The Floor of Heaven (32 page)

So when they sat around the campfire and passed the bottle, Charlie told tales about his many scrapes in Texas and New Mexico. He never came out and said it, but he made it apparent that he’d come north to Alaska to escape some trouble. Considering his shaky frame of mind when he’d left Denver, that was pretty much the truth. Maybe that was why his stories were so convincing. Anyway, Hubbard was impressed. He felt like he was drinking with a real desperado.

And when Charlie wasn’t talking about his outlaw adventures, he’d would sit by the campfire and discuss gold. He’d picked up a few things while working in the mine, so, always nice and casual, he’d make a point of throwing bits of his knowledge into conversations. One night he’d be going on about how a prospector who knew his beans would be able to extract ten times more gold from his ore than one who didn’t. The next he’d be lecturing about leaching, how it was necessary to use chlorine to process the ore if you hoped to get the contaminants out of the slag. Charlie could tell Hubbard was paying close attention to this sort of talk. In fact, he asked Charlie lots of questions about the chlorinization process.

One night when the detectives returned to camp, both Schell and Hubbard were waiting for them. Schell had never come by their camp before, and Charlie knew his presence could mean only one of two things: Either the big man was there to take care of the two whiskey peddlers once and for all or he’d come to ask a favor. However things played out tonight, Charlie suspected, the successful resolution to the case would hang in the balance. In the distance he could hear the rumble of the falls. At that tense moment, Charlie felt it might have been a drum roll signaling a momentous event. He waited in silence for Schell to speak.

He didn’t have to wait long. No sooner had Charlie sat down by the campfire than Schell blurted it out.

Hubbard tells me you boys know a bit about prospecting, he began.

Charlie simply nodded. He’d decided there was no point in overplaying his hand.

Hubbard hesitated. Then: “How’d you like to make $400 by helping us melt down some gold?”

“We’d like that very much,” Charlie answered quickly, and for once there was not a trace of an actor’s guile in his joy.

TWENTY-FIVE

hat momentous night in the camp near the Chieke Falls, the evening seemed to stretch on and on, the sun remaining high in the sky, glowing all the while as brightly as the flames from the campfire. It was a night when Charlie felt that a solution to the case might finally be within his grasp. Then, sometime after ten, the sun went down and a thick darkness enveloped the spruce forest and the night sounds grew thick, the birds and insects chirping in a steady chorus. Hubbard sidled up to Charlie. I want you to come with me, he said.

Where to? Charlie asked evenly.

Hubbard didn’t answer the question. Instead he said they would be back in a few hours. In the meantime, Schell would keep his partner company.

Guard him is what you mean, Charlie thought. It immediately occurred to Charlie that this might be a trap, a move to separate the two of them so they’d be easier to overpower. The offer of $400 to melt the gold had been a trick, a ruse to lull them into believing there was nothing to worry about. Or then again, perhaps not. It might just as well have been a genuine business proposition. Yet for a moment Charlie considered that it would be prudent to arrest the two thieves right then and there, while Billy and he had the chance of getting the drop on them. But arrests wouldn’t solve the case. In fact, he reminded himself, without the gold it’d be difficult to convict the two men. So when Hubbard got up to leave, Charlie ignored his misgivings, said a cheery good-bye to Billy, grabbed a fresh bottle of rye for the journey, and then, with a calm that was all disguise, followed Hubbard out of the camp. Hubbard led the way to a canoe.

In the canoe crossing Chieke Bay, there was little talk. Hubbard steered, and Charlie listened to the whishing sound of the paddle cutting through the water. His eyes soon adjusted to the dim light thrown off by the stars, and he saw that they were heading back toward the Indian village. He began to wonder whether Hubbard had arranged for a group of braves to be waiting on the beach to waylay him. Charlie had his Colt tucked into the waistband of his pants, but taking on a passel of Chinooks as well as a white gunslinger would prove difficult. Yet he was not afraid. His mind didn’t work like that. Instead, he began to focus on how he’d extricate himself if things turned sticky. He decided straight off he’d need to put one right between Hubbard’s eyes and hope that’d put a damper on the Injuns’ grit. As the canoe moved closer to shore, he scanned the beach and the tree line; he saw no one.

Once they were on the beach, Charlie kept a watchful eye on the shadows but at the same time tried not to betray his concern. Again he asked Hubbard where they were heading.

