"I had better see what is wrong," she said, swinging her lovely legs off the mattress.
She stood up and reached under the bed, pulling out a threadbare wrapper. As she shrugged into it, Fox got a last appreciative view of her nudity. Then she started toward the door.
It burst open before she got there.
Ching Ping shrank back from the door as it slammed open. The disturbance of the air made the candle flame waver. It cast grotesque shadows on the walls as Jack thrust his bulk into the room.
Fox sat up abruptly. "Here now!" he exclaimed. "What's all this?"
Jack waved a huge pistol in the air. "It's a goddamn Colt Dragoon, you young son-of-a-bitch! And I'm goin' to feed you some lead with it!"
Fox's eyes widened in terror as he saw the barrel of the pistol swinging toward him. It looked as big as the mouth of a cannon, and just as deadly.
Vaguely, he was aware of Madame Varnish popping up behind Jack and dragging at his arm, slowing down his aim a little. "Damn you, Three-Fingered Jack!" the madame howled. "You're drunk, you old fool!"
Drunk or not, Three-Fingered Jack obviously intended on blowing a hole clear through Preston Kirkwood Fox. Fox let out a yelp and threw himself to the side as Jack finally succeeded in lining the Dragoon on the bed.
It exploded with a roar, sending its heavy ball smashing through the mattress where Fox had been lying a second before.
Fox hit the floor hard, his breath whooshing out of his lungs. His hands and feet scrabbled against the rough planks, seeking purchase for flight. He came upright and lunged for his clothes, which were still hanging on the nails.
There was something decidedly awful about being naked and shot at, he was discovering.
Grabbing his clothes as Ching Ping let out a blood-curdling scream, Fox saw that Jack and Madame Varnish were blocking the door to the hall. He turned toward the other door, the one leading to the balcony.
His fingers slipped on the doorknob as Jack's huge pistol blasted again. This time the slug smacked into the wall near Fox's head, driving splinters into his face. He yelled again, and Ching Ping was still screaming. Madame Varnish tugged and slapped at Jack to no avail.
"He's a spy, I tell you!" Jack suddenly shouted.
"I listened at the door and heard him askin' a bunch of questions about us! Goddamn lawman!"
Fox managed to turn the knob and yank the door open. He lurched through it, castmg a glance over his shoulder and seeing Jack sighting in on his head. Fox left his feet in a dive that took him toward the railing.
His bare legs smacked against the rail. His balance gone, he felt himself tipping over. With a horrified howl, he fell.
As he plummeted toward the ground, his thoughts were of Ching Ping. What would happen to her now, being left in the clutches of such a notorious outlaw?
There was no time for anything else. Fox slammed into the ground.
He landed on his rear end, the impact jarring his spine all the way up to his teeth. As pain sheeted through his body, he heard the Dragoon in Three-Fingered Jack's hand go off yet again. The bullet going close by his head was like a gust of wind against his cheek.
Fox ignored the pain of his landing after the drop of a dozen feet or so and rolled to the side. He came up onto his feet, and he came up running.
Inexperienced or not, he found that it was possible to put one's clothes on while moving at a dead run.
Men were pouring out of the building now, no doubt aroused by Jack's top-of-his-lungs accusations about Fox being a spy and a lawman. The denizens of Robbers Roost knew how to deal with such a threat.
The mob bristled with weaponry.
Fox thrust his arms through the sleeves of his shirt and suddenly saw the horse he had ridden looming up in front of him. He jerked the reins loose and vaulted onto the animal's back. The maneuver was born of desperation, but its execution would have done a Comanche proud.
Fox was too scared to even notice, let alone be proud.
He drove his heels against the horse’s flanks, yelling for it to run. Gunfire began to crackle behind him. As slugs zipped around his head, in one of those strangely lucid moments that come to men in deadly danger, he noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten in the east.
Dawn was not far away.
Several of the outlaws, spurred on by Jack's yells of outrage, were mounting up to give chase. They knew this country, and Fox didn't. He realized with a sinking heart that he was doomed. There was no way he could elude them.
