Chapter 11

Still on the Waypoint depot’s platform, Urban proffered his hand. “Emil, good to see you.” Then he looked past Malik and removed his hat. “Ma’am, would you be the legendary Gabriela Malik about whom we have had our ears bent so fervently?”

Gabriela made a lavishly unnecessary curtsy and said, “I’m sure I am, Mister Urban, and the legend continues. You’d best buy ear braces.”

Urban, still gripping Malik’s hand, laughed heartily and slapped the younger attorney on the back. “She’s a pip, Emil. I can understand your devotion. Missus Malik, I am honored to finally make your acquaintance.”

Malik said, “Gabriela, as you’ve evidently already gathered, this is Frederick Urban, the barely competent legal counsel for the Kansas and Arizona Southern Railroad.”

Just then, one of the trainmen, coming from the baggage car, set a large, brown, leather portmanteau on the station platform next to Urban. Urban looked down at the bag, then at the man and said, “Thank you, Mister Ames.” He shook the man’s hand, transferring a quarter dollar in the process, the two bits roughly equal to an hour’s pay for a brakeman or baggage man.

Then Urban said, “Excuse me a moment,” to the Maliks and he turned back to the passenger car steps, near which Jimmy McGillycuddy stood on the station platform, pocket watch in hand. Urban offered his hand to the man. “Mister McGillycuddy, your crew provides a fine ride. Their first round’s on me, tonight.” He handed the conductor a silver dollar, which was more than enough to treat each of the six men to a bottle of one of the better-quality, Mexican beers.

McGillycuddy looked at the coin and smiled, then gave Urban a casual salute and said, “Well, it’s thankin’ you we are, Mister Urban. An’ the first toast’ll be to you.” He looked at his watch and said, “But now we must be goin’. Them bosses that own this railroad are right bastards about us keepin’ to the time table.” He shouted, “All aboard,” then gave a wave to the engineer, who was watching from his window on the locomotive. Urban stood there laughing as the train pulled away from the station.

Finally, he turned back to the Maliks. “We’ve got some good folks workin’ for us, Emil. They’re the railroad. Not us, not the tracks or the rolling stock. It’s men like Jimmy McGillycuddy or Jack Ames on that southbound train, or like Joshua Trent or Tom Palmer, right here in Waypoint. If somehow we lost everything else but managed to hold onto those men and women, we’d still be in business. Maybe not the railroad business, but people like ours know how to figure things out. We’d still come out on top.”

Malik, beaming, stole a glance at Gabriela, then he turned back to Urban. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Fred. It was probably the first thing that attracted my attention to the K and ASR as a potential investment. I’ve known Tom Palmer and Joshua Trent for years. I always figured they were friendly, hardworking men, noticeably above the ordinary. Then, as I started traveling more in the region, I began to realize that all of the K and ASR employees whom I met were of the same caliber. You, Arnie, Pete, and Ming have done a remarkable job. I am truly privileged to be a part of it.”

Gabriela was shaking her head. She put her hands on her hips in faux aggravation and said, “That’s enough, you two. Let’s take this festival of self-congratulation up to the Inn.”

“You’re right, dearest,” Malik said to Gabriela. He turned to Urban. “Fred, do want to have one of these young men to carry or cart your bag?” Malik indicated several boys, one with a small, four-wheeled flatbed wagon, standing in the street near the platform. “It is an arduous uphill walk, and nearly two blocks in length. The cartage service could cost you as much as three pennies.”

“Perhaps I should avail myself of these services.”

The five boys, whose clothing ranged from patchwork to nearly new, were all barefoot and looked to be from six to nine or ten years old. Each was watching Urban intently.

While the Maliks looked on, Urban surveyed the group and asked, “Who’s got clean hands? Let’s see, hold them out.”

All of the boys examined their own hands. The two youngest then immediately hid their hands behind their backs. The three oldest held out their hands for inspection. Urban instructed all of the boys to go wash their hands in the nearby horse trough. The boys ran over and there was a brief shoving match before the smaller ones realized they could simply go to the other side of the trough. They were all back in less than a minute, all of them drying their hands on trousers seats or shirt fronts.

Urban said, “Let’s see ‘em.”

All the boys held out their hands, which were generally cleaner. He said, “Good enough. You can put ‘em down, now.

