Chapter 16

            They drilled holes in the rock face using mallets and cold chisels, the clash of the hammers on thumb-thick rods of steel resounding from the cliffs around them and shivering into the cave.  They talked little, saving their breath for the effort of striking the chisels.  Every so often one or the other of them would miss his mark, chipping the rock with a dull thud or the ironwork with a clang and curse for his own clumsiness.  Then the stream of blows would resume, creating an ever-changing syncopation with his companion, since they never struck precisely the same rhythm.  Dove Ed tended to use faster, lighter blows while Cash took more time with each swing but delivered more force.

            Starting a hole demanded the most patience and endurance, since they had to brace the cold chisel with one hand and wield the mallet with the other.  The chisel was applied to the rock face; as the opposite end, mushrooming slightly from thousands of such uses, was struck with the mallet, the broad cross-shaped tip bit into the sandstone the smallest distance.  The chisel would be rotated forty-five degrees and struck again.  And again.  And again, gradually boring a hole inches deep into the rock beside cave opening, small shards of powdered rock sprinkling out around the shaft of the chisel.  When the hole grew deep enough it would support the chisel by itself, and Cash or Dove Ed would gratefully let go, shaking their hand, now tingling from the thrum of each hammer-blow.

            The iron door, with its still-attached remnants of latticework cage, dictated the precise arrangement of the holes they had to drill.  It stood in place, covering the mouth of the cave they had selected as their cache.  The contours of the surrounding boulders prevented an exact fit, but they were able by dint of cutting certain of the bars and applying judicious brute force to others, to fit the lattice close against the stones.  Then they propped it up and began drilling their holes, into which they would drive iron staples slightly broader than the openings.  The staples, spanning the bars of the cage, would secure it to the boulders as near forever as made no difference.  The only way into the cave, then, would be through the iron door.

            In the meantime, Cash and Dove Ed sweated and pounded and cursed in the heat of the June sunshine, stopping for an occasional dipperful of water or to catch their breath and stretch their cramped shoulders.  When they did, they wondered to themselves what was taking Tom so long, then answered themselves that Tom would be back when most of the work was finished.  He had that knack, they agreed, though only through exasperated glances and headshakes.

            It was several days since they dragged the iron door from the ruin of the Williams farm and hauled it and their supplies to the cave.  The bruises around Dove Ed’s eyes were fading into a spectrum of putrid yellows and purples, and his broken nose, still swollen, encroached on the rest of his features, but the boy never complained.  At least his injuries were healing; the evening he returned alone from Malad City he looked like he wouldn’t last the night.  Bundled in linen bandages, wan and clammy with pain, he made up his bedroll in the Williams barn and slumped atop it with hardly a word.  Cash and Tom were forced to wait till morning to ask where he’d been, and got only vague answers in reply.  Dove Ed spoke seldom, if at all, and they did not press him.  When they did speak, it was of the task at hand.

            Dove Ed had the idea of building platforms over the uneven cavern floor to give level spaces for sleeping and clearing supplies.  They scavenged the Williams farm for lumber and nailed together some rude but serviceable trestles.  Onto these they moved their meager stores and their bedrolls.  With the wood left over they planned to build a wall to reinforce the inside of the iron lattice, which might keep out the inquisitive but would not keep out the weather.

            By and by, as the afternoon wore on, Cash flung down his tools and said, “If Tom ain’t coming back, I say we go in to town after him.”

            Dove Ed gave a last flurry of blows to the staple he was driving, then dropped his mallet and stood, passing a bandanna gingerly over his damaged, sweat-sheened face.  He hooked his gunbelt from where it lay; Cash had noticed he kept it always in arm’s reach, even while working.  It still amazed Cash that the sheriff had given back the gun, let alone allowed Dove Ed to leave Malad City a free man.  But what really put the shine on the saddle was the five twenty-dollar gold pieces he said the sheriff had given him.  Lord, the look on Tom Mulvehill’s face when the boy displayed those golden eagles!

            “If that gimpy lawman has a purse that heavy, we’re wasting our time taking stagecoaches, by God,” Tom had said.  Ever since being rescued first by Dove Ed and then by the law, Tom had been acting touchy, and he viewed Dove Ed’s sudden largesse as a further personal insult.

            “He said the reward for Putney might be a while coming,” Dove Ed said.   “I think it’s from Putney’s loot.”

            The idea that it was reward money griped Tom even more.  “We all deserve a share,” he had said.  “All three of us fought the bastard.  You may have shot him, but we kept him busy!”  He had a point; while Putney gloated over Tom, Dove Ed had found his discarded pistol and loaded it.  In the end, they shared out the money, one gold piece each for Tom and Cash, and three for Dove Ed, who after all had shot the son of a bitch.