You’ll know soon enough, Hubbard said tersely. Then he asked for the bottle. Charlie felt that might be a reassuring sign. A man doesn’t want to dull his senses before a gunfight. In the next moment, though, Charlie had to concede that he’d known a few hard types who needed help finding the courage to draw on a man. In the end, Charlie decided he’d no choice but to accept what Hubbard had said. He’d know soon enough.

Hubbard led the way through the spruce forest. At night it was a bewildering maze of tall trees and deep shadows, but Hubbard was not deterred. He marched on swiftly and without hesitation. At first Charlie tried to mark the trail in his mind, looking for distinctive limbs or rock outcroppings. But he soon realized that this was impossible. The stars were hiding behind clouds and the darkness was so total that he could not distinguish one big spruce from another and the rocks they passed rose up as vague forms. Still, he dragged his right boot heel as he walked; though the ground was hard, it might leave a trace he’d be able to see in the daylight.

They continued on in silence for what seemed to Charlie to be three miles or so, and then Hubbard raised his hand. “We’re here,” he announced.

As Charlie watched with a growing excitement, the small man found a shovel that had been leaning against a tree. Then he executed a right turn like a soldier on parade and took a series of measured steps. One, he counted out loud. Two.… When he reached ten, he began to dig.

This is it! Charlie told himself. Hubbard’s about to dig up the stolen gold!

After shoveling for only a short time, Hubbard reached into the hole. In the darkness Charlie couldn’t make out what he was holding in his hand. But when Hubbard approached, he saw the object clearly: It was a frying pan.

A frying pan? Charlie had no idea what was going on. He’d been led through the woods in the dark of night to a secret hiding place, where the master thief had unearthed—a frying pan! It didn’t make any sense.

Then Hubbard handed him the pan. Charlie looked closely and saw that it was coated with a yellow substance. He traced his fingers across the plate of the frying pan in a slow examination. The pan was coated with gold.

That’s why we need you and Sayles, Hubbard offered in explanation. Charlie still had no idea what Hubbard meant. The whole thing was damn odd. A golden frying pan? But he hadn’t been bushwhacked. And he wanted to believe that the frying pan was not the only thing buried somewhere in these woods. It seemed very likely that the gold bars were hidden nearby. If he was patient, Charlie reckoned, Hubbard would get around to making things clear. In the meantime, Charlie would just listen. Besides, he feared that if he did too much talking, he’d reveal how little he actually knew about processing gold.

The whiskey encouraged Hubbard’s natural tendency to ramble, but just as Charlie was beginning to lose patience, the thief got back on track. He explained that they’d tried to recast some gold bars into nuggets. The first step, they’d figured, would be simple enough: Melt the gold. We got a good bark fire going, he said. And we made a bellows out of an old raincoat and a cracker box. That kept the fire blazing. Next we plunked a gold bar into that frying pan and held it over the flame. We figured that soon enough we’d have a liquid we could pour into a mold. Only thing—and now Hubbard began waving the frying pan about—when the gold cooled, it stuck to the frying pan. We can’t even scrape it off.

Imagine it might raise a few questions, you walking into a bank in Seattle trying to cash in a frying pan, Charlie suggested. He was treading lightly, but at the same time he was also trying to draw Hubbard out.

Hubbard laughed one of his deep, wheezy laughs. That’s why we need you and Sayles. We got a lot of bars we need to recast. Don’t want any smart-aleck banker running to the sheriff.

At that moment Charlie kept very still. Go on, he silently coaxed. Tell me the whole story. Tell me where the gold is hidden. He was bursting with questions, but he feared that if he pressed, Hubbard would be spooked. He’d stop talking altogether.

Charlie waited. Then Hubbard asked in a low, soft voice, “I tell you a secret, swear you’ll keep it?”

“Yes,” Charlie lied.

“The gold. It’s stolen from the Treadwell mine.”

OVER THE next three days, the four men seemed to discuss little other than the mechanics of recasting gold bars. Now that the secret about the source of the gold had been revealed, the thieves were no longer cagey about their intentions. They made it clear that they needed to mold the machine-stamped Treadwell bullion into smaller, unrecognizable bars. It’d be the only way they’d be able to turn the gold into cash at a bank and not get arrested. But other than explaining their need for their two new friends’ expertise, the thieves remained guarded, if not downright suspicious. They were very careful not to reveal where the cache of stolen bars was hidden. And whenever Charlie dared to ask what he’d hoped would be seen as an innocent question, wondering, say, how many bars they’d need to recast, the two thieves would immediately shoot each other wary looks and the conversation would come to an abrupt halt. So Charlie decided not to pry. Too much was at stake; he needed to know where the gold was hidden. He would wait and play along.