Urban began looking from one to the next, making eye contact. “Here’s how this is going to work. One of you will carry my hat, one of you will carry my coat, and another will carry my bag. Those three will proceed cautiously to the Old Courthouse Inn, taking care not to soil or damage my possessions. Caution and care, is that understood?”

The boys, still focused on Urban were all nodding their heads.

“Do you all know where the Old Courthouse Inn is?”

All were nodding their heads, and two of the older boys pointed up the street.

“Excellent. Now, I have two other jobs. I need a messenger to advise the Inn that I will be arriving and I then need a paymaster to settle up with those of you who will be working for me. So, two of you will go in advance to the Inn, one carrying my calling card, and the other carrying the pay for all the workers. You two,” he indicated the two youngest boys, “will attend to those jobs. Do you think you can do it?”

Both were nodding their heads vigorously.

“Fine, fine. Now just wait here while I...” Urban fished around in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of loose change, which he held, in exaggerated fashion, peering at the mixed coins in front of his nose. He then extracted five nickels and put the remainder back in his pocket. Then, from another trousers pocket, he brought out a clean, folded handkerchief. He unfolded it, placed the coins in the center, then tied the corners together to fashion a temporary purse. He handed the bundle to the youngest of the group. “You’re the paymaster. When each of you young men completes his delivery to the Inn, in good order, you will pay him one coin. There are five of you men, and five coins. The last one is yours. Can you handle that?”

The youngster was looking at the kerchief gripped tightly in his hands.

“Young sir, will you look at me please?” Urban softly requested. The boy looked up.

“Please tell me, now, what is your job?”

None of the boys had spoken a word to Urban at that point, and this youngest seemed petrified.

Urban crouched down to face the boy. He smiled and spoke gently. “My name is Fred Urban. I work for the railroad. I work from a desk, like Miser Trent, here, in the depot. My office is in Wichita, Kansas. I’m pleased to meet you. Will you tell me your name, please?”

Very quietly, the young boy said, “Jeremiah.”

“Do you know where the Inn is, Jeremiah?” The boy nodded, still looking at Urban.

“Can you say to me, ‘Yes, sir’?”

Again, quietly, “Yes, sir.”

“And can you tell me what your job is, that I just gave you?”

He hesitated, looking first at Malik, then longer at Gabriela. She smiled and nodded encouragingly to him. He finally spoke, but was looking Urban’s boots. “I give each boy a coin an-an’ the last one’s for me.”

Still gently, Urban said, “That’s exactly right, thank you. Now you just wait here a moment, please.” He turned to the other young boy, while finding a business card in his waistcoat. He held the card out to the child. “What is your name, please? I am Fred Urban.”

“Boyd,” the youngster said, looking at his feet, his toes curling in the sand of the street.

“Pleased to meet you, Boyd. Would you be good enough to take this card to the front desk at the Inn and tell them that Mister Urban will be there shortly?” Boyd made no motion to take the card Urban was holding out, or to even look at it.

“Boyd, you must take the card from me.” Still no reaction. “Boyd, do you want to receive a coin from your friend, Jeremiah?”

“Yup.”

“Then the job requires that you take my card to the Inn. Will you do that for me, please?” Urban held the card low, in front of Boyd’s down-turned eyes. The child slowly reached up and took it from Urban’s fingers.

“Excellent, Boyd, thank you.” Urban stood up and said, “Jeremiah, why don’t you and Boyd go up to the Inn and present yourselves to the person inside at the tall counter? Go ahead, now.”

Jeremiah grabbed Boyd’s hand, and Boyd promptly dropped the card. He tugged back against the other boy’s pull and their grasp was broken. Jeremiah looked back to see why Boyd had let go. Boyd looked up at Urban, who was smiling at him, then he bent down and snatched the card from the dirt, turned, and ran off up the street, Jeremiah quickly following.

Urban watched them go, then turned to the other, slightly older boys. “Lads, my name is Fred Urban. Might I know your names?” He turned to the taller boy with the cart. “You, sir?”

“Thomas Palmer, Junior, sir.” The response was clear and steady.

“The son of the railroad’s freight manager, I presume?”

“Yes, sir.”

Urban offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Palmer.” They briefly shook hands.

“And you, young man?”

“Billy Oldfield,” the boy said, timidly.

“Mister Oldfield, my pleasure.” Another quick handshake.

“And your name, young sir?”