            Now Cash and Dove Ed descended the draw from the cave mouth to the small camp where they had left the wagon and horses.  Tom had not returned, so they set to saddling their mounts.  “Who would have thought,” said Cash as he tightened the girth strap, “That twenty dollars could keep Tom in town for so long?”

            From their camp on the thinly wooded slope of Samaria Mountain it was several hours ride into Malad City, and it had gone full dark by the time they rode in.  On the way they neither saw nor expected Tom Mulvehill, and they were not surprised to find his horse tethered in front of Owens and Price.  Tom, on the other hand, appeared both surprised and somewhat displeased when he caught sight of their entrance.  He sat at a poker table, with a bottle of whiskey near to hand and an odd assortment of bills and coins before him.  He nodded to them but kept his attention on his cards as Cash and Dove Ed threaded their way through the crowded, smoky barroom toward him.

            “Hello, Tom,” Cash said.  “Making us all rich men, I see.”  He gestured at Tom’s pile of cash money, the smallest of the six men in the game.  The others at the table ignored him except to pull their cards closer to their vests.  Dove Ed did not pause, but moved past without a greeting to take an empty seat at a table near the bar.

            “Yeah, I’ve got them right where they want me,” Tom said, and grinned, but his eyes flicked back to follow Dove Ed.  “What brings you boys into town?”

            “When you didn’t come right back we got fretful,” Cash said.

            One of the players at the table laid down his hand with an air of satisfaction, and groans arose as the others tossed down their cards.  Tom leaned forward and swore.  “A full house?  Christ,” he complained.  “You’ve got some unholy luck, Jonas.”  Jonas paid him no heed but gloated as he raked in his winnings and set to counting it as the cards were shuffled anew.

            “I’ll see you, Tom,” said Cash.  Tom stopped him with a hand on his arm.

            “No, hold on a minute.  I’ll join you.”  He gathered up his stake and his bottle, telling the rest of the table they’d have to get along without his money and his company for a while.  This announcement appeared not to trouble the others unduly; they ignored him, already intent on the deal of the next hand.  As Tom stepped away, another man took his seat at the table.

            “How much have you lost?” said Cash.

            Tom changed the subject.  “Look here,” he said, pointing with his chin at Dove Ed’s table.  Alice Morgan, the serving girl, had laid a plate of food before Dove Ed, but rather than return directly to the kitchen she stood over the boy.  His face rested in one of her cupped hands, tilted upward to give her a better view of his injuries.  Concern etched he features as she brushed aside his hair and took inventory of his scrapes and bruises.  Cash and Tom could not hear what words they exchanged, but Tom nudged Cash with his elbow and advanced on the table.  He walked with a pronounced limp, favoring his right leg, which he said had been cruelly twisted when the iron door fell upon it.  Cash doubted this.  But while he had been knocked senseless for a time, his own hurts had been minor and he hesitated to call Tom a liar.

            Hobbling up to the table, Tom said, “No kissing on the mouth, darlin.  Boy’s still sore where he lost them teeth.”

            Dove Ed glared over at Tom, and Alice stepped away from him, color rising in her cheeks.  Her voice stayed level as she said, “I’ll bring you somewhat to drink, shall I?”

            “Tea?” Dove Ed said.

            “Coffee for me,” said Cash.  “And another plate of that dinner?”

            Alice nodded and left for the kitchen.  Tom called after her, “Me too!”  She gave no sign that she had heard.

            “Hello, Tom,” Dove Ed said as they sat down.  “Lose much?”

            Tom waved a hand dismissively.  “How’s the work coming?”

            “Almost done, no thanks to you,” said Cash.  “You left two days ago, and we ain’t stopped work since.”

            “I wouldn’t of been much use to you with this leg of mine,” Tom said.

            Cash raised a skeptical eyebrow, but Dove Ed spoke first.  “I know you wouldn’t,” he said.

            The edge in his voice drew Cash up short, and he wondered if Tom noticed it.  Dove Ed was still a quiet fellow, but since the night at the cabin he had been acting different, showing an unsuspected side of himself, harder, darker.  It reminded Cash of the war, and new recruits after the first time a man died before their eyes.  Something went out of them then, and something else took its place.  A sidelong glance showed Tom pouring a drink, his face giving nothing away.  Talk at the table died.  Dove Ed applied himself to his meal, Tom drank, and Cash watched the ebb and flow of customers out of the saloon.  Alice returned from the kitchen and busied herself arranging plates, coffeepot, cups and saucers, then whirled away without a word.

            “Didn’t you want some supper, Tom?” Cash said.

            “No, you go on.  Meantime guess what I found out.”

            His mouth full of potato, Dove Ed said, “Not to draw to an inside straight?”

            Cash choked on his coffee.  Tom looked at him, then back at Dove Ed with a grin on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.  He said, “You’re a poisonous little cuss, ain’t you?”

            Dove Ed used a biscuit to chase gravy around his plate.

