The tunnel leading out of the back of the dome was sandy floored, wide and level. Graysie could see well enough in the dim daylight to half run, half walk, the Russell men’s backs sometimes bobbing into view, sometimes disappearing out of sight.
Shards of daylight slanted through narrow ground-level fissures high above. The air tasted fresh and clean on her tongue. They were in a twilight zone, moving into deeper shadow as they ventured on.
She loped on for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then her soft leather ankle boot struck something hard, and she crashed forward onto her hands and knees, unprotected skin on rock. Her grazed palms stung, moist with bloody abrasions. She limped a few steps, trying to ignore her bruised cut knees, and knew she had to slow down.
The twilight dimness was slipping into darkness, and it was a lot harder to see. Something light and hairy landed on her shoulder. She forgot her burning knees, slapping her bleeding hands up and down the white chiffon to stamp out whatever had landed on her. She was panting. Spider, cockroach, she knew not what, it had to go. Her nostrils caught the stale mustiness of bat dung.
She’d lost sight of the men, the darkness forcing her to move more cautiously. As she rounded a corner, she heard the sibilant hiss of a waterfall. Another spacious cavern opened before her, the water falling from a high overhead cliff face to form sluggish dark lake at the bottom. Spray filled the air with a damp mist, and as she peered through it, her heart caught.
One of Martens’s men stood at the lake side, his rifle trained on the darkness, seemingly straining to hear any sign of human intrusion. She very slowly sank to the ground and froze until she saw he was slowly rotating, his back now facing her.
She shrank onto her belly and wormed her way over to the cover of a rocky outcrop on her left. The hated wedding dress snagged and ripped as she slithered over the rough ground. As soon as she was hidden from sight, she rose and shredded the skirt, smiling to herself as the water’s roar masked the rasp of tearing fabric.
She was left standing in her durable riding skirt and the fraying wedding dress bodice. Dirty and bedraggled she undeniably was, but she felt like a butterfly freed from its chrysalis. Be Martens’s wife? She’d rather die. She felt in her pocket and pulled out the Derringer.
She heard a rattling of pebbles behind her and cringed into the darkest crevice of her monolith, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for the source of the noise to show.
She didn’t have long to wait. Coming down the trail were four heavily armed men, rifles held at the ready in front of them. She could tell immediately that they were not Sebastian’s party, regrouping from one of the other arms in the cave network. That meant they must be in Martens’s pay. She shivered and froze in her hiding place.
They passed so close that the foul-smelling bear fat men smeared themselves with to keep lice and fleas at bay snatched at her throat. Her eyes streamed and her chest heaved as she fought to keep silent.
They’d barely gone past before their guns boomed in a kettle drum volley on her near right. Her knees sagged. The calamitous barrage told her they were armed with the latest in weaponry, the sixteen shooter repeating rifle used by Civil War raiding parties that was rapidly gaining popularity in the West. Against them her Derringer and the revolvers Nathan and Seb carried would be powerless.
Her stomach rolled in nauseous turmoil as she waited, collapsed in a heap at the base of the rock pile, for what would happen next. After half a minute, a second series of shots shattered the background noise of falling water.
They sounded like they had come from revolvers—probably the Russell men returning fire. Against the rifle noise they sounded puny, like Fourth of July fire crackers. She hugged her ribcage in cold terror and prayed as earnestly as she ever had in her life.
Dear God, please get us all out of here alive!
*****
Nathan stood with his back pressed hard against a cleft in the cave wall. A flicker of light from behind them had alerted him and Sebastian to the presence of someone coming and they’d just had time to get under cover before the intruders arrived.
They’d barely got in position before the guns opened fire uncomfortably close to them, but they weren’t the target.
As he’d had made his way underground in Seb’s dauntless, steady wake, Nathan had been struck by the evidence around them that this network of grottoes, caverns, and tunnels had been well used in time, going back no doubt to ancient hunters.
The charcoal remains of long extinguished fires, scattered animal bones from past meals, discarded leather boots and rotting fabric, the detritus of human occupation was scattered all around them as they had walked on in silence.
But the past was never more strikingly brought home than in the grotto they’d entered just before the shooters turned up. They’d paused as their eyes adjusted to the new space, the water cascading from overhead, an errant shaft of daylight from a ground level crevice highlighting white foam edges as it fell.
A wide shallow pool had formed at the base, the light reflecting off gentle ripples rolling onto a dark sandy shore, the remnants of a blackened fire circle evidence men had once gathered here to rest.
One of them remained. As Nathan took in the scene, he saw a man sitting, his back propped up against a loaded canvas pack, feet turned towards the ash circle, frozen in time. The ambient light from above caught the sepulchral slash of white cheekbone, his face partly obscured by a broad brimmed hat.
A steel cooking pot lay on the sand beside him, any meal he may have thought to prepare superfluous now. Nathan did not need to step any closer to satisfy himself this fellow had been at his ease in this grotto for a long time. He was reaching out to catch Seb’s arm to draw his attention to the tableau when the thumping of heavy feet warned them again they were not alone.
They couldn’t see the men who had barged in on them from their hiding place, but their skittish reaction to the campfire scene told them they shot first and asked questions later. They’d peppered the cadaver with long raking bursts of gunfire before realizing their mistake and breaking into hysterical laughter.
“It can’t be bad luck if he’s already dead!” hooted one. The light from the lamp they carried swung in wild jittery arcs.
Sebastian leaned into Nathan’s ear and hissed, “Give me time to circle behind them and then create a diversion.” He gestured down the trail with his revolver. “I’ll immobilize as many of them as I can and we’ll scare the rest off.”
Seb vanished into the darkness. Nathan stood and concentrated on listening hard to interpret what the intruders were doing. They seemed to still be clustered at the campsite.