“Timmy Oldfield, mister.”

“Good to meet you, too, Mister Oldfield. Are you and Billy brothers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. The job I have for you men will require that you do not run, as did Jeremiah and Boyd. It was fine for their job, but yours will require more care. Mister Palmer, I am placing my valise on your cart. Mister Billy Oldfield, I would like you to carry my hat. Mister Timmy Oldfield, please carry my coat, in both hands. I will fold it for you.” Which Urban did.

“It’s important to make sure that neither my hat nor my coat get dragged in the dirt. Can you make sure of that, men?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Mister Palmer, you’ll assure a steady pace that will not risk spilling my valise from your wagon?”

“Yes, Mister Urban.”

“Very well, then. Please proceed with these jobs and be sure to see Paymaster Jeremiah after you leave my things at the tall desk inside the front door at the Inn. Go ahead, now, please.”

The three boys, with exaggerated care, walked away, stiffly upright.

Urban and Malik both chuckled and Gabriela stifled a laugh. Malik said, “I know the others, but I don’t know who Boyd is.”

Gabriela said, “He’s the son of a new girl, Shirley Jameson, over at Stella’s.”

Urban said, “Well, I imagine hanging out with that group will soon cure him of his shyness.” He offered his arm to Gabriela. “To the Inn?”

Urban asked, “You’re serious? A vein of pure silver?”

After lunch at the Inn, the three had repaired to Malik’s railcar, once again spotted on the new siding just south of the depot. Malik and Urban were alone in the center office. Gabriela had excused herself, to the car’s front office, to allow the men the privacy of railroad business, even though Urban had insisted it wasn’t necessary.

Malik spilled the vial of nuggets onto a smooth, dark piece of silk on the table top. He had had Eve Palmer, the dressmaker, prepare the five-inch square of navy blue material for just that purpose.

Urban picked up one of the pea-sized stones. “My god, is this a silver nugget?” He looked up at Malik, who was smiling. “Do you know how rare this is? Silver’s almost always bound up in an ore, literally invisible to the eye.”

“So our mining engineer informs us. But it’s not just the vein. We also have very rich silver-bearing ores of galena and copper.”

“You said ‘we have.’ I thought this was a Sonora mine.”

“Yes, well, this is where it gets complicated, and why I contacted you. There is some unusual legal pressure regarding the Sonora mine, and my family has a long history of involvement with the Sonora clan. We also have some other emergent concerns for Waypoint and Dorado Springs, maybe even Shepherds Crossing.”

Malik described at length the mine-related issues that had come to the fore over the past week: the ore thefts, Bill Edwards’ murder, the presumptive eminent domain lawsuit, the discovery of the vein continuing north of the reservation, land purchases, production problems, the concerns about a silver rush, and the resultant risk to the railroad’s bridge over the Rio Isabella. Finally, he mentioned the missing young women and his plan to have the conductors examine the train records, which Urban approved without question or equivocation.

Then Urban returned to the issues of the silver mine. “You said it, or someone did, ‘every silver lining has a cloud.’ So, you and the community syndicate have likely purchased all of the land that vein runs through.”

“Between the Manuela Lake Partners, the Waypoint Partnership, and the Ranch Home Partnership, well, and the Sonora clan, we more than likely have the vein owned from one end to the other. But as Emmet Quincy, the engineer we hired, says, nothing is certain in mining until the vein plays out. Nor is it a guarantee there isn’t silver, or some other mineral, elsewhere in the valleys.”

“But it looks like you have a good start on flood mitigation.”

“We have the land, but control structures need to be built. That’s the main reason we opened this up to more investors, to raise the cash for construction and equipment for all purposes.”

Urban looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I can’t say so on my own, but I expect the railroad would throw in a few thousand.” Malik’s brow began to knit. “No, no, don’t worry. Not for a piece of the ownership, mostly just to protect the railroad’s right of way. In fact, we’ve got an engineering firm in Saint Louis on retainer. They’ve got a lot of experience in just this sort of problem.”

Urban leaned back in the chair. “We were having some trouble on the Arizona Southern Division during the late summer rainy seasons. There were two bridges north of Yuma that we had to replace, between them, five times in six years. That firm, Langfelder and Ducey Engineering, sent out a, uh, what’s it called? A, uh, hydraulics engineer, spent a week out there. He said he could do streambed realignment and put up control structures for fifty-nine thousand dollars. Or, he could move our track a quarter mile and put up a different type of bridge at a different crossings for thirty-two thousand dollars. Well, you can guess which option we chose. That was three years ago and we haven’t had a problem there since.

