He was now facing outwards, his back against the rock. Slowly he began to work his way upwards keeping his legs and feet jammed against the sides of the chimney. Despite the cold he was soon sweating from the hard physical task of inching his way upward. Already the cavern floor seemed a long way below. He could barely see it in the darkness. His shoulders ached from contact with the hard rock but slowly he moved up the chimney.
As he did so it began gradually to get wider and he found it more and more difficult not only to move but to maintain his position. His legs were straddled and his hold was becoming more and more precarious. Twisting his head, he glanced above him. The chimney opened out and on one side there was a ledge. If he could work his way up to it and then push himself on to the ledge he might be able to reach higher. Gritting his teeth he forced himself upwards till his head was clear of the chimney and his shoulders were against the ledge.
The next part would be painful. Still pushing with his feet, he arched backwards. His shoulders scraped against the rock but his coat offered some protection. He reached up in an attempt to find some extra purchase. One of his legs was hanging free and with the other he made a last desperate push against the chimney wall. His contorted upper body was perched precariously on the ledge as he shuffled to try and move along it.
For a moment he thought he was going to fall but then his waist was over the ledge at the same time as his hand found a sharp protuberance to cling on to. He clutched tightly at it, not registering that the palm of his hand was flowing with blood where the pointed rock bit into it. Another shuffle and he was safe for the moment, lying on his back on the ledge nearly halfway up the cavern wall. Carefully he managed to jack himself into a sitting position from which to calculate what his next move should be.
He got to his feet and, holding close to the rock wall, he inched his way along the ledge. Above him the wall receded but the angle was less steep. There was also a little more light. Having ascertained as far as he could how best to proceed he began to reach for the next level, searching for holds for his hands and feet. He could no longer see the floor of the cave which was swathed in blackness. It was just as well or he might have suffered from vertigo. As it was he felt like a fly clinging to the wall, straining his eyes to see where the next move should be.
Slowly he inched upwards, making reasonable progress, till suddenly he was presented with a real problem. Above him was an overhang. He looked for an alternative route but his vision was limited and he could not see one. There was only one option. He would have to somehow heave himself over the edge, relying on the strength of his arms.
Getting as close as he could to the lip of the overhang he reached up till his arms were over the lip. Now was the crucial moment. He would have to let go with his feet and rely on the strength of his arms and shoulders to haul him over. If the ledge above was insufficient for him to lie on he would plummet to the cavern floor.
For a few moments he stood there. His throat was dry and he swallowed hard. He thought of Mary before pressing down with his shoulders and taking his feet from their holds in the rock. The strain on his shoulders was intense and he heard them crack with the effort. Putting out all his remaining strength he hauled himself up, his feet kicking against the rock.
He was almost halfway there and his upper torso was over the lip. He leaned forwards, straining with all his might till his legs came over the edge. He reached up to try and pull himself forward, pushing his body into the surface of the rock. He began to slip and desperately sought for purchase. One foot slid back but the other wedged against something solid and gave him more to push against.
Gasping with the effort he moved upwards an inch or two. His hands grasped and held to something firm and with another desperate heave he was safe. Trembling with the exertion he lay face down while he recovered his strength and his nerve. The ledge went back for some distance and he began to slither forwards till he felt more secure. Then he lay, trembling throughout his body, trying to summon the strength for a last push towards the light which was now tantalizingly close.
When he felt sufficiently recovered he examined his position. He was not far from his goal. The problem was that just a little higher the walls of the cavern started to close in to form a kind of funnel and there seemed no way he could scale them. At the highest point, just below the source of light, he would be hanging virtually upside down.
He lit the candle and held it out. Now for the first time he saw that there was a rope dangling in midair. It came down to just below the level of his head and hung over the black chasm beneath him. What was it doing there? He could only surmise that someone had used it to climb down to the cave from the hole in the mountainside above, perhaps before the tunnel had been excavated. What had happened to the rest of the rope he had no means of knowing. Now only the frayed ends remained.
