The Great West Detective Agency (18 page)

“You find where she is?”

“No, the stupid son of a bitch wouldn't tell me. He has no idea what's at stake.”

“An entire country.”

“Nicaragua,” the first man said. He took out another cigar, lit it, and puffed furiously. “Dunbar's a fool thinking he can pry away a new state after all the political infighting it took to gain admittance.” He expelled a smoke ring that rose in the night until it caught the faint moonlight and turned to wavering silver. “If he doesn't find where the gold is soon, we'll have to be more resolute.”

“Can't supply an army with promises,” one man said.

“Even with a million dollars, it'll be hard. Clifford's good at outfitting an expedition, but nobody wins when it's rocks against rifles.”

With that the trio went into the house.

Lucas stared at the spot where the men had been, his heart racing. A million dollars in gold. Amanda's life would be forfeit if she didn't tell them where the dog was and how Tovarich could locate the treasure trove. A cold lump formed in his belly when he realized her life was over the instant she did tell them.

There wasn't any good way out of her predicament, not dealing with the likes of Dunbar—and Clifford.

L
ucas paced anxiously, waiting for Lester Gallatin to return to the stables. The horses grew increasingly restive because of his constant movement, his occasional tapping of his fingers against whichever stall was closest, and his outbursts of cursing because of his helplessness. Finding Amanda demanded his full attention. If Dunbar wouldn't do it, Clifford would torture her to find what had happened to the Russian wolfhound.

The woman's insincere answer as to what had happened to Tovarich worried him. Lucas felt they'd had some bond while on the dance floor, moving smoothly to the music and responding to each other's slightest motion. She had even faltered when it came to her incessant lying, or so he believed. His life depended on reading others, though his true expertise lay in seeing what drunken cowboys and crafty clerks and others who thought they held good hands really had been dealt. Bluffers were easy to spot. Those who honestly believed proved more difficult and required other skills to read. Whatever it took, Lucas played and won more than he lost.

With women, the stakes were different, but he had won more than he'd lost there, too. His recent streak of bad luck with Carmela, and perhaps with Amanda, worried him. In Amanda's case, her life might be forfeit. She thought making him believe her tall tales got her off the hook. Dealing with ruthless men like Dunbar and Clifford upped the stakes. She knew where the dog was. He hadn't bought her lie for an instant, and neither would Clifford. Dunbar might be smitten with her charms, but the filibuster had greater goals than slipping between the sheets. Dunbar might want Colorado to secede, but his level of mercilessness failed to reach that of Clifford. For all Lucas knew, it might not even match that of the Russian anarchists. Vera Zasulich showed the fire of the fanatic and had lost a brother.

Lucas went for his pistol when the livery stable's door creaked open.

“For God's sake, where have you been?”

“Lucas? Been doin' what you asked of me.” Gallatin staggered in, canted his head to one side, and squinted through one eye to keep the world in focus. Even at a distance of yards, he reeked of booze. “It might not be safe if you keep comin' on by here. They don't really trust me. Think one followed me here. They see us together and we're both dead men.”

Lucas went to the door and peered out into the street. The few pedestrians out at this time of night walked briskly on their way. A solitary rider never glanced in his direction, and a clattering carriage drove in the wrong direction. Even as he watched, it turned a corner down by a gaslight and disappeared toward the center of town. Shadows and silence reigned once more.

“I don't see anyone on your trail.”

“Them's cagey men. Shadows, ghosts! Animals, I swear. Not a one of 'em's got a human feeling in his breast. All they talk of is killin', past, present, and future. Them boastin' on the number of soldiers they are gonna kill when they invade Nicaragua bothers me most. The others might be lies. But the looks on their faces when they get to talkin' of cuttin' down men when they get to Nicaragua—”

“Lester, forget that for now. I know Clifford wants to overthrow the Nicaraguan government. He needs financial backing to do that. Did they talk about that?”

“Heard a hint of some gold comin' their way real soon. Never figgered what they meant, though. Them boys are cheap. Made me buy 'em a round and never returned the favor. Had to buy my own tarantula juice.”

“Where are they holed up?”

“Can't say for certain sure, Lucas, but I think they got an old house south of Colfax, away from all them rich folks' houses. They mighta been lyin' to mislead me, but I don't think so. No reason, and I never asked. I was just listenin' real hard.”

“Don't worry about that. What are Clifford's plans?” Lucas had little hope that the mercenaries had dropped any hint about the gold in front of a recruit who couldn't hold his liquor.

“Like they was sayin', he's expectin' to come into a mountain of gold. That's what one of 'em said. ‘The general's gonna find a mountain of gold.' That was his precise utterance. I asked what he meant, but they clammed up and wouldn't say another word. I thought that was kinda suspect, but askin' too many questions might've got my throat cut.”

“You did fine, Lester.”

Lucas despaired of finding Amanda now. He already knew where the filibusters made their headquarters after trailing Clifford there. An overheard comment about a million dollars whetted his own appetite but he was building fantasies of how grateful Amanda would be when he came riding up and saved her. Lacking either a white charger or shining armor became an increasing problem, especially when his only ally was the drunken Lester Gallatin.

“You wanted me to listen on any secrets about a dog. I heard one, though it don't amount to a hill of beans.”

Lucas knew that Clifford still hunted for the dog, so his men hardly knew where the animal could be found. That was the purpose of torturing the information from Amanda.

“Anything you heard would help,” he said, not expecting real details.

“They said that Dunbar had the bitch buried, so they might as well make that her grave. Don't know what it means.”

“The bitch?”

“Gotta mean a dog since none of them's a woman. I can't imagine why they'd say a thing like that about Mrs. Dunbar. From all I heard, she's kinda sickly and never leaves her bedroom.”

