Shock replaced De Vile’s earlier impatient disdain. His mouth dropped open, exposing his perfect white teeth. “You what?” His eyes bulged in disbelief.
“I helped myself, from a ready source known to us both. And seeing as how you’re stealing from the same source, you can’t object, surely? But just in case…” He waved the gun airily in a circle, gesturing to the papers in de Vile’s hand.
“Apart from the invoice, there’s your confession. It details the commissions I carried out at your request. It makes clear all matters were done under your orders, as part of your accepted business strategy: Extortion, threats, violence, blackmail, fraudulent boosting of mining shares… The late unlamented Madam Moustache even makes an appearance. It will be my passport to freedom, signed by the about-to be-inducted senator for California.”
Martens thrust out his chest and sneered. “Yes. A neat quarter of a million plus a confession and we can call it quits, Senator de Vile.”
De Vile had gone very white. His Adam’s apple bobbed feverishly. Graysie watched as he raked his pocket for a handkerchief and then mopped his sweaty cheeks.
Martens regarded Graysie over the gun barrel. “And I have a special destiny planned for you. I figure one Aussie bloke is much like another.” He paused. Tilted his head.
“But of course you may not agree. Seeing as you’ve missed out on Nathan Russell, I thought to myself, she can marry me instead. We’ll tie the knot today.
“Your wedding present to me will be the Ophir mine and the Vance Pedersen report.” His mouth was drawn into a frozen, fake smile, and his eyes were gimlet hard.
“I don’t like to be beaten by a woman. And as my good little wifey, I’m sure you will be more than delighted to turn those over to me, your adoring husband.”
A malevolent glitter did not hide his serious intent. Her stomach roiled.
Martens stepped off the carriage onto rocky ground and gestured to them to follow. Her knee gave way as her foot hit the ground, but she grasped the doorjamb and righted herself before she crumpled in the dirt.
The road ended here, in front of an arresting rock formation, a spacious cavern like a natural cathedral, with striated pink ripples in the stone rising up to a domed rock ceiling.
As her eyes adjusted to the bright glare, she saw half a dozen heavily armed men loitering in the shade. She was completely outnumbered. Pulling a gun on Martens would be equivalent to committing suicide.
Martens pointed to the path that led to an opening in a rock face and waved her ahead of him. “Now come and meet Billy, our marriage officiant. We’ve got a lot to accomplish before sundown.”
Graysie stood under the outer edge of an expansive rock cupola and stretched up to take in the pink- and gray-streaked stone canopy high overhead. It was an extraordinary geological formation, a natural dome with wide open sides, its walls said to display ancient painted petroglyphs.
In different circumstances, she would have been entranced by her surroundings. Today her senses were overwhelmed. She’d stumbled along in front of Martens, dazed and unseeing, like a sleepwalker in a bizarre nightmare, fighting to convince herself this was all really happening.
De Vile had been separated from her and taken away immediately once they’d left the buggy. She had no idea where he was, or what his fate was to be. As for Martens, he was all blustering confidence. But she didn’t think he was bluffing when he boasted that his men would kill de Vile if anything happened to him, so she complied with his demands like a mechanical doll.
She signed the fake share documents ceding him ownership of the Ophir. She denied flat-out that she had the Pedersen report, but she was under no illusion that if she survived, Martens would seize it.
She acquiesced to the wedding arrangements, nodding wordlessly at Martens’s instructions. But when it came to getting dressed in the gown he produced, she risked fighting back, insisting she needed somewhere private to change. Even in her bewilderment, a deep survival instinct drove her, and some part of her continuously scanned her surroundings, watching for a chance to escape.
She donned the wedding dress, a full skirted white chiffon creation, in a small cave to one side of the main cavern, pulling it on over top of the beige riding skirt she’d worn as suitable for a mountain outing. Martens wouldn’t notice the extra volume, she was certain, and she’d go to the altar with a pearl-handled pistol bumping on her thigh.
