One guard on the ridge stood and said, “What the hell was—”
His words were cut off by the first explosion, followed at once by the others. Even with his hand over his eyes, Fargo could sense the bright light from the explosions.
He scrambled to his feet and headed for the guards, moving quickly and silently through the rocks as they both stood and watched the fireworks going on above the compound.
More sticks flew through the air from the ridge. More explosions rocked the ground as gunfire opened up, both from the ridgeline and from the compound firing back. From that distance, it would be only luck if someone hit something, but Fargo had figured that guns firing with the explosions would make it seem like a serious attack and give him good cover getting to the stable and the Brant dynamite.
Both guards had their rifles up and were standing side-by-side firing in the direction of the ridge. A new explosion was so close to them that they ran to the right, giving Fargo clearance to head down the hill toward the buildings.
At a run, crouched with his gun in his hand, he aimed for the stable. If any of the other guards saw him, he hoped they would think he was one of the road guards coming back into the compound to help out.
He made the small shed attached to the stable, undid the bolt cutters, and cut the lock with a quick movement.
More dynamite exploded in the rocks above the mine, hitting everything with a shower of pebbles and stones. Some of the rocks even reached him. And those explosions were very loud down there in the compound. He couldn’t imagine what the one he was about to set off would sound like.
He chose the two sticks with the longest fuses and set them just inside the door on a box of dynamite. He quickly lit them and eased the door closed. With the other two in his hand, he sprinted around the stable so that he was on the back side of the compound, away from the attack coming from the direction of Sharon’s Dream.
Hank had told him he had about one minute to clear the area after he lit the long fuses. Only thirty seconds for the short fuses they had given him.
Hiding against the edge of a large rock behind the stable, he lit up the other two sticks together.
Then, as hard as he could, he threw them toward the back of the bunkhouse. If there were still men in there sleeping through all the explosions, they were going to get a very rude awakening very soon.
“Hey!” a guard shouted from the rocks above him, and stood, bringing up his rifle to aim at Fargo. He must have seen the lit dynamite flying through the air. He was about twenty paces above Fargo in the rocks. If the fool would have remained down, Fargo would have been in trouble, but he had decided to stand up to get a better angle.
Fargo shot him twice with his Colt before the man could get a shot off.
He had just cleared the hill and was over the ridgeline when the Brant dynamite exploded. Even over the ridge he could feel the impact, as if the air had suddenly become hard and smacked him on the back.
“It’s Fargo,” he shouted ahead to the trigger-happy miners guarding the road out.
As he neared them, about thirty men led by Jim gathered around him, all excited by the huge explosion that had lit up the night.
“You sure know how to keep people awake,” Jim said, laughing.
“I don’t think anyone in the county slept through that,” Fargo said, smiling. Then he turned serious. “Take up your positions. No one gets out of that mine alive. Understand?”
They all nodded.
“Good,” Fargo said.
He turned to Jim. “Make sure no one can get through the rocks between here and the ridge and down in that ravine. We have to hold them in there for the night, at least those that are still alive.”
“What’s going to happen tomorrow if we hold them in there?” one miner asked.
“I’m going to clean up the mess and then you all can go back to making yourselves rich with your mine,” Fargo said, turning and heading down the road for the turnoff to Sharon’s Dream.
“Now I like the sound of that,” someone said.
From the direction of the Brant mine, the sounds of more dynamite echoed over the hills.
That was a sound that Fargo liked.
13
Fargo made it back to the big house at Sharon’s Dream and headed up toward the ridge, eating a beef sandwich one of the cooks had handed him as he came out of the stable.
Every thirty minutes, more explosions rocked the area. They were tossing only two or three sticks at a time now, just enough to keep anyone in the Brant mine shaking and awake. Walt had figured that, at that rate, they would have enough to make it all the way through the night.
As Fargo came up to the base camp that Hank had set up on the Sharon’s Dream side of the ridge, he was met with applauding miners.
Hank came out of the shadows, smiling. “Wait until you see what you did down there.”
He motioned for Fargo to follow him on a path up to the ridge.
In the faint light, Fargo could see some of the miners scattered along the ridgeline with carbines, keeping behind the shelter of large rocks. Fargo lay down beside Hank on a flat rock and eased forward. Even though there was almost no chance of a stray shot from below hitting anyone, it was better to not take chances.
Only three lamps still burned down there, but the compound was clear. The sight that greeted Fargo shocked him, and he wasn’t a person who was easily shocked.
The entire stable was gone, with dark shapes that must be dead horses scattered everywhere. Fargo felt bad about the loss of good livestock, but in this case it couldn’t be helped.
The bunkhouse was mostly gone. Except for a front wall, only a large pile of twisted and torn timber remained.
The big house had no windows left in the front at all. They had all been blown inward by the blast.
“Anyone come out of any of those buildings?” Fargo asked.
“Nope,” Hank said. “They pulled one from the bunkhouse, but he’s still lying down there in the open and I’m bettin’ he’s dead. No one has come out of the big house.”
“So you haven’t seen Kip or either of the Brants?”
“Kip came out of the big house just before the blast you set off, then went back inside. No one has seen him since.”
Fargo nodded. “They’re still waiting for their help to arrive. How many gunhands do you think are left down there?”
“Maybe ten at most,” Hank said, “not counting Kip or the Brants. But we’ve only seen the six guards on duty. No one has relieved them so far.”
“Okay,” Fargo said, pushing himself back from the edge and standing. “Keep your men switching off and fresh. Keep pounding them, and take no chances. Check in with Jim on the main road once in a while.”
Hank nodded. “Where are you going?”
“I have an errand to run in town,” he said, heading down the hill toward the stable. “I’ll be back in the morning to clean up the mess down there. Just make sure no one goes out of or into that compound until I get back.”
He headed down the hill toward the stable and his big Ovaro. Thirty minutes later, after checking in with Jim and the men at the entrance to the Brant mine, he was stabling his horse in town.
He walked into the Wallace saloon and up to the bar to be greeted by the smiling face of Reg. “Was that you that rattled my bottles a while back?”
Fargo returned the smile. “Just Henry Brant having a little mine accident. Is our fair boss around at this late hour?”
Reg tipped his head toward her office. “I doubt she was going to sleep much tonight.”
Fargo tapped the bar as a thank-you. “That problem is going around.”
He knocked lightly on Anne’s door, then pushed it slowly open when she said, “Come in.”
She was sitting at her desk, a pair of reading glasses on her nose. She pushed them down and said, “Yes?”
