Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
W hat was Jedidiah up to now?
A chill bit into Sampson as he sat on the wagon bench outside the livery, his body turning stiff from the late afternoon cold as the sun sank lower in the sky. His boss had said to hitch the team and saddle his mount, and he’d meet Sampson here.
He’d had Sampson working all day, loading this rented wagon high with crates, then checking in with some of the businesses around town to find men who might be looking for work.
That meant Sampson had only seen Grace and Ruby once in passing. He’d hoped for a nice quiet evening with them, but whatever excursion Jedidiah had planned now probably meant they wouldn’t be back until late again.
He couldn't shake the notion that something was going to change very soon. Jedidiah's secrecy was nothing new, but the sheer amount of supplies Sampson had loaded up suggested they were close to setting Jedidiah’s plan into action.
What plan, though? What was he attempting to do?
Should Sampson try to get Grace settled in a house before then? He had a feeling Jedidiah wouldn’t allow him the time. For now, he’d spoken to Frank at the hotel and paid ahead for the room for two weeks. He’d also been careful to make sure Frank—and the café and the mercantile and McDonough here at the livery—knew Grace was Mrs. Coulter now, and that she should be given all the respect and protection his family name provided.
Should he speak to anyone else?
The thump of boots on frozen ground jerked him from his thoughts.
Jedidiah was striding toward him, a satisfied smirk on his weathered face. "Ready to ride out, boy?" Jedidiah didn’t wait for an answer as he jerked his horse’s rein untied, then swung up into the saddle.
Boy.
Sampson didn’t react to the patronizing moniker, just released the wagon brake and gathered the reins. He signaled them forward behind his boss.
Jedidiah started out toward the east, not west like he’d sent Sampson last night. Maybe he had a stop to make before they left town.
But Jedidiah didn’t stop, and unease churned in Sampson’s gut as they left Missoula behind. When Jedidiah did something unexpected, it almost never boded well. He didn’t dare ask the man where they were going. He’d seen more than one fellow beaten unconscious for questioning their boss—even if it were asked out of simple curiosity.
The wagon creaked under the weight of the supplies, each bump in the road jostling Sampson’s already tense nerves.
Were they headed back to McPharland’s mine? This road traveled that direction, but it also was the beginning of the route to his family’s ranch. If only Jedidiah would give a hint of their destination.
The one thing he knew for certain was that they weren’t going toward the place where he’d parked the blasting powder the other night. Which meant Jedidiah had something else up his sleeve.
The sun dipped below the horizon. With trees on either side of the road blocking the dusky light, it felt like hours had passed. Jedidiah remained silent, his posture straight and his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Maybe he should ask Jedidiah how far they planned to go tonight. He could pretend he was wondering about the horses.
Before he could voice the question, Jedidiah raised a hand for him to follow, then turned his mount onto a path.
Sampson's pulse picked up speed as he guided the wagon off the road, the wheels bouncing over rocks and roots. This was the general direction of his family’s ranch, but at least a half hour before their usual turnoff from the main road. Surely that wasn’t his destination.
Did Jedidiah even know where he was going? This didn’t look like a trail at all. Would it be passable for the wagon? Turning the rig around might be impossible it they got in too far.
He had to make sure. He raised his voice so Jedidiah would hear. “Will there be room for the wagon ahead?”
The man didn’t look back, but waved him forward and shouted something that might have been, “Yep.”
The dense forest closed in around them, the shadows deepening with each passing moment. Branches scraped like clawing fingers against the wagon’s sides.
At least a quarter hour passed, but then a glow appeared through the trees ahead. Was that the faint remaining sunlight in a clearing? Or a campfire?
As they drew closer, the glow turned into the flickering light of several fires. Through the trees, he could see men milling around.
Jedidiah didn’t hesitate, just rode toward the group. He must know them. Probably, he’d brought them all here. But why so many? And why here? The knot in Sampson’s belly twisted tighter.
Were these all miners Jedidiah had hired to help break ground on the new prospect? This was the wrong location though. They had to be at least three hours’ ride from where the man had told Sampson to leave the blasting powder.
This was closer to the Coulter ranch, though still six or seven hours away, if he had his bearings right.
Surely this wasn’t the beginnings of the dreaded attack on his family’s mine that he’d been preparing for.
As the trees broke and he reached the little clearing where the men gathered, Sampson pulled back on the reins, bringing the wagon to a halt at the edge of a small clearing.
A quick scan of the group showed close to thirty men, some huddled around the campfires, others checking their weapons or tending horses. The air crackled with a tense energy, a sense of anticipation that set his nerves on edge.
The murmur of conversation died down as all eyes turned to the newcomers. A few faces looked familiar. Was that Albert? And Joe? The Wilcox brothers, a pair of bullies Jedidiah had used as henchman at Mick’s mine. Those were the two who’d beaten Gil.
Most of the men he didn’t know had the look of hardened drifters or outlaws. Not miners.
