He allowed Landrum to pull him away and lead him back toward the general store.
Landrum said nothing, but Fox could tell from the tight lines of his face that he was angry. When they were out of earshot of the marshal, he asked, "Why are you so upset, Landrum? I thought it would be a good idea to introduce ourselves to Marshal Elbridge."
"You thought wrong," Landrum snapped.
"But he could be very helpful to us in our investigation. I think we should tell him who we are and what we're doing here."
Landrum snorted. "Awful trusting, aren't you? That's gotten us in trouble a time or two in the past."
Fox winced. He remembered all too well how his misjudgments of people had plagued them at Fort Griffin and in Arizona. But he had learned from his mistakes, and besides, his every instinct told him that Gideon Elbridge was a fine, upstanding man.
"I'm sure that's not the case this time-" he began.
Landrum cut him off. "That doesn't really matter. What Elbridge said is true. The miners and the townspeople around here don't have any use for the government or its lawmen. The way the vigilantes cleaned out the Plummer gang is a legend in these parts. They won't cooperate with a federal marshal — or his friends."
Something suddenly occurred to Fox. "Say, why would a federal lawman be out here in the first place? Do you think that Marshal Elbridge could be after the same gang we are?"
The look that Landrum gave Fox told the young man that his companion had indeed thought of that very possibility, and quite a bit sooner than Fox himself had done so. "I reckon he could be," Landrum said dryly.
"I still think we should tell him who we are," Fox groused.
"And I overrule you, little brother."
"I wish you'd quite calling me that."
Landrum shrugged as he stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of the general store. "Whatever you want."
The clerk had come outside to see what the disturbance was, too, but now he was back at his task, gathering up the tools and equipment Landrum had requested.
This was a strange place, Fox thought as Landrum and the merchant finished their transaction. Small boys like Bill had to become men at a very early age, bypassing their childhood. The locals viewed anyone from the government as one of the enemy. Outlaws rode rampant through the hills, and there was always the possibility of an Indian attack.
He was a long, long way from West Point
Fox became aware that Landrum and the clerk were talking about the hold-up which had been foiled by Elbridge. "Thad had a claim for a while, but it played out like so many of them do. He didn't have enough money to leave, and not enough to live on if he stayed. Guess he just got desperate."
"It can happen," Landrum said.
"Hope you folks have better luck. If you don't, I wouldn't advise trying what old Thad did. Just because we don't like that government lawdog gunning him down doesn't mean that we'll put up with outlaws. We know how to handle that type around here."
Fox couldn't resist commenting, "What about the ones at Robbers Roost?"
The clerk frowned. "We may not like outlaws, mister, but we ain't stupid. One of these days that hornet's nest will be cleaned out, but right now it'd cost the lives of half the town to do it. It's not worth that."
Fox started to say something else, but Landrum shook his head. The two of them gathered up the mining equipment after Landrum had handed over some of their rapidly-depleting expense funds for it. As they loaded the pans and tools onto the wagon, Landrum glanced down the street at the setting sun.
"We won't make it back by night after all," he said. "I think I can manage that trail in the dark, though. I just hope Celia and Glidinghawk are all right.”
“I’m sure they are,” Fox said casually. “They can take care of themselves, after all.”
Still, as they got onto the wagon and Landrum pointed it out of town, Fox found to his surprise that he was beginning to worry a bit, too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Although Fox had a few nervous moments as Landrum navigated the treacherous trail in the gathering gloom, they reached the cabin in Alder Gulch without incident and found that Celia and Glidinghawk had supper ready when they arrived
Celia told them about the visit by Elroy Strickland, and her description of the friendly young miner prompted Landrum to grin.
“Sounds like he could come in handy if we have to spread rumors of a gold strike,” Landrum said. “All these miners are notorious gossips.”
Fox declared, “I don’t think we would have to resort to that tactic if you would agree to cooperate with Marshal Elbridge. I’m sure that between us we could round up the miscreants who stole that payroll.”
“Marshal Elbridge?” Glidinghawk grunted questioningly.
Landrum explained about meeting the federal lawman. Celia asked, “What do you think? Is he on the level?”
"Of course he is!" Fox exclaimed.
Landrum nodded slowly. "Probably. But like I told Preston, working with a lawman around here would probably be more of a hindrance than a help."
"I agree," Glidinghawk said. "Well accomplish more on our own."
