Under a Turquoise Sky (11 page)

When they had ridden along the trail a ways, Clint stopped so Markstein could ask his questions.

“Go ahead, George,” Clint said.

“How do we get to the mine without getting killed?” the man asked. “And then once we get there—if we get there—how do we find out who hired someone to kill me?”

“Is that all?” Clint asked.

“For now.”

“I think Chance can help us with the first part,” Clint said. “We're going to need that alternate route.”

“Don't forget I told you it might be blocked,” Chance said.

“We'll deal with that if and when the time comes,” Clint said.

“Why not just go to Beale Springs and have it out with those men?” Markstein asked. “After all, you—” He stopped short.

“I…what, George?” Clint asked.

“Well, you are who you are.”

“That's exactly why there are extra men waitin' there,” Chance said. “And we only have that jasper's word that there are only three. We could be walkin' into a dozen guns.”

“I see.”

“Don't worry,” Clint said. “Once we get to the mine, we'll find out who's putting up money to have you killed. After all, they've pretty much paid to have me and Chance killed, too. I don't know about him, but that doesn't sit well with me.”

“Me, neither.”

Clint looked at Chance and saw a trickle of blood come down from beneath his hat.

“Let's take care of that gash on your head,” he said. “We don't want to leave a blood trail behind us.”

“May I step down as well?” Markstein asked as Clint and Chance dismounted.

“Yes,” Clint said, “step down and rest while I perform some first aid on our friend.”

Markstein dismounted and walked around a bit, rubbing his butt with both hands.

Chance took a seat on a boulder and Clint tore a shirt he'd found in Edwards's saddlebags into strips.

“Is that clean?” Chance asked. “He didn't look too clean.”

“It's a clean shirt,” Clint assured him, although he didn't know for sure. He wasn't about to smell it to find out.

He wrapped some of the shirt around Chance's head and then tied it off in a makeshift bandage.

“Your hat will help keep it on,” Clint said.

“Thanks. Can I ask you somethin'?”

“Sure.”

“Why didn't we just kill that fella instead of leavin' him around?”

“I don't do things that way. Besides, he's not going to get anywhere fast where he can hurt us.”

“Maybe not.”

Clint stood up.

“We're going to have to get rid of his horse.”

“I can unsaddle it now and let it loose,” Chance said, also standing.

“No, not yet,” Clint said. “Let's get farther along. It might find its way back to him.”

“Good point.”

“How long before we head off to your alternate route?”

“I'm not sure,” Chance said. “We may have to wait 'til mornin' if we don't find it soon. I don't know if we can navigate it in the dark. We don't want a horse breakin' its leg.”

“Then perhaps we should keep his horse as a spare,” Markstein said.

“Nope,” Chance said. “We're not gonna be able to take it with us. In fact, we might have to cut the packhorse loose, too. We're not gonna be on anything even closely resembling a trail.”

“It sounds like we might get killed just taking this shortcut,” Markstein said.

“Only if you fall off the side of the mountain,” Chance said.

Markstein didn't fall off the side of the mountain, but he did almost topple over once, and it was because he was fighting his horse. His riding in the East had not prepared him for riding up the side of a mountain.

Chance had found his shortcut before the light faded. As they started up, Markstein began to have problems, which Clint could see because they were riding single file with Chance ahead of Markstein, and Clint once again taking up the rear with the pack animal.

“Hold up!” he shouted to Chance, who was getting farther ahead of them.

“There's a clearing I know of that I want to reach before dark,” Chance shouted back.

“Okay,” Clint said. “Keep going. We'll catch up.”

Chance nodded, and continued on.

Clint rode up alongside Markstein, who had reined his horse in.

“You're fighting your animal, George.”

“I'm trying to show him where the best footing is,” Markstein said. “I don't want to fall.”

“He is finding the best footing, and you're yanking him back,” Clint said. “If you fall, it'll be your fault, not his. Just give him his head and let him find his own way.”

“Okay.”

