Slocum and the High-graders, page 10
Slocum began stroking with long, powerful thrusts that lifted the woman out of the water every time he sank into her. She sagged when he withdrew, begging for him to return. He did. He had to. His body was rushing ahead of his wish to make this last as long as possible. Desire crashed over Evangeline, and she cried out while her body shook as if she had contracted some ague. But the emotional release was not yet hers, even if the physical was.
“More, John, don’t stop. Oh, damn you, don’t stop. Give me every inch, every damned inch!”
He began pistoning forward harder and faster. This robbed Evangeline of her coherent speech. Only trapped-animal sounds escaped her lips. He stroked over her sides and then gripped her hips to pull them back into the circle of his groin as he rammed forward. He felt as if he were on fire, burning from the tip of his shaft all the way down deep into his body. That heat spread like a prairie wildfire through his belly and chest and finally exploded in his head as he spilled his seed into her yearning cavity.
Evangeline cried out again with ultimate ecstasy, but Slocum was locked in physical release of his own. When he began to melt within her heated core, he stepped away, lost his balance, and splashed noisily in the pool.
The woman turned and grinned at him. She reached up, cupped her own breasts, and tweaked the nipples. Then she slid her fingers down in a V toward her crotch.
“You got anything left? I need it.”
“Insatiable bitch,” he growled as he paddled around in the sulphur water pool.
“That’s me,” Evangeline said, laughing. Then she slid beneath the water, and the next thing Slocum knew she was poking her head up between his legs. Her eager lips took his limp length and worked it back to a usable stiffness. It was after sunset before they left the pool and lounged on the rapidly cooling rocks.
“I’d better get home. I don’t want Papa worrying about me.”
“He should have,” Slocum said, watching as she climbed into her discarded clothes. The sight of her bare, damp flesh vanishing behind her clothing was almost as exciting as watching her undress. He let out a sigh and knew he had to get back to the bunkhouse himself. The miners would be wondering what had happened to him.
Lucas Miles might well have told them that he had died when the mine shaft collapsed. If he had, Slocum wanted to see the foreman’s face when he found that it wasn’t true.
But leaving Evangeline was still difficult, no matter how much he wanted to get Miles’s goat.
10
“What the hell happened, Slocum?” Lucas Miles glared at him with a combination of anger and disbelief.
“What do you mean?” Slocum decided to play it cagy and see if Miles would come right out and say that he had sawed through the timbers and tried to bury him alive. Slocum wished he had been able to talk with Billy, but the young miner had been sent on a trip into Cripple Creek to pick up supplies, since the usual freighter had up and disappeared.
“You were supposed to blast in the lower drift yesterday. What happened?”
“I blasted but hit water. It took some doing to get out, but I did. I reckon you’ll have to dig through the spot where the timbers gave way, because of the water.”
“Water? We got water in the mine?” Half a dozen miners crowded around to hear Slocum’s report. “The pump’s not workin’ worth beans,” another said. The chorus of fear and apprehension that spread through the group that was assembled and ready to go down into the mines drowned out Miles’s protests.
“There ain’t no danger!” the foreman finally roared. “Slocum don’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”
“Doesn’t take much for a man to know if there’s water in the mine,” said a nearby miner. “How about it, Slocum?”
“There’s water on the lower level. When I blasted through the end of the drift, it began draining into yet another tunnel. Don’t rightly know where it came from since it was under ours.”
“The whole danged mountain’s full of tunnels. Been years since the first prospector came,” Miles said. “The water’s filled up this other tunnel? The one you claim’s below the Low Down?”
“I’m saying it is,” Slocum said. “Go look.”
“No need,” Miles said hastily. “The ore vein wouldn’t go in that direction. We’ll follow it from the next level up.”
“Pump not work so good,” Randolph said. “I check. It not work.”
“You won’t need the damn pump,” flared Miles. “The mine is safe. There’s no flooding.”
“There won’t be on higher levels,” Slocum said. “Only on the one where you wanted me to blast with the nitro.”
“Nitro? So much explosive?” Randolph shook his head.