“The bitch,” Lucas said, smiling a little. “Could they have meant Amanda Baldridge?”

Gallatin shrugged. The act of shaking his head caused things to come loose inside. He moaned and clutched his temples with both hands.

“I think I'm gonna be sick. That was awful firewater they served up.”

“Take care of yourself.” Lucas stepped away as Gallatin began retching out the contents of his tormented belly. The smell turned his own stomach, so he hurried out into the night.

Dawn would be on the way in less than an hour, but Gallatin had given him a clue. The filibusters might have been spewing nonsense, but it made sense. Dunbar hadn't had long to stash Amanda far from his house, not given the brief time between his carriage reaching his home and Lucas arriving. Dunbar wouldn't lock up Amanda inside the house—and the real clue lay in “grave.”

Feeling that time worked against him, Lucas ran back to Dunbar's house, reaching there just as the sun poked above the plains and sent rays racing to warm the Front Range. The servants in the house began their chores, but he ignored them and went straight for the carriage house. The door creaked open to let in the new day's light.

He froze when he heard nails tearing out of wood, followed by hard hammering as if someone knocked on a door. Toward the rear of the carriage house he saw a trapdoor rise a few inches and then collapse. Nails pulling from wood sounded louder and then the trapdoor slammed open with a loud crash that caused him to jump. A mop of dark hair poked up, paused, then rose.

Lucas moved to hide behind the carriage as Amanda forced her way through the small opening to a root cellar. Underneath the carriage he saw her torn dress and filthy shoes. The sight of a well-turned ankle almost made him go to her aid. Instead, he moved toward the rear of the carriage house as she went to the door and stood silhouetted by the rising sun. She looked like she had been rode hard and put away wet. Her hair rivaled any bird's nest, the underclothing she still wore was ripped and dirty, and she rubbed at minor cuts and scratches on her arms.

After the brief hesitation, she darted away. Lucas counted to ten and went after her. He had misjudged how fast she could run, and run she did. She was all the way down the street before she made a quick turn and vanished from view. In spite of being bone tired, Lucas lit out after her, running as hard as he could. His legs ached and the wind came in fiery stabs through his lungs. Having the stamina to play poker for thirty-six hours straight did not properly speak to real physical endurance. He had walked all over Denver that night, danced away from Dunbar's thugs and with the lovely Amanda, and now had to chase the woman running for her life.

He put his head down and doggedly kept loping along until she came into view again. She dodged down another street. This time he slowed and caught his breath since the street stretched far to the west. All too soon, she cut south again, heading down toward the old settlement along Cherry Creek where the first Denver pioneers had huddled against fierce blizzards and occasional Arapaho attacks.

Another twenty minutes of increasingly circuitous roads that were hardly more than ruts brought him to a shack that would fall down when the first winter winds blew against it. He suspected the walls were sturdier than they appeared—this building had withstood the rigors of weather for a long time and would still be standing long after newer structures in Denver had tumbled.

Lucas tore out running when Amanda screamed. He skidded to a halt and pressed his back against the weathered planking. The Colt came to his hand easily. He waited for another sound to give him a hint as to what he was bulling his way into, but all he heard were low, muffled curses. Then came the sound of flesh striking something hard. Twisting about, he pressed his face against the wall and peered through a crack.

The darkness almost defeated his spying. His eye gradually adapted to the interior light. Amanda pounded her fist against the only furniture in the room, a table that trembled with every blow. She spun about and grabbed for her head as if she was hurt, but Lucas had seen this gesture before. She was furious.

Another loud, unladylike curse cut through the air. He moved around to find a better view, then spotted two men coming down the path for the shack. Not even realizing it, he lifted his pistol and triggered a round. For a .22, the range was extreme, but it served its purpose. The slug whined past Dunbar's henchmen. They dived in different directions, throwing themselves flat on the ground.

He got off another shot, which accomplished nothing but relieved the tension he felt. Lucas looked through a knothole into the shack and saw the door swing open. For an instant Amanda stood there, then ran off. He called to her but his warning was drowned out by the thunder of a pair of .45s. Both of Dunbar's men had unlimbered their side arms and fired steadily into the cabin.

Lucas crouched, braced his wrist against the corner of the shack, and waited for the perfect shot. He might not have the killing power of either of those attacking, but a small piece of lead rattling around in a belly or taking off a kneecap worked as well for his purpose as killing them.

He never got the chance to fire. Both men scrambled up and crossed the path, using the shack to hide themselves. Waiting for them to come around, one on either side, heightened Lucas's senses. Every sound, every odor, every flash of light keyed him up that much more.

They never came after him.

He duck walked around and saw that they had seen Amanda and gone after her. Chances were good they thought she had fired on them. Standing slowly, he saw that it was impossible to overtake them. Amanda ran for her life and gave the men the chase of their lives. The best he could do was shoot them in the back, but he doubted he could ever catch up or even narrow the distance enough for another shot.

Pistol tucked back into his pocket, he started to leave, then pivoted and went into the shack. Amanda had come here for a reason. His nose wrinkled at the smell coming from a pile of dog excrement in the corner of the room. If that hadn't been proof enough that Amanda had chained Tovarich here, the chewed leather leash told the true story. The dog had gnawed his way free. That was the reason for her anger. She had rescued the wolfhound from the ratter, only to lose him again.

Lucas coughed and gasped. As he sucked in a breath, he recognized the strange perfume Amanda used. The same that she shared with Vera Zasulich. If he wanted to find the dog and learn where a million dollars in gold was hidden, he had to go to the Russian revolutionaries' camp.