Urban then asked, “You haven’t said, but it would seem most likely the ore will be shipped by rail, won’t it?”

“That’s what we expect. We’re still trying to figure out how to get the ore to the railroad.”

“No freight wagon access?”

“I’m not sure. At first, we were certain there wasn’t. However, at the town investors meeting on Tuesday, we received a fairly reliable report that wagons have gone into the area, or at least one has. I’ve got our engineer checking on it. I’m expecting a report at any time.”

“What kind of grades are you dealing with now, without a road?”

“From the places I’ve been, maybe three or four percent on the lower slopes, and five or six closer to the top, but I’m just guessing from my personal estimates of distance and elevation.”

“Including this supposed access point?”

“I’ve really no idea about that. I’ve never seen it, never even heard of it. And it’s not that far from here, right on the Jackson County, Sonora County line. There is apparently a wagon access route that was staked out by an army survey team just before statehood. If it’s there, then it must cross Shepherds Ridge, too, since that’s where the county line goes. We need to cross Sundown Ridge and Shepherds Ridge to reach the mine.”

Malik frowned for a moment, looking at the wall. Then he looked back at Urban. “Now that I think about it, I bet I know where a wagon trail might cross Shepherds Ridge. Emmet Quincy and I were back and forth along several miles of that ridge and I think I saw a place that wouldn’t be difficult for a wagon to cross, once some trees and scrub were removed. And it’s right on the county line. In fact, the story goes that the county line was set because it was the easiest route for a fat, near-retirement sergeant to take his survey crew’s wagon.”

“I thought those crews used pack mules.”

“This one did, too. Except the sergeant used those mules to pull his wagon.”

Urban elected to join the group expedition to view the mine environs the next day. Eight townspeople and six from Ranch Home went along, led by Malik, Andy, and Christina.

Early that morning, Malik had bid goodbye to Gabriela, who would be returning to Smoky Valley and her Doña Anna ranch, about fifty miles west of Dorado Springs. Gabriela planned to take the train to the Springs, then ride out from there first thing Monday morning in the company of Aspen Tsosie and her Uncle Sargent and her brothers, Juniper and Sage, along with her own ranch foreman, Lester Toomey.

Sage Tsosie was employed as full-time bunk house cook and sometimes wrangler for the Doña Anna and had come to town with Toomey on the monthly supply run. The other Tsosies had brought in a herd of cattle and some horses from their ranch in the Flat Grass Valley, north of Gabriela’s ranch. It was closer to the Springs as the crow flies, but more than ten miles further by trail.

Also on the southbound K&ASR train that morning, Cowboy and Matilda traveled to the Springs for the opportunity to visit with his uncle, brothers, and sister while they were in Dorado Springs.

The mine expedition had set out much earlier than the train’s eleven-fifteen departure. Mercantile owner Jacob Baylor, restaurateur Maylon Rademacher, banker Robert Smith, Isabella Saloon-keeper Lucius Gibbons, the tanner and saddle-maker Jan Viddick, accountant David Lewin, brothel owner Stella Norman, and self-styled veterinarian assistant Frieda Bauer represented the town partnership. From the Ranch Home group there were Maddie and Michael Byrnes, he being the manager of livestock operations at the Malik ranch; Juanita and Val Garcia, he the sales and purchasing manager for the Malik ranch, she the dining room supervisor and hostess at the Old Courthouse Inn; and Esteban Valdez and Brian Kelly, two of the original five junior partners in the Malik ranch. The latter pair, both widowed and in their early sixties, still sat a horse easier than most of the group and were pleased for a bit of an adventure.

It was a festive company which rode out of Waypoint that pleasant April 30th morning, with an opportunity to make or renew acquaintances between town dwellers and those associated with the Malik ranch community. The group quieted once they entered Isabella Canyon, as the narrow, twisting trail required single-file riding while the echoes and the roaring splash of the rapids discouraged even shouted conversations.

About the time the K&ASR southbound train was departing Waypoint, the mine group, still in single file, was just emerging from the canyon into the Toonilini Valley, where those near the front of the file were mildly surprised to see two riders approaching from the opposite direction, though still several hundred yards distant. One of them led a pack mule. The second rider could be seen to be slumped in his saddle.

