Bodine, however, had reacted with surprising speed to the shots being fired at him. He went on the attack, and Parrish had almost gotten caught in return. A few of Bodine’s shots had whizzed uncomfortably close to Parrish’s ears. It was a lucky break that Bodine had fallen through a weak spot in the roof. Parrish had not waited around to see the end-result of his efforts, but he figured it might even work out better than Parrish had planned! If Bodine was caught in the hotel, Jordan might think that it was Bodine who was the attacker, and kill him on the spot. That would really make the Two-Wolves bastard mad!
Parrish was now hiding in a stand of trees near the main supply shed for the Hart camp. His horse was safely tied close by in case he needed to make a fast escape. Inside the building were all the explosives needed to conduct a major mining project. So far, Hart had sunk just a few holes, looking for the exact spot that would lead to the main vein. When he hit the vein, he would be ready to move fast.
Elsewhere in the area, Jordan was starting similar projects, though even his deepest mine was still only large enough for a few men at a time.
Even so, Parrish knew both Jordan and Hart were making good money even in these early stages of development.
The gunfighter moved a little closer, made sure nobody was nearby, then hurried to the door. It had a metal lock, but the door and frame were just wood and easily splintered under Parrish’s efforts. He quickly slipped inside. He remained motionless while his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
Wooden boxes, mostly unmarked, were stacked high in the room. Parrish moved them around, trying to determine their contents. Finally, disgusted, he stared to pry lids from the boxes. On the third try, he found what he was looking for—sticks of prepackaged explosive, ready for use. Parrish started to shove the explosive into his sack.
How much did he need? Parrish was more familiar with guns than explosives, but he knew enough to make a good educated guess. He also stuffed lengths of fuse and other necessary items into his sack.
Parrish tied the bag shut, walked to the door, and listened. All seemed to be quiet. The gunfighter cracked the door, then slipped out as quietly as he had entered.
The entire operation took only a few minutes.
Parrish chuckled softly as he thought about the next part of his plan.
Matt tripped up the first man coming through the door into Malinda Melody’s room. As he fell to the floor, his feet got tangled up with the man behind him, who lost his balance and went flying head over heels, landing with a wet plop in the bath tub vacated just a few minutes before by the woman.
The third man was a little more cautious and held back when the first two men went down. He came into the room a little more slowly. As he inched into the room, Matt kicked. The toe of his boot caught the outstretched gun, also sending it flying across the room. Almost instantly, he grabbed the third man’s arm and twisted it, forcing out an agonize groan.
Matt threw the third man to the floor and started for the door, when suddenly a dozen men were upon him. Matt kicked and clawed, breaking bones and noses, but in the end was forced to the floor through sheer weight of numbers. Two men were required to hold down each arm and leg.
“What do we have here, boys?”
The voice came from a large man in the doorway.
“Don’t know him, Strep,” one of the men answered. “He can put up one helluva a fight. Think he’s one of Hart’s men?”
“Lift him up and let’s take a look.”
Strong hands pulled Matt from the floor. He relaxed his muscles slightly, waiting for an opening.
“I’m not one of Hart’s men,” Matt said. “We explained that to Jordan last night. So what’s the big idea of taking potshots at me?”
Strep moved closer. “I recognize you now. You’re partnered up with that Indian, Two-Wolves. I thought you were tougher than this. And smarter.”
“Like hell. One of you bastards were shooting at me, and I shot back. Almost got him, too.”
“So that’s the story you’re using? Well, I never gave no orders to shoot you. Think I may change my mind, now. Boys, teach him a lesson.”
“No.” The voice was as soft as a whisper but cut through the men more than a shouted order. “Let go of Mr. Bodine.”
To Matt’s amazement, the hands holding him suddenly loosened. Matt pulled loosed, reached for his Colt, but paused in mid-draw as his eyes, along with all the others in the room, were pulled almost on their own to where Malinda had stepped out from behind the curtain. She was wearing a soft gown of some kind. Her hair still damp from her bath and hanging loosely to her shoulders.
