The driver shrugged. “I’ve seen it happen a couple of times the last few weeks, but this is the first time Lizzy Flynn has showed up. She really brings in the crowds but if she’s not careful, the cops will shut the rallies down for “soapboxing.”
Matthew knew about the civil unrest…it was happening all across the area. Not only were the employment agencies double dipping, mine owners throughout the Coeur d’Alene area were well-known for fleecing their employees. For years now, there had been constant and often deadly confrontations between union party members and industry owners.
In fact, unfair labor practices were so prevalent in the Northwest, laws (like the afore-mentioned “Anti SoapBoxing” Act) were being passed on an almost daily basis by the state legislature and the National Guard had been called in more than once.
The sheriff’s department wasn’t far from the train station and, within a few minutes, the cabbie pulled to a stop in front of the busy Police House. Handing the driver three bits, Matthew said, “Here you go, thank you…and son—stay out of trouble, okay?”
He had seen the fervor in the young man’s eyes as he spoke about the labor rally and its members. He knew that scores of young men had been seriously wounded, even killed during those protests. He also realized however, that sometimes it took brave young men (and women) to rectify injustice in all its many forms.
Matthew sighed as the kid winked, thanked Matthew for the generous tip and took a U-turn in the street, heading straight back to the train station and the crowds surrounding it.
Turning his back, he walked into the sheriff’s department and asked to speak to the man himself. He waited in the lobby for a few minutes and then, when summoned, walked back to the sheriff’s office. Frank Lobey was hollering at someone behind closed doors as Matthew waited on an uncomfortable wooden chair. Then, the door to his office flew open and three disgruntled-looking deputies scurried out.
Frank glared at Matthew for a second and then he sighed, gesturing him inside his personal lair. As Matthew took a seat across from Frank’s desk, the sheriff growled, “Matthew, Goddammit! What the hell happened?”
Matthew knew that the man was referring to the death of his two young deputies, who had been loaned to Wilcox and Son Detective Agency as a courtesy, and were now lying dead in the city morgue.
Matthew said, “I am sorry, Frank. As I said before, though, I truly believe that I…we are up against some bad hombres here…so bad, they are not a bit afraid of spilling a cop’s blood or firing half a city block to shut someone up!”
The sheriff nodded. “As you can probably tell, I have had my hands full lately. There are labor riots almost every day, and those folks ain’t afraid to spill blood neither. Plus, someone bombed a railcar just last week, killing three men in the caboose. And now, this!” His voice had risen to a hoarse shout and Matthew shifted in his chair.
His temper was starting to heat up as well. It’s not like I lied! he thought, resentfully. I TOLD him that we are up against some savage killers. Now, that the truth of my words have come home to roost, Frank wants to blame me?”
Frank studied Matthew’s green eyes…orbs that had grown colder and colder over the last few minutes, and realized that he was hounding the wrong man. Matthew had warned him, weeks earlier, they were dealing with powerful criminals, and had objected to the fact that Frank wanted to send a couple of green chicks to serve guard duty with Dick McNulty, instead of two veteran police officers.
Instead, because of the civil unrest in town, he had taken the easy route. And now he, Frank Lobey, had to pay the piper. He had already informed those young deputies’ grieving parents, and had been forced to raid the sheriff department’s purse to pay death restitution.
Holding his palms in the air, Frank muttered, “I am the one who is sorry, Matthew. I was the one who made a bad judgment call concerning guard duty at the Thurston house…and it’s my fault those two sprouts are dead.”
Matthew studied Frank’s face. Lobey was an old man now…probably too old to be acting sheriff for such a large city, and the toll of his job was starting to show in the heavy lines etched in his face and his bowed shoulders.
Matthew sighed. “It’s not your fault, Frank. You didn’t kill those boys, but…someone did. The same people who shut an innocent woman up for good, and who are now hunting my friend Annie Thurston and her father Clyde!”
Frank nodded in agreement. “So, why did you come in today, Matthew?”
