Silver Dreams (37 page)

"I told you when a woman goes in a mine, her soul never leaves. I warned you, and now it's come true."

His retreating footsteps were almost louder than the sizzling TNT. But in the terror of the moment, a thousand hissing rattlers couldn't have drowned out the sound of those sputtering, crackling fuses.

The sticks went off simultaneously. Ramona threw her body across Ross's and covered her head with her arms. The blast was deafening. The ground rumbled and the walls shook. Thick gray smoke filled the cavern, gagging her with the acrid stench of gunpowder. Bits of rock and shale pelted her arms and back in a seemingly endless painful shower. Yet when it was over, she was miraculously alive.

She raised her head slowly, waving the smoke away from her smarting eyes. She put a finger against Ross's neck and felt a pulse. She checked her own arms and legs. Nothing was broken. She'd suffered cuts and bruises, and her lungs burned with each agonizing breath, but once the smoke rose to the ceiling, her breathing became easier.

She immediately took stock of her situation. They were both alive, so there was hope, no matter how meager. There was no telling what was going on outside the mine. Max and Lizzie could be in an even worse fix.

They had water, so she and Ross wouldn't die of thirst. She looked at the airway above her and considered it for an escape route. She'd never be able to climb to it, and even if she did, she couldn't fit through. Her only option was to go through the wall of rubble Dooley had left.

Ross stirred and groaned. She bent down to him and examined his wound. He was bleeding a lot. She tore a bit of fabric from the sleeve of her shirt and fashioned a bandage over the bullet hole. Ross’s face was contorted with pain, though he didn't seem to be conscious of her actions.

"Don't you die on me, Ross Sheridan," she commanded. "If I've got to dig through piles of rock, I'd better not have to dig your grave when I'm done!"

Then Ramona set to work. And while she scratched and clawed at the wall of boulders, she prayed. For the first time since she was fourteen years old, sitting in the last pew at St. Mark's Church near the stockyards of Chicago, Etta Sue Kunkel, alias Diana Devine, alias Ramona Redbud, prayed like her heart would break. She didn't ask for forgiveness of her sins. There'd been too many to deserve salvation. Her prayer now was the same as it had been when she was fourteen. She prayed for escape.

The thunderous explosion trembled under Elizabeth's feet. She felt it through her legs and into her abdomen where the muscles clenched with fear.

"That was no gunshot," she said. "Dear God, what's going on in there?"

Max fixed a cold stare on the man holding the revolver. "Why don't you answer the lady's question, Paulie? What the hell is going on in that mine?"

Paulie's face blanched. His dark bushy eyebrows climbed his forehead in astonishment. He looked as confused as Elizabeth at that moment. Turning to his partner, he said, "Nick, you'd better get in there and see what that damn old fool is up to. I should have known he couldn't follow simple orders."

Damn old fool!
  Elizabeth whirled on Max. "Dooley's in there, too. They must still be alive! Someone had to set off that charge. I'm going in!"

"No, Betsy, wait!" Max hollered.

But Elizabeth had no intention of waiting. She ran past Nick before he had time to level the site of his Winchester at her. Paulie's reactions, however, were not as sluggish. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw him spread his legs for balance and raise the barrel of his revolver straight at her. When he pulled the hammer back, she ducked her head and ran faster.

The next sound she heard wasn't a gunshot at all, but a grunt of pain. She glanced over her shoulder as Max brought the bigger man to the ground with a thud. The gun twirled in circles as it skidded out of reach. "Max!" she cried.

"Go, Betsy, run!" he shouted as Paulie's fist caught him in the side of the face. A cracking blow propelled Max off the big brute and sent him sprawling into the dirt.

Struggling to his feet, Paulie yelled to Nick, "Stop her, you idiot!”

For a moment, Elizabeth watched dumbstruck as Paulie charged Max, his legs churning up loose bits of rock. She didn't know which way to run, and this split second of indecision was her downfall. Nick grabbed her around the waist, dragging her back to the campsite.

She fought with all her strength against the gunman's grip. She managed to wrench her body around only to be slammed into his chest. A searing pain shot up her arm. Colorful dots danced before her eyes. She drew her foot back, kicked his shin, and was rewarded with the hard resistance of bone against the toe of her boot.

"You little witch," Nick yelped and released his grip to rub his leg.

Elizabeth spun away from him, but he held her firm with fingers around her wrist. She watched in horror as he drew his free hand back. It shot toward her face in a blur of white knuckles and dark, matted hair.

