The Union (9 page)

"What's that?" Keely had asked.

"Sounds like a landslide," he’d said.

"A landslide doesn't sound like that. That sounded like an explosion." Her voice had trembled.

"That's the way a landslide sounds tonight, lass. Trust me."

His thoughts returned to the present. When the coming train stopped, his men, who were perched on the hillside above the slide, would drop onto it. He shook his head, amused at himself. His boys. Sometimes it was hard to remember whose side he was on. He prayed the owners had gotten his message and suspended the mission. But he couldn't be sure they had.

The bushes trembled in the woods around him as the men jostled one another, rocked on the balls of their feet, or spent their energy in whatever manner their personality dictated. He heard the murmured voices of small groups of men. They were nervous and jumpy, agitated, frustrated and ready for action. Any kind. Amateurs! Cripes, what kind of man couldn't wait calmly? The woods pulsed with anxious excitement. The boys would be loose with their trigger fingers and hot with their heads. Dietz shook his head, wondering why any man would risk violence at the hands of this mob to scab up at the Gem or Frisco.

He looked at his watch, aching for a stretch. Four p.m. Another five hours and they could call this nonsense off. Sam Waters and the judge had insisted on posting scouts in Wallace only. All the scabs would have to come from Spokane, Washington, east of Coeur d'Alene and through Wallace to reach the mines. Dietz favored posting scouts along the route, but Waters and the others had laughed at his caution, brushing off his ideas as that of a newcomer. The latest round of scouts hadn't reported in, but earlier reports yielded nothing. The Valley sat quiet.

Just then he heard the unmistakable whine of a steam engine making its way up a grade, followed by the shrill call of a whistle. The woods went silent. Dietz cursed under his breath. Both sides seemed to have failed him. His union scouts hadn't reported in and the owners either hadn't received his message, or had ignored his warning. Dietz crawled on his belly to the rise of the hill and peered out, straining for the first glimpse of the train. Everyone waited for his signal. He held the men back with his upturned hand.

The train rounded the bend and came into view. Dietz frowned. An engine and a single top loading car?

The engineer must have seen the slide, but it looked to Dietz liked he'd been forewarned. The train glided to a smooth, unhurried stop with a minimum of brake squeal. The owners had received his message.
 

Waters, who'd been hidden nearby crawled next to Dietz. "What do we do now?"

"Wait and see what they're up to."

The brakeman and engineer looked around nervously, then descended from the train, carrying shovels, evidently prepared to clear the slide. A loosely tied tarp covered the top loading car. Something didn't feel right to Dietz. He was about to speak when someone behind him whooped the rebel yell.
 

"What are we waiting for?" Someone else yelled. "They're not armed."

Dietz cursed again. Before he could stop them half a dozen men piled over the edge of the hillside into plain view of the train.

The engineer shouted something Dietz couldn't quite hear. The tarp flipped off the car, exposing at least fifteen heavily armed men. A shot sounded from the hill.

"Get back," Dietz yelled.

The shot ricocheted off the metal car. Dietz heard the tink, saw the owners' men duck. A volley of return fire erupted. One of the miners toppled face first into the soft dirt of the slide, blood oozing from his shoulder. Startled, the other miners retreated back up the hill, dragging the man behind them. Another round from below and they dropped him and ran. Without thinking, Dietz went down after him. It was an idiotic, foolhardy thing to do, but seconds later he had the man under the arms and almost into the relative safety of the woods when Dietz took a bullet.
 

Dietz's left arm smarted like it had been stung by a bee. The hit startled him and drained the strength from his left arm. Cursing, he gave a final tug and dragged the man to cover. Several other miners stepped up to help, pulling the man deep into the woods.
 

"Take him back to Gem. Get him a doctor," Dietz shouted after them.

