HAMILTON ROLAND EGGERS had long since adopted a mode of conduct. For disagreeable or dangerous chores he used others, keeping carefully clear, his own skirts clean. But for vital details he trusted no one, and these papers, so smoothly yet subtly worded, held the key alike to future hopes and ambitions. Here he could afford no slip-up.
He had personally made the substitution of sheets while Montana was out to supper, then loitered in the dark hallway outside to make sure that the tampering had gone undetected. There was a certain risk in crouching on hands and knees, with an eye to a keyhole, but he endured the discomfort, his perceptions and anxiety alike sharpening when Montana returned to fit the key in place and turn it. Its emplacement spoiled any further chance of observation, but warned him that something was amiss. Later, listening intently, his apprehensions were confirmed.
Somehow, Abbott had spotted the substitution. Eggers had a sweating instant of dismay. With the packet locked in the hotel safe, to be retrieved and corrected in the morning—
After a moment his pulse returned to normal. That might be a lucky break, after all. He had made his plans weeks before, foreseeing possible eventualities. With certain modifications, that plan could be put to use. He had the night in which to work.
A hanger-on at one of the saloons would serve as messenger. Link once had aspired to higher goals, aiming from a higher background than did Lefty Hoag. Time had served as leveler. Now, like Hoag, he was content to settle for the price of another drink.
Sober from necessity, but with his unkempt and disheveled appearance lending credence to his tale of having just arrived in town from a long trail, Link knocked on Melissa Edwards’ door and played his part convincingly.
“Excuse me for disturbin’ you, Ma’am.” He was gravely apologetic. “I sure wouldn’t, only I figure this is pretty important. You’re Mis’ Edwards—Mrs. Achilles Edwards?”
Melissa gave a slight gasp, her face whitening at the name.
“Did you say Achilles? Yes—yes, I’m Mrs. Edwards. What is it?”
Link fumbled in a pocket, producing a sufficiently soiled and rumpled sheet of paper.
“This is for you—from him. Only I wrote it, just like he asked me to set it down. He’s a right sick man, but he heard about you—wants to see you, bad. So I—I brought it, and if you’re minded to go see him, I’ll guide you to him.”
The scheme worked, as Eggers had counted on. The few words of the message, hoping that she would come, imploring her forgiveness for past silences, promising explanations, were convincing. Link’s additional suggestion, that she should find a companion to accompany her, while he secured horses, was reassuring. His final suggestion, that she leave a note of explanation at the hotel desk for some friend, set at rest any lingering fears.
Presently, with Link as guide, and Serene Chase faithfully in attendance, they left the sleeping town behind. This was what Melissa had come west for, alternately hoping and fearing. When the chance offered it was not be passed up.
Once they were on their way, Eggers found Lefty Hoag and somewhat grudgingly confided in him. The gunman was vital to the execution of his plan—and that term might be given a double meaning, he reflected grimly.
“You tag along behind,” Eggers instructed. “Don’t show up till you have to—but Link’ll need help when you reach the hills. Abbott’ll be coming by then, and if it looks like a kidnapping, why, that’ll draw him on—and that’s what it’ll be. You know where to go and what to do.”
Hoag passed an eager tongue across lips suddenly inclined to drool.
“So that’s what you been aimin’ at?” he asked. “It suits me fine. Don’t worry about that end of it.”
“I won’t,” Eggers agreed. “Once this is worked, we’ll have Abbott, and the three of them are to be held safe. It shouldn’t take long. Once the Governor signs those bills, Abbott’ll be all yours. But till everything is fixed, treat them nice. If there’s a slip anywhere, Ashley will have to do as we say. They’re too important otherwise.”
“You figure Abbott will take off after a couple of women?”
“Considerin’ who they are, I’m sure he will. This Mis’ Edwards is the lady who was with him, back in that canyon last summer. I reckon he’ll go for such honey, just like a bee.”
“Edwards?” Hoag repeated the name, his face twisting in an effort at remembrance. “Now that—blast it, I never knew that was her name.”
“Happens it is. Widder lady—or she makes out like one. Only there’s a funny part to that. She’s been askin’ around, quiet-like, about a wanderin’ prospector that used to be in these parts. Somebody with a queer name, callin’ himself Achilles.”
This time Hoag’s attention was really held. “Achilles?” he said. “Achilles Edwards! Now that’s really interestin’.”
“What do you know about it?” Eggers demanded suspiciously.
“Enough that it’ll be a pleasure to work this deal,” Hoag said, but refused to elaborate. Eggers shrugged it aside. So long as he got what he wanted, it would be none of his affair if Hoag obtained a few bones of his own on which to chew.
