Silver in the Blood (13 page)

ALL that remained of Merriman's Folly was the private suite of the man who had financed the building of the hotel. This was in fact, a stone and timber, one-story house which had been detached from the main structure in all but it
covered walkway that had led to it like an umbilical cord. Most of this had been swept away in the snow-slide that claimed the remainder of the hotel and what was left served as a sagging, arched portico offering scant protection to the door of the building.

Tabor halted the wagon at the side of the house and looked ruefully at the glassless windows and the slanting roof which was holed in a number of places. The rest of the gang eyed the building with an equal lack of enthusiasm, but it was left to Keene, peering out of the rear of the wagon to voice their feelings.

"I been thrown out of a lot better places than this," he groaned.

"If thee desires greater comfort, thee may take thy horse and leave," Tabor said in a voice of soft thunder.

Keene swallowed hard and forced a chuckle. "It's a good place to hole up, Jake," he said hurriedly.

Tabor applied the brake on the wagon and climbed down. "Wrong," he proclaimed. "We are not in hiding here. It is merely shelter for myself while you seek out my son's murderer and bring him to me."

Several of the men grimaced at the prospect presented by this statement, but hurriedly turned their faces away from the penetrating gaze of Jake Tabor as he
searched for signs of disapproval.

"Sure, Jake," Luke agreed.

"But first we will eat," the bearded man commanded, striding towards the sagging door of the building. "Fetch the supplies and bring the woman, She will prepare our meal."

"And be the dessert," Keene whispered into Martha's ear as he dragged her to
her feet and shoved her out of the rear of the wagon.

Martha's ankle bent under her again and three of the gang rushed, forward as she screamed. But before their anxious hands could find her body Keene had jumped down and claimed her. He chortled in triumph as he carried her inside the building.

It was comprised of three rooms—a sitting-room, bedroom and bathroom—which had once been furnished and decorated in the luxurious manner befitting a silver baron. But now the expensive wallpaper was peeling and patched with damp; the carved ceiling was, pocked by holes and sagged in several places; the sodden carpets were chewed by rats; the furniture warped and broken. Many intricately carved grooves on the doors, walls and ceiling showed where silver had once been inlaid, but the looters had long ago prized the precious metal from its seating. The whole building smelled musty from non-use, and in the bathroom a sunken marble tub was filled to the brim with stagnant water that gave off another odor. A stronger stench still drifted in through a broken window in one wall of the bathroom and Tabor pinched his nose with forefinger and thumb as he peered outside. He grimaced and drew back. Outside was a cesspool connected by a pipe with the ornate commode in the bathroom. The covering of the pit had long since rotted or been swept away. As Tabor turned from the window he could see through a doorway into the bedroom where Keene had dropped the woman on to the rat-eaten covering of a gigantic bed. The ugly little man was making a pretence of massaging Martha Wilder's injured ankle as she struggled to keep him from uncovering the entire length of her leg.

"Keene!" Tabor thundered.

Keene looked up, fear leaping into his eyes as the big bearded man strode into the room and towered over the bed. "Just trying to help the lady," he whined.

Tabor brought down his arm in a vicious sweep, a bunched hand catching Keene on the side of the neck and knocking him half-way across the room. Keene whimpered under the glowering stare of the evil eyes. "Thee are a fool who thinks with what thee has between thy legs," Tabor thundered.

The woman was almost as terrified as the little man, for the strength of Tabor's anger was an awe-inspiring threat to the whole world, seeming to vibrate in the rancid air. Blood trickled down the line of her jaw as her teeth opened up her lower lip once more.

"She hurt her ankle, Jake," Keene pleaded, still pinned to the floor by the glaring eyes.

Tabor released him from the invisible force by transferring his gaze to Martha, who cringed away from him. "I will attend to her needs while thee and the rest are searching for Miller's murderer," he said, his tone low but his face still cast in a Satanic mould.

"Sure, Jake!" Keene agreed in an ingratiating manner as he scrambled to his, feet. "We'll get that bastard for you and bring him back alive."

Tabor nodded and a parody of a smile spread across his hirsute features. "The man who succeeds will have the woman to do with as he pleases." He stooped down and reached out a hand. Martha, suddenly transfixed as Keene had been, watched with detached horror as the age-wrinkled fingers closed over her left breast and tightened in a grip of agony. But it was as if she were cut off from the pain as well as the action and she could not scream. Tabor suddenly released her and a bolt of
laughter exploded from his cruel mouth. "She will not be unspoiled, but to the richest man must go the highest prize."

Keene laughed harshly, forcing the humor, and the rest of the gang who had clustered in the bedroom doorway gave vent to raucous sound.

"I figure women to be like horses," Hyman shouted. "I like someone else to break them in for me."

Tabor turned on the men, rage coming to the fore again so that his dark expression commanded them to silence. "We are wasting time. Thee have seen the prize. Thee will now eat and then go to hunt the man I want."

"Ain't the girl going to cook for us, Jake?" Luke wanted to know, his voice and manner surly.

"I had overlooked her injury," Tabor answered. "If thee will lift her about her chore, she may prepare the meal."