“Herk, Singer, get your asses down into the mine and check it for water. Now!”
Miles’s two henchmen looked uneasy at the thought of going to the bottom of the mine, but both jumped onto the elevator and signaled for the operator to lower away.
“The rest of you malingerers,” Miles said, “get yourselves over and load wagons with ore. I won’t have you actin’ like royalty while others have to work.”
Slocum wanted to inspect the mine and see the extent of the sawed mine supports, but he joined Randolph and his son taking ore from the huge piles and dumping it into a wagon. With so many men working, it took only a short while for the wagon to be groaning under the weight of the rock on its way down the valley to the mill.
“Nuthin’ wrong, boss,” called Herk as he swung from the elevator and dropped to the ground.
“Then why are boots wet?” Randolph pointed.
“Oh, there’s some seepage, but nuthin’ to worry over,” Herk said hastily. “You might wanna shutter that level ’til you got a chance to check it personally.”
“There’s no floodin’?” Miles asked. Slocum watched the foreman carefully. The man was upset over the notion that an underground river had been tapped. Because it might flood the mine from which he undercut the Low Down’s vein of gold and ruin his schemes for high-grading? Slocum would have bet all his pay and twice his bonus on that one and wouldn’t have lost.
How could he convince Haining that his foreman was robbing him blind?
Miles went and talked several minutes with his two cronies. Slocum took the time to go over and greet Billy, who was just pulling up in the company’s second wagon.
“Get to unloadin’ that, you two,” called Miles. The foreman turned back to his intense discussion with Herk and Singer.
“What happened to you, Slocum?” Billy hopped to the ground and slapped Slocum on the back. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I thought you was dead or worse.”
“What’s worse?”
“Still down in that mine, alive and scratchin’ at rock to get free.”
“That’s worse,” Slocum agreed. “Why didn’t you come down to help drill the holes and blast?”
“Him,” Billy said, jerking his thumb in Miles’s direction. “He tole me Randolph or somebody else was helpin’ you. He put me to drivin’ this damn wagon. Don’t get near as much money bein’ a freighter as I do underground.” He looked up into the sky mottled with gray storm clouds. “Don’t much like the weather. Bein’ up here you can get rained on.”
Slocum had to laugh, then sobered when he realized how things locked together perfectly. Miles had told him to use the heavier explosive to make it seem that Slocum had either accidentally or carelessly blown himself up. No one would have looked at the mine’s support timbers, and the entire drift would have been closed off, giving him a grave without a tombstone. As it was, the water might have saved Slocum’s life. Waiting for rescue that would never have come could have exhausted his air. He might not have known he was even dying as the air got worse and worse. But the rising water had forced him to risk using the nitro in the enclosed space.
“You two, get on down into the mine,” barked Miles.
“I can get back to real work? Hooray!” Billy threw his dusty hat high in the air and then caught it when it drifted back down.
“I got to get on up to talk with Mr. Haining,” Miles said. He spun and stalked off, leaving Slocum to wonder why the foreman had bothered to mention that. It wasn’t any concern to a miner.
“Where’d Herk and Singer get off to?” Slocum asked.
“Who the hell cares? They’re all the time goldbricking while the rest of us are down there minin’ the gold. Ain’t fair, but what is in this life? You ready, Slocum?”
“What’re we doing today?” Slocum asked. He swung onto the elevator platform. Randolph and his son Ira joined them.
“Don’t know. Lemme ask.” Billy turned and called to the elevator operator, “Jonesy, what’re—”
“What’s wrong?” Slocum asked when Billy cut off his question so abruptly.
“That’s not Jonesy workin’ the elevator.”
“So?” The word had barely left Slocum’s lips when the platform twisted like a thing come alive under them. He grabbed for the railing. It came loose, tumbling down twenty stories to the bottom of the shaft. Slocum scrambled to get his feet under him. Then the platform bucked like a bronco and sent him flying.
