Slocum's Silver Burden (16 page)

“He might not have given them a choice, but the amount of lead they pumped into him says that they didn't much want to take him alive.”

“That means they knew where he hid the . . . silver.”

Slocum looked at her when her words trailed off. She put both hands on the muddy bank, then plunged her head underwater the way he had. Only she didn't surface. She kept her head under so long she began blowing bubbles. Just as Slocum started to pull her back, she exploded from the water. A huge grin lighted up her face.

“I know where the silver was. In the pond!”

Slocum shoved his head underwater and this time kept his eyes open. When he surfaced, he said, “You're right. Baldy dumped the silver in the pool. But it's gone now.”

The smile on Tamara's face faded as she realized he was right.

“Who took it? It hasn't been gone long. Even I can see how it was dragged out from the water.”

“The bars left deep holes,” Slocum said. The water hadn't erased the outlines of the removed bars yet. Hiding it underwater showed how clever Baldy had been. Rather than finding a cave where others might look, he had dumped the crates into the water, effectively hiding them from view. If the water was the least bit muddy, no one would ever spot the silver.

The calm wind and the still, warm day had settled the mud and made it crystalline. Finding the crates had been easy for whoever rode off with the silver.

“It has to be Riley and Harry,” said Tamara. “If it had been another posse with a lawman, we would have met them as they came out with the silver, ready to send it back to San Francisco, just like Montague's.”

Slocum walked around, studying the tracks. Three horses. He should have studied the hoofprints left by the specials' horses to find nicks or loose nails. That small sign would have given him positive identification now with the perfect imprints in the soft ground around the pond.

“It doesn't matter who killed Baldy and took the silver. We can overtake them. Their horses are heavily loaded.”

“Heavy enough to account for half the silver?”

“I don't know,” he told the woman. “If the silver Deputy Ford shipped back is any indication, I don't think this amounts to much more.”

“Or any more? You're saying Baldy and Drury didn't hide their shares together?”

“Drury might be the one who shot down Baldy, but I don't think so. There were too many gunshots for one man to be gunning down another.” He kicked at spent brass all around. Baldy had been shot a dozen times or more by two different rifles. If it had been Drury's doing, he carried a powerful hate for his partner that Slocum hadn't seen. “Still, opium can rot a man's mind and make him do things he would never consider otherwise.”

“Baldy might have denied him the drug,” said Tamara. “Addicts get violent when deprived.” She bent and scooped palm after palm laden with water into her mouth.

“You done drinking? The horses have had their fill. We've got some silver to retrieve.”

Tamara let out a joyous whoop and clambered into the saddle, her skirts flying about as she settled down. Slocum had to ride hard to catch up with her, but by the time they left the meadow and once more walked their horses along a rocky stretch, she had calmed down.

“If Baldy didn't hide Drury's share, that means we can get as much as half the shipment all for ourselves,” she said.

Slocum kept his eyes on the ground, only occasionally glancing up to be sure they weren't riding into an ambush. If anything, they found themselves in terrain once more turning dangerous with steep cliffs showing up where valleys ought to be. For the riders ahead, this meant a slower pace. Even better, the bends around the sheer rock faces cut off a view of their back trail. Slocum thought they could sneak up almost unseen on the riders ahead.

“John, ahead. See?”

He squinted in time to see a horse tail flicking back and forth before vanishing around an angle. The drop-off to the right grew from a few yards to what Slocum estimated to be a hundred feet. The rush of a river told him why this deep ravine had formed.

“I'll get as close as I can, then—”

“Listen. Do you hear that?”

A train whistle blasted through the silence. Tamara twisted about, getting her bearings.

“We're not far from the railroad tracks again, but this time we're several miles to the east. This trail curls back toward the tracks. It has to.”

“If the riders in front of us hadn't known that before, they do now.”

Another blast from the steam whistle died down. Slocum fancied he could hear the powerful engine and the grating of wheels against rails.

“That must be a limited. The deputy and his posse took the scheduled train back to San Francisco. This one must be highballing it through from Sacramento. That doesn't happen often, but when it does, the train usually carries legislators or even the governor.”

“Will it overtake the train with the silver?”

Tamara shook her head.

