Riders of the Silver Trail

By Franklin D. Lincoln

The Frontier G-Man is back. This time Jack Clayton finally comes face to face with the man responsible for high level government corruption that has sent him all over the west trying to stop tyranny and overthrow of the American way of life as we know it. This time our nation's currency is threatened and America's silver supply is being exhausted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monogram Press
• Release date: Dec 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311647009

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RIDERS

OF

THE

SILVER TRAIL

A Frontier G-Man Novel

Franklin D. Lincoln

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PUBLISHED BY:

Monogram Press

Riders of the Silver Trail- Frontier G-Man No. 3

Copyright © 2012 by Franklin D. Lincoln

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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CHAPTER I

THE DARK RIDER

The Nevada moon hung low over the horizon, climbing into the empty purple sky of early night; few stars studding the clear royal tapestry of the darkness. The huge round silvery sphere spread its shimmering moonlight over the rolling countryside casting long shadows from the butte spires and ponderosa pine. October chill filled the air.

A rider emerged from the trees briefly, on the ridge overlooking the valley below. For a moment the figure was illuminated against the brilliance of the moon. An ominous figure dressed in black astride an equally black horse. The horse bore no markings, only solid ebony and the rider was totally enshrouded in darkness, dressed in black from head to toe, with black hat, black riding cape, and a black mask that covered the entire face except for two holes for peering eyes.

The rider, realizing exposure in the moon glow, pulled the big black horse back into the cover of tree shadows. The black started to stamp and pull at the bit, eager to keep moving, but the masterful touch of the rider drew him quickly under control and soon he settled to a patient wait, its warm breath steaming in the chill of the night air, as the rider sat quietly watching the valley below.

All was quiet and dark in the valley. By day, the sight would have been one of furious industry as mine workers worked hard and long in the Glory Hill silver mine. The operations were considerable and at least twenty workers were on hand toiling and sweating in the tunnels that drilled into the other side of the valley wall. Standing apart from the dig site, casting a large shadow, was a large wooden framed building. Here the silver ore was refined and an adjacent structure provided the stamping for silver bars.

The workers had gone home for the night and all was quiet below. No lights exuded from the refinery or stamp mill. Not a soul seemed to be stirring, but the ominous rider knew the valley was not empty. There would be guards about. Usually three men protected the area at all times, but they remained unseen most of the time, appearing briefly during their rounds whenever they emerged from shadow or when the moon was bright enough to reveal them as it was tonight.

An hour ticked by. The rider waited. Watched. Finally a guard appeared out of the shadows, striding toward the refinery, his Winchester held high across his chest, alert.

The sound of wagon wheels and trappings of harness and the thud of iron shod horses hooves broke the stillness of the air. The guard hurried his approach anticipating the arrival of wagon and team as its shadowy bulk came into view along the trail from the west and pulled up to the front of the refinery. The driver, pulling at the reins and murmuring low commands to the snorting team, drew to a halt. Two outriders had preceded the wagon and two more from the rear pulled around the outfit and joined the lead men. They greeted the guard with low tones and dismounted. The guard strode to the refinery’s entrance that consisted of two opposing barn like doors that opened away from each other to leave a wide opening , big enough to drive a wagon through.

A light flared from inside the building and then the guard reappeared carrying a lantern. The scene was now illuminated enough to reveal the canvas covered wagon box as the driver urged the team forward past the refinery a bit, then halting the team before pulling back on the reins, forcing the team to back up as he expertly guided the wagon until the rear wheels were just far enough into the refinery to allow room for unloading.

With the team outside and the wagon inside, the men could no longer be seen by the dark rider. Eyes peering though the holes of the black mask, now focused on another shadowy figure moving stealthily through the shadows toward the refinery.

Ramon Chavez crawled into the scrub brush a short distance from the refinery. He was a young man of about thirty and his dark Mexican eyes darted back and forth under the dark sombrero that covered his black wavy hair. He slid his lithe sinewy body into the thicket and lay prone for several minutes watching and listening to the activity before him. He had spent the last hour evading the guards on duty. He knew their rounds well for he had been a guard himself for several weeks. But last night, he had been fired. Ben Colby, co-manager of the mine had become enraged the night before when Ramon had investigated activity at the stamping mill and Colby was there, for whatever reason, Ramon did not know. Colby had called him a stupid Mex and fired him on the spot, warning him not to be seen around there again. He was specifically warned not to appeal to Ed Gordon, the half owner of the Glory Hill mine. Gordon was a partner with The Nevada Ore Company, an organization that had recently sent Ben Colby to manage and oversee their half share of the mine, but Ramon did not know who the individuals were who comprised the Nevada Ore Company. Ed Gordon was a fair and honest man. Why he was in league with this outside syndicate, he did not know. He surmised that Gordon had needed financing and the partnership was a way of getting it. It seemed to Ramon that this financing came with a high price, for Gordon and Colby were always at odds and tempers flew often. Ramon had never liked Colby. Colby was a big hulk of a man, more muscle than fat and very mean and egotistical. There seemed to be something sinister about him and Ramon was suspicious of him. These nighttime activities at the mine had been increasing over the past week. Ramon’s curiosity was what brought him to the stamp mill the night before.

Fortunately for Ramon, Colby thought him to be a dumb Mex. Colby might have killed him on the spot last night if he had known otherwise.

Now as Ramon lay in the bushes watching, he reached to the pistol riding on his hip and pulled it free. He held it at the ready. He had to move closer for he could not see what was happening inside. He waited a while longer. Only the driver was still in sight on the wagon seat holding the horses steady. One of the men returned from the building, said something to the driver and went back inside. With a few cuss words the driver wrapped the reins about the brake handle and lowered his pot bellied frame to the ground. He spat tobacco in disgust and lumbered inside.

Now was Ramon’s chance. He skittered out of the brush, rushed silently to the side of the refinery and braced his back against the wall, trying to hold his breath and remain silent. From here he could lean around the corner and peer through the hinge crack between the left hand door and the wall. If someone came out he could quickly duck back around the corner. He pushed his sombrero back from his head to fall between his shoulders suspended by the chin strap. His eyes strained to see into the gloom. He could see men return to and from the wagon, obviously unloading something, but Ramon could not see around the wagon enough to see what it was. He listened intently. Voices were low and he could barely make them out.

When room had been made in the wagon bed, two men finally climbed in and started lifting the freight out to the receivers on the floor. What ever it was, it was heavy for the two men grunted and their bodies flexed with the weight. The light from the lantern glinted on the cargo as it was handed down. Minted silver bars sparkled in the glow.

Why was silver being brought in? It should be being shipped out. Perhaps it was being returned to the mine. Or was it stolen from somebody else.