The Great West Detective Agency (21 page)

The instant she cut him, she dropped her knives and hugged him. Then she shoved him away and spoke in English.

“You are too easily captured. Why?”

“Where is the dog?”

“Dog, dog, is that all you care about?” Vera picked up her knives and drew back as if she intended to gut him with two swift cuts.

“Dmitri stole the dog.”

“That is not so. Tovarich!” She let out a piercing whistle, then called the dog by name.

Lucas realized how well trained the wolfhounds were. Although attentive, not a one of them budged at her call. They remained on duty around him, waiting to sink their fangs into his body and bury him out in the sward.

“Tovarich!” This time Vera spun about, hunting the dog. “Where is Dmitri?” A new burst of Russian sent the others in the camp scurrying away.

Lucas hoped that Good would take his unexpected freedom to jump Vera. He stood motionless, not even touching the cut that continued to leak blood down his cheek and onto the ground. In less than a minute, Vera and two others returned to stand directly in front of Good. She was six inches shorter but not a whit less aggressive. She bumped into him and barked, “What of Dmitri?”

“He stole the dog.”

“He would never betray me!”

“He had no stomach for revolt. He stole the dog and tried to sell it to Clifford.”

“He wouldn't do this to me. We—”

“Clifford took the dog and shot Dmitri. Once. In the face. Here.” Good touched the spot just above the cut on his cheek and tapped.

“Put them in chains. I will see if this half-breed lies to me again!”

Lucas and Good were shoved back and forth and finally knocked to the ground. In turn they were dragged to different wheels and chained securely.

Lucas watched Vera rally her troops and ride away, the pack of dogs barking as they ranged ahead of the revolutionaries. There was going to be more bloodshed. Lucas hoped it was Clifford's. Then he realized what that meant for him. In a game where everyone lost, there were no winners.

L
ucas rattled his chains and studied the rusty padlock. It would take only seconds for him to pick the lock, but those few seconds were denied him because the two Russians that Vera had left as guards sat across from him and fixedly stared at him. They weren't inclined to leave.

“Good, how long before Vera comes back?”

“How can I know?”

“Where did you meet her? You speak Russian.”

“Not much.”

“More than I do, and enough for you to argue with her.” Lucas waited for the Creek to fill in all the empty spaces and satisfy a gambler's curiosity. Good remained silent, staring directly in front of him. “Do these two speak any English?” Lucas finally asked when it became apparent Good was not going to indulge a random need for answers about his personal life.

“They understand enough.”

“So it isn't too smart for us to make plans to escape when they can overhear us.”

Lucas recoiled when one guard snarled and half rose, hand going to a knife at his belt. The other watched him closely but made no threatening move.

“All right, that's settled. They understand enough to keep us prisoners. How did you find out about Dmitri being killed?”

No answer.

“Are you sure Clifford has the dog?”

“The dog ran back here to Vera. Dmitri put muzzle on the dog and stole away to make a deal with Clifford. He had no stomach for revolution and wanted to stay here.”

“Stay here rich,” Lucas said. “Why didn't Dmitri use Tovarich to get the gold himself?”

Good stirred, rattling his shackles. He partly turned to look at Lucas.

“Only Vera knows how to set dog onto the proper trail.”

“But she doesn't know where the gold is. Only the dog can find it?” Lucas thought his head would explode as if dynamite had been detonated in each ear. The harder he tried to make sense of it, the less sure he was that this wasn't a huge hoax.

But a hoax that men as pragmatic as Clifford and Dunbar bought into? Vera and her revolutionaries had come a long way to follow a will-o'-the-wisp. Greed might drive Amanda but Lucas thought she had a practical streak, too, and risking her money and even her life to find something that might not exist was a stretch. Lucas knew the profit possible in selling fake maps to imaginary gold mines. Like the Lost Dutchman, they had to have a decent story attached to make the mark believe he and only he had special information. Otherwise, the mine would have been found a long time since.

He tried to force away the throbbing in his head as he considered how little of that “story” was attached to this gold. Clifford and the others might believe the story, but no one was spreading it around.

“Has Vera told you where the gold came from?”

Good shook his head.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, then forced away all thoughts of Tovarich, Vera, and the filibusterers. It was harder to get rid of his mental image of Amanda.

“Ask them if they have a deck of cards and want to play some poker.”

“You will win?” Good strained at his shackles. He examined them closely, then locked his gaze with Lucas. The silent communication was what the gambler needed.

Lucas shifted about and got his legs folded under him. Moving around, he could bring his hands out in front of him. He made shuffling and dealing motions.

“Will they steal my money if I show it?”

“Yes, but they like to gamble. If they win, they will not steal your money.”

“Tell them I want to play poker.”

Good picked his way through a small speech. Lucas realized the Creek didn't speak Russian as well as he had thought originally. Maybe all he knew were sweet nothings to whisper in Vera's ear. It took several minutes for him to get the idea across to the guards. The smiles on their faces showed they were anxious to play.

“I'm getting out my money,” Lucas said slowly.

He moved to pull out a few greenbacks from his coat pocket, realizing he still had his pistol. A quick shootout might be the road to escape, but Lucas wasn't up to gunning the men down if another way worked better. And for him, a few hands of poker always provided a better solution to what ailed him.

