Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1) (2 page)

As the flood
waters
exposed
the
Sullivan
portal, dank
,
fetid air from the bowels of the mine rushed out
. Hi
ssing
a warning
to those
who might seek her riches
.

C
hapter 1

S
itting with
my
feet propped up on
my old cherry
-
wood
desk,
I
was
deep into re
-
reading a
very hard
-
to
-
find copy of
L. K. Hodges
’
s
Mining in Eastern & Central Washington
.
Written
in
1897
,
it
’
s
arguably the best surviving record of mining in the late
eighteen hundreds
in this part of
Washington State.
And a book that never le
aves
my
office.

I
pulled out a pencil to make a few notes on
old
mines in the upper Methow
River area.
I
’
d just s
tart
ed
to write
when my
desk phone rang
. I
jump
ed
like a gut
-
shot bobcat
.
The
pencil
lead
,
leaving a check mark
-
looking thingamajig
gashed across the paper
in place
of a word.

“
Damnation
.
”
I
mutt
ered
,
pick
ing
up the phone.
“
Geology office, Trace Brandon speaking
.
”

“
Trace, Will Coffee here
. W
ant to grab a beer at five?
”

“
You bet
. M
eet you at the
First Inn
?
”

“
See you there,
a
migo
.
”

Will
Coffee
was a good friend
and
former classmate at
Central
Washington
University
in Ellensburg, Washington
. He
’
d been a star
center for the
CWU Wildcats
football team
while
pursuing
his business degree. After graduation,
Will
had gone
on to get
his law degree from Gonzaga
,
in Spokane.
He
was a
stand-up
guy and handy in a
n
altercation.

While Will
had been
completing his undergrad and law degrees,
I
had
knocked out
my
BS and MS
degrees
in economic geology
at good old
CWU
.
I
had
moved away from E-Burg, as the
a
lumni referred to
Ellensburg, after complet
ing
my
masters. Will
had done
likewise after passing the Washington State bar exam.
B
oth
of us
had
wanted
to polish off any rough edges with a bit of
Fortune
500
experience. Will
had
snagged work in the legal and land departments of Cal-Tex
Oil
C
ompany
in Los Angeles
, while
I
had
honed
my
mineral exploration skills with Continental
Minerals Corporation
in Denver
, Colorado
.

About
eight years
in the corporate meat grinder
had done
the trick.
Now in our early thirt
ies
,
w
ell
-
honed,
and still single,
we
’
d
migrated back to E-
B
urg and hung out
our
respective
shingles.
I
had
rented a second
-
floor office in the old
Phoenix
Building
on West
Sixth
Street
. Built
just before
the great Ellensburg fire
of
1889
, the building had been
resurrected
from the
ashes
and restored
. H
ence
,
the
name
.

At five sharp,
I
was standing in front of the
First Inn
,
a
long time E-
B
urg watering hole favored by the students
at
CWU
. An
d
by
a few of the locals who could put up with
them
.

“
Hey, Trace, how
’
s it hanging?
”
Will said
,
ambling
down the sidewalk
from his nearby law and
abstract
office
.

His office location
just up the block from
the
First Inn
,
wasn
’
t a coincidence.

“
Twitching
and
slightly to the left, pard,
”
I
replied
,
with a smile
.

Will laughed
and shook my hand
.
“
Boy howdy,
can you believe
this
June
weather
?
”
he
asked
,
glancing
around
.
“
Kind of makes you forget about
last winter, don
'
t it?
”

“
Yep, you can
’
t beat E-
B
urg
in the summer and fall
,
”
I
said, open
ing
the bar door.

The barmaid,
Tina Hart,
a tall
,
busty red
-
head with killer green eyes,
spotted
me
and Will coming through the door
and threw us a quick wave.
Tina
and I
maintained an ongoing, semi
-
serious relationship. Meaning we slept together whenever possible.
She often told me I reminded her more of a cowboy than a rock hound.
She said it helped make up for me being just
shy of
good
-
looking.

I
returned the wave and held up two fingers. Tina nodded and went to the bar to get two bottles of
Tumbleweed Ale
, known to the male student body as simply . . . T and A
.
O
ur
usual
libation
.

In
a couple of minutes
,
Tina made her way through the happy hour crowd to
our
table
.

“
Lordy,
L
ordy,
if it isn
’
t
Diamond Jim Brady and his trusted companion
,
Slick Willie
,
”
Tina said
,
with a chuckle
, handing
us our
Ales
.

“
I God, but you
'
re sassy
,
Tina
,
”
Will replied,
doing his best
Gus McCrae imitation.

“
Sassy
,
but damned
good
-
looking
,
”
I
added, elbowing Will
in the ribs
.

“
You know, Trace, for a guy with no money, you
sure
got a lot of
style
,
”
Tina said
,
with a laugh
,
before
turning to the next table of
thirsty
customer
s
.

“
Y
es,
m
a
’
am,
”
I
called after her
.
“
T
hank you.
”

“
So,
podjo,
what
’
s shaking
in the geology world
?
”
Will asked
.

I took a healthy pull of my
ale
and set the
frosted
mug on the table.
“
Well, since you brought it up,
I have
b
een
doing some research on the old
Winthrop
mining district,
”
I
replied.
“
I think I
’
ll
head up that way in a couple of days and do a little prospecting.
”

“
Got wind of something?
”
Will asked, a
misch
i
evous
glint in his eye.

“
N
othing
specific, but after a flood like this spring
’
s
,
a lot of fresh outcrop is exposed
.
You never know, a
virgin
vein might be
sticking up shouting,
‘
C
ome and get me, come and get me
!
’
”
I
said
,
with a laugh, thinking about Curly
in
City
Slickers
II
.
“
A
nyway, it
’
s worth a look.
”

“
Well
,
keep me posted if you find anything
worth staking
.
We
,
down at Dewy, Cheetum
,
and Howe
,
are always available
to
handle any legal
or title
work
.
”

“
Roger that,
”
I
replied,
clinking my beer mug against Will
'
s.

A couple of days later,
I
packed up
my
1976
Ford Bronco with maps,
a
GPS,
a
Brunton compass
, clothes, boots
,
claim posts
,
t
he
full
-
meal deal
.
My
old B
ronco
look
s
a bit worn on the outside, but under the rough exterior
she
’
s pure
Thunder Road.
Sporting
a
high
-
performance
,
302
-
cubic
-
inch engine
coupled
with
a
four
-
speed manual transmission and
dual chrome exhaust pipes
, she
'
s m
y
pride and joy
,
and a
very
fast
mover
.