“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.
For the second night it felt like someone had tossed a black blanket over everything as the sun went down. No sign of a moon, but the light from the stars was bright enough to move by if a person let his eyes adjust.
Fargo had already walked about forty paces down the road heading to the Brant mine. Jim had drawn him an exact map of where the two Brant guards were watching the road. They were up over a shallow ridge and on top of a second ridgeline. Behind them was the Brant compound and mine. But from the first ridge to the second ridge there was a shallow ravine that Fargo would have to go down and through. He needed those guards distracted some to give himself a better chance of moving up on them unseen.
He kept walking down the road as his eyes adjusted. On his back was his carbine and on his hip his Colt, shells in all six cylinders. He had four sticks of dynamite wrapped in a cloth and stuck down the back of his pants inside his shirt. He also had a small bolt cutter strapped securely to his leg with two belts.
Just before he could see the two guard stations over the first ridge, he ducked down and went toward the mountain on his left that separated the two mines, working up through the rocks silently, watching every step to make sure he didn’t jar loose a rock and let the guards know he was there.
When he finally reached the position he wanted, he lay on his stomach and crawled forward a few feet until he could see them and the lights from the compound behind them.
There, he settled in to wait for Hank and his men to make the next move.
He didn’t have long to wait. Along the high ridgeline between the two mines, he caught the glimpse of sparks as if suddenly the entire ridgeline had lit up.
Some of the Sharon’s Dream men had crawled down over the ridge as far as they dared. Those men were the ones with the strongest throwing arms. Walt had actually tested a number of them, finding the few who could really throw a long distance.
Then they had tied sticks of dynamite to fist-sized rocks to give them more weight for throwing. Fargo doubted that any of the dynamite would actually reach the compound from the ridge, but it was certainly going to shower the compound with a lot of rock.
It was like lying under the night sky watching falling stars. A half dozen sticks of dynamite launched at the same time, their fairly short fuses burning as they flew through the air.
Fargo crouched, ready to move as the sticks disappeared behind the ridge. He had his eyes covered with one hand to keep the flash from momentarily blinding him. He needed to see in the dim light.