She was holding a shotgun, but it was her voice, not the gun, that cause the men to listen to her.
“This man is a gentleman,” Malinda said. “You men could take lessons from him in how to talk to a woman.”
“Don’t be foolish, Malinda,” Strep said. He pointed at the hole in the ceiling. “Look at the facts. He tried to destroy Jordan’s hotel. He attacked you by way of the roof. He’s probably working for Hart.” Strep looked down at the man in the bathtub, who was slowly regaining consciousness. “Looks like he may be a Peeping Tom, as well, watching you in your bath.”
“Oh, Strep, you’re just jealous you weren’t the one who saw me in my awkward predicament.”
Strep’s face grew red, whether from anger or embarrassment Matt couldn’t say.
“No matter. Jordan wouldn’t like it.”
“Wouldn’t like what?” Jordan’s voice came from the hallway. “Would somebody tell me what’s going on in my hotel?”
Before anybody could answer, Matt had pushed his way through Jordan’s men and had Jordan by his coat collar.
“You know damn well what’s going on,” Matt said. “Somebody tried to use me for target practice from the top of your hotel. I don’t take kindly to be bushwhacked.”
Strep and another of Jordan’s men reached for their guns. Matt dropped to one knee, pivoted, and drew his own Colt. The shot was loud in the small room. The bullet caught the man in the shoulder, forcing him backwards. Matt directed his gun toward Strep, but froze in mid-draw.
Jordan held up his right hand.
“No more shooting,” he said. “Strep, put your gun away. All of you men put your guns away.” His men hesitantly pushed their guns back into their holsters. “Get him to the doctor. I think he’ll live. Had Bodine here wanted to kill somebody, he’d be dead now.”
“Damned right,” Matt said. “Now why don’t you come clean with me, before somebody else gets hurt!”
Jordan took the cigar from his mouth with his right hand.
“Wasn’t my man shooting at you,” he said. “Like I explained last night, my fight’s not with you and Two-Wolves. I’d rather you two leave Jordanville, the sooner the better. Why would I do something to get you riled?”
“And I’m to believe you?”
“To be fair, have you reason to call me a liar? I know you’ve talked with Hart. You know his opinion of me. But have I done anything to you that would justify your damaging my building and attacking my men?”
Matt placed his Colt back in its holster.
“Then who shot at me?”
Jordan shrugged.
“And I have a question for you. What are you doing with my star performer, in her bath? If I were a less reasonable man, I might have you shot for this offense, alone.”
“I believe his story,” Malinda said. “He was making as much noise up there as a herd of buffalo, and I’m sure I heard two sets of footsteps. Attacking you and your men in broad daylight without provocation doesn’t seem to be Mr. Bodine’s style.” Then she added, as if that settled the argument, “And he was a perfect gentleman with me.”
Strep glared at the woman. Jordan’s face was unreadable as he puffed on his cigar. Matt remained motionless, alert to even the hint of an attack. Malinda smiled innocently.
Finally, Jordan said, “Mr. Bodine, I may regret this decision, but at this point I’ll give you the b
enefit of the doubt. Malinda for some reason seems to like you. So I won’t try to detain you. I’ll even help in whatever way I can to find the culprit who shot at you.”
“You do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do,” Matt answered. He walked to the door, paused, then turned to Malinda. He said, “How about that dinner tonight?”
“I’d be delighted. I’ll see you then.”
Matt tipped his hat and left the room.
Chapter Seven
Sam August Webster Two-Wolves spoke the truth when he said he was not particularly interested in mining, but he still agreed to take a tour of Jordanville and Hart’s mining operations. Sam had a naturally keen mind, well-trained in the traditional Indian beliefs and skills that involved cooperation and interaction with the natural world. His mind had also been further developed by his attendance in the white man’s colleges. He had done surprisingly well in the sciences as well as philosophy, and he carried over his interests past his college days. So Sam jumped at this chance to see the early stages of mining operations.
