The Union (30 page)

Chapter 18

Dietz crashed through the woods in a jolting, heart pounding run, stumbling over underbrush and rough, uneven ground. Damn, he had no plan other than reaching the culvert and sneaking into Patterson's store. Beyond that, he held little hope for escape. But at least he wouldn't die alone. Crazy, jumbled thoughts ran through his mind as he slid down the hillside and ducked into the dry culvert beneath the street. Above him on the hillside brush cracked and men shouted as they pursued him.

He and Patterson could hole up in the store. Eventually the union would charge in. But he and Patterson should be able to take out several men before being killed. Die fighting. Dietz slithered on his belly in a snaky, desperate dance to reach the other side. If the union boys were smart, they'd be looking for him to try and join up with Patterson.

Dietz emerged from the other side of the tunnel. The path to Patterson's back fence was clear except for two passed out, dead drunk terrorists. Too much celebration. Dietz sneaked past them, removed Patterson’s loose fence board, and sprinted the distance of the yard into the back of the store.

Mrs. Shipley stood just inside, clutching her boy to her. Both looked frightened and startled.

"Where's Allison?" Dietz asked without preamble.

"He isn't here." Mrs. Shipley pulled her boy closer.
 

"You can trust me. I'm not after him," Dietz said.
 

She didn't look as if she believed him and he couldn't blame her.

 
"Look, I came to stand by him. I know they're after him. They're after me, too."

She wavered, debating whether to believe him or not. He saw it in her face.
 

A roar of angry voices thundered up the street from outside. The union was coming for Patterson, hundreds of men prepared for a lynching.
 

"We must hurry." He glanced out the window as he pulled out his Derringer and held it out to her. "Take this and take the boy and lock yourself in your rooms. Tell them we held you hostage if you have to."
 

Something about his desperate tone and words must have convinced her he wasn't the enemy. She pushed the gun back at him. "He went under the house. Follow me, I'll show you."

She led him to her room and pointed to a chest in the corner. "Help me move this."

He didn't ask questions, just jumped to her assistance. They slid the chest a couple of feet, then Mrs. Shipley bent and removed a square of carpet, revealing a hole just big enough for a man to slide through.

"Go," she said. "I'll take care of the rest. God be with you."

He ducked into the hole and hit dusty, musty earth. An instant later the light from above disappeared as Mrs. Shipley replaced the carpet and the trunk.

"What took you so long?" Patterson drawled from the darkness.

Dietz started. "Shit, Patterson, what do you mean to do, kill me?"

Patterson laughed quietly. "Not me. What happened? How'd you end up here?"

"Dan McBride blew into town and recognized me." Dietz's eyes adjusted to the darkness. He and Patterson rested directly under the middle of the store. "You got a plan to get out of here?"

"See where there's a hole big enough to let us out and a path clear enough to give us a half-assed chance of reaching the Gem."

A mob of men shouting in unison, followed by the tramping of feet in the store overhead, prevented Dietz from replying. Dallas's voice drifted down, demanding Mrs. Shipley tell them where Patterson was. Dietz held his breath as Mrs. Shipley spoke. "I haven't seen him since last night."

"Liar. Miss Olson saw him sneak back here from the restaurant this morning. Where is he?"
 

"Why do you want him?"
 

Dietz admired Mrs. Shipley's calm and courage.

"He's a dirty private detective and we intend to burn him at the stake as a warning to others like him."

"Why didn't you kill him yesterday when you had a good chance?" Mrs. Shipley, bless her, sought to buy them time.

Dietz could almost hear Dallas sigh with exasperation. "Yesterday the time wasn't right, but it is now and we will find him so you might as well tell or it will go hard with you."

Dietz waited, silently praying that Dallas wouldn't hurt her or the little boy. Seconds ticked by. Her little boy bawled for all he was worth, not that Dietz could blame him. Had he been five, he would have been tempted to the same course of action. But Dietz worried that the boy would give away their whereabouts.
 

