Killing Halfbreed (20 page)

I staggered over to the cliff wall lining the vale on my right.  I stumbled along it, never taking my hand from its surface for fear of losing my way. Step after step once again.  Would it ever end?  Would there be an end to the horrible chill?

I had the vague sense that I was going the wrong way. Was the town ahead of me...or behind?  Two more steps.  It really didn’t matter which way I went, did it?  I just had to keep going. 
Couldn’t stop.  Didn’t matter.  Keep going.

I’d no idea how far I’d managed to go when my right foot broke through the snow, and I crashed to the ground.  Dazed, I tried to collect myself.  It was so hard to concentrate.  Why had I tripped?  Was there a hole?  I pushed with all my might, but couldn’t get myself up.  There was just no more strength.

So this is the end after all.
  I tried again to no avail and gave up.  This would be my grave then.  Blasted hole!  I twisted my head to the right and saw that I hadn’t stepped in a hole after all, but my foot had pushed through a thin rock wall.

It looked like the entrance to a small cave, not one I’d ever seen before.  You couldn’t really see it very well unless you crouched down.  The entrance was only about a foot high, but it seemed to open up further in.

I called on willpower from some hidden reserve and hauled myself into the cave.

When I came to, I was a little warmer.  The cave had provided me with a confined enough space, my body heat alone had slightly raised the temperature.  The ice in my clothing had melted, but remained wet.  That had probably saved me from severe frostbite, but the chill of it was terrible.  I'd be lucky if I didn't get sick in a bad way.

It took all my will to get my aching joints moving again.  I peered outside.

The world was calm again, covered in a gentle blanket of white.  Gleaming icicles dangled from branches and limbs as far as the eye could see.  It was beautiful.

Yet hostile to my survival.

I could see the cabin, or what was left of it, more clearly now in the daytime.  Nothing more than a heap of blackened timbers, charred wood, and random shards of sooty metal.  I would have to rebuild from scratch.  Worse than all the hardship and work that awaited me was the loss of my brother's handiwork.  That cabin was all I’d had left of Ben.  The initials he'd carved into the doorpost weighed heavily on me.  They’d been so personal, a daily visual reminder he’d existed, that he’d built this.  Now, they were burned up like so much chaff, forever.

I scavenged some of the charred scraps of wood and built a small fire in the cave.  It turned out to be an ideal place for it because a narrow crack in the ceiling acted as a natural chimney, letting the smoke out neatly.

I also discovered a few chunks of beef jerky in the ashes which were edible enough once I scraped off the top layer of charcoal encasing them.  It would be enough to sustain me for a little while, even if it tasted horrible. 
Peor es nada
, as the Mexicans say.

That first day, I sat in the cave looking out, wondering what I would do next.

The entire community despised me.  My only home was burnt to the ground.  My few cattle were scattered to the wind.  My horse was gone.  I was out of money and food.  I still had no idea what had happened to Ben and Jessica.  If that weren’t enough, I'd gone and given my heart to a woman who hated my guts and abandoned me, hoping I would die.  Things could probably get worse, but I’d give the man a prize who could show me how.

Yet, I had to keep trying.  Mama always said a man can get knocked down a hundred times, but he wasn’t a failure till he stopped getting back up.

I’d never noticed this cave before while working the ranch, it was so well hidden.  The cramped space where I'd slept appeared to be an entrance to a much larger cave deeper in.

I tore a length from my shirt and wrapped it tightly around a piece of charred wood.  It would work as a makeshift torch, even if it didn't last very long.

I lit my torch and crawled further in.  It opened up into what seemed like a natural shaft running in two directions.  Scattered pick marks on the walls indicated the shafts had probably been mined at some point.

I was afraid to go too far but wanted to explore what I could with my little bit of light.  Mica dotted the walls, sparkling in the torchlight.  The air smelled stale and musty.  I took the tunnel which led off to the left, deeper into the mountain.  A faint arrow was carved into the wall near the ceiling, its shaft pointing into the mountain.

It was an Indian-styled arrow and barely visible against the rock.  One had to look hard to make it out.  I'd almost missed it completely.

I decided to follow it for as long as my torch held out.  Soon, I came across a second arrow and then a third.  The fourth and fifth arrows had me turning into side tunnels.  The last side tunnel was very short and ended suddenly.

Two things were apparent right off.  First, there was a deep cleft in the wall, a long horizontal niche, filled with loose rocks.

Second, were some old wooden crates on the ground.  I went over to one of the crates and struggled with the top.  I finally got it loose.

Bright yellow bars of gold gleamed in the torchlight.  There were at least 20 to 30 of them in the crate.

I was stunned.

I pried the lids off the other two crates which were filled with the same.  Sudden shots of adrenaline flooded my veins.  This was
very
good news.  Unbelievably good news.

Next, I turned my attention to the niche in the wall.  It wasn’t hard to pull some of the rocks from it.  They were just piled up loosely.

What glinted out at me from under those rocks surprised me even more than the gold bars.  Bright gold shone once more in the flickering light, but it was not in bars.  This gold was formed, molded, and adorned.  This gold was part of the hilt of a large sword whose blade was still covered by more rocks.