Calhoun continued to examine the rock walls but there was no way he could ascend the inverted chimney. His one chance lay in seizing hold of the rope but it was too far out for him to reach. His only option was to launch himself into space and hope to clasp the rope. It was a jump of about six feet and there was no room for a run-up. It would have to be from a standing position on the narrow ledge. More than that, he had no means of knowing how securely the rope was attached. If it had been there since before the mine itself what were the chances of it still being firmly enough fastened to bear his weight? Would it have survived the ravages of the weather high on the exposed mountain side? Still, it was his only chance and there was no point in thinking about it.
He rose to his feet and stood precariously on the high ledge. When he blew the candle out he could barely perceive the rope and his every instinct told him not to attempt the crazy leap. Once, twice, he tried to summon the courage but he failed at the crucial moment. His stomach was fluttering and his knees were shaky. Below him was a black void. It was asking too much of himself to leap into it.
Then he began to have further doubts. He still carried a slight stiffness in the left arm and shoulder from his war injuries. Would he have sufficient strength to hold on to the rope and then haul himself up it even he succeeded in grabbing it? He was still suffering from the effects of the latest blast.
He moved his feet and a dislodged stone went plummeting over the ledge to land with a strangely loud noise on the cavern floor below. The sound seemed to shake him out of his reverie. Taking a long deep breath and crouching slightly to give him impetus, he sprang from the ledge, reaching up as he did so. For a moment he seemed to hang suspended in space, then his outstretched hands found the rope and grasped it. There was a jarring shock but he held firm as he swung like a spider from its web in the vault of space.
Now that he had the rope in his grasp he was afraid to relinquish one hand’s hold but the growing ache in his shoulders forced him to do so. Taking his left hand from the rope, he raised it above the right and, seizing the rope firmly again higher up, began to haul himself up. Putting all the powers of his strength and concentration into the effort, he repeated the process until he was high enough to be able to wrap his legs around the rope. He felt more secure now but the rope was swaying giddily. Slowly but steadily he continued to climb, hand over hand, grasping the rope firmly between his knees.
After a time he looked up. Light was pouring down on him like water from the hole in the cavern roof; he was ascending through a stream of blessed air. It gave him fresh energy to climb the last few yards and then drag himself through the aperture. His shoulders scraped against rock and earth and he was free.
For a few moments he lay gasping on the ground, and then he raised himself to his feet. He was standing on the side of the mountain about two thirds of the way up. Below him was the high plateau with the river running through it and away beyond the ruined buildings of Elk Creek. It was a dull day and cold with low hanging clouds presaging snow but to Calhoun it was perfect. He felt the wind on his face and, unable to contain his relief and joy at having escaped from that deadly cavern, he b
egan to shout and holler. For the second time in his life he felt the tears run down his cheeks. This time they were not tears of pain but tears of sheer joy.
When at last he had calmed down he bent to examine the rope. It was wrapped around a rock and badly frayed. He sank to his knees, quivering with the realization of how just close he had come to hurtling to his death on the rocky floor of the cavern. He breathed a heartfelt thanks to whoever had fastened the rope into position.
Then he realized that he had solved the mystery of the skeleton. It was the same person who had fixed the rope and by so doing saved him from a miserable death. The man must have been one of the original prospectors. He had located the presence of silver and lowered himself into the cave to explore further. On his way up or down the rope had frayed and split, propelling him to certain destruction. Calhoun could only hope that he had not suffered. But what a terrible end!
He guessed that it was Norah who had discovered him and sat him up against the wall of the cave. He had a momentary feeling of revulsion. She was a strange lady. With one last look all about him he began to pick his way down the mountainside.
By the time he got back to Elk Creek the weather had broken and snow was falling heavily. He found Norah in her customary place, sitting beside an empty grate with the cougar by her side. The animal leaped forward to greet him. Norah looked up at his approach.
