Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy) (18 page)

In time they reached the Vaughn place. Nothing looked disturbed since they had left it the day before. They climbed higher and dismounted right beside the creek, where the horses and mule could graze and drink while tied to the aspens that bordered the water. They walked over to the mine entrance and Nic lit several lanterns. He gave her a long look that said,
You ready?
And when she gave him a nod, he entered the tunnel they hadn’t returned to since they had so narrowly escaped the water two days prior.

“You want to wait out here, Everett?” Sabine asked. She feared it would be too much for the boy, being where he had almost lost Nic and her, so soon after losing his father.

But he shook his head. “I want to go with you.”

“All right,” she said. She bent and lit the last lantern, following the men who had gone in already. She glanced over her shoulder. One of the three deputies took up position at the entrance. She had seen the other two take up positions farther out, on either flank.

She and Everett found the men at the end of the second tunnel, peering down into the still flowing shaft. “Ah, you opened up a new channel for an underground river,” said one of the surveyors.

Briefly, Nic told them what had happened to Sabine and how they had gotten out.

They all turned with wide eyes toward her. One of the investors, the portly Mr. Woodveis, smiled in wonder at her. “Well, you are quite a woman. Quite a woman, indeed.”

They turned back to the cliff face, examining the crevice where they had extricated most of the gold. The surveyors began extracting samples, measuring ore quality with a portable kit, and nodding in satisfaction.

“You think the vein continues?” Mr. Woodveis asked Nic. “What makes you so certain?”

“Well, the men of the Dolly Mae believed it was true too. Their surveyors said, judging from the plates you can see here—” he paused to trace the first with his hand— “and over there too, there’s a good chance that it might follow all the way down the mountain. Geologic forces remained consistent. No reason it shouldn’t be there. But then that’s the guessing game of gold mining, right?”

“Right,” said the taller, broader Mr. McManus. “And if it follows those plates, that’s where it would descend beneath Mrs. LaCrosse’s property, correct?”

“Correct,” Sabine said.

“Any idea where that water exits?” the second surveyor asked. “Or does it stay belowground, best you can tell?”

“There’s a large pool on the other side of my property,” Sabine said. “As the snows melt, a waterfall from above feeds it. It flows all summer. The water is crystal clear. I’d guess it’s about fifty feet lower than the mine entrance. My guess is that river might feed it and exit there.”

Mr. McManus smiled in satisfaction. “If you’re right, Mrs. LaCrosse, then this water issue will be easily resolved. We can use the water as a hydraulic source to quickly open up the mine, then drain it down to a level we can easily manage. We’ll only need to secure enough property for a drain field.”

“And make certain we don’t flood St. Elmo,” said Mr. Woodveis with a jowly laugh that made his belly rise and fall.

Everett frowned and Sabine wrapped an arm around his shoulders. It was the nature of the big mining companies to take such actions. It was why they could get a thousand times more gold that Nic, Sabine, and Everett would ever see. But it meant their beloved Gulch would never be the same again. They would need to move far from this place.

The two surveyors were speaking in hushed, excited tones to each other. Mr. McManus went over to chat with them, his low voice rumbling across the tunnel. Sabine wandered over to the two other investors, sheriff, Everett, and Nic, who were all peering down the shaft.

And that was when they heard the explosion, felt the earth tremble. A second later they were all knocked off their feet.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sabine came to and blinked, but she could see nothing. She coughed and looked around, trying to gain any glimpse of light at all. Nothing. Only black the color of tar.

Cave-in,
she registered at last.
The mine has caved in.
After an explosion. Dynamite, by the sound of it.

“Nic? Everett?” She couldn’t breathe, the air was so thick with dust. She fought off the desire to give in to panic. Where were they?

“Mrs. LaCrosse?” asked a deep voice. “Mr. McManus?”

A man moaned, from about ten feet away. One of the surveyors. No one else responded.

“Nic! Everett!” Sabine called again, hearing the note of hysteria in her own voice but unable to stop it. They had been right by the edge of the shaft. She crawled across the ground, in the direction of the sound of rushing water, praying she would come across one or both of them. Nothing. Nothing but rock and dirt beneath her hands. And then the shaft. She leaned over, smelling the fresh scent of water, feeling the mist billow up and bathe her face, giving her the first clear breath possible.

But the men were gone. Nic. Everett. The sheriff. Mr. Woodweis. Mr. Avery, the third investor, a mouse of a man. “Nic!” she called down the shaft, knowing it was hopeless. “Nic!”

Mr. McManus reached her, touching her shoulder. “Sorry,” he said. “Let me help you up, Mrs. LaCrosse.”

Wearily, she rose, but her knees felt weak, as if they might give out at any moment. “They are gone?” Mr. McManus asked in his low, kindly voice.

“Down the shaft,” she said, hating the weakness of her voice.

“So … they might be in the cavern where you found yourself?”

