Together, they ambled down the lane. Elizabeth longed for some traffic, the whine of engines or the din of chatter, to break that somber silence. She was a city girl, she knew, and no matter how many villages she passed through, nothing unnerved her like the quiet that fell over a small town.
“Deputy,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes’m,” Robins murmured back.
“I have a hunch.” Elizabeth stopped and touched Maude’s elbow. “That is, we have a hunch. About where the bandits may be. And I want you to tell us if this sounds crazy.”
The Deputy turned and dug his hands into his pockets. “Go on.”
“How likely is it they’d be hiding out in Mine Number One?”
The Deputy’s ears perked up. He nodded slowly. “It crossed my mind.”
“Is it possible?”
“Possible, sure. But if you ask me, it don’t add up.”
“Why not?”
“For starters,” said Robins, “there ain’t no water that-a-way. The miners used to keep a water tower, but that ain’t been filled in years. The road’s in bad condition, and it’s wide open. They’d have to resupply in town. And once they came across the desert, we’d spot ’em.”
“What about at night?”
“You’d need a heck of a lot of provisions to survive out there. And not just cans of beans, neither. You’d need more water than you could pump without catching somebody’s eye, no matter what the hour. I just don’t see it.”
“Well, what if we have a look?” coaxed Elizabeth. “Just to make sure.”
Robins whistled a long and airy tone, which dropped in pitch like a slide-whistle. For the first time, his eyes seemed to tremble.
“If we have to,” Robins said slowly. “I’ll do it. Because I trust you, Miss Crowne. I truly do. But swear to me that this is absolutely necessary. That there ain’t another way.”
“I believe it is,” said Elizabeth. “If only to rule out the possibility.”
Robins didn’t answer. He drew his tin and opened it. He raked the tobacco with his fingers, but his hands were shaking. He couldn’t grasp a wad, and he bit his upper lip in frustration. Finally he flipped the lid shut. He clutched the tin in his hands, staring at it.
“I swore I’d never go back there,” he muttered. “I said I’d rather die.”
Elizabeth wiggled her jaw. “Why, Robins? Why won’t you go to Mine Number One?”
“The tommyknockers,” he whispered. “The ghosts. I ain’t gullible, Miss Crowne. I have to see a thing to believe it. But them ghosts is real.”
Chapter 6
Sparrow pressed his curry comb into the horse’s neck and made slow circles with his hands. Destiny’s head swiveled side-to-side, but then she settled into the rhythm of Sparrow’s grooming. The fine-toothed tool raked through her hair, catching itself on tiny knits. The mare was a magnet for airborne detritus, and Sparrow had to brush her down twice as much as any normal steed.
Contours, his father had always said. In a land like this, knowing the contours means the difference between life and death.
Sparrow could chuckle about this now, because that would be the wisdom of a professional surveyor. The man had dedicated his life to contour maps; naturally he saw the world as a vast quilt of curves and elevations. But the thoughtful old man had left his mark: Sparrow, too, noticed contours wherever he went. The bend of a crick. The curvature of a mesa. Even the ovular mound of his horse’s shoulder muscle. He could brush his horse for hours and not incite a single flinch. He knew every ticklish nook, every sensitive nerve. After six years of riding together, Sparrow and Destiny were as close as cousins.
Sparrow stopped. He took a step away from Destiny.
He felt eyes on him. He heard the scrape of a heel on the ground. Someone was standing nearby. He gripped the metal comb hard.
Sparrow turned his head, ready for a fight. But then he saw a womanly figure, standing alone. The tension lifted.
“Miss Crowne,” he said, straightening. “Welcome to my alley.”
Sparrow’s back alley was narrow and secluded. A handful of buildings stood side-by-side, but their backdoors rarely opened. The little space was empty, except for Sparrow’s hitching post and some forgotten barrels and drums. The surrounding walls were high enough to cast shadows all day, so Destiny could enjoy the relative cool of their shade. Sparrow kept two basins, filled with feed and water, to keep the horse occupied. Sparrow could spend hours behind his pharmacy, puttering around, yet he had never received a single visitor there, even by accident.
Elizabeth nodded her greeting. She leaned against the rim of a steel drum, one leg crossing the other. As before, she wore a simple black dress, linear and unadorned. Sparrow liked her urbane appearance. He especially admired her cloche hat, something he’d mostly seen in pictures. He wondered when the girls in town would start wearing them..