Guess we’ll need to build a furnace to melt the gold, Schell said.

Of course, Charlie agreed, although he had no idea if that was the case.

We do this right, Schell continued, we’ll need crucibles to hold the molten gold. And molds. And chloride so we can leach the stuff when we melt it down. Get all the impurities out.

Exactly, Charlie agreed; only once more he had no idea what he was agreeing to. He didn’t want Schell to stop talking. He figured that if the thief kept jawing he might inadvertently reveal where the gold was hidden. But as the days of talk went on, Charlie became convinced that the two thieves were too disciplined to make a slip. He’d learn the location of the gold only when the time came to recast the bars. He’d have to wait until then. Except that strategy raised another problem. Despite all his boasting, Charlie had no idea how to melt down the gold. Once he set to work, he’d be exposed as a fraud. And then he’d never learn where the gold was hidden. Instead, the two detectives would need to kill the two thieves before they got killed themselves.

He sat lost in thought over his predicament. And after a while, he came up with an idea. He shared it with Billy that afternoon when they went off alone into the woods to gather firewood. Might work, Billy agreed.

Later that evening, as the four of them were sitting around the campfire and a bottle was being passed, Charlie tried it out on Schell and Hubbard.

If we’re gonna build a furnace and recast the gold, then we’re gonna need supplies, he said. Sayles will stay here with you, but I’m gonna go to Juneau and get us what we need. What do you think? he asked, hoping his suggestion sounded reasonable.

Hubbard looked questioningly at Schell. The big man thought about it for a moment, then spoke. Sounds like a good idea, he agreed.

But then, Schell had no idea where Charlie intended to get the supplies.

THERE IS a difference, Durkin lectured authoritatively, a huge difference, between melting and smelting. You can’t just put gold in a frying pan as if it were a hunk of hog lard, like those two fools did.

Earlier, the meeting in the mine superintendent’s home on Douglas Island had started off as though it were a war council. As soon as Charlie had announced that he’d caught up with the two thieves, Durkin had jumped to his feet. A log fire roared in a massive limestone fireplace, and Durkin stood silhouetted in front of it, waving his hands and shouting with glee. Charlie wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had broken out into a jig. “I knew we’d get the bastards. I knew it,” he exalted. “Congratulations, Mr. Davis.”

It was then that the detective disclosed for the first time that his name was in reality Charlie Siringo, not Lee Davis. The superintendent considered that for only an instant before proclaiming that he didn’t care a dickens about the name. All that mattered was that Davis or Siringo or whatever he wanted to call himself had found the thieves. He wanted Charlie to contact the authorities and make the arrests.

We do that, Charlie countered flatly, it’s more than likely we’ll never recover the gold.

Durkin suddenly stood very still. It was as if all his previous joy had in an instant been drained out of him. He stared at Charlie, and when he finally spoke his tone was low and accusatory. “You don’t know where the gold is?” he asked.

Charlie suggested that Durkin take a seat; he would explain the situation. In great detail he recounted how, along with his partner, he’d tracked the two thieves, won their confidence, and been offered the job of recasting the stolen gold bars. But, Charlie went on, neither he nor Sayles had the slightest idea how to build a furnace and mold the gold into nuggets.

Well, Durkin said, you’ve come to the right man. What I don’t know about gold ain’t worth knowing.

For the next hour or so Durkin delivered a thoughtful and meticulous primer on the art of processing gold. In truth, a lot of it was lost on Charlie, especially when Durkin reeled off the chemical formulas of the solutions involved in removing the impurities from gold. But by the time Durkin had concluded his lecture, Charlie was confident that he’d understood the basic principles. He’d be able to build a furnace with heat-resistant clay bricks. He’d stoke it up with charcoal, not wood, because charcoal was pure carbon and burned at a higher temperature. He’d make sure the fire reached 2,000 degrees; gold melted at 1,943 degrees Fahrenheit, Durkin had specified. And he’d wait until the flame turned blue, an indication that there was sufficient carbon monoxide present for the melting process to proceed. Durkin also trained Charlie in the tricky skills of handling the red-hot crucibles that would hold the molten ore as well as the molds into which the gold would be recast.