Heavy Metal

By C.R. Willie

Deep in the bowels of the Samaria Mountains, Jack Crampton labors in search of the mother lode. He knew he was getting close when the last blaster had revealed evidence of lead and silver, and an enormous deposit of a grayish, chalky mineral.

This worthless mineral Jack had discovered turns out to be the catalyst to a heart-pounding thriller that leads from the legend of the Iron Door through the disaster of the Bay of Pigs, to the brink of nuclear war at the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Burt Jones, retired air force officer, leads the way in a race against time to control this heavy metal, which will decide U.S. military might, or subjection to Soviet domination.

HEAVY METAL draws from a local legend amid rumors about Jesse James and the Wild West in uncovering a secret that could change the course of history. The prologue sets the stage for this historical fiction novel, which causes the reader to wonder about a much different world than the one that exists today, had this tale turned out differently.

Who will end up with the map to the Iron Door, and who will be left to regret its loss? Possession means military might; its loss means subjection to the Kremlin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491836941

Book preview

CONTENTS

PART I

FROM DUST THOU ART

PART II

OUT WITH THE OLD

PART III

OVER THERE

PART IV

THE BAUXITE CONNECTION

PART V

THE OTHER FOOT FALLS

This book is dedicated to my wife, Lois, without whose encouragement and positive promptings, I could never have endured to the end.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This is a work of historical fiction. The basic idea is fiction and any reference to actual people, places, events, or quotes are used in the historical context only.

I would like to acknowledge the benefit that I received from reading three works of non-fiction and thank the authors for their contributions to this historical fiction book. I learned a great deal from reading these books and used some of the quotes and historical background in my work. I recommend all three books to anyone interested in learning more about the Bay of Pigs, the Cuban Missile Crisis, or the Kennedy Presidency during this time in history.

One Brief Shining Moment, William Manchester, Little Brown and Company 1983

The Bay of Pigs, Peter Wyden, Simon and Schuster, 1979

The Missiles of October: The Story of the Cuban Missile Crisis 1962, Eric Abel, MacGibbon and Kee, 1968

PART I

FROM DUST THOU ART

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1

May 1869 Samaria Mountains, Idaho

Jack Crampton was dead tired. His faded denim shirt was dark with sweat that dripped down his tanned neck. The weathered face was drenched as large beads of perspiration rolled from his wide forehead down through his iron colored beard, which absorbed them like a sponge.

You’re too darned old for this, Jack cursed softly to himself, as he leaned heavily on the reins, and half-begged, half-dragged Dan, his trusty burro, and only friend in the world, up the side of the mountain.

At forty-nine years, he wasn’t that old, but thirty years of hard labor at the mine had aged him fifty. Jack Crampton was in remarkable shape, however, considering the abuses he had placed upon himself. His body was somewhat short at five-foot nine, but it was broad and strong. His powerful legs pumped like iron pistons up the steep slope. His arms were as hard as the rock he was digging out of the hole in the side of the mountain, and his bowed back had supported and propelled tons of earth from the bowels of the Samaria Mountains. His eyes were dark and energetic, shining with an inner determination to push on until he had plundered all that the old Crampton Stake had to offer.

His father had worked the family mine until he had died of old age at forty-three. Jack was of the same stock, and had become obsessed with finding the true vein, the mother lode that the majestic mountain had for so long withheld. For this reason, Jack never married and lived alone, long since chained to his desire and passion for success in the mine.

Jack slipped on a loose rock and went down hard on his left knee. He got up cursing, Bless us, you blasted stones! C’mon Dan, let’s get a move on. He pulled harder on the worn leather reins, making the burro quicken his pace. I can feel it, Dan. We’re getting so close I can taste it! He ran his tongue over a lower molar on the left side of his firm jaw. It was solid gold. He could indeed taste it; he could feel it.

