Silver Dreams

by Thomason, Cynthia

  "It's as clear as the nose on your face,” Dooley continued. “Hear a knocker and you wind up dead. If you rile the knockers, they don’t let you go. And bringing a female in the mine makes a knocker mad as hell!"

  Elizabeth was going in the mine. She hadn't come all this way to remain on the outside looking in. She wasn't about to write her last chapter on the Fair Day Mine describing what it was like to stare at the entrance and never set foot over the threshold! While she was thinking of how to convince Dooley of her determination, Ross came up with his own rationale for why the women should enter.

  "Look, you addle-brained buzzard," he said. "How do you suppose the three of us are going to find the silver, blast it out of the mountain, break it into chunks of good ore and carry it out to the campsite by ourselves? And even if we could do all that, we'd still have to break up the ore and pack it on the burros before all our food runs out. Criminy, we need these women to work!"

  Everyone gave his undivided attention to Ross. No one spoke until Max said, "I think we've just heard the chivalrous side of the debate.”

  Ross' ears turned red with either embarrassment or indignation, Elizabeth wasn't sure which. "Well, it's true, isn't it?" he offered feebly. "We need everybody to work. That's why we're here after all."

  "You don't have to put it so bluntly," Elizabeth said. "I intend to pull my own weight, as I'm sure Ramona is, but we're not workhorses after all..."

  "Look, I just thought of something," Max said. "Think about this, Dooley. No one has actually died in this mine, right? I mean the only men who've been in it to our knowledge are the Faraday brothers, and they died at the hands of robbers."

  Dooley nodded a grudging assent. "I expect. So?"

  "So in all probability there aren't any tommyknockers in this mine. And even if there are, you don't die just because you hear their tapping. That's a warning only."

  "Might be true. I’ve heard that if you get out and don't come back, you can live. But not the girlies. Once a woman goes in a mine, that's it. Her soul stays even though it might look like she came out all right."

  "Okay then," Max said jubilantly. "There you have it. You're really in no danger. And if the girls are, so what?"

  "Max!" Elizabeth cried. Were she and Ramona suddenly so unimportant as to have no say in this conversation at all? Except for her labor skills, which Ross so eloquently pointed out, she was beginning to feel expendable.

  Max cued her into silence with a raised finger behind his back. "So what do you say, Dooley. Can the girls go in?"

  The old man cocked his head in a number of uncomfortable angles as though he were holding lively conversations with several other people in his mind. He finally pursed his lips in a grimace of acceptance and turned steely eyes on Max. "All right. What you say makes some kind of sense, but let it be known that Dooley Blue won't go in no shaft with a woman 'till it's been tested for knockers. They go their way and I go another."

  "That's perfectly fine with me!" Elizabeth said, scrambling to get a pick ax before he changed his mind.

  "Fair enough," Max conceded, peering into the mine. "It looks as though there are enough tunnels to keep us all busy. I'll take Betsy with me.”

  "And Ramona goes with me," Ross added.

  "Good." Dooley picked up a head lamp, fired the gas, then headed for the mine entrance. He stopped just inside and looked out at his four companions. "I'll take the shoot to the left. If I see anything I'll fire my pistol. By the way, you greenhorns do know what a vein of silver looks like, don't you?"

  Elizabeth, Ross and Ramona all nodded emphatically. "Sure."

  "Of course."

  "Absolutely."

  "It looks silver, doesn't it?" Max asked as if it were a foregone conclusion.

  Dooley groaned and came back into the daylight. "That's just what I was afraid of. You puppies don't know nothing. It ain't pure silver colored inside the mine, it's more purple. It ain't till you chop it out of the ore that the silver shows up pure and shiny. Best thing is, if you find something you think is silver, chisel a piece out and bring it to camp so I can eyeball it."

  He started back inside but stopped and stared at the others one more time. "And another thing, don't forget where you found it!" Loaded down with equipment, he lumbered into the mine. Soon only a glowing ring from his lamp was visible bouncing along the mine wall.

  Ross grabbed a lantern and began searching his pockets for a match. "I'm getting sick of his attitude," he proclaimed. “That old guy is nothing more than a sack of clothes held together by Manhattan city grime, and he's got the nerve to dictate orders to us..."

  "Well, it is his mine," Elizabeth pointed out.

  "And my money!"

  Max lit the remaining lantern that he and Elizabeth would take into the mine. "And I'm sure a smart fellow like you thought to put all the details of this venture down in writing, correct? I mean, in all those papers you've got in that fancy case you carry around, there is a legal agreement between you and Dooley as to how the profits will be divided..."

  Sparks of fury darted toward Max from Ross' narrowed eyes. "That old codger can't even sign his name, so what's the use of an agreement? We talked about it though. It’s clear. Besides, I haven't heard him express a rational thought, so how the heck would he have the brains to plan a double-cross?

  Max shrugged. "There probably won't be any profit anyway. Not to worry, Sheridan."

