Jasper Mountain (43 page)

Milena nodded. “Since the start.”

“What’s the word? Have they found Jack Buchanan’s team yet?”

Her heart gave a jump at the mention of Jack’s name. A sign. Did this man come here to help her? Was he a friend of Jack’s?

“No. They have not. He has been trapped for almost twenty-four hours, and they will not do what is needed to find him.”

The man drew back, curiosity shifting his face. “What do you mean?”

“There is a way in, through the other side of the mountain. A network of caverns exists, and somewhere they connect to the mine. I do not know precisely where, but this is the way to Jack and his team. No one will listen. I am, after all, only a woman.”

“Well, ma’am, if there’s one thing my mama taught me, is to always listen when a woman speaks.” He held out his hand. “I’m Harley Quade.”

She took his hand, hoping he was as he appeared, an honest and decent man. “I am Milena Shabanov.”

“Ah, I thought so. The Gypsy. Well, little lady, I happen to be the boss of the night crew. I been rounding up every able-bodied man to hustle up here, and I can see there’s plenty of us at the headframe.” He pulled out a handkerchief and turned away to cough into it. “Pardon me. I’d enjoy a bit of adventure, and I’ll admit I’m intrigued to see these caverns.”

“You believe me? You will search?”

“Ma’am, before I left my home and job in Chicago, I sought the council of a fortune-teller. A Gypsy, purty as you, in fact.”

Heat rushed into Milena’s cheeks, and she was grateful for the dark.

“She told me not to come; called my quest for gold a fool’s dream. Being headstrong and young, I ignored her advice. Been stuck in Jasper penniless ever since.”

Relief tumbled through her. “I do not have words enough to thank you.”

“No need, ma’am.” He tucked her arm through his and led her toward the hospital tent. “Getting Jack and his men out will be thanks enough, don’t you think? Then again, the look on Creely’s face when we bring him up will be a pure pleasure.”

When they got to the hospital tent, Harley continued up to the mine. She watched the light of his lantern until he stopped to speak with a few miners. Finally, some hope.

One of the miners in his group turned to her. He broke from the crowd in the pool of light and walked toward her, fading into the dark. She recognized the familiar face. Rolf.

Startled, Milena took a few steps back. Panic surged through her as she watched the flame of his hat candle come closer. He reappeared on the edge of the light at the hospital tent and stopped, standing so still she did not even see him breathe.

He did not breathe.

“Oh, Rolf.”

He did not answer. Spirits never did. He stared, expressionless.

She wanted to hate him, this man who’d most likely killed Baba. A brute who tried to take her and, when she escaped, followed her, threatened her. But he was completely alone. And in death even more so.

“Let go of me, of Jasper. What you seek is not here. Travel where you must. Go, Rolf, follow the light that pulls you.”

He observed her for a moment. Then he turned away, disappearing into the dark. He reappeared at the edge of the crowd, passed through them, and kept walking to join the gathering around Victor. Then she realized. He wore a hardboil, the candle burning a cold, colorless flame. Dirt covered him; fell from him in puffs.

Rolf’s corporeal body, devoid of spirit, was down in the mine, most likely with Jack Buchanan. They had worked together. And now Rolf was dead. Time slipped away from them all, and Victor moved slowly enough to insure none of Jack’s group had a chance to survive.

On the surface of this rescue, men worked diligently and Victor led with passion, making decisions. She knew his actions reflected an agenda that was his and his alone.

Victor’s spirit chorus grew.

Jack lay beside Digger, close, hoping some of his body heat would warm his friend. At least, make Digger’s passing a little easier. Mouse curled on Jack’s other side. Although Jack was sure he’d felt a small bit of air cross his face, he didn’t find anything close to a way out. There was no way out and nothing left for any of them to do but die.

Death finally silenced Rolf. And hopelessness, the rest of them. How long had they been buried? No way of telling. Why couldn’t he get them out? Digger, Mouse, Pete, Gentleman Bill. He should have done more to stop the mining mogul and his greed. There was no justice in this town. Never justice for men like Victor. Jack’s friends had counted on him, and he’d let them all down. And Buck, back home. The boys. Jo.