The sheriff's posse, which had been under cover farther north, came thundering around the corner, alerted by the echoes of gunshot. Dietz slapped his right hand over the aching left arm. As he expected, slick red blood covered his fingers. He pressed against the injury, certain it was nothing but a flesh wound. Bled like hell, but they’d only grazed him. Hit by fellow owner employees!

Dietz flattened, melding with the ground as he watched the action. At the sight of the sheriff, both sides ceased firing. The look on the sheriff's face as he encountered the digging party was worth the price of admission.

Dietz signaled for his men to retreat—an empty gesture. Most of the men had scrambled halfway back to Gem. The battle was lost.

Dietz imagined what the engineer told the sheriff. Dietz lay too far away to hear, but the gist of it must have been that the engineer received word of a slide and had been sent out with a crew to clear it when he was suddenly attacked without provocation. The dumbfounded sheriff couldn't do a thing without tipping his corrupt hand, nothing but guarantee them protection as they completed their task.

Dietz chuckled. Smart sons of guns, the owners. No doubt another train, one filled with scabs and supplies, would come rolling up the hill in an hour or two, along with McCullough's surprised scouts.

By the time Dietz got back to Gem he'd stopped bleeding. But Waters insisted on escorting him to the doctor, and came right into the office while the doc cleaned him up.

"That was a damned foolhardy thing you did, McCullough," Waters said, but his tone held praise.

"Tell me about it." Dietz winced as the doctor washed his arm with rubbing alcohol.

"No bullet," the doctor said. "Just grazed."

"See, I told you." Dietz looked to Waters.

Waters shrugged. "It needed to be cleaned."

"Promise me you won't tell Keely about my escapades," Dietz said. Waters looked skeptical.
 

"How the hell do you plan on keeping it from her?"

"Just let her think I got hit while hiding out in the bushes, otherwise, she'll be angry and frightened."

Waters laughed. "You and Michael. He always kept things from her, too. 'So as not to scare her,' he'd say."

Dietz stared him down.

Waters held his hands up in mock defense. "I promise."

"And you'll keep the boys quiet."

"Shoot, McCullough. You took a bullet for them. You think they aren't going to talk about it?"

Dietz grunted as the doctor began bandaging.

"All right," Waters said. "I'll keep them quiet as best I can. But I don't promise success."

The doctor finished bandaging. "Put your shirt on, Mr. McCullough. I'm finished. Keep a clean dressing on that wound for the next few days. It's not deep. In a week it won't be more than a small scab."

"Sure feels deep now."

Waters clapped Dietz on the back. "What do you say I take you across the street for a drink to numb the pain?"

"Excellent."

On the way out Waters paid the doctor's bill using union funds. Sometimes the irony of the job almost overcame Dietz. If Waters knew his true identity he'd fill Dietz with lead himself.

Chapter 6

A couple of shots of whiskey at O'Malley's took the edge off Dietz's pain, but looking around him, Dietz realized the alcohol only served to fuel the anger of the miners surrounding him. They had been ratted out and knew it. Dietz listened with half an ear to Waters who perched on a bar stool next to him. The rest of his attention Dietz devoted to eavesdropping on nearby conversations. A fellow never knew what he might hear.

"Another drink?" Waters said as they sat at the bar in the comfortably smoky atmosphere. A player piano tinkled away at the far end of the room, obscuring his words. Or maybe it was only the whiskey obscuring Dietz's senses.

"No, thank you." The agency always taught their operatives to take the offensive if they might be under suspicion. It seemed wise to follow that advice now. "You've got a spy in your ranks, Waters."

"Hell, yes." Waters set his glass on the counter and ordered a refill. "The owners aren't smart enough to send a decoy train up without being warned. That blasted train today didn't suddenly pull the brakes and screech to a halt. He slowed like he knew the slide was coming."
 

"Yeah." Dietz nodded, assessing Waters. As far as Dietz could tell Waters harbored no suspicions about McCullough, made no connection between his arrival and the owners’ newfound knowledge. But then, they already had suspected they had a spy among them. Why should they imagine they had two?

