Too Far Down

by Mary Connealy

  “I’ve tried my hand at gold digging.” Walt thrust his lease at Cole. “It pays mighty poor except for a lucky few. I can earn better money making thirty a month and found on any ranch in the West. But we’re here to help you, Cole, and glad to do it.”

  The men with him shrugged as if they were working for Walt and not Cole, and that suited Cole just fine. These men handed their signed leases over, too.

  “I’ll pick up whatever part of your wages you’d earn back at the ranch.” Cole wished he’d made that clear to Mel yesterday so she could tell her pa. “I’ll make sure Jack knows I’ll cover it. You’re not doing any work for him, so it shouldn’t cost him, and you shouldn’t lose the money.”

  “Let’s go back down. You can show us our claims.” Mel had a lot of questions she’d like to ask Cole—and not just about the investigating he was doing. She’d also like to know how bad he felt, and had he slept well the night before, and to tell him she’d be glad to help in the office if he was feeling poorly. She’d even let him sneak off to her cabin and grab a nap if he wished. She knew he’d never admit he was all in, at least not in front of the men. But if she asked on her own, away from the others, Cole might just admit he needed an easy day.

  They headed down the slope, where Cole pointed to five open holes standing side by side at the lowest level of the mountain. The two closest belonged to her and Uncle Walt.

  “You men all come into my claim first and bring your pickaxes,” Walt said. “There oughta be one in your cabin. I’ll show you how to mine for gold and how to recognize it if you find it, assuming there’s a speck of the stuff left to find.”

  “And be careful.” Cole glanced at Mel. “The mine entrance goes in level, but soon enough the shafts go down, a long way down. I don’t want anyone hurt. Be on guard for all kinds of trouble.”

  Everyone split up to find their axes. Mel headed for her cabin, Cole falling into step beside her. Her breathing sped up a bit as he walked with her. All she could think about was that moment from last night when he’d leaned toward her. They were dealing with bombers and one threat after another. She oughta not waste much time thinking about anything else.

  When they reached her cabin, Cole followed her right inside. She seized her chance. “How are you really feeling, Cole? You should have taken one day at least to heal up.” She looked up at him and felt her brown eyes lock on his blue ones. It prompted her to smile. “You have that look.”

  He scowled. “What look? I don’t have any look.”

  “That look that says me telling you to rest is the same as insulting you.”

  “It is insulting me.”

  Mel shook her head. Through her window, she saw Uncle Walt emerge from his cabin with a pickax and head the few steps toward her place. He poked his head in the doorway.

  “These were left by the men who died, I reckon.” Uncle Walt examined the heavy tool grimly. “It don’t seem right somehow to just start right in with a dead man’s tools, digging only hours after their graves have been filled in. No harm in giving a man a day or two of remembrance before the world goes on.”

  “You’re welcome to wait if you feel better about it.” Nodding, Cole said, “They were carrying their tools with them. We found them near their bodies and returned them to their cabins when we packed up their clothes.” Cole’s chin firmed as if steadying his emotions.

  “I’d just as soon keep busy, but I don’t mean it as disrespect. I want that to be clear, Cole.” Uncle Walt headed out the door. “Let’s go look at our gold lease. All three of the men and Mel and I are going to spend the first hour or so together learning to be miners.”

  Mel saw the wry smile push back Cole’s guilt. “I’ll come in for a few minutes and tell you what I know.”

  “A few minutes? All you know will fit into a few minutes?” Mel nudged him with her elbow.

  “I suspect Walt will be as much help as I will, but it’s best I walk you each through your mines and make sure you see where the lanterns are, and we’ve got lamps that’ll strap on your head and light a small candle to keep your hands free. I’ll show you where the pit drops down. These slopes hold some of the oldest mines and they go deep.”

  “Pit?” Mel didn’t like the sound of that. She preferred working in the sunlight.

  “Oh yes. Pit.” Cole took her elbow. He led the way to the black-arched opening to the mine. It looked like a gaped mouth. A hungry mouth.