Montana was early abroad. Too early. The hotel clerk was not yet at his desk, so Montana went out to breakfast with no inkling that a message had been awaiting him half the night. He found Sam Partridge, likewise astir, and over the course of the meal confided to him his discovery of the substitution of certain sheets, and what he proposed to do.
Partridge listened between dismay and approval.
“That would have kicked over the whole kettle of fish,” he agreed. “Somebody figured you for a tenderfoot—so far as politics are concerned. You any idea who?”
“I’ve a few suspicions, but nothing sure.”
“Well, we’ll fix things up as they were, and keep our eyes open. You were wise to put those papers in the hotel safe.”
Eggers, carefully loitering in the alley outside the restaurant window, was inclined to agree. So long as they remained in the safe they were safe for him as well. He was relieved when Montana returned to the hotel, to be hailed by the clerk and handed a note from Melissa Edwards.
Just what she might have written, in accordance with Link’s disarming suggestion, Eggers could only speculate. But, again from a window, he observed Montana’s sudden scowl, then his quick reaction. Minutes later, on his own horse, Montana was taking the bait.
Watching him go, Eggers felt a sudden qualm. He had intended to leave this entirely to his henchmen, but the matter was too important for any bungling. Minutes later he slipped quietly out from the town.
Melissa had explained the situation in a few simple sentences. This possible news of her husband was too important to disregard. That she had chosen Montana for her note of explanation he found natural as well as gratifying. After a moment’s reflection he realized why she had not sought him out to accompany them. Since it was her husband, she was reticent to ask him.
It was entirely possible that the message was genuine, that Edwards was somewhere in this part of the country, and, having heard about her, would write her when he needed help. But it was more than likely a trick. The general destination which she had mentioned, as given by the guide, was somewhere around the base of the mountains, not far back from the new road.
And it was in that vicinity that he had surprised Eggers prowling, weeks before. From what he knew of the man, and this new and dishonest attempt to use him in getting a bill enacted into law—a matter for a toll-road across that pass—
“If everything’s all right, they’ll still need help,” he summed it in his own mind. “And if it’s a trick, maybe some sort of a trap—then they sure do.”
It was useless to wish that Melissa had come to him first. Her failure to do so would stem from a natural delicacy, in that situation. As he had noticed before, she could be impetuous, sometimes headstrong, with a disregard for possible danger.
That he might be riding into danger seemed likely. But his mind was on the mechanics of speed. There were change-houses along the road for the stage company. With a bit of luck or persuasion, he might be able to obtain fresh horses a couple of times, and by so doing make up some wasted time.
Today there was no sunshine. Clouds drew lower as the miles fell behind. By the time the mountains loomed ahead it was raining, and the view which should have become progressively better faded as snow took the place of rain.
Knowing where she was being guided—if all was as it was supposed to be—he had only to follow the road. The rain blurred fresh hoof-marks, but the mud was an aid, and it was apparent to him that at least three horses were ahead, and that he was gradually gaining. What was more disturbing was an occasional sign suggesting that there were four riders, rather than three.
The snow rendered such signs more difficult, until it whitened the ground. Then he found the trail clearer, and now there was no further doubt. There were four horses, but one seemed to be following, or perhaps pursuing the others, as he was.
Not much daylight remained. The storm was thickening, and here, at long last, the trail veered off from the road. The sign had steadily freshened as he closed the gap. So far, everything was as it should be, but a tightened apprehension was building in him. That fourth horseman who also pursued, but kept back out of sight—
As the trail led deeper among the mountains, all four tracks seemed to have merged.
A steep hill loomed ahead, and despite the covering snow and the passage of years, he could see that it had been scarred by a digging—the work of some miner or prospector, long abandoned. What marked it even in the storm was the yawning mouth of the tunnel or prospect hole, black against the surrounding white. It was perhaps a hundred and fifty feet above the valley floor.
A fresh trail in the snow, made by human feet rather than hoofs, led up to it and as abruptly ended. It showed broken and confused, as though some of those who climbed and resisted, trying to hold back.
The horse tracks led off to one side, lost in the gloom. But their riders had clearly ascended to the mouth of the abandoned tunnel and in.
Silence held, as had been the case for most of the storm-shrouded day. Leaving his own horse, Montana climbed in turn, pausing, part way up, to look more closely at a pool of water a little farther around at the base of the slope, its presence marked by smaller streams which led away in the whiteness, and by a surging, fall-like ripple of water.
Its abrupt appearance attested that a spring or emerging underground stream kept the pool filled. Whoever had mined here, doing this prospect work, had not lacked for a convenient water supply.
The sign was increasingly plain. Those who had ridden ahead had taken shelter in that abandoned tunnel. Whether they had done so because of the storm and oncoming night, or by compulsion, was to be discovered. The disturbed snow seemed to indicate the latter.
A cry, high-pitched, as suddenly stifled, sounded from the tunnel. With it he had his answer.