Beneath a Dakota Cross (24 page)

“Fifteen,” Tiny reported.

Brazos turned it over in his hand. “This isn't solid silver.”

“No, it's just iron, with some silver wash,” Martinez admitted. “Much of it has been worn off.”

“It's quite a find, anyway. I suppose any of the prospectors could have toted this into the hills from Mexico . . . or Arizona . . .”

“That might be where it came from, but it was found in Dakota,” Big River challenged.

“A Dakota cross? Could it be?” Brazos stammered. “It's not exactly what I was lookin' for . . . a real cross? It never dawned on me to look for an actual cross!” He handed the relic back to Martinez. “Tiny, you might have a treasure there.”

“I do not think it is worth much. Juan took it to Sundance and offered to sell it for ten dollars. No one was interested.”

“I'll give you twice that,” Brazos offered. “But the treasure might not be in the cross, but under it.”

“I will gladly sell it to you, but what do you mean?” Martinez asked.

“Some people say there is sixty thousand dollars worth of gold coins buried under a Dakota cross.”

Martinez whistled through the wide gaps in his front teeth.

“That's the rumor. The money was taken during a train robbery three years ago near Cheyenne City.”

“I lived in Cheyenne about then,” Tiny said. “I don't remember such a robbery.”

Brazos paced in front of the stove. “Seems the Central Pacific didn't want to admit they were carrying such funds, so they've kept it quiet.”

“And if someone found the money, the railroad would either deny it was theirs, or give you an awful big reward to keep quiet,” Big River suggested.

“I don't know where it was on the cliff. I doubt if there was any gold buried under it,” Tiny Martinez remarked.

“It might be worth climbin',” Big River added.

“Not with four men waiting to shoot me. I do not intend to be shot again,” Tiny said.

Brazos leaned closer. “Just exactly how did you get away from them?”

“I hid back in the mine shaft we were diggin'. They are waiting at the mouth until daylight, I suppose.”

“How did you get out?”

“I crawled out an air vent we had dug. We kept our mules in the brush and saddled for such emergencies. There are rumors that the Sioux will try to clean out the canyon any day now.”

“So, when daylight breaks and they find you're not there, they'll be headin' this way?”

“Perhaps. But if, as you say, they are looking for stolen money, they might stay and search.”

“If they find it, they'll ride on. If they don't, they might come lookin' for you,” Brazos suggested.

“I could wait several days to go back, but I would rather not leave Juan's body unburied.”

“Big River, maybe it's time to saddle up and pay an early morning visit to Spearfish Canyon,” Brazos announced.

“That's what I was thinkin'.”

“They are violent and dangerous men,” Martinez warned.

Brazos nodded. “We've run across them before.”

“You want me to round up Grass and the Jims?” Big River asked.

“Yeah, I'll pack some grub, in case we're out longer than we plan.”

Martinez stood. “I will need a fresh horse. I ran the mule down.”

“You'll need to get that arm doctored. We'll get Louise to look at it.”

“I will survive.”

“You'll be the one-armed man if you don't get it taken care of. You stay here in town, and we'll check out Spearfish Canyon.”

“Would you allow evil men to kill your friend, then run away and leave his body for the buzzards?” Martinez challenged.

Brazos glanced over at Big River, then back at Martinez. “No, I wouldn't.”

“Neither will I.”

Brazos leaned over and stared into a bushel basket of short, white miner's candles. Then he lifted a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles off the candles and shoved them on his nose.

Brazos stuffed his saddlebags with dried meat and .50-caliber bullets. His canvas coat was rolled up and crammed into his bedroll, which lay by the open front door of the hardware store, next to the Sharps carbine. He stood in the doorway and stared out into the black night. He could hear music, shouts, and laughter from the lower end of town. The upper end was quiet. Several lights flickered from the hotel across the street.

His spurs lay silent on the heel ledge of his worn, brown boots. A slight drift down the gulch cooled the night air. When a small, soft, warm hand touched his arm he almost jumped out into the sidewalk.