The mountain had not been totally uncaring over the years. Jack, and his family before him, had scratched out a living from her, and he did have the necessities to sustain life: food, shelter, clothing and dynamite, all of which were loaded on Dan’s back as Jack continued his trek to the mine.

He never had much to show for his efforts, and while almost everyone else around him took up farming, he did have a fair nest egg of gold, stockpiled up for that day when he could no longer work the mine. He really never believed he would see that day. And he never told anyone anything about the mine, except for Dan, of course.

Jack Crampton was a cautious man. He never went the same direction two days in a row. As usual, he had left early this morning so no one would see him. As he worked his way up the final incline of one of the many gullies that cut down from the mountain peaks, he paused to catch his breath and gaze down on the valley below.

Ain’t that a beaut, Dan, old boy? he said to the burro, in a soft and reverent voice. Jack never tired of the beauty of the Samaria Valley where he was raised, and from his vantage point at the top of Squirrel Town Peak he could see clear to the Rockies, as they rose up majestically at the far eastern side of the valley. Between the two mountain ranges lay a lush, green hamlet where homestead farmers had staked their claims to the sections of rich farm ground that made up the tiny communities of Samaria, Pleasantview, and Malad.

He filled his lungs with the clean, cool mountain air. The old mountain pays in more than just gold, Dan. He looked around one more time and then turned and started down the back side of Squirrel Town and dropped out of view. About thirty-five feet below was an outcropping of clay stone, and just under this ledge was a small opening between two rocks, partially covered by sagebrush and dry-crested wheat grass. The opening would have been missed by anyone not knowing exactly where to look. Jack guided Dan to the side of the rocks and laid the reins over the long brown neck of the burro. Dan lowered his head and began to tear at the dry grass at the base of the rock. Jack knew that Dan would wait there for him, so he dropped onto the seat of his denim jeans and slipped between the rocks and down into an anteroom carved out of the small opening in the mountain.

His father had chanced on the cave, now the mine, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, while he was rounding up the horses for Grandpa Crampton. The small rock he saw sparkled as the sun’s rays caught it and the young Crampton stopped to pick it up. It was then he spied the cave. He made a crude map of the area on the back of a flat, soft rock and came back several months later. He learned about hard-rock mining and passed this knowledge on to Jack along with the fever. That fever had burned ever since.

Jack felt the same old excitement begin to rise as he prepared to enter the mine. Today seemed different to him; there was something in the air. He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he felt rushed, and quickened his usual pace in getting everything ready. He just knew it would be a day he would not soon forget.

*     *     *

Evening was just beginning to settle in over Corrine, a small town near the Utah side of the Utah/Idaho border. Not much ever happened in Corrine. The farmers worked hard six days a week and on Sunday bundled the wives and children into the wagons, usually making a full load, and went to church at the Mormon Ward Meeting House; there to be extolled on the virtues of hard work, honesty, and clean living. It was quiet and peaceful in Corrine, and everyone seemed to be content with their lot in life. Everyone, except Jesse.

The leather, well-worn and broken, creaked as Jesse W. James adjusted his weight in the saddle. It feels like I’ve grown into this saddle, Jesse said to the three rough looking outlaws who rode with him. What is this place, anyway?

They call it Corrine and we just crossed into Utah a while ago, answered Lee Colton. Colton was a lanky cowboy, with a dirty black beard and shifty eyes. He and Joe Dolling and Bob Payne had been drifting around the West for about two years now, when they met Jesse.

The trio had been living by robbing the stage lines that carried gold from the highly productive mines of Idaho and Montana to the rail lines in Ogden and Salt Lake City. Because of the mining and increased trade activity in Montana and Idaho, a lot of gold was on the move. That movement followed a stage trail through the Soda Springs and Lava Springs Passes which were narrow cuts between heavy rock cliffs. These passes were well suited for the many highwaymen who hid and plundered the Overland and Wells Fargo Stage Lines that passed through and on to Malad and then Salt Lake City. The three had heard of, and idolized Jesse James, and felt that God himself had come among them when Jesse suddenly turned up at their secluded campsite in southeastern Idaho. The outlaws’ hideout laid nestled high in the Samaria Mountains.