“Don't fight him,” Clint said. “Fight the urge and put your faith in him.”

“I'll try.”

 

The rest of the way went better because Markstein was able to stop fighting his mare. Eventually they reached the clearing Chance had spoken about, and he already had a fire going.

“Wasn't that easier?” Clint asked Markstein as they dismounted.

“Not easy,” the other man said, “but easier, yes.”

“Just put your trust in your horse,” Clint said.

“I'll remember.”

“I'll bed them down,” Clint said. “You sit at the fire and have a cup of coffee.”

“Thank you.”

Markstein sat by the fire and accepted a cup from Chance. He sipped it and shuddered, it was that strong. The second sip, however, did not engender the same reaction.

“Won't the fire give us away?”

“They can't see our fire from Beale Springs,” Chance said. “My guess is they'll be waitin' there until mornin', and then they'll probably go looking for Edwards.”

“And when they find him?”

“It'll be too late for them to do anything. We'll be at the mining camp. If they still want to kill you, they'll have to do it there.”

“Somehow I don't find that very comforting.”

“It wasn't meant to be,” Chance said. “I'm gonna make some bacon and beans.”

Markstein made a face but resigned himself to the fact that he was in the West now. And he would only be there long enough to make himself wealthy—or wealthier—before returning home as the purveyor of the finest turquoise stones in the country.

If he lived long enough.

 

“I smell bacon and beans,” Clint said, arriving at the fire. “And if I'm not mistaken, that smells like good trail coffee.”

“I like it strong,” Chance said. “Sorry.”

“I think it melted my teeth,” Markstein complained, but held his cup out for more.

“That's just the way I like it,” Clint said, gratefully accepting a cup and a plate.

As they were eating, Chance said, “I can take the first watch.”

“Why do we need a watch if they can't find us up here?” Markstein asked.

“Just to be safe,” Clint said. “We don't want anybody sneaking up on us while we're asleep. It's embarrassing.”

“And deadly,” Chance said.

Markstein looked at the sky.

“I must tell you both I never expected to be out here under the stars eating bacon and beans and drinking this strong and curiously good coffee.”

“What did you expect?” Chance said.

“Foolishly,” he said, “I expected a big hotel room, and I envisioned meeting with my partner in a fine restaurant. I did not expect that my new partner would try to have me killed.”

“We still don't know that it's your new partner who put up the money to have you—us—killed,” Clint pointed out. “When we get to the camp, we're going to find out, though.”

Clint looked across the fire at Chance.

“Once we get there, your job is done, Chance,” Clint said. “I guess you can head back.”

“Nah,” Chance said, “if you fellas don't mind, I think I'll stick around awhile, see how this plays out. Besides, I'd hate to leave you both up there and then hear that you got yourselves killed.”

“That's very…decent of you,” Markstein said.

“Any more coffee there?” Clint asked.

“Yes, I'll have some more, too, please.”

“There's plenty,” Chance said, “and I can make more.”

The headquarters of the Blue Lady Mine was a cabin that could have been divided into three rooms, but was actually just one large one. When it was built, it was the joint decision of the partners to have it be just one large work space.

Ed Martin sat behind the desk that was in the center of the room. He had blueprints spread out over the entire surface and was tracing the path the new tunnels would take when the door opened and Joe English entered.

“The new partner get here yet?” Martin asked.

“Not yet,” English said. “Maybe he fell off the mountain on the way up here from Kingman.”

Martin looked up from the blueprints. He'd been hired by both partners to be the foreman of the mine. Or the manager, whichever term suited him. Now that one partner had sold out, he wondered if the new one was going to try to make any changes.

“Maybe that wouldn't be so bad,” he said.

“I didn't really mean it,” English said. “I'm just frustrated.”

“You want to take a look at these new tunnels?”

“Why bother?” English asked. “The contract says that both partners have to agree to any changes or additions. We might as well wait for him to get here.”

“It'll give us somethin' to do,” Martin said.

