Midnight Rider

Chapter 8

Rochenbach and the five other riders bypassed the main streets of Central City and rode upward on a steep trail overlooking the booming mining town. Keeping their horses at a walk, they moved along single file in the pale moonlight, past long rows of mining shacks and shaft entrances, where the sound of steel tools rang behind the curtains of night.

At an upward turn in the trail, two riders appeared from out of nowhere. Rochenbach’s thumb slipped over his rifle hammer until he heard one of the riders call out to them from ten yards away.

“Dent, Pres, Giant,” said the lowered voice, “is that you?”

“It’s us, Frank,” Casings replied, nudging his horee forward and stopping as the two men rode up to him.

Rochenbach and the others followed behind Casings. When they gathered in close to the two newcomers, Casings motioned a gloved hand between the two and Rochenbach.

“Frank Penta, Bryce Shaner, meet Rochenbach… You can call him Rock,” he said.

Penta and Shaner touched their hat brims toward Rochenbach, who returned the gesture.

“So, you’re the man who has us out working in the cover of night,” Frank Penta said with a thin smile. As he spoke, he looked Rochenbach up and down appraisingly.

“I do my best work at night,” Rock replied mildly.

“Yeah, well, we’re just hoping you’re worth the trouble, Midnight Rider,” said Shaner.

“Enough talking. Why don’t we go see?” Casings said quickly, knowing Rochenbach’s low tolerance for surliness and badmouthing.

“That’s what I say,” said Penta, catching the apprehension in Casings’ tone of voice. “Let’s go do what we do best.” He gave him another thin smile.

“Yeah,” said Bryce Shaner, “let’s go see what you’ve got.” He gave an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “After you, Midnight Rider.”

But Rochenbach only sat staring at him.

“Are you a gambling man, Shaner?” he asked in an even voice.

“I’ve been known to lay down a stack on the right play. Why? What’s the wager?” Shaner asked.

“I’ll bet you fifty dollars I can put a bullet in your right eye before you can call me Midnight Rider again,” Rock said.

Uh-oh! Casings snapped his gaze to Rochenbach.

“Hang on, Rock—Jesus!” he said. “Bryce didn’t mean nothing by that! He gives everybody a little nickname like that. Right, Bryce?”

Rochenbach saw Shaner’s prickly attitude and demeanor change quickly.

“Yeah! Hey, amigo! I was just trying to get acquainted, more or less funning with you!” he said to Rochenbach, his pretense shattered.

“Is it a bet?” Rochenbach asked flatly, unmoved by Shaner’s sudden change of heart.

Frank Penta sidestepped his horse away from Bryce Shaner; the other men backed their horses a step.

“Hey, come on, Mid—I mean Mr. Rochenbach!” Shaner said, talking fast, correcting himself. “I came out to do a piece of work tonight,” he said soberly. “I didn’t come out looking for a gunfight.” He slid nervous glances back and forth from Casings to Penta, looking for any support he might find. “All I want to do is make some money,” he said shakily. “That’s all I’m here for.”

“Me too,” said Rochenbach, letting up a little now that he saw Shaner was only acting tough. “I heard you playing big dog, little dog. I thought I better make sure I showed up at the right party.”

“He’s right, Bryce,” said Casings. “You come up acting like a turd—”

“I was joking, damn it,” Shaner insisted, cutting him off.

“Good enough,” said Casings, ready to turn his horse away and dismiss the matter. “Settle this to suit yourself. Rest of us have a job to do.”

“Jesus, all right! Okay!” said Shaner. “I was being a little testy. I’ve had lots on my mind lately. Can any of yas understand that?” He looked at each stone face in turn, seeing nothing in their eyes in the shadowy purple moonlight.

“Does this mean the bet’s off?” Rochenbach said coolly.

“Yes, it’s off! Damn it, it’s off—hell, it never was on!” said Shaner, sounding even more shaken than before. “I was only kidding. I want all of you to know that.” He looked all around.

“Look at me, Shaner,” Rock said quietly.

“Huh…?” Shaner said, turning back to Rochenbach.

“So was I,” Rochenbach said with a thin trace of a smile, turning the matter loose now that he’d established himself with another of Grolin’s men.

A low ripple of laughter stirred among the other gunmen. Casings chuckled, but he let out a sigh of relief as he did so.

“He got you good, Shaner,” he said.

Shaner was too baffled and browbeaten to do anything but let out a tense breath and try to collect himself. He shook his head.

“Damn it to hell…,” he growled, amid the chuffing and stifled laughter of the men. He knew he’d been made to look like a fool, but he was also aware he’d set it up himself, then walked into it blindly. He jerked his horse away from Rochenbach and stared upward along the windy mining trail. “Some folks you can’t fun with,” he mumbled, trying to save face at least with himself.

As Shaner rode a few yards away, Casings shook his head and adjusted his hat atop his head.

“Don’t go scaring our dynamite man away,” he said quietly to Rochenbach.

“Dynamite man?” said Rock, looking back and forth between Casings and Penta. “What are we doing with dynamite? I thought Grolin wanted to see you men waltz cheek to cheek with this safe.”

“He does,” Penta cut in. “But Shaner and I are going to blow it afterward, just to keep folks from knowing there’s a big-time safe opener in these parts.” He looked Rochenbach up and down. “Sound good to you?” he asked, appearing amiable enough.

“Sounds like good planning to me,” Rochenbach replied. He turned his horse with Penta and Casings. The riders spread out single file and rode on, upward into the night.