Fox opened his mouth to argue some more, then shut it and kept silent. If his partners were going to be stubborn about this, then let them think they were having their way.
It wouldn't matter in the long run. He, Preston Kirkwood Fox, was going to crack this case wide open.
And the place to start was Robbers Roost.
* * *
The next couple of days were spent getting the hang of panning for gold. All four members of Powell's Army took their turns working beside the narrow, tumbling stream. Landrum and Glidinghawk built a sluice box, pouring more effort into the construction than the claim was really worth.
To anyone keeping an eye on them, though, they gave every appearance of honestly searching for the precious yellow metal that had brought tens of thousands of dreamers to the west.
Elroy Strickland paid several more visits to the claim, as did some of the other miners. The newcomers were fitting in quickly, and it was easy for Landrum, Celia, and Glidinghawk to steer the conversations around to the outlaw gangs causing trouble in the area.
It developed that the miners had had little trouble with bandits, primarily because there was little to steal in the gulch. Several claims were producing enough gold dust and nuggets to provide a living for their owners, but the days of the bonanza seemed to be over.
As they had expected, Celia proved to be very popular with the miners, and she could have had her pick from dozens of suitors who came to do some crude courting. She was polite to all of them without encouraging anyone, and the presence of her two "brothers" and their Indian helper was enough to keep any of the miners from taking offense at her rejection.
Fox went along quietly with whatever Landrum and the others suggested — but all the while, he was planning his foray to Robbers Roost. He knew from talking to the other miners that while it was unusual for any of them to patronize the prostitutes there, it was not unheard of.
That would be a suitable excuse for he and Landrum to go there. Once they were in the outlaws' den, he was confident in their ability to ferret out the information they needed.
The only problem, he found when he finally broached the plan to Landrum, was that the Texan didn't agree.
"You want to what?" Landrum asked in disbelief after Fox had explained his plan after supper one night.
"I think we should go to Robbers Roost," Fox repeated patiently.
Glidinghawk asked, "Don't you remember Powell's dispatch? He said it would be sure death to go nosing around there."
"He said not to go in and ask open questions," Fox pointed out. "He didn't say anything about using our cover identities and infiltrating the place."
"How do you intend to go about that?" Landrum wanted to know.
Fox cast an uneasy, embarrassed glance at Celia, who was watching him intently. "There are, ah, soiled doves employed there," he said tentatively. "I thought we could pretend to be prospective customers . . ."
"You're going to go sweet-talk a bunch of whores into telling you who stole that payroll wagon?" Landrum's awe was evident in his voice. "You've got to be joking, Preston."
"I never joke about a mission," Fox said stiffly. Actually, he thought fleetingly, he couldn't remember the last time he had made a joke about anything.
Landrum shook his head. "It won't work. That's almost as hare-brained a scheme as wanting to work with that marshal."
Fox leaned forward. "But that's the other part of my plan, you see. We reveal our identities to Marshal Elbridge, and he can keep an eye on Robbers Roost while we're there in case there's trouble and we need some help."
"Forget it, Preston," Landrum said flatly. "I know we haven't made much progress yet, but well keep on doing what we're doing."
Celia and Glidinghawk nodded in agreement with him.
Fox slammed a fist down on the table as frustration boiled over within him, taking all of them by surprise. "Damnit, you never listen to me!" he exploded. "I'm supposed to be a full member of this team, and the three of you treat me like some idiot relation who has to be looked after!" His voice shook slightly with the intensity of his emotion.
Following the unexpected outburst, there was silence for a long moment. Finally, Landrum said, "I'm sorry you see things that way, Preston. But we have to do what we think is best."
"And to the devil with anyone who thinks differently, is that it?" Fox asked bitterly. He came to his feet and started toward the door. "I understand now," he snapped as he brushed aside the canvas and disappeared into the shadows of evening.
Landrum, Celia, and Glidinghawk sat in the rough chairs that the Omaha had made over the last few days. They stared at the table.
After a moment, Celia said, "I really thought he was coming around. He hadn't insulted any of us or flown off the handle in two or three days."
"I had hopes," Landrum sighed. "I guess the boy's just too hard-headed to ever fit in, though."
Glidinghawk asked, "Should one of us go after him to make sure he doesn't do anything foolish?"
"What can he do?" Celia shook her head. "He'll cool off and come back."