Jedidiah dismounted and strode into the midst of a small cluster, exchanging a few short greetings.
Sampson remained on the wagon bench. Maybe he should move in closer. Try to hear what Jedidiah said.
He set the brake and lowered himself to the ground. No one paid him much attention, and he was cold enough he’d be crazy not to want the warmth of one of the fires.
He strolled toward the blaze Jedidiah stood beside, keeping himself on the outskirts of the men gathered around their leader.
“…brought the powder?” Jedidiah spoke in a low voice.
“Yep. Parked where you said.” The man who answered had a deeper voice than average. Sampson glanced from the corner of his eye but couldn’t tell if the one who’d spoken was the fellow wearing the coonskin cap or the one with the curly red beard.
The powder they spoke of…was that gunpowder? Or the same load Sampson had dropped off last night? Had that errand been a distraction to keep him guessing about the real plan?
Jedidiah spoke again, but his voice hummed lower, so Sampson missed some of the words. “…move out at first light….time to drop the powder…dark…strike…night.”
A weight pressed so hard on Sampson’s chest that he could barely breathe. Strike .
An attack.
And if they rode out at first light, they’d arrive at his family’s ranch right before dark.
He had to act fast, to find a way to delay or derail their plans. But how? He was outnumbered and outgunned, with no way to warn his family.
And Grace and Ruby still waited for him in Missoula. If he didn't make it back…
No. He couldn't think like that. He had to focus on the task at hand, on finding a way to buy more time.
Maybe he could try the “mine played out” idea. If it worked, he’d be eternally grateful, for there’d be no doubt God played a hand in the miracle.
Sampson just had to get Jedidiah alone to tell him.
The man seemed to be mostly done talking business. After another minute, he looked around. “Where’s the best stewpot?”
“That’d be Dawson’s, one fire over.” The red-bearded man said this in a voice no deeper than most. In fact, he spoke with a bit of a lilt, as if he came from Scotland or some such. Coonskin must have been the one reporting about the powder.
Jedidiah pushed through the crowd as he moved toward the campfire that had been pointed out. Once there, he picked up a tin bowl from the stack and ladled stew from the massive pot hanging on a tripod near the flames.
Sampson eased over to him, stopping beside Jedidiah like he was waiting his turn. He had to speak quickly, before the man walked off to find a seat.
Lord, help me. He grabbed his courage by the throat and charged in. “I was thinking…”
Jedidiah didn’t show an obvious sign of listening, but he didn’t move away, though he held a full bowl.
Sampson pressed on. “I’m not sure exactly what you have planned here, but I have a bit of information you might be interested in.”
Jedidiah grunted. A sound that could mean a lot of things, but he would assume it meant for him to keep talking.
“My family’s ranch is a little less than a day’s ride from here, to the southeast. We’ve got a sapphire mine, but it’s pretty much played out.” He’d never actually talked to Mick or Jedidiah about the mine or the wagonload of sapphires they stole from his family, so it was probably best to pretend he knew nothing about it for this conversation. That way, Jedidiah couldn’t pick up on bitterness in his tone.
The man glanced sideways at Sampson. “What’s your point, boy?”
Sampson's heart pounded, but he kept his expression neutral. "There's another vein of sapphires, richer than the first, on some land just past our property line. I stumbled across it a few months back, but I haven't told anyone about it."
Jedidiah's eyes gleamed with interest, but suspicion lingered in his gaze. "And you're telling me this now because…?"
Sampson shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I figure if you're planning something big, you might want to know about a better source to go after.”
A slow, unsettling smile spread across Jedidiah's weathered face. He raised his free hand and clapped it on Sampson's shoulder, his grip uncomfortably tight.
"That's good to know, boy. Real good. I'll keep it in mind." His tone was genial, but there was a hard edge beneath the words that made Sampson's skin prickle with unease.
Jedidiah leaned in closer, his odor rank. "But we're after something much better than sapphires. And you've just made it clear where your loyalties lie."
Ice flooded Sampson's veins. He tried to step back, but Jedidiah's grip on his shoulder tightened, holding him in place.
"I can't have that kind of weakness in our midst." HIs voice came low and cold. The sound Sampson had heard too many times.
He should have known to brace for the blow.
A force slammed into the back of his knees, shoving him forward. Into the fire.
His thigh hit the tripod holding the stewpot. The entire contraption plunged into the flame, partially protecting him from the blaze. But heat scalded his hand when it pressed against the hot metal.
He struggled to roll sideways, out of the fire. A boot struck his head, sending an explosion of pain and light through his skull.
Someone grabbed his arm, jerking him up. He tried to find footing, but a fist plunged into his belly.
He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t pull up straight. Couldn’t think or see. Another blow struck his face.
Jedidiah’s hard voice hummed from a distance. “I can't abide a traitor. Teach him a lesson. Then get rid of him."
The hits rained harder. He curled in as much as they’d let him.
God, help me. Help my family. And protect Grace.