“Once at the summit, the other train can steam ahead at full pressure. They might arrive at the depot about the same time, but this one's not going to run into the other. Why does it matter? Do you think if there's a crash, we could loot the silver?”

Slocum had to hand it to the woman. She had a one-track mind. Her need to steal the railroad's metal had to have a deep motivation. His own was simpler. David Collingswood had insulted him, impugned his good nature, and both the man and the company deserved to pay for it. Losing the silver would not sit well with his board of directors. Slocum took some satisfaction in the chance that Collingswood would be fired and thrown out into the street.

However, he knew men like that always landed on their feet. A vice president for a major railroad, no matter how bad his errors in judgment, always found another job without too long a wait. Mingle a bit among the wealthy residing on Russian Hill and go to a smoker or two and the Central California Railroad's competitors would make him a job offer. The only real satisfaction Slocum would get had to be recovering the silver and keeping it.

“The train's stopped. Do you hear, John?”

He craned his head around but didn't hear what the woman insisted to be the truth. Then he jumped as the whistle let out three long blasts. The train's rattle faded quickly.

“It stopped, then built up a head of steam, and is heading on into Oakland.”

“Why would it stop?” Even as Slocum asked the question, an answer popped up and turned him cold inside.

The train had let someone off. Or worse, it might have taken on passengers.

“Not that,” Tamara said, reading his mind. “The men ahead of us are too far from the tracks to get aboard the train.”

“Then another posse might be waiting for the men with the silver.”

Both of them kicked at their horses' flanks and shot off, but Slocum had to rein back and slow to a walk when the trail turned into another of the treacherous ledges along the top of a cliff. He called to Tamara to slow down, but the woman pushed ahead. Cursing under his breath, he dismounted and walked his horse, thinking this was safer than riding should the mare stumble. Pressed against the rocky wall, he followed the trail around a sharp bend and was relieved to see it opened onto a rocky area that stretched forward to the eastern pass where the Central California Railroad had laid its tracks.

His relief passed like a feather blown away in a tornado when he saw that Tamara had caught up with Riley and Harry. The specials were unlimbering their rifles to shoot her out of the saddle as she galloped toward them. At this range any shot Slocum made would be wasted. He tried anyway.

Pulling his Winchester out, he judged distances, elevated the muzzle to arc the bullet since a flat trajectory was out of the question, and then he fired. The bullet sailed too high but still got a result he could be proud of. Riley's horse reared, forcing him to lower his rifle. As the horse danced around, spooked by Slocum's bullet, the special banged into his partner.

Tamara coming to her senses and realizing she was outgunned was too much to hope for. She rushed forward. Her arm swept out and hit Harry in the shoulder, adding further confusion to the one-sided fight. Slocum had no choice but to join the fray. He vaulted up and got as much speed from his horse as he could. He kept the rifle snugged into his shoulder and fired, but his shots all went wide since he didn't want to accidentally hit Tamara. She and Riley were locked in a fight on horseback.

He swung his rifle around and clipped her on the side of the head. She tumbled to the ground. Slocum fired faster now that the woman wasn't blocking either of the men. His shots came close but only frightened the horses. He stopped firing when he saw that Tamara was rolling and dodging the horses' flying hooves. Both specials' horses reared and pawed at the air before coming down hard only inches from her.

The men got their mounts under control. For a brief instant Slocum hoped Tamara could escape. When new firing came, it took Slocum a second to realize what danger he was in. The lead sailed past him—and past both specials. From the direction of the railroad tracks charged four men, all firing.

“Stay down!” His warning to Tamara went unheeded. She was on her feet, trying to get out her .22 rimfire pistol.

Slocum found himself caught between Riley and Harry as they tried to escape the posse. In close quarters, he swung his rifle. It cracked against Riley's, lifted to deflect the blow. Slocum tried to twist around and grab the man but lost his balance. He crashed to the ground. His rifle fell some distance away. Stunned, he tried to get to his feet, but Harry caught him with a boot in the back of the head.

Stunned, Slocum dropped facedown again. Bees buzzed in his head, and everywhere he looked turned double. He fumbled out his Colt as he rolled onto his back. Deciding which image to shoot at proved impossible. He shot at both blurry Rileys above him, first left, then right. From the gasp of pain, one had been a successful shot.