Jesse was a handsome man with slicked-down black hair and a trimmed black beard. He was not particularly large, but strong and energetic. The eyes were dark and seemed to look right through a person. There was no conscience in Jesse James and his eyes were as cold as ice.

Jesse had left Missouri a few months before, after a family argument with his brother Frank. Frank was older than Jesse by two years, but Jesse was always the leader, and Frank was having some trouble accepting this. Jesse decided to go out West to get away from the family for a while, and when he came upon Lee, Joe, and Bob a golden idea took shape. That idea had brought them to the outskirts of Corrine, Utah, at dusk on that cool summer night in 1879.

*     *     *

The rock walls glistened cool and damp in the early morning sun. Jack had retrieved his tools from Dan’s pack and was inspecting them to make sure the drills were sharp and everything was ready. He moved a little quicker today, and showed less concern than was his normal behavior. Jack had picked up more and more gold dust and nuggets as he tunneled deeper into the mountain. He had been adjusting his blasting to the southwest, trying to pick up the vein that he felt sure was there. All the signs looked promising. He had passed through deposits of lead and some silver suspended in clay. Both metals were usually found in company with gold, but he was somewhat confused about a chalky white rock formation that he had uncovered at the last blasting. The material was fairly soft and gray-white in color with an earthy luster and darker lumps. Jack hoped that this rock would not cause much trouble in his further blasting, and he decided to move to the right of the formation, hoping to go around it in locating the gold. The gray-white wall of rock had an uneven fracture and was massive, filling the entire left side of the blast face. Jack examined the claylike material closer and assumed it to be a near worthless ore. It would only be more work for him to have to haul it out of the tunnel and dump it. It wouldn’t yield enough money to even make it worth hauling, and Jack prayed he could find a way around it to the gold. With these thoughts in his head he focused on the prize, and the gray-white material became a tiny footnote, barely noticed, in his overall quest.

Jack checked his supplies to see that he had everything and then ducked under the rock ceiling and crawled out to the sunlight.

O.K. Dan, you’re on your own again, Jack said as he gave the burro a soft pat on the neck and reached behind his ears and slipped the old worn bridle from Dan’s head. Jack always let the burro loose when he entered the mine. He took about a week’s supply of food and water with him because it took that long to complete and clean at least one blast. He hoped that he could get two done this time. Dan was all too familiar with the routine and would graze around the mine until Jack once again came up from the earth.

Below in the valley was a gorge with a flowing spring which provided drinking water and Jack knew that Dan had all he needed and would wait patiently until he returned. With the burro unpacked, Jack gave it a friendly slap on the rump and watched as Dan moved down the slope to the next patch of grass and began to eat.

Hopefully, old friend, you’ll soon be eatin’ the finest clover hay that money can buy, Jack called after the burro. He turned and once again disappeared into the tunnel beneath the rocks of the Samaria Range.

How nice it would be, Jack thought to himself, to be able to have the money and manpower to drill with one of those new-fangled machine drills. But because he had neither, and really didn’t trust other men or machines, he was left to the chore of cutting the blast holes by single-jacking. To accomplish this, Jack held the steel starter drill, or bull steel, in one hand and swung a four-pound sledge with the other. He handled the bull steel, about a foot long with a one and one quarter inch tip, and the sledge with ease. The muscles of his arms were as hard as the steel that he drove into the rock face at the back of the tunnel. The tunnel had some small off-chutes, but for the main part it was a single shaft that Jack and his father had worked for twenty years. Because the mine was worked alone, dropping a vertical shaft was impossible, but Jack and his father were lucky to actually stumble onto the deposit by finding an outcropping of gold-bearing ore. When the shaft was started, it was sunk on a very gradual incline, which tried to follow the apparent tilt of the lode. In order to turn the ore car around and to help provide a drier place to work, since the condensing air and dampness of the shaft tended to gather and run downward onto the shaft floor, Jack built a short platform of wood and metal plate, which he pushed along the tunnel as it was lengthened. Each blast would lengthen the tunnel by about three feet, and after twenty years, the Samaria Crampton Mine extended almost three-quarters of a mile into the mountainside.

