Slocum #396 : Slocum and the Scavenger Trail (9781101554371) (18 page)

“Ahead,” panted Baransky. “I see the mouth of the—”

The explosion caused the ground to lift and buckle under their feet. Slocum crashed into the mining engineer and lay atop him as a rush of debris blasted above him. The shockwave stunned him, but he wondered why it wasn’t hot gas searing his back.

As the dust began to fall from the roof, he realized a mile of tunnel had cooled it. Or was it something more?

“Water,” he said. He dragged Baransky to his feet. “The tunnel’s flooding!”

Gasping, they burst out into fresh air. They fell into the dirt in the middle of a ring of Trueheart’s men. Slocum expected Trueheart to give the order to shoot them, but a look of awe on the man’s face told how transfixed he was by the blast.

“Listen,” Trueheart said so softly he could hardly be heard. “We have changed nature. We are like gods.
I
am a god!” He threw his arms into the air and spun in gaudy circles.

Indians protected their crazies, thinking they were touched by the gods. Seeing Trueheart and his victory dance caused Slocum to believe they were right.

“Water? The roar,” Baransky got out. He stood with hands on his knees, bent over and still gasping for air. Outside the air was fresh, cold, invigorating. “It’s going away?”

“The underground river is draining,” Slocum said.

“How’s that possible?”

“Let’s find out. You two, ahead of us, and be quick about it.” Trueheart motioned for Plover and another guard to prod the two back into the tunnel.

Slocum went willingly, because he was curious about what damage the dynamite had caused. Plover had a harder time forcing Clem Baransky back into the tunnel.

Stepping over rock and other debris that had been knocked loose from the ceiling and walls, Slocum reached the huge cavern. Some of the stalactites had tumbled from the ceiling, but the room was otherwise unaffected by the explosion. It took him longer to retrace his steps to where they had planted the dynamite because he didn’t have the goad of being blown up to keep him running like a bat out of hell.

“Son of a bitch,” Plover said fervently when they finally came to what had been the end of the tunnel. “I don’t believe it.”

Slocum edged forward and shined his light on a wet tunnel with only a trickle of water running down it.

“The explosion blew off the far side of the mountain,” he said. “It drained the river.”

“Into the goldfields,” Baransky said. “It must have sent a huge wall of water erupting from the mountainside across the goldfields.”

Plover said something to the gunman with him, then poked Slocum in the back. “You first. Let’s go explore.”

The empty waterway was worn smooth and slippery, but Slocum made his way for more than an hour along it. The last fifteen minutes inside the evacuated waterway he had strong wind in his face. When he reached the point where the shock of the explosion had blown a hole in the side of the mountain, he looked out and saw the devastation. Mine shacks had been washed away in the broad, saddle-shaped valley. Some mines lower on the side of the hill still gushed water and might for a long time. Anyone in those mines when the water broke free of its channel was a goner.

“We’re right above the smelter,” Baransky said. “That’s the smelter—or what’s left of it.”

The water had poured through the structure and hit the
hot furnaces, which had erupted like volcanoes. Any workers nearby would have been killed outright. Slocum saw where craters six feet deep had been blasted. Some still held water like black stock ponds, but others had been eroded away and spilled the contents still lower on the mountain into the valley.

Slocum saw bodies strewn about the smelter as well as glittering spots in the mud. Gold. Bars of gold smelted and prepared for transport.

“We don’t have to go clean over the pass to get here now. This worked even better than the boss thought it would.” Plover lifted his rifle and sighted in on Slocum.

Slocum’s hand twitched the slightest amount. He wasn’t going to allow Plover to cut him down without a fight, no matter how futile. Before either man could make a move, Trueheart’s booming voice cut across the still landscape.

“Move on in, men. You know what to do. And Plover, get them to hauling. Gold’s heavy and we can use every strong back we can find. It’s not going to be long before the survivors come looking for what we’re taking.”

Trueheart danced around a bit, his coat catching the first rays of sunlight. The cloth had been woven with gold thread, making him gleam like the gold scattered at their feet.

“Yes, sir, this is mighty fine. I’d thought to take a few wagon loads of equipment, supplies, things left by the miners that weren’t too waterlogged. And gold. I never expected to have a road opened up for me smack through the mountain. Who needs cans of beans when we can all have bars of gold!”