“There is a certain amount of gold to be found in the river bed and on its banks,” Hart said. “A person lucky enough, or willing to work long enough and hard enough, could earn a decent living for awhile. The real treasure, however, is buried within the earth. As a prospector, my job is to look at the clues that may lead to the main vein. As a mining engineer, my job would then be to find a way to sink a shaft deep enough, pull up enough ore-bearing dirt and then find a way to process the ore to yield enough metal to make pay for the costs of operations—and to make a profit.”
Sam bent down, picked up some of the dirt between his fingers. It felt rocky, would probably be poor to yield growing things. Other than that, his examination provided little information.
“If I remember correctly, you face many problems even if you can find the main vein,” Sam said. “You have engineering problems sinking the shaft, sometimes through solid rock, sometimes through sandy soil that caves in on itself. You have drainage and ventilation problems.”
“And many more. That is why I have only started a few exploratory shafts. Jordan, more ambitious and more reckless, has one much deeper. You can see his digging equipment to your left.”
Sam noted several people working at a rather leisurely pace on Jordan’s side of the claim line. Sam had expected more men working at a faster pace. If anything, Jordan’s men seemed to be moving supplies away from the mine.
“And this is your claim?” Sam said, letting the dirt run through his fingers.
“Yeah, he’s kind of pushing the line, isn’t he? I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t try to direct his tunnel toward my claim. I don’t know if anything he does would surprise me.”
“Are you that certain that we’re standing on buried treasure?”
“No. It’s all educated guesswork. But I’d stake my worst guess against the best guess or anybody else in the business.”
“If that’s the best your competition can do, I’d say you don’t have much to worry about.”
“They’re usually a lot more active over there. Don’t know why it’s so quiet today.”
“Let’s see your mine.”
Hart’s men were hustling to and fro, pushing wheelbarrows full of dirt, carrying timbers, making measurements. It seemed rather chaotic, but somehow they never got in each other’s way.
“Here it is,” Hart said, stopping in front of a hill. “This is the entrance to the mine.”
The opening was humble, and almost lost in the morning sun shining brightly on the exposed dirt of the hill. It was little more than a hole in the ground, framed in rough timber. Inside was dark, though the air coming out of it seemed a little cooler than the outside air.
“Would you like to see inside? It’s really not that deep.”
“No,” Sam said. “This is enough for me. I prefer the sunlight to the dark.”
Bill Shannahan, Hart’s foreman, stepped out of the mine entrance. He was smiling broadly, wiping dust off his face with a red bandanna.
“Thought I heard you two up here,” he said. “You all missed a good show earlier this morning!”
“What show?” Sam asked, wondering if Malinda Melody was now giving mid-morning concerts in the streets of Jordanville.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it yet! Somebody took a couple of shots at Matt this morning from on top of Jordan’s hotel. Well, Matt didn’t take too kindly to this.”
“I can imagine,” Sam said, smiling slightly with a twinkle in his eye.
“Matt jumped off his horse, but not before spurring it right into the front door of the hotel, crashing through the porch! Then, quick as can be, he was up on that roof chasing his attacker.”
“Did he get the rascal?”
“No, he was interrupted by a pretty woman. Somehow he got into Malinda’s room and sweet-talked her into going out to dinner with him tonight. Doesn’t that take all!”
“Like I said, no bets,” Sam said, still smiling.
“It’s all over town already,” Shannahan said. “In the meantime, I’ve got to get back to work.”
The foreman walked to a building several hundred feet from the mine entrance and waved Hart over. Sam took another glance at the mine opening, then joined Hart and Shannahan.
“Somebody’s broken into our supply shed,” Shannahan said, his good humor gone.
“Is anything missing?”
“Hard to say. They left a mess.”
