IT WAS A GLUM CREW that sat around Pearl Lower’s kitchen that night, drinking tea and pondering their next move. J.D. and MacLemore were both inclined to ignore the ghost-riders—neither believed in them anyway, Lu suspected—and read the notebook through just as though no one had seen a thing. But they were in the minority.
“Look here,” J.D. said at last. “If no one is going to read the blasted thing, we may as well go to bed. Nothing more we can do tonight.”
“I’ll walk down to the saloon first thing tomorrow,” MacLemore said. “We still need those explosives. A bit of provender wouldn’t hurt either.”
“As to that,” Pearl said, “you’ll have fresh vegetables from my garden. Beans. Carrots. I hope you all like squash.”
“How are you going to pay for the explosives?” Henry wanted to know. “Chino and I have a dollar or two, but nothing close to what you’ll need to buy blasting powder.”
“I’ll strike a deal.”
“Who with?”
“We’ve got some money saved,” Pearl said. “Nearly thirty dollars. It’s not much, but you can sure have it.”
“I’d pay you back,” MacLemore promised, “with interest. Just as soon as we get the gold.”
“Oh, I know you would,” J.D. muttered. “If you get it.”
The next morning, MacLemore got up before sunrise. He washed his face, borrowed a clean shirt from J.D., and rapidly ate the oatmeal Pearl made for breakfast. While he was in town, J.D. planned to shoe their mounts. One or two of the horses had probably never worn shoes, Crash among them. Lu wondered how he’d take it. Chino, who’d done some blacksmithing himself in years past, offered to help.
“Maybe I ought to go with you,” Henry said to MacLemore.
“The fewer of us the better, I think.” MacLemore put a hand on Lu’s shoulder. “Besides, the two of us ought to be able to carry back everything we’ll need.”
“You want me to come?” Lu asked.
“You’re our explosives expert. I guess you’ll know what’s needed to do the job.”
“But I don’t even know what the job is.”
“Doesn’t hardly matter. You can do it, I’ve no doubt. We’ve all come to have a mighty high opinion of your skills, Lu. Jack was right to hire you.”
Lu looked at the other members of their party. Henry and Chino were standing in their usual spots beside the kitchen window. Sadie sat with the Lower girls at the table. All three smiled at him. Lu couldn’t help blushing.
Hazel and Claire walked with them as far as the edge of Silver City, but returned home as soon as they got within sight of the first broken-down building. The Lower girls weren’t allowed to go into town. In fact, J.D. didn’t much like their getting out of sight of the house. But Pearl insisted they be given at least a bit of freedom. And Pearl generally got her way.
“What was the name of that hardware store owner again?” MacLemore asked, as they approached the saloon. A few early-risers were already bellied up to the bar. Lu could see their feet beneath the batwing doors.
“Moss,” he replied.
“That’s right. Moss. I sure hope he’s here.”
They pushed their way inside.
The remains of the previous night’s party lay scattered throughout the tavern. It was awful. Glass from a half-dozen broken bottles was littered over the floor, along with at least one deck of playing cards, dozens upon dozens of empty brass shell-casings, and the ruins of one thoroughly smashed chair. The human garbage was even more sickening. A handful of the very worst drunkards were still there, passed out in the corner or collapsed face-down on a table. One pitiful fellow had somehow managed to slide out of his chair and was lying spread-eagle in front of the piano, an empty whisky bottle still clutched in his fist. Only one saloon-girl was visible, slumped unconscious at the bottom of a rickety staircase. Her dress was partially unbuttoned, showing the lacy top of a cotton shift. As they picked their way through the wreckage, Lu looked around for Mike Dunleavy, the young prospector they’d met the evening before, but didn’t see him anywhere. He was glad of that. For some reason, Lu had sort of liked Mike.
The men standing at the bar were the very same bunch of hard-cases that’d hung Sawyer the previous afternoon. They were dirty and unshaven, their eyes bloodshot. Lu doubted that any of them had slept a wink.
Mayor Strong stood behind the bar, still dressed up in his three-piece suit, wiping tobacco spittle from the bottom of a long line of shot glasses. He smiled at MacLemore as they sidled up.
“You Irish?” he asked.
“Scotch,” MacLemore replied.
“Is that right?” He whistled. “Hey Della!”