“Daddy?”

“Darlin', what are you doin' up? You should be in bed.”

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Me and the boys need to ride out to Spearfish Canyon.”

“In the middle of the night?” she probed.

“There's been a little trouble, and we need to help a friend.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“A man was shot.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes, he is,” Brazos said.

“Are you going after the wicked men who did it?”

“Yes, with the help of Big River, Grass, and the Jims.”

“Why do you have to go?”

“Mr. Tejunga was our friend. There's no law out here. The government doesn't recognize us, so our only law is mining camp law and we have to enforce it ourselves.”

“Is it that awful man, Doc Kabyo?”

“Why do you say that?”

“It is, isn't it?”

“We think so.”

“Sometimes I have nightmares about him.”

“I want you to go back to bed and have some pleasant dreams.”

“I will get dressed and come with you,” Dacee June announced.

“That's out of the question. This could be dangerous.”

“You promised you'd never leave me again.”

“We've been all through that. I am not going to leave you. This is our home. I'm not moving. But you can't just go everywhere I need to go.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, young lady, it's too dangerous.”

“You mean, you might get shot?”

“That's a possibility,” he admitted.

“That's why I must go. If you die in some canyon, then you'll have left me alone in Deadwood. You promised not to leave me alone.”

“You're not alone!” His voice grew to almost a shout. “Todd is here in town. Besides, I'm not going to get shot.”

Dacee June hollered back. “Then I shall go with you.”

“You will not!”

“You promised,” she wailed, tears tumbling down her cheeks.

“Young lady, you are going to stay upstairs until your brother opens the store. Then you will help him and the clerks until I return, which will probably be before supper tonight.”

“You're not going to stay overnight?”

“Probably not,” he snapped.

“Then why are you taking your bedroll?”

“In case of emergency.”

“I don't see why I can't go,” she pouted.

“Look, here come the boys.” Brazos plucked up his bedroll, carbine, and saddlebags. “You lock the door behind me, then go back to sleep.”

“I will not sleep.”

“We'll talk about it when I return. My promise does not mean what you think it means.”

“That's obvious,” she pouted, then stormed back inside and slammed the door.

“Lock the door, Dacee June!”

As the five men rode up in front of the store, Brazos heard the iron bar slide into the braces inside the building.

Lord . . . why am I snapping at her? She's my whole life, and here I am yellin' at her. This is crazy. Sarah Ruth, you're supposed to be here and explain it to her. Daddies act. Mommies explain. That's the way it is.

Isn't it?

It took two-and-a half-hours of rough riding to reach the east rim of Spearfish Canyon. By then the sky had gone from black to charcoal gray to pale blue. Brazos had led all the way from Deadwood, but now waited for Martinez riding a short-legged white mare to catch up.

“Which way, Tiny?”

“North.” He waved the barrel of his carbine at the cliffs. “Two miles up, on the east side of the creek.”

Big River rode up beside them. “You think Kabyo and them will still be at the mine shaft?”

Brazos reached into his saddlebag and grabbed out a handful of .50-caliber bullets. “I reckon we'll find out.”

“What will we do if we capture them?”

“Send them out to Yankton and put them on trial for Juan's murder.” Brazos shoved the bullets into the pockets of his brown leather vest.

Quiet Jim rode up. “What's the plan?”

Brazos pointed up ahead. “How about me, Tiny, and Big River riding up the right side of the creek. You, Yapper, and Grass give us a three-minute lead. Then ride up the west bank. Whichever one finds trouble first, the others can come to the rescue.”

“What will be the signal?” Yapper Jim asked.

“Gunfire,” Brazos said.

Cottonwood, poplars, and willows lined the path of Spearfish Creek as it wound its way through the limestone walls of the canyon. Ponderosa pines huddled in bunches throughout the canyon, on rocky ledges, and on both rims.

