by Jane Toombs
"It's the God's honest truth he's telling us,” Pike said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “There's naught in that there wagon ‘cept barrels of whisky. Mighty good whiskey, at that."
At dawn, the miners posted around the Reid Mine looked up at the mountains silhouetted darkly against the pale yellow sky. From the buildings below them came the sounds of laughter and singing.
"We'd best get a move on,” Hal suggested, “before old Reid gets wind of what's going on."
"What can he do if he does?” a miner asked. “Practically all his men are in them buildings."
"Let's move,” Hal said, raising his rifle above his head. From the crest of the hill another rifle was raised in answer to his signal.
Crouching, the men ran in relays across the rock-littered yard, dark shadows in the dim light of early morning. When they reached the first of the buildings, Hal put his heel to the door and kicked it open, quickly jumping back.
The men inside were singing “Oh, Susanna."
"All right, boys,” Hal shouted. “Let's go in there and get ‘em."
The miners charged, crowding through the door, their pistols and rifles ready. Inside they found three gunmen passed out on the floor. The others stopped singing and looked up with foolish grins on their faces. One by one they staggered to their feet and raised their hands.
The siege of the Reid Mine was over.
"There wasn't any trace of Van Allen Reid,” Lester Harrington told Monique later that evening at The Flame. “We went down into the mine and rounded up a few more of his gunmen, but by that time Reid had vamoosed. He could be halfway to San Francisco by now."
"Will you drive me to see where the fighting was?” Monique said. “I want to go to the mine and the Reid Building."
"Be glad to, though there's not much worth looking at. I expect that ten years from now this'll be remembered as a wild and woolly shoot-out, but actually only one shot was fired this morning. That was when Hank shot himself in the foot. Made a mess of his big toe. The only other casualty came from the night before. One of the boys took a flesh wound in his left arm."
"I'd like to go anyway.” Turning to Mariana, she said, “It's all right to open up, even though they haven't caught Van Allen Reid. You can go ahead and take care of that."
The Spanish girl nodded.
"Want me to come along?” Jess asked.
Monique shook her head. “There's no need. Keep an eye on things here. I expect the boys will be in a celebrating mood."
As Harrington drove her to the mine, he was strangely silent, as though he had something on his mind. After stopping briefly at the mine, they rode through Virginia City to Reid's office building. The street outside was empty, the building's battered door hung ajar.
Harrington helped Monique out of the buggy. As they climbed the steps, she hesitated. “I just remembered something,” she said. “Van Allen told me there was an entrance to the mines from the cellar of his building. You don't think..."
"That he came back here instead of hightailing it out of town? That's not likely. Why would he?"
"I don't know.” Shaking her head, she continued into the building.
Their footsteps echoed in the long, dark hallways. In the deserted offices, papers were scattered on desks and floors. In one room, the door to a small safe gaped open.
"Grabbed the money and skedaddled,” Harrington suggested.
She tended to agree. When she opened a door at the rear of a corridor on the first floor, she found herself looking down the stairs into the musty gloom of the cellar.
"Let's go down,” she said.
Harrington brought a lamp from one of the offices, lit it, and led the way into the cellar. When they reached the bottom of the steps, he held the lamp above his head. The large room, whose beamed ceiling was supported by huge wooden timbers, smelled of dampness and decay. Tall storage cabinets ranged along two of the walls.
"No sign of any tunnel here,” Harrington said. “You must've misheard him."
"She didn't mishear me.” As he spoke, Van Allen Reid stepped from behind one of the posts, his face darkened by a growth of black beard, his hair covered with dust, and his black clothes streaked and rumpled. In one hand he held a pistol; in the other he carried a leather satchel.
"No need—” Harrington began.
Van Allen fired. Harrington cried out, dropping the lantern and stumbling back to sprawl on the steps. Monique, too startled to speak, fell to her knees beside him, trying to determine how badly he was hurt. She looked up to see Van Allen looming above them. He put the muzzle of his pistol to Harrington's head.
