Slocum and the High-graders, page 15
“Might be the Shakespeare. Guy named Lear bought it from a couple of down-and-out prospectors. Didn’t know we was so close, though. Lear was a laughingstock for buyin’ such a worthless hole in the ground.”
“Where’d they come from?” A harsh voice cut through the chatter of the miners already gathered at the end of the drift. Slocum saw a burly man, shoulders scraping the sides of the tunnel, pushing his way forward. “And why the hell ain’t ya all workin’?”
“No cause to, Mr. Jensen,” said the miner who’d spoken to Slocum. “We blasted right on through to the Shakespeare. No reason to keep workin’. We’d do a sight better gettin’ up a level and followin’ the new drift.”
“The hell you say?” Jensen thrust his head through the hole, then drew back, eyeing Slocum briefly and Evangeline a lot longer. Her dress had been torn all up and down the front, leaving delectable sections of white skin open to any leering miner’s gaze. She was unaware that her slide along the mine floor had left her in such dishabille.
“All we want is to go to the surface,” Evangeline said.
“Don’t want no wimmen down here, that’s for certain,” the foreman said. “Bad luck.” He paused a moment, unable to take his eyes off her. Slocum saw how his carbide light worked up and down slowly but came to rest on Evangeline’s breasts, where one almost peeked out from her ripped blouse. “Don’t I know you?”
“I am Morgan Haining’s daughter, sir,” Evangeline said.
“Yeah, right. I remember seein’ you now.”
“How’d you ever fergit sich a lovely lassie?” a miner mumbled.
“Well, this is the Molly Magee and you got a free ride to the surface. But how’d you end up in that mine?” The foreman sniffed again, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and began to look worried.
“It’s a long story. We’ll let you know on our way topside,” Slocum said.
Then his nose started to water, too. In spite of the dust and closed-in air he had endured in the Shakespeare, his nose hadn’t watered like this.
“Why’d they shutter the other mine?” Slocum asked suddenly. “They just mine out all the ore?”
“That’s what I heard,” a miner piped up.
“Like hell. They hit gas. Kept killin’ off entire shifts of miners,” the foreman said. He wiped his nose again.
“Gas?” Evangeline looked uneasy at the thought. Slocum was getting more than uneasy.
“We have to get the hell out of here,” he said. “You blasted open another pocket of gas.”
“Damnation, that’s makin’ my nose run like a faucet!” Jensen swung around and bellowed at the top of his lungs. “All candles out. Get your white asses out of the tunnel pronto!”
The miners who had blasted through the wall dropped their tools and lit out like scalded dogs. The foreman wasn’t far behind.
“We have to get out of here fast,” Slocum said, taking Evangeline’s arm and getting her moving. “The whole mine can explode at any second.”
“Gas. Thompson used to talk about it. But I don’t smell anything.”
“You might not. But that’s what’s making your nose drip. Mine and Jensen’s, too.”
“Nose?” Evangeline reached up and found her nose leaking. “Why, how rude of me.”
She turned and started to walk, then turned at a right angle and walked into the wall. She hit the rocky surface and recoiled, her knees buckling under her. Slocum knew she was breathing too much of the released methane and not getting enough good air. He was feeling woozy himself, but he couldn’t leave her. Dropping to his knees, he went to her, grabbed an arm, and began dragging her along. In the far reaches of his mind he heard himself chuckling. First the blast had shredded the front of Evangeline’s dress. And now he was pulling her along a different mine floor and tearing the other side.
It was funny. But he couldn’t laugh. He kept moving along like some beast of burden, but the going got harder every instant. His head swung like the weight at the end of a Regulator clock pendulum. The last fleeting thought that darted through his mind was the irony of surviving being dumped into a pit and trapped in a played-out mine only to be gassed when rescue was a matter of seconds away.
Then he passed out, Evangeline already unconscious beneath him.