Malik called for his group to halt, then turned in his saddle and called, loudly, “Frieda Bauer, you may be needed up here.” When she came forward, he said, “C’mon. I know these men.” They rode forward, Malik galloping off as Frieda took her horse to a trot.

Approaching closer to the men, Malik shouted, “Emmet, Long Hand, how can we help?”

Quincy called in return, “Long Hand’s been shot.”

Malik turned to see that Frieda was coming on more rapidly, so he went forward and joined the two men.

“Greetings, Shadow,” Long Hand rasped. “The wound is here, in my chest.” Long Hand, who appeared unsteady in the saddle, made a feeble gesture indicating a spot just below his neckline, and revealing the blood-stained shirt front he’d been pressing against the wound.

“Long Hand, let’s ride over to the rio. Frieda Bauer is with us. She knows how to tend wounds. She’ll likely need water, though, so lean on me if you need to.” Malik directed Tsela next to the Indian deputy’s horse and extended his right arm around the man.

Quincy, riding on the other side, said, “It was much like our experience of last week, Emil, though our places were reversed. We were coming back from the mine when two men approached us on this mule track and, without any warning, began to fire at us. They discharged their pistols at a range I would have thought beyond the bullet’s effective travel, but I was certainly wrong. And, just like last week, they galloped off north.”

At this point Frieda Bauer arrived and Malik saw that Andy was galloping closer, too. Malik said to the young veterinarian, “Frieda, I’ve suggested to him that he might best be served over by the rio, so we are riding there.”

“Ja, daht vill do, Herr Malik. Zie bleeding seems very slow, from vaht I can see.”

Andy joined the group. Malik told him, “Emmet describes a scene like last week. Two riders, met on the trail, fired at considerable distance, then rode north.”

“How’s Long Hand?”

“Shot high in the chest. Bleeding slowly. About done in. We’ll look once we reach the river.”

“Shall we take a lunch break, as we’d planned?”

“Yes, but I’ll ask Esteban and Brian to join me to trail the buzzards that did the shooting, see if they’re still about. You take charge of the group, Andy. Emmet, I’ll need you to show us where this happened.”

“Of course. It was this side of Shepherds Ridge, possibly still on the reservation.”

They soon reached the Rio Isabella, where the rest of the mine expedition group quickly gathered around. Frieda, a strong young woman, and Andy, helped Long Hand from the saddle. Before dismounting, Malik announced, loudly enough for all to hear, “This wounded man is Long Hand, a deputy US marshal from the Sonora reservation. With him is Emmet Quincy, the mining engineer the Sonora’ve hired. They were fired upon, at a distance, by two men who fled north. How this affects our mine trip is yet to be decided. Let’s eat lunch while Frieda tends to the deputy marshal.”

Malik dismounted and went to the two older ranch partners. “Would you two go with me and Quincy to see if the shooters hung around? I want to make sure they kept on ridin’. I suspect I know where they’re from.”

Valdez said, “Si, Jefe (Yes, Chief, i.e., boss or leader).”

Kelly asked, “I’m in. But where’re they from, you reckon?”

“I’m thinkin’ the B-Bar-L at the north end of Long Valley. Cowboy was scoutin’ them last week and he found a pretty rough bunch staying at a house nearby the main compound.”

“What was Cowboy doin’ up there?”

“Si, Emil, what’s goin’ on?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in when I can. Right now, I want to check on Long Hand, then get after those shooters. I don’t want ‘a chase ‘em down, just make certain they’re gone. So drain your kidneys, I’ll be back in a coupl’a minutes.” And he strode off.

He found Andy and Christina assisting Frieda. “How is he?”

Andy looked up, from where he knelt next to the medico. “Frieda says the bullet’s lodged against his breast bone, just under the skin. She doesn’t think the bone is even broken. The slug must have ricocheted or was maybe played out. It was an unlucky shot, from the distance Quincy’s described.”

Frieda looked up at Malik. “I vill remove zie bullet, but he must rest, at least overnight. I vorry about zie zepsis.”