"No,” Monique said. “Don't."
"I won't kill him if you come with me without making a fuss,” Van Allen said.
Seeing Harrington about to protest, she shook her head at him. What choice was there?
"I'll go with you,” she told Van Allen.
He thrust the brown satchel at her. “Take this.” She found it surprisingly heavy. Van Allen, after retrieving the still-burning lantern from the floor, led her to the far wall of the cellar, where he shifted an empty storage closet to one side. She saw the black, gaping entrance to a tunnel.
Van Allen ducked his head to enter. Monique followed. The floor of the tunnel slanted downward in front of them, the earth overhead supported by great timbers almost within reach of their hands. As they hurried into the darkness, she saw other timbers spaced some six feet apart on both sides of a tunnel that steadily widened until she could see only the near side in the light from the lantern.
As they descended, the air grew hotter, making her realize they were in one of the old mines, abandoned long ago to darkness and decay. The passages and the chambers were ghastly, crumbling ruins, and the tunnel floors were littered with fallen rocks and dirt. Supporting timbers had been twisted into strange shapes, with some crumbled down to half their original length by the weight of the mountain overhead. The air was foul and musty. Gigantic fungi grew from the moist and slimy walls and, at times, phosphorescent lights glowed in long-abandoned stopes leading off to their right and left.
Hell must be something like this, she thought. He means me to die down here. Die in hell. All of a sudden it occurred to her that if she died, what she feared she may be carrying inside her would also die, without ever having a chance to live. At that moment she knew if she got out of this horrible place alive she'd never use any of Ah Sing's herbs to try to rid herself of what she carried.
Van Allen stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. She stopped, too. Listening, she heard sounds far behind them, as though someone followed. Something? Down here she could almost believe in demons.
"It can't be Harrington,” Van Allen muttered. “He's leg-shot."
Monique gathered her wits. Someone, not something, followed. Hope blossomed within her as she heard the echoing steps come on, nearer now. Peering into the darkness behind her, she detected the faint hint of a light.
"Give me that.” Van Allen snatched the satchel from her.
He knelt in the rubble on the side of the tunnel floor and opened the satchel. Inside she saw not only coin pouches, but fuses and cylinders of what she guessed were explosives. Van Allen carried a fuse and several of the cylinders to the tunnel wall. A match flared in his hand and a moment later she heard the deadly hiss of a burning fuse.
"We've got five minutes before she blows,” he told her.
* * * *
As soon as Reid and Monique disappeared into the tunnel, Lester Harrington, grunting with pain, crawled up the cellar steps to summon help. When he reached the door at the top, he forced himself to his feet, doing his best to ignore the throbbing ache from the bullet wound in his right thigh. He staggered along the hall, leaning on one wall for support.
A man pushed through the broken front door—Jeremy Johnston. Harrington let out his breath in a great sigh of relief.
"They told me at The Flame you might be here,” Jeremy said. “What happened to you? Where's Monique?"
"That bastard shot me and took Monique. There's a cellar entrance to the mine. Reid took her in there."
Jeremy cursed and edged past him, heading for the cellar stairs.
"Wait,” Harrington said. “I'm going with you."
"It's not your concern,” Jeremy called over his shoulder.
"You're wrong. It's more my concern than yours. I'm her father."
Jeremy halted and turned to stare at him. “Her father?"
"That's right. I knew her the moment I set eyes on her—she looks just like her mother. I didn't say anything to her because I didn't want to disappoint her. Who needs an old drunk for a father?"
"You underestimate her.” Jeremy's gaze took in the blood staining Harrington's right pant leg. “Best thing you can do is to go for help."
"You're right. I'd just hold you back. You're armed?"
Jeremy patted a pistol in his belt.
"There's lanterns in the cellar. You'll need one to go after them."
Jeremy nodded and ran down the cellar stairs.
* * * *
"Bring the satchel,” Van Allen told Monique.