Waters continued. "This isn't the first time we've suspected we've got ourselves a traitor. A year ago we caught a private detective. But we shipped him out of town fast enough." Waters chuckled, leaving Dietz to imagine what he found humorous about that previous situation.

Dietz had read the owners' report. The miners beat Billy Oak nearly to death and shipped him out by train stark naked. Nothing funny about that to Dietz's way of thinking.
 

"Things were quiet for months after he left," Waters continued. "But suddenly these last five, oh, six, months, the owners have gotten a whole lot smarter. I think we got us another detective." A commotion at the door interrupted Waters' speech. Joe Poynton strode in, anger erupting from his expression, and headed right for them.

Poynton threw his felt hat on the table. A steady stream of expletives spewed from his mouth. "The owners were warned," he said. The irony struck Dietz. Poynton came in and took up the conversation like he'd been a part of it all along. All the miners seemed to have one collective thought today. "Yesterday they sent that first train up toward Canyon Creek like she was headed to the camp up there. Hid her out overnight and ran her up to us this afternoon. Word is a second train loaded with supplies and scabs just went by, escorted by the sheriff." Poynton scowled. "Sheriff had no choice. All the big newspapers have been carrying the story of the strike. We've got the sympathy of folks in Spokane and smaller towns. Don't want to turn them against us."

Dietz and Waters nodded in unison. Why disagree with Poynton? Dietz's shoulder ached like hell. He fought not to slump on his stool.
 

"We got to catch that spy," Poynton said.

"I was just saying the same thing to McCullough before you came in."

"I agree, men," Dietz said. He straightened and winced involuntarily.

"Good," Waters said. "We've all of us got to make a plan to find the man out. First though, I think we ought to take McCullough home. You look pale, old boy."

Keely's heart pounded as she raced into the boardinghouse kitchen. She slammed down the basket she'd been carrying onto the table with more force than she intended. The house sounded quiet, too quiet to silence her fears. The men were all out drinking, worked up over their foiled attempt at stopping the train. She'd been at the union hall distributing food to needy families when she heard the news of the skirmish. McCullough had been shot. The men couldn't stop bragging about his heroics. Fools!

Mr. Waters had taken McCullough to the doctor. By the time she'd gotten there the doctor had stitched him up and sent him on his way. The doctor's reassurances that McCullough suffered only a flesh wound fell on deaf ears. She had to see him for herself. Wretched fear. Ever since Michael...

Wasn't it enough for the mine owners to shut down the mines, forcing good men to go idle and their families to starve? Did they have to rile up the miners and invite trouble by shipping more worthless scabs up to the Gem, right in the faces of the miners? The owners deserved whatever trouble they got. Unfortunately, today they’d gotten their way. She took a deep breath, suppressing an oath. The money the owners spent on shipping scabs to the mines! They could just as easily capitulate to the miners' request for higher wages and be money ahead, never mind trouble.

Stopping to discard the basket barely slowed Keely's momentum. She swished past the long side of the table, bumping, catching, and righting a chair in her path with one distracted motion. She swung past the table corner, realized belatedly she was too close and pushed her hip out to miss it. Banged it anyway. She lifted her skirt and took the stairs two at a time in a manner her mother had taught her not to do at a young age, rubbing her hip with her elbow to ease the smart.

Fear always made her clumsy. When Michael had been hurt— She pushed the unpleasant memories away. No use dwelling on them. McCullough needed her. Dear God, let him be all right. She reached the top of the stairs.

"McCullough! McCullough, are you home?" She pushed into his room without knocking. He lay on the bed looking pale but not deathly. Thank goodness! She owed God one.

McCullough looked at her quizzically. She exhaled loudly. Could he hear it? It felt like the whole world could. "You look right enough to me. How do you feel?"

"What?" He leaned up on an elbow. She saw the wince.