Stay calm and collected, Rochenbach reminded himself, riding along the steep uphill trail. It’s all coming around. He didn’t like playing this tough, desperado role all the time. But it was what the job called for. It was what these men understood. Calling Shaner down in front of the others was risky, but it had to be done. He could never allow Grolin’s men to talk down to him in any way. That wasn’t the way to play this game—likely it would get him killed one day.

Had Bryce Shaner stood up to him and chosen to fight, Rochenbach knew without a doubt that he would have killed the man. But he had decided on the spot that Shaner was only trying to buffalo him—acting tough to impress both Rock and the others.

It was clear that Shaner was scared, Rochenbach had decided, basing his judgment on experience, having faced down the same kind of men under the same set of circumstances countless times before. It was risky doing it, he had to admit, but he knew of no other way to play this game of life and death except to play tough and play to win.

Luckily he’d been right—again, he reminded himself, riding along in the chilled night air. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Call it luck, call it skill, call it experience. Whatever it was, he thought, he wouldn’t question it. He was still in the game.…

At midnight the men pulled their horses off the trail, to the rear entrance of Hercules Mining. Dismounting, they led their horses quietly through a cluttered alley strewn with ore buckets, iron storage bins and broken hand tools. Across the rear yard from a dim-lit shack, they tied their horses to an iron hitch. While Bonham stayed with the horses, the others crept nearer to the shack and stopped behind a broken-down freight wagon.

“Giant, get over there with your dirt sock and do your stuff,” Casings whispered to the Stillwater Giant. Turning to Rochenbach he said, “You’re going to like this, Rock.”

The Giant walked boldly but quietly toward the rear door of the shack, a long sock filled with dirt and gravel hanging from his large right hand.

Without being told, Penta and Shaner slipped away across the yard in different directions. In a crouch they both circled wide of the shack and took positions, watching the trail from the edge of the dusty front yard. Spiller and Turley Batts stayed back, rifles in hand, while Casings moved forward and watched the Giant knock on the rear door.

“Sheriff’s deputy,” he called out in his powerful voice as he banged with urgency on the door. “Open up, we know you’re in there!”

“Keep your shirt on, Deputy. I’m coming,” a startled voice called from inside. “Is that you, Decker?”

The Giant stood sidelong to the door, the sock full of dirt drawn back and ready.

The iron bolt slid from its keeper with a squeaking sound and the big door swung open. The night guard stood in the open door, a lantern raised in one hand, a shotgun in the other.

“If I’d known you was coming by, Decker,” he said, “I would’ve had you bring me something to eat—” His voice stopped short as the Giant swung the loaded sock into his face with enough force to send him crashing backward across the length of the shack and land upside down against the front door.

“I have to laugh every time I see this,” Casings said, chuckling beside Rochenbach.

Rochenbach started to pull his bandanna up over his face.

“Come on,” said Casings, an empty pair of saddlebags over his shoulder, “you won’t need a mask. This fool will be knocked out cold the rest of the night.”

Inside the shack, the Giant had slipped the sock into his coat pocket. He’d hurried over and picked the lantern the night guard had been holding up off the floor and righted it before it had time to go out. When Rock and Casings came through the rear door, the Giant peeled the unconscious guard down off the front door. They watched him scoop the guard into his arms, carry him over to the cot and drop him on it.

“Sweet dreams,” the Giant said down to the man.

Rochenbach stepped quickly across the room into a large office where a huge, ornate Diebold Bahmann safe stood against the wall. Casings followed at his elbow.

Rochenbach pulled a leather case from his coat pocket and took three pieces of his Cammann stethoscope from it. Casings watched intently as Rock assembled the scope and hung it around his neck.

When Rochenbach stepped over to the big modern safe and rubbed a hand on it near the large combination dial, Casings stood even closer, watching every move he made. This wouldn’t do, Rock told himself. He didn’t come here to teach an outlaw how to open safes.

“I hear it won’t be long before everybody will be using these dial safes,” Casings said as if in awe of some large, iron monster.

Rock ignored him. Putting the earpieces into his ears, he raised the bell end of the listening device against the flat steel door of the safe. He listened for a moment as he turned the steel dial slowly, then frowned and tapped the bell against the palm of his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Casings asked in a hushed tone.

“It’s not going to work,” Rock said. He tapped the bell against his palm again, placed it on the steel door. He turned the dial again. Then he frowned and shook his head. “It’s no use; there’s too much noise,” he said. He took the earpieces out of his ears.

Casings looked all around the cluttered office, puzzled.

“Too much noise?” he said wrinkling his brow. “I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s because you’re not wearing this,” Rock said, gesturing at the stethoscope dangling down his chest.

“Damn it, what can we do?” said Casings. “I don’t want to go back empty-handed, even if this is a practice run.”

“There’s a clock ticking somewhere,” Rock said, looking through the open door into the rest of the shack. “Go find it and stop it. I’ll be listening through this.” He picked the earpieces up from his shoulders and put them back into his ears.

“A clock ticking?” Casings said. “I never heard of anything as—”

“Are we going to open this baby or not?” Rock asked, cutting him off. “If we are, I need you to stop that clock for me.” He leaned close to the steel door and held the bell back against it.

“All right,” Casings said, shaking his head. He left the office and walked through the shack, looking all around.

“What’s going on?” the Giant asked, looking up from tying up the unconscious guard with a length of rope. He’d pulled a bandanna from his pocket and tied it around the guard’s eyes.

“I’m looking for a clock,” Casings said. “Help me find it.”

“A clock?” said the Giant. “You wondering what time it is?”

“Help me find the clock,” Casings said. “It’s keeping Rock from hearing inside the safe door.”

“Dang,” the Giant said in his deep voice, greatly impressed, “this must be some awfully scientific stuff we’re fooling with.”