All of them had made the mistake of trusting him. He’d failed.

“Jack?” A whisper.

“Yeah, Dig.”

“Remember that night? When we was lookin’ for Laney, and Rolf made a joke?” Digger’s voice came out so weak, Jack strained to hear him.

“I do remember, Dig.”

“I told you then you was my good friend. You are, Jack. Always. I wish I coulda been a better one for you.”

Jack recognized the ripe tone of a man speaking his last words.

“You’ve been the best friend a man could have, Dig. You stood up for me when no one else did.”

“I wish I coulda been better for Bethie, too. I hurt her bad. God, I loved her so much. Can you tell her for me?”

“Sure, Dig.”

Beth? Victor’s mistress? Jack felt way too weary to register much shock. One thing was certain. Creely had managed to rid himself of all his problems with one explosion. Bastard.

“Tell her I’m sorry I lost all our money. All our dreams.” Digger’s voice took on a weak edge of panic. “Jack, I can’t feel nothin'.”

He moved as close as possible and placed his hand on Digger’s chest. He barely felt a rise and fall, Digger’s breathing had diminished so much. “I’m right here, buddy. You’re gonna be fine. They’re looking for us right now, Beth and Milena and Harley and everyone. They won’t let us die.”

“You’re … awful … liar.” Digger managed to grasp Jack’s hand, his touch featherlight.

“I know.” Jack held his friend’s hand gently.

“Tell … Bethie.”

“I will. She knows, Dig. She knows.”

“I just … I just …”

Jack’s face warmed with tears. He squeezed them back, but they sprung out anyway. He spoke, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. “It’s okay, Dig. Just go to sleep. It’s all gonna be all right.”

Digger’s hand loosened. The slight rise and fall of his chest stopped. So easy. So peaceful. So gentle.

Jack went ahead and let out his sob. Mouse curled closer.

M
orning glow crept up behind the headframe, casting a long shadow over the mine proper and the camp at the gate. As Milena returned, she approached the hospital tent. Half a day to the other side, half a day back. Every step Milena took was an effort. Exhaustion set in and her feet dragged as if encased in rock, but she fought to keep going. She could not afford the luxury of collapse.

The hospital tent sat amidst smaller ones, as well as chairs, wagons, bedrolls, horses, dogs, and people sprawled around the temporary housing. The small, densely populated camp had hunkered down, this side of the armed and guarded gate.

Under the hospital awning, the doctor snored, slumped upright in a chair. He stirred when she came near, opened his eyes, and bolted to his feet. “Milena! What are you doing back here?” He rushed to her, taking her hands. “Oh, dear God, don’t tell me—” She shook her head. “No, no. I left the group to their work.” Her connection with Jack grew steadily weaker, like a candle burned down to almost nothing, the flame sputtering as it refused to give up its hold on life.

“You left the search party? Why?”

“Why else? The blind superstition of men.” She’d guided Harley and his group to the entrance to the caverns, but some refused to enter with a woman along. Many didn’t like her anywhere near, saying she cursed their search. Harley convinced her she’d become a distraction and would slow the rescue.

“Blind superstition? From Harley? I don’t understand.”

She shrugged. “The miners refused to venture in the cave while I was there. Harley gave me his promise he’d find Jack.”

“This is an outrage! Come along, we’ll—”

“No, Doctor. They will find him. My presence was wasting time better spent searching.” Every minute was more precious than the purest nugget of gold, and Jack couldn’t afford for them to squander even one. She finally gave responsibility over to Harley and his band of rough, ignorant, yet earnest, well-meaning men. For Jack. The most difficult thing she’d ever done.

The doctor looked at her closely and squeezed her hand. “Come along. I’m relieved you’ve returned. You’re needed.”

