Silver in the Blood

by George G. Gilman

  "I said hold thy fire, thee crazy fools!"

  The gunshots fizzled out like a spluttering firecracker and a large group of shadows, which might have been boulders clinging to the sloping sides of the pass, suddenly moved and took shape as human forms. 'Slowly, they started down towards the crumpled figure of the woman on the trail, rifles at the ready as if she represented some great potential threat.

  "She alive?" one of the men asked.

  "Bruised is all," came the response as the men gathered around.

  "That's just fine," said a third with deep pleasure. "Seems we're in a position to trade. She's not much to look at but I know a man who'd pay a million dollars worth of silver for her."

  He laughed and after a moment's hesitation all the others joined him. There were twenty-one of them.

  Up the trail Edge could not hear the laughter above the beating of hoofs and rumble of wheels, but he knew he was still close enough to the pass for the sound of gunfire to carry. He didn't hear any and hauled gently on the reins, bringing the team to a gradual halt. A moment later his own horse and that of the Zulu cantered up on one side; then Anatali drew the second wagon alongside.

  "Hear any horses?" Edge asked.

  The Zulu held his head in the manner of an animal straining to catch a sound. After a while he shook his head in dissatisfaction, leaped down from the wagon and pressed his ear to the ground. He stood up. "No horses close by except these here."

  "Five thousand dollars isn't this easy to earn," Edge said, his brow creased in thought, his left cheek moving as he sucked at the inside of it. "They ought to be hot on our tracks."

  The Zulu looked up at him with a blank stare, unable to contribute any constructive suggestion. Edge studied him dispassionately for a moment, then jumped down to the ground and moved between the wagons. He peered into the darkness of the rear of the one Anatali had been driving and sighed when he saw the disarray wrought by the madcap dash.

  "The lady will need a refund on her ticket," he said as he stepped back. "Maybe she didn't like the new driver. She got off someplace."

  Anxiety swept across the shiny face of the Zulu. Then it was replaced with anger. A second went by and the two merged. The result was an awesome expression of mute rage only a sliver away from exploding. The big man unhooked his club, hefted his spear and made to start off back down the trail. Edge sighed and leaned against the wagon.

  "Where’d you think you're going?" he asked evenly.

  "Get Miss Martha," Anatali answered. "She might be hurt."

  "Committing suicide won't improve her condition any," Edge told him.

  When the Zulu turned, he saw the white man was running his hand over the canvas at the side of the wagon, prodding a finger through each hole as he came to it. There were more than twenty holes.

  "Me not such a big target," Anatali retorted, but stayed where he was.

  "You ain't no dwarf," Edge answered softly, as, he glanced around into the gathering gloom of evening. The trail continued ahead across the pass, but the slopes up to the crests on each side were no longer steep. The ambushers had picked a good place. On this side there was no cover. Edge moved back between the wagons, caught the reins of the two loose horses and hitched them to the rear of the bullion wagon.

  "What you going to do?" Anatali asked, showing surprise as Edge climbed up into his seat.

  Edge drew a hand across the stubble of his jaw. "Whether the woman's dead or alive, I reckon they'll try for a trade. You know Wilder. If he had to choose, which would he take?"

  The Zulu had followed Edge to the front of the wagons. Now he looked up at him, a deep frown on his face. "He like money very much. But I think he pay every penny he got to keep Miss Martha safe."

  "That's how I figured it," Edge said. "It puts the advantage with them."

  "So what you do?"

  "Get an advantage of my own. They've got choice of weapons. I'll pick the turf. Let's go, feller." He clucked the horses forward and Anatali hesitated only a moment before hoisting himself aboard the second wagon to follow. There was no rush this time, as Edge surveyed the surrounding terrain and kept his ears attuned for sounds of pursuit. The trail rounded another curve and spurred a narrower track going off to the right and disappearing between high outcrops of rock. Edge pondered the decision for only a moment, then jerked on the reins to take the secondary trail, the top of the wagon scraping under the telegraph line which followed the main route down into a shallow valley. Through the natural gateposts of rock, the ground suddenly leveled out and Edge took the wagon only a few yards further, until he knew it was out of sight from the trail below. He leaned out to wave Anatali alongside. Then he jumped down and looked at the dilapidated shack in the center of the compound-like area of mountain shelf. It was a small single-story building of un-planed timber, warped and rotting, with a hole in the dirt roof.