Matthew cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you have been informed of this latest news, Frank, but Clyde Thurston insisted on holing up at the newspaper office after the attack on his house. Now, he, Annie and the rest of the staff are at the Spokane Journal and I have reason to believe that’s the perpetrator’s next target.”
Frank couldn’t help but roll his eyes - not at Matthew’s concerns, but at the thought that truly, “When it rains, it pours!” Staring at Matthew’s face he grumbled, “What do you need?”
Matthew knew he was asking too much, but he ploughed ahead anyway. “Three good… mature police officers to help me watch the newspaper office” Matthew replied.
“Three!” the sheriff blurted.
Matthew nodded. “Yes sir. I’m sorry, but that’s a minimum! That’s only one man to guard each street on that particular block!”
He paused for a moment, adding, “Did you know that the Spokane Journal resides in the middle of one of the last standing wooden store-front blocks in the downtown area? Honestly, if the crooks we (Matthew put particular emphasis on the word “we”) are fighting actually manage to fire that block, at least seven businesses will go up in smoke, including a Chinese laundry, a restaurant, a bakery and one of the best and oldest confectioners in the city!”
Lobey grimaced. He had attended his fill of city council meetings and knew that last vestige of wooden buildings in the downtown area had long been slated for improvement. It really was a threat to the city center as a whole and if it went up in flames, so would his career, if the towns-fathers found out that he refused to help Matthew Wilcox!
Making up his mind, Sheriff Lobey growled. “Okay, okay! I’ll get you some help.” Standing up, he walked to his office door, stuck his head out and barked, “Myrtle! Go and fetch Patrick Spears for me…and bring me a fresh cup of coffee!”
An hour later, Matthew and three veteran police officers, who also happened to be good shots, headed ten blocks away to the Spokane Journal newspaper office.
Chapter Eight
Chance
Chance followed Hans up a steep incline and turned left on a deer path that wound through tall cedars, spongy moss-covered boulders and damp evergreen needles. It looked like a church, with leafy arched ceilings overhead and the sun streaming through green and golden stained glass windows.
The boy was moving swiftly down the path, intent, Chance presumed, on looking for a better place to dig for silver and gold ore than the place his father had chosen. Although the kid didn’t talk much, Chance had heard him tell Jacob more than once over the last couple of weeks that “there’s not enough black sand” in their current location to house a good show of minerals.
He wasn’t sure why he had decided to follow Hans today. Boredom probably…a trait his father had chided him for more times than he could count. Still, Matthew had been gone for three days now, and for the time being, Jacob’s mining operation was suspended.
Chance had overheard the youngster ask his pa if he could go down to the river a little earlier while Jacob, Dicky, Abner and another deputy out of Spokane by the name of Bill Nash, sat around back of the house, cleaning their guns and keeping a weather eye on the road for trespassers.
Jacob knew Han’s was looking for a better place to mine and frowned in annoyance at his offspring’s temerity, but he couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. Nodding curtly, he said, “Don’t go too far, and if you hear gunfire, go and hide in the place we set up, okay?”
Hans mumbled, “Yessir,” and darted arou
nd the house to the path that led down to the water below. On a whim, Chance stood up a few minutes later and followed him. At one point, although the kid was as fleet as a deer and seemed to float down the trail ahead of him like a will-o-the-wisp, Chance saw him stop and pick up a small bundle from behind a stand of gooseberry bushes.
Since he had come to Jacob’s high mountain home, Chance had become fascinated by his young companion. There seemed to be something…off about the kid. Not in a bad way, really, but Chance could tell that Hans was hiding something.
For one thing, he was just too…young-looking. After some persistent questioning, Jacob allowed that Hans was just turned fourteen, which explained the boy’s fine features and hairless chin. It didn’t explain the aloof maturity in the kid’s eyes though, or the superior training such a young sprout had demonstrated in target shooting.