The clay and lead formations of the rock were usually quite stable and Jack employed the ordinary post-and-cap method of timbering, in which each set of timbers resembled a doorframe spaced about five to ten feet apart. The ceiling was self-supporting, except in a few very damp areas, where the Deidesheimer System of square sets was used in which Jack built a square box with a supported ceiling.

The timbers were cut and squared by Jack at a small sawmill that he operated by his cabin, which was set on a short hill next to the Pleasantview Warm Springs. Jack would cut the trees in the surrounding mountains and then float them down a channel he had ditched from the warm springs canal. A large water wheel on the canal supplied the power to turn the sharp, circular blade of the saw. Jack and Dan would then drag the timbers to the mine and drag the ore back down. Jack used a hand crusher, made up mostly of steel blocks, muscle, and sweat. The crushed ore was then screened by Jack and the actual gold nuggets and some gold dust were separated out. In this manner Jack had drilled, blasted, and inched his way deep into the depths of the mountain. It was a hard life, but the dream burned strong within him and Jack toiled on in search of the mother lode.

Jack’s arms and shoulders ached. The pain increased with each blow he delivered. But each blow drove the bull steel a little deeper into the resisting rock. As Jack brought the sledge down with all his strength, he would turn the steel drill slightly with each hit so the drill would not stick. Jack paused to rest and wiped a dirt-soaked shirt sleeve across his forehead. It did no good to dry his head, but he seemed to think it did.

Bless us, Jack whispered in an exhausted release of breath. I’d swear this rock gets harder and deeper each day.

Jack had been working three days on the drill holes for the new blast. He was just finishing up the seventh and final hole in the blast pattern. In the center of the rock face, Jack had drilled three holes about three feet apart. These holes were drilled in a rough triangular design and angled to meet at the apex of a pyramid with the rock face. Next, Jack had drilled a reliever hole at the top of the face, edger holes at each side, and a lifter at the bottom. With proper timing, the center charges exploded first, making a cavity into which the slightly later blasts from the top and sides squeezed the surrounding rock. Finally, the lifter would blow the rubble out into the tunnel where Jack would muck it into the hopper car. He had to cut the fuses so the timing would be just right to cause the correct blast. Jack was a master of dynamite, a very skilled blaster.

The shaft had been cut out of the mountain so Jack could stand upright and walk through it. This saved many backaches and a lot of time in removing the ore. Jack always left his explosives about three-fourths of the length of the tunnel away as a precaution against sparks that might be generated from the drilling, and also to make sure he measured a safe distance to retreat before the blast went off.

Ready to set the explosives, Jack looked at the drill holes once more, and satisfied with his work, turned and started back for his dynamite. He rested often along the way because he needed the breather and he wanted to store up his strength for the return trip after the fuse was set, which would be a much faster trip.

As Jack walked, a few specks of dirt fell down on his shoulders and damp matted hair. They immediately turned to mud and added themselves to the layer that was there before. Jack realized that he had neglected to inspect and replace some of the old timbers at the front of the shaft. He knew he had been careless and cursed to himself. Wretched old timbers should be changed, but they don’t look too bad, and bless us, I’m so close to the vein, I’ll just make a couple more blasts, then I’ll fix the timbers.

He felt good about his decision and excited at what he would find after this blast. Another flake of dirt fell on his right cheek and a small, nagging doubt tugged at his exhausted brain, but then he was at the explosives’ cache and the surge of excitement returned and the doubts were pushed out.