  Her mine was about one hundred feet from her cabin. Before he entered, Cole looked at Mel and said, “This is the mine you’ve leased. Walt, yours is next to hers on the left.”

  The other Blake hands had joined them. Calling the men by name, Cole pointed out each of their mines. “But let’s all go into Mel’s mine first. Well, that is unless you’re eager to get to work. You don’t have to listen to me.”

  “You have to listen to me, though,” Walt cut in. “And I mean to hear what Cole says first. And then have my own say. Lead the way, Boden.”

  The six of them moved inside. The entrance and the short tunnel was a passable size for one person, but with six of them, Mel almost felt the walls pressing on her. A black circle that had to be the pit wasn’t far away. Mel edged toward it and looked down into pure darkness. A ladder was visible against one side, but it seemed to be swallowed up after just a few feet. She couldn’t see anything down there, and a wave of dizziness swept over her. She straightened away from the hole. She’d climb down it eventually, but she decided then and there she’d refuse to look down while she did so.

  Cole mainly talked about safety, pointed out the lanterns they could fasten on their heads, the lanterns they could carry, and the matches to keep them both lit.

  Mel swallowed hard and acted as if a mountain looming over her head didn’t bother her. And a thousand . . . no, probably a hundred thousand pounds of rock over her head was fine. Oh for heaven’s sake, it had to be hundreds of thousands of tons! She wondered if landing a pickax in the exact right spot would bring the whole thing crashing down.

  Cole pulled something out of his pocket and held it close to a lantern. “This is what you’re looking for.”

  Every one of them leaned close except Walt. A small black stone, about the size of Cole’s palm and flat like a skipping stone, lay in his hand. A bright line cut through the center of it. A bright gold line.

  “This is it. Gold. You find veins of it as thin as a hair, and I’ve seen them as thick as a man’s arm. These mines aren’t played out, not exactly, but the big excitement of a gold strike is long over. There is a modest amount of gold in this mountain, and a hardworking man can chisel out a living. You’re none of you going to strike it rich.”

  “How can you be sure, Cole?” Mel asked, her eyes studying the glittering metal.

  “As to that, I reckon I can’t be sure. All I know is that no one’s done it for about ten years. The first four years they were taking a lot of ore out of here, but unless someone hits a new lode, I’m expecting each of you to earn about what you’d earn busting broncs and running a branding iron. And the work is dark and hard.” Cole looked up and smiled. “Not saying a cowpoke doesn’t work hard, mind you. I know ranching. But at least you get to do it above ground.”

  The men nodded, and not a one of them looked to be all that excited about the work that lay ahead.

  Forcing herself to sound calm in the black cave, Mel said, “Okay, now that we’re where no one can hear us, how exactly are we going to manage pretending to dig for gold and at the same time poke around to find out more about the explosions and who set them off?”

  Cole looked at her with horror. “You’re never going to do that. You are all here to fill up those cabins. I don’t want any of you to do a thing to put yourselves in danger. If the men talk, you can listen for anything that sounds like a clue, or like they saw something they should’ve told me, but it’s my job to get to the bottom of whoever set off the dynamite. You just dig in these mines and fill those cabins so I don’t have to take on any new l
eases from men I don’t know and can’t trust.”

  Mel mentally skidded to a stop. “That’s not what we agreed to. I came over here to ask questions, pry a few secrets out of your men, in case any of your current lease holders are in on this.”

  “No, absolutely not.”

  “I thought we agreed these men might be more apt to talk to a woman.”

  Cole looked desperate as he sought out Uncle Walt. “You know we can’t let her do anything to endanger herself, don’t you?”

  Uncle Walt’s eyes narrowed just a little, but it was enough to cause complete silence and rivet everyone’s attention on him. “She’s not going to be in danger. And she’s not going to take orders from you.” Then he looked at Mel. “But you are going to take orders from me, little girl. That don’t mean you can’t ask a few questions, but you’re not to wander from my side. Is that clear? One word from me and your pa and ma will yank you right back to the JB.”