Trueheart bent and pulled a bar from the sucking mud. He wiped it off on his coat and held it aloft so the sunlight glinted from its metallic edges. His laughter filled the valley.

“You heard him. Get to rooting around in the mud like a hog. Don’t want to leave a single bar of that there gold,” Plover said.

“You going to help?” Slocum asked. His and Baransky’s execution had only been postponed. After they had moved
as much gold for Trueheart as they could, their reward wouldn’t be golden but rather leaden.

“A good supervisor is worth two workers—at least the two of you,” Plover said, an evil grin curling his lip. He motioned with the rifle for Slocum and Baransky to get to work.

It was past noon before Plover gave them a break. Slocum looked at the waist-high stack of gold bars. One of those could make him a rich man. The dozens he and Baransky had recovered from the flood plain would buy a fancy house on Russian Hill in San Francisco, entry to the Union Club every night, and all the Gran Monopole a man could swill.

Gunshots caused Baransky to perk up. He had been seated, back against the gold, head drooping from exhaustion.

“What’s that? What’s going on?”

“Trueheart’s men are making sure the miners don’t come back.”

“Water’s still gushing from the lower mines,” Baransky said.

“Wouldn’t matter to a man seeing a chance for wealth—or to jump a claim. Might even be some of the miners survived the flood, though I can’t see how that’s possible.”

“The explosion must have cracked open the bottom of the channel and sent the river to a lower level. It’ll flow for a long, long time. There’s no way anybody is getting back to those mines.”

“They’ll try,” Slocum said.

“Yes, I think you’re right. I would have, if it meant my possible death weighed against gold enough for my wife’s operation.”

“Enough of that lollygaggin’,” Plover said. “Get a sledge and start dragging some of this gold to the hole in the mountain.”

“We’re taking it all the way through to the other side?” Slocum asked.

“Start pulling, and we’ll see.” Plover’s answer suggested
that they were safe enough if they worked to move the gold. When they reached the other side of the mountain miles off and through the empty river channel and mile of tunnel, they would become too much trouble to keep around.

Until then…

“I found a pallet,” Baransky said, “that will be good for dragging along.”

Slocum attached rope to the front of the wood and then helped Baransky load gold onto it until the slats began to crack.

“Can’t load any more or the sledge’ll break.”

“So?” Plover didn’t sound impressed.

“If we have to carry the gold one bar at a time, we’ll be here for a month of Sundays.”

The distant reports of rifles told Slocum how Trueheart’s men were being challenged. There wouldn’t be enough ammo in the world to keep an angry mob of miners at bay, especially if they realized how their hard-won gold was being stolen. Unless he read Trueheart wrong, Slocum thought the scavenger was more inclined to grab and run rather than stand and fight. He might not make off with as much gold, but his mentality was more like a crow stealing a suddenly shiny object than a beaver diligently building its dam.

“Get on with what you can,” Plover said. He followed them a few paces as they struggled to pull the load through the muddy ground. Once when Slocum turned around to dig in his heels to yank the sledge onto a rocky stretch, he saw how Plover staggered along. Trueheart’s henchman had picked up a gold bar for his own and was having an increasingly difficult time carrying it up the steep hill to the gaping mouth of the underground channel.

Trueheart stood just outside the empty channel, nodding as his men lugged gold into the mountainside.

“You are doing good work, you two. Especially you, Doc. Keep it up and you might find yourself with one of those gold bars.”

Slocum held his tongue. The only way Baransky would be rewarded with a gold bar was if Trueheart smashed him over the head with it. It wasn’t in a scavenger’s makeup to share. He put his back to the work and got the sledge into the emptied riverbed. Slocum slipped and then found himself sailing along.

“The water’s cutting friction,” Baransky said.

“Easier pulling,” Slocum agreed. He kept a sharp eye out for a way to escape. Many newly formed cracks along the floor showed where the river had been diverted. Somewhere ahead of them the main river had gone to a lower level, leaving this one empty. They reached the point where the wall had been breached before Slocum found an escape route for them.

Armed guards urged them into the tunnel. The going proved more difficult here, having to lug the gold over fallen rock, but eventually they reached the far side of the mountain, where a pair of wagons awaited.