Sam calmly walked past the two men and entered the shed. His keen eyes scanned the upturned boxes, making mental note of their contents. He called out, “Hart?”
The miner stuck his head in the door.
“Have you done much blasting recently?”
“No. Why?”
“That box of explosives is only half full. I think maybe that explains what you’re thief was after.”
Malinda Melody placed her shotgun against the wall, cocked her head to one side, and watched Jordan with a look as if to say, “I’m doing what I want to, and you can’t stop me!”
Jordan remained calm. The only sign that he was upset was his chewing on his cigar. The room was quiet for long minutes after Matt Bodine and most of Jordan’s other men had left Malinda Melody’s room.
“Malinda,” Jordan finally said. “I’m rather disappointed in you.”
“So what if you don’t like it? You hired me to be a singer, not your slave. You don’t own me. If I want to have dinner with Mr. Bodine, that is my right.”
“And you think I’d try to force you against your will? No, I’m too much of a gentleman for that, as you might say. I’m just rather disappointed that you took the side of a stranger, one who may very well be employed by my enemy.”
“I don’t care.”
“The outcome of that fight may possibly influence the future of your career.”
“Bull. You make enough money from the miners to pay my expenses and leave plenty for yourself. And I’m not fool enough to think that if you actually find gold out here that it will further my career.”
“So your mind’s made up? Very well. I would just recommend that you don’t get too attached to Mr. Bodine.” He gestured to Strep and the other men that remained in the room. “Come down to my office. We have business to discuss.”
When he was once again behind his desk, and had poured himself a glass of whiskey, Jordan felt more in control.
“How much longer before we’ve cleared out most of our supplies from the mine site?” Jordan asked.
“Another few days, we figure,” Strep said.
“That’s too long. If we take too long, and move out too much, it’ll give Hart some warning to clear out himself.”
“What kind of loss are you willing to take?”
“I can take the hit a lot better than Hart. When you blow that dam and the water comes rushing down, destroying men and equipment and supplies, it’ll ruin him. I’ve still got enough money to replace my losses. He doesn’
t.”
“Still, if you lose too many men, it would be hard to replace them.”
Jordan poured himself another glass of whiskey.
“You’re right. But don’t delay too long. Do it early in the morning,” Jordan continued. “After most of Hart’s men have started their work, but before they’ve really woken up. After that, Hart should be much more willing to negotiate. Start the rumor that work has slowed because we dug in the wrong place and we’re moving operations. That way it won’t raise too many suspicions.”
“That still doesn’t get rid of those two troublemakers,” Strep said. “Even if you put a dent in Hart’s operations, he’s still got Bodine and Two-Wolves. I’m sure they’re working for him, no matter what they say. I don’t like either one of them, but I’ve come to especially dislike Matt Bodine. He had no right to be in Malinda’s room. He should be shot.”
“And you’re the one to do it? You saw the way he outfought us and outdrew us. As fast as you are, you’re not as good as Bodine. What we need is the very best. No matter the cost. Any ideas?”
“Money is no object?”
“Not to get rid of Matt Bodine, Sam Two-Wolves, and destroy Hart’s organization.”
“The very best gun I know about is a man named Phil Caphorn. He’s rumored to have killed two dozen men in fair fights. I’ve personally seen him take down three men in one fight. Of course, that was five years ago. He may have slowed down some since then.”
“What’s he cost?”
“Last I head he required $10,000 up front. The price would go up from there.”
“Is he worth the price?”
“What’s it worth to you to get rid of those two troublemakers and gaining a clear shot at Hart’s land titles, without him being in the way to stop you? Aren’t you talking millions?”
“Can you get hold of him?”
“He’s based in Junction City. I could send a message to him. If he’s interested, he could be here in a matter of days.”
Jordan stood, walked over to a safe in the corner, opened it, and pulled out a bag of coins. He lifted it, enjoyed its weight, then tossed it to Strep.
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