English sighed, then said, “Yeah, okay, why not?” and walked to the desk.

 

As they broke camp, Markstein was trying to stretch out the kinks from sleeping on the ground. On top of that his butt still hurt from riding with a western saddle.

“You okay?” Chance asked as he kicked dirt onto the fire.

“I don't think I'll ever be able to stand up straight again,” Markstein said.

“Well, I'd say that you'll get used to it, but I don't think you'll have to. I don't see you doin' this a lot.”

“Good God, no,” Markstein said. “I hope there's someplace for me to sleep at the mine other than the ground.”

Clint came walking over, leading all the horses, having saddled them himself.

“Are we ready to go?” he asked.

“I am as ready as I'll ever be,” Markstein said, accepting the reins of his horse. “At least no one tried to murder us in our sleep.”

“Now if nobody tries to murder you in camp, you'll be doin' okay,” Chance said.

Clint and Buck exchanged a glance, as they both knew there was small chance of that.

 

When they reached the all-important pass Chance had been talking about, it was, thankfully, open but it was not rideable.

“We'll have to walk the horses through,” Chance said. “When we get to the other side, we'll be on the Cerbats, where your mine is.”

“We can only lead one horse at a time,” Clint said. “Do we want to tie the packhorse to the last horse?”

“It's liable to step in a hole and snap a leg,” Chance said. “Better off just cuttin' it loose.”

“What about the supplies?” Markstein asked.

“We can each take some, and leave the rest behind. We'll be at the mine tonight.”

They salvaged what they could carry and left the rest on the ground. Then Clint removed the bridle from the packhorse and slapped the animal on the rump. It trotted away a few yards, then turned and looked back at them balefully.

“Looks like he might follow us,” Markstein said.

“That'll be up to him,” Chance said. “He might go back the way we came. Either way, he's better off.”

“He might still snap a leg,” Markstein said.

“Yeah,” Chance said, “but we won't know.”

They each took the reins of their own horse in hand and started through the pass.

 

“What the fuck?” Carl Breckens said. Ahead of him, walking with a limp, was Aaron Edwards.

Edwards heard the horses behind him and turned to see who it was.

“Jesus,” he said to Breckens, “thank God it's you, Carl.”

Breckens reined in, the other two men doing the same behind him. They were tired of listening to Breckens bellyache about how useless Edwards was. They each harbored the hope that when they found the man Breckens would just shoot him.

“What the hell happened?” Breckens demanded. “Why are you limpin'? And where's your horse and your gun?”

“They took 'em,” Edwards said. “They only left me with my canteen.”

“And where's that?”

“I threw it away,” Edwards said. “I—it was empty.”

“Where did Adams go? And the dandy?”

“I don't know,” Edwards said. “They caught me following them, and Adams shot the heel off my boot.”

“They caught you? And what did you tell 'em?”

“I didn't tell 'em nothin', Carl.”

“Nothin'?” Breckens asked. “Then why'd they let you go? That's Clint Adams we're talkin' about. He'd as soon shoot ya as look at ya.”

“Clint Adams?” Kemp said.

“We didn't know nothin' about no Clint Adams,” Drake complained.

“I didn't wanna scare ya,” Breckens said. “I was gonna tell you before we killed him.”

“We gotta get paid more if we're gonna face the Gunsmith,” Kemp said.

“Yeah,” his partner said.

“Paid more?” Breckens demanded. He looked down at Edwards, who was sweating and nervous and couldn't stand straight because of his missing boot heel.

“You didn't tell them a thing?”

“I swear.”

“I don't believe you.”

Breckens drew his gun and fired once. The bullet hit Edwards in the chest and shattered his heart. He went sprawling onto the ground, arms stretched out, no longer sweating or worried.

Breckens holstered his gun and turned to look at the other two men, who were staring down at the body.

“You want more money?” he asked them.

“Uh, yeah,” Drake said.

“You can have his share.”

Kemp and Drake looked at each other.

“Just don't disappoint me the way he did,” Breckens added.