  "Miner's place?" Edge posed as he crossed to the closed door.

  "When man discover silver in Comstock people start to dig holes all over Sierras," Anatali answered.

  "Don't see no hole," Edge said, using the barrel of the Winchester to unhook the latch and then pries open the door. The top hinge came loose and the door fell, tearing free at the bottom. The failing light entering through the doorway and the hole in the roof showed the interior as mere-shadows on shadow. Edge struck a match and saw the mine entrance—a gaping hole in the dirt floor at the center of the shack. A dank smell rose out of it, causing both men to grimace as it attacked their nostrils.

  "I think this whole mountain range filled with water," Anatali muttered.

  Edge struck a second match and held it high as his narrowed eyes examined the contents of the shanty crude bunk spread with rotted blankets, a table but no chair, a shelf lined with label-less cans, shaving gear and a fragment of mirror with the silver peeling, and a canvas covered pile of something in a comer. He needed to strike a third match to discover what was beneath the cover. And when he saw it he blew the match out quickly. Anatali peered through the gloom at Edge, puzzled by the cold grin-he saw.

  "Some tools and boxes," the Zulu said with a shrug.

  "You didn't look close enough," 'Edge said, throwing the damp canvas info the mine entrance. "The guy who worked this claim may not have been the smartest miner in the world, but he knew he had to keep his powder dry. The boxes were round, feller."

  "Powder kegs?"

  "Right. Bring them outside."

  "Miner gone a long time," the Zulu said without enthusiasm. "Blasting powder probably no good."

  "Everyone's got to have a little luck," Edge told him as he went out of the shack. "Maybe the wheel's spun our way. Got any better ideas?"

  "I don't 'even know what yours is," the Zulu answered.

  "Talk ain't cheap anymore," Edge said from the doorway. "Waste time using it and the woman could pay with her life."

  Anatali lifted two of the kegs and followed Edge across to where the wagons were parked. As they reached them, they heard hoofbeats on the trail.

  "Go get the others," Edge urged as Anatali set the kegs down. The canvas had not offered complete protection. The iron hoops were rusted and the wood was spongy. One of the kegs burst open at a single blow from the stock of the Winchester. Edge grinned his satisfaction. The outer ring of powder inside was darkened by damp and speckled with the white spots of mildew. But at the center the powder looked good and dangerous. Below, the horsemen rode by as Anatali returned with two more kegs. Edge broke open another one and saw its contents were in the same condition as the first.

  "They miss us," the Zulu said anxiously.

  "They'll be back," Edge answered. "Any more?"

  "Two."

  "Get them."

  As the Zulu trotted back to the shack, Edge broke open the other kegs and loaded them into the back of Martha Wilder's wagon. Then he hauled himself aboard and began to sprinkle the powder from one keg around him. Anatali appeared at the rear of the wagon and Edge told him to break open the final kegs and h
and them up. He emptied the contents of five kegs into a pile in Martha Wilder's bathtub which he stood in the center of the wagon, wedged between the bunk bed and the mirrored dresser. Then he took a sheet from the bed, tore off a strip and soaked it in kerosene from the lamp. He buried one end in the pile of powder and tied the other end to the rail behind the driver's seat. He emptied what remained of the lamp oil over the broken kegs and jumped down from the wagon, holding a carton of supplies which he tossed into the rear of the bullion wagon. The Zulu continued to watch him in silence as Edge climbed into the bullion wagon and used the butt of the Colt to unfasten one of the crates.

  Edge looked at the neat top layer of silver ingots dispassionately, sensed watching eyes and turned to see the Zulu peering at him, testing the point of the assegai with the tip of a finger.

  "You've got to give a little to get a little," Edge said softly as the sound of returning horses vibrated in the air. He lifted out one bar and knocked the slat of the crate back into place.

  "Some men do a lot for so much silver," Anatali said.