The girl at the bottom of the stairs stirred, but her eyes remained closed.
“Damned Scotch lush,” Strong muttered. “If you’re looking for a whore, I guess you’ll have to wait ‘til noon. We ought to have a few American girls up by then.”
“We’re not really interested in whores,” MacLemore said.
“No? So then what can I get you?”
“Let’s start with a whiskey.”
“You can bring your coolie into the bar,” Mayor Strong said, pointing at Lu. “But he can’t drink out of my glasses.”
“That’s all right,” Lu said. “I don’t want one anyway.”
Strong picked up one of the glasses he’d just wiped clean, slammed it down on the bar, and filled it to the rim with brown liquor. “That’ll be four bits,” he said.
MacLemore handed over a dollar, picked up the glass, and downed the whole shot at a single gulp. “Guess I’ll have another,” he said.
The second glass disappeared as quickly as the first.
“More?” Strong offered.
“Not just yet. We’re looking for a Mr. Moss. He owns the hardware store, isn’t that right?”
“You plan on doing some mining? Or are you fortune hunters?”
“Miners.”
Strong squinted at them. “What did you say your name was again?”
“You can call me John.” MacLemore held out his hand for the Mayor to shake, but Strong ignored the offer.
“That’s Moss there.” He nodded at one of the men slumped over the tables. “He doesn’t usually wake up for an hour or two yet.”
“Think he’d be offended if we woke him?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really.” MacLemore strode over to the drunk in question and tapped him on the shoulder. Moss didn’t even stir.
“He’s a touch sleepy yet,” Strong said.
Lu rapped on the tabletop with his knuckles. “Mr. Moss!” he called.
The drunkard’s head came up as though shot from a cannon. He had a long reddish-brown beard, reaching halfway to his belt buckle. Judging by the spots on the front of his shirt, Lu guessed that he’d missed his mouth with roughly half the whiskey he’d drunk the night before. Either that or he’d found it hard to keep down. His beard was soaking wet.
“Get outta’ my house!” Moss yelled, bug-eyed and trembling.
“You aren’t in your house,” Strong said. The men at the bar laughed. “You’re sleeping in my saloon again.”
Moss looked shocked. He gazed around him, as though never having seen the saloon before. His mouth fell open.
“Mr. Moss,” MacLemore said. “We’d like to buy some supplies.”
“Supplies?” He looked up at MacLemore, mouth working like a landed fish. “I’ve got to get home. Esther will be looking out for me.”
Moss leapt for the door. It was so sudden a burst of activity that Lu and MacLemore could only stare at each other in mute dismay as the batwing doors swung on their hinges.
“He was sure in a hurry,” Lu said.
“He’ll be darned lucky if that wife of his doesn’t skin him alive,” Strong said. “She’s not much for drinking. Which is funny, because drinking is about the only thing Franklin Moss does.”
“Where do they live?” MacLemore asked.
“In a little room over his store.”
“C’mon Lu, let’s get over there.”
“What sort of tools are you looking for?” Strong asked. “Nothing out of the ordinary. A hammer. Picks and shovels. That sort of thing.”
“Explosives?”
MacLemore stopped cold. “Why?”
“Miners are always wanting to blast away at some dang thing or other. That sound like something you might be interested in?”
“We might. Do you know where we can buy powder?”
“Not from Moss, that’s for sure.”
“Where then?”
Mayor Strong grinned. “How much you boys looking for?”
“How much should we get?” MacLemore asked Lu.
“He’s your man, is he?” Strong didn’t look surprised. “Been a while since I saw a coolie blast-man. This one looks awful young to me. But it’s your head. Where’d you learn your trade son?”
“My grandfather is an expert. He even taught Jack Straw.”
“Jack Straw.” Strong looked impressed. “Haven’t seen Jack Straw around here in years, have we boys?” He looked at the men lined up at the bar. They shook their heads, but otherwise kept silent.
“What’s your granddad’s name?” Strong asked.
“Master K’ung.”
“Master? Can’t say as I’ve heard that one. Only famous Chink I ever knew was Yen Hui.”
“Yen Hui was my father,” Lu said.