“Or worse,” she said. Drowned. Knocked unconscious by the blast, swept into the current and through the cursed tunnel.

“Step lively, Mrs. LaCrosse,” he said. “Let us choose to believe they are all right. But first, we must ascertain the degree of our cave-in. Would you be so kind as to take my hand so we don’t lose each other?”

She reached out and found his hand, wide and warm, grandfatherly. It gave her some strength. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Nic and Ev were still alive.… They moved forward slowly, tentatively, down the tunnel toward the entrance, taking a left at the corner. She stubbed her toe on the first boulder. “Oh, no,” she muttered. “Hello!” she cried. “Can anyone hear me?”

Was there anyone on the other side? One of the deputies? Or had they been killed by the explosion?

“Hello, there!” called Mr. McManus. “Hello!”

They both held their breath, listening.

Hoping the deputies who’d been on duty could hear them, they shouted again. But then the report of two rifle shots, in quick succession, silenced them “Whoever trapped us in here meant to do it,” Sabine whispered in shock. “And now we have ten feet or more of mountain between us and the exit. Maybe as much as thirty feet, if the whole entrance caved in. Do you know how long it took Peter Vaughn to excavate that far?”

Mr. McManus said, “A year or two?”

“Two.”

“But we wouldn’t need to pull out that much rock. Just enough to let us through.”

“So that someone can shoot us on the other side?”

o

Nic had hit the far side of the shaft so hard, he almost passed out. But then he fell and landed in the water below. When he came up, he called out for Everett. The boy was right beside him, sputtering and gasping. “Take a deep breath!” he cried, right before they were sucked through the tunnel. It was all he could do. He had never even asked Everett if he knew how to swim.

He held him firmly with one hand, stroking with his other, willing the tunnel to end, the cavern to arrive. Everett struggled against him, clearly panicking, wanting to rise, grabbing hold of rocks, slowing them down.

But then he stopped struggling.

No, no, no, Lord. Please, Lord. Not this one. Not this child. He’s innocent! Innocent! Save him, Father. Save us both.

A moment later, they were out, popping to the surface. Nic wept as he pulled Everett into his arms. “Everett! Everett! Come on, boy! No. Please God, no …”

He pushed through the chest-deep water toward the edge of the pool, ignoring the other voices in the cavern as he lifted the boy onto the ledge. “Ev, come on. Come back to me. Please,” he said through his tears.

Panting and weary he lifted himself out of the water, partially landing on Everett. “Come on, Ev!” he cried. “Take a breath!” He moved away, and as he did so, Everett coughed and from the sound of it, spewed water from deep within.

“Everett? Ev!” Nic said, pulling him into his arms. He could hear the others, splashing their way toward them.

The boy coughed again, fearsomely, and then said, “Nic? What happened?”

Nic laughed and yanked him up to his chest, now crying and looking up, even though he could not see anything. “Oh, Lord. Thank You. Thank You, thank You.”

“Sabine! Sabine!” he shouted.

“I think she was farther back in the shaft, Nic,” Sheriff Nelson said.

“Drew,” Nic said. “Glad you made it.”

“You too.”

Where was Sabine? Was she was all right?

“Are you okay, Everett?” Nic said, pulling his attention back to those he could reach. He was so thankful, so grateful, that Everett wasn’t gone forever.

God had spared him. Again. And Everett too.

Please be with Sabine, Lord,
he prayed silently.

“Mr. St. Clair?” asked a small voice beside him.

“Please, call me Nic,” he said. “Mr. Avery?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Woodweis?”

“He’s over here, gone,” the sheriff answered for him. “Drowned on the way through. Sounds like we almost lost Everett.”

“We did,” Nic said, pulling him close.

“Uh, Nic?” Everett asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can you let go of me now?”

Nic laughed and loosened his grip on the boy. “Sure, sure. But stay right here beside me, all right? It’s darker than a mother’s womb in here.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Drew said. They listened to him strike a flint over and over again. Finally a candle was lit.

“You carry a candle with you?” Nic asked.

“I work in mining territory. I’m never without it. Lucky for us it was in an oilcloth.”

They all breathed a sigh of relief and looked around at their dripping wet companions, glad not to be alone, but at a loss as to how they’d get out. Nic looked beyond Mr. Avery to the plump body of Mr. Woodweis on the shore of the small cavern pool, his legs still in the water. Nic shivered when he realized that could’ve been Everett.…

The sheriff stilled and stared up, beyond Nic. Quickly, he moved around the group and held up his candle. The warm light was blocked by stalactites. The shadows its light cast danced in eerie fashion. The cavern was vast. But the closer he got to the far wall, the more the light danced. Against flecks and chunks of gold. “There’s your vein again,” the sheriff said in wonder.

Nic met Mr. Avery’s astounded gaze.

“You, Mr. St. Clair,” Mr. Avery said, “will be a very wealthy man.” He turned to look Nic in the eye, adding, “If we ever get out of here.”