"Preston! Over here!"
Landrum Davis and Gerald Glidinghawk galloped out of the trees, the guns in their hands blazing. Fox veered his horse toward them, passing between them as their withering fire drove the outlaws back toward Robbers Roost. Fox glanced over his shoulder and saw one of the bandits throw up his arms and pitch from the saddle in a limp fall that signified death.
Landrum and Glidinghawk let Fox get a little start, then wheeled their horses and raced after him. Their rescue attempt had succeeded through sheer surprise as much as anything else, and now they had to get away while they had the chance, while the outlaws were still stunned by their sudden appearance.
Glidinghawk took the lead as he and Landrum caught up to Fox. The Omaha had the best eyes for this sort of work, and he had watched the trail closely as he and Landrum tried to catch up to Fox. He would get them away from here if it was humanly possible.
The three men rode hard into the waning night.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Celia understood why Landrum and Glidinghawk had to go after Fox, but that understanding didn't make her feel any better about being left alone in the ramshackle cabin.
"I don't know when we'll be back," Landrum had said as he handed her his Winchester, "but we've got to try to catch up to that fool before he does too much damage."
"I can't believe he'd go off to Robbers Roost by himself," Celia had said.
Glidinghawk grunted. "Don't underestimate Fox. He's capable of almost anything stupid."
Now, with dawn casting a gray light over the rugged terrain, Celia pushed the door canvas aside slightly and peered out with tired eyes. She was still fully dressed and had not slept at all. Her nerves had been too taut-and the night too full of strange sounds-to allow her to doze off.
She still had the rifle clutched in her hands. Despite her worries, the night had passed peacefully. No one had bothered her or even been around the cabin, as far as she knew.
Celia went back to the table and put the Winchester down. It was time she got a fire going and started brewing some coffee. The others would be back soon, she told herself hopefully, and they would be tired and hungry. The least she could do was have breakfast ready for them.
But when the flapjacks and bacon were ready, there was still no sign of Landrum, Glidinghawk, and Fox. Celia forced herself to eat, even though she wasn't hungry.
After finishing her meal, she cleaned up out of habit and stepped outside the cabin. There was a chilly breeze blowing down the gulch, and she was glad she was wearing a coat. But the sun was peeking over the hills to the east, and Celia knew that within a few hours its warmth would chase away most of the cold.
She was alone.
I'm supposed to be a miner, she thought. I might as well look for gold.
She took one of the pans and carried it to the stream. Landrum had shown her what to do, although Celia suspected that he really didn't know all that much about the process. She knelt by the fast-moving trickle of water and scooped up a panful of sand and grit from the bottom of the stream-bed. She tilted the pan from side to side, gradually washing away the sand, keeping an eye out for the telltale glitter of gold dust in the bottom of the vessel.
An hour passed. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and Celia tried not to think about where her partners might be-or what might have happened to them. Soon, she knew, if they didn't show up, she would have to go after them.
Upstream, she saw Elroy Strickland moving around his tent. He waved at her, and Celia r
eturned the wave. Seeing another human being made her feel a little better, even if it was just Elroy.
She wondered for a moment what he would do if he knew she was here alone, but then she discarded the thought. Elroy had been a friend for the last few days, and Celia was sure he was harmless enough.
He started walking toward her, and she knew he was coming down to talk, something that Elroy dearly loved to do. He wasn't really suited to the prospecting life. The solitude was too much for him. Within a few months, Celia thought, he would probably abandon his claim and head back to wherever he had come from.
When he was several yards away, Elroy raised his voice and called, "Mornin', Miss Celia. How are you this fine mornin'?"
"I'm fine, Elroy," Celia replied. She looked up at him as she dipped the pan back into the stream and started to scoop up more sand.
The pan clunked against something.
Celia glanced down and peered through the water at the rock she had hit with the pan. There was something unusual about it, something in the way it shone dully, even underwater —
"Oh my God," Celia said softly.