  Elizabeth pulled on Max's arm when she saw Ross take a bold step toward him. "Come on, Max. Save some of that wit so you can cheer me up when the tommyknockers bang on the walls in there."

  Max put two fingers to the brim of his hat as she shoved him into the mine opening. "See you two later," he called. "We'll take the tunnel on the right."

  "Do you have to irritate him so much?" Elizabeth asked when she was sure Ross couldn't hear her.

  "No, I don't have to. I just do it because it's fun."

  The natural sunlight filtering into the mine was fading fast, and Elizabeth had to rely on the lantern to see Max's face. It was enough for her to recognize the cocky grin he wore so often.

  "Besides," he said smugly, "I think he's really warming up to me, don't you?"

  "Sure, like the spider to the fly. I just hope finding the silver will get rid of the bad attitudes around here. I really want everyone to get along."

  "Who's not getting along?" Max asked with mock sincerity and another cocky grin. "Hey, it's not so bad. Look at you and me. We get along fine, and there was a time I didn't think we'd last any longer than a mug of cold ale in a roomful of sweating Irishmen."

  He walked ahead of her through a narrow passage, and Elizabeth grabbed onto his coat to steady herself over the rough terrain. "We get along wondrously well considering we still have one very significant obstacle between us," she said to the back of his head.

  He looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes had lost their teasing and glinted as dark as the mine walls. "What's that?"

  "Our articles of course. You haven't forgotten our wager?"

  The tension in his shoulders relaxed. "No, I haven't forgotten about that..."

  His sentence hung in the air as if there were something of much greater import that he'd been thinking of, though what it was Elizabeth couldn't imagine.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "I knew it would be cold in here," Betsy said through chattering teeth, "but not like this."

  Max responded with a nod, and hoped she didn’t think he wasn’t concerned for her discomfort. But all his attention was focused on the unfamiliar environment. With each step, he held the lantern well out in front of them so they wouldn't plunge into some deep crevice. He was more worried about what existed over their heads and under their feet than he was a little cold.When her teeth chattering grew louder, he turned toward her and set the lantern on the ground. She was dressed in a woolen coat which should have kept her warm if she’d closed it to her neck. “Didn't anyone ever teach you to button up in the cold?"

  "This is
my first trip into the cavities of prehistoric earth,” she said. “I’m a bit inexperienced. Besides it’s not easy walking in here, and I don’t want to confine my movements any further.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He arranged her collar until it fit snugly against her throat. Then he wrapped her muffler around her head and neck and tied it in front. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he said, "There, isn't that better?"

  "Oh, yes, much better. Just promise me you won’t take your hands away.”

  He grinned at her. This woman did more to stoke a man's furnace than all the coals in Newcastle. His attention shifted to a pair of gorgeous green eyes, and a kissable pink mouth. His hands began a slow sensuous exploration of her arms, moving along the coarse fabric of her jacket.

  “That’s even better," she said, melting into him.

  He embraced her, rested his chin on top of her head and stared at the blank mine wall to clear his mind. "Warm enough now?"

  "Hmmm...yes."

  "Good, because we've got work to do. Judging from how far we've come already, the Faraday brothers probably left us a long stretch of territory to cover."

  "You're a tough boss, Cassidy."

  "And don't forget it. If anyone's going to find Dooley's silver, I want it to be us."

  "I thought you didn't believe in the silver," she said as they continued into the mine.

  "On a sensible level I don't, but I'm Irish, and we’ve always put stock in the unbelievable. We can't help ourselves."

  "And luck," she added.

  "What?"

  "You believe in luck, don't you? I thought all Irish people did."

  He thought a moment. "Yeah, I guess I do. Lately I've started believing in a lot of things I never thought much about before." He took her hand and guided her over a crack in the hard floor. "But one thing I know for sure...the farther we go in this tunnel, the luckier we're likely to be."

  There didn't seem to be any logical reasoning behind the Faraday brothers' previous explorations, and this puzzled Max. Sometimes the main passageway widened temporarily to offer a smoother, more accessible path, and Max actually thought the journey might get easier. Then, without warning or logic, there appeared an off-shoot stemming from the central tunnel.

  These tiny shafts, often so narrow that he and Betsy could barely squeeze through one at a time, led nowhere, forcing them to retrace their steps. It was as if Ian and Clyde followed random hunches in their quest for the silver, blasting pathways left and right, coming up empty, and returning to start over. Is this what mining is? Max thought. Hit and miss?

  Later, estimating the time at nearly noon, Max suggested they rest. Betsy produced two pieces of salt pork and a tin of beans...hardly a gourmet meal fit for future millionaires, but it tasted good to Max nevertheless. "There's only one thing wrong with salted meat," he said. "It always makes me long for a stout to wash it down with."

  "I know," Betsy said. "I'm so thirsty I could drink a bucket of cold water all by myself. There’s only a little in my canteen, and I think we should preserve it."

  “Yes, you’re right.” Suddenly Max heard a soft, plopping sound coming from further down the passage. He raised his hand. "Betsy, listen. Do you hear something?"

