Sixes Wild: Manifest Destiny (12 page)

I draw. At this distance, I could pick off one or two, certainly distract them good, but the minute Blake takes to the air they’ll shoot him. At least, if they have any brains.

The good sheriff raises his paws and starts talking. No doubt he is giving them the ‘I am a man of the law’ bunkum that served us so well last time. One of them walks up and socks him in the muzzle. He goes down. Lawbat’s got a glass chin.

Ice travels up my veins, collecting in my gut. I watch them drag Blake off, into the mine. The darkness swallows him up.

I fight with myself a moment— the hell am I thinking, running after this lawbat? This highfaluting sense of honor’s gonna get me plugged. Don’t folks say desertion is the better part of valor?

In the end, I admit I’m a damn fool. I hop down, skittering along the gravel fast as I dare.

So much for waiting until nightfall.

He bows like I’m some sort of king. I like that.

 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You did what?!”

“We caught him snoopin’ around, so we kicked him around good—”

My claws snap out and I knock the rat over with one paw. He squeals in pain, clutching his bleeding snout. Stupid rodent’s lucky I just got back from hunting, that the instincts have been sated for the day. Otherwise, I’d make a rather messy example of him. I take a breath and my voice cools. Father never lost his temper, and I know it’s my flaw. “Where is he now?”

“In the caves… Eeeek!”

I step on his tail as I walk in. Fool. He could have just told the sheriff that this was private land and to move along. But instead he tried to curry my favor by not only beating up the local sheriff, but by leading him into the deepest, secret part of the mine. By my tail! What do I pay these men for? If I wanted blind brute force, I’d just use the ore-doped miners. “You should’ve stopped them.”

I hear a skittering as Morris hurries after me on his stubby marmot legs. I should have left him in charge, but he likes to come along and talk business. Says I’m much more clear-minded after a hunt. He’s right. He smooths his shirt over his wide belly, grumbling. “Not like they asked for mah permission… What do you plan to do about the sheriff, bossman?”

“Don’t know. Kill him, I guess. Perhaps let the miners at him.”

He chitters and wrings his paws, a little too nervous. “Folk will notice he’s gone.”

“I know that! But he’s seen the caves. I can’t just let him go.”

“Oh? Seems like that’s just what we ought to do.”

A growl rises like bile in my throat. “Why?”

“What has he really seen? A mine, that’s all. Nothing wrong with a mine. Even Whiskers ain’t dumb enough to have stashed him in the temple. I say we get him to see this for the mistake it was. Set him on his way.”

“So…what? We just bring him back to town and buy him some drinks?”

“This sheriff don’t drink, but, yes, that’s the general idea. Set him right and on his way. We’ll just blame Whiskers and offer him up as a scapegoat.”

I consider this, stroking my mane. “You think like a predator, Morris.”

“Thank you, bossman.” He grooms his ears, fat little body bobbing down the stairs after me.

The lower levels of the mine lead to a maze of caves. Uncle Julius found them and spent the rest of his life studying the artifacts and writings here. The natives made them at some point in the forgotten past. If Uncle was right, they tell the secrets of the ore. If I ever manage to make sense of his notes, I’ll know for sure.

In the low light of the lanterns, the veins on the walls look like gold. If it does even half of what Julius speculated, it’s more valuable ten times over. He even thought it would preserve him forever, though a few bullets from some meddling rabbit federale saw to that. One thing we already know it does is turn most folk into dribbling, suggestible fools— with enough exposure. That’s worth more than gold to a man who knows how to use it. I’m lucky to’ve found a number of my men it doesn’t affect; not that they had much brains to begin with.

Uncle Julius had a few of the smaller spaces down here converted into rooms for storage. I found that, with a few padlocks, they make agreeable guest quarters as well. We stop in where they’ve locked up the sheriff, finding him battered and still on the floor.

Morris has a word with that old rabbit from the mine, one of the saner ones.

I extend a single claw and press it into the chest of one of the guards, a panther. “Is he dead?”

“No, Boss. Just out cold.” His name is Harvey Cole and has impressed me in the few months he’s been in my employ. His name isn’t real; you can tell by his accent he’s a Chinacat or some such. Doesn’t matter. The panther stands up straight, proud like a cat should be. What’s more, the ore doesn’t do him a blink of ill. A valuable combination. “Your…associates wanted to beat him further, but I stopped them, figuring you would want to see to this personally, as he is lawman. Also…”

“Yes?”