Nic rose and stood beside the sheriff, staring in awe at the fifteen-foot-high wall—thirty feet high at the apex—and the beautiful gold streak running down it, two feet wide.

“
When
we get out, Mr. Avery,” Nic corrected. “When we get out.”

o

Moira was thankful that she had purchased tickets for a special first-class sleeper car in Denver, shortening her transit to New York to just four days and four nights. The train still stopped but half as often. A couple of times, the sleeper cars were transferred to new engines, keeping them moving at the fastest rate possible.

She remembered their long, arduous journey out to Colorado the first time; six days in uncomfortable, dusty, smoky cars. Odessa’s terrible wheezing … it was a miracle they had arrived at all. And that made her think of Dess, and sweet baby Samuel, Bryce, and … Daniel.

Daniel. Did he even realize it yet? That she was gone? Not that this was about him. This was about her. Her baby. Her past. Her future.

She ate and sat and slept alone—the most continuous amount of time she’d had to herself since her days in Paris. And even then, she’d been surrounded by servants, most of her days and evenings filled with social engagements and appearances. The solitude of the train was a strange, and yet welcome, experience.

She finished her luncheon in the dining car, staring out at the endless plains that passed by outside, fields warmed by the high, bright sun. She could feel the stares of passersby, but she ignored them. She knew her veils gave her an air of mystique; she also knew that if any of those intrigued by her visage got a look beneath, any sense of mystery would disappear.

The group of four, at a table across and down from her, were loudly urging their companion on to something. She glanced up and studied them. A well-dressed man smiled and rose from his table, walked over to a small piano in the corner, and sat down. He pulled music from his coat pocket, set it in front of him, and began to play.

Moira’s breath caught. “The Veil Song.” One of her favorites, from Verdi’s opera
Don Carlos
. She closed her eyes and fought to keep from swaying with the slow crescendo of it, the hint of the chorus already in her mind. She didn’t know how long she was humming along when she abruptly opened her eyes and glanced around, wondering if anyone had noticed.

But all appeared to be engaged in the pianist’s work. He was a small, mousy, nondescript man, but he was quite accomplished. Moira had to grip the table to keep from rising, walking over to him, and singing. The play was about an ill-fated love that ended in devastation. Moira laughed under her breath. No wonder it was a favorite of hers. Like its protagonist, she had longed to be with her one true love, but the selfish machinations of others kept them apart—like those of Reid Bannock.… She only hoped her story would have a happier ending.

She looked out the window again. Another day would soon be over. How many would she spend striving after the unattainable, rather than accepting what she had? She sighed and gave her head a little shake. She was merely weary. Overwrought. Sleeping on trains was difficult, far from the quiet nights of the ranch. Perhaps this night would be better.

She rose and set her napkin on her chair.

And that was when she saw it. A piece of paper in front of her, with “Moira Colorado” written across it. She looked up and around her quickly, to see who might’ve slipped it onto her table, but everyone was staring toward the pianist, not at her. Holding it closer to her, she unfolded it and took a peek at what was inside. It was one of Gavin’s old posters, sent to towns ahead of her during her tour to help publicize her appearance.

I know who you are. I think you’re still beautiful. Will you sing for me?

A chill ran down Moira’s back. Again she glanced around, but there was no one looking in her direction. She gathered her bag and shawl and rose, exiting the dining car as fast as she could. She looked over her shoulder and then down the hallway of the sleeper car.

It was empty.

She saw no one who looked ill placed, no one moving as if to follow her. She rushed down the hallway, keeping her hands out to steady herself as the car rocked back and forth around a bend. With shaking hands, she pulled a key from her pocket and tried to get it into the lock. “Come on,” she whispered, feeling as if the eyes of her enemy were upon her.
“Come on.”

Finally, the key slipped in, she turned it and opened the door, thankful that the steward had already been there to turn down her cot and light her small oil lamp. With some agitation, she managed to get the key back out of the lock, slammed the door, and threw the bolt into place. She backed away from it, as if she thought someone might crash through. But no one came.

Her knees felt weak. Moira sank to her narrow cot. The room was nothing more than two beds, a desk, chair, and small window. But it was hers alone.

What was she to do? Go to the conductor? And tell him what, exactly? That someone was following her, claiming to know who she was? What peculiar kind of threat was that?

She rose, pulled the heavy wooden chair to the door, and jammed it underneath the knob. Whoever was following her, whoever thought they “knew” her, would have a hard time getting through the door now. And if they didn’t want to get her, what did they want?

Moira stared at the door for hours, until her eyes grew heavy with sleep.

Common sense told her no one was coming, not with neighbors on either side and no easy escape route. But fear kept her rooted in place. She adjusted a pillow behind her back and pulled a light wool blanket to her shoulders, intent on keeping watch until daybreak.

But in time, she drifted off to sleep.…