Chapter 2

The faces appeared to fade in and out in a bright reddish-orange color, as the flames from the fire danced up and down and the wood crackled as it was consumed. Where is this gold you bragged so much about? demanded Jesse, as he sat around the fire with Lee and the other outlaws. After waiting for just the right time, which was now more than a week, Jesse was getting short of patience.

Lee seemed a little nervous, and his eyes darted back and forth from Bob to Joe. His lips were dry and he quickly ran his tongue over them and swallowed hard. He knew he had made a mistake talking about their gold. Joe and Bob knew it, too. The whiskey they all had so readily consumed didn’t help either, and Jesse was getting more demanding with each passing day.

Don’t worry, Jesse, we’ve got it in a safe place. What do you think, we’re all stupid or something? asked Lee.

Jesse didn’t answer the question out loud, but his eyes easily showed his answer. He gave Lee a cold look, paused for effect and snarled, Safe! When you talk about gold, there is no safe place. Not even in a bank vault! He nodded over his shoulder toward the dark town of Corrine.

Now you cowards, are we partners or not? Jesse stood and his right hand eased over the worn bone handle of the Colt he had strapped to his leg. He stood calm and unruffled. His dark eyes sparkled with excitement and seemed to shine in the black night.

Lee sat motionless with his hands raised and outstretched above his gun at his waist. He wanted nobody to be mistaken that he had any intention of drawing against Jesse James. Now, Jesse, there is no need to get mad—sure we’re partners, Lee stammered.

Jesse James was in his element. He had killed before and he would no doubt kill again. These two-bit outlaws were of no concern to him, but their gold was a different matter. And don’t partners share their secrets? Jesse asked.

Lee had backed himself into a corner and it was either spill his guts or lose them. As he looked at the stone face of Jesse James and the lightning right hand that twitched just a little, he made his decision. I’ll tell you, Jesse. I’ll show you the map.

Suddenly there was a slight movement to the right of Jesse as Joe Dolling reached for his gun. No, you won’t! Joe thundered as he started to bring the blue steel barrel of his six-shooter up to fire.

Jesse seemed to melt instinctively into the ground as he dropped onto his back, drawing the deadly Colt as he went down. Joe’s gun barrel had just cleared leather as a loud single shot rang out.

The bullet drilled a clean, neat hole an eighth of an inch wide between Joe Dolling’s eyes. The impact lifted Joe a foot into the air and drove him back into the sagebrush where he laid instantly dead, his revolver still clutched in his lifeless right hand. A red river of blood ran down over the still open left eye and began to pool around what pieces were left of his exploded skull.

Lee and Bob, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, sat as still as death, staring at their dead friend. Jesse calmly stood up and dusted himself off. He then spun his Colt twice over his right index finger and slipped it lovingly back into his holster. Then he turned to face the frightened men, and with a sinister grin said, Now, pardners, let’s have a look at that map.

*     *     *

The blaster in a mine had to be a man of skill and good judgment if he proposed to enjoy a long career. Jack intended to make his career as long as possible.

Jack used the standard fuse used throughout the West, the Bickford Safety, which consisted of a core of powder surrounded by twisted strands of jute, wrapped with a layer of twine and then wrapped again on the outside with waterproof tape. The fuse burned at a reliable uniform rate and seldom failed; even when it did, it tended to fizzle out rather than burn too fast and set off a pre-mature, lethal explosion. The dynamite Jack used was housebroken by combining the explosive element, nitroglycerin with inert substances, including chalk, so he could handle it and shape it into the desired size of a relatively safe charge. He then molded the dynamite charges and set them into the drill holes. To explode, dynamite required a heavy jolt that was usually provided by a small, tubular copper blasting cap containing fulminate of mercury.

Jack inserted a cap into the center of each set charge and pressed it down firmly, with cool and steady hands. He had done this hundreds of times and felt sure nothing would go wrong. To detonate the cap, Jack measured, with experienced eyes, the exact amount of fuse and inserted it around the blasting cap. The length of the fuse would also time the sequence of the explosions. When all was ready, Jack sat back to survey his handiwork.