“Is that right? Dang boys, this here’s Yen Hui’s son. You remember me telling about him? Old Hui blew himself to smithereens digging a well for some wetbacks south of San Pablo. Can you beat that? Climbs down the shaft, sets the charge, and those damned Mexicans refuse to haul him back up. Just goes to show, it never pays to help a Mexican. They’re almost as bad as the Irish.” Strong licked his lips. “I tell you boys, I’d hang all four of them Lowers today, little girls included, if that damned J.D. weren’t the only blacksmith in town. Hells bells, I may do it anyway. I do hate to be held in check by an Irishman. Maybe we ought to see if we can’t get us a new blacksmith. I hear they have a fine man down at Corto, and there’s always—”
“We’d like that powder now,” MacLemore said, cutting Strong off mid-sentence. “Enough for five charges. Have you got it or not?”
Strong glared at him. “Five charges,” he said. “That’ll cost you.”
“How much?”
“Ten dollars a charge.”
“Ten?” MacLemore was incensed. “Why, that’s robbery.”
“That’s your price. Just this morning it was five. But I do hate to be interrupted when I’m lecturing my boys. Rudeness is a thing I can’t stand. You’d be wise to keep that in mind, John. I hate it so much I could just about hang a feller over it.”
MacLemore took out his wallet and peered inside. “I’ve only got thirty,” he said.
“That’s enough for two charges,” Strong said.
“Two? But you just said it was ten dollars a charge.”
“I suppose you’ll want fuses. Powder ain’t worth shucks without a fuse.”
MacLemore ground his teeth audibly, but handed over the thirty dollars.
“Hey, Joe.” Strong folded the money into his pocket. “Get these boys two tins of blasting powder from the storeroom. And a loop of fuse long enough to set it off with.”
One of his men shuffled across the saloon and through a door under the stairs. He was in dire need of a haircut, but otherwise in remarkably good condition. Lu glanced down the bar, toward where he’d been standing, and saw that instead of liquor Joe was drinking coffee. In fact, not one of the men parked at the bar was drinking whiskey. And every last one of them was armed. In addition to his revolver, Joe carried a bowie knife. Seeing it, Lu was reminded of Gokhlayeh, and of the younger hooligans they’d seen at the hanging the night before. Lu wondered if Sawyer was still dangling at the end of his noose, or if someone had the good sense to cut him down. Somehow, Lu doubted it. Good sense didn’t seem to hold much sway in Silver City. He’d be glad to leave it behind once and for all.
“This is good powder?” MacLemore asked, as Joe placed two cans and a length of greasy fuse down on the bar.
“If it isn’t,” Strong said, “you just come on back and I’ll give you another tin.”
“Fine.” MacLemore signaled to Lu that it was time to go.
“Another whiskey?” Strong offered. “It’s on the house.”
But MacLemore wasn’t interested. He motioned for Lu to grab the powder.
As soon as they were out of earshot, MacLemore exploded into curse. He let loose with a string of swear vile enough to have made Chino jealous. Lu was mighty glad the Lower girls hadn’t waited to walk them home. Youngsters oughtn’t to hear such filth. MacLemore’s description of the honorable Mayor Strong was particularly awful, and potentially dangerous. If Strong considered interruption rude, this would’ve got MacLemore hung for sure.
“I hate to mention it,” Lu said, once the profanity had abated sufficiently for him to get a word in edgewise, “but this powder is worthless without a hole to put it in.”
MacLemore stopped dead in his tracks. “What do you mean?”
“We need tools. Both a hammer and a bit.”
“And just where are we supposed to get those?”
“Don’t we have any more money at all?”
“One dollar.”
“Well, let’s try the hardware store. Maybe we can get a drill bit at least. The Lowers may have a hammer we can borrow.”
They turned and headed back through town, passing once more in front of the saloon. Joe stood beside the doorway, smoking a cigarette. Lu pointed him out to MacLemore, but received only a grunt in return.
The hardware store was directly across the street from the gallows. Sawyer was still dangling, just as Lu feared he would be, though someone had stolen his boots, and his pants were lying in a heap on the ground. A crow sat perched on the dead man’s shoulder, pecking at his eye.
“You think this is the right place?” MacLemore asked, gazing up at the peeling sign. “Looks deserted to me.”
Lu tried the door. The hardware store was locked tight, its windows boarded over. It was hard to imagine buying tools in such a place, but they decided to knock anyway.