Chance considered himself a fine shot—indeed, he had received quite a few medals in military school for his prowess with firearms. But just last night, as he and his comrades took turns at target practice, Hans had stood in front of the man-shaped targets and put every one of the older men in the group, including the legendary Dick McNulty, to shame.
After staring in shock at the tattered paper target, Chance had walked over to the boy and offered to shake hands. Looking up at him, briefly, with wide blue eyes and silky black lashes, the kid hesitated for a moment and then stuck his hand out to shake.
Chance almost dropped the kid’s hand like a hot potato—it was so frail and…and soft. Staring, he studied Hans pale, creamy complexion and his beautiful, delicate lips. The boy noticed Chance’s confusion and tore his hand away in embarrassment. Then he ducked his head and walked away. Chance stared after him in bewilderment.
“Like I said,” Joseph spoke softly, “My son is real shy around folks he don’t know. Pay him no mind, okay?”
Chance nodded, but every instinct in his body was on high-alert. Which was why he was picking his way through this living, green cathedral now. He paused, watching, as Hans cut to the left and headed back down a steep incline to another point on the river. There wasn’t a lot of underbrush on this side of the water and no way to hide himself, so Chance sat down in the weeds at the top of the incline to watch the kid’s activities from his present perch.
Hidden by a large clump of wild roses, he watched in fascination as the boy walked across a fallen log to the other side of the river. The water was shallow here, most of it rushing through and under a pile of gigantic boulders, leaving its higher tides in shallow pools that glittered in the open sunlight.
Chance watched as Hans reached the other side. Bending over, he studied the sand beneath his feet, took a small, sharp hammer from his trouser pocket and started tapping away at the sheer rock face of a cliff rising from the ground.
Looking away for a moment, Chance felt the sunshine warming the top of his head and heard the drowsy hum of bees making their way through the new growth of tightly wound rosebuds he crouched in. Sunlight banged off the still pools of water below and, for a second, Chance allowed his eyes to drink in the first signs of spring.
Gazing at the boy again, who stood still now, inspecting a piece of quartz in his hand, Chance saw a bright flash of silver glitter off the face of it. Then Hans put the shiny shard in his front pocket with a grin.
Then, to his astonishment, he saw the kid step sideways, and vanish into the rock wall. Gaping, he stood up and studied the cliff but the higher the sun rose from the tree line, the darker the rock face became. Shaking his head, Chance crept out onto the deer path and made his way to where he thought Hans had headed downhill toward the felled log.
His scramble down the steep hill was far less graceful than the boys had been, but soon enough he stood by the same uprooted tree Hans had skipped across. When he stepped up onto the log, he almost fell over the other side. Though he’d seen the kid prance across the log like a ballerina, he hadn’t realized, until now, that it was soaking wet and slick with moss.
He took a deep breath, climbed up and minced his way across the shallow water. Expecting at any moment to pitch headfirst into the river, Chance managed to reach the other side with nothing more than a few strained muscles. Finally, he jumped onto some moist river rocks and made his way to the cliff face.
He walked up close to the cliff and finally found the place he thought Hans had squirmed into. Pressing his ear close to a cut in the rock walls he heard the sound of fast, furious water on the other side. Studying the narrow crevasse between two slabs of rock, he took off his vest and gun and placed them on the ground by his feet.
Then, he commenced to squeezing his body through the stony outcropping to the other side. He got a couple of scraped knuckles in the attempt and for one horrifying moment thought that his hips were truly stuck, forever, between two large boulders. He finally found himself on a narrow ledge of flattened boulders, staring down at a waterfall and the pool below it.
Seeing the creature that bathed in the sparkling waters with soap and a washcloth, Chance at last understood what had been bothering him about the kid known as Hans…for that was no boy that washed in the blue, sparkling pool, but one of the most beautiful women he had ever clapped eyes on.