She knew this was the place for her, tending Jack’s friends, and she threw herself into helping the doctor with the injured. Hours passed, and she wondered if she’d made the right decision. Should she have waited at the entrance of the cave, helpless, wringing her hands?

No, she was right to return. Wasn’t she? At least at the hospital she could make a difference. Fear constantly blocked her now; she didn’t trust her feelings. Panic squirmed in her, and she struggled to keep tears from bursting through the outwardly calm demeanor she kept tightly in place. She wanted to scream, cry, rip the sanctimonious Victor Creely and his pack of jackals to shreds. The gate remained closed, the officers and their rifles taking shifts to keep out … whom? Women tending the injured.

Frustration exhausted Milena. Victor and the mountain had worn them all down, and with each passing moment hope slipped away.

Joe Anderson, an injured miner barely out of his teens, coughed and wheezed. Milena and the doctor rushed to his bedside, Victor and his henchmen forgotten. Joe gripped her hand but only managed a featherlight touch.

Ambrose sat, draped his arm around her, and his hand joined hers and Joe’s. They sat together, listening to his breathing become shallow. Joe suddenly reared up. Panic bolted through his expression. He settled back, his eyes staring, lifeless. His hand grew slack in hers.

“His chest was crushed. He didn’t have a chance.” When the doctor spoke, his voice was as lifeless as the young man.

Milena thought about summoning a curse, calling the darkest and purest demons from hell to destroy the King of the Jackals. She stood and walked away as the doctor called for men to carry Joe to the tarp.

She fought to keep rage from taking over. Victor Creely wasn’t worth giving over her soul to the dark. At least not yet. Besides, these miners needed her. Jack needed her. She would not let any of them down.

“God, no.”

Milena whirled around at the doctor’s voice. He leaned over the bed next to Joe’s and pulled a sheet over Rory’s head. The miner’s red hair peeked out, refusing the defeat of death.

Ambrose shook his head. “Damn. I thought he’d make it.” He raised his voice. “Another one here!” He looked at Milena, immense pain creasing his face. “He probably died while I slept.”

Isabella came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Ambrose, you are doing everything you can.”

“I don’t need to hear meaningless platitudes.” “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you do.”

Some of the anguish drained out of the doctor’s face. “Well, then,” he said softly.

Thank heaven for the proprietress. Her wry and somehow humorous outlook never faltered, and they all clung to her, a buoyant plank of wood in a sea of endless sorrow. Truly, Milena wanted nothing more than to fall in Isabella’s arms and lean on her strength.

Well, no, something she wished more than that. Jack.

Suddenly Milena stiffened when she realized the last thread of Jack had slipped away. She’d lost their connection; she didn’t know when. Desperate, she whirled around, trying to recapture the feel of him. Nothing. Behind them, the mountain stood unchanging, holding its secrets close.

Voices rose in excitement and broke through her panic.

“Lord, have mercy on all our souls, they’re comin’!”

A wagon clacked around the bend, Harley Quade driving the mules. The rescue party trudged beside, exhausted, filthy. A sick feeling lurched through Milena. A funeral procession. And only one wagon? There had been two. Harley’s face sagged heavily with burden. Something heaped up in the back, covered with blankets.

The dead.

Not even the gently bright colors of day lightened the somber scene. Milena did not think, but drifted toward Harley and his charge, her feet somehow knowing what to do.

No life came their way. Nothing but death, thick and heavy. A hush fell over the camp at the sight of men lying prone in the back of the wagon, stacked like cords of wood. The smell of blood thickened. She did not know if the scent came from behind or ahead. The stench of death wafted everywhere. She tried to keep panic down as she felt a kinship with the women who had collapsed and screamed, ranting when their men were pulled to the surface, lifeless.

The second wagon rounded the corner. Milena steeled herself. Whatever came, she would face it. She had no choice. Isabella stood beside her on one side, and Taryn on the other. Milena held on to them both.

“They found them.” No sarcasm threaded through the proprietress’s voice, and also no lift, none of her usual sparkle or fire. The mine took all. From everyone. Even the indomitable proprietress.