4

“It’s me, Slocum,” he said.

“Keep your hands away from that pistol. I’ve seen how good you are with it.”

“Elena,” he said, starting to turn. The pistol butt hit him on the shoulder, sending bright pain down the length of his right arm. He grunted and turned to face her. She held the small six-shooter in a firm grip. The look of determination warned him she was ready to cut him down where he stood.

He rubbed his arm to get the circulation back. She reached out, plucked his Colt Navy from its holster, and tossed it onto the bed.

“You’re not afraid to wake up your partner?” Slocum asked, jerking his left thumb in the direction of the bed. When she said nothing, he reached back and poked the lump under the covers. She had covered a pillow with the blanket, making it seem as if someone was sleeping in the bed, while she waited with her gun ready for intruders over in the far corner of the room.

“Where are they?”

“You can put down the gun.”

This only made her more determined. The set to her jaw, the way she squared her shoulders, the finger tightening on the trigger, all warned Slocum his life would be over in a flash if he didn’t calm her down.

“Look, Elena, I’ve been chased by the marshal and barely got away twice. I haven’t slept and—”

“And you thought you’d curl up next to me? You? A thief and a liar!”

“If you think that, turn me over to the marshal,” he said coldly.

“I need what you know. He only wants you for murder.”

Slocum mulled over what she said. Elena thought her mission was more important than the local lawman bringing a killer to justice.

“I tracked the youngster I shot to a house on the outskirts of town,” he said. “He died and didn’t tell me a damned thing. His partner was waiting for him but got away. That’s all I know.”

“A deputy made a fuss telling the marshal how a man had been murdered,” Elena said. “Since Atkinson and his deputies rode in the direction you’d taken, it wasn’t much of a jump to believe you were responsible.”

“I was, but you were there. It was the boy—Ernie Eakin’s brother—I shot. He lived long enough to reach what must have been the meeting place for the counterfeiters.”

“Where are the planchets?”

“What?”

“The milled slugs used to make the fakes. Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t become you.”

He saw no lessening of her attention. The gun was as steady in her hand as it had been earlier. If anything, she was more determined to find where the lead slugs were. And he didn’t know.

Or maybe he did.

“I found a map,” he said. “I thought it was to a rendezvous—and it might have been. It could also be where your slugs are hidden.”

“Where?”

“I don’t have any reason to tell you. You’re as likely to gun me down if I tell you as to let me ride off.”

“I won’t.”

“Then you’d turn me over to Atkinson. That’d be an attractive package for him, all wrapped up in brown paper and tied with a string bow. You get your planchets, and I end up in jail.”

“The marshal knows it was self-defense,” she said.

“Only for Ernie Eakin’s death, and that’s because you lied. If you had a change of heart, maybe you didn’t see what you thought you had, I’ll swing for killing him. And if you don’t give me an alibi for the killing you did witness, Atkinson has me for two murders.”

“I need the blanks.”

“I saw a map,” Slocum said, “and I swear I won’t tell you anything if you don’t put down the gun.”

She wavered. He acted. Slocum made a feint with his still-numb right arm and grabbed the pistol with his left. He winced as she pulled the trigger, but he hadn’t grabbed for the barrel but the handle. The hammer fell on the web between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. He jerked the weapon away and tossed it on the bed next to his Colt, then stepped up to encircle her with his arms.

Slocum let out a moan of pain when something sharp went into his right side. He stepped back and saw a tiny blossom of red on his vest, coming around a hole where a blade had penetrated. In her left hand, Elena held a shortbladed knife, now decorated with his bright red blood.

“You’re going to tell me where the planchets are,” she said.

Before he could turn to pick up one of the guns, she shoved him. Between his tingling right arm and the pain in his side where she had stabbed him, he was unsteady enough. The push sent him against the bed and then to the floor. Before he could recover, she had picked up her six-shooter again and trained it on him.

“The slugs. Where are they?”