16
Slocum took a deep sniff and felt life surge through his body. He smiled. He knew that scent. Evangeline. Whatever perfume she used, he appreciated it, and it stirred him to action. He took another breath and found his nose all clogged. He shook his head and raised up a few inches and realized that he had passed out. His face had been pressed down into her ample bosom. What little remained of her dress had gone up Slocum’s nostrils as he sucked in one shallow breath after another.
What would normally have suffocated him had saved his life instead. The cloth had filtered enough of the deadly gas to bring him back to consciousness. He wasted no time tightly fastening his filthy bandanna around his mouth and nose as a crude guard against inhaling more of the methane. Every time he sucked in more air he tasted blood and dirt. That gave him an added goad to begin moving again, dragging Evangeline under him. He wished he could tie her hands around his neck. That would let him keep both of his hands on the mine floor as he made his way slowly in the direction already taken by the miners.
He pulled her twenty yards, then had to rest. He readjusted his bandanna and looked for something to put over Evangeline’s mouth. If she could recover enough to help him get her out, that would be a boon without price. But her dress was so tattered no strip remained that would be useful. More than that, Slocum felt the pressure of time bearing down on him. This much gas released meant an explosion was imminent. The flicker of a miner’s candle or the hiss of calcium carbide in its water bath would set off a blast that would kill him and Evangeline outright.
Even if the blast didn’t kill them, the sudden lack of oxygen from the rapid combustion would. Or the mine collapsing on top of them. Or a dozen other deadly problems. Slocum kept crawling, pulling Evangeline along. He did this for hours. Days. An eternity. Longer.
And then suddenly he floated upward. Light as a feather on a spring breeze, he was on his feet and sailing along.
“Git them outta here. How’d he manage to pull her that far?”
“No good idea ’bout that, Mr. Jensen,” Slocum heard someone answer. “Then again, they survived us blowin’ down a wall right in front of ’em.”
“The hell with it. Get that elevator down here. We gotta reach the surface pronto,” Jensen said.
“No,” Slocum gasped out. “Don’t, spark, the gas!”
“He’s right, Mr. Jensen,” a miner said uneasily. “The way that damn thing comes down is a crime. But it also sparks as its chains rattle and drag along the walls. That’d make it a deadly crime. ’Gainst us.”
The foreman cursed under his breath for a moment.
As he considered what to do to get his crew out of the dangerous mine, Jensen began pacing. This gave Slocum the chance to pull Evangeline upright and lean her against a wall. His vision was blurred, and he had to force his face almost to hers before her fine features came into focus. Her nostrils flared slightly, telling him she was alive. He placed a hand on her almost-naked breast and felt the thready beat of her heart.
“She’s in a bad way,” Slocum said as loudly as he could. His voice was still a hoarse whisper, but the mine foreman heard.
“Should never let wimmen down into a mine,” he grumbled.
“We didn’t have much choice,” Slocum said.
“Mr. Jensen,” a miner said apprehensively. “I think we got damp risin’ mighty fast. The bird’s done up and died.”
This set off another string of profanity from the foreman.
“We can’t get the elevator cage down in time. That means we have to start up. Use the ladders, boys. Get on up to the next level and keep climbing.”
“Ain’t got enough ladders fer that,” a miner said. “We need to pull up the one we jist climbed.”
“Then pretend you’re a damn monkey and get up there.” Jensen turned to Slocum. “Can you get her up a level?”
“I’ll get her all the way to the surface if you furnish the ladder,” Slocum vowed.
Jensen looked at him, a mixture of awe and contempt in his eyes. He admired Slocum for such courage and thought he was a fool for not saving his own life all at once.
“I’ll need her tied onto my back. You have some rope?”
“Use her dress,” Jensen said. Then he saw that there wasn’t much left. His eyes changed to appreciation and not a little lust. This faded quickly. He swung about, barked at his miners to get to climbing, then found enough rope for Slocum to bind Evangeline’s wrists and drape her over his back, her hands pulling hard against his Adam’s apple. He staggered under the added weight, eyed the ladder extending up into the darkness of the next higher level, and put his hands on the rungs.
