Things were now clear in Goldie’s mind. She knew what was happening. Charles Banyan was buying up houses on the Eggleston side of Falcon Drive to obtain mineral rights to the land. And what was under that string of houses was tunnel “22” of the old Maynard mine. A tunnel he believed still held a valuable silver vein. But how, she wondered, was Banyan’s attention drawn to that particular tunnel? Within another minute, she discovered the answer. She turned away from the model of the town and started to examine the antiques displayed in the glass cases on tables that nearly outlined the entire floor of the society. There were pistols, canteens, mining hats, pickaxes, and mixed in among them was a booklet of some kind. There was a handwritten date on its cover that read May 10, 1882.
“What’s this?” Goldie asked.
“That’s one of the society’s newer acquisitions. It’s the final geology report done by Maynard’s engineers. Maynard Mining went out of business in 1930, and we obtained this from one of their former employees in late ’39. Maynard shut everything down in Sparkledove in June of 1882. There wasn’t anything left in the mine. The yields had been getting smaller and smaller for some time.”
“Do you mind if I see that report?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, dear. But the mayor has strict rules about the artifacts. He’s actually the only one who has the key to the case. But I could ask him about it if you want?”
“No,” Goldie waved off, downplaying it. “It’s not important. I was just curious. But—the yields getting smaller and smaller, the mayor told you this?”
Harriette nodded. “Oh, yes. He was fascinated with the report. Read it over and over again when we first got it. He’s quite the authority. He told me everything at Maynard was played out.”
Yeah,Goldie thought.Everything except for tunnel “22.”
Just then, the two women heard what sounded like a gunshot and a woman screaming on the street outside.
“What was that?” Harriette wondered, looking out the front window.
They heard what sounded like another gunshot, then somebody ran by the front picture window going in the opposite direction from the sound.
“You better stay here,” Goldie said. “I’ll go check it out.”
As she stepped outside onto River Street, she saw two more people across the street running away from the sounds she’d heard. In another couple of seconds, she understood why. On the same side of the street where she’d seen the people running, but a block down, was a man in his early thirties standing on the plank sidewalk. He had a few days’ growth of black beard, was wearing a winter coat, and was aiming an old-style Winchester repeating rifle at a pretty but frightened woman crouched behind a car on Goldie’s side of the street. The woman was about the same age as the man, wearing an open overcoat, and was taking cover behind a 1938 green Dodge sedan parked in front of Miller’s General Store.
“Horace? Put that damn thing down!”Deke Miller angrily yelled, poking his head out of the store’s front door.“Alice? Come here, dear,”he ordered the woman, extending an arm. She was only about seven feet away from the front door.
Just then, Charles Banyan came out of the realty office without his winter coat to see what was happening. Across the street, and running toward the man with the rifle, he saw Stu Frey hurrying down the sidewalk toward the shooter. Banyan then glanced behind him, saw Goldie watching this unfold twenty feet away, and muttered, “Oh, shit.” Meanwhile, the woman named Alice behind the green Dodge took a crouching step toward Deke Miller. But the man with the rifle quickly cocked it, took aim again, and fired. The glass in the driver’s side window suddenly shattered from the .40-caliber shell, and Alice shrank back behind the car as if being pulled by a magnet. A second after that, Deke retreated inside and shut his store door. Two seconds after that, the man named Horace with the rifle abruptly turned and pointed it at an oncoming Stu Frey.
“Stop or die!”he ordered.
Stu halted his advance but shook his head disapprovingly at the man with the rifle.
Turning his attention back to the Dodge, Horace stepped off the plank sidewalk and onto the street. There were only a few cars on the street at the time, and all of the drivers saw what was happening and stopped.
“Horace Mason!”a voice authoritatively yelled.
Eli Johnson appeared from one of the cross streets a block away on Goldie’s side of the street and walked onto River Street. He wore his usual jacket and uniform and limped slowly but steadily past the stopped cars toward the man with the gun. He was also, as usual, unarmed.
“What’s all this about, Horace?” he asked calmly.
“Stay back, Sheriff!”the gunman warned, turning the rifle toward Eli.
“Now you know I can’t do that,” the blond-haired, blue-eyed lawman smiled, still coming. “Look yonder up the street. The mayor’s watching. You don’t want to get me in trouble with my boss, do ya?”
Horace quickly cocked his rifle again.
“You take one more step and I swear I’ll shoot you down!”
Eli stopped and raised a conciliatory hand. “Well, if you’re going to shoot me. Can I at least know why?”
“That slut of a wife of mine,” Horace said, taking another step toward the green Dodge. “I just found out she’s been sleeping around with Benny Hudson.”
“Uh-huh,” Eli said. “So, naturally, that means you should shootme.”
“I will if you try to stop me. I’m gonna kill her!”
Horace suddenly turned and fired another round at the Dodge. Alice screamed. The front driver’s side tire burst, hissed, and the car listed to the left.
