Read On Rails of Gold - A Prequel to Golden Heart Page 3

plain clothes and even had some packhorses with them.

  “Sorry I’m late, boys,” said Townsend, swinging into the saddle of her horse.

  They each of them saluted her and mounted up behind her. She spurred her horse on and the company galloped up the incline and out into the blazing Arizona sun.

  III

  “Look! There’s one of them!” said Caldwell, flinging out a finger as they turned onto Allen Street.

  Clay Thompson grabbed the treasurer’s arm and forced it down. They were shaded by an awning but he didn’t want to draw the attention of whoever had ruffled Caldwell’s feathers. To the left of the Old Kindersley Corral, stood a man in a blue shirt and a tattered sombrero pulled down to shield his eyes. It was unnecessary as he was standing in the shade and perhaps Thompson was the only one on the crowded street who found this odd. He appeared to be waiting for somebody.

  “Every time I’ve come to collect my horse he’s been waiting there,” said Caldwell. “Him or his buddy. I’ve not a chance of escaping Tombstone with my horse which is all I have left in the world. Not without one of these two calling in the rest of their gang to shoot me down.”

  “I see him,” said Thompson. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to book yourself in for one more night at the Grand Hotel. I’m going to lure this fella away from the corral and see if I can’t persuade him to go bother somebody else. We’ll leave Tombstone this evening. They’ll still think you’re at the hotel. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  “I hope that I can, Lieutenant Thompson,” said Caldwell.

  Thompson seized the clerk by the neck and dug his fingers in hard so the man squealed. “Never call me that in public. Or I’ll leave you here in Tombstone.”

  Caldwell scurried off to make further arrangements at the Grand and Thompson wandered over towards the man in the blue shirt.

  “Got a smoke?”

  The man’s sombrero lifted just a little so that eye contact could be made. “Shove off, nigger.”

  Thompson tut-tutted. “Forget it. I only asked ‘cause I wanted to try some of that fancy shit you fairies smoke. I heard that it’s perfumed like your drawers.”

  The man’s eyes blazed beneath his sombrero. “The hell did you just say?”

  “Oh, I ain’t judging, friend. After all, us downtrodden have to stick together. Us niggers and you pansies. So long!” He turned and headed down an alley that followed the wall of the corral. He heard the enraged voice of the man in the blue shirt behind him.

  “You turn around and face me, boy! I’m gonna slam one in your gut and then we’ll see who’s a pansy!”

  His footsteps clomped along the decking and Thompson smiled. He had taken the bait like a dumb marlin. As soon as they were off the street he whirled and swung his fist into the man’s belly with all the force of a man who had once been a plantation prize fighter and still occasionally gave a punching bag a few taps for recreation.

  The man in the blue shirt doubled over and wheezed in agony, all the breath whooshing out of him. But his right hand still fumbled at his holster. Thompson caught him by the throat and slammed him against the wall of the corral. His other hand grabbed the gun and flung it to the dust. He drew his own and pressed the barrel against the man’s forehead and pushed in hard.

  “What’s your name, friend?”

  “I’ll kill you, nigger! Me and Clanton’s boys will string you up where you belong!”

  Thompson raised his gun and brought the butt crashing down on his nose, splintering the bone. The man squealed as the blood streamed down into his mouth. When he was done coughing Thompson put the question to him again.

  “Pony Diehl.”

  “And you’re working for Ike Clanton?”

  He nodded.

  “Who are you looking out for?”

  Pony had another bout of reluctance and Thompson brought his knee up into his groin.

  “Ooyaah!” Pony exclaimed, the wind knocked from him for the second time in under a minute.

  “Vasquez! Gerard Vasquez!”

  “The bandit?” Thompson asked. “He’s in town?”

  “Y…yeah!”

  “Why does Ike Clanton want him dead? I would have thought those two would have enjoyed each other’s company.”

  “Clanton don’t care,” Pony managed through gritted teeth. “It’s just a job. Government’s payin’ him to grab Vasquez.”

  “Grab? Not kill? That makes even less sense. Why would the Confederacy care a wooden nickel about a bandit? If you’re lying to me, Pony…”

  “N…no! It’s the truth! I swear to God! But I don’t know why they want him, they just do. All I heard was the word ‘Cibola’, that’s all, I swear!”

