“I´ll send half the riders back with the steers, the remainder will ride with us,” he remarked.
“No, don’t Jim. Don’t you see, the steers will then cover any tracks they have left,” Race quickly broke in.
Jim frowned, “All right, I´ll have all the boys search around the south west side of the ford.” He said before galloping away to pass on the necessary instructions.
Having eased the stiffness of their bodies, the men approached their horses which were grazing contentedly in the lush green grass, and mounted.
They well knew that the job that lay ahead of them would be long and arduous unless they found the tell tale tracks soon. It would be a race against time, only an hour of daylight until the sun descended in the west. The bowl was hot and dry; a vast expanse of poor sandy soil, on which the sagebrush and tumble weed managed to thrive, a narrow path of green cutting across it along the banks of the river.
A few willows, broke the dreary monotony of the terrain, bent and twisted over the steel gray waters of the river, their sprays gracefully dangling into the water. The bowl that held Ambler’s ford was rimmed by low rugged ridges of red sandstone with numerous outlets.
The horsemen fanned out around the arid bowl and started their relentless search, the majority, following up Harlem’s hunch that the owlhoots had headed for the gold mine, took the southwest sector, including Harker and the sheriff.
The riders walked their horses backwards and forward, their eyes to the ground, scanning every inch of sand, tumbleweed and sagebrush, until their eyes watered from strain. But still they carried on, the perimeter slowly becoming larger and more difficult to cover.
The shadows lengthened, the sagebrush now being indistinguishable from their shadows. It was hopeless to carry on the search so the riders were called in from their various sectors. The sun, now a glowing red sphere of light, rimmed the western ridges, against the looming black silhouettes of sandstone. A reddish hue gave the sand a welcoming warmth.
The sun sank lower casting the bowl into darkness as the last riders rode in and joined the outskirts of the assembled horsemen.
A short silence followed; the restless shuffling of horses hooves being the only movement, before the sheriff cleared his throat. “Wal, boys, guess there’s not much to say except thanks for all your help. I’m real sorry we came to a dead end,” he told them and sank back in his saddle waiting for someone to make a comment.
There was a creak of leather to his left and Harker told them, “There’s just one thing we overlooked - the river.” He paused waiting for his statement to sink in.. “We’ve searched and found no tracks but they could have taken the river bed. That means there are only two way out of the bowl, south west to the mine and north to the Wasatch mountains.” The men were tired and of low morale, he knew, having spent the day in their saddles without rest, but there was an urgency in his voice. He wanted to press on and see if his hunch played out. “I know you’ve had a pretty rough day,” he went on in a dry voice, his lips and throat parched, “but I want any volunteers to ride with me to the mine tonight. If my hunch is right, we’ll catch them by surprise,” he added.
“What if it don’t,” a raucous voice queried from somewhere in the darkness. Harker had counted on that, so he tactfully played his trump card. “Well,” he countered,” I figure that it would be far better to take a chance and raid the mine tonight, even though you’ve had a hard day. I´ll put it this way, the fall will soon be on us again and we may have to follow Kemp out north and be caught in the snow, whereas if we make the raid tonight it might be a showdown and save the hunt north.” He waited. There was an eerie silence whilst the men weighed up the options. Would they swallow the proposition? Then, one or two grunts of approval could be heard, followed by more.
Race smiled in the darkness, he had won them over to his reasoning. He thought for a moment before issuing his orders. “Right, I want five riders to accompany the sheriff and myself. Another score will ride with Corbin and tail us. If we are unlucky and they break, it’s your job to give chase and try to bring
The sheriff had selected the men who were to accompany them on the raid when Race reigned in alongside Jeff. “Okay, let’s go boys,” he said spurring his sorrel forward. The remainder followed behind in file as he weaved his way in and out of the sage brush following the nearby river by its gurgling water.
They left the bowl, camp fires burning around Ambler’s Ford where the remainder were settling down for the night, between two rocky butts and entered the flat plains. Some miles distant, a soft yellow light filtered out of some coarse cloth covering the window of a shack. It was to this light that the riders headed, the guiding star for Harlem’s mine. It became larger and larger as the riders pounded across the plains, the distance rapidly decreasing.
The plain gave way and the horses began to lag as they went for the slope. Dead branches snapped and crackled ominously as seven riders in the dead of the night walked their horses through the thinly spaced spruce, pine needles and branches forming a thin carpeting, a small oblique square of light, their only guide.
