CHAPTER TEN Buried Alive
San Diablo Mine opened beneath the northern ridge like a mouth that had forgotten how to close.
The main entrance stood on Harrow land three miles south, sealed beneath several tons of stone and federal dynamite. Noah’s map led Gideon and Jude to an older ventilation shaft hidden behind a wall of chaparral.
Even with the map, they nearly passed it.
A rusted grate covered a vertical crack in the sandstone. Desert vines had grown through the bars, binding iron to stone. Someone had hammered a federal warning plaque beside it.
UNSAFE MINE.ENTRY PROHIBITED BY ORDER OF THE UNITED STATES MARSHAL SERVICE.
The authorization beneath it bore Amos Cutter’s name.
Jude wiped dust from the letters.
“He wanted everyone to know he buried it.”
“He wanted everyone to believe the order protected them,” Gideon said.
“Did it?”
“Authority often looks most respectable when nobody asks whom it serves.”
Jude glanced toward the badge on Gideon’s vest. “You’re becoming philosophical.”
“I’m considering unemployment.”
“Outlawry offers flexible hours.”
“And poor retirement.”
Gideon examined the grate.
The lock had rusted solid, but the hinges appeared weaker. He wrapped a strip of leather around one bar and pulled. Metal groaned.
Jude added his strength.
Their shoulders met. Boots braced against the same stone. Together they bent the hinge until one rivet tore free.
The grate opened enough for a man to pass sideways.
Jude removed his coat and gun belt. “I’ll go first.”
“No.”
“You’re broader.”
“That is not the only consideration.”
“You want me behind you?”
Gideon looked into the shaft.
Complete darkness began several feet beyond the opening.
“I want to see what is ahead.”
“And if the floor collapses?”
“You pull me back.”
Jude caught Gideon by the vest and drew him close.
The kiss was brief but deliberate.
“For luck?” Gideon asked.
“For the argument we’ll have when you return.”
Gideon touched Jude’s newly shaved jaw. “That assumes you win.”
“I always win eventually.”
Gideon entered the mine.
The ventilation shaft descended at a steep angle. Old wooden braces held the sandstone apart, many split under decades of pressure. Gideon moved backward, testing every foothold before trusting his weight.
Jude followed.
The passage narrowed until Jude’s chest remained against Gideon’s back. Each time Gideon lowered himself, Jude’s hands settled at his waist to control the descent.
No chain required the contact.
Only trust.
“Lower your right foot,” Jude said. “There’s a brace.”
“I feel it.”
“You’re kicking my hand.”
“Move your hand.”
“I am preventing you from falling.”
“You are holding my backside.”
“Both things can be true.”
The mine consumed Gideon’s answer.
The last daylight vanished.
He struck a match and lit the hooded lantern hanging from his belt. Its glow revealed timber, stone, and a floor descending into blackness.
Jude dropped beside him.
Their shoulders touched.
Gideon handed him the lantern while he checked Noah’s map.
“North shaft,” Gideon said. “Thirty yards to a maintenance drift. East from there.”
“And beneath approximately two hundred feet of mountain.”
“Approximately.”
“You make uncertainty sound official.”
Gideon returned the map to the oilskin packet inside his coat.
“Stay close.”
Jude lifted the lantern. “Is that an order?”
“A request.”
The humor in Jude’s face softened.
“Yes.”
They entered the dark.
The shaft forced them to walk bent at the waist. In several places, the ceiling lowered until they crawled. Gideon went first, revolver in one hand and lantern extended before him.
Jude remained near his boots.
When the floor dropped unexpectedly, Gideon braced his legs against both walls and lowered himself. Jude followed with Gideon’s hands around his waist.
Every movement in the mine became intimate because every mistake could become fatal.
A hand at the hip meant the stone will hold.
A palm against the chest meant stop.
Fingers closing at the back of a coat meant I have you.
Words became unnecessary.
After thirty yards, the shaft entered a wider drift.
A narrow-gauge rail line disappeared east. Rusted ore carts stood against one wall. Pickaxes, shovels, and lengths of chain had been abandoned where workers dropped them.
Gideon raised the lantern.
Iron rings had been driven into the wall beside each work station.
Short chains hung from them.
Not for equipment.
Leather cuffs remained attached to several.
Jude touched one.
Dark staining marked the inside of the leather.
“They chained the workers.”
Gideon examined the lock. “Federal transport restraint.”
“How do you know?”
“I carried them for eight years.”
The lock plate bore a stamped number.
Gideon recognized the series.
“These were issued to Cutter’s office.”
Jude looked deeper into the tunnel. “The missing prisoners.”
Gideon remembered the letters listed in Noah’s field book. Two ranchers who provided testimony disappeared. Marisol had said two surviving miners were arrested and never reached Santa Reina.
Cutter had not simply sold information to Harrow.
He had supplied labor.
They continued east.
The evidence grew worse.
