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Authors: Kathy Steffen

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BOOK: Jasper Mountain
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“Creely called off the search. Work’s starting up again with the day shift. Men’re off catching a few hours of sleep,” one of the miners answered.

“What?” Jack asked, incredulous. Frustration tied a knot deep in his guts.

“He said if you and Dig didn’t find him, he weren’t nowhere in the v’cinity. He figures Tom prob’ly just up and left,” the man answered. “We looked ever’where, Jack, a coupla times.”

“Then we look again,” Jack said. “There’s got to be places we missed.”

“Creely says no. I’m surprised he let us go this far.”

The knot of frustration catapulted into anger and launched Jack in the direction of the mine office. He knew Victor was there; the man arrived at his office no later than four in the morning on a regular workday, and this day was far from regular. Jack’s boots thunked against timber as he strode across the porch. He hesitated briefly when he thought of everything he owed the man on the other side of the door. Despite his debt to Victor, a man was missing. A good and decent man. Jack would do everything in his power to find Tom. He opened the door without knocking. Victor looked up, along with Sheriff Cain. The two men had been deeply engrossed in conversation.

Cain appeared startled, but not Victor Creely. Nothing ever ruffled the mine president’s smooth exterior. Victor was impeccable in his suit, as always, not a wrinkle or a speck of dirt anywhere, a neat trick in a town made of dust.

Jack tried to sound calm, but his anger broke through. “What the hell is going on? You called off the search?”

“Somethin’ reeks like a dead skunk,” the sheriff said, his craggy features twisting into a smirk. “You need a bath, Junior.”

“Jack, there is no need for a show of emotion,” Victor said, his voice smooth and cold, like polished steel. “Nothing was called off. The search has been conducted and completed. Twice, to be sure. I don’t want any accidents or injuries at the mine any more than you do. Gallagher is simply not here.”

“We figure he up and left,” Sheriff Cain said. Jack pushed his anger back down into a ball. “I’m not surprised you’d come to that conclusion, Sheriff. You always take the easy road.”

Cain growled and reached for his gun.

Victor stopped the sheriff with a hand to his shoulder. “The men hunted for hours. There is no sign of Gallagher.”

“He wouldn’t just go, especially without his pay,” Jack insisted.

Victor shrugged. “These men are not intellectual giants. Such forward thinking might not cross his mind. The miners are anything but reliable. Who’s to say? He has no family here, no ties to Jasper.”

“He might have got stuck in a whore,” Cain said and laughed.

“I know Tom Gallagher,” Jack said, ignoring Cain’s crude remark. “He wouldn’t just up and leave. His family back in Nebraska depends on him to send money every month. Something happened. Someone must have found something, seen something. Even the littlest clue.” He looked at Cain. “You bother to ask anyone any questions, Sheriff, or check to see if his belongings are gone? Or is that too much effort?”

“You want to take over, Junior? You go right ahead, but I’ll warn you, you need a set of knackers to do this job. From what I see, you don’t got none of those.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Victor said, his voice silken yet leaving no room for argument. “I can’t hold operations any longer. We lose money every minute. Everyone will keep an eye out for him. My guess is he’s sleeping off a drunk somewhere. He is Irish, isn’t he?”

“He’s no drunk, Victor. He’s one of the finest, most responsible men I’ve ever met.”

“Regardless, we’ve wasted more than enough time. Try scouring the saloon. Everyone knows he’s missing; word is spreading through town.” Victor smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Believe me, Jack. I have everyone’s best interests at heart.”

“Speaking of best interests, did you realize Tunnel Six hasn’t been filled in yet?” Jack asked. Cain’s eyes shifted to Victor, and Jack experienced a small surge of courage. “Any other tunnels open that shouldn’t be, Mr. Creely?”

Victor’s eyes hardened. “Six is scheduled for fill in with the other three above it.”

“It’s been removed from the tunnel map.”

“You are obviously mistaken.” Victor’s smooth voice held the cutting edge of a razor blade. “Go home and get some rest. You’re off for the day. There’s no more to be done.”

“I don’t need to take time off—”

“You do. You’re exhausted and overwrought.”

“Mr. Creely, I—”

“Two
days, Jack.” Victor’s hand still held to Cain’s shoulder. The sheriff’s eyes glinted with victory. Jack wanted to punch the expression right off his face. He locked eyes with Victor, and the mine president’s gaze bored through Jack like a drill bit. Again, the deadly smile flashed. “Don’t force me to insist on three days.”