  Edge sighed and jumped to the ground. "Some men would have let near seven feet of brawn with no brains walk back into the pass."

  The Zulu considered this comment for several seconds, then smiled. "I sorry."

  "Free lesson," Edge answered as he moved towards one of the outcrops guarding the area of the mine. "Don't ever be that. Just be right."

  "I don't, understand," Anatali said as he followed the white man.

  Edge spat into' the dirt. "Being right means never having to say you're sorry."

  Both men peered down the slope and saw the group of horsemen clustered on the trail. The red hair and beard of Jake Tabor marked him out like a signal beacon.

  "The lady's in real trouble," Edge murmured as he spotted Martha Wilder astride a horse ridden by the outlaw named Keene. "That guy's no gentleman."

  "Hey, you up there!" one of the gang shouted. "We know you're there."

  "Figured you did," Edge shouted back.

  "We want the silver. Wilder will want his daughter back."

  "Thee will exchange with us?" Tabor sounded like a hellfire and brimstone preacher opening a sermon.

  "She in one piece?",Edge demanded."

  "Bruised is all," Keene answered and whispered in Martha's ear.

  "I am all right," the woman shouted. Her tone indicated that her mental health was in a much worse condition than her physical.

  "One man brings her half-way up here," Edge instructed. "We'll come down with the wagons. First one will have the shipment aboard. Your man gets aboard and the woman gets on the second wagon. I hold a gun on your man while the second wagon passes and heads west along the trail. Then I drive the silver down to you."

  There was some three hundred feet between the rocks and the trail. The two sides had to shout to each other.

  "I will dictate the terms of the exchange!" Tabor thundered in fury.

  Edge spat. "So kill the girl and let's shoot it out."

  Anatali grunted and pressed the point of his spear into the small of Edge's back. Edge looked over his shoulder, flashing his teeth in a sneer. ''So stick me and run the goddamn show yourself," he hissed,

  The Zulu eased the pressure.

  "All right, have it thy way," Tabor shouted up the slope and said something to Keene, who heeled his horse, forward.

  "No, Tabor! Edge called. "Thee is the man."

  A murmur of anger rose from the group.

  "Thee know who I am?" Tabor shouted.

  "Bother thee?"

  "Do not mock me!" the outlaw leader roared.

  "You coming or do I start shooting?" Edge called with impatience.

  There was a stir of movement among the outlaws, then Tabor urged his horse forward to bring it alongside Keene's mount. The big man with the beard plucked Martha Wilder out of the saddle and swung her across his own horse as if she were as light as a bag of feathers. Then he muttered something to his men and started up the slope.

  "Let's move," Edge hissed to the Zulu and they both ran to the wagons.

  "What I supposed to do?" Anatali pleaded as they climbed into their respective seats.

  "You heard the plan. Do like I said, then play it by ear."

  "Ear?"

  "Listen for the explosion, lunkhead. When it comes start whipping the team like you hated all horses."

  He clucked his own team forward, pulling them into a tight turn to head towards the gap between the rocks.

  "What about you?" Anatali called out with concern.

  Edge rested the silver bar on a shelf behind his seat, clamped the Winchester between his knees and started to roll a cigarette one-handed. "Obliged for your concern," he muttered, not loud enough for the Zulu to hear him as he steered the wagon between the rocks.

  "Hold it right there!" Tabor called. He had halted his horse at a half-way point up the slope and was pressing a revolver against Martha Wilder's right ear. They were close enough for Edge to see the stark terror visible in the woman's unbeautiful face. He hauled on the reins.

  "Something?" he called, hanging the cigarette from the side of his mouth and taking a match from his pocket.

  "How do I know the silver is in that wagon?" Tabor demanded, forcing the woman to bend her head into her shoulder as he applied heavy pressure to the revolver.

  Edge reached through the opening in the canvas and brought out the silver bar. He tossed it in a shallow arc and it hit the ground, bounced, and came to rest between the front hooves of Tabor's horse. Tabor glanced down at it but did not remove the gun muzzle from Martha Wilder's head.

  "Thee may come down. But slowly. I still do not know whether to trust thee."