“Who’s there?” a woman called. She didn’t sound old enough to be a man’s wife, let alone so ragged a specter as Franklin Moss.
“Is Mr. Moss in?” MacLemore asked.
“He’s out back. What do you want?”
“Tools.”
The lock gave a sickening clunk and the door swung open.
Inside, the store was clean and orderly, if poorly stocked. There were a handful of dusty gold pans, some shovels, a few picks and rakes. There were also axe-handles, mostly gone to dry-rot, an open nail keg filled with rust, a hammer with one claw broken off, and a shelf loaded with various odds and ends. Mrs. Moss stood behind the door, fists on her hips. She was barely five feet tall, with a head of tight brown curls and spectacles as thick as the bottom of a whisky bottle. There was just enough of a swell in her dress for Lu to think she might be pregnant.
“We ain’t well stocked,” she said.
“Neither are we.” MacLemore held out the single dollar they had left. “But we aim to do some blasting and need a hammer and bit.”
Esther eyed the dollar bill as though it were a poisonous snake. “Bits cost two dollars. A twelve pound maul will run you three. We don’t got hammers lighter ’n that.”
“I’d gladly give you ten if I had that much. Unfortunately, we just got robbed by Mayor Strong.”
“Mayor Strong? Well now, that’s different.” Esther took the dollar from MacLemore and folded it into her apron. “Whatever bits we have left are on that shelf. Take whichever you want.”
Lu began searching through the odds and ends. He found the drill bits right away, though they were all a good deal shorter than the one he and Jack had used. After looking them over, he settled on a medium-length bit. It was only about a foot and a half long, but it had one quality that Lu particularly liked. The driving end was slightly bigger around than the rest of the shaft, providing a nice broad target for the hammer. Lu didn’t know who’d be wielding the sledge during their upcoming adventure, but felt certain he’d be holding the bit. He wanted it to be as broad a target as possible.
While he searched the shelf, Esther Moss retired to a back room, returning a few seconds later with a sledgehammer. It was as large as the one Jack had brought from St. Frances, and then some.
“Are you sure this will be all right with your husband?” MacLemore asked. “These are expensive tools.”
“I don’t guess he’ll know.” Esther handed the sledge to MacLemore, who came close to dropping it on his foot. “Need anything else?”
“We don’t have any more money,” MacLemore said.
“That’s all right. I’d be happy to extend credit.”
“Why? I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t even know our names.”
“You’re against Strong. That’s good enough for me.” She pointed at the tins of blasting powder Lu had set on the shelf while searching for a bit. “Those used to be ours. My husband gave ’em to Strong as a payment on his tab. Another month or two and Strong will own this whole store. But I don’t aim to let that happen.”
“Looks like you’re near cleaned out now,” MacLemore said.
“Yep. And when the last tool’s gone, I plan to open a café.” She smiled. “Pearl Lower promised to give me some vegetables from her garden, and I been talking to the Saints that bring Strong’s beeves. They promised they’d sell me a couple of cows the next time they come. So now I just have to save up some money. I figure forty dollars would just about cover it.” She patted the dollar she’d just gotten from McLemore. “Make that thirty-nine.”
“Tell you what,” MacLemore said. “If we find any gold, I’ll give you fifty. You can buy some decent tables and chairs.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” Esther muttered. “Only gold ever found round here is in that mountain behind the old MacLemore house. And no one’s gettin’ any of that.”
“My offer still stands.”
Esther escorted them to the door. “Well, good luck to you.” She shook their hands. Lu was astonished at the woman’s grip. “I hope you find your gold.”
As soon as they were outside, Mrs. Moss slammed the door closed behind them.
Their horses were all shod, the food packed and ready to go, by the time Lu and MacLemore sauntered back into the Lowers’ front yard. Hazel and Claire sat on the front porch, swinging their feet and sewing squares of fabric together for a quilt.
“How’d you do?” Hazel asked them.
MacLemore held up their new sledgehammer.
“Get that from Esther Moss?”
“For one dollar. Bit included.”
“Our Pa has a bigger one,” Claire said.
“Where are Henry and Chino?”
“’Round back with Pa,” Hazel said. “Sadie’s inside with Ma.”
“Talkin’.”
“What about?”
Hazel shrugged. The girls went back to their sewing.