All eyes turned towards Luke, who swallowed hard and backed up a step. "Don't make me do that, Jake," he pleaded.

The men waited for Tabor's face to crinkle in humor and broke into laughter again. "Thee is an unnatural creature, Luke," Tabor's voice cut across the sound."That is why I have decided on a special prize for thee if thee brings me Miller's murderer. Thee will be rewarded with an extra share of silver—enough to buy thee the sweetest smelling young man in all of San Francisco!"

As the laughter burst out anew, Luke took a vicious swing at his nearest taunter and strode out of the building.

Tabor turned to Keene. "Tie her to the bed," he demanded. "Thee knows in what position. If thee touches her privately again thee will answer to me." He strode out, in' the living room as one of the men tossed a lariat to Keene.

"Hyman, you will cook," Tabor ordered. "A good hot meal. The mountains get cold with evening."

Hyman went about his task with reluctance, building a fire under the largest hole in the roof and preparing a stew with rations taken from the supplies of each man. Tabor threw a blanket over a damp sofa and sat down to clean and reload his rifle and revolver. The others lounged on the floor, smoking or trying to sleep. Nobody considered it necessary to wash away the dried blood and streaked soot that darkened their faces from the explosion. It was Keene who broke the verbal silence, as he emerged from the bedroom after tying up Martha Wilder.

"When we going to divvy up the silver, Jake?"

Tabor was immediately aware, from the sudden alertness of the other members of the gang, that the ugly little man had voiced a question they had all wanted to ask. He finished loading the Remington and allowed the butt to nestle lightly in the palm of his hand. It pointed at nobody but his finger was curled around the trigger. He dominated his men by fear but knew that greed could sometimes be a stronger force, capable of overriding all other considerations in the mind.

His smile was a paper-thin veneer and his voice trembled with the effort required to keep it even. "We lost a lot of men back at the pass. Their shares in the silver will be divided amongst thee."

"When, Jake?" Keene insisted, failing to recognize the danger signals flashing behind the benign mask.

"After I have dealt with Miller's..."

"I was meaning to ask you about that, Jake," the man with the bandaged hand interrupted. "It was Miller and me and the other two who found out about, Mason Wilder having the silver—when we took him for the money. I told you where to look for it."

A mere slight downward turn at the comers of his mouth evidenced Tabor's anguish at being reminded of the circumstances of his son's death. But he maintained his cool tone. "Thee survived while Miller died," he said. "Thee would be wise not to continue to recall that fact." The man tore his eyes away from Tabor's face, suddenly aware of the dangerous ground he had stepped on.

"Chow's almost ready," Hyman called, relieving the tension that was like a tight band around the room, compressing the walls. "Go get Luke, somebody."

Keene spat on the floor and reached down into his bedroll for a bowl. "Let him stay out there," he sneered. "That way we don't have to eat with our backs against the wall."

Outside, Luke heard the burst of fresh laughter and his face twisted into a grimace for he sensed he was the victim of the men's humor. He was leaning against the wagon, chin resting on his hands on the tailboard as he stared at the exposed bars of silver. He wanted no part of the man hunt that Tabor considered so important. That was a private war. The men had earned their share of the bullion and should take it and get back to civilization to enjoy what it could buy. Luke suddenly had an idea that lit his craggy face with delight: his share of what was in the wagon was a mere pittance compared with the entire load. He glanced back at the building and saw the smoke rising from the roof; smelt the greasy odor of badly-cooked stew. Then he looked over to where the horses were tethered. Finally, his eyes turned to the slope, seeing the grey surface of the lake, with the trail down into the valley curving around the right-hand side of the expanse of water.

He thrust his hands into his pockets and ambled with studied casualness towards the horses, his mind racing. Tabor and the others would not rest until they had avenged such a double-cross, of course. But with a million dollars worth of silver at his disposal, Luke knew he could hire enough guns to blast the gang off the face of the earth. The horses stirred nervously as Luke moved in among them and stooped to cut their tethers.

"Hey, you there!" a voice called softly. Luke looked up guiltily. "That dishonest."

An instant before he died Luke saw a ridiculously clad figure rising up from behind a boulder, a black face contorted by an effort large enough to generate a great agony. Then the spear, powered by that effort, buried itself deeply into Luke's chest, left of center. He sank backwards without a sound among the restless hooves of the skittish horses.

"Maybe I not smart, but I sure as hell make my point," the Zulu muttered with a grin breaking through his pained expression as he went among the horses, wrenched the
assegai
out of Luke's body and started at a loping run towards the wagon.

MARTHA WILDER'S eyes came wide and her mouth fell open in a gasp when she saw the lithe form of Edge snake over the window sill to stand as unmoving as a rock inside the bedroom. When he heard the sound, Edge snapped a narrow-eyed glare in her direction and raised his forefinger to his thin lips. He glanced at the area between himself and the bed, saw no obstructing furniture and moved over the open space on long, silent strides, keeping his eyes and the muzzle of the Winchester towards the open doorway into the living-room.