Bless us, I hope I’ve found you, you old illusive vein of gold! he said with determination.

Then he cut a short piece of fuse called a spitter in which to light all the other rat tails protruding from the seven charges. When the spitter burned down short enough to singe his calloused fingers, he knew it was time to depart as quickly as possible back up the shaft. He had laid just enough fuse to escape far enough back not to be harmed in the explosion. Jack then touched a spark to the spitter and it flared into life.

He picked up his kerosene lamp to see as he began to light the fuses. He had to suppress the urge to shout: Fire in the Hole!

*     *     *

A full moon shone brightly over the valley below, illuminating the deserted streets. The First National Bank, Utah, Corrine Branch, was a wooden structure newly painted white, set back off the street on the far right-hand side.

Jesse, Lee, and Bob tied their horses at the back of the mercantile which was about one hundred yards east of the bank.

This looks like taking candy from a baby, whispered Lee excitedly.

Jesse crouched beside the wagon they had stolen along the way, and casually looked around. The easy lookin’ ones are always the worst. Besides, if something can go wrong, it will.

Bob stood motionless, with the sight of his dead friend still clear in his brain. He was scared and he didn’t trust Jesse James, but he also didn’t see any way out now. They were committed and Bob feared it would be a commitment to the death.

The three outlaws stayed in the shadows and silently moved toward the rear of the bank building. Over their backs they carried the necessary tools to pull off the job in coarse burlap sacks. They froze at the sound of boots against the plank wood boardwalk. With their backs pressed into the wooden walls of the bank, Jesse hissed, Don’t move or make a sound, I’ll take care of the deputy!

Jim Fallen walked slowly up the boardwalk checking each store and shop as he went. His mind reflected back two years ago, when as only a boy of seventeen, he had been given the job of deputy by his uncle, Levi Stevenson. Levi had given the boy a real chance to develop himself, and Jim had taken to the job from the start, learning and doing everything he could because he knew that someday he would be the sheriff of Corrine. He didn’t know that dream was soon to be realized.

The muffled sound of a shovel cutting into soft, moist earth made Jim stop and listen. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the street somewhere by the bank. Jim Fallen drew his standard issue Smith & Wesson revolver and cautiously walked to the corner by the bank. He paused and listened; the digging kept on. He had taken only three steps more when suddenly the white bone handle of Jesse’s colt came crashing down on his head. His mouth dropped open and a gasp of breath escaped, his knees buckled and everything went black. Jim never saw a thing, never felt a thing and was carried away in the black void of his unconscious mind.

Bob and Lee had just finished the second hole under the bank. Fill both with dynamite and leave a five minute fuse on the second batch, Jesse instructed them.

Lee was confused and asked, Why the larger fuse? Seems we need to blow the bank and get in, get the money and get out!

That’s why I’m Jesse James and you’re only a two-bit drifter! Jesse exclaimed. The first charge will open up the building and the second will open up the vault.

Then it dawned on Lee that Jesse would be causing a diversion with the first blast, probably a fire, too. And then in the confusion they could blow the vault and get the money without anyone else realizing what had happened. It was a good plan.

Jesse had dragged Jim Fallen’s body behind the mercantile, out of the way, and he had a horse and wagon standing by as he gave the signal to light the fuse. Lee touched his half smoked cigar to the end of the fuse and it sprung into life. He quickly lit the second fuse and then scrambled to join Bob and Jesse at a safe distance. Ten seconds later the dynamite ignited and a tremendous explosion erupted into the night.

*     *     *

Dust and acrid heavy smoke were still thick in the air as Jack turned up his kerosene lamp to help him see through the dark blanket of smoke. He began to feel his way back along the tunnel walls to the blast site. He paused about half way back and thought he felt a slight tremor run the length of the shaft.