Her hair was very long…she must have been rolling it tightly to the top of her head and hiding it under her ever-present hat. Chance gulped as he saw it now in the light of the sun…it was as black and shiny as a raven’s wing. Although her breasts were small they were perfectly formed and her slender body curved enticingly in all the right places. Her skin was as white as alabaster and seemed to glow in the sunlight like the creamiest of pearls. Feeling himself growing hard with desire, Chance ducked as Hans looked up.
He’d been so mesmerized by the beautiful vision standing thigh-deep in the water below, he didn’t hear the grizzly bear that approached from up top and behind him. He saw, rather than heard, Hans shout at him and point, but his own guilt at being caught spying on her clouded his judgment.
Chance turned hastily around to make his way back out of the cleft in the cliff wall and came face to face with the bear. He shouted in shock and the bear stood up on its hind feet. Even though the waterfall was so loud it was nearly deafening, Chance heard the bear roar, felt its hot, rank breath wash over him and saw the animal’s saliva streaming from fangs as long as daggers.
Chance took a step backward, cursing himself for leaving his pistol on the other side of the stone wall. The beast advanced a step and took a swipe at him, missing his face by inches. It roared again and dipped its giant head, lunging at him. Then it fell back down on four paws as a piece of its left shoulder blew away in a cloud of bloody red mist.
Chance saw the enraged beast cringe and bite at the bloody wound, but then it focused on him again and stumbled in his direction. Glancing down at the pool below, he figured he was about thirty-five feet up. Heart pounding hard in his chest, Chance backed away until there was no more ledge to stand on and then, knowing there was no place to go but down, he took a deep breath and jumped.
Praying to God above that there was enough water in the pond to cushion his fall, Chance yelled at the top of his lungs as he fell. Seeing the look of shock on Hans face and smoke still drifting from the pistol in her hand, he hit the water with a mighty splash.
Chapter Nine
Hannah
Chance came right back up again with a gargled yelp of pain. Hannah Lindsay saw the beautiful young man with his slanted green eyes and strawberry blonde hair—the same young man whose attentions she had been trying to elude for the last three weeks—back up three steps and then glance at the water below with mortal fear on his face before he jumped.
He had no choice, really. Although she was a good shot, the bear was simply too close to Chance for her pistol to stop its advance. Still, the pool was shallow, too shallow for a full-grown man to plumb its depths.
Glancing up at the angry bear, she saw it pace back and forth on the stone ledge, roaring its displeasure. For one terrifyin
g moment, she thought the wounded animal was going to leap into the water after its quarry, but it finally turned around and disappeared back from whence it came.
Chance, meanwhile, was thrashing around and hollering with pain. She saw him go under for a moment and knew that, despite her state of undress, she had no choice but to swim over to him and haul him to safety—unless she wanted to watch him drown.
Gritting her teeth, Hannah tossed her pistol onto the shore, dove into the pool and swam about twenty-five feet in his direction. Nearing her target, she yelled, “Chance! Grab my hand!”
Chance was facing away from her when she shouted his name, but managed to turn around and reach out. She grabbed his fingers and started swimming backwards toward the shoreline. She only needed to tow him about twelve feet before both of them could touch the bottom with their feet, so she stopped after a few moments and let him go.
The young man’s eyes grew wide with fear and Hannah’s heart pinched a little with sympathy. He was afraid of deep water, and worried that she was fixing to let him drown. “Don’t worry, you can touch the bottom here!” she yelled over the roar of the waterfall behind them.
He seemed to calm down a bit and she saw him stare through the waves at the ground beneath his feet. Then he screamed in pain. “Dammit! I think my ankle’s busted!”
Hannah’s heart sank. No wonder the boy’s face was so white and he seemed so…shaky. Making up her mind, she shouted back, “Can you stand on your other foot and keep yourself afloat for a minute or two?”
He tried it out and nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he answered.
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” she said and turned around to slog her way to shore. She heaved up out of the water and quickly put her clothes on. Glancing behind her, she noticed Chance watching with wide eyes. She gave him her best dirty look, and saw him hop around on his good foot so he faced the other way.
Second Chance (The Deadman Series Book 5) Page 5