“I’m not one of the gang,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter to me if you are in cahoots with them. For what it’s worth, I doubt you are. They’re too clever to ever take anyone like you into the gang.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Slocum said, wincing as he pressed his fingers into the knife wound to keep it from bleeding more than it was. He scooted around on the floor and got his back to the wall so he could examine the wound. It was hardly more than a shallow scratch, but he was bleeding like a stuck pig.

“Go on,” she said. “Patch yourself up. Then you’re going to take me to the rest of the gang.”

“So you can arrest them? You’re not a federal marshal. What are you?”

“I’m employed by the Secret Service.”

“Like hell you are,” he said.

“I am!” This flustered her. Incongruously, he thought she looked even more desirable than she had before when he saw her outrage. Slocum had to remind himself she would have gunned him down and had stabbed him.

“You’re playacting. You ought to be on stage down the street with the burlesque troupe playing at the opera house.”

“I am a certified agent for the Pinkerton Detective Agency,” she said, drawing herself up as if this gave her more authority.

Slocum peeled back his vest and shirt, then reached up to the bed. She interposed herself. He stared into the bore of a .32 caliber pistol, but it was as big as the mouth of a mineshaft.

“I need some of the sheet to bandage myself,” he said.

“Oh.” She stepped away, but he saw that she hastily grabbed his Colt off the bed before he pulled the sheet down where he could rip off long strips. The linen was clean—or as clean as he was likely to get.

“Soak this in your washbasin,” he said, tossing a fluttering strip to her. Slocum found new reasons to admire her. She caught the cloth in her left hand and never let the muzzle trained on him waver even a hair. Keeping the gun steady, she dunked the cloth in the water.

“Here,” she said, tossing the soaked strip back into his hand.

She was as alert as anyone who’d ever gotten the drop on him. He made out as if the wound were worse than it actually was, playing for time. That might cause her to lower her guard for an instant, if not now then later. He clumsily wrapped the linen strip around his middle and cinched it tight. It made breathing difficult, but he was having trouble because of the altitude anyway.

Slocum started to stand, but she shoved him back down.

“You stay there.”

“You’re not going to sleep. I want to, so let me use the bed.”

“We have to get the slugs so I can put an end to the counterfeiting,” she said.

“It’s not going to be before sunup. The marshal and a deputy were on the trail, but they’re not likely to find anything since they’re hunting for a gunman, not a counterfeiter. When they’re back in town, we can hunt for your gang.”

“Well, all right.” He saw how she worried over the delay. For a moment, a flash of concern crossed her face, then it disappeared and she became all business again. “Go on. You can sleep in the bed, but if your feet touch the floor, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“Fair enough.” Slocum moaned loudly to add to the fantasy that he was badly wounded, then flopped onto the bed so hard that it squeaked under his weight. He considered asking her to join him, but that wouldn’t be in keeping with a man so seriously wounded that he could barely move. Shuddering theatrically, he stretched out on the bed and surprised himself by quickly going to sleep.

Sunlight slanted in across his face and woke him. He opened one eye and hunted for Elena. He heard movement from behind him, but not on the bed.

“I have my gun trained on your head, John. I know you’re awake, and we’re going to find the planchets.”

He rolled over and winced. This wasn’t acting; the pain in his side was real enough from getting stabbed.

“I don’t know if I can ride.”

“Then I have no more use for you,” she said. “The marshal will gladly incarcerate you. Did you like his jail cell? I thought it was so . . . confining.”

Slocum groaned as he sat up on the bed. She held the six-shooter on him in her rock-steady grip.

“Might be I can ride.”

“Might be you remember where we’re heading, too.”

“Are you ready for what you might find? The Eakin brothers were only a couple of small-time crooks. There are others, and they won’t be easily caught.”

“You think because I am a woman that I am incapable of bringing crooks to justice. You’re wrong.” Her cheeks turned rosy as her ire built. “I’m as good as anyone in the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Slocum said. This made Elena even angrier.