Jack relaxed his stance, but didn’t look down. “Are you sure the entire mine’s been searched?”

Victor sighed. “Jory assures me it has.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you,” Jack countered. “He didn’t even know about Tunnel Six. Dig and I stumbled on it. If this search was haphazard as—” Jack clamped his mouth shut.

“Haphazard as what?” Victor’s words were even, but skin stretched taut on his face as he held something back. Like anger. “Please, Jack, finish your thought.”

“I can’t believe the way I’ve seen men die down there. This isn’t a search; it’s a travesty. Doing things the right way wouldn’t take a whole lot more time and effort.”

“Jack. Go home.” “Mr. Creely—”

“The search is concluded. Tom Gallagher is derelict, nothing more. I’ve half a mind to dock his pay for the money we’ve lost.”

“Sir—”

“Jack. Go. And that makes three days off for you. Don’t push me. The next step is I send you home. For good.”

The three men stood frozen in the room; even the clock’s ticking seemed to slow.

Three days’ suspension. Like an errant schoolboy. As much as he hated working the mine, he needed most of his pay just to survive. Never mind his family’s debt to Victor Creely. At this rate, by his calculation, he’d be working in Jasper Mountain the rest of his life. He had no doubt Victor planned it that way. Jack was stuck like the rest of the men. Walking away or getting himself fired meant losing the ranch. Again.

He was wasting his time. He swung around and left.

Call it what it is, Buchanan. Retreat.

He stepped out onto the porch. Behind him, the door
whomped
shut. With a final glance at the headframe of the mine shaft, he headed for home.

“I’ll find you, Tom. Figure out what happened. I promise.” He headed down the mountain. Time to search the town, ask questions. If Tom wasn’t in the mine, where was he? He’d headed up top with the rest of the group. How did he disappear? What had happened to him? Men didn’t simply vanish into thin air.

Jack remembered watching Tom and his light diminish to nothing in the tunnel. He sure hoped that wasn’t the last he’d see of his friend.

He broke into a run down the mountainside. Finally, his house came into view. His big hound, Duke, ran off the porch, barking. Jack flung his hardboil and it sailed away, Duke chasing after it. The dog retrieved the hat and bounded to Jack. He couldn’t lose this part of his life, no matter how much he wanted to. He ruffled Duke’s head.

“Good dog. Slobbered all over this thing. Good enough for it, I guess.”

Jack belonged to the privileged set; he lived in a house allotted for an officer of the company. He’d wanted to live at the Nugget Hotel, a dorm for miners. Victor wouldn’t hear of it. No son of Buck Buchanan was going to live like a peasant. Never mind the house’s rent came out of his wages and back into Victor’s pockets like just about everything else in town. He stepped across the porch and saw a folded sheet of paper stuck in the slats of the porch swing.

“Somebody come by to visit?” he asked Duke, who stopped to dig behind his ear with his hind leg. At the sound of his master’s voice, Duke trotted up beside Jack. “You’re a terrible watchdog, you know that?” Jack asked, grabbing the note. Duke hopped up on the porch and rolled over on his back. Jack stooped to rub the dog’s belly, and the letter flopped open in his hand. In a rough, black scrawl, words screamed across the paper:

“LEVE JASPER MINE NOW”

Below the demand, a crude sketch of a coffin scratched across the paper. Jack stood, a shiver curling up his spine.

Duke leapt to his feet and stared at Jack, his brown eyes questioning.

“Yep, I got a few questions of my own, fella. Like who left this? And where the hell is Tom?” He wondered if the note was a warning or a threat. “I sure wish you could talk, buddy.” Jack shrugged. “Ah, well. Not the first time I’ve danced with the thought of death today.” Hopefully, like Digger believed, Death was a lady.

Jack had every intention of standing her up.

Chapter 5

M
ouse followed the men. The miners bubbled up from the mine after their work and flowed to the same place every day, taking the same path, stepping the same steps. This was as sure as a sermon on Sunday.

Mouse was the littlest miner, and they didn’t invite him to tag along; still, he knew where they were going. He followed the group heading for the bar. The men didn’t notice Mouse. He was quiet and small and this was his special gift. Da used to worry about his size, worried that days without food might be stunting his growth. He said Mouse should be bigger. Stronger. Able. But then Mouse got hired alongside Da to work in the mine just because of his smallness. That was his next-to-best day. His very best day was the first time they went down in the tunnels, and the shift boss, Jory, dubbed him “Mouse.” Among the miners he had his own special name.