  Thompson frowned. Cibola. The word didn’t mean anything to him. “I see. Now, get lost before I put a bullet between your eyes. If I see you hanging around this corral or if you or your companions hassle me in any way, I’ll kill you, Pony Diehl, you got that?”

  Pony nodded his head vigorously and Thompson released him, sending him on his way with a savage kick in the rear.

  He stood alone in the alley for a while and frowned. Caldwell was wrong. Something else was going down in Tombstone and he didn’t like it. He picked up Pony’s gun and shoved it into his belt before heading back onto Allen Street and making for Mickey’s Saloon.

  IV

  The ruins of the pueblo looked like a matchstick model in the shadow of the swollen balloon. The dirigible flew a Confederate flag; a necessary caution on the part of the unionist agents aboard. At least Townsend hoped this was their craft, or this was going to be a short, bloody meeting.

  They reigned in their mounts as they entered the dusty compound; once home to a Hopi tribe and long since abandoned to the snakes and the ghosts. Men were already unloading crates and boxes from the dirigible while a man in a business suit with long side whiskers touched with grey stood awaiting them.

  “You came in person,” said the man, a smile on his lips.

  “Yes, my lieutenants are otherwise engaged,” said Captain Townsend, dismounting. She looked at the pile of supplies and frowned. “I was worried that I had not brought enough packhorses but now I see that I have ample.”

  “Yes, supplies are tight, I’m afraid,” said the man. “But we did get you some more ammo for those Jericho Gatling guns.”

  “And medical supplies?”

  “That too.”

  “How about some mechanite?”

  At this the man’s face fell. “Afraid not. The metal is scarce enough in the north as it is. The decision has been made to keep what little we have for the Union army.”

  “Damn it, McGrath, what the hell are we supposed to do when our supply runs out? If the tunneling program suffers any more delays we’ll never connect with Colorado.”

  “Well there’s not much I can do about it, Captain. I’ve pressured every contact I have in the army. But after the bombing of New York, everybody is stockpiling. You’ve got enough to hold out for at least a while. I understand you held up a train the other week.”

  Townsend scowled. “The mechanite we took was minimal. Besides, our target was the safe belonging to the treasury department.”

  “Much in it?”

  “We haven’t been able to open it. Lieutenant Thompson is pursuing an angle on that as we speak.”

  “Look I’m sorry if this is a wash out but the truth is I don’t know when we’ll be able to make another run. It’s risky enough as it is. There seem to be more and more Confederate dirigibles in the air, particularly in Arizona Territory. Any idea what’s cooking?”

  “We’re looking into it. The area around Fort Flagstaff is a no-go area.”

  “Yes, we heard. Word is that they’re working on something big. Any information you could send our way would be most appreciated.”

  “Nobody wants to know what they’re up to more than me. Materials have been heading into Flagstaff as if they were preparing for the end of the world. Mining and
smelting materials too, which has us stumped.”

  “You don’t say? What is there to mine in that area? It’s all desert.”

  “As soon as we know, we’ll pass it on. Although I can’t say when or how if you won’t risk another drop or get us the mechanite we need to complete the tunnel.”

  McGrath sighed. “Ok, Captain. Now, how about some information instead? We’ve had word that the Confederacy is looking for somebody. We don’t know who and we don’t know why. All we can say is that they need him badly for something or other. Possibly in connection with whatever is being worked on at Fort Flagstaff. We also know that the Russians have sent their own agent into the field; that is, into Arizona Territory.”

  “The Russians? What the hell is their business here?”

  “Not too sure. Their Tsar – that is to say, their emperor – has voiced support for our cause in the past but has been reluctant to get involved in any active capacity. This agent may be under orders to help the Union in a clandestine manner. They haven’t contacted us but we know that this agent has a past record of assassinations. It could mean that they are intending to remove somebody in a position of power in the Confederate government.”

  “But why focus on Arizona? Why not Virginia or Georgia?”

  “Couldn’t say. The Russians are tight-lipped bastards. They could be a real help but they don’t want to openly risk war with the British.”

  “I suppose the British will have sent their own assassins and spies to work against us.”

  “Quite possibly.”

  “I wish these Europeans would just be open about whom they support. It