  Since Mel figured it was going to be impossible to slip away from Uncle Walt, she accepted the inevitable. “It’s clear as glass. I am not going to make it hard for you to protect me. I know my only hope of appearing respectable is to clearly be here with my uncle. So you don’t have to worry about me doing anything reckless or stupid.”

  Uncle Walt looked at her a little too long with those same narrow eyes. She got the distinct impression that he wasn’t going to take anything on trust.

  Which was exactly what she expected him to do, so she didn’t let it hurt her feelings. Uncle Walt was a straight-talking man, and if he trod on someone’s delicate feelings, he figured it was worth it to make sure he was understood. Mel was a little like that herself.

  “Now, I’m going to get to work,” Cole said. “Walt, take over with your mining lessons. If you have more questions, send someone for me. I’ll be glad to help in any way I can, and I’ve got a foreman here at the mine, name of Gully, who knows a whole lot more than I do, and he’s aware of everything that happens, so you can talk to him, too. Thank you all for coming over here.”

  Cole started to turn and then, as if he couldn’t move, he took a long look at Mel. Even in the shadows of the dark cave, she read too much in his blue eyes.

  Then he was gone.

  “All right, you bunch of greenhorns.”

  “Greenhorns?” Mel said with a snort. “I’ve been roping and riding longer than you have.”

  Uncle Walt quirked a smile at her on his weathered face. “I reckon I got you beat by twenty years or so, girl, or thirty, but you’ve been at it long enough. Just not when it comes to digging for gold. Now grab your axes.”

  She hefted the pickax. The thing weighed a ton . . . and confound it, she was going to have to pretend to enjoy chopping up a mountain.

  She’d sure as certain better find some gold in here.

  10

  “Heath, you’re here.” His sister’s husband was picking up the door to his office building. It’d been tossed aside in the hurry to get the wounded inside.

  “I’m here, too.” Justin came out of the stable. “Got the horses put up. You should have waited for us instead of riding over here alone.”

  “Hmmm.” Cole grabbed one side of the door Heath was hoisting around just fine by himself. He wasn’t about to admit he’d come wide awake long before sunrise thinking he’d fulfilled his pa’s wishes for sleeping at home.

  Justin had tools handy, and they made short work of getting the door rehung.

  Pounding overhead drew Cole’s attention. He looked up and saw nothing. The sound was coming from the far side of the roof.

  “We helped Murray get a ladder up to the roof on the other side of the building. There are three good-sized holes up there. He said he could handle all the repairs himself, but we told him we’d do a few things.”

  Justin jerked his head toward the open space between the office, the stable, and the mine entrance.

  “What is it?” But Cole followed and spoke low. He was getting suspicious of everyone now. Murray had been with the mine long before all the strange goings-on had started.

  “We got a letter from Ma. She’s worked out some of that cramped handwriting.”

  The same handwriting had been found in a notebook they’d taken off the man who’d shot Cole.

  “What did she find?”

  “It don’t make a lot of sense, but she figured out a lot of it was in Spanish, sort of mixed up like it was written by someone who spoke both languages and was just making little notes over time, which is part of why the languages jumped back and forth maybe.”

  “Okay, makes some sense I reckon. But that doesn’t matter.” Cole got the feeling Justin didn’t want to get to the point. And that was strange because Justin was a straight talker even when a person wished he’d find a little tact. “What’s in the note?”

  Justin crossed his arms and looked Cole in the eyes. He’d had some trouble getting used to his little brother being all grown-up. Cole left for college at age eighteen and Justin was thirteen, not close to full grown yet. While Cole had gone to college, Justin quit going to school and started working full-time at Pa’s side. Cole had left a little brother behind and come home to find a man. Justin wasn’t educated in books, but he was mighty educated in cattle. He was smart enough that he could have done college work as well as Cole. Instead he was a tough, skilled, coolly intelligent rancher.

  They’d been trying to figure out how to get along ever since Cole’s return.

  More honestly, they’d been trying to figure out how to get along their whole lives. They’d spent most of their growing-up years tussling—with Cole usually pulling his punches and tormenting his little brother in a way that got Justin in trouble with Ma.