Rather than go to Trueheart’s town, Slocum wanted to take the branching road, the one to Almost There, and get the hell away. He knew it was more likely they would be shot out of hand now that they had done the work required of them.

“Trueheart’s getting antsy,” Plover called. “We’re not movin’ enough of the gold and them miners are gettin’ guns.”

“Strange how they’d figure all that gold they scratched out of the mountain with their fingernails and paid to have smelted into bars was theirs.”

Slocum looked up to the driver of the far wagon. Mackley.

Mackley recognized him at the same instant.

“Well, what have we here? You’ll use anybody to do your work for you, won’t you, Plover?”

“Shut up.” Plover prodded Slocum with his rifle. “Get the gold loaded in the wagon.”

Slocum began lifting the heavy bars and piling them in the back of the wagon. When he realized he was the only one working, he stopped.

“What about him? Baransky?” Slocum turned but Plover struck him on the shoulder with his rifle butt. Slocum fell to his knee, pain filling his body. His muscles were burned out from moving the gold and felt weaker than a newborn kitten. He glared at Plover, who smiled crookedly at him.

“He’s got other work to do.”

“If the miners get too insistent on getting their gold back, Trueheart wants the tunnel blasted shut,” Mackley said. “And it’s my job to get this gold down the hill. Won’t do to have it layin’ about where the rightful owners might get it back.”

“We’re the rightful owners,” Plover said, laughing. “We stole it fair and square!”

“You’re going to steal it from the rest of your gang,” Baransky called out.

“Get him back into the cave,” Plover snapped. “Do it or I’ll plug him and plant the dynamite myself.”

Baransky was pushed and shoved back into the tunnel, screaming the entire way. Slocum tried to use the diversion to make an escape. Whether Baransky did it with this in mind or was only protesting his own fate, Slocum couldn’t say, but he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. He got his feet under him and launched himself so his shoulder hit Plover in the belly. The man’s belt buckle cut into Slocum’s numbed arm, but he didn’t stop driving with his legs. Only when he hit a patch of sand covering rock did he slip and fall. This gave Plover time to recover.

Slocum looked up into the rifle muzzle.

“Good-bye, Slocum,” Plover said. His finger tightened on the trigger.

“I still need him to load the gold,” Mackley called. “When he’s done, tie him up real good, toss him in the back of the wagon, and I’ll take care of him at the bottom, after he’s earned his keep. I can use him to unload down there.”

“Why should I help when I know you’re going to kill me anyway?” Slocum grated out. Needles of sensation danced along his arm. He rubbed circulation back. The deadness turned into outright pain. Careful flexing convinced him Plover hadn’t broken his collarbone but otherwise he wasn’t in good shape to fight.

“Here, catch,” Plover said, tossing Slocum’s Colt to Mackley. “It’d be good to shoot him with his own gun.”

Slocum saw he had no choice other than to continue working. They were right. Every minute he worked was another minute he stayed alive. It took a while, but he finally loaded the gold into the wagon. The axles creaked and the wagon bed sagged under the heavy load. He spun, thinking to jump Plover, but the outlaw was too quick for him.

Plover kicked Slocum’s feet out from under him. Once he knocked him onto his belly, Plover snared his wrists and expertly lashed them together. With a heave, he dumped him into the back of the wagon atop the gold. Slocum had to wiggle around to get the heavy metal bars out from under his ribs so he could breathe.

“Don’t screw up, Mackley. I swear, you try anything and I’ll kill you.”

“You worry too much. Everything’s goin’ better ’n good, right? We’re all rich men. I wouldn’t do anything to risk my share.”

Slocum almost called out to Plover to warn him of Mackley’s plan, then bit back the words. Mackley didn’t know Slocum had overheard. Somehow, he had to use that knowledge to his advantage.

The wagon shuddered and began rolling down the steep slope to the road leading into Almost There and away from Trueheart’s hidden town. Mackley rode the brake, his left foot pressing hard into the wood lever. From the way the wagon threatened to overtake the six-mule team, he ought to have shoved a steel rod through the spokes and let the wagon slide down, wheels locked.

Slocum had to admire the way Mackley handled the wagon, though. He rounded the upper bend and started down toward the lower one, where Slocum knew he would let the wagon go tumbling over the edge.