She snapped it shut as he, lantern in hand, started down the tunnel. Monique started to heft the still heavy satchel, then paused. Damn it, she was not going to die down here. But if she followed him, she surely would. He'd kill her in the end, so she might as well take a chance now.
Dropping the satchel, she turned and ran as fast as she could back the way they'd come.
"No, you don't, you bitch!” Van Allen shouted and pounded after her.
As she raced up the gradual slope, stumbling on loose rocks, she saw the swaying light from his lantern and heard his footsteps come closer and closer. His hand grabbed the back sash of her dress and she felt it tear off. She plunged ahead, free for a moment, only to feel his hand seize her arm and yank her back toward him. She stared desperately ahead and saw the faint approaching light of another lantern maybe a hundred yards away.
Van Allen saw it, too, shoved her aside and she fell in the dirt and rocks on the floor of the tunnel. When she saw Van Allen set down his lantern and go for his gun, she screamed. The gun's roar seemed to shake the mine, the flash momentarily lighting walls and ceiling with an eerie glow, while the sound continued to echo. Dirt cascaded down onto her hair and face.
Peering ahead up the tunnel, she could no longer see any light. Van Allen glanced at her, then back along the tunnel, and she knew he must be calculating how much time he had before the burning fuse ignited the explosives. Two minutes? Three?
He picked up his lantern and ran down the tunnel. Grabbing up the satchel from where she'd dropped it, he raced past the lighted fuse. Monique pushed herself to her feet and stumbled up the pitch-black slope, feeling her way by holding one hand to the tunnel wall. When suddenly a hand touched her, she screamed.
"Monique.” She recognized the voice.
"Jeremy, oh, Jeremy,” she cried, starting to throw herself into his arms. Then she held. “We have to hurry. He lit a fuse to blow up the tunnel."
Jeremy unshielded his lantern, grasped her hand and together they ran up the slope. They got no more than fifty feet when an explosion rocked the earth, the concussion slamming them to the ground. Debris fell on them as dust filled the now-dark tunnel. The lantern was gone.
"Are you all right?” Jeremy's voice came from her left, and she groped toward him, hearing the sound of water gurgling.
"Yes,” she said as their hands met.
He pulled her to her feet. “Hurry!"
As they raced up the slope, warm water trickled from behind, filling Monique's slippers, inching up her ankles to her calves. Stumbling in the dark, sometimes falling, they hurried on as fast as they could. When at last Monique realized the gloom was lessening and understood they were nearing the opening into the cellar, she dropped to her knees, exhausted, and found the tunnel floor was dry.
Jeremy urged her to her feet and held her. “We're safe,” he murmured. “Just a few more feet to go."
"Van Allen?” she asked.
"He must have drowned when the water flooded the mine. It came from in back of us—where he was."
Clinging to Jeremy, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Van Allen Reid was dead. Philippe was avenged. She'd looked forward to this moment, planned for it, dreamed of it. She'd expected to be exultant, or at least satisfied. Instead, she felt nothing.
Jeremy released her, took her hand and let her to the tunnel entrance.
"How is Laura?” she asked.
"She died last week.” His voice held inexpressible sadness.
Monique longed to comfort him, but had no idea how. Finally she said, “I came to respect Laura. She was too young to die."
They crawled through the opening into the cellar. As Jeremy led her across to the stairs, he said, “Laura told me you two had talked. She used the same word for you. She said she respected you."
Tears filled Monique's eyes. How odd to be weeping for the woman she'd once thought she hated.
"We'll talk more later,” he said. “I've moved back to Virginia City, so there'll be time."
"Time,” she repeated. When had she and Jeremy ever had much time to spend together?
At the top of the stairs, they saw Lester Harrington, followed by a crowd of miners, hurrying toward them along the corridor.
"Mary,” Lester said. “Thank God you're all right."
It didn't register until much later, when she was back at The Flame, bathing herself in a tub of warm water, what Harrington had called her. Mary? At the moment she was too exhausted to wonder why.