“I am doing this to put terrible men behind bars. Counterfeiting can destroy a country.”

Slocum knew too many other things that destroyed countries, but he saw that nothing he might say would deter her. Whatever drove her was as consuming as a prairie fire.

“There’s no good reason to think you’ll find anything,” he said. “The map could have been about anything. Hell, the map could have meant some valley in Montana or Nevada.”

She said nothing. He heaved himself off the bed, didn’t have to fake a wince as pain stabbed into his side, then straightened slowly. He could ride but there wouldn’t be much chance he could outride her in his condition.

Walking slowly, he went down the back stairs with Elena behind him. She had her pistol trained on him, but she’d concealed it in her handbag and she looked as if she were simply following at a respectful distance. More than once Slocum considered just heading on to the marshal’s office and seeing what would happen. The only ace he held in his hand was the location suggested by the map—but if that didn’t pan out, he was a goner. She would have no use for him and would probably think he had intentionally led her to the wrong spot to save his partners.

Slocum didn’t want to think about what would happen if they did find the spot where the counterfeiters had made their camp.

“You got my six-gun along with you?”

“That’s no concern of yours. All you need to know is that I have mine, and it is aimed at the middle of your back.”

From the way she carried her handbag, she did have his Colt with her. That didn’t make matters easier now, but it might if they found the gang along the floor of the valley.

Slocum took his time saddling his mare. The pain in his side abated, but he wasn’t going to be able to make any quick movement without feeling it. Many was the time he’d been wounded worse than this, but he had some obligation to Elena. Just what that might be if it cost him his life, he wasn’t certain. For now, he would ride along and see if she was as tough as she said. After all, anyone could talk a good game, especially a lovely woman claiming to be a Pinkerton detective.

He rode parallel to the railroad tracks, then cut down toward the valley when he heard a train coming.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Elena said. “My horse isn’t going to be spooked by the train. Not the rumble of the wheels or the whistle blast.”

Slocum looked from her down the trail. The mud had gobbled up the tracks from the prior night. The hoofprints might have frozen in the mud as Eakin’s partner rode down followed by the marshal and his deputy, but the springtime sun had taken the chill off and turned the icy slush to hoofdeep mud.

“Is this where the map showed?”

“It is,” Slocum said. He drew rein and turned to her, looking her square in the eye. “If I was one of the gang, why’d I need a map? I’d know where to rendezvous.”

“Not if you were a hireling,” she said. “You can make the same argument about Ernie Eakin and his brother. Why’d they have a map if they were part of the gang?”

“There’s a reason they chose this for a campsite, if they’re even here,” Slocum said. “We’ll be exposed all the way to the valley floor. If there’s a lookout, he’ll spot us for certain before we’re halfway down.”

“I’ll take that chance,” she said. “After all, you’re riding in front of me. If you’re one of the gang, they’re more inclined to let us pass.”

“And if I’m not, I get shot first being your shield.”

“I don’t see that as a flaw in the plan,” she said. “Now ride.”

He started down the steep trail, letting his horse pick her way in the mud-slick ground. More than once his horse stumbled but he saw no reason to dismount and walk the horse down. The mare was more surefooted than he was.

Slocum kept an eye peeled for anyone below along the valley floor. He doubted Marshal Atkinson and his deputy had gone all the way down. From the way they’d been arguing, Lem would have surely returned to town. Likely the marshal wouldn’t have been far behind if he hadn’t joined him right away. This was miles out of Leadville jurisdiction, and Atkinson wasn’t inclined to call in the sheriff or a federal marshal. That would make him look foolish and incompetent, and more than this, Slocum doubted the marshal thought much in the way of a crime had been committed. Men died every day in the mines. Having a street sneak thief gunned down hardly mattered. More likely, Atkinson would have been mightily upset if one of the horse owners from the racetrack a mile south of town had been killed. That would cause a public outcry. But the death of a panhandler?

“You see anybody moving around down below?” Slocum called over his shoulder.