  Now it was almost instinct to settle disagreements with their fists. But they were a match now, and Cole didn’t dare pull any punches because Justin sure didn’t.

  So mostly they didn’t throw any.

  Anyhow, Cole knew neither one of them was out for blood; in fact, they both enjoyed fighting.

  “You’re not going to like it, I didn’t like it, and Ma said in her letter that she didn’t like it.”

  “What?” Cole ached in every joint and muscle. His head still throbbed, and if he didn’t have so many chores ahead and so much danger to face, he’d’ve slept till noon today. That left him mighty short on patience.

  “She’s sure she read the name . . .” Justin hesitated and swallowed, not like he was scared exactly by what he had to say next, but more like he dreaded it and honestly felt bad about it.

  “Just tell me, Justin.” Cole’s stomach twisted a little because he didn’t think he’d ever seen that exact look on his brother’s face before.

  Justin watched Cole closely. “She read the names . . . Davidson and Priscilla Bradford.”

  “What?” Cole felt like his eyes almost bugged out of his head. “What do my mother’s parents have to do with this?”

  He fought down suspicion. No one in this family had ever liked his wealthy Boston grandparents. Pa had even said that he’d come west to save Cole from them—not to save his life but to save him from being under their influence. Pa had never suggested Cole was in any actual physical danger. In fact, Grandmother and Grandfather Bradford had doted on him.

  Even from halfway across a mighty big country. Grandmother had visited him twice, once when he was about twelve, and again when he’d been seventeen. And getting here was no small journey, as the train didn’t come until much later. Besides the visits, the Bradfords sent letters and generous gifts—to Cole and no one else.

  They never acknowledged Justin or Sadie. Although it bothered Cole and he shared whatever he could, he’d liked getting things all his own. After all, his little brother and sister had no Bradford blood in their veins.

  “Ma read that?” He kept his voice flat. Waiting to see if Justin was casting his grandparents in the worst light. Those old folks had been good to him while he lived in Boston, and they’d left him a fortune, and yes, he’d stayed un
til his grandmother died. But he hadn’t been under her thumb. He’d known she wanted him to stay in a civilized land and take over all the Bradford holdings. But he’d always planned to return to the West and to his family he’d missed so fiercely.

  That didn’t mean he’d put up with this family he loved tearing up about the Bradfords. He realized his fists were clenched and forced himself to relax.

  Heath interrupted, “I’m going to go follow some tracks. I could be at it for hours because I’m going to have to watch for where our bomber left the trail. When you two quit bickering like a pair of little girls, some help would be welcome.”

  Cole broke off the glare he just now realized he was burning into Justin. He took a long, deep breath to calm down and, leaving the repairs to Murray, said, “I’ll come.”

  “Me too.” Justin fell in beside Cole and trailed after Heath. He sounded way too kind when he said, “I won’t tell you more if you don’t want to hear it, Cole. I’m not sure what’s going on. Your grandfather has been dead eight years, your grandmother two. There’s no way I can see they could be involved with this. But Ma is sure she read your grandparents’ names. You know she wouldn’t lie about that.”

  Cole breathed in and out steadily. “What else was in the note?”

  “Your grandparents being in there is strange and what else she found is even stranger. There was a mention of the old Don.”

  “Don de Val?” Cole stopped, as surprised by that as by his grandparents’ involvement. “What possible connection was there between de Val and the Bradfords? Don de Val owned half the land grant before he went back to Mexico. He left before any of us were born—that’s counting me up in Boston. What’s he got to do with anything?”

  “I’ve no notion. But he’s in there, and Ma read his wife’s name, too. Lauressa de Val. The names are distinctive, de Val and Bradford, and repeated a few times. I guess that’s how she made them out. But the rest of the writing isn’t giving up its secrets without a fight.”

  Justin snorted. “Ma mailed us a magnifying glass along with what she’d translated. What I can’t figure out is who wrote those notes? No one is going to send a letter no one can read expecting action. It don’t stand to reason. So Ma said she wondered if these writings were personal reminders for someone that got sent on somehow. Do you know your grandma’s handwriting?”