The clang of iron on rock gave him a clue they might be taking a drink from the fresh waterfall, catching the flow in the pot he’d seen lying on the sand. He caught snatches of conversation: enough to confirm they were expecting to join Martens farther up this trail.
From the high-pitched giggles of a couple of the men he wondered if water was all they were drinking. A man the others referred to as Bruno seemed to be the leader, and after more drinking and chatter he guessed it was Bruno who spoke: “We’d better get moving or he’ll slat our brains out. We can get drunk when the biz is done.”
More nervous laughter, followed by concurring mutters. “Sooner we get out of this hell hole the better.”
Nathan edged furtively out of his hiding place. Must be just about time for Sebastian to make his appearance.
Hugging the dark side of the rock, he worked his way into a position where he could see the men. They were standing in a group around the cold fire pit. The tip of a cigarette glowed in the dark, filling the air with an exotic spicy smoke that hinted at cinnamon and pepper.
The lantern was sitting on top of the dead man’s pack, spreading a circle of light at thigh level. The miner was no longer propped up and, in the dark, Nathan could only guess he was sprawled somewhere outside the circle of light.
Then an uncanny keening shriek, like an angry owl contesting for territory, pierced the cavern. Its source appeared to be from the far side from where the men were standing, between the fire circle and the trail leading farther in, and the group swung to face it.
The hairs on the back of Nathan’s neck stood on end even as he congratulated his brother silently at the scouting skills he’d acquired, tutored by war. Then with a deep breath he prepared to play his part.
He braced himself against the rocks at his back and, in one long infinitesimally fluid movement, he aimed his revolver at the lamp. With a marksman’s direct hit he shattered the lantern glass and snuffed out the light.
As the bullet struck, the men screamed in terror, and Nathan fell belly-down on the cavern floor. A wild volley of retaliatory fire zipped harmlessly over his head.
The frightened mutterings died. He could hear heavy breathing, the men’s feet crunching on the shore debris, sticks cracking underfoot, and then more wild chattering broke out. “What the devil… Bruno. Where’s Bruno?”
Nathan could hear them stumbling around in the dark, falling over one another, calling for their leader by name. Silence answered. They paused as a group, and then a wail rose from one of them, and the others joined in. “Aiee…. The black witch… Lechuza. Lechuza the black witch is here.”
Strike three. Nathan felt warmed by a sense of jubilation. Lechuza was the malevolent being of Mexican belief who whistles to men in the night to tempt them into disaster.
The curse of the owl had found its mark, and Bruno was gone, spirited away. It had been Sebastian’s specialty in the war that ended three years ago, this secret, subtle extraction of men and information, leaving no trace that he’d ever been there.
The men left behind wasted no time in beating their retreat down the dark trail, farther underground, to their rendezvous with Martens. He and Sebastian would have to follow.
Sebastian emerged from the shadows as their adversaries disappeared, dragging a big man who was knocked out cold and securely trussed, while his other hand clutched his rifle.
“We’ll leave him here for later,” Sebastian said, as if that explained everything.
Nathan nodded. “Well played!”
Sebastian shrugged. “Surprising what you can achieve with a rifle butt if you get the jump. Your diversion was all it took.” He glanced around him. “He’ll be okay here for a couple of hours. Let’s keep moving. The sooner we get this thing sorted the better.”
“No argument there,” Nathan said and fell in behind as Sebastian moved ahead, his long limbs relaxed and fluid, a stealthy cat out on territorial patrol. A shaft of overhead light caught a momentary flash of his red-gold hair and then he seemed to fade back into his dim surroundings.
They moved on in silent single file, cautiously double checking new terrain to avoid ambush at every divergence, so progress was slow. Once or twice Nathan thought he heard men’s voices echoing off distant walls, but then wondered almost instantly whether he’d imagined the sound.
The further in they went, the more difficult the path was to see, and the colder and damper the air became. He was breathing in a stale swampy aroma that he could taste in his mouth, and he rolled his tongue around his teeth to try and clear it.
Sebastian suddenly slowed to a halt and put his hand up behind him in warning. Nathan thought his hearing was pretty keen, but his brother had picked up something he hadn’t. Seb leaned down and spoke right into his ear, “Action ahead. Wait here while I take a look.”
Before Nathan had time to respond Sebastian melted into the blackness. Nathan took cover off the path. Who knew when one of Martens’s free-wheeling henchmen might show up, he thought irritably.
Sebastian was back within minutes. “Bad news up ahead, bro. They’re expecting us and they’ve got the reception ready.”
Nathan stared, searching out his eyes in the dark. “Yeah? What kind of reception?”
“One we can’t avoid. They’ve got de Vile trussed up like bait. You can bet they’ve got him wired and fit to explode like a July Fourth fire cracker, but we can’t ignore him. We’ll have to go in.”
They squatted on the ground and examined their options in hushed voices. Regroup with the men they’d brought and come back? “Too much of a risk they’ll kill him in the meantime and then simply disappear,” said Seb.
Hide in the darkness and pick them off one by one like a sniper? “They’re in there for sure, but it’s impossible to see anyone in this light. Not sure that’s feasible as a full strategy. I mean how long can we wait them out? But might be useful as one tactic in a bigger scenario,” Seb responded.
After a while longer spent talking and drawing maps on the sandy cave floor with a stick, they’d decided. A variation on what had worked last time. A surprise diversion, more help from the black witch and her blood-freezing whistle, and they’d have to find a way to call Martens out and put him in such fear he’d be willing to trade his own skin for de Vile’s.
“Is that all?” Nathan said. “We’ll be out of here and back at the resort in time for lunch. No problem.”
“You reckon?” said Seb with a sickly grin. “I hope you’re right.”