Then Slocum stared up into the blue California sky. A puffy white cloud tried to sneak over a distant mountain peak. He tried to hold back the laugh when he saw how much it looked like David Collingswood. Then he sagged back to the ground and closed his eyes. Red pain filled his skull. When he opened his eyes, he saw a familiar face.

“Didn't think I'd find you out here, son,” Underwood said.

“Just trying to do the job I was hired to do.” Slocum sat up and laid his six-shooter in his lap.

“You leave that piece where it is. Don't go reachin' for it.”

Slocum looked up. His vision cleared enough to see that Underwood held a scattergun in his good left hand. It was aimed smack at Slocum.

“You're after the wrong one,” Slocum said. “The two specials tried to steal the silver shipment for themselves.”

“As if that thought didn't dance through your brain, just for a second or two. And you might be goin' 'round tellin' folks you work for the railroad after Mr. Collingswood fired you.” Underwood looked over his shoulder. “Her, too. That's a pity. Miss Crittenden prettied up the office and made goin' to see Mr. Collingswood worthwhile.”

“You came on the train from the east?”

“Me and the boys was over in Sacramento runnin' down a lead on the stolen silver. Heard tell of a big spender shovin' silver bars across the poker table like they was dollar chips. Turned out to be a wild-goose chase.”

“You'd better get to flying if you want to catch those two geese.” Slocum jerked his thumb behind him.

“John, they got away with the silver!”

“Miss Crittenden, good to see you again.” Underwood stared at the distraught woman with more than polite attention.

She looked down, saw her blouse had ripped away, exposing one breast. She hastily pulled up the torn cloth and struggled to hold it in place.

“Don't go doin' nothin' special for the likes of me,” Underwood said.

“You're a dirty old man,” she snapped.

“Can't deny the truth. Always was, always will be, I reckon, until the day I die.” Underwood looked up as one from his posse trotted back.

“We got 'em both pinned down,” the man reported. He looked at Slocum and Tamara. “These the two you was huntin'?”

“Any proof those two yonder got silver bars?” Underwood asked.

“That's why they couldn't get away. A packhorse and both their saddle horses goin' on swaybacked from the weight atop 'em. They're carryin' something heavy. Must be the railroad's silver.”

“I agree,” Underwood said. “Get on back and help Gus and Squinty. We'll be along in a few minutes.”

Without another word, Underwood's man wheeled around and raced back to the fight. Sporadic gunfire told of the posse keeping the specials under cover and not allowing them to escape but still not inclined to make a real fight of it.

Underwood swung his shotgun around, pointed at the space between Tamara and Slocum. He heaved a deep sigh, used his mangled hand to swipe at sweat leaking from under his hatband, then finally said, “What am I gonna do with you two?”

“We—”

“Be quiet, Miss Crittenden. I was sent out here to bring you both in. Mr. Collingswood caught wind of you scramblin' around to find the silver and steal it. It wasn't me. I don't know where he heard that, but he did. The reward on your heads is danged near as big as on the actual robbers.”

“He's got problems with the board of directors and wants to use us as scapegoats,” Tamara said, ignoring how Underwood twisted slightly to cover her with the shotgun.

“Don't know about his woes, but you both have a world of trouble ahead if I take you back.”

“Riley and Harry have what's left of the silver,” Slocum said. “Give that to Collingswood. That'll make him forget all about us.”

“Well, now, I don't know how that would work out. You sayin', Slocum, that what those two idiots stole is the remainder of the silver?”

“Deputy Ford put some on the train ahead of yours heading back to Oakland.”

“Some?” Underwood perked up.

“They've got the rest,” Slocum said, looking in the direction of increased gunfire. “They ran down Baldy and killed him.”

“Baldy?”

Tamara hastily told of the four robbers and the trouble they had getting away with such a heavy burden.

“Mr. Collingswood thinks there was somebody in his office what told this Jackson fellow and the others about the shipment. You wouldn't know who that was, now would you, Miss Crittenden? Mr. Collingswood is comin' 'round to pointin' the finger at you to cover his own hiney. Seems he ignored Slocum's earlier accusation and wants to sweep it—and you both—under the rug.”