She dropped the pan and reached into the stream, the icy flow closing over her forearm. She seemed not to feel it as her fingers scrabbled for the fist-sized chunk of rock she had spotted on the stream-bed. When she had a good grip on it, she tugged. For a moment, the sand did not want to give it up, but then the rock came loose, its departure muddying the clear water with sand.
Celia lifted it from the stream. Elroy, still ambling closer, said, "What you got there, Miss Celia?"
"I'm not sure," she answered slowly. She stood up and extended the rock toward Elroy. "What do you think?"
He stopped in his tracks, his eyes bulging as they saw the thread-like veins of color in the rock. His breath puffed out like he had been hit in the stomach as he exclaimed, "Lord-eee!"
"It's gold, isn't it?" Celia asked.
"I'll be billy-damned it's gold!" Elroy whooped. "Biggest nugget I ever seen!"
A strong tide of emotion surged through Celia, a mixture of exhilaration and dread. None of them had really expected to find any gold to speak of on this claim, even though they were going to put out rumors of a strike. If there actually was gold here, it could complicate things.
But the thrill that Celia felt as she looked at the nugget in her hand could not be denied. There were riches to be had here.
Greed flared within her.
Celia shook her head as if she was coming out of a deep sleep. Powell's Army had a job to do. Striking it rich had to come second — didn't it?
She became aware that Elroy was talking. He was shifting around from foot to foot in his excitement, looking for all the world like a little boy who had to go to the outhouse.
"You got to 'scuse me, Miss Celia," he was saying. "Golly bill, I ain't never seen a nugget like that'n before."
He turned and rushed away, back toward his tent, and Celia knew what he was going to do. He was going to start floundering around in the stream where it ran through his claim. If there was one nugget like that in the water, there might be others.
"Whoo-eee!" Elroy yelped. Every so often as he ran he gave a little leap. When he did, he shouted, "Gold!"
Well, Celia thought, they had wanted the word to get around that they had struck it rich.
With Elroy around, they didn't have to worry about spreading the news.
Celia was so wrapped up in watching his antics and hefting the rock in her hands that she didn't hear the horses walking up behind her.
Landrum said, "What's he having conniptions about?"
Celia jumped, startled. She wheeled around swiftly, thankfulness showing on her features when she saw Landrum, Glidinghawk, and Fox sitting on their horses. All three men looked tired but otherwise unhurt.
"Elroy's excited about this," Celia said. She stuck out her hand, showing them the nugget she had found.
Landrum let out a whistle and dropped down off the horse's back. "Where did that come from?"
"The stream," Celia told him. "I found it while I was panning."
Glidinghawk dismounted as well and reached out to take the nugget from Celia. She pouted slightly as she handed it over. Glidinghawk examined the specimen for a moment, then pronounced, "It's the real thing, all right. Quite a find, Celia."
Celia became aware that Fox was unnaturally quiet. He seemed to be paying little attention to any of the others. She caught Landrum's eye, inclined her head toward the former second lieutenant, and mouthed, Is he all right?
Landrum took her arm and turned her toward the cabin. "Come on, let's get out of this wind. I'll tell you all about it."
"We managed to give them the slip," Landrum was saying a few minutes later. "It took some luck and hard riding. The bad part is, I'm afraid they may know where to find us."
Fox stood just outside the door of the cabin, gazing off at the hills but not really seeing them. He couldn't help overhearing what his teammates had to say inside, and the words tortured him almost as much as his own thoughts.
"You mean he told those outlaws who he is?" Celia asked.
"Not his real identity, just the cover story," Glidinghawk told her. "But that's bad enough. The big outlaw Fox called Three-Fingered Jack suspects he's some sort of lawman."
"Three-Fingered Jack?" Celia exclaimed.
"That's right. I got Fox to describe him. It all fits what Clancy told us."
