They rode on for another hour, the trail winding upward, deep into green covered hills. The early morning sun was beginning to break the chill of the disappearing night air as it rose with the ascent of the riders. The crisp blue of the morning sky melted against a distant horizon as they rode out onto a grassy meadow on the top of a hill.
Clayton could see the file of riders ahead of him starting to angle downward as the trail seemed to dip over the top of the hill to descend down the other side. One by one the riders disappeared over the crest of the hill, Clayton following close. As he approached the pinnacle of the hill he could see the land beginning to roll away revealing the enormous valley below them.
Jack almost gasped at the sight. He continued to follow the file of men. What he saw below was stark contrast to the green meadows they had just passed through. For in this valley the green had been stripped from the land by greedy men. The valley was surrounded by mountains on both sides and these mountains had also been stripped of their natural beauty, leaving mountains and valley with the dull brown and gray of churned earth and rock.
Gold! Gold had been found here and mining on a grand scale was in progress. The walls of the mountainside were catacombed with a latticed wooden network of stairs and platform levels giving access to the hundreds of workers who dug and chopped away at the soil and rocks. Picks and shovels clanking and chinking against rock as hundreds of workers slaved away. And slaves were what they were. Mostly Indian slaves. So this is what the ghost soldiers did with their captives. There were old men struggling to keep working trying to avoid the whips of the vicious looking guards that stood watch over them. Sweaty, dirty faces of women and children cringed in fear as they continued to work under threat of torture.
Half way up on each side of the valley, Clayton could see the wooden barred cages built into the mountainsides. They were large holding pens overcrowded with old, sick, and worn out men, women, and children who could not work at present. Perhaps a second shift or merely kept as a repository to replace other workers as they succumbed to the rigors of the mine.
At various points in each mountainside, Jack could see where tunnels had been drilled or blasted allowing access to deeper veins. Makeshift bridges had been built between the various levels of operations and tracks had been laid to allow ore cars to traverse up and down the mountains. Flumed sluices had been built to wash the ore and sift it as well as flumes to provide water for huge wheels that drove the myriad of pulleys and guide cables systems for moving earth and ore. Several makeshift elevator platforms were also powered with water supplied by steam from a boiler housed in a shack at the foot of the mountain on the western side of the valley. Smoke billowed from its steel pipe chimney. A huge water tower loomed over the rear of the building.
Opposite this shack on the other side of the valley was a larger building. It was built of logs and appeared much more solid and permanent. This was probably the headquarters, office or whatever from which operations were run. There was a corral behind it that was filled with horses. Just outside the corral were eight covered wagons parked in two rows of four, wagon tongues raised to push the wagons closer together
The G-Man surmised that these were the wagons of Amos Dunn’s party. Gazing closer at the mountainside to the east, he knew he was right. There were white people digging into the dirt. Among them were men, women and children who he recognized. And there was Dunn himself on the third level up, shoveling dirt and ore into a hopper suspended by two rope cables for sending the diggings below for loading into wagons.
Whoever ran this operation was ruthless. He was kidnapping whites as well as Indians and using them as slaves. They probably would be worked to death. For sure they probably would not leave this valley alive unless the G-Man could do something. But what? One man alone against perhaps fifty men including the soldiers, guards and whoever else may be here. He would probably die here too.
The riders had descended into the valley now and were passing by the work operations on both sides. Dust billowed up from their horses hooves half hiding them in the cloud. Jack kept his head down as he rode along and no one seemed to notice him as an imposter.
The riders rode up and halted in front of the log building. Jack kept to the rear of the pack. The door opened and a large man stepped out onto the wooden porch. The man was Lionel Thorpe.
“River got them.” The leader and spokesman of the group reported.
“Are you sure, Dawson?” Thorpe demanded.
“Saw them go in. They didn’t come out.” Dawson chuckled.
“But no bodies?” Thorpe said with disgust.
“Well no but…”
“You fools. Now we can’t be sure. You’d better hope they’re dead.” He threw his cigar into the dirt. “Now get out of those outfits and get to work.” He turned and stepped back inside and slammed the door shut.
“Jackass!” Dawson growled with annoyance at Thorpe’s arrogance and condescension. Then to his men, “You heard him, get moving.” They pulled their horses back, turned toward the corral and rode toward the gate.
Jack followed suit. This was getting really dicey now. How was he going to pull this off? Surely, they would spot him when he got out of uniform. Carefully, he mimicked whatever his companions were doing. They dismounted, removed saddle and blanket and stacked them on the corral rails. Jack kept his distance and kept his head down. The others led their mounts into the corral, removed their bridles and hung them on the rails, exited the corral, closing the gate behind one by one and strode off toward another shack further down the valley. This was probably some sort of bunk house, Clayton mused.
Jack made sure he was still the last man and followed the others’ example. So far so good, but he could not follow them to their quarters. He would be found out there for sure. He had removed his mount’s bridle but did not hang it on the rail. He merely dropped it in the dirt and faded back into the herd of milling horses. He hoped the man he was supposed to be would not be missed until he could find a suitable hiding place and formulate a plan. He bent low and threaded his way through the herd. When he had reached the middle of the herd, he moved sideways toward where the wagons were parked. As he got closer to the rails, he bent lower until he was crawling on all fours. Here he peered out from under the lower rail, making sure that he would not be easily visible. Then quickly he made his move and crawled under the rail, keeping to the shadow of the wagons and sliding between the third and fourth wagons lined against the fence. He then catapulted himself inside the rear canvas opening of the third wagon and fell flat on empty floor of the wagon bed. He crawled to the front, lifted a bottom corner of the canvas too create a peephole. He sighed with momentary relief. He rested, breathing deeply, and watched and waited.
All right, what now? He didn’t know. Would they start looking for the man he was supposed to be? Probably. That meant he could not risk waiting all day for darkness to return. It would have been dangerous enough to do something at nighttime, but in the light of day, it was probably impossible. He would wait a while, try to figure something out. See what happens. But then he was going to have to do something. Anything.
****
Chapter Seventeen
Revelations