“What are your thoughts on tommyknockers?” Elizabeth inquired.
Sparrow explored his upper teeth with the tip of his tongue. “Well, that’s not what I would call them. But I suppose I’ve had some run-ins.”
Elizabeth smirked. “Really?”
“Hard to say if they’re real. But you spend enough time wandering around—out there in the desert, deep in the canyons—you get pretty well convinced you’re not alone. Sounds. Stirring. Shivers down your spine. Every shadow looks like something. I once saw a sane man spill his sorrows to a Joshua tree. It’s a mystical place, the desert. It does things to you. I’m fond of science, Miss Crowne, but I’ll be damned if that’s all there is.”
“I’d be the last person in the world to mock a man for his credulity,” Elizabeth said. “I’m going to have a peek at Mine Number One. Care to come along?”
Sparrow tried to occupy himself. He ran a hand through Destiny’s wooly mane. He searched his pockets for a cigar. But Sparrow could not resist a smile. “To what would I owe the pleasure, Miss Crowne?”
“I need a man who knows the situation,” rejoined Elizabeth.
“What about the Deputy?”
“He’s coming, too.”
Both Sparrow’s eyebrows rose in unison. “Well, now. That is interesting.”
“How come?”
“Well, I hear he’s none too fond of that mine. Not since they closed it. And—” Sparrow shrugged. “I doubt he’s fond of the red man, either.”
“You’re three-quarters right,” said Elizabeth quickly. “He hates the mine, it’s true, and he’ll only go if I insist. And no, he’s not a friend of Indians. I doubt anyone here is. But I have the Deputy’s respect, for whatever reason, and so shall you. I’ve got a town to save, and I won’t get stalled by some hayseed phrenology.”
Sparrow felt his pulse quicken, a throb of mixed emotions. “You think the bandits are hiding in that mine?”
“Honestly?” said Elizabeth. “I do. I think they’ve found a way to stay there, against all reason. Maybe there’s a hidden spring. Maybe they live on mushrooms. It’s impossible to say—unless we go there, and find out.”
Sparrow stroked his chin. “You put a lot of faith in men you don’t know well.”
“I know,” sneered Elizabeth. “I’ve made a career out of it. Now, are you in or not?”
“I trust you know how to handle one of these,” said Robins warily.
Elizabeth liked the way the Deputy handed over the horse’s reins—draped gently over his thumb, like a delicate piece of fabric. Elizabeth accepted the worn leather with equal care, then stepped forward to caress the horse’s face. The mare’s hide was spotted brown and white, like a Guernsey cow. A compact saddle was strapped over a thick tartan blanket, and the stirrups were little more than bent metal bars. Elizabeth grinned into the timid black eyes, then ran her fingers between its nostrils.
“I think I’ll manage,” she said.
Before Robins could respond, Elizabeth heaved herself upward. She kicked her leg over the horse’s back and tapped her heels into its haunches. Horse and rider lurched forward, a
ccelerating into a gallop. Elizabeth watched the hoofs trample dry dirt and tufts of grass. She lowered her head, feeling a light breeze wash across her cheeks. She guided the horse right and left, weaving around errant rocks, and when she was satisfied with the rush of air and soil, she pulled deftly at the reins, turning the horse around, and abruptly struck a pose.
A ribbon of dust settled behind her, revealing Sparrow, Maude, and Robins. The trio still stood by the corral’s high fence. They stared at her, speechless. After a long moment, the Deputy raised a hand to his head, groped his Stetson, and doffed it.
The corral stood on the edge of town, far from the bustle of Main Street. The quartet had agreed to meet here, to avoid Ezra’s busybodies. They were an odd-looking posse, and the last thing Elizabeth needed was a rash of townie gossip. Out here, there was no one to notice them. The corral was old and falling apart, and the wizened old rancher was grateful for the business. He had asked a pretty penny for the horses’ rental, but Elizabeth was happy to pay extra; to mount a horse again, to plunge into the open desert, was a priceless indulgence.