* * * *
More than a week passed before Lester Harrington came to call on her, limping and using a cane. “Doc Jamison took out the bullet,” he said as they seated themselves in the parlor.
"I'm glad you weren't hurt worse,” she told him.
"I'd be dead it you if weren't for you. Reid meant to kill me."
She shuddered. “He was the most evil man I ever met.” She studied Harrington. “You called me Mary."
He ran a hand over his face. “It slipped out. I didn't mean to let on."
"You mean let on that someone told you I'd changed my name from Mary to Monique? But who could have? In Virginia City, only Philippe and Jeremy knew."
Harrington shook his head. “I knew you for Mary Vere when I first saw you. You may not realize it, but you're the picture of your mother when I met her more years ago than I like to remember."
She stared at him. “My mother? You knew my mother?” Belatedly it dawned on her what he was trying to say. “Oh, my God, you can't be my father!"
He gave her a rueful smile. “I'm afraid I am. A poor example of a father, I admit."
Monique rose, crossed to his chair, sat on the arm, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Father,” she said softly, tears in her eyes.
He wasn't at all what she'd imagined as a child, but she was no longer a child. It was enough they'd found one another after all these years. “I like having you for a father, Lester Harrington,” she said.
He'd no sooner left than Mariana came into the parlor, saying, “Miss Monique, I need to speak to you. You know Joe Ryder."
Monique did. He'd been George's surveyor and a constant customer of Mariana's when he was in town. “Yes,” she said. “What about Joe?"
Mariana clasped her hands above her breasts. “It was so romantic. He came to see me yesterday, and once we got in my room, he went down on one knee and he asked me to marry him.” She sighed. “He was very sick one time and thought he'd die. He told me I was like a breath of Lake Tahoe air, the same that cured him, and it came to him he needed me in the same way he'd needed the lake air when he was sick. So what could I do?"
"I take it you said yes,” Monique said.
Mariana nodded. “I hope you won't mind. We're getting married right away because he has a new job in the pueblo of Los Angeles."
Monique hugged her. “I'm happy for you. And, no, I don
't mind. The truth is, I'm thinking of turning The Flame into a hotel. I intended to make sure all of you girls were well taken care of, so I'm doubly glad you've found a husband in Joe, and I'll provide a dowry. Do you love him?"
"He's so romantic, how could I not?"
Watching Mariana all but dance from the parlor, Monique couldn't help but remember her own time with George at Lake Tahoe. She sighed, then shook her head and directed her thoughts to the present. She had so much to think about, so much to do.
* * * *
A week later Jess brought her a note from Jeremy, asking that she meet him at the Enterprise. He doesn't want to come here, she thought. He doesn't want the reminder of that awful night when I enticed him to The Flame. How could she blame him? Still, he could have invited her to his house. Or could he? Maybe it was too filled with memories of Laura.
She dressed carefully and had Jess drive her to the newspaper office. Jeremy waited outside, helped her from the buggy and then into the carriage he had waiting.
"I thought we'd take a drive to Lake Washoe,” he said.
"You must know by now that Lester Harrington is my father,” she said.
"He told me that night Reid shot him. He said he hadn't wanted to burden you with his presence."
"I know. How could he ever imagine I wouldn't want to know my father?"
"I haven't wanted to burden you with my presence either,” Jeremy said. “It's taken me a while to realize I didn't return here only because I wanted to get away from San Francisco, but also because you're here. The problem is, I can't seem to live without you."
She felt a rush of joy. Perversely, though, she said, “Just as you can't live with me."
He smiled. “There is that. Anyway, I'm not ready to try, not yet. I think we both need time to change some, as best we can. I want you to know I've discovered money isn't as important as I thought. It's not more important than those you care for. I knew from that time on the ship I was the first man who'd ever made love to you, and I hated myself for what I took from you then. Maybe that's why I was so harsh with you. All this, of course, depends on whether you're still willing to put up with me."
She didn't answer for a moment, deciding what to say now, and what could wait until later. “You're right. We need time—a year at least,” she said finally.