He let out a cry of surprise and grabbed frantically at a rope dangling down. He caught it, felt it burning the palms of his hands for a few feet, and then he jerked to a halt beneath the tilted elevator. Looking up, he saw how the two Randolphs were fighting to remain on top of the platform, now tilted at a forty-five-degree angle. Billy was moaning and lying on the platform, his head lower than his feet.
“Billy!”
“Can’t help ya, Slocum, my feet’re all tangled up.” Billy tried to sit up, but the slope was too great and from the way he moaned, he was hurt.
“Ira!” Slocum saw the younger Randolph coming to life. “Get the elevator level.” Slocum fought to hang on. For some reason, his left arm was weakening fast. He had no time to see why. He was too intent on not falling to his death. There was no way he could hope to survive a two-hundred-foot fall.
Ira Randolph saw the trouble, made sure his pa was safe, then checked Billy. Then he slid to the edge of the platform, dangling half off, and reached down for Slocum to take his hand. The elevator platform gave another abrupt lurch that almost sent Ira to his death. The young man held on grimly.
Billy was roaring for the elevator operator to do something. But the winch was smoking, and inch by inch the rope was burning away from the friction of the slippage.
Ira made another grab for Slocum just as his hands weakened so much he could no longer hold onto the rope. Slocum fell a few inches and then snapped around, Ira’s powerful hand circling his right wrist.
“Swing me back and forth,” Slocum called. “Do it. Do it and I’ll tell you when to let me go.”
Ira Randolph shook his head furiously. He had no intention of letting go. From the way his fingers slipped around Slocum’s wrist, though, it wouldn’t be long before the best intention meant nothing. Both men were sweating profusely, and it made the grip increasingly slippery.
Kicking his feet, Slocum began to swing like a pendulum. He saw how Ira’s sleeve stretched to the breaking point as his muscles expanded in an effort to keep Slocum from falling. At the far end of his swing, Slocum yelled, “Let me go. Now!”
Whether Ira heard and obeyed or simply ran out of steam, Slocum didn’t know. He fell a sickening few feet, then was scrambling furiously to get into the first level. His boots touched solid rock, and he threw himself forward as hard as he could. Landing on his belly, he lay gasping for breath. It took several seconds for him to realize he was safe. More than safe. No part of him remained in the elevator shaft.
He got his feet under him and lurched back.
“Can you jump off?” he called to Ira. “I’m safe on the first level.”
Ira had gone back to his pa. The larger, older Randolph freed himself and slid, then flung himself outward. His launch wasn’t as good as Slocum’s, and he missed the edge of the level. Slocum made a wild grab and got a double handful of the miner’s shirt. His left arm went numb from the fingers all the way to his shoulder, but his right clung to the falling man. Randolph slammed hard into the side of the shaft.
Slocum lay on his belly, holding Randolph’s shirt with only his right hand. The miner got his fingers over the edge of the rocky verge and began pulling himself upward. Slocum tugged until he saw red. His vision was collapsing into a narrow tunnel, and even this was going away, leaving him blind. Then the weight on his right arm suddenly vanished.
“Randolph!”
“No worry, Slocum. You save me.”
Slocum collapsed in relief, then forced himself to stand up again. There were two more men to save.
Then he saw there was only one. Ira Randolph jumped and was caught by his father, who spun him around and planted his feet safely within the mine.
“Can you get free, Billy?”
“No way,” the trapped miner said. “But the platform’s not creaking like it did. All the weight’s off it. All but me.”
“I’ll get you untangled,” Slocum said, gauging distances and crouching to jump. But his legs weren’t up to the task. He tried to jump but went nowhere. He thought he had finally collapsed, then felt strong hands holding him back. Both of the Randolphs had prevented him from going to Billy’s rescue.
“What are you doing? I’ve got to—” Slocum watched in horror as the elevator platform broke free and Billy, still tangled in rope, plunged past. The falling wood platform made a whistling sound that ended seconds later with a horrendous crash. Slocum closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he hadn’t heard Billy’s death screams. He couldn’t. Worse, he heard Billy pleading for Slocum to save him.
Both of the other miners pulled him away from the edge of the shaft, as if they feared he might fall after Billy.