  Her face brightened. "It's water!"

  “I think so, too.” They headed toward the sound, passing piles of boulders, remnants of previous blasting. After a few minutes, Max stopped, put his finger to his lips. "The water's over there," he said, indicating a large boulder blocking their path.

  They climbed over and dropped down into the largest space they’d encountered so far. Max held the lantern at eye level to get the best view of their new surroundings. The lamp beam didn't even reach the opposite side of the cavern, but after a few cautious steps, Max determined the space was room-sized and just high enough to stand in.

  If he hadn't seen a hazy, white mist rising to the ceiling, he might have accidentally fallen into the dark pool of water that occupied about one third of the area. Taking Betsy's hand, he led her very close to the edge. She plunged her hands into the water.

  "How is it?" Max asked.

  She flicked wet fingers at him, spraying his face with icy droplets. "Cold. Do you think it's safe to drink?"

  Using his hand as a ladle, Max brought a few tablespoons of water to his mouth. He sampled some with the tip of his tongue, and finding nothing unusual or acrid-tasting, he slurped down a good measure. "It's great. Some iron taste, but overall, it's fine."

  "I've always heard that mountain streams provide the best drinking water, but how do you suppose it got here? I mean it's inside the mountain."

  Max had been wondering that himself and examined their surroundings until he found a thin shaft of light. "Look up there," he said. “It’s an air passage. The Faradays must have blasted it to insure they’d have fresh oxygen in here."

  He ran his fingertips along a damp, slippery surface of rock below the light shaft. "The Faradays got lucky. Not only did they ventilate this part of the mine, they found a water source as well."

  A steady trickle of pure mountain run-off meandered through the narrow shoot and landed in the pool at his feet. Max figured that when the snow melted at the top of the mountain each spring, the little pool was rejuvenated with a fresh supply of water, which then stayed cool and fresh because of frigid temperatures in the mine. During most of the year the pool was a nearly constant level, a perfect balance of evaporation and renewal.

  When he'd finished analyzing the workings of this latest find, Max realized that Betsy had been chattering about something for quite some time. He turned his full attention to her and discovered that she had taken off her coat, rolled up her sleeves and plunged her arms in the water.

  “What are you doing, Betsy?” he asked. “Aren’t you freezing?”

  She looked up at him and grinned. “Well, yes, but this is the next best thing to a bath." She splashed water on her face.

  He knelt beside her. "That’s not doing the trick, Bets.” With his finger, he scrubbed at a speck of dirt on her cheek. “You should take off your clothes and jump in. The water will only seem cold for a minute or two."

  "Now you’re being silly,” she said.

  “Maybe. But I was thinking of ways I could contribute in making you warm again.”

  She laughed, the sound like crystal chimes in a soft breeze. Max had to remind himself of his pledge to return Betsy to New York the same unsullied girl who’d left there.

  “You know, Cassidy, your plan sounds like a good one. I’m going in.”

  Holy Mother of God! Standing and picking up the lantern, he said, “You’re doing no such thing. Now dry off and let’s get back to business.”

  “I knew you couldn’t take a dare,” she said, with a flirtatious wink.

  “And I knew you were only bluffing.” In case he was wrong, however, he took her arm and lifted her to her feet. Before handing her the coat, he gave into the urge to taste her just once. He kissed her lips, her cool, slightly shivering, wonderful lips. He drew back, groaned. “Put this on,” he said, “before you catch your death and become even more of a burden to me.”

  She smiled at him, taking away the chill in the air. But, thank the heavens, she did as he said. He forced his mind to return to the cavern wall. He walked slowly, studying each variation in rock layers. Each striation produced a new color and texture, from deepest gray to vibrant rust, from glass smooth to sandpaper rough. "’Tis a fascinating world in here," he said absently.

  “I never suspected you for a fancier of geology, Max...”

  "Holy Mother of God!" This time he said the words out loud and had to fight to draw his next breath.

  "What's wrong?"

  His eyes widened until he thought they might burst from their sockets. He raised the lantern several inches and still it was there, like a bolt from the blue. No. Like a bolt of purple or lavender, or whatever the hell color Dooley said to look for. It pulsed with life and energy and brilliance, and rippled along the wa
ll like a gilded stream.

  They'd found it. And the Faradays with their illogical blasting and dripping and trickling had led him right to it.

  Max fairly raced along the wall, and with every step, the gorgeous color stayed with him, arching and dipping in shimmering splendor. He waved his hand motioning for Betsy. "Come over here, Bets. Hurry!"

  There was an odd quaking in her voice, one of fear, not wonder. "Is it a tommyknocker, Max? Tell me it's not a tommyknocker."

  Of course she'd think that. Of course he was scaring her. He was acting like a raving lunatic. Max Cassidy, the one who didn't believe, the skeptic, the cynic. "It's the silver, honey...it's here." He swept around a curve in the wall. "It's here, too...it's everywhere!"