California Crackdown

14

The sun was still only faintly coloring the sky as Fargo checked in with Jim at the Brant mine road.

“Keep your eyes open and your men on guard,” Fargo reminded him.

“Understood,” Jim said.

Fargo moved on, leading his big Ovaro down and into the stable at Sharon’s Dream, making sure his horse was fed and taken care of.

Then, with his heavy carbine in his hand, he headed up toward the ridge between the two mines.

The sky had turned a faint blue, but the sun had yet to color the tops of the mountains. It wouldn’t be long until full daylight was on them. Again, the coming day promised to be clear and hot. He hoped to have this over with before it got too hot.

At the top of the ridge, he met Hank and Walt.

“Better send a dozen more men to Jim on the road,” Fargo said as he stepped up near the top of the ridge to their base camp.

Hank nodded and told another man to take twelve from along the ridge and get going.

“So, what’s happened?” Fargo asked.

“We threw all but our last six sticks of dynamite at them,” Walt said. “We figured we had better save those for an emergency.”

“Good idea,” Fargo said. “When did you throw the last ones?”

“Thirty minutes ago,” Hank said. “We varied the length between throwing them, so they wouldn’t get used to a pattern.”

“Again, good thinking,” Fargo said. “Any movement down there?”

“Nothing,” Hank said. “Guards are all still at their posts. They haven’t been switched out, which tells me there’s no one left to replace them.”

“Do you have the spyglass?” Fargo asked.

Walt went back to a pack and pulled it out. “Not enough light for it to work at night.”

Fargo slung his carbine over his shoulder, took the heavy metal spyglass, and moved to a position on a rock where he could see the compound below. In the morning light, the destruction seemed even worse than before. Except for the big ranch house, which had all of its windows blown out, there was almost nothing left down there.

He had Walt tell him where the six guards were stationed, and he checked out each one. Two of them were asleep; the other four were nodding.

Six guards at posts. No bunkhouse left to hold any others, so those that were still alive were in the big house with Brant and Sarah and Kip.

That meant there were nine survivors total, maybe a few more, but not many.

Fargo spent a few minutes with the spyglass scouting the hillside below him for a way down and a place that had good enough cover and was close enough for the Henry to do its work. All the dynamite had really changed the hill above the mine, but finally Fargo found what he was looking for.

He slipped back off the rock and handed the spyglass to Walt. “I’m going down there. If I get pinned down, I’ll shout for help. But unless I do, you stay here and keep your people at their posts.”

“Nothing at all we can do?” Hank asked. “This is our mine. Cain was our boss.”

“I understand that,” Fargo said, “but he was my friend.”

He went on before the two good men could argue. “You’ve done everything you can. This is my fight now and I like to go it alone. If I need help, I’ll shout out.”

Fargo turned to start over the ridge, then thought better of it and turned back to the two men. “If something happens to me, I want you to carry on. You know what Brant did to Cain. Take care of the bastards for me.”

Both men nodded and said nothing.

Fargo turned and headed up over the ridge, not spending too much effort to hide as he went, but moving fast and staying in what cover he could.

He made it all the way to the rock he had picked out for cover without a shot coming his way. The guards were either asleep or had lost the will to fight. It didn’t much matter to him.

Fargo slid up on the rock and pulled down on the guard slightly below him, the one closest to the mine tunnel. That was the guard that had the best angle on him and the one Fargo needed to take care of sooner rather than later.

The shot seemed very loud as it echoed over the silent compound. The guard he had targeted snapped around and slumped over a rock, a moment later sliding to the ground, leaving a bloody trail on the rock.

Fargo slammed another shell into the chamber and quickly took out the guard in the rocks above the destroyed bunkhouse.

That man fired into the air as Fargo’s lead ripped through him.

The other four guards opened up on Fargo as he slipped back slightly into more cover. He could take his time with those four. He had the angle and the advantage on them.

With a fresh cartridge in the chamber, he waited until they had all fired, then eased up and took out the guard closest to the road.

He hit the second guard beside the road next.

Fargo slid back as the last two guards fired on him. From around the edge of the rock, he could see the big house. No movement from there at all.

“Fargo,” one of the two guards yelled. “How about we just call this a draw and get out of here? We have no fight with you.”

“Your boss won’t like it.”

“Haven’t seen him all night,” the other guard shouted. “More than likely he’s dead in the house from the dynamite blast.”

Fargo yelled, “Get out of here.”

“Thanks,” the first guard shouted back.

As Fargo watched, the two men stood and climbed out of their guard posts, heading for the road.

Fargo then eased up on the rock so he could check the compound completely. There was nothing left moving at all.

Nothing. Not even a slight wind to blow around some of the dust from the night of explosions.