“You want to go ahead of us?” Slocum asked the foreman. “I might slow you up.” He knew he and Evangeline might get stranded for the good of the entire mining crew. He saw no reason for separating Jensen from his crew.
“Naw, you go on up. I kinda like the view from down here.”
Slocum looked back, anger flaring. What few tatters remained on Evangeline’s body barely covered her privates from anyone lower on the ladder. Then his ire subsided when he realized that the miners weren’t as likely to pull up the ladder if their foreman was still below.
“Give me a boost if I need it,” Slocum said.
“Count on that,” the foreman said, grinning. A gold tooth shone in the dim light filtering down from above.
Slocum wasted no more time. He took a deep breath, then began climbing at a steady pace. He had hoped to be able to make it up without stopping, but his strength seeped from him with every rung. Carrying his own weight would have been a chore, but with Evangeline hanging limply around his neck, almost strangling him, every rung was harder than the last. He was almost ready to cash it all in when strong hands grabbed him and pulled him to the next level. It took Jensen only seconds to scramble up from behind and pull the ladder.
“The gas is heavier than what we’re breathin’ here,” the foreman said, “but I want to get the hell out of the mine. The sooner I get them fans workin’ to vent the gas, the sooner you wastrels can get back to work.”
“Especially since the canary died,” another miner said. “She was ’bout the purtiest singin’ bird I ever heard.”
“Her last song was tellin’ us to hightail it,” said a miner already climbing the ladder to the next level.
Slocum followed, Evangeline stirring occasionally to let him know she was still alive. After five levels, Jensen bellowed for the elevator to be lowered. Slocum hoped the foreman knew what he was doing. The gas was deadly to breathe but explosive if a spark found it. But before he knew it, he and Evangeline were sitting in the bright sunlight. His head spun. He had no idea how long they had been underground or where they were.
Squinting, he looked around the mouth of the Molly Magee and saw a crowd slowly forming.
“Gas!” Jensen waved them back. “Get them pumps workin’. I want to hear nothin’ but gasps comin’ from the mine.”
Heavy pumps began working, slowly at first and then with greater speed. A steam engine powered the big fans near the mouth of the mine. At first all Slocum caught was the fetid air he had come to accept as normal. Then he gagged and turned away.
“That’s the damp!”
Slocum wrapped his arms around Evangeline and began moving her away from the mine shaft. When he had pulled her a dozen yards she began to fight him weakly.
“No, no,” she muttered. “Go ’way.”
“You’re safe. We’re out of the mine,” Slocum said. He grabbed a tarp and tossed it over her to keep the gawking miners from burning holes in her flesh with their hot stares.
“You want we should git a doctor?”
“Go fetch one,” Slocum said. “I don’t think she’s too badly hurt. Just scratches. But some iodine and bandages will be in order. And water. Both of us.” His raspy voice was loud enough to get the miners moving.
Jensen came over, turned an empty powder keg on end, and wiped at the grit on his face.
“You’re ’bout the luckiest son of a bitch I ever did see,” the foreman said. “What’s happened to you and the lady there oughta killed you half a dozen times over.”
“Tell me,” Slocum said. “What’s on the other side of this mountain?”
“Played out mines,” Jensen said. “Same as over at the Low Down. The boss owns the whole danged mountain the mine’s on. The Molly Magee has rights to ever’ damn thing under this hill, just like Haining’s the owner of his mountain.”
“The Low Down’s not too far off, is it?”
“Couple miles.” Jensen looked harder at Evangeline. Her eyelids fluttered and the water dribbling across her lips was reviving her. “That there’s Haining’s girl, ain’t it?”
“Evangeline Haining,” Slocum acknowledged.
“You and her . . .” Jensen let the words trail off.
“High-graders tried to kill us. I was slugged and dumped in the other mine. Don’t rightly know what happened to Miss Haining.”
“I was going out riding, but they kidnapped me,” she said, struggling to sit up. Slocum supported her and let her drink her fill until she choked. “That’s terrible water. Foul tasting.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled the canteen back to her lips for another deep draught. This time she didn’t choke. Her strength came flooding back.