A fierce certainty burned in her gut; she would unload her pistol into her prospective husband’s chest without flinching if she could do it without endangering anyone else.
They stood facing Billy in front of the small table set up like an altar with a candle burning on it. Martens was creepily suave in a quarter-length black evening coat and starchy white shirt, the hip-bulge of his gun belt under his jacket strangely at odds with the elegant attire.
Sour-smelling Billy B wore a bizarre brocade cape which he might have imagined made him look like a bishop, Graysie thought. The cheap mockery was like a knife in her ribs. The difficulty he was having reading the order of service led her to suspect he was barely literate.
Whenever an image of Minette or Nathan came to mind, she had to tamp down the bubbles of hysteria that rose from deep within her. Each time she deflected her attention to tiny details to avoid pitching into desperation.
The striated colors of the rock walls, the tweeting swallows that flitted from nests on high up ledges, the light clink of the tiny shells fastened at the neck and wrists of her dress as she moved, the fly that buzzed around Billy B’s noxious smelling hair. Anything to hold off her total collapse. Most critical of all, she shut her mind to what would follow the ‘wedding’.
She’d been adrift, barely aware of Billy’s mumblings, when she realized she couldn’t hear what he was saying. His words were being drowned out by the drumming of horse hooves. From a barely audible distant tapping it grew to a thundering tattoo that demanded attention. She glanced at Martens. He was slack-jawed, staring behind her with bug-eyed incredulity.
She wheeled around to stare as the posse—she saw at once that’s what it was—rode up, headed by a familiar tall, lean figure wearing a deputy’s badge who dismounted in one swooping stride. Sebastian! Sebastian was here. And at his shoulder, grim-faced and galvanized, rode Nathan. Nathan too slipped from his mount and, in half a dozen strides, the brothers were standing before her.
Nathan was here. Nathan was alive? She had found it impossible to accept he was dead, now she could hardly comprehend that he was standing in front of her. Her tongue filled her mouth, leaving no room for air. She choked to speak, but no words would come.
“I…” she croaked. “I thought you were dead.”
He took her face in his hands gently and she was surprised to see his fingers were immediately shiny and wet from the tears that streamed down her face. “I very nearly was. I had to keep going for you.”
He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Thank God you’re alive. Now don’t move. Stay here while we finish this.”
She turned back towards the cave and saw that Martens and his noxious off sider had vanished. Pages of the marriage order of service fluttered on the ground, the sacrament table lay overturned. A light gray smoky wisp rose from the snuffed out candle that lay at her feet.
Sebastian came up alongside her. “What’s going on here?” He cocked his head to one side. “It’s all too blasted weird.”
“They’ve got de Vile.” Graysie gasped the words in a rush. “Hidden out back somewhere. You’ve got to stop them.” Nathan was watching her intensely.
“Where? Where do they have him?” he rasped.
“I don’t know. Somewhere out there.” She waved wildly to the back of the cavern. “They held him up at gunpoint too. Separated us when we got here.”
Sebastian turned urgently to the men who backed him. “Jeb, Sam, spread to the right, take any right pathways into the underground system. Russ and Lightning, take the left. Nathan and I will take the cente
r.”
The brothers turned as one and set off at a run. Their companions fanned out either side of them. Graysie stood for a moment unsure of what to do next. She couldn’t do nothing. The shells on her filmy white wedding gown tinkled as she hoisted up her hem and ran, following Nathan into the center path.
Fifty Two
The tunnel leading out of the back of the dome was sandy floored, wide and level. Graysie could see well enough in the dim daylight to half run, half walk, the Russell men’s backs sometimes bobbing into view, sometimes disappearing out of sight.
Shards of daylight slanted through narrow ground-level fissures high above. The air tasted fresh and clean on her tongue. They were in a twilight zone, moving into deeper shadow as they ventured on.
She loped on for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then her soft leather ankle boot struck something hard, and she crashed forward onto her hands and knees, unprotected skin on rock. Her grazed palms stung, moist with bloody abrasions. She limped a few steps, trying to ignore her bruised cut knees, and knew she had to slow down.