“Those still in the big house,” Fargo shouted into the silence. “I have some bad news. The men you hired aren’t coming. The entire gang of them, including Mick Rule, is lying in the morgue in Sacramento. If you don’t believe me, just ask Marshal Davis.”

No movement, no sound, nothing came from the big house.

Fargo checked the compound one more time for any sign that any man was still alive, then eased out of hiding and headed down the hill toward the big building, keeping his attention focused on the black openings of the blown-out windows.

He took his time, moving from cover to cover, until he finally reached the side of the building with no windows. He stopped there, again staring at the compound, at the mine entrance, at the ruins of the buildings, waiting and watching for any movement.

On the ridge back toward Sharon’s Dream, he could see a few of the miners standing on rocks, watching him. They had lost all fear of a stray shot hitting them now. They figured there was no one left to shoot at them.

Fargo put his carbine over his shoulder and took the heavy Colt from its holster. Then he eased onto the front porch, moving slowly in the splinters of wood and small stones. There was no glass, since it had all been blown inside.

From the looks of the destruction, he was starting to wonder if he had killed the Brants with the explosion.

He stepped through what had been a large window with a low sill and into the dark insides of the ranch house, freezing in place with his Colt ready to send lead.

This had been a living room, but much of the furniture was smashed against the wall or out behind the large building. He could see through the back windows that even the two-seater outhouse had been knocked over, and a couch that had been in this room lay tipped on top of it.

Two bodies were thrown against the back wall between two windows. One was impaled by a long spike of wood that had nailed him to the wall like a wild animal.

Both had been killed by the blast, their skin completely shredded by flying glass.

Neither of them was Henry or Sarah Brant or Kip.

It was starting to look more and more likely that no one in this building had escaped the explosion. There had been too many windows, and the main force of the blast had hit the big house almost directly. It was lucky the building was even standing.

Still, being careful in every room, Fargo searched the big place, moving as silently as his boots on the broken glass would let him.

He found two other bodies in the kitchen, both cooks.

He found another body, a guard, in a bedroom. He had probably been using the room and the window as a guard post.

And still no Kip, Henry Brant, or Sarah Brant.

Fargo went back through the house and motioned for Walt and Hank to come down.

As the two miners climbed down the rocky slope, Fargo checked the compound completely, making sure there were no surprises left, no men left alive.

When Walt and Hank reached Fargo, he said, “They escaped. One of you get Jim and about ten men from up the road to come down here and check that mine, make sure no one is in there. Tell them to go in with guns drawn and bring out anyone who might be in there. And tell him to leave some men guarding the road. This isn’t over yet.”

Walt nodded and headed at a run up the road. When he reached the second rise, he started shouting, “Jim, it’s me, Walt. I’m coming up the road. Fargo wants you and some men.”

Fargo nodded. Smart kid. He was taking no chances of getting shot by a tired miner with a hair trigger.

Fargo turned back toward the main house. They had last been seen in that house. That was where their trail started; that was where he would start.

He went through the house and out the back. Then he turned and looked up at the ridge, moving around until he found a place where someone could move behind the building and not be seen from the ridgeline. After a short time, he had their tracks. They went along the side of the house into some brush and rocks and then up into the canyon. Three sets of tracks led into the canyon, one of them a woman’s.

Hank followed Fargo through the building, looking ashen at the sight of all the dead bodies.

“Where does that canyon lead?” Fargo asked, standing beside the tracks. “That’s where they went.”

“It goes nowhere. It’s a box.”

“No trail out?”

“Not that a horse could follow.”

“They weren’t on horses. Where’s the closest ranch or mine from here in that direction?”

“The Toole Mine,” Hank said. “Played out and abandoned about two years ago. A very rough full day’s hike on foot, but they would have to get out of that canyon first.”

Fargo looked around at the hills and rough terrain towering behind the mine. “Any chance they could circle around and get back to the Placerville road?”

At that moment, Jim and Walt joined them, coming through the house, their boots crunching on glass.

“No one lived through this,” Jim said, stepping down to stand beside Fargo and Hank.

“Men are searching the mine,” Walt said.

“Brant, his daughter, and Kip got out before the blast, headed up into the canyon,” Hank said.

Walt laughed and looked at the canyon. “You’re kidding.”

Jim shook his head. “In the dark, I’d wager they didn’t get far in those rocks.”

“It’s been light enough to move for an hour,” Fargo said. Then he repeated his question. “Could they circle back to the Placerville road?”

“No chance of circling back,” Jim said, and both Hank and Walt nodded their agreement. “The only way out of that area is the Toole Mine road. Or back this way.”

“Or,” Hank said, “climb out of the canyon on the left side, go around Mary’s Peak there, and come down the creek into Sharon’s Dream.”

“So we cover all three ways,” Fargo said. He turned to face the three miners. “I don’t want any of them to get away.”