As Shaner rode a few yards away, Casings shook his head and adjusted his hat atop his head.
“Don’t go scaring our dynamite man away,” he said quietly to Rochenbach.
“Dynamite man?” said Rock, looking back and forth between Casings and Penta. “What are we doing with dynamite? I thought Grolin wanted to see you men waltz cheek to cheek with this safe.”
“He does,” Penta cut in. “But Shaner and I are going to blow it afterward, just to keep folks from knowing there’s a big-time safe opener in these parts.” He looked Rochenbach up and down. “Sound good to you?” he asked, appearing amiable enough.
“Sounds like good planning to me,” Rochenbach replied. He turned his horse with Penta and Casings. The riders spread out single file and rode on, upward into the night.
Stay calm and collected, Rochenbach reminded himself, riding along the steep uphill trail. It’s all coming around. He didn’t like playing this tough, desperado role all the time. But it was what the job called for. It was what these men understood. Calling Shaner down in front of the others was risky, but it had to be done. He could never allow Grolin’s men to talk down to him in any way. That wasn’t the way to play this game—likely it would get him killed one day.
Had Bryce Shaner stood up to him and chosen to fight, Rochenbach knew without a doubt that he would have killed the man. But he had decided on the spot that Shaner was only trying to buffalo him—acting tough to impress both Rock and the others.
It was clear that Shaner was scared, Rochenbach had decided, basing his judgment on experience, having faced down the same kind of men under the same set of circumstances countless times before. It was risky doing it, he had to admit, but he knew of no other way to play this game of life and death except to play tough and play to win.
Luckily he’d been right—again, he reminded himself, riding along in the chilled night air. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Call it luck, call it skill, call it experience. Whatever it was, he thought, he wouldn’t question it. He was still in the game.…
At midnight the men pulled their horses off the trail, to the rear entrance of Hercules Mining. Dismounting, they led their horses quietly through a cluttered alley strewn with ore buckets, iron storage bins and broken hand tools. Across the rear yard from a dim-lit shack, they tied their horses to an iron hitch. While Bonham stayed with the horses, the others crept nearer to the shack and stopped behind a broken-down freight wagon.
“Giant, get over there with your dirt sock and do your stuff,” Casings whispered to the Stillwater Giant. Turning to Rochenbach he said, “You’re going to like this, Rock.”
The Giant walked boldly but quietly toward the rear door of the shack, a long sock filled with dirt and gravel hanging from his large right hand.
Without being told, Penta and Shaner slipped away across the yard in different directions. In a crouch they both circled wide of the shack and took positions, watching the trail from the edge of the dusty front yard. Spiller and Turley Batts stayed back, rifles in hand, while Casings moved forward and watched the Giant knock on the rear door.
“Sheriff’s deputy,” he called out in his powerful voice as he banged with urgency on the door. “Open up, we know you’re in there!”
“Keep your shirt on, Deputy. I’m coming,” a startled voice called from inside. “Is that you, Decker?”
The Giant stood sidelong to the door, the sock full of dirt drawn back and ready.
The iron bolt slid from its keeper with a squeaking sound and the big door swung open. The night guard stood in the open door, a lantern raised in one hand, a shotgun in the other.
“If I’d known you was coming by, Decker,” he said, “I would’ve had you bring me something to eat—” His voice stopped short as the Giant swung the loaded sock into his face with enough force to send him crashing backward across the length of the shack and land upside down against the front door.
“I have to laugh every time I see this,” Casings said, chuckling beside Rochenbach.
Rochenbach started to pull his bandanna up over his face.
“Come on,” said Casings, an empty pair of saddlebags over his shoulder, “you won’t need a mask. This fool will be knocked out cold the rest of the night.”
Inside the shack, the Giant had slipped the sock into his coat pocket. He’d hurried over and picked the lantern the night guard had been holding up off the floor and righted it before it had time to go out. When Rock and Casings came through the rear door, the Giant peeled the unconscious guard down off the front door. They watched him scoop the guard into his arms, carry him over to the cot and drop him on it.
“Sweet dreams,” the Giant said down to the man.
Rochenbach stepped quickly across the room into a large office where a huge, ornate Diebold Bahmann safe stood against the wall. Casings followed at his elbow.
Rochenbach pulled a leather case from his coat pocket and took three pieces of his Cammann stethoscope from it. Casings watched intently as Rock assembled the scope and hung it around his neck.
When Rochenbach stepped over to the big modern safe and rubbed a hand on it near the large combination dial, Casings stood even closer, watching every move he made. This wouldn’t do, Rock told himself. He didn’t come here to teach an outlaw how to open safes.
“I hear it won’t be long before everybody will be using these dial safes,” Casings said as if in awe of some large, iron monster.
Rock ignored him. Putting the earpieces into his ears, he raised the bell end of the listening device against the flat steel door of the safe. He listened for a moment as he turned the steel dial slowly, then frowned and tapped the bell against the palm of his hand.
“What’s wrong?” Casings asked in a hushed tone.
“It’s not going to work,” Rock said. He tapped the bell against his palm again, placed it on the steel door. He turned the dial again. Then he frowned and shook his head. “It’s no use; there’s too much noise,” he said. He took the earpieces out of his ears.
Casings looked all around the cluttered office, puzzled.
“Too much noise?” he said wrinkling his brow. “I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s because you’re not wearing this,” Rock said, gesturing at the stethoscope dangling down his chest.
“Damn it, what can we do?” said Casings. “I don’t want to go back empty-handed, even if this is a practice run.”
“There’s a clock ticking somewhere,” Rock said, looking through the open door into the rest of the shack. “Go find it and stop it. I’ll be listening through this.” He picked the earpieces up from his shoulders and put them back into his ears.
“A clock ticking?” Casings said. “I never heard of anything as—”
“Are we going to open this baby or not?” Rock asked, cutting him off. “If we are, I need you to stop that clock for me.” He leaned close to the steel door and held the bell back against it.
“All right,” Casings said, shaking his head. He left the office and walked through the shack, looking all around.
“What’s going on?” the Giant asked, looking up from tying up the unconscious guard with a length of rope. He’d pulled a bandanna from his pocket and tied it around the guard’s eyes.
“I’m looking for a clock,” Casings said. “Help me find it.”
“A clock?” said the Giant. “You wondering what time it is?”
“Help me find the clock,” Casings said. “It’s keeping Rock from hearing inside the safe door.”
“Dang,” the Giant said in his deep voice, greatly impressed, “this must be some awfully scientific stuff we’re fooling with.”