Just then, my torch flickered sickeningly.  It was about to run out of cloth to burn.  Without hesitation, I grabbed a golden bar from the crate and ran like there was no tomorrow back the way I’d come.

There would be other days to return and examine that sword more closely, or get more gold for that matter.  For now, if my torch ran out while I was still in these caves, those other days might never come.

My torch burned lower and dimmer by the second.  What an idiot I'd been to take so long.  I’d pushed my luck too far.

It flickered again.  For a second, I thought it’d burned out completely, but then finding one last bit of cloth to consume, it flared up once more.  Running at full speed was not helping.  The breeze that created threatened to extinguish it faster.

Finally, it reduced to a few remaining glowing embers and I slowed my pace to a crawl, placing my hand on the wall for guidance.  A faint glow of light ahead sent a wave of relief through me.  It had to be the entrance to the cave.  I tripped over an unseen rock in my path and bloodied my knuckles on the wall as I fought to keep my balance.

Slowing down even more, I took my time, calming myself as I went.

At last, I was free.  Once more, I stood in the cold light of the winter morning.

I opened my bloody fist and let the weak sun make that golden metal shine.

***

I found myself taking a long walk into Cottonwood with the bar of gold in my satchel.  It by itself would be enough to kick me out of the poor house, plus plenty more on top of that.  My sudden wealth had me giddy.  If those gold bars weren’t enough, I’d seen evidence of a moderate gold vein in the wall of that section of the cave.  I couldn't wrap my mind around the amount of wealth it all represented.

Naiveté, however, had never known my name.  If I went flashing gold around Cottonwood and talking about a lost mine on my property, I'd be dead with a bullet in my back faster than you could shake a stick at me.  People went crazy when it came to gold.

No, I had to keep this very quiet.  While that cave had probably saved my bacon, I wasn't out of the woods yet.  I had to figure out how to use the gold without people realizing where it'd come from.

For the first time, I had an idea why my brother might have been killed.  Had he known about the gold?  Was that why they’d killed him?  Ben might not have known about it, but someone who did could have decided not to take any risks.  If that were true, the same person would be out to get me as well.

Part of my problem was solved for me when I arrived in town.  An outfit from further down south was driving a large herd of about three thousand head up the trail, and they were passing right through downtown Cottonwood.

I located the herd’s owner, and, after sizing him up, approached him for a business deal.  He agreed to sell me a thousand of his head for the piece of gold in my pocket.  He’d gotten too early a start on his drive this year and the late spring snow had caught him completely off guard.  He was more than happy to get rid of a large section of his herd before trail’s end, and even happier when I offered a fair price, in gold no less.

More importantly, he agreed not to tell anyone how I'd paid him.  If asked, he would say cash.  I think he understood my situation.

We made the deal, and he lent some of his men to help me take the cattle back up the road to my ranch.  Part of the deal included a horse, so I wasn't saddleless any more.  If I ever found my old horse again, I had half a mind to kick him.

Seeing those cattle mill around the vale lifted my spirit.  Even if he wasn't here to see it, I felt like I'd somehow helped Ben realize his dream.

Rebuilding the burnt-out cabin could wait.  I’d always enjoyed sleeping under the stars anyway.  For now, I was thrilled by the feel of success.  Overnight, I’d gone from ruined and destitute to wealthy and hopeful.  Life sure was unpredictable.  With this many head of cattle, I was almost on par with the Big Three now.

The next step would be to hire some hands to help with branding and such, and to hold out against rustling.  Managing a herd this big would be impossible by myself.  Once again, dealing in gold would be a problem.  I'd get another bar, but I’d have to ride to another county to get it assayed and changed into a bank note, or gold coins.

I was on my way.

Michael Byers studied the shadowed face of his partner in crime.  At times, it was hard to accept his association with the man, but Michael knew he couldn't have gotten started in their blackmail enterprise without him.  It was a lucrative business and that overcame all of Byers’ other reservations.

The man was cool and collected, and his demeanor sometimes scared the newspaperman.  A cigarette dangled carelessly from his lips.

He removed the cigarette after a long silence and slowly extinguished it by grinding it on the desk.

"Let me be clear so there’s no misunderstanding.”  His eyes bored into Byers.  “I want you to ruin Talbot's reputation."

"He's got a pretty bad one already for killing Tom Logan."

"It needs to be worse."

Byers crinkled his nose, something he always did when uncertain or confused.

"I don't understand.  Where's the financial gain in that?"

"There is none for you, but there may be for me.  It doesn't matter.  I've given you enough juice over the past months.  You should be able to do this with no questions asked."

No such thing as a free lunch.
He'd always known the debt would be called some day.  Thank goodness it was something as harmless as this.  The problem with this kind of debt, though, was that it was impossible to ever pay off completely.  There was always one more thing, one more time, and if you didn’t, well, you’d already put the noose around your own neck.

"I want you to publicize reports you've received by telegraph concerning Talbot's criminal history.  Nothing flattering mind you, don't make him a bank robber or anything glamorous.  I want him to find it impossible to hire help for his ranch.  I want him to feel like every single man, woman, and child is against him.  If you can get him arrested, all the better."