Crippling, mind-shattering pain burned into her cheek. Her head snapped back, and her feet left the ground. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Max roar like a wounded animal

Chapter Twenty

Something hard and punishing repeatedly poked at Elizabeth's ribs. She wished it would stop. Her head hurt, too. Her eyes behind the dark blanket of her eyelids hurt, so much that she didn't dare open them. She wanted to scream out to the thing to leave her alone, to let her sleep, but her lips felt thick and dry. She didn't think she could form the words.

All at once the jabbing stopped, and Elizabeth felt herself mercifully slipping back into the safe, gray painless world she'd come from. Then it was back. A hand wriggled its way under her chest and lifted her. She began to roll over, and her cheek scraped something coarse, like sandpaper. The ground?  Yes, little pieces of rock rubbed against her cheek, and she realized the side of her face hurt most of all.

She was on her back. She knew because the sun shone gold through her eyelids. But still she couldn't open her eyes. She could only lay there like some stupid floppy scarecrow with no bones or muscles. That's it. Someone had taken out her insides and replaced them with straw.

"You proved you're a big man, all right...hit a defenseless woman half your size. Proud of yourself, aren't you?"

That's Max's voice. Everything's all right then. Max is here.

"She ain't dead." A gruff voice from just above her said. "Not yet, anyway."

Dead? Of course I'm not dead. Elizabeth willed her mind to start making some sense of her situation, a difficult task since her head was spinning out of control. She finally determined that two things had occurred. Apparently the man standing over her had been poking her with the toe of his boot. And from what he'd just said, he fully expected her to be dead before too long.

"She's good looking, Paulie," the man said. "Before we...you know, do you think I could have a go at her?"

"You lame brained ox! Is that all you ever think of?"

"It's been a long time, Paulie, and I’ve never had an uptown pigeon. I'll bet she's a sweeter piece than any of the chits at Dixie Lee's."

Those words, more than anything else, brought Elizabeth out of her stupor. She remembered everything that had happened, and mustered all her willpower to remain still. She needed time to analyze her predicament and come up with a plan.

"Keep your filthy hands off her," Max bellowed.

Attaboy, Max.

"If you so much as touch her, I'll kill you," he ground out.

"I hardly see how you'll be able to do that," Paulie said, "seeing as how I'm the one with the gun."

"I hope you rot in hell."

Paulie laughed. "Not as soon as you will, buddy. Come on, Nickie, get over here. We've got work to do. We're about to be rich men. And you, reporter-boy, keep chopping up that ore. You're doing good."

Elizabeth listened to Nick's retreating footsteps, and when she was convinced he was far enough away, she opened her eyes. The three men were about fifty yards from her, half-way between the campsite and the ledge that dropped to a deep chasm. Nick had begun picking up bits of ore and putting them in pouches, while Paulie kept his weapon on Max.

"You'll never get away with this," Max said. "Everybody in Georgetown knows this is our dig. Once you have the samples analyzed you’re as good as caught."

That's a good boy, Max. Keep talking. Don't let them look this way. Elizabeth raised her head enough to search the area around her. She was very near their tents. There had to be something close by she could use to fight with. She spied Ramona's poncho almost within reach. That's it, she thought. Thank goodness Ramona didn't take it into the mine this morning. Now if only the items I need are still in the pockets.

Keeping low to the ground, Elizabeth crawled toward the colorful poncho. She was prepared to resume her game of possum if she drew any unwanted attention, but that didn't happen. She neared her target, inch by painful inch.

Her fingers grasped the woven fabric, and with her eyes on the three men, she groped for the pocket. When she stuck her hand inside and wrapped it around the cool, smooth surface of silver, she smiled to herself. The flask. Next to it was the glass vial. The arsenic. Now if she could just get them out and do what she had to do.

Paulie never dropped his guard over Max. "What did you tell Dooley was going on out here?" he asked Nick.

"When he came out of the mine, I sent him around to our camp to start packing things up."

Elizabeth unscrewed the cap of the flask and opened the vial. Keep talking, boys.

"Yeah? Did he ask about these two?"

"Not a word. He knows he's got to follow orders since he shot the other guy and blasted the mine. He'll do whatever we tell him. He's scared out of his mind that something will go wrong."

Shot the other guy
! It was Dooley who'd fired the shot, and Ross who'd been his target. Elizabeth's hands trembled as she poured the contents of the vial into the flask. She bit her lip to keep from crying out her grief. Hearing her brother’s fate uttered so callously was like a dagger to her heart. Ross was probably dead. She’d never bargained for this. How would she tell their father, even if she got out alive?

She forced her thoughts back to the task ahead and willed her fingers to stop trembling. She would mourn her brother later. Now, there was one chance, and one chance only, to save Max...and herself. And it was a long shot. Oh, how had this adventure turned out so wretchedly wrong?