Sparrow leapt onto his horse with ease, then trotted gracefully behind. But Maude approached her pony with stiff shoulders. She bent her arms, searching the air with her hands, as if the animal were engulfed in flames. Robins did his best to assist her; he murmured some words to Maude, then bent over and laced his fingers. Maude stepped onto his hands, then lifted herself onto the dwarfish nag. But she landed diagonally across the saddle, throwing her arms around the animal’s neck. She looked less like an equestrian than a castaway clinging to her raft.
Sparrow sidled up to Elizabeth. He drew a cigar from his vest pocket and sniffed it. “With all due respect,” he said, “you sure you want her along?”
“Where I go, she goes,” Elizabeth declared, unconvincingly. “Anyhow, she’ll get the hang of it.”
The sun inched into the sky. Elizabeth avoided her pocket watch, for their passage across the valley felt timeless, and she wanted to relish their progress. The horses clopped over grass and stones, past bunches of fescue and groves of prickly pear. Elizabeth had seen deserts before, but the Sonoran wilderness was so different from the undulating dunes of the Sahara. Here, the vegetation was an orchestra of textures and shapes, colors and crevices. Just when the place seemed devoid of fauna, a waifish lizard scrambled across the pebbled ground, or a bird whizzed across their field of vision.
No two riders rode the same way: Elizabeth sat high atop her horse, as if trying to peer over the approaching mountains. Robins slouched comfortably, his reins bundled in his gloves. Maude cowered, biting her upper lip; she braced her shoulders against an inevitable fall. But the most dignified of all was Sparrow, whose body turned nearly sideways; he held the reins in one hand while pressing his second hand against his hip. If Elizabeth didn’t know better, she’d mistake him for a gaucho.
Robins broke the silence.
“When we get there,” he said, his voice mealy, “I’ll scout ahead and see if this coast is clear.”
“Nonsense,” retorted Elizabeth. “I’ll go in with you.”
“Might as well make that three,” Sparrow rejoined.
“I don’t mind the Indian coming,” said Robins gruffly, “but you’re the brains of this operation, Miss Crowne. There’s a time and place for bravado.”
“If they’re in there,” said Elizabeth, “three are better than one.”
Robins leaned sideways and spat into a thistle. “I’d almost agree with you, if I’d brought more than two pistols.”
Elizabeth smirked at this, then reached into her satchel. From its depths she lifted her Colt 45. The weapon was heavy in her small hand, but she aimed its barrel confidently at the sun. It was an older model, carried long ago by her grandfather. But Elizabeth had cleaned the gun lovingly, and its black metal gleamed.
“Well, now,” Robins said. “I’d call that six very convincing arguments. How’s your aim?”
“Fair to middling,” Elizabeth confessed. “Shall I give it a shot?”
Robins shook his head. “Too close now. No need to tell ‘em we’re coming.”
Elizabeth spied the water tower first. The container was squat and misshapen with age. It perched atop a wood platform with missing beams; the structure leaned painfully, on the cusp of collapse. As they came closer, Elizabeth saw shattered packing containers scattered about. An overturned wagon occupied a shallow ditch. Broken chains and bits of machinery were dispersed across the gravel, the metal pocked and russet-colored. Everything was still. Sunlight screamed from above.
Elizabeth slid from her horse and felt the blood flow back to her calves. She drew a field canteen from her bag and swigged from it, then handed it to Maude, who desperately gulped from the small opening. Elizabeth gazed at the mountain ahead of them, a messy pastiche of stone and soil, fissure and scrub. The rock wall rose high above them, casting a meager afternoon shadow. And there, at the bottom, was the mine. The opening was a rectangle of darkness, its edges pecked and irregular, its ruddy floor embedded with railroad tracks.
“There she is,” said Robins, stretching his long arms. He gazed into the black maw, took a breath, and whispered again, “There she is.”
Elizabeth wanted to prod Robins once more: Are you sure you’re game for this? But she knew better than to question the graying Deputy in such company. His eyes turned to marbles as they fixated on that gaping tunnel. His face was hard, as if he had no emotion left to feel. Robins’ expression remained constant; he reached a hand into his saddlebag and pulled a small six-shooter into the light.
“You’ll need this, Chief,” he said, extending it toward Sparrow.