‘Find anything?’ she said.
Calhoun threw her a questioning look. ‘Nope,’ he replied. ‘Leastways not the identity of the man who slugged you.’ Norah looked as though she was about to say something in reply but, after a pause she merely added: ‘You look plumb tuckered.’
‘It’s a long story.’ She was right. He was feeling exhausted. The details could wait.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Sit down. Put your feet up. Reckon you could do with some chow?’
Calhoun nodded.
‘Let me fix you something.’ She got up and Calhoun sank into the vacant seat.
‘Gettin’ chilly,’ she said. She went out through the door and returned with an armful of wood. ‘Build up a fire,’ she commented.
Calhoun was dozing. She went to the cupboard, drew out the metal box and returned with it to the grate, where she proceeded to line the wood with dollar bills. She struck a match and applied it to the flames. The cougar licked Calhoun’s hand which was hanging over the side of the chair and he opened his eyes.
‘Be warm right soon,’ Norah said. She threw in a few more bills. Calhoun sat up to stroke the cougar. He looked into the fire and a puzzled expression slowly spread across his features.
‘What are you doin’?’ he said.
‘Makin’ a fire. I don’t notice it much myself, but I reckon you’ll be feelin’ the cold.’
Calhoun leaned forward. ‘But what’s that you’re lightin’ it with?’
‘Paper. Takes a time to get started.’
Calhoun was suddenly alert. He sprang to the fire and reaching into the gathering flames, pulled out a charred note.
‘This is a hundred dollar bill!’ he said.
Norah looked at him uncomprehendingly.
‘A hundred dollar bill,’ he repeated.
Her expression did not change and suddenly he burst into laughter.
‘How long have you been usin’ paper like this to light the fire?’ he said.
She shrugged.
‘Don’t you realize?’ he began, then he broke into laughter once again. ‘Those paper things are Federal greenbacks.’
He was feeling a little hysterical and his laugher was infectious. Soon Norah had joined in and it was some time before they could stop.
‘You mean you’ve been lighting fires with dollar bills all this time?’ he breathed.
‘Been lightin’ fires whenever I needed to keep warm,’ she replied.
Calhoun looked at the metal box.
‘There were quite a stack of ’em,’ Norah said. ‘I found ’em up in the mine. Cost me a lot of effort to bring down. Probably more of ’em in there still.’
‘If so, they’re gonna stay there,’ Calhoun said.
He sat down again and leaned his head against the back of the chair. He cared about as much for the treasure as Norah did and he wanted to relish the moment. All this commotion about the treasure was for nothing. Reeder had tracked it to these mountains and gathered his gang of gunmen with the aim of using it to finance his deluded ambitions and carry on fighting the Civil War. Even if the map existed and indicated its location, he was way too late. Norah Carney had already found it and used the money as firelighters. He looked at her with renewed admiration. She was a one-woman fighting force.
‘I’ll go and fix us that grub,’ she said. ‘Yes, and somethin’ for you too, Cherokee.’
While she was out Calhoun had another revelation. He had been thinking about the explosion at the mine. He had been working on the assumption that it had been aimed at him but now he thought differently. It would have been rather an extravagant way to get rid of him. And if the treasure was within those workings, why would anyone want to destroy the means of entrance?
That was the clue. Whoever had set off the explosion had been deliberately seeking to seal it off. He had not known that Calhoun was inside. Nor, presumably, had he known about Norah Carney. And the man who seemed to have the clue as to where the treasure was concealed was Watts, the man who had set him and Hiram Bingley free and pressed that cryptic message in his hand.
Calhoun wished he had observed him more closely. He had only the vaguest impression of the figure sitting in the corner at the way station. But he was suddenly convinced that he was the man behind the dynamiting and that, if he was right, he was no government agent since the government would have no interest in destroying the access to the treasure. Leaning back he chuckled once more when he thought about Norah having beaten them all to it and her own personal use for the loot.