“I’m watching you,” Elena said. The strain in her voice told him how hard the going was for her horse.

“If you like, we can dismount and walk our horses.”

“You just want me on foot so you can get away.”

Slocum snorted. The trail was hardly wider than his shoulders, sloped downward steeply, and had an inch-deep layer of mud in the good places. The only way to escape fast would be to step over the brink and fall fifty feet to where the road switched back lower on the valley side.

Fifteen minutes passed and the sun was almost directly overhead. Slocum’s belly growled from lack of food, and his canteen was almost empty. To make matters worse, he saw the glint of sunlight off polished metal below.

“Why are you stopping? Keep going. I want to reach the valley bottom before my horse collapses under me.”

“There. See it?” Slocum pointed. He looked back and saw Elena wasn’t following the line of his arm and finger. He stabbed out more emphatically, and she finally looked. She caught her breath. “There’s at least three men down there, about where the trail feeds out into the valley. They’re waiting for us.”

“Do you know them?”

“I told you before, I just got into town. I’m not riding with any gang, much less those owlhoots.”

“We can’t retreat. Why, there’s hardly room to turn our horses around. And that’d leave you behind me all the way to the summit.”

“Might be a better view,” Slocum said. She shot him an angry look.

“We keep going. They might not be your cronies. Or if they are, I expect you to lie and say I am with you and to take us to whoever’s the boss.”

“If they’re smart enough to have avoided getting caught so far, that story’d never be believed. You’ve got my gun. A man with an empty holster’s likely to be a prisoner, not whatever you’d want them to think we are.”

“Don’t get smart with me.” She chewed her lip. “I can return your six-shooter, but I’d take out the bullets.”

“Keep it,” Slocum said. “I have the feeling we’re going to be shooting our way out of an ambush, and reloading takes time.”

“Where’d they go? I’ve lost them.” The hint of panic told Slocum the lady detective wasn’t sure what to do next. She was wrong about the width of the road, but that probably came from her uneasiness riding astride a horse. He wondered what other trouble her lack of experience might be getting them into.

“It’s not much of an ambush if your victim can see you.”

“But you spotted them!”

“They don’t know that. If the sun hadn’t been directly overhead, there wouldn’t have been any reflection off their gun barrels. Might be the sun’s past zenith now, and that’s why they vanished.”

“Or they intend to shoot us as we ride out.”

Slocum rubbed his leg back and forth across the sheath holding his Winchester. Elena hadn’t thought to take it or remove it and leave it back in the Leadville stables. The rifle might prove more useful than a hand gun when the fighting started. And Slocum had no doubt that it would.

“Here,” she said, riding closer so her horse brushed up against the flank of Slocum’s mare. Left-handed, she awkwardly pulled his Colt from her purse and tossed it to him.

He caught it in both hands to keep from dropping it into the mud. A twinge cut through his side, reminding him of his limitations.

“Why’d you change your mind about me?”

“I didn’t. There’s no other way I can see out of this trap.”

“If I’m in the gang, all I have to do is call out to them and shoot you.” Slocum held his six-shooter so that it was aimed past Elena but only a small shift would bring it to bear.

“Are you?”

“I’m not in the gang. I don’t know who they are or anything about counterfeiting.”

“In that case, here,” Elena said. She rested her gun on the saddle in front of her and fished around in her purse for the six cartridges she had removed from his Colt. Leaning forward, she handed them to him.

Slocum caught her wrist and considered pulling her off the horse. Instead, he took the bullets and reloaded. Barely had he slipped the final round into its chamber when a bullet ricocheted off a rock above his head. A split second later, the report from the rifle reached him.

“They decided not to wait,” he told her.

“What’ll we do, John?”

“Two choices. Die or die fighting.”

Three more bullets dug muddy graves for themselves in the trail as the unseen sniper worked to find the range.

“I don’t like those choices,” Elena said.

Slocum didn’t either, but he saw no way out of the ambush.