“That’s fine, Frieda. Whatever he needs.” He looked down and remained quiet for a moment. Then he looked at his brother. “I’m going to ask Val and Christina to stay here with them, Juanita can choose what to do. You lead the group cautiously toward the mine. Even if these birds do come back, I doubt they’d be willing to face a group this size. And those that remain here by the river should be removed from harm’s way, but I’ll ask either Brian or Esteban to come back over here, just the same. So, you take ‘em to the mine, as we planned, but keep everyone together. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I make certain these bastards kept on runnin’.”

With Andy’s agreement, Malik gathered Christina, Kelly, Valdez, and the Garcias and told them the plan.

Kelly said, “I’ll stay with the Bauer girl. Take Val with you. And you might ask the girl whether she needs the female company, for that’s all it’ll be, just to protect her reputation.”

Malik said, “Good enough, Brian. Val, does this work for you?”

“Sure, Emil.”

“Christina, will you work out with Frieda whether she wants a chaperone or not?”

“Yes, Emil. Go, now. We’ll work things out here and then head for the mine.”

Malik shook hands with Kelly, then he, Val Garcia, Esteban Valdez and Emmet Quincy mounted up and galloped off toward Shepherd’s Ridge.

About twenty minutes later, Quincy called to Malik to pull up. He pointed to the point where the mule trail emerged from a clump of juniper and said, “We first saw them come around those trees, there. We were just coming off the steeper slope, farther along, probably where you can see the tops of those first piñon over there. Long Hand was in the lead. They might have made out his badge. They used their pistols, shot two or three times each, then rode fast that way, north, from here toward those trees. They didn’t come any closer. I was watching them and I didn’t even know Long Hand had been hit until I rode up next to him.”

Malik said, “You fellas hang back a bit so I can get a good look at their tracks.”

Malik road forward slowly until he saw the deep, angled prints of horses digging in and throwing dirt as they were urged to gain speed. He followed them from Tsela’s back until they became a bit less exaggerated, then he dismounted and knelt to look at the imprints.

The others were following a dozen yards behind. He looked over his shoulder and said, “You can come ahead. I’ve seen all I need to.”

His companions rode forward and stopped their horses just behind him. Malik stood up and went to Tsela where he unlimbered his canteen. He tipped it up for several deep swallows. Then he looked up at each of the other men and pointed at the trail. “These tracks are from Star mercantile shoes.” He knelt again and pointed at the top of a curved horseshoe imprint. “They’re clear enough that the Star mark is easily visible. As you know, Star’s aren’t that common.”

He stood again and looked up at the three, all still on horseback. “Cowboy says the B-Bar-L’s smithy is stocked mostly with Star iron.” Then he mounted Tsela. “This is a pretty clear trail, but let’s stay off to the side, just in case we lose it.”

A half hour later, Malik held up his hand and the group slowed. “Let me go ahead, here. I suspect these two may have paused in this clearing. Give me about a thirty-foot lead.” He dismounted and handed Tsela’s reins to Valdez.

He walked ahead, into an open area among the cedars, and proceeded to its center, peering at the ground. As the other men rode into the arid glade, they could see what appeared to be human bones scattered about. There were obvious pelvic bones and the upper portion of a human skull, with some hair still attached, but missing some pieces from above its left eye. There were tattered remnants of fabric, and, caught in a thorny bush, a crushed bowler hat. At the far side of the clearing, there was a large ribcage and some bigger bones, some hide with reddish hair, and some long, darker hair: the remains of a horse. The smell of decaying flesh was in the air.

Val Garcia dismounted and walked up behind Malik and put his hand on Malik’s shoulder. “Your roan?”

Malik looked over his shoulder at Garcia. “Yeah.” Then he tilted his head, indicating the human bones. “Over there’s what’s left of the two men who killed Bill Edwards. Atchison Looks like they dismounted and walked around here, so maybe now they know.” He looked up at Quincy and Valdez. “We’ll trail them for another half hour, but I think they got what they came for. I reckon they’ve headed home.”

Acheson ‘Specially him ban’ a deputy marshal?”

“Not now. That crew has already drawn the attention of Marshal Lonegan. But he’s got some other problems that they tie into, apparently. I’ll let him know what we discovered. Then he can decide what to do.”

Malik’s posse caught up with the rest of the group just as they reached the Sonora mine, where they were welcomed by the two Sonora deputies on mine watch duty that week. They’d established a permanent, if rough, camp, and had packed in water casks, as had the investors’ group. Malik told them about Long Hand being wounded and his suspicions about the assailants.