“A couple thousand,” Cord grunted. It wasn’t so much, given how rich the strike was at Bidwell’s, but it would keep their crew fed and drunk for a few months.
They’d been unlucky at finding the right claim to steal. Most were in the process of being sold to the big mining companies; others were mostly poor ground, showing little gold, or in the hands of outfits too tough to tangle with.
The shipments, though. So far, they weren’t so tough. They’d taken two smaller loads in the past month. Neither had been so well protected as this one.
Three escorts and three more in the wagon. All armed with rifles or scatterguns. They aren’t taking any chances.
“Our man in town comes through again,” John said.
“Seems like,” Cord admitted. Then he turned to the others. “But gold in the wagon don’t spend so well, not when it’s someone else’s wagon. So let’s go make it ours.”
The trail made a long, sweeping turn below them, and the grade was steep. Leaving the cliff, Cord’s men took their positions in the trees at either side of the trail. Liev and John hid just ahead of the others, while Cord, Jacob, and the Swede took the left side. Teale, Hawk, Saul, and Van hid in the trees on the right.
But for the creak of the approaching wagon, the clop of the horses’ hooves, or the rare groaning protests of flexing leather, the mountain air was silent.
They didn’t have to wait long. Cord let the first outrider pass by. Then he took aim at the man’s retreating back, finally squeezed the rifle’s trigger. The man fell dead. His frightened horse leaped into a run and vanished down the trail. The stillness shattered with Cord’s shot. Thunder came like the bursting of a great dam as more gunfire rang out. It didn’t last long—twenty seconds in total—and the wagon’s guards were dead or dying.
Jacob stood over one and put a bullet in his eye.
One of their horses was wounded, and John—always sentimental about horses—slit the downed beast’s throat.
Cord headed for the wagon. He didn’t give a damn about horses. He rode them, and when one failed him or when he could find a faster one, he took another. They were dumb beasts, little smarter than cows or pigs or even sheep.
He tore aside a tarp to reveal a large wooden crate beneath. He ran a hand over the crate’s lid. Two thousand dollars in gold must’ve lay inside.
“Swede! Come get this box open,” he ordered.
The Swede came over without comment, examined the box for a second, then wedged the blade edge of his knife beneath one of the nailheads. He pried, and when the nail lifted a half inch, he pulled it the rest of the way with calloused fingers. In a minute, he had the nails removed.
“Clear out,” Cord said, and stepped past the bigger man. He grabbed the lid and flipped it open. His eyes widened when he saw the contents.
Inside the crate was a pile of worthless rocks. He picked one up. The weight was right, but this sure wasn’t gold. He cracked it against the wagon wheel’s steel rim, chipping loose a gray flake.
Where was the gold?
The men would not meet his eyes. No one dared speak. They knew him too well, and evidently the Swede and Jacob had learned enough to know better.
“Cord,” John said.
Cord ignored him. Couldn’t he see they’d been duped? Dunlap. Dunlap had lied to them, betrayed them. That fool would live to regret it. The gold had been real enough, Cord was sure of it. Why would six men be guarding a box of worthless rocks? But where was it?
A pistol appeared in Cord’s fist. He lifted the barrel until it pointed at the sky, thumbing the hammer back as he did so. Dunlap. The gold. He would find both. Thumb on the trigger, he lowered the hammer gently, brought it back again, then lowered it a second time. The motion was automatic, repeated by long instincts. He lost count of how many times the hammer clicked back.
“Boss,” John said again. He was still kneeling over the dead horse. He had the saddlebags in his hands and was peering inside, grinning. “You need to see this.”
“Dammit, John. Not now. They’ve outsmarted us somehow. I’ve got to figure where that gold is.”
John reached into the bag. He held something in his fingers and—for a brief moment—it caught the light and reflected.
“Looks like some of it is in here,” John said.
Cord ran over, and John passed him the saddlebag.
Gold nuggets, hundreds of them, lay inside. Cord laughed and ran his fingers through them. He held the largest up in triumph.
“Check the others,” he said.
Then he remembered the first outrider, the one he’d shot off his horse. Where was that horse now? He’d last seen it racing down the trail.
“And go chase down that last horse. Shoot it if you have to. An extra fifty to whoever brings back the gold.”
John frowned at him.
“John, that horse is carrying five hundred dollars in gold.”
“I’ll catch him.” John sprang to his feet. “Without shooting.” He turned to the others. “Anyone who shoots that horse will answer to me.”
No one argued. They were all too busy opening up saddlebags and slapping each other on the back.
John ran to his own hidden horse and thundered down the trail. Cord was relieved to have him go. You could never trust men like these, not fully. But of them all, John was the most trustworthy and the least likely to keep the gold for himself. Jacob certainly would have. And then Cord would have found out and killed both him and the Swede for the offense. Inconvenient, but necessary if it came to that.
Cord let out a long sigh. Their first big job had been easy. After this, there would be more guards, and he would need Jacob and the Swede for his next job.
He had something big planned. One last job to set him up in luxury for life. All he needed was for the right man to strike it rich and then they would act. After that…Cord let the nugget fall from his fingers into the leather bag. After that, he’d never work again.
* * * *
A week had passed since David and Jim gave up on finding the gold’s source, and they’d panned out enough from the stream to fill another flour sack.