The leading rider signaled to them to halt, then dismounted hitching his sorrel to one of the tall majestic trees, its top towering above him in the musky darkness. The others followed suit, dismounting silently drawing their rifles from their scabbard and closing in around Harker. “I´ll go in first with Jeff. You keep out of sight and cover us right. If anyone tries to run, bring em down, and don’t forget, Harlem’s my bird,” he said grimly.
“Remember, just wing em, I want em alive for a hanging,” the sheriff interposed.
“Right, while you’re here check your arms and ammunition. This maybe the god dammed showdown,” he added drawing his Winchester from his saddle boot. The darkness was filled with the noise of chambers being spun.
“Sure thing. Guess there’ll be money to put on the wheel if we bring ‘em in,” another replied, chuckling at the thought of a reward. Owls hooted mournfully above them as the men crept forward and out into the open.
A soft breeze played on them, their hearts pounding furiously, bodies perspiring with tension, as they crept forward.
The mine was located in a large quarry, its entrance a narrow pass between two rocky hills. The only light visible was the one from a small aperture in the watchman’s timber shack. Its entrance was on the end overlooking the entrance, reached by a rickety staircase leading up to a narrow platform.
The group crouched by one of the corner piles and surveyed the mine. They could see through the two rocky hills and into the spacious but poorly illuminated quarry. Two mine entrances were just distinguishable at the rear, tracks emerging from their dark entrance where the ore was brought to the surface in trucks pulled by mules.
The foreground consisted of a few wooden shacks, built around the edge of the quarry which served as offices and stores. They were long low structures which had an appearance of being deserted. Race realized that Harlem and Kemp could well be holin’ up there, but where in heck were the horses? Nothing stirred, only the heavy breathing of the men beside him.
A large wooden structure had been erected in the center of the works with a water tank perched on its summit, reached by a rickety ladder. From the top of the rock face, a wooden causeway had been constructed with a sluice at the top. The causeway disappeared behind one of the long wooden buildings and reappeared to let the used water flow out between the two hills, and towards a small copse of pines.
Harker tapped two of the men on the shoulder and indicated they were to take cover in the pines. The other three he placed behind rocks in strategic points around the shack, constructed on the piles. They would cover the interior of the quarry whilst he tried the shack.
He and the sheriff moved forward and proceeded to mount the frail staircase as silently as possible. Every step they ascended resulted in a horrible creaking which seemed capable of waking the dead. They paused, waiting for their presence to be observed before continuing their nerve racking ascent.
Eventually the platform was reached and a silent sigh of relief was issued. Thin cracks of light appeared around the entrance and it was in this direction that Harker tiptoed, drawing his Colt from his holster and followed by the sheriff well in his rear.
Race booted the door in and neatly stepped aside and waited. Nothing happened so he stepped into the illuminated entrance his Colt fanning the two occupants who had quickly risen to their feet on his intrusion.
The room was large, poorly illuminated and had rough and crude furniture. A table stood in the middle, a pack of well thumbed playing cards and an oil lamp being the only articles on it. The two occupants were both armed and had both attempted to draw on the intruder, but seeing his deputies badges had let their arms slip to their sides.
“Where’s Harlem!” Harker snapped impatiently.
“He ain’t here mister “ the one who was grotesquely fat in the paunch spoke slowly and evenly, calculating every phrase. He was a big bull of a man, fair hair waved over his forehead and cow licked back. A scowl of anger was transfixed on his ruddy face. Race knew that this man was trying to hide something, but had not succeeded. His companion, a slightly smaller man, with a rabbit face was expressionless, his eyes vacantly staring in Harker’s direction. “I´ll give you to five to tell me where Harlem’s holin’ up, then I´ll start filling your belly with lead,” Race rapped out. “One, two……”
“Better tell him Ed,” the rabbit faced man advised, a worried look crossing his face, but his companion showed no signs of giving in, he was undaunted.
“Three…four…” the table flew over, the oil lamp falling to the floor, the spilt fuel burning furiously. The big man leapt into action, rounding the table in a few long strides catching Race momentarily off his guard. A powerful right knocked the Colt from his grasp. To retrieve it would have been hopeless, a left connected below his right eye, making his head swim.