The twilight dimness was slipping into darkness, and it was a lot harder to see. Something light and hairy landed on her shoulder. She forgot her burning knees, slapping her bleeding hands up and down the white chiffon to stamp out whatever had landed on her. She was panting. Spider, cockroach, she knew not what, it had to go. Her nostrils caught the stale mustiness of bat dung.
She’d lost sight of the men, the darkness forcing her to move more cautiously. As she rounded a corner, she heard the sibilant hiss of a waterfall. Another spacious cavern opened before her, the water falling from a high overhead cliff face to form sluggish dark lake at the bottom. Spray filled the air with a damp mist, and as she peered through it, her heart caught.
One of Martens’s men stood at the lake side, his rifle trained on the darkness, seemingly straining to hear any sign of human intrusion. She very slowly sank to the ground and froze until she saw he was slowly rotating, his back now facing her.
She shrank onto her belly and wormed her way over to the cover of a rocky outcrop on her left. The hated wedding dress snagged and ripped as she slithered over the rough ground. As soon as she was hidden from sight, she rose and shredded the skirt, smiling to herself as the water’s roar masked the rasp of tearing fabric.
She was left standing in her durable riding skirt and the fraying wedding dress bodice. Dirty and bedraggled she undeniably was, but she felt like a butterfly freed from its chrysalis. Be Martens’s wife? She’d rather die. She felt in her pocket and pulled out the Derringer.
She heard a rattling of pebbles behind her and cringed into the darkest crevice of her monolith, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for the source of the noise to show.
She didn’t have long to wait. Coming down the trail were four heavily armed men, rifles held at the ready in front of them. She could tell immediately that they were not Sebastian’s party, regrouping from one of the other arms in the cave network. That meant they must be in Martens’s pay. She shivered and froze in her hiding place.
They passed so close that the foul-smelling bear fat men smeared themselves with to keep lice and fleas at bay snatched at her throat. Her eyes streamed and her chest heaved as she fought to keep silent.
They’d barely gone past before their guns boomed in a kettle drum volley on her near right. Her knees sagged. The calamitous barrage told her they were armed with the latest in weaponry, the sixteen shooter repeating rifle used by Civil War raiding parties that was rapidly gaining popularity in the West. Against them her Derringer and the revolvers Nathan and Seb carried would be powerless.
Her stomach rolled in nauseous turmoil as she waited, collapsed in a heap at the base of the rock pile, for what would happen next. After half a minute, a second series of shots shattered the background noise of falling water.
They sounded like they had come from revolvers—probably the Russell men returning fire. Against the rifle noise they sounded puny, like Fourth of July fire crackers. She hugged her ribcage in cold terror and prayed as earnestly as she ever had in her life.
Dear God, please get us all out of here alive!
*****
Nathan stood with his back pressed hard against a cleft in the cave wall. A flicker of light from behind them had alerted him and Sebastian to the presence of someone coming and they’d just had time to get under cover before the intruders arrived.
They’d barely got in position before the guns opened fire uncomfortably close to them, but they weren’t the target.
As he’d had made his way underground in Seb’s dauntless, steady wake, Nathan had been struck by the evidence around them that this network of grottoes, caverns, and tunnels had been well used in time, going back no doubt to ancient hunters.
The charcoal remains of long extinguished fires, scattered animal bones from past meals, discarded leather boots and rotting fabric, the detritus of human occupation was scattered all around them as they had walked on in silence.
But the past was never more strikingly brought home than in the grotto they’d entered just before the shooters turned up. They’d paused as their eyes adjusted to the new space, the water cascading from overhead, an errant shaft of daylight from a ground level crevice highlighting white foam edges as it fell.
A wide shallow pool had formed at the base, the light reflecting off gentle ripples rolling onto a dark sandy shore, the remnants of a blackened fire circle evidence men had once gathered here to rest.