"Do your worst," Mrs. Shipley said. "I don't know where he is."
 

"We'll find the bastard. He's in the house."
 

Footsteps pounded out overhead, fanning out throughout the house. Dietz heard the back door slam shut. They were in the backyard.

Patterson motioned to him for them to be moving on. They crawled on their hands and knees, looking for an opening out. The only one was under the boardwalk, which was raised about a foot above the ground. Patterson dropped to his stomach and led the way, snaking to the east toward the union hall. Dietz dropped down and followed him.

Up ahead, Patterson moved slowly. Dietz assumed Patterson worried about being seen. Dietz sure did. Some of the cracks in the boardwalk overhead were as wide as an inch. He cursed the shoddy workmanship and weathered, shrunken boards as he ate dust and moved along. His mouth went dry—too dry to make spit, or mud of the dirt he breathed in. He cursed again. He must be more scared than he thought.
 

When Dietz cared to look up, soles of shoes swarmed over the walks as thickly as space permitted. Once in a while Dietz caught sight of someone's eyes or face and his heart stopped. But no one returned his look. Likely they didn't expect someone to be under the boardwalks. Fools.

The talk he heard as he inched along related to the explosion at the Frisco Mill and number of scabs who had been killed when the union blew it up with giant powder. The voices were angry and agitated and laced with bloodlust. Dietz had no desire to be their next victim.

Patterson stopped ahead of him. Dietz heard an Irish brogue speak out. "Faith and why don't they send that spalpeen out? I'm wanting to spit in his face, the dirty traitor."

Dietz restrained himself from laughing.
Go ahead. Spit in his face, fellow. He's right beneath you.
 

Patterson started crawling again. Dietz moved with him. He figured they'd covered about two store lengths since leaving Patterson's. The crowd on the boardwalk had thinned considerably. Suddenly, Dietz recognized Gaffney's voice above him. Patterson kept moving, but Dietz heard Keely's voice and froze.

He looked up to see Gaffney hanging onto Keely's arm, a gun in his free hand. "I'm going to kill him, Keely. I promise you. And then I'm going to take care of you, don't you worry. It doesn't matter to me about him. It wasn't your fault."

Dietz had come to a halt at Keely's feet, just at the tip of her skirt. Another few inches and he'd have a fine view of all he used to own. Keely didn't answer Gaffney. Instead, she looked down, right into Dietz's eyes. Her cheeks were dusty and streaked with tears. When she saw him her eyes flew open and her mouth made a nice round oh.

It's all over now
, Dietz thought as he waited for her to turn him in.
 

They stared at each other for an instant that seemed severely long and far too short. His heart thudded in his ears as he lay there waiting for her to get it over with, willing Patterson far away as he did.

Gaffney reached for Keely, tucked his hand under her chin and drew her face up to his. Jealousy thundered through Dietz as Gaffney kissed her. Keely stepped into Gaffney's embrace, covering Dietz with her skirts. Suddenly he had an eyeful of her, petticoats and all. Just as quickly, Keely deliberately scraped her boots on the sidewalk above, showering him with dust.

He blinked too late and cursed silently. His vision blurred, obscured with debris. His eyes watered and teared up. He blinked trying to clear his eyes, and cursed some more. The saying
Here's mud in your eye
had never seemed more appropriate. The cursed woman, what did she mean to do?

"I've got to go, Lunn." She broke away from Gaffney's kiss. "Go join the men. I'm going to take a walk over to Lacy's and make sure she and the children are all right."

"Are you sure, Keely?" Gaffney asked.

"I need another woman's comfort right now. That's all. And she could use my help."

"Sure." Lunn sounded unconvinced, almost hurt. "Take care now, Keely."

"You, too, Lunn. I need you." She stomped again on the boardwalk over Dietz's head. "Horrible, nasty bugs," she said as she ground her heel into the wood above him. Then she began walking very slowly.