He has worked in the mine for two years, never once complaining. Da used to make fun of the constant bellyaching from the other men. Mouse imagined the miners were grumbling even now, on the way to the saloon, grumbling because they couldn’t find the missing miner. But not Mouse. He never bellyached. He wanted Da to look down from heaven and be proud.

The miners approached, and Sam’s was bright. Light spilled out of the saloon door along with three drunken men. They were fighting. Well, not so much fighting as flailing and falling. One landed face down in the mud right in front of the miners.

He saw the men from his shift laugh, so Mouse laughed too. The laughter came to him like tones of water, soft and round with no edges to tell one drop from the other. A deep and quiet rain. That’s all the blast left him. The same explosion that had taken away the sound of wind and the peals of the church bell, took his da, too.

The preacher had buried Da’s pieces while the miners said their prayers. Standing next to the new grave, Mouse watched the bowed heads and thought his own silent prayer. But not for Da. For the end of the thick silence. For music. Since he was a good boy who went to church every Sunday, God answered in his own way and gave Mouse the constant whispering sound of rain.

Mouse missed Ma too. She died on the way to Jasper, and they had buried her under a pile of rocks in the middle of nowhere. He will never find her grave again. He also wouldn’t find the graves of Rachel, Annie, and little Bill. They were also piles of rocks, scattered on the way like the bread crumbs in the bedtime story Ma used to tell him, only Mouse couldn’t ever follow the stones to find his way home. He had no home but here.

Rachel. Annie. Bill. Ma had said their names, over and over, before she died. Da told Mouse that losing them killed her. Ma missed her other three so much, she’d left. Mouse wasn’t enough to keep her here. Then Da left. Right after the explosion, Mouse refused to leave his side in the mine; even so, he wasn’t enough to keep Da to this earth, either.

All he had now were the miners, so he followed. The men stepped over the flailing drunks and entered the saloon, Mouse so close behind them, all he saw was the back of Pete’s sweat-stained shirt. As close and constant as the men were, both in the mine and coming down from the mountain, they spread and separated through the room. Then they were gone, devoured by the crowd. Mouse headed through smoke and the sharp smell of whiskey to the place he could find music. Just a little. Just enough.

He took his seat next to the piano and leaned his head to touch the side. The wood felt warm, like the night. A few globs of tone seeped through the rain, but more, the wood vibrated, a rhythm. Mouse knew the song.
Buffalo Gals,
his favorite. He was careful to keep his face serious. He didn’t ever want to be taken for a simpleton. The piano-player man would let him sit however long he wanted. Mouse was content to stay forever.

Sally, the saloon whore, shoved through the crowd. Her salty sourness pushed a path before her, through the packed bodies. Her eyes found Mouse and lit up when she saw him. She headed his way.

Mouse bolted, and his smallness served him well. He crawled through legs, not stopping until he found a card game at a table big enough. He hunched beneath, hoping no one noticed him. He prayed Sally wouldn’t ever catch him. He was afraid of her and what was upstairs. She led men up, and they all came back, not hurt, but still Mouse didn’t want to go up there. He wanted Sally to leave him alone.

She would give up after a time, find a cowboy or miner, and then Mouse could return to the piano and again feel his music.

All he had to do was wait long enough.

Chapter 6

J
esus, I’m glad you decided on a drink after all,” Digger said.

The two men headed to town, and Jack took in clear mountain air, wiping the tunnels and the note from his thoughts. One thing he couldn’t wipe away. Tom Gallagher. He’d spent hours searching the Nugget Hotel and questioning the miners who would speak with him, which weren’t many. He’d used the first day of his suspension productively. Still, no results. Tom had simply vanished.

“How was work?” Jack asked.

“Oh, heavenly!” Digger clapped him on the back. “How many days’ suspension again? Three?” He whistled low. “I guess I’m buyin'!”

They walked a few steps without talking, Jack listening to the barely controlled mayhem of the town. Shouts, horses, wagons creaking, laughing, and beneath all that noise, the steady thrum of the stamping mill. Sounded like the heartbeat of the mountain. He wondered if Tom’s heart still beat or was silenced for good.

BOOK: Jasper Mountain
12.63Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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