The air was beginning to clear, and Jack wished his head would. The ache in his head and the burning he felt in his lungs always came after a blast. Bless us, I’ll probably find the mother lode and then drop dead from miners’ lung; just my luck, Jack puffed as he labored through the shaft.

Jack was lucky. The blast had blown the rock clear and it lay in a pile of rubble in the center of the shaft. Jack quickly scanned the pile of rock, seeing only gray mounds, until out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glint reflect off his light. He dove at the pile like a ravenous wolf would at a fresh kill, throwing stone into the hopper as fast as he could. He brushed away dust and checked each rock, his eyes straining for another glimpse of the precious metal. Maybe it was just my imagination, thought Jack. Maybe there was no gold at all.

Just when Jack was beginning to believe that he had been seeing things, his hand brushed aside a small pile of stones, and there lay bare the largest gold nugget he had ever seen. Bless us, will you look at that! exclaimed Jack. A real chip off the gold block!

With trembling hands, Jack raised the golden prize to the light. There it was, the real McCoy! It was not his imagination, and he knew he had scratched the mother lode.

Quickly he scrambled over the remaining rocks and placed his light on the tunnel floor so that it was cast up the side of the blast face. He brushed his hands along the wall to remove the dirt and saw an amazing sight. Revealed from the blast was a system he had never seen before. Deposited to the right of the worthless white view of clay and mineral were three wide veins. Lead lay at the foundation, topped by a vein of silver. And lying on top of it all was the elusive mother lode, the pure vein of solid gold running almost two feet wide. It appeared to be very deep and long.

Tears rimmed the tired and bloodshot eyes, as Jack thought back on the toil, blood, sweat, and tears that he and his father had shed over this back-breaking hole. Bless us, Dan, our prayers have been answered, whispered Jack. Just then he heard a low, thundering rumble and the sound of breaking timber. He turned and was met with a cloud of dust, and he knew the old entrance section of the tunnel had given way under the force of the last blast. And he knew also, his luck had run out.

*     *     *

Levi Stevenson was having a nightmare. He was standing at the door of the jail, where he stayed some nights in his capacity as sheriff. There had been a loud explosion, and the bank across the street was on fire. He stood numb, staring out the window of the hardwood door, slowly shaking his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

Slowly he realized he was not having a dream, but in fact there was a fire raging across the street at the bank! He grabbed his coat, pulled on his worn leather boots, and hit the street running, while screaming, Fire! Fire! as he headed for the bank.

A dozen or so sleepy people looked out their windows just as Levi reached the boardwalk in front of the bank. As he was checking the windows to try to see what was happening inside, six or seven men rushed up with buckets. They started filling them at the pump at the street corner and quickly formed a water line to pass the buckets along.

Just then, the second charge went off and the concussion shattered the glass in the front window and spread the fire westward down the street into other shops. The shattered glass flew through the air like tiny, sharp glass bullets, cutting whatever they came in contact with.

The first volunteer received some deep cuts and imbedded glass in his right shoulder and arm. The rest of the workers were thrown to the ground from the force of the blast. Levi was not so lucky and took the force of the explosion directly in the face. The left side of his face was completely blown away and the glass all but severed what was left of his head from his body. He landed in a crimson heap in the middle of the dirt street, broken and lifeless. At that moment, unknown to him, Jim Fallon became the new sheriff of Corrine.

The wooden buildings lit up like match sticks as the fire was raging down main street in Corrine. All the townspeople were out battling the blaze and all their attention was on moving water from the pump to the fire. In the confusion, nobody noticed a single wagon draw up behind the wall of flames, a safe distance back from the bank.

The rear of the bank was completely gone, and the southern breeze fanned the flames higher and to the front of the bank. Bob and Lee threw a wet blanket over their heads and ran into the bank. They found the vault door blown from its hinges, lying on the floor of the bank. They hurried into the vault, already beginning to feel the heat from the fire. They each lifted one-hundred pound crates of gold bars and struggled out to the wagon.