Damn.
She was helping him escape? He crawled along beneath her skirts, keeping pace with her. She didn't look down again, and he gave up looking up. Suddenly, it didn't seem respectful. He couldn't figure her out. She certainly hated him. Maybe she just didn't want any more bloodshed. He crawled another twenty-five feet or so to the opening beneath the saloon. Where the hell was Patterson?

Dietz came to an opening large enough to crawl through and get under the saloon. Here was his escape route. Keely had saved him. He glanced up once and tried to signal his thanks, but she ignored him and kept walking. Right out of his life.

Patterson waited for him beneath the saloon as Dietz rolled out from the boardwalk. Built on piles, the saloon stood four feet off the ground, which felt suddenly spacious. Dietz had never been so grateful to be able to get up on all fours. He was damned tired of playing snake.

Patterson signaled for Dietz to follow him and they took off for the far side of the saloon and the daylight that peeked through. Slash, brush, mud, treetops and stumps covered the ground, making the going hard. At the far end of the saloon Patterson paused. They both checked their weapons.

"I lost my gold watch chain," Patterson said, almost incredulously. As if that was the worst thing that had happened all day.

Dietz cocked a brow. "Want to go back and look for it?"
 

"Hell, no!" Patterson sputtered and made like he was trying to spit, but nothing came out. "Always heard a man can't spit when he's scared. My mouth is dry as cotton. Guess I'm scared with a capital S."

Dietz laughed. "You're just now getting scared?" Dietz shook his head. "I lost my spit back there at your store."

Patterson gave a returning laugh and slapped Dietz on the shoulder. "Let's move out."

"I'm with you."

Three union men stood at the corner of the saloon, looking back up Main Street at the crowd. Dietz stared at their backs. Killing them would be easy. But he held back. It felt too much like cold-blooded murder. Only cowards fired from behind.

Dietz glanced due south. Fifty yards in the distance the high railroad grade blocked the view of the Gem Mine and relative safety. But scaling the high grade would place them between two fires. Chances were that the scabs would mistake them for the enemy and open fire on them. A little to the left of them a stream flowed through a culvert under the railroad grade.

Patterson must have been thinking the same thing. Dietz watched his trigger finger twitch.

Finally Patterson spoke. "We don't want our friends up at the mine shooting us. The creek's our best bet." Patterson pointed to the union guards. "If we have to, I think we can fool them into thinking we're out to take a few potshots at scabs," Patterson said. "You lead."

Dietz nodded. They started out at a slow run, stooped like hunters going after game. Though they were literally open-backed targets, they couldn't look back for fear the three guards would recognize their faces and shoot. Dietz hoped the guards weren't suspicious types, because he and Patterson looked as suspicious as hell. Dietz held his Colt over his head to keep it dry and plunged into the culvert, Patterson right behind him swearing. Dietz heard the crack of a rifle shot behind him.

Keely knew the instant he left the boardwalk, but she kept walking to the end of the saloon in case anyone had noticed him or her own odd, slow walk. Did he mean to escape out back of the saloon to the Gem Mine into the hills above? Her heart pounded in her ears trying to drown out her traitorous thoughts.
Run!

She took a deep breath and dabbed at her moist eyes with the back of her hand, blinking to hold back tears. Why should she cry for him? Why would he want her to? Blast her weak self, but she couldn't stop herself, not completely. Part of her hated him, but part of her couldn't forget him, or stop wanting him, or believe his perfidy was real.

When she'd looked down and seen him staring at her from beneath the boardwalk, she'd been so surprised she'd nearly given him away. Yet when she'd looked into his impregnable eyes, so calm, no pleading, just staring, waiting for her to act, she couldn't, and that ate at her conscience. He had betrayed her; used her to work against everything she believed in. By turning him in she could have proven her loyalty to the union. But she kept picturing him as he'd looked such a short time ago in his room at the boardinghouse, begging her to escape with him. Just conscientious? But the expression in his eyes, his pleading tone—