The remains of a sleeping chamber occupied a side tunnel. Wooden bunks had been stacked three high with no space between them. A steel gate sealed the entrance from the outside.
Names covered the walls.
Some scratched into stone.
Others written in charcoal.
BEN MORALES — TUCSONELI WARD — NO TRIALPETER COLE — TELL MY MOTHER IN PRESCOTTR. FLETCHER — INNOCENT
Beneath them, tally marks counted days.
Hundreds.
Jude held the lantern closer.
A child’s wooden horse lay beneath one bunk.
He crouched and picked it up.
“These were not convicted men.”
“No.”
“Cutter marked them as transfers.”
“Or escapees.”
“Then Harrow worked them until they died.”
Gideon examined the sealed gate at the far end of the chamber.
Scratches covered the inside.
Fingernail marks.
Tool marks.
Marks made by men who knew the air would disappear before stone yielded.
He turned away.
Jude did not.
“The mine did not collapse on them,” he said.
“No.”
“They sealed them inside.”
Gideon placed his hand against Jude’s back.
Jude looked at the scratched gate.
“Noah knew?”
“He knew people disappeared. The complete ledger may show where they went.”
Jude set the wooden horse on the nearest bunk.
Carefully.
As though someone might return for it.
They followed the east drift.
The rails ended at a collapsed passage. Noah’s map showed an alternate route through a service tunnel above the main shaft.
Gideon found the entrance behind a broken ore chute.
It was barely wide enough for Jude.
“You first,” Gideon said.
Jude removed his gun belt and passed it over. “You admit I was right.”
“About this tunnel.”
“I’ll treasure the occasion.”
He crawled into the opening.
Gideon waited until Jude’s boots disappeared, then followed.
The passage tightened around his shoulders.
Stone pressed his chest and back. He exhaled to move forward. The lantern in Jude’s hand illuminated the soles of Jude’s boots and little else.
“Stop,” Jude whispered.
Gideon froze.
“What?”
“Timber across the path.”
“Can you move it?”
“I can try.”
Jude shifted.
The tunnel was so narrow that his body pressed backward along Gideon’s. One boot slid between Gideon’s knees. His hip touched Gideon’s shoulder before he found enough space to turn partly onto his side.
“Your professional opinion?” Jude asked.
“About what?”
“Still too broad.”
Gideon placed one hand against Jude’s boot. “Move.”
Jude pushed the timber.
Wood groaned.
Dust fell over them.
The ceiling shifted.
Both men went still.
Jude’s breathing filled the passage.
Gideon’s hand traveled from his boot to his ankle.
“I have you.”
Jude looked back as far as the tunnel allowed.
“I know.”
He moved the timber another inch.
Enough.
Jude crawled beneath it. Gideon followed, scraping both shoulders against stone. The passage opened suddenly, dropping them into a lower chamber.
Jude landed first.
Gideon landed partly across him.
The lantern rolled away but did not extinguish.
Their bodies struck the dirt together.
Gideon’s face stopped near Jude’s throat. Jude’s arms had closed around his waist by instinct.
Neither moved immediately.
“Alive?” Jude asked.
“Presently.”
“Your side?”
“Intact.”
“You’re lying on me.”
“I noticed.”
Jude tightened his arms. “You may remain while we assess structural conditions.”
Gideon lifted his head.
Lantern light moved over Jude’s face.
“Structural conditions appear unstable.”
“Take your time.”
Gideon kissed him once.
Then he rose.
The assay chamber stood beyond the service passage.
An iron door remained set into the wall. The lower half had been crushed by falling stone, but the lock survived.
Jude touched the brass key hanging around his neck.
“Marisol.”
He removed the cord and placed the key in the lock.
It turned.
The door opened less than two feet before scraping against rubble.
Gideon and Jude squeezed through.
Inside, shelves held rusted scales, broken glass, ore samples, and paper records destroyed by damp. A collapsed table occupied one corner.
Noah’s black square had been marked beside the northern wall.
Jude raised the lantern.
“Nothing.”
Gideon examined the stones. “False wall.”
“How can you tell?”
“The mortar is newer.”
They worked with pick and crowbar.
Every strike echoed through the mine. Gideon paused after each one, listening for movement in the ceiling.
None came.
The wall eventually opened around an iron handle.
Together they cleared the remaining stone.
A black survey chest sat inside the cavity.
Jude knelt.
His hands trembled when he inserted Marisol’s key.
The lock opened with a heavy metallic sound.
Inside lay the truth men had killed to bury.
Noah’s complete land ledger filled the upper compartment. Beneath it were seventeen original deeds, each bearing seals that differed from the documents recorded in Santa Reina.
Gideon compared one with Noah’s map.
Isaac Bell’s water claim.
The original deed granted ownership to the Bell family in perpetuity. The recorded version transferred it to August Harrow eleven days before Isaac and Matthew died.