One of them remained. As Nathan took in the scene, he saw a man sitting, his back propped up against a loaded canvas pack, feet turned towards the ash circle, frozen in time. The ambient light from above caught the sepulchral slash of white cheekbone, his face partly obscured by a broad brimmed hat.
A steel cooking pot lay on the sand beside him, any meal he may have thought to prepare superfluous now. Nathan did not need to step any closer to satisfy himself this fellow had been at his ease in this grotto for a long time. He was reaching out to catch Seb’s arm to draw his attention to the tableau when the thumping of heavy feet warned them again they were not alone.
They couldn’t see the men who had barged in on them from their hiding place, but their skittish reaction to the campfire scene told them they shot first and asked questions later. They’d peppered the cadaver with long raking bursts of gunfire before realizing their mistake and breaking into hysterical laughter.
“It can’t be bad luck if he’s already dead!” hooted one. The light from the lamp they carried swung in wild jittery arcs.
Sebastian leaned into Nathan’s ear and hissed, “Give me time to circle behind them and then create a diversion.” He gestured down the trail with his revolver. “I’ll immobilize as many of them as I can and we’ll scare the rest off.”
Seb vanished into the darkness. Nathan stood and concentrated on listening hard to interpret what the intruders were doing. They seemed to still be clustered at the campsite.
The clang of iron on rock gave him a clue they might be taking a drink from the fresh waterfall, catching the flow in the pot he’d seen lying on the sand. He caught snatches of conversation: enough to confirm they were expecting to join Martens farther up this trail.
From the high-pitched giggles of a couple of the men he wondered if water was all they were drinking. A man the others referred to as Bruno seemed to be the leader, and after more drinking and chatter he guessed it was Bruno who spoke: “We’d better get moving or he’ll slat our brains out. We can get drunk when the biz is done.”
More nervous laughter, followed by concurring mutters. “Sooner we get out of this hell hole the better.”
Nathan edged furtively out of his hiding place. Must be just about time for Sebastian to make his appearance.
Hugging the dark side of the rock, he worked his way into a position where he could see the men. They were standing in a group around the cold fire pit. The tip of a cigarette glowed in the dark, filling the air with an exotic spicy smoke that hinted at
cinnamon and pepper.
The lantern was sitting on top of the dead man’s pack, spreading a circle of light at thigh level. The miner was no longer propped up and, in the dark, Nathan could only guess he was sprawled somewhere outside the circle of light.
Then an uncanny keening shriek, like an angry owl contesting for territory, pierced the cavern. Its source appeared to be from the far side from where the men were standing, between the fire circle and the trail leading farther in, and the group swung to face it.
The hairs on the back of Nathan’s neck stood on end even as he congratulated his brother silently at the scouting skills he’d acquired, tutored by war. Then with a deep breath he prepared to play his part.
He braced himself against the rocks at his back and, in one long infinitesimally fluid movement, he aimed his revolver at the lamp. With a marksman’s direct hit he shattered the lantern glass and snuffed out the light.
As the bullet struck, the men screamed in terror, and Nathan fell belly-down on the cavern floor. A wild volley of retaliatory fire zipped harmlessly over his head.
The frightened mutterings died. He could hear heavy breathing, the men’s feet crunching on the shore debris, sticks cracking underfoot, and then more wild chattering broke out. “What the devil… Bruno. Where’s Bruno?”
Nathan could hear them stumbling around in the dark, falling over one another, calling for their leader by name. Silence answered. They paused as a group, and then a wail rose from one of them, and the others joined in. “Aiee…. The black witch… Lechuza. Lechuza the black witch is here.”
Strike three. Nathan felt warmed by a sense of jubilation. Lechuza was the malevolent being of Mexican belief who whistles to men in the night to tempt them into disaster.
The curse of the owl had found its mark, and Bruno was gone, spirited away. It had been Sebastian’s specialty in the war that ended three years ago, this secret, subtle extraction of men and information, leaving no trace that he’d ever been there.
Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4 Page 28