Landrum pushed himself to his feet. "I don't know. Fox sometimes doesn't think very straight — "
He broke off at the sound of hoofbeats outside.
With Glidinghawk right behind him, Landrum went out the door, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and then opening them again once they had adjusted to the lack of light. He cast his gaze around the claim, his eyes coming to rest on the horses, unhitched from the wagon and hobbled for the night.
One of the animals was gone.
Landrum looked at Glidinghawk and saw that the Indian was thinking the same thing he was.
"That damned fool," Landrum breathed.
Fox swayed on the horse's back as he rode along the trail to Robbers Roost. He missed the military saddle to which he was accustomed. Even a regular saddle would have been better than riding bareback.
They had no saddles, though, only some halters. He was able to control the horse, and luckily the animal was old enough and docile enough that its gait wasn't too rough.
Fox was still furious with his three partners. They had no right to treat him like some addle-brained twit. He realized that they had more experience than him in most areas, but that didn't mean that all of his ideas were worthless.
If they thought going to Robbers Roost was such a bad idea, then they could just stay back in Alder Gulch, grubbing away, pretending to be miners.
He was going right to the source of the problem.
Over the past few days he had asked as many questions as he could about Robbers Roost, and he felt confident he could find the place, even at night. The trail was well-beaten and easy to follow in the moonlight.
In Fox's pocket was a small .41 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver which he had dug out of his valise earlier in the day. He had intended carrying the gun while pretending to be a gambler, but since that disguise had been stripped from him, he had left the weapon where it was.
Now it was loaded and ready to use, and the weight of it felt reassuring in his pocket.
As he rode, nervousness began replacing some of the anger he had felt earlier toward the others. His plan was dangerous — there was no use denying that. He was riding into a place where the slightest mistake could get him killed.
For a moment, Fox considered turning the horse around and heading back to Alder Gulch.
His wounded pride overcame his fear, however. That, and his desire to bring this mission to a successful conclusion that would reflect admirably on him.
His rightful place was just waiting to be restored to him.
Fox intended to see that that happened, regardless of the risks.
It took him the better part of an hour to reach the vicinity of Robbers Roost. The moon had gone down, leaving the night much darker and the trail harder to follow.
But lights up ahead and the sound of music and laughter wafting to his ears through the night air led Fox on, beckoning with the potential for excitement and romance.
He swallowed. All that could be true-if he didn't get killed first.
The building was more impressive than he had expected. Nestled in a grove of trees, Robbers Roost was a large, two-story house made of heavy logs. A railed balcony ran the entire length of the second floor, and several lanterns were hung from the eaves there. T
hree or four doors opened onto the balcony. A couple of them were open, and high-pitched female laughter drifted from them.
Fox tried to force away the disapproving expression that automatically appeared on his face as he reined in the horse in front of the building. No doubt the prostitutes were hard at work in those small second-floor rooms.
There were two hitching racks in front of the house, and at least eight horses were tied up there. Fox slid down from his mount's back and led the animal toward the rack.
Inside, someone was pounding on a badly out of tune piano. "Playing" was too dignified a word for what the person was doing. Through the windows on the ground floor, Fox could see the flickering shadows of men and women dancing. No waltzes here, but rather rollicking frontier dances designed to be mere preludes to what would go on upstairs later.
A man staggered through the open front door of the place and lifted a nearby full bottle of whiskey to his lips. The liquor bubbled and gurgled, and when the man lowered the bottle after what seemed like long minutes, it was empty. He tossed it away with a whoop and watched it shatter on the ground.
This was a den of iniquity if Fox had ever seen one.
A woman appeared behind the man and tugged him back inside, running her hands over his body suggestively. Even in the harsh glow of lantern light, something about her struck Fox as strange. He moved closer, willing his feet to work.
Planks were laid on the ground to form a rough, uneven porch in front of the house. As Fox stepped onto them, a shape moved in the shadows to his right. He looked over and saw a man unfolding himself from a rocking chair.
"Hold it, boy," the man said in a low voice. He took a step toward Fox and then paused, his face still in darkness. Fox could see the man's lean body, though, the shell belt strapped around his narrow waist, the butt of a heavy Colt protruding from the holster.
The man's long, supple fingers never strayed far from the gun.
"What are you doin' here, son?"
Fox stood very still, recognizing danger in the deceptively casual stance of the man. He said, "I-I heard there were women here."
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