How many left? Jesse asked as the two were dousing the blankets once again with cold water from a nearby horse trough.

Only two more, puffed Lee, more from the fire than from the exertion. The vault was blown wide open. The door was lying on the floor!

Jesse suddenly had an idea. Tie these ropes around the door on this trip, he called after the outlaws as they were getting ready to return into the fiery bank building.

Are you crazy? That’s an inferno in there! We barely have time to get out with the gold and our lives! yelled Lee.

Jesse pulled his gun and slowly drew back the hammer. Tie the ropes and bring back the door, or don’t come back at all!

Bob and Lee went pale in the dark night, turned and hurried with the wet blankets and ropes back into the flames.

Chapter 3

Jim Fallen opened his eyes and the room began to spin. His head felt like a punching bag that had been used too much. He felt a cool cloth placed on his hot forehead, and he tried to speak but only a low moan escaped his lips. The nurse that was caring for him gently held him still as he struggled to move. Please, be still. You have a very nasty gash at the back of your head, and you need rest for it to heal, the nurse whispered.

Jim again opened his eyes and fought to focus them and control the spinning in his head. Finally, he swallowed hard and croaked from a dry throat, Where am I? What happened?

You were found lying behind the mercantile. You’re lucky that with all the excitement and confusion during the fire anyone even found you, explained the nurse.

Jim ached all over, but he didn’t know what the nurse was talking about. What did you say? What fire? What happened? he asked desperately, with a confused tone.

Don’t you remember? Oh, Jim, I’m sorry, I just assumed you knew. There was an explosion and fire at the bank last night. Everyone in town turned out to help fight the fire. It burned the bank and the assessor’s office to the ground. Only an exhaustive effort saved the hotel and newspaper office next to them.

Where’s Uncle Levi? Jim asked, hoping he could get more details from the sheriff.

The nurse sat silently with her eyes focused on a nonexistent spot on the floor. Jim knew something was wrong, and dreaded the answer that he was going to get. The nurse looked up and her eyes were filled with tears. He’s dead, Jim. I’m so sorry. He was at the bank window when the explosion went off. I don’t think he felt any pain. She looked away as Jim’s eyes also filled with tears.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and whispered, Who did this? His jaw was set and revenge burned in his swollen eyes.

The nurse replied in a voice he was barely able to hear. By the time the fire was put out, the bank vault had been cleaned of its gold and the outlaws were gone. There were wagon tracks and horse tracks going off to the north. They cleaned out the vault of everything, including its iron door!

*     *     *

The sun was just beginning to make its majestic rise and the entire mountain was bathed in a reddish-orange hue. As the world awoke, Jesse stirred, and his eyes, dark brown and cold, came open wide and fully awake. It has been said that a man with no conscience can sleep soundly and awake alert and ready. Perhaps Jesse didn’t have a conscience, or perhaps it meant nothing, but he always slept soundly and when his eyes opened, he was wide awake. He lay silently listening for a few seconds, while his right hand slid under his saddle bags by his head and his fingers closed around his well-worn Colt revolver. He never made a move without his loyal friend, and he always watched his back.

He stood up and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean, fresh mountain air. It was great to be alive, especially for Jesse, and especially now. Today would be long, but rewarding, and he was anxious to get started.

He pulled on his boots, rough-cut cowhide, well worn, with just a few drops of dried blood across the tops that had not worn off yet. Jesse had forgotten if it was his or someone else’s. He walked over to where his partners, Bob and Lee, lay sleeping and gazed down on them. A deadly grin split his lips as he thought of the day’s coming events. Then with a rough kick he awakened Lee. Get up, we’re burning daylight!

*     *     *

The smoke and dust had finally begun to settle, Jack sat up on his knees to survey his situation. He looked at the knapsack which carried about a week’s supply of