The pharmacist sniffed, but he looked more amused than anything. To Elizabeth’s surprise, he grasped the weapon, examined it in his palm, and then whirled it over his
index finger—forward, then back, like a Hollywood gunfighter. The gun then clicked into place, the barrel aimed at the mine’s entrance. His second hand was cupped over its hammer, ready to cock it back.
Robins knit his brow. “Well, now,” he said. “Where’d you learn that trick?”
Sparrow’s body eased up, and he let the gun drop to his side. “Here and there,” he said.
“Here and there,” echoed Robins, allowing a smirk. “All right, let’s get this over with.” He gestured with his revolver toward the water tower. “Let’s tie up over yonder. Would the little miss mind staying with the horses?”
Maude stared blankly, a hand held over her eyes to visor them from the sun. After a moment, she jolted. “Oh, me?”
Robins stepped over to her and leaned on one knee. “Would you do us the favor?”
Elizabeth blushed. His voice was soft and sweet. It occurred to Elizabeth how paternal the Deputy could be. She suddenly wondered if Robins had any children.
Maude hesitated before nodding, as if afraid of a trick question.
“Good, good,” said Robins. “Stay here, and keep the horses company. If you see so much as a Girl Scout out here, you hit the trail as fast as you can, you hear? Don’t even look back till you get back to town.”
“Oh… okay,” said Maude. “I will.”
Robins offered a reassuring smile, then returned to his saddle bag. He produced three helmets, battered and dusty. Each one bore an upright saucer—a carbide lamp.
“Ever use one of these?” asked Robins.
“Not since they invented the flashlight,” Elizabeth returned. “Maybe you’ll illuminate me?”
Robins didn’t trifle with instructions. He took the first helmet and trickled some water into an opening. Once it was full, he pressed his palm over the lamp and triggered its flint. Fire burst around his hand, then diminished into a gentle flame. Robins handed the helmet to Elizabeth, who fastened it to her head. She delighted in the hiss of the carbide that burned directly above her ears.
They were ready, now—helmets affixed, pistols loaded. Together, they turned toward the mine.
“Back in a jiffy, M
aude,” said Elizabeth, winking. Maude could only wiggle a few fingers in reply.
Their lamps spilled light into the shaft. But just beyond that radiance, blackness loomed. Robins maneuvered to the smooth stone wall, then ushered Sparrow and Elizabeth to take the opposite side.
“Stay flush,” Robins said, in the most hushed voice his vocal chords would permit. “You’ll be harder to hit. If’n they start shooting, douse your light and take cover.”
With each step, their leather soles groaned in dust and debris. The tracks cut along the floor, disappearing into nothingness. Each steel segment was warped with age, and the wooden ties were nearly swallowed in layers of smut.
“About a hundred feet or so,” said Robins, “the tunnel will branch off.”
“Which way do we go?” whispered Elizabeth, barely audible over the noise of her flame.
“Both ways, eventually. But we’ll start by going left. I ought to show you something.”
Just as the Deputy predicted, the tunnel forked in two directions. But as Elizabeth scanned the space with her lamp, she noticed the stark difference between them: The right tunnel looked like a regular mine shaft, a square-framed passageway carved painstakingly into the earth. The walls were covered over with wood planks, and vertical beams were planted on either side. It looked like the inside of a frontier cabin, but endlessly deep. The tracks veered right as well, bisecting the smooth dirt floor.
Yet Robins turned left. The tunnel was wider here, more rugged. The maroon rock ballooned naturally around them, untouched by shovel or pick. The floor was hard stone, and Robins had to scramble up the incline. Elizabeth and Sparrow followed wordlessly.
All of a sudden, their lamps no longer lit the walls. Instead, the light poured into a vast chamber.
This was not a mine at all, but a cave. The space was voluminous, and the ceiling arched far above them, like the nave of a church. Elizabeth approached the opposite wall, and her light fell on the stone. Her eyes widened at the sight: The rock rippled and flowed, like pools of honey frozen in space. Elizabeth had never seen such mellifluous shapes, which curled around and around, congealing into a massive spiral. Within the spiral were smaller spirals, looping over each other in geometric harmony. For a moment, Elizabeth wondered whether the shapes were man-made, but she looked closer. Nothing had ever looked more natural than the coiling waves before her.
Ghost Bandits of Sonora (Elizabeth Crowne) Page 5