In the Shadow of Death (13 page)

The mine entrance was completely hidden by brush and alder, and after tethering Angel next to a broken-down shed, she removed the flashlight and gloves from the saddlebag. When she had pushed her way through the brush, she found that the mine opening was much smaller than she had imagined it would be, and it seemed to burrow straight into the side of the mountain. Apart from the gentle snuffling from Angel, everything was quiet and still, but she experienced that same eerie feeling as on her last visit to the area. She shone the flashlight through the rotting, wooden slats that covered the entrance, but nothing reflected back. There was just the deep blackness and a damp, musty smell. Baffled, she pushed her way back through the brush and replaced the flashlight in the bag.

There's no way in. So it wasn't the mine that brought Sarazine up here. But there had to be a reason for him to come. And who knew that he was here?
As she prepared to put her foot into the stirrup, she looked at the slope of the mountain as it rose in tiers above the mine entrance.
I wonder what's up there?

Re-tethering Angel, she pulled on her new gloves and pushed her way back to the mine entrance. Beside it she found a narrow track leading upwards through the bushes and stunted firs, and taking hold of a clump of sagebrush, she started to climb.
At least my hands won't be scratched this time.
Stopping every now and then to catch her breath, she clutched and pulled her way up through the thick tangle until she was out in the open on the first plateau. The mountain still loomed above her, but if the mine tunnel did go straight back into the mountain as it had appeared to, she estimated that she must be directly above it at this point. Maybe there was another entrance to it up here. The slab of stone she was standing on was at least eight feet square and was surrounded by boulders, sage and thorn bushes. Not knowing what she was looking for, she peered and poked among them.

After about ten minutes of searching, she was on the verge of giving up when she hit pay dirt. Well hidden under the scrub and covered by loose grass and small pebbles was a wooden trap door about three feet square. Preparing herself for a tough struggle, she grasped the metal ring and pulled. But it was much lighter than she expected, and she fell backwards abruptly. Brushing herself off, she approached the opening again warily and stared down into inky blackness.
Why didn't I bring the flashlight?
A wooden ladder was fastened by cleats into the rock at the top of the hole, and as she stared down, she could just make out its rungs disappearing into the void. Thoughts of snakes, spiders and bats decided her against trying to descend without a light of some sort.
I'll have to go back for it.
Scrambling over the flat rock, she made an unladylike, sliding descent back to where Angel was tethered, grabbed the flashlight, pushed it down into the waistband of her jeans, and struggled up the track again.

Kneeling beside the hole, Maggie directed the beam into its depths. She estimated the ladder went down at least twenty feet to what looked like an earth-packed floor.
There's nothing for it, old gal, down you go.
Stuffing the flashlight back into her waistband, she began her descent. The ladder creaked and twisted under her weight, and several times it seemed to move away from the damp wall, causing her to stop in fright.

After what seemed an eternity, she touched bottom and looked up to the square of daylight. Forcing herself to stop trembling, she stood with her back to the ladder and shone the beam around a small cavern. There were two tunnel openings, one to her left, which she thought possibly went down toward the mine's lower entrance, and the other to the right, burrowing its way deeper into the hillside.
Which way?
She chose the one to the right. Steeling herself, she stooped to enter the dark passageway, but had taken no more than a dozen steps when the tunnel started to slope gently downward. A slight rustling made her freeze in her tracks, and it was all she could do not to turn, rush back and climb up to sunlight and safety. But taking a deep breath, she continued to walk, holding the flashlight in one hand and using the other to feel her way along the wet rocky wall. Twice her feet slipped, but she regained her balance. The third time they went from under her, the flashlight flew out of her hand to bounce ahead, then the beam of light went out, plunging her into sudden inky blackness. Rigid with fright, it took her several minutes to get a firm grip on herself and to begin crawling about, feeling for it.