Fox wasn't sure why they were making such a fuss over Three-Fingered Jack. The man was nothing but a ruffian. And what did that boorish corporal named Clancy have to do with —
Fox suddenly closed his eyes. Three-Fingered Jack! Of course! He must have been the same man who led the raid on the payroll wagon.
And Fox had been right in the same room with him twice. If he had been properly prepared, he might have captured the scoundrel.
"At least we did get that much out of it," Landrum went on inside. "I think we can be pretty sure that Jack was the leader of the gang who grabbed the payroll, but I'm not sure how we're going to get him out of that snake's den."
"Maybe he'll come to us," Celia suggested. "You said yourself he may be after Fox, and besides, now we've got this gold strike to lure him."
"Yes," Glidinghawk agreed. "Perhaps it was lucky we didn't catch up with Fox before he got to Bobbers Roost and had to wait in hiding until he came busting out."
"Even if we damn near did get shot," Landrum added dryly.
"What do we do now?" Celia asked. "Wait for Jack to show up?"
Fox knew what he wanted to do. He leaned against the wall and thought about it.
"I'm not sure. Part of me wants to see if there's any more of those nuggets in the creek," Landrum said.
Glidinghawk laughed shortly. "I too feel some of the white man's greed."
"Sure you do, Injun," Landrum shot back. "You've been around us white devils too much." He paused, then resumed more seriously, "As much as I don't like it, I think we've got to talk to that federal marshal. He does have jurisdiction in this case, and Powell told us to cooperate with the federal authorities if we could. One of us had better head into Virginia City tomorrow to give him the low-down."
"What about now?"
"Now we all need some sleep, Celia. It was a long night all the way around."
Fox was still staring off into space when Celia pushed back the canvas a moment later and said, "Preston? Don't you want some breakfast and then some sleep?"
Fox shook his head. "No thanks."
Landrum looked out the door and saw the expression on Fox's face. "You're not going to pull any other stunts like last night, are you, Preston?" His tone of voice made it plain how he felt about that possibility.
The tiny smile that curved Fox's lips was bitter. "Don't worry, Landrum. I won't go off on my own again."
Yet, he added mentally.
But the time would come when he would have to act, Fox knew. He would have to redeem himself for his utter cowardice in leaving Ching P
ing behind.
Her lovely face floated in his mind's eye, and his body quivered at the memory of her supple form.
He would save her from her awful fate.
If it was the last thing he ever did, he would save her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Despite his resolve, Fox did sleep eventually. He was too exhausted by the events of the previous night to do otherwise.
All four members of Powell's Army were dozing on the floor of the cabin when Glidinghawk suddenly lifted his head, coming awake instantly as the clink of metal against stone drifted to his ears from outside.
The Omaha reached over and laid a hand on Landrum's shoulder, the fingers squeezing down to signify silence as the Confederate's eyes snapped open.
"Somebody outside," Glidinghawk whispered.
Landrum grimaced. He knew he should have set up watches so that someone would be on guard at all times. He had just been too tired when they got back from Robbers Roost to think straight.
Now it might be too late. They might already be surrounded.
Landrum and Glidinghawk slipped out of their bedrolls quietly, not disturbing Celia and Fox.
Landrum slid his Peacemaker from its holster and gestured toward the front door. Glidinghawk nodded and started toward the window at the rear of the cabin.
Just as Landrum was about to reach the doorway, he heard a harsh, urgent whisper. "Damnit," the voice said, "I still don't think you ought to do this, boys!"
"Shut up, Strickland," another man growled back. "I told you we'd give you a share."
"Don't want a share," Elroy Strickland replied. Landrum recognized his voice now. "I think you should leave these folks alone."
Landrum knew what was happening. Elroy had spread the word about Celia's discovery of the gold nugget, and now some of the men he had talked to had come to steal the claim.
Glancing at Glidinghawk to make sure the Indian knew what he was doing, Landrum pushed the canvas aside and stepped through the doorway, his hand on the butt of the Colt.
"Afternoon, gents," he said to the small knot of men standing in front of the cabin. "Something we can do for you?"
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