“When you’ve been on the trail as many years as I have, you learn to trust your gut. My gut told me you were in trouble.”
She shook her head, not understanding. “Sometimes, Fargo, you puzzle me.”
At that moment the food came. After the waiter left, she said, “Start from the beginning and tell me everything that’s happened so far.”
He managed to keep things simple. Clean and clear. Her expression changed from time to time as he told her about the gunfights and his suspicions where the Brants were concerned.
“Now what, Skye?”
“Dessert,” Fargo said.
Anne laughed. Fargo smiled, enjoying the sound. He had been afraid this morning that he would never hear that laugh again.
“After dessert, silly.”
“We check in with the marshal to make sure he doesn’t need anything more from us; then we get you a horse and take a nice, peaceful ride back to the Wallace Hotel.”
“Aren’t you afraid Henry Brant is going to hear that he has no help coming, and that I’m safe?”
“I hope so,” Fargo said.
Again, she looked puzzled. Then she smiled. “Oh, I see. You’re thinking the gunhands still with him will hear they’re on their own and they’ll abandon the sinking ship.”
Fargo nodded, finishing off his sandwich and downing the last of his glass of water.
“And then Henry and Sarah Brant will make a run for it,” Anne said, smiling. “And you will track them down and deliver the justice they so deserve.”
“And my friend’s mine will be safe,” Fargo said. “That’s my hope. But with many things concerning Brant, I haven’t guessed right. We’ll just have to go back and see.”
“Good,” she said. “I miss my bed and my bathtub.”
Fargo smiled. “Interestingly enough, I miss your bed and your bathtub too.”
“Well,” she said, “when this is over, we’ll have to solve that problem.”
As the sun burned down directly on them, they headed back up the Placerville road, moving at a comfortable pace. It was still an hour before sunset when they reached Anne’s hotel. After they had her things back in her room, they both went to talk to Reg.
Fargo filled him in on the threat to Anne, and the three of them made plans to set up extra security around the hotel and at night around her room.
“Don’t expect help from the sheriff here,” Fargo said at one point. “Marshal Davis told me that his way of dealing with situations like this is to stay out of the way.”
“We’ve already noticed that,” Anne said.
After Fargo was comfortable that Anne and Reg had the hotel protected fairly well, he headed back out to the mine.
Men from Sharon’s Dream stood guard over both the road to their own mine and the road to the Brant mine.
Hank, Jim, and Walt met him as he rode up and into the stable to take care of his horse. As he unsaddled the big stallion and rubbed him down before givinghim some grain, he told the three what had happened in Sacramento.
“Mick Rule?” Hank said, his eyes going wide when Fargo mentioned the name. “If he and his gang join Brant, we won’t stand a chance.”
“No worry about that now,” Fargo said. “He’s dead, as are most of his men. And Anne is safe and sound in the Wallace for the night.”
“Dead?” Walt asked. “You killed Mick Rule?”
Fargo shrugged as he finished with his horse and turned to face the three mine owners. “Marshal Davis and his deputies were in the fight as well. Has anyone gone in or out of the Brant mine?”
“No one,” Walt said. “No one has even tried.”
“We’ve had a dozen sets of eyes on the compound at all times,” Hank said, “and nothing has happened over there besides their changing the guard every few hours. They just seem to be waiting.”
“For Mick Rule and his men to bring Anne to them,” Jim said.
Fargo didn’t know what to think now. He had gone under the assumption that Brant would know by now about what had happened in Sacramento. But maybe the fact that he didn’t would be an advantage for a short time.
“Get more men on the road into Brant’s mine. Don’t let anyone in.”
Hank turned and headed out of the stable to give the order. Jim and Walt and Fargo followed.
Fargo doubted that Brant and his men would allow themselves to be pinned down like Fargo had done to them last night. But there might be other ways to cause them a long, sleepless night while they waited for help that was no longer coming.
Fargo headed for the main house and the dining room. What he had in mind was going to take a little planning, but if it worked, Brant and his daughter and Kip were going to be very tired and very angry by tomorrow morning.
Fargo sat at the big table in Cain’s dining room, staring at the huge chandelier, thinking and waiting for Hank, Jim, and Walt to join him.
When they did, Hank confirmed that there were now twenty armed men guarding the entrance and any other way down into Brant’s mine compound and no one had yet tried to pass.
“Good,” Fargo said.
“Best defense is a good offense,” Hank said, nodding. “An ancient fact of war.”
“And that’s exactly what this damned thing is,” Fargo said. “A war.”
“We know that,” Walt said. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Fargo raised his hand. “I didn’t say you were. And I appreciate you throwin’ in with me.”
All three men nodded.
Fargo said, “How much dynamite do you have?”
“This is a mine,” Hank said. “We normally have a lot.”
“Even with blowing the side tunnels?” Fargo asked.
“Even with that,” Hank said. “We still have a few hundred sticks at least.”
“Where is it kept?” Fargo asked.
“Some is in a small shed tucked in the rocks away from the larger buildings in case something happens. About half of it’s stored in a cool, dark area of the mine.”
“Is that standard?” Fargo asked. “Would the Brant mine have the same layout?”
“No,” Jim said. “They store most of their dynamite in a shed attached to the outside of their stable, right below the trail up to the mine.”
Fargo remembered that building from last night. One hired gunhand had hidden behind it. He likely didn’t know what was in it either, or he wouldn’t have done that, even though bullets normally would never explode dynamite. It was just the idea of hiding behind a building full of the stuff in a gunfight that could turn a man’s gut.
“So, miners, how do I blow up that building and their dynamite?”
Hank laughed. “Toss a couple sticks of dynamite with lit fuses in on top of their boxes and run like hell.”
Walt laughed too. “Yup, that would do the job.”
“So, I’ll toss two sticks of lit dynamite into the building,” Fargo said. “Mind getting me a few sticks and some bolt cutters to cut any lock they might have on it? Make the fuses long enough for me to get away, would you?”
All three looked at him like he’d lost his mind. And just maybe he had.
Fargo figured it was time for the owners of Sharon’s Dream to push the advantages they did have. First off, they outnumbered the remaining men at Brant’s mine by four-to-one at least. Most of the miners were not fighters like Brant’s remaining men, but Fargo had a hunch that when pushed, they would make a pretty good show of themselves.
Sarah and Henry Brant and their foreman, Kip, had also had a sleepless night, and more than likely a very long day just waiting around for their help to arrive. Giving them another sleepless night and maybe reducing their numbers a little more might get them to make some hasty and bad decisions.
Fargo knew one thing for sure: Henry Brant had a huge ego and would hate to be beaten by a bunch of dirt diggers. Fargo had seen egos like Brant’s before, and when pushed up against a wall, they very seldom made sound decisions. That was a trait Fargo was going to bank on.