            “What’s the matter with you two, anyways?  I thought we had agreed on the plan.  Your plan, if I remember right, Cash.”

            “My plan didn’t call for me and Dove Ed to spend life at hard labor while you drank and played poker.”

            “I like that,” Tom said.  “Old Tom, just boozing and gambling while his friends do all the work, the lazy bastard.”

            “Don’t forget ‘losing the only money we got’.”

            “It ain’t a loss.”

            “You got less than when you started.  I’d call that a loss.”

            “It’s an investment.”  Without leaning in or shifting his eyes, Tom somehow contrived to make his voice softer, conspiratorial.  With the hum of conversation and activity in the saloon, no one beyond their table could have heard him.  “See Jonas, there at the poker table?”

            “The one with unholy luck.”

            “He’s a stablehand for the stage line.”

            “Then he needs the money more than you do, I guess.”

            Tom pulled a disgusted face.  “Just shut up a minute.  Now suppose I walk up to Jonas and ask him when a stage is due, carrying gold or payroll.  Suppose I ask him who’s driving, what kind of guards are aboard, and whatnot?  Suppose I offered Jonas ten dollars to tell me.  You think he would?”

            Cash ate his meal, seeing where this was headed but knowing Tom would have to run out of steam on his own.

            “Hell no, he’d have the sheriff on us is what.”  Tom poked the tabletop with his index finger for emphasis.  “But if lose ten dollars to Jonas, I get the chance for some friendly conversation.  It just takes a little longer is all, to steer the topic around where you want it, and you got to listen to a lot of useless nonsense until then.  Lord, some people do love to talk.”

            “Yeah, Jonas seemed awful gabby.”

            “I know his name and where he works.  I know he came here from Orem three years ago.  I know his wife nags him.”  Tom smiled knowingly and tapped the side of his nose.  “And I know he leans back in his seat when he’s holding a weak hand, because he wants to look casual.”

            Cash sucked the last morsels off his spoon and refilled his coffee cup from the metal pot on the table.  Then he said, “Tom, I apologize.”

            Dove Ed looked up, and Tom narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  Cash said, “I mean it.  With information like that, there ain’t a strongbox in the Territory that’s safe from us.”

            For a moment Cash thought he might have pushed it too far; Tom’s face froze and color rose from his shirt collar to his cheeks.  Cash kept his expression innocent but his body tensed, waiting.  Then a chortle erupted from Dove Ed and the moment passed as Tom and Cash laughed as well.

            “You son of a bitch,” Tom said, shaking his head and chuckling.  He tossed back a quick drink of whiskey and refilled his glass, then added a dollop to Cash’s coffee cup.  Dove Ed pulled his tea back and shook his head.  Tom and Cash toasted and drank, then Tom took his bottle and stood.

            “Better get back to it,” he said.

            Cash said, “See if you can’t find out where Jonas plays poker.  Then we’ll have it licked.”

            They laughed again, and Tom leaned over the table.  To Dove Ed he said, “This might take a while yet.  I could hang in there longer if I had another of them twenty-dollar coins...or two, if you can spare them.”

            This made Cash laugh even harder as Dove Ed solemnly dug into his pocket and produced one of the remaining gold coins and handed it over.  Tom bounced it on his palm as though debating whether to ask for more, but finally he straightened, tucking the coin away.  Touching his hat to the others, he turned and made his way back toward the card game, where Jonas the stablehand still sat in rapt attention with his cards.

            Cash doused his laughter in his coffee, whistling noiselessly at the bite of the whiskey.  “Better count those last two eagles, Dove Ed,” he said.  “Tom might of talked you out of them without you noticing.”

            He drained his cup to the dregs, then planted both palms on the table and pressed himself to his feet.  “We’ve had a meal and a drink,” he said.  “That leaves women and cards, and cards can’t dance.  Shall we find ourselves a dance hall?”

            Dove Ed shook his head without looking up, and fiddled with the creases in his shirtfront, plucking them this way and that.  “You go ahead,” he said.  “I thought to get some cake.”

            “Cake?”  Cash couldn’t believe it at first, until he saw Alice Parry emerge from the kitchen, and Dove Ed’s eyes following her.  “All right, then.  Catch up when you can, but don’t expect me to save a dance for you.”

            He headed outside, shrugging into his coat and adjusting his hat.  On the porch he turned and looked back into the hazy light of Owens and Price.  Near the door, Tom had gotten back into his poker game, his stack of currency much healthier than before.  Toward the back, Dove Ed stood talking with Alice.  Cash couldn’t see his face, but the girl smiled at Dove Ed and once even laughed at something he said.  With them seen to, he started off the porch, listening for the sound of bright music and laughing women to guide him.

            His eyes full of light-dazzle, he did not notice Morgan Morgan farther down the boardwalk.  From where he stood he could see inside the saloon, directly to the table where they had been sitting.