Keene had tied the woman to the bed in a spread-eagled position, arms splayed above her head, legs held wide in a posture of submission. An evil smell not decay rose from the covering beneath her imprisoned body as Edge drew his razor and with four silent slashes cut through the cords at her wrists and ankles. From the next room came sounds of spoons scraping bowls and the wet noises of hastily swallowed food.

"As a cook, you stink worse than this dump," somebody said.

"You going to feed the woman?" another asked.

"She's suffering bad enough as it is," said a third to laughter.

"I can't walk,"
Martha mouthed to Edge, pointing to her swollen ankle a moment before he turned away towards the window. He gave a silent sigh, thrust the Winchester into her hands and put both arms beneath her body to lift her. The bed creaked as it was relieved of her weight.

"She'll get fed something better than stew before long." More laughter covered any sounds Edge made getting to the window. He put the woman out first, leaning low to place her gently on the ground. A final glance at the doorway showed it was still empty and he stepped over the sill. As he lifted her again and started to move quickly away from the building he caught a glimpse of Anatali rising from behind the boulder and, flinging the spear, the cruelly injured shoulders apparently having no effect on his deadliness with the weapon.

"I thought you'd gone," Martha gasped as she jogged in Edge's arms.

"Only out of my head," he muttered as he set her down on a patch of coarse grass among an area of brush.

"What about Anatali?"

Edge snatched up the Winchester and gestured with it back towards the building. She gasped as she saw the wagon jerk forward and recognized the Zulu wielding the whip. In the next moment, raucous cries of alarm exploded from within the building and as the wagon swayed into a tight turn a fusillade of shots sent lead streaking towards it.

"Do something!" the woman shrieked, swiveling her attention back to Edge, bewilderment suddenly clouding her face.

Edge was sprawled on the ground, steadying the Winchester in the palm of his hand, elbow pressed hard against the ground. His left eye was screwed tightly shut as the narrow glint that was the right one lined up the fore with the back-sight. The first report of the Winchester so close by caused her to gasp in alarm and then a whole volley followed it, the sound of the shots running into each other as Edge squeezed the trigger and pumped the action in a continuous, fluid motion. 

Up the slope the heavy caliber bullets smashed into the narrow base of the monolithic column of rock, spraying splinters across the hillside. The Winchester clicked empty and the column seemed to sway, but did not topple.

"My God, the wagon!" Martha yelled.

Edge took the time to slide two more rounds into the rifle and then looked in the direction of the woman's horrified gaze. The Zulu was standing erect, held in a delicate balance by his grip on the reins as the back of his pin-stripe suit jacket blossomed with the ugly red flowers of blood. Gunfire cut across the rumbling noise of the trundling wagon wheels and the derby hat went spinning from its wiry resting place. Anatali's head seemed to explode under the impact of the bullets, spraying blood and bone splinters across the silver behind him. The weight of his body falling across the backs of the team panicked them and they bolted. One of the loose horses cut free by Luke ran into their path and they veered sharply. Edge, Martha and the men in Merriman's Folly watched in stunned silence as the terrified horses in the shafts realized the inevitable result of their headlong rush and tried to turn. But the weight of the wagon traveling at such a speed was too much for the beasts. For long moments it looked as if it would change course, but then it jackknifed, snapping one shaft and sweeping the two-horse team on to their sides with the other. It entered the lake broadside on and started to roll. The load shifted and dragged the wagon and horses into the icy water, sinking in an instant and sending up a great spout of water.

The surface calmed was disturbed by rising air bubbles for a few moments, then became as placid as a sheet of glass.

"It's bottomless," Martha gasped.

Edge sighed, "Hiyo sliver, away!" he sneered and sent two more shots plumb into the base of the column of rock.

The monolith fell like a lopped redwood, sending a massive tremor through the ground as it crashed, shattering into a thousand pieces which fell like a meteoric shower and cascaded with murderous force towards the building housing the Tabor gang.

It was as if nothing short of an earthquake could have shaken the men free of their stunned shock at seeing the fortune of silver lost for all time. Hyman was the first to leave the building, moving with such speed it seemed he had been fired from a catapult. An enormous boulder smashed into the roof of the building, gained momentum from the bounce and crashed down on to the running man, leaving him a bloodied pulp, unrecognizable as a human form. Keene and the man with the bandaged hand also tried to outrun the minor avalanche but had covered only a few yards before a rush of small rocks knocked their legs from under them and they fell, screaming for help before the full weight of the crumpled column smashed into the rear of the building and pushed it as a single unit down the slope before it disintegrated and buried the two men in a pile of rubble.

Edge watched in silent impassiveness as the leading boulders of the rockfall tumbled into the lake and those that were following lost their momentum and rolled to a stop. The woman's face still showed the horror of losing the silver, as if the expression was frozen on her bloated features.

"It's all gone," she blurted out at last.

Edge shrugged. "Only the silver. That can be replaced. Your virtue's still intact, ain't it?"

Despite all that had happened to her, Martha Wilder was still able to blush. She opened her mouth to speak, but another voice cut across the still afternoon air.

"Virginity is no password into the gates of heaven," Jake Tabor said.