His left paw fingers a jade worry stone, smoothing it between rough paw pads. He leans in, away from the rabbit chattering with my marmot and purrs a whisper: “We do not know if he is affected by ore. Until we do, best to keep him where he sees nothing incriminating.”`

“Hmph.” I nod and slap the panther on his muscular back. “Morris! Give this cat a bonus.”

“Yes, bossman.” The marmot fumbles out his wallet and thumbs a dozen bills out for him.

The panther takes them with both paws, nodding all gracious. I continue to be impressed. I’d hire only big cats if the situation allowed, not these rats and other vermin, but we’re too uncommon.

I smile at Harvey. “Clean him up, dress his injuries as best you can. Communicate our regrets and let him know I’m on my way here.”

“Yes, Boss.” He bows like I’m some sort of king. I like that. Suits a man of my species.…

Morris ties the wallet back to his belt as we turn a corner, hitching his pants against his wide gut. “We were lucky today, bossman. Bats are fragile creatures. You remember what happened with the pipistrelle…”

I growl. “Yes, I remember.”

He looks back. “You aren’t releasing him now?”

“Have them move him to the back offices ‘til he recovers. We’ll take him back to town after the service. He comes out a’ this fine as a new penny. We all come out a’ this just fine.”

We’ve got some gone to get.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The entrance of the mine is a heavy wood frame. Holding steady for a moment, I duck next to the one of the beams.

What in tarnation am I doing? Charging into Hayes’ mine runs contrary to my attachment to continued living. Granted, I’m keen to keep him around for a tussle and a tumble, but that’s no reason to risk my fluffy tail.

I control my breathing. I hope no one can hear my hammering heart. I’m going to have to move fast. My gun’s in my paw. I turn the corner.

Nobody there.

Don’t these men have a whit of sense? Who the hell doesn’t leave a guard at the only entrance? Unless this ain’t the only one...

I walk into the dark. My fur cools in an instant, fluffing out. Air’s moist in here. Chilled too. I make my way down the uneven wood steps, walking slow and atop the supports so as not to let it creak. A derelict track runs beside me. Once on the floor of the mine, I pick up speed ‘til I’m dang near bounding outta my boots. That feeling I had walking by those ore wagons, but it’s brought its five twin sisters. My ears go up. I can hear talk from somewhere down ahead.

It’s hard to see, but my eyes adjust enough to keep me from hitting the walls. Helps that they are covered in mushrooms of various sorts, and that some of them glow. As a herbivore who spends more nights outside than in, I know a trifle about them. Some are safe, some are poison, all look to have been gnawed on. I walk on.

The mine gets all twisty, but I manage. I just keep to following the voices. Can’t make out the words, but sure sounds like Hayes. Never thought I’d be thankful for a lion’s bluster. I go down another set of rough stairs, then another. I start to wonder if this mine just goes on forever. Or if my ears ain’t as good as I supposed.

Then, all of a sudden, the walls change. They aren’t chipped out by picks and steam-drills; they’re natural. This mine hit a cave. I leap down a little ledge and land on an even stone floor. Room’s huge and irregular, folded into sections like a gourd. Those pointy up an down cave bits are spaced throughout and line the floor and ceiling like teeth. They have a fancy name I can never remember. A few of them glitter like gold dust, but I dodge around them. Plenty of gold in this world and few enough lawbats, if you can believe it.

Eyes open, ears searching, I stride through the dark tunnels. Lanterns hang up ahead, splashing light at the end of this murky place. As I get closer, I see there ain’t no surface in this cave not written all over with odd scraggly letters. Don’t make no sense to me, and they flow like oil when I try too hard to read them. I try not to, lest I go all woozy like when I last neared the mine.

I come upon a space in the cave, partways cut off from the rest. Hayes’ voice hits me like a whiskey bottle to the head. I duck back, hiding from view. Damned if my head isn’t hurting something fierce.

The room ahead’s set up strange. Clearly man-made, it’s big and round, perhaps thirty paces across. Shelves all around it, cut right into the stone and covered in jagged shards of pottery and crumbling bones. Rows of crude benches, all filled with seated, restless on-lookers. More than a dozen folk are in here. A half-dozen more mill about the sides of the room, shuffling around, aimless and unsteady. Either they’ve been passing around the oh-be-joyful or I’m not the only one this mine’s run afoul of. Most I can only see by the feeble light on their eyeshine, glimmering dead eyes watching me from shadows deeper than the world ought to know. One of ‘em keeps stroking something metal and curved, something that looks to be a sickle.