Lu and MacLemore walked around to the rear of the house. They found Chino and Henry in the corral with the horses, checking the saddles to make sure they were tight. Crash was kicking one of his brand new shoes against a stone. He looked irritated.
“These Indian horses don’t much like shoes,” J.D. said. He stood in the open door of his shop, blacksmith’s apron tied around his waist. “They’re good animals, though. At first I didn’t think much of that plug of yours,” he said to Lu. “Then he leaned against me and I saw he was as strong as a bull. I reckon he could carry you clear back to China, if you could find a trail.”
“We’re ready to go any time,” Henry added.
“Good. I want to be gone by the end of the hour.” MacLemore handed the sledgehammer and bit to Chino. “Where’s my guitar?”
“Still in the house,” Chino answered.
“Go and get it for me, will you Lu?”
Lu set the cans of blasting powder on the top rail of the corral, and then ran to the back door. He found Sadie sitting at the kitchen table, watching Pearl roll out dough for a fruit pie. A dish of huckleberries sat to one side, glistening like wet sapphires.
“Your father would like to get out of here,” Lu told Sadie.
“After lunch,” Pearl said. “I’ve got fried chicken and mashed potatoes all ready.”
“Has Carrot been shod?” Sadie asked.
Lu nodded. “Though I don’t guess he likes it much.”
“Tell Daddy I’ll be out in a minute. We can eat in the garden.”
“Do you know where his guitar is? He asked me to find it for him.”
“It’s on the couch in the front room.”
Pearl was just setting the lower crust into her pie pan as Lu hurried back through the kitchen, guitar in hand.
“No,” she said to Sadie, “Daisy wasn’t much interested in cooking. Your Mammy did most of that, I guess. Daisy was a fine seamstress, though. Liked making all her own dresses. Why, your Daddy must have bought a bolt of fabric a month …”
Sadie was unusually quiet as they rode away from the Lower house, though in truth no one had much to say. Henry was at the front, as usual, his keen eyes fixed on the road ahead. MacLemore was still stewing over his encounter with Mayor Strong. Even a picnic in the garden hadn’t taken the bad taste out of his mouth. Chino studied the bushes and trees that lined the path, but didn’t care to share his insights.
They rode due north, right along the edge of the Paiute River, between mountains as high and sheer as castle walls. It was hot and dusty in the gorge. Few birds sang, and those that did sounded more alarmed than joyous.
At last, long after the sun had gone down and it was almost too dark to see the trail ahead, Henry called a reluctant halt.
“Aren’t we going to build a fire?” Lu asked. They’d tethered their horses close to camp, ready to grab and run should the need arise.
“Not tonight,” Henry said.
“No more fires, amigo,” Chino explained. “We’re trying to sneak up on him.”
He handed Lu a piece of cold chicken. Pearl Lower had given them the leftovers from their picnic lunch. Lu liked the chicken now even better than he had that afternoon. It was tougher, but more flavorful. And the skin wasn’t so greasy. There were no mashed potatoes, but Lu guessed he could do without. He didn’t much like cold mashed potatoes anyhow.
“I guess the Yankee must know we’re comin’,” Sadie muttered. “What with the ghost-riders and all.”
A shiver ran up Lu’s spine.
“He must,” Henry agreed. “But I still don’t see any reason to advertise.”
“Kind of makes you wonder, don’t it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, is any of us American enough to send him packing?”
“What are you talking about?” Henry asked.
“Don’t you remember what J.D. told us?” Sadie looked at the men seated around her. “Kids in Silver City say he can only be defeated by an American. This isn’t exactly the whitest bunch in the whole world.”
“You don’t believe all that guff, do you?” her father asked.
Sadie shrugged. “I reckon not.”
“Good. Because I haven’t come all this way to fail.”
“Me either,” Chino said. “By this time next week, I plan to be living in a fine hotel, with a white servant and indoor plumbing. At first they won’t want me. But once they see the gold in my purse …” He grinned. “And if they still don’t want me? I guess I’ll just buy the hotel.”
“I don’t plan to quit either,” Henry said. “But I still can’t help wishing we’d got more ammunition. I’m down to just two boxes of shells.”
“That’s true.” Chino slid one of his six-shooters from its holster and spun the cylinder. “Then again, one bullet could do the job I figure.” He pointed his pistol into the darkness. “If it was aimed just right.”