He had been caught off balance and knew he would have to work fast or he was done for. The big man came in for a counter attack. Just in time, Race came to his senses and sidestepped the intended blow, which went wide off its mark. He threw his Winchester down and turned to meet the next onslaught.
The assailant had sufficiently recovered to lunge again, this time his large fist finding a home in Race’s belly with painful results. Harker sent out a quick short right, followed be a left both connecting on the miners jaws, cutting his lip.
The miner stepped back a few paces and grimaced before he lunged forward, head lowered. Already the flames were licking around the center of the room. Soon they would reach him so the fight had to end. His assailant lumbered on. He brought his right knee up into the man’s groin and followed through with a clean uppercut, sending the man staggering back.
He quickly followed on, pinning the miner to the wall, hammering away furiously at the belly and face, alternatively. Ed was too far gone to resist the mercifulness pounding and slumped to the floor.
Harker was dazed after his brief encounter and it took a few seconds before he grasped the situation. The flames were coming closer, Jeff had just slugged the rabbit faced man and was dragging his unconscious victim to the door. Race realized that two of his weapons had been lost in the fight and his eyes searched frantically over the rapidly burning floor. He saw them, the orange flame licking hungrily out to devour them.
He jumped forward, the heat of the raging inferno scorching his exposed skin. He retrieved the Colt and Winchester and stepped back just in time to see the floor collapse.
Now to find out what was going on, he thought, as he backed away from the inferno of burning timbers and collided with the wall. He picked up the dead weight of the man he had just hit and put him over his shoulder the weight forcing him to stoop. He followed Jeff down the frail staircase and dropped the unconscious miner a safe distance from the fire before he walked over to Jeff who was surveying the burning shack.
The last of the piles gave and the burning timbers plunged downward sending up a mass of sparks. Jeff turned his charcoal smeared face to Race and grinned.
Harlem must know of their presence by now, but why had he kept quiet? Perhaps he had not gone with Kemp after all and was trying to sneak out unobserved. Corbin’s riders should be arriving soon so he could take his men in now.
A few minutes later, seven shadowy forms crept forward from behind their cover. The shack had burnt itself out and only the glowing embers remained to tell the tale. Toward the quarry’s entrance the silent forms glided, pausing every once in a while to observe if their presence had been noticed.
On reaching the crest between the rocky hills, they rose and started to walk boldly into the midst of the quarry, their rifles and carbines held ready.
A fusillade of shots greeted them from one of the storerooms to their right, one man went down cold, the others hit the dirt and rolled behind what cover was available and then returned fire.
Gradually, the deputies wormed their way in a semi-circle around the long shack. It was going to be a long duel and would probably go on until daylight, Harker thought, unless they try and make a run for it. Both parties were stale mated. He looked around him, the rock face to his back, a water butt at his right elbow The water tower was silhouetted against the light sky and dark rock face. The water tower, that was it! A charge of dynamite would bring them out and it could be hurled from the tower with ease, but where could dynamite be found.
He called one of the men over and told him his idea. The man disappeared into the darkness only to return a few minutes later with a dozen sticks. Here we are, Harker, I´ll take two up with me he said, giving Jeff the remaining four.
The man departed and was swallowed up by the night. Race inclined his head in the direction of the tower and waited. The man’s form broke the skyline, he watched him climb to the top and pause to regain his breath. Harker wasn’t the only one to observe the deputy mount the tower. A single shot was fired from the direction of the store. The figure on the tower doubled up and fell off, hitting the dirt spread eagled.
Half an hour of silence lapsed then the shooting in earnest came from the owlhoot, fusillade after fusillade came from the direction of the store room. Flames stabbed the darkness from all directions as the rifles spat lead.
From the far end of the long building containing the store, a group of riders burst out and headed for the entrance followed by a few shots from the deputies. They had been cunning, letting a few of the gang draw the fire whilst the remainder made a run, Race thought, a smile flickering across his bruised and battered face as he thought of them riding straight into Corbin’s hands.
He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had failed to observe a figure stealthily slip out from the back of the building and head for the causeway. On reaching it, the figure proceeded to climb silently.
Fire resounded from further down the valley as the owlhoots meet with Corbin. The quarry was silent apart from the occasional probing slug.
A rattling of a stone running down the causeway made Race spin around. He saw a figure three quarters of the way up scrambling to reach the top. He could just make out who it was by the weak illumination of a nearby oil lamp. Now he knew his uncle; the silhouette of his shape was unmistakable, even in this light. He was trying to sneak out unscathed.