  Edge urged the team forward, his lips splitting to show a cold grin that was backed up by the glittered slits of his eyes, "You sure as hell are going to get a bang finding out," he thought to himself.

  Chapter Eight

  "HOPE you didn't hurt that high-priced body of yours when, you fell out, Miss Martha?" Edge said softly, touching his hat brim as he halted the wagon. The cigarette bobbed from the corner of his mouth like some loose-fitting extension of his face.

  The woman gave a low, anguished cry as Anatali swung his wagon to pass the first one.

  "Just, bruised as we said," Tabor answered for her, his flat eyes boring into Edge's face.

  "It's a hard world," Edge said, striking the match and touching it to the end of his cigarette. "You find that out when your butt hits it a hefty crack."

  The second wagon stopped alongside the first. Edge blew out the match. His other hand rested on the butt of the holstered Colt. Tabor released his grip on the woman and took the pistol from her head.

  "Go with the nigger," he instructed.

  His gun was a Navy Model Remington. The hole in its muzzle was like a third, flat eye, much more threatening than the other two glaring out from under, the slope of his brow. The woman slid from the horse, seemed on the point of collapsing when her feet touched the ground, but fought against it. Anatali leaned down and hoisted her bodily on to the seat beside him. Edge blew out smoke and gave a slight nod. The Zulu muttered gentle commands to his team and the wagon moved forward.

  "Hey, Jake!" Keene called from below.

  Edge knew from his tone what the ugly little fat man was going to say. Tabor was too close and too tense to notice the difference in height of the wagons. From a greater distance it was obvious that one rode lower on its springs under the weight of a million dollars worth of silver bullion—the wrong one. As Tabor's attention was distracted by the shout, Edge snatched the cigarette from his mouth and pushed its glowing tip into the knot of the kerosene-soaked sheet behind him. Then, in a streak of fluid motion, he lashed with the reins at the backs of the team, kicked off the brake and lunged off the seat, Winchester grasped in one hand. With his other hand he grabbed a handful of Jake Tabor's flowing beard and jerked viciously at it. The big man roared with mixed pain and surprise and was wrenched sideways from his mount a
s Edge released him and fell hard into the saddle of his own horse, trotting behind the bullion wagon.

  "Forget the fireworks!" Edge yelled. "Move it! Like quicksilver!"

  As the gang held their fire, afraid of hitting Tabor, Anatali let out a blood-curdling Zulu war cry that did more to frighten the horses into speed than the lash of the whip across their backs. Then, as the speeding wagon rushed headlong down the slope towards them, the outlaws wheeled their horses to run out of its path, too panicked to get off any shots. Edge snatched a glance behind him and groaned his displeasure as he saw the second wagon, its canvas aglow with suffused light from the flaming fuse, only a few yards away. The trained team, even driverless and wide-eyed with terror, was keeping on station. Edge took aim, held it and waited for the Zulu to wrench the bullion wagon into a shuddering turn onto the trail. Then, clinging to his mount with his knees, he snapped off two shots. Each of the horses died instantly, fountaining blood from wounds between their eyes. As they dropped dead in their tracks, the ends of the shafts slammed into the hard ground, snapped with a tremendous crack and the wagon tumbled end over end down the slope.

  One outlaw and his horse were crushed into a single bloodied pulp as the end of the wagon bounced onto them. Then the flame found the shower of powder thrown up by the crashing roll of the wagon and the explosion brought searing death and mind-shattering agony to more than half the remaining members of Jake Tabor's gang.

  A piece of blazing canvas wrapped itself around the head of a fleeing man and dripped flame on to his clothes, sending him screaming into the pass to die as a human torch. Four more were blasted with their horses into the ground, shattered bones piercing through torn flesh and scorched clothing. The iron rim of a wheel swished through the air to decapitate a man whose headless body remained upright in the saddle for long seconds as his horse bolted. A skimming piece of jagged metal from the bathtub cut a bloody path across a face, gouging out the eyes, the impact altering its course so that it ricocheted into the back of another and with sufficient force to dig deep enough for the lung. Two riders were unseated by the blast to fall beneath the trampling hooves of their companions' horses which reared in panic.