“A lantern and a pickaxe,” Duff said.
“Aye, sure’n ’twould be a shame to go into the mine with nae a pickaxe,” Falcon said, mimicking Duff’s accent.
“You’d better stick to American English,” Duff said, laughing. “And ’tis a shame, too. Our mutual grandfather would be rolling in his grave now to hear how his descendants have brutalized the mother tongue.”
It took half an hour to find the mine entrance because it was shielded by an outgrowth of sagebrush. But when they did find the opening, they were gratified to see that it was tall enough and wide enough to allow both of them to enter while fully erect. Both men were carrying full canteens. In addition, Duff was carrying a lantern and a pick. They got no more than one hundred feet into the mine before it became dark enough that it was necessary to light the lantern.
The lantern threw out a wide bubble of golden light that reflected back from the walls and showed a long, black tunnel before them. The two men walked for several minutes, then Duff called for them to stop.
“What is it?” Falcon asked.
Duff walked over to the wall and held up the lantern. Something in the wall glittered back in the light.
“I’m going to pick here for a while and see what turns up,” Duff said.
Setting the lantern down, Duff began using the pickaxe on the wall. Each time he struck, large chunks of shale would tumble down from the wall. As he continued to strike at the wall, the tailings piled up on the floor of the mine, and Falcon got on his knees to sift through them, looking for any sign of color.
“Have you found anything?” Duff asked.
“No, not yet. Wait, there might be something here. . . .”
Duff turned to look at Falcon and when he did he saw a frightening apparition behind him. A two-legged creature covered with hair and with wild eyes was holding a large rock in both hands, about to bring it crashing down on Falcon’s head.
“Look out!” Duff yelled and, reacting quickly, Falcon leaped to one side as, with a loud scream, the creature brought the rock down.
Thanks to Duff’s warning the rock missed Falcon, but the creature lifted it over his head again, and with gleaming red eyes came toward Duff. Duff used the head of the pickaxe to knock the rock out of the creature’s hands. With another bloodcurdling scream, the creature turned and ran, disappearing into the dark tunnel of the mine as if able to see in the dark.
“Are you all right?” Duff asked.
“Yes,” Falcon said, standing up and brushing himself off.
“What on earth was that?” Duff asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe Mr. Guthrie’s haint?” Falcon replied.
“’Twas no ghost, for it was something physical.”
“A bear, maybe?”
“I don’t know about American bears, but I’ve never seen a bear in Europe that could use his hands like this one did.”
“Whatever it was, I think we know what happened to the men who were killed here,” Falcon said.
“Aye, that’s for certain,” Duff replied.
“Are you going to continue to look for gold?”
“Sure’n you aren’t thinking I’m going to be frightened off by a ghost, are you? Especially since it isn’t a ghost.”
“If we are going to continue to work in here, I have an idea,” Falcon said.
“What?”
“We have some string and engineering stakes left over from building the house. We can bring them here. . . .”
“Aye, and stretch a tripwire across the passage to give us warning when the beast returns,” Duff said. “’Tis good thinking, cousin. We’ve already shown that, whatever or whoever it is, it can be fought off. We need only to be alerted to its presence.”
When Malcolm stepped into the land clerk’s office, he saw a wall that was covered with a huge map of Laramie County, Wyoming. Beneath the map were several cabinets, filled with drawers. The land clerk, a very thin man with white hair and glasses, was sitting at a table behind the counter that separated his area from the front.
“Yes, sir, what can I do you for?” the land clerk asked, chuckling at his whimsical transposing of the words.
“My name is Rab Malcolm. I was told by my kinsman that he would be filing on some land here in Wyoming, and it is my hope that you would have a record of such.”
“Well, if he filed here I will have a record,” the land clerk replied. “I keep a very tidy office and can tell you the name of everyone who has filed for land in Laramie Country for the last six years. What would be the name?”
“MacCallister. Duff MacCallister.”
“Ah, yes, I should have known by your accent. You sound just like him. And you are in luck, he did indeed file here a short time ago.”
The clerk walked back to the long row of cabinets, opened one of the long drawers, and pulled it out.
“MacCallister,” he said, speaking to himself. “Hmm, Kelly, Kilmer, Logan, Lynch, Mabry—here it is.