When a complete search all around her revealed nothing, she realized that it must have rolled further down the slope.
I've got to get out of here!
Panic-stricken, she stood and started to turn in what she thought was the direction she had come from.
No! Not when I've got this far.
She turned back.
Take some deep breaths.
Forcing herself to her knees again, she felt her way down the slope through slimy puddles until her hands closed over the errant flashlight. Giving a sob of relief, she pressed the switch. Nothing! “Please, please!” Trembling, she twisted the end and then gave it a jiggle. A wonderful yellow beam shone upon the wet walls.

The tunnel had opened into a cavern no bigger than the living room of her basement suite. Playing the light over the shored-up walls and roof, she could see evidence of mining activity. Rusty picks and shovels and wood for shoring were piled up against one of the walls, and on the floor was an old wooden keg and several boxes, all covered in a whitish, slimy mould, so that they appeared to have been there for years.

Against the far wall was a mound covered by a tarpaulin.
More boxes?
She lifted one end of the tarp. A metal Coca Cola chest! Cautiously, she opened the lid. Inside lay a brown leather briefcase with the initials L.S. stencilled in gold. Crouching, she flicked the clasp and opened the briefcase. Inside were several papers, buff folders, a lined notepad and the usual pens and pencils. In the wavering light, she read the heading on the top paper.
Leonard Smith & Sons.
The name was strangely familiar, and she stared at it for several minutes before folding it and slipping it into her jacket pocket.

Leaning the briefcase against the open lid of the chest, she trained the light on the rest of the contents. Whatever it was had been carefully wrapped against the mine's dampness in a nylon sheet. She reached down and slowly unwrapped the sheet.
Gold? Silver? Drugs?
But it was none of these. It was bundles of money! Picking one of the packets up, she riffled through the notes. All used twenties. She reached for another bundle—hundreds then yet another—five hundreds! She sat back on her heels.
What does it all mean?
She replaced the bills and carefully refolded the nylon sheet over them, then reached for the briefcase. A sudden sense of urgency made her replace it quickly and re-cover the chest.
It's got to look as if it hasn't been touched.
But it took several agonizing minutes before she was satisfied.

Before retracing her steps up the tunnel, she flashed her light around the cavern once again, this time noticing an old hurricane lamp standing on a wooden crate. The lantern was filled and ready to go.
Next time I'll bring matches.
The sudden fear that someone might have seen her entering the mine made her want to run, but the journey up the tunnel was too slippery and dangerous for that, and she had to content herself with slowly fumbling her way. While she had been exploring, the threatened rain had started, and it poured down on her as she climbed the ladder, but it didn't stop her from taking great gulps of fresh air as she climbed out of the escape hatch.

Although her uppermost thought was to get down to where the horse was waiting, Maggie forced herself to scatter loose grass and sand over the trap door in an effort to erase all signs of her being there. Then she ran over the flat rock and down the track to the waiting horse.

“Not a word to anyone, Angel,” she said into the horse's ear. Angel blinked her long eyelashes and graciously accepted one of the apples that Maggie had stowed in the saddlebag. “Okay,” she said, putting her foot into the stirrup to haul herself up, “let's go.”

Angel, head down against the sudden downpour, picked her way daintily over the slippery gravel and through the rivulets that were already coursing down the road. Then, as they passed the section where the Jeep had gone over, a skittering of small stones glanced off the rock face and landed on the road before them, and both Angel and Maggie raised their heads. When more stones came cascading down all around them, Maggie urged the horse to go faster, though as she leaned over the animal's neck, she could feel her uneasiness. “Take it easy, Angel,” she pleaded. But a stone hitting Angel's flank made the horse rear up in panic. Maggie was determined to hang on this time. “Whoa! Angel! Whoa!” she demanded as the horse began racing down the hill to get away from the tumbling stones. At the bottom of the hill, Angel veered left onto a dirt track leading into a stand of aspens. With scenery flashing by like a jerky movie as she clung to the horse's neck, Maggie was only dimly aware of a bearded man running into the horse's path and making a grab for the bridle. Moments later, Angel came to a shuddering stop, but it was a full minute before Maggie could pull herself together and slide off the animal's back. Meanwhile, the man made soothing noises, stroking the horse until it had calmed down.