With sunlight breaking up high on the western rim, and the dark green grass growing in the narrow canyon floor, the scene looked like an artist's painting.

Brazos's carbine balanced across his lap, hammer pulled back to the safety position. In the distance, two jagged, white limestone peaks lipped the eastern rim. “Your claim is on the canyon floor, just right of those peaks.”

Martinez looked puzzled. “How did you know that?”

“A friend of mine had a map of this place once. He described it to me, only we figured the cross was a geological formation of some kind.”

“Was he one of the train robbers?”

“No, he won the map in a poker game with the last surviving train robber.”

“You really think there's treasure buried up there?”

“He did. And so did the ones who killed him.”

“Who was that?”

“Doc Kabyo. The same one who killed Juan.”

“I think the man is a demon.”

“You might be close to right, Tiny. What do they know about the cross?”

“They knew that it fell off the mountain. Juan told that story to any who would listen. But they acted like we knew more than we were tellin'. Which we didn't. Juan died not knowin' a thing about those gold coins.”

“I suppose they might be digging around on their own.”

“That could be. But it would be extremely hard work to climb the cliff. You could not do that with one leg.”

“Kabyo wouldn't do that with two legs. But he might have one of the others try. Is there any way to approach your claim undetected?”

“The best would be to ride straight down the creek. The brush could hide us for a while.”

Big River Frank nodded agreement.

They walked the horses slowly down Spearfish Creek, pausing often in thickets, scouting the canyon ahead of them. The water gurgled and sprayed just loud enough to cover the splash of the hooves. Tiny Martinez pointed out a pile of rocks that signaled the beginning of his claim.

Big River Frank rode up beside Brazos.

“Looks like all four horses up there.” He pointed his carbine towards the base of the cliff. “They must be in the shaft.”

“Or in the brush near the base of the cliff,” Tiny replied.

Brazos pulled out his spectacles and shoved them on his nose. “Where's Juan's mule?”

“I think he ran off when I rode away last night.”

“If we start shootin' and they try to escape, which way will they go?” Brazos asked.

“If we come in from this direction, they'll cross the creek and ride north,” Martinez suggested.

Brazos waved his hand to the south. “Big River, ride back and tell Grass and the Jims to circle around and cut off the trail north. We'll wait here and keep a eye on things. I'd rather wait until they come out of that shaft. If they're holed up back in there, it might take days to flush them out.”

“Unless they crawl out the air vent like Tiny did,” Big River Frank proposed.

Brazos turned to Martinez. “Can you sneak around and guard that air vent?”

“On foot, yes.”

“I'll stay here until Big River returns, and we'll just wait them out.”

Tiny Martinez tied off his horse in the brush and disappeared in the cluster of willows that lined the bank of the creek. Big River Frank rode back upstream as Brazos studied the opening of the five-by-five-foot shaft that disappeared into the darkness at the base of the limestone cliff. He aimed his carbine at the opening and gauged it to be two hundred yards away.

Lord, I've spent almost a year wanting Kabyo dead. He tests my theology. I do not know why people like him should still be alive. He's forfeited his right to exist. He is like Satan himself: a stealer, a destroyer, a killer . . . continuing to torment the innocent.

There was no movement and Brazos lowered his carbine.

A Dakota cross was up there? This isn't what I've been thinkin' it would be. There is no room against that cliff for a decent house, let alone a ranch. This can't be where you were leadin' me, can it?

Where was that cross before some train robbers used it for a marker? Maybe it was out on the plains. Maybe it was in some nice Black Hills meadow . . . maybe it was in Wyoming . . . or Colorado . . . or Arizona. Hook won that map in Arizona. If this is the right cross, how will I find the right place? This doesn't make things clearer. It's more complicated.

The blast of a rifle report echoed down the canyon wall. Brazos threw his carbine to his shoulder. A white puff of gunsmoke drifted from halfway up the cliff above the open mine shaft.

Big River Frank splashed his way up the creek. “Where did that shot come from?”

“On the cliff!”