“What did happen? Reckon you might want to let the marshal know,” Jensen said.
“I was kidnapped,” Evangeline said. A flush came to her cheeks as anger revitalized her. “And I think I know who did it. They caught me from behind and put a bag over my head. One whispered to the other that they were supposed to kill me, but the one who’d grabbed me refused. Couldn’t do it.”
“Because he wasn’t a killer?” asked Jensen.
“Because he’s sweet on me,” Evangeline said.
“Miles?”
Slocum was startled when she shook her head.
“Singer,” she said. “I’ve seen the way he looks at me. His partner—”
“Herk?”
“He’s the one who was going to kill me because he’d been told to, but Singer convinced him to just dump me all trussed up like a Christmas goose and let me die in the mine of starvation.”
“You’d have died of thirst long ’fore that,” Jensen said.
Slocum silenced further observations on how close to death Evangeline had come with a sharp look.
“What about you? You with the lady when this happened?” Jensen looked from Evangeline to Slocum and back, trying to make sense out of why the pair of them were together in the mine.
“I’m sure it was Miles who slugged me. Both Herk and Singer were up in the mine, getting the ore out they’d high-graded. The three of them have a sweet deal going, and they were close to being found out.”
Slocum added it all up in his head as he sipped at the water a miner brought them. The Low Down foreman found where the veins of highest grade ore dived and dipped through the mountain, then had Herk and Singer enter from the far side and dig up into the veins while he ordered Haining’s miners to work other stopes. That explained why the veins petered out fast. The high-graders had already stolen most of the ore by the time work started again in the Low Down.
But the real audacity came from loading the ore from the mine into their own wagon and taking it to the mill for smelting. Lucas Miles signed off on the bill, letting Haining pay for having his own gold stolen. Some gold— enough to keep the Low Down operational—returned to Morgan Haining to pay the bills. Or a few of them. The rest of the gold was hidden away somewhere so only Miles and his henchmen could haul it out later when they were ready to move on.
“You look strange, John,” Evangeline said.
“Just reckoning how much of a score I have to even up. It’s a big one, but something’s not quite right.”
“What are you saying? You don’t believe Miles and Singer and Herk are responsible?”
“Oh, they’re guilty as sin,” Slocum said. “But I have to wonder if . . .” His voice trailed off.
“You’re wondering why Papa isn’t more involved in running the mine?”
“It’s hard to miss the bills from the smelter. And unless I miss my guess, Miles has been charging other things to the Low Down that never arrived.” Slocum remembered the spare axle he had seen Singer and Herk carrying in Cripple Creek.
“Papa is always worried,” Evangeline said. “Too much so about the others.”
“The others?” asked Jensen.
“Miners who have been injured. He supports quite a few men who were injured in the Low Down and cannot work any longer.”
“What do you mean? He gives them money to live on? And they don’t do work for it? Now that’s the life,” the Molly Magee foreman said, shaking his head in disbelief. Slocum had to agree but said nothing. Morgan Haining’s charity was his own business.
“Papa feels responsible. He considers it his Christian duty to provide charity for them.”
Slocum wondered how much of the gold that Miles actually delivered went for such altruism. He had never heard of another mine owner spending one bent penny on workers injured while in their mines. It was nothing short of a miracle that the Low Down still operated, even with huge veins of gold so thick he could scrape it off with his fingernail.
“That’s not the way to get rich,” Jensen said.
“Papa doesn’t want to get rich. He wants to do good with the gold.”
“That’s plumb crazy,” the foreman said. Then he took a gander at the miners in a circle around them, all waiting to get a better look at the naked woman pulled from their mine shaft. “You folks gonna be here much longer? We got a crowd gatherin’ and I want to get the men back into the mine. Looks like that pocket of gas is all pumped out.”
“We have to get back to the Low Down,” Slocum said. He thrust out his hand. For a moment Jensen hesitated, then grinned, the sunlight glinting off his gold tooth. They shook hands.