“Rock slide,” Maggie gasped. “Back there.”

The man, his Stetson cascading water, shielded his eyes and looked up the steep mountain road. “What the hell were you doing up there in this weather?”

“It wasn't raining when I started out,” she answered.

“It's been pouring for almost an hour.”

“I tried to take shelter under a tree,” Maggie improvised, “and wait till it was over, but the rain got too heavy. How can I thank you?”

“By not telling anyone you saw me.” He handed the reins over to Maggie. “I'm sort of trespassing, and Guthrie doesn't like me around. Do you want a leg up?”

“No thanks,” she answered. “I'll walk aways and let her calm down.” She turned Angel and started to retrace their steps. “Thanks again,” she called. “I won't tell the Guthries.” He nodded and waited until Maggie had hobbled back to the trail that led to the ranch. When she stopped at last to mount, she saw him climbing into a battered white truck parked under the trees, start the engine, and head up the mountain road that led to the mine.

The rain had settled into a drizzle that soaked both horse and rider to the skin, so they were thoroughly miserable when they plodded wearily into the yard and through the stable doors to where Al was busy saddling a horse. “I was just coming to look for you. What happened this time?”

“Rock slide,” Maggie said as she slid down. “Angel got hit on the rump,” she added.

“Rock slide? Where did you go?” Al ran his hands over the trembling horse. “She seems okay.”

“Went up the mine road a little way. Then Angel got hit by a rock,” she answered with a shiver. “I had to walk her back to calm her.”

“Where did you say it happened?” he asked again.

“The old mine road. It's the only trail I know,” she added with a shaky laugh. “I think it's time you showed me some new ones.”

When she got back to the house, Kate was more sympathetic. “You're soaked. What happened?”

“Got caught in the rain and nowhere to take shelter,” she answered. “I'll be fine after I've changed.”

After dinner, Kate went to bed early, and Maggie wandered into the den to find a book to read. She came upon Jamie staring into the fire. “Where are the others?” she asked, sinking down in an armchair.

“Gone up to their rooms.” He sat looking morosely into the fire. “Do you think something bad has happened to my father?” he asked suddenly.

“I don't know, Jamie.”

“I can't help being sorry for Kate,” he said, leaning forward to throw another log on the fire.

“You don't share Christine's feelings toward her?”

“Not really. She's a bit young for the old man, but heck, if she makes him happy . . . Christine's just a mite jealous.”

“What kind of mood was he in the last time you saw him?”

“He was fine—and very happy that I'd got a job at last.”

“With Albert Nordstrom?”

“In the accounting office. Bottom of the totem pole.” He smiled at Maggie. “Actually, Dad got me the job. He's known Albert from way back.”

Maggie's inner antenna started to kick in. “How far back?”

“Long before Dad took over the ranch from my grandfather. Dad trained as an assayer when he was young.”

“Assayer?” Maggie asked. “What exactly does an assayer do?”

“Analyses metal compounds. You know, to see if the ore is of standard purity.”

“I see. It must've been helpful when he went into partnership on the Shadow Lake Mine.”

“I guess so. Also, Nordstrom and Kraft is an investment firm for all kinds of mines, so Dad's done the odd job for them, too.”

“Does your father still do the odd job for them?”

“Occasionally, I suppose.”

“You like working for Nordstrom?”

“It's okay, I guess. I've always been good with figures.” He gave a sudden grin. “Numbers, I mean.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, then Maggie asked, “You staying until the weekend?”

“No. Albert's planning to leave tomorrow afternoon and I want to go and visit with my mom. I think she should be told about Dad.”

“She's American?”

“Yes. Both Chris and I were born in Raymond, Washington. That's right on the coast.”

“So you and Christine have dual citizenship.”

“Yes. It helps a lot when you have parents living in different countries.” He laughed. “Do you have a family?”

Maggie nodded. “Two daughters.”