After a short time she returned with a steaming plate of beans and potatoes and a tin mug of black coffee.
‘You don’t seem to run short of supplies,’ Calhoun said.
‘Reckon as how those gosh-durned outlaws might be missin’ some,’ she replied.
‘All part of your ghostly activities, I suppose,’ Carson said.
He set to with a will. When he had finished Norah surprised him by asking him to accompany her to the livery stable.
‘It’s snowin’ some,’ Calhoun said. ‘We just got ourselves comfortable.’
‘It’ll only take a minute,’ she replied.
Calhoun put on his jacket. When they stepped outside a bitter wind was blowing and the snow crunched under their feet. Norah had condescended to put on a threadbare jumper but otherwise she seemed unaffected by the weather. The livery stable was only a little way down the street and when they got there Calhoun took the opportunity to take a look at his palomino and the remaining packhorse. They seemed in good shape. Evidently Norah had been doing a good job of looking after them.
After he had spoken a few words to the horses she led him out the back where there was the broken down fence of a corral. Lying propped up against a post was the body of a man. He lay in the shelter of the livery stable wall but snow had drifted over him. Calhoun had not been prepared for the sight and stepped back in alarm.
‘Caught him sneakin’ up on the hosses,’ Norah said. ‘Likely he’s the one hit me over the head.’
Calhoun took a closer look. The man’s face was tipped up and he recognized him as one of the men who had been present at the way station.
‘Reckon you could be right,’ he said. ‘Seems like he was takin’ an opportunity to do a bit of treasure huntin’ on his ownsome.’
‘Yes. I figure he returned. When he didn’t find me he came on here.’
The man’s throat had been torn out.
‘He came at me,’ Norah said. ‘It was Cherokee saved me.’
‘I guess he had no way of knowin’ just how close he came to the treasure,’ Calhoun murmured. ‘That is, if yo
u’ve any of it left.’
She shook her head. ‘Used most o’ them boxes up,’ she replied. ‘Helped me through quite a few winters. At times it gets kinda cold even for an old spook like me.’
Chapter Eight
Marshal Jim Grayson was sitting at his desk when the door burst open and three men walked in. They were Jake Adams, the owner of the Crutch Bar, and two of his men, Orne Thompson and big Ray Cole.
‘Howdy,’ Grayson said, looking up from some papers on his desk.
‘Mornin’,’ Jake replied. He glanced at the crutches leaning against the wall.
‘Don’t need ’em any more,’ Grayson said.
‘Good,’ Adams replied. ‘Because I reckon it’s damn time we did somethin’ about that no-good gang of outlaws hidin’ in the hills.’
‘You know,’ Grayson replied, ‘I was just about thinkin’ the same thing.’
‘They’ve done enough damage,’ Adams said. ‘Look what a mess they made of this place. And I’m way past bein’ annoyed at my cattle goin’ missin.’
He glanced at his two ranch hands. ‘Not to mention they almost killed my nephew,’ he added.
‘How is Hiram?’ the marshal said.
‘He’s fine.’
‘He’s shapin’ up good,’ Orne Thompson added. ‘We’ll be sorry to see him leave.’
The marshal gave Adams an enquiring look.
‘Only as far as town,’ he said. ‘Finally found some premises. Settin’ himself up as a lawyer. It’s what he intended doin’.’
‘I guess you know what happened to Hiram and Pat Calhoun,’ Ray Cole said.
‘Sure.’
‘They got the low-down on where those no-good skunks is hidin’ out,’ Adams said. ‘What do you say we put a posse together and ride out there?’
‘It’s what I had in mind,’ the marshal replied.
‘I can get together a bunch of my boys,’ Adams added.
‘Good. I’ll put word out around town and rassle up a few more. Pat Calhoun is out of town but will be back directly. Let’s say we ride day after tomorrow at sun-up?’
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