Race quickly grasped the situation, his brain pounded furiously like a mill stamp, his body tensed, he was serving no purpose here.. He could afford to go after Harlem.
He dropped his Winchester where he stood and zigzagged his way to the bottom of the causeway. Far above him he saw Harlem struggling painfully upwards. To fire from here would be ridiculous because the target was too far away in this light. There was only one thing to do, he decided to go after him.
Race jumped into the V shaped channel and commenced to climb the steep ascent. After the first few yards it steepened and the going began tougher, his shirt clung like a leech to his torso and the rough wood cut cruelly into his hands.
He had covered half the way now, having rapidly gained on the figure in front who had succeeded in reaching the top without mishap. The slivers of pine wood dug fiercely into his hardened palms, his arms were numb with pain. He pulled himself a few feet further up with difficulty, his feet felt as thought they were a sack of lead, his arms jerked out of their sockets as he slipped backwards.
No wonder he had gained on Harlem, he thought, as he grimly dragged himself gritting his teeth. He glanced up to see if he had been observed. Too late for surprise now. Harlem had swung round and had seen his nephew struggling up the causeway. He stood there, silhouetted and laughed harshly, his voice echoing in the night air. Race gritted his teeth and wondered what the next move would be, he was helpless were he was.
“Just like your old man, stubborn, and you’ll pay for it just as he did.” he mocked. “ I wanted a share in the mine but he refused so I had him killed,” he shouted and bent down to the sluice gate.
Any minute now the waters would be rushing towards him. He must act now. Clutching the side with all his might, he drew his Colt from its holster and took deliberate aim. He applied the pressure, gently squeezing the trigger, the anger releasing itself with every miniscule movement of the second finger: “for my pa and for Elaine,” he muttered as the muzzle belched orange flame, the acrid smell entered his nostrils.
Harlem jerked up, pulling the sluice gate up with him before falling over the edge of the cliff allowing the gate to fall back into place. Race had no time to see where he had fallen, the water was rushing towards him. With split second timing, he eluded the oncoming danger, swinging over the dies as the fast flowing water thundered down the causeway.
How long he hung there, his arms and body numbed to the bone, listening to the swirling waters he did not know. At last, the rushing water ceased and he half pulled, half dragged himself onto the wet planks of the boards. Thank God the sluice gate had fallen back into position.
He slowly wormed his way to the ground where he stood rubbing his numbed body, setting the blood in circulation around his veins again. With long drawn footsteps he approached the base of the cliff. Joe Harlem lay there, spread-eagled, his body mangled into an unrecognizable heap of flesh, blood and bone. He must have hit the rock face to get in that state Race decided. Around the distorted body, the ground was ironically littered with nuggets, a symbol of this man’s greed.
Jeff Wilson silently approached Race from the rear and patted him gently on the shoulder “Let’s go home, son.”
The news had spread like wild fire and the whole town had turned out to see the return of the posse. There were wild cheers of exuberance as the procession entered the town, the prisoners dejectedly riding in the center,
Ann feared to go into the main street least she should find her fiancée missing. So she stood silently at the picket fence, her face white and drawn with anxiety.
A golden sorrel walked towards her and she looked for Race, but the rider was a stranger. The horseman dismounted in the center of the wide street and walked slowly towards her.
He was dirty, his chaps torn and stained. His flannel shirt hung from his back covered in black soot, the face a mixture of matted blood and charcoal burns. Then he spoke. “We got ourselves a gold mine now darling, and she knew it was Race.
She rushed across the intervening space and threw her arms around him. “I knew you’d come back to me,” she sobbed. He tilted her head up and bent down to her lips. They met, their love flowing into one another.
“Will you marry me Ann,” Race asked, holding her close.
“Need you ask, my love,” she replied.
And so it was that on Saturday in June that Ann Wilson was lawfully wedded to Race Harker. It was a happy and festive event, for all the townsfolk turned out to see the sheriff’s daughter get wed. They gave them a heart warming send off at the railroad station, for the newlyweds were going to Kansas City for their honeymoon. A short, well deserved break, before coming back to settle down in Provo to make it their permanent home for themselves and for the large family they were planning for the future.
Kemp was not among the prisoners taken and nor was his body ever found....