“He is gone,” Randolph said.
“Why’d you stop me? I could have gotten him free from the ropes. I—”
Slocum’s eyes widened when he saw what Ira did. The young miner was holding an arm. Slocum’s arm. He felt nothing. Slocum stared at the bloody mess and wondered if it had somehow been ripped from his body, then traced it back and saw the shoulder was still connected. But there wasn’t any feeling in it.
“Hey, down there. Everyone all right?”
“One dead,” Randolph called back. “Billy not make it.”
“Damnation,” came Lucas Miles’s curse. Slocum had to wonder if the foreman was mad at losing a miner—or at losing the wrong one. Somehow, this had less the feel of an accident and more of another attempt to kill him.
“Droppin’ a ladder. Get yer asses on up to the top,” Miles shouted.
“Slocum, he cannot climb.”
“I’ll lower a sling for him.”
“You go on up,” Slocum said. “Both of you. You pull me up.”
Randolph stared hard at Slocum, then solemnly nodded. He understood. It took the better part of an hour before Slocum finally sat on a bench some distance away from the elevator. Half a dozen men worked to put a new platform in place to get the miners already in the mine out safely at the end of the shift.
“Don’t know what the hell happened,” Miles said, shaking his head. “Just checked them ropes a few days ago, yet they weren’t up to holdin’ you. Not today.”
“What happened to Jonesy?” Slocum asked. He didn’t know the man but Billy had. And Billy had been surprised that he wasn’t working the elevator.
“Shiftless skunk,” Miles said. “Got drunk last night and missed work. Don’t rightly know who was runnin’ the elevator. Whoever it was lit out like a scalded dog. He knew what I’d do when I caught him.” Miles stared hard at Slocum and added, “He’s probably in the next county by now.”
“You don’t know who was working the elevator?”
“That’s what I said,” Lucas Miles said coldly.
“Isn’t that odd, the foreman not knowing who’s working for him?”
“There’s nuthin’ that’s not odd about this here mine, Slocum,” Miles said. “We got miners who are damn near deaf-mutes.” He glared at the Randolphs. “And we got a dead man at the bottom of the shaft because the usual elevator operator got pickled last night and couldn’t work today.”
Slocum winced. With surprising gentleness, Ira was cutting Slocum’s sleeve away from the bloody gash that ran the length of his forearm. The fabric peeled back to reveal the open cut still oozing blood. Ira expertly bound the wound. Slocum began to wobble, woozy from the pain. But pain was better than the nothingness that had been there a few minutes earlier. He had thought he would never use his arm again.
“I lose one miner, have another all busted up.”
“I can work,” Slocum said. “Enough to fetch Billy from the bottom of the shaft.”
“Like hell I’m lettin’ you down there. You get into town and have the doc stitch you up. And this once, you have a shot or two of whiskey to ease the pain. I want you drivin’ the supply wagon for a couple days ’til you heal up enough to do real work below.” Miles spun about and walked away, cussing a blue streak.
“Think he’ll report this to Mr. Haining?” Slocum wasn’t sure who he was talking to.
Ira looked up from his bandaging chore and smiled crookedly. The young miner shook his head “no.”
Slocum had to agree.
11
Slocum wrapped the reins around his right arm and gripped with his good hand. It wasn’t as satisfactory as using both hands, but it controlled the tired old horses well enough to get them moving and, when necessary, stopped. From their slow pace as they trudged up the hill toward Cripple Creek, stopping them would never be a problem, only getting them to go where he wanted.
His left arm hurt like a hill of ants had taken up residence in it, but he had worried that he would lose the arm entirely. Ira Randolph had patched him up pretty well. Slocum had found afterward that the younger Randolph had a knack for doctoring, but there had never been much money in the family, so both father and son worked the mines. More than this, Ira with his hearing and speech problems wouldn’t have inspired much confidence in a potential patient. Slocum had to snort in disgust at that. Most doctors he had seen inspired no confidence that they would do anything but get drunk on the money they took off their all-too-often dead patients.