While one guard left to get the cards, the other remained, keeping a close eye on both men. Lucas shifted around some more, moving to get his hands lower. The chains were long enough to rattle and give him some mobility. He made a few gestures intended to distract the guard to give Good a chance to slip his shackles. The Creek hadn't pulled free by the time the second guard returned with the deck of cards.

“Interesting pattern,” Lucas said, studying the backs. He looked closely at them, holding them high so the light from the fire caught the geometric decoration. He flipped through, then shuffled. The cards were marked. A spoked wheel in one corner seemed to turn as the cards flew. After a few hands, he would learn the meaning and be able to cheat as well as either of the guards.

Considering his expertise, he would be able to clean them out in a hurry.

The pots started small, and Lucas won those, as the stakes mounted, he bet more. The guards grew more excited, telling him they were using the markings to cheat now.

“How're you doing?”

Lucas might have directed this to the guard clutching his cards, two pair, jacks over eights, but he wanted some progress report from Good. The single grunt told him the Creek was ready to make his break.

“I think you're bluffing,” Lucas said, knowing the guard wasn't. All he had in his own hand was a pair of aces.

“No bluff,” the guard said. He grinned, showing a shiny gold tooth.

“I should up the ante and force you to bet that tooth,” Lucas said. He restlessly moved his cards in his hand, slipping one on top of the others to keep the guards' attention focused on his hands and not Good. “All right. I'm going for broke. Ten dollars to call.” He shoved his entire stake forward as far as he could.

If he had intended to win, he would have palmed a third ace and taken the pot. What he wanted to win was time, a diversion, the chance for Good to get away. Lucas forced himself not to even glance away from the cards.

“Beat that,” he said, laying down his losing hand.

The guard laughed and showed his hand. He reached for the money. Lucas grabbed the man's wrist and yanked him forward, off balance.

“You're cheating! Those cards are marked! Look!” He sent the deck flying through the air, cards fluttering all around.

“Won,” the guard said, shoving Lucas back against the wagon wheel.

He clanked his chains and made a spitting sound like a stepped-on tomcat. As he thrashed about, he glanced over. Good was gone. The shackles were still closed. How he had escaped was something of a poser, but Lucas felt his lost money had been well spent. He continued to kick and grab to engage the guards, but he overplayed this hand.

One guard grabbed the other and pointed to Good's dangling, empty chains. A stinging blow knocked Lucas back. He hit his head against the wagon wheel. He let out a howl of pain, but the guards had already left, hunting for the escaped Indian.

Lucas grinned. The escape plan worked better than it had any right to. He slipped out the slender steel picks and had the padlock open in a flash. After rubbing his wrists to get circulation back, he reached over and picked up the pot the guard had left behind. Good's disappearance had flustered the man to the point that he left his winnings.

“A cheater never prospers,” Lucas said softly, stuffing the money into his pocket and then heaving to his feet.

He started to run off and find his horse, then stared at the wagon. Vera's wagon. He rattled the lock on the door and considered picking it, then slipped underneath and found the floorboards he and Good had pried loose before. They hadn't been nailed back into place, only laid down. Pushing upward, he got into the wagon.

He fumbled out a lucifer, lit it, and found a coal oil lamp to give him light enough to search the woman's belongings. He admired some of her jewelry, but he wasn't a thief. Not a sneak thief, at least. He left it in the velvet-lined cases and worked over to her vanity dresser.

A small round jar caught his eye. With a quick twist, he unscrewed the top and took a deep whiff. The cloying scent made him cough. Spikenard. If this scent put Tovarich on the trail of the gold, he intended to have enough to make the wolfhound stand on his hind legs before racing off.

Lucas tucked the jar in his pocket, then retreated through the floorboards, carefully positioning them. Vera would never suspect anyone had rifled her belongings. Ducking out from under the wagon, he set off for the crude tether the Russians had used for their horses. A rope strung between two scrubby trees bounced about as the dozen horses fastened to it reared and tried to escape. Two belonged to the guards out hunting for Good. The others were used to pull the wagons.

With quick, nimble tugs, he unfastened the rope and set all the horses free. Some ran off and a few remained. He made certain to grip the bridle of his horse while he tried to shoo those away. Distant angry shouts warned he had only a minute or two before the Russians returned. Painfully, he swung up into the saddle and made one last effort to chase away the horses. He was partially successful. The three remaining were draft animals meant to be hitched to the wagons and wouldn't be much good chasing him down.

He hoped that was so.

Heels tapping his horse's flanks to urge it to a quick trot, he shot off, found the trail out of camp that led to the road back to Denver, and then slowed to preserve his mount's strength and to give his own blistered bottom some relief.

Good had gotten away. The revolutionaries might be Cossacks and princes on the steppe but neither was a match for Good, not here in the mountains or anywhere that demanded frontier skills. Lucas had no idea when but he knew they would get back together. Something about Vera Zasulich held the Creek in arm's reach, and Vera wanted to get Tovarich back. He patted his pocket where the jar of perfume rode safe and secure.

Good was safe. Vera might have ended Clifford's life by now—or the filibusterer might have ambushed her, along with the pack of dogs. Whatever happened, since both sides wanted him, Tovarich was likely to be safe and his keen nose would be set along the path to the gold.

Tovarich would find the gold for Lucas Stanton.