The Mine

Seth had turned the corner in the shaft when he found it. It was dynamite that had been used to hollow out more of the mine shaft, but he’d found the mother-lode. The miner in him worried about the post-explosion ventilation but he shook off the thought. He had to hurry. He could hear the posse clambering into the mine behind him.

He cut a four inch length of fuse – a ten second burn – and crimped it into a detonator with his teeth. A bullet cracked over his head and struck the side of the shaft, causing a cloud of small rock fragments and dust to irritate his eyes. He held his breath for a few seconds while he worked.

~~~

Seth had met Molly in Las Vegas, New Mexico Territory, where she’d been working in Carmen’s Saloon. He’d dropped in to enjoy a game of faro before heading off to look for work in the mines near Clifton, Arizona Territory. Carmen had personally introduced them.

They quickly hit it off. Molly became his favorite girl and, for her part and to Carmen’s displeasure, she began to shun other customers. Soon people would see Molly moving about town hanging onto the arm of a hard-bitten, unkempt stranger.

Seth knew it couldn’t last. He had tried to find employment, first in town then at the surrounding ranches, only to come up dry. There was precious little work to be had and, where there was some, he’d failed to get hired.

He feared that his reputation was following him. He couldn’t really fault anyone not wanting a man who had done time at Yuma prowling about their homesteads. Years before in Socorro a drunken cowboy had seen that Seth was unarmed and had called him out, attempting to shame him. The cowboy hadn’t counted on the speed and power of the two fists that killed him. Even though the townsfolk sympathized with Seth, the law pointed out that he’d struck the first blow. His next seven years were spent at the Territorial Prison at Yuma, Arizona Territory, as a guest of the government.

~~~

He cut a small hole into one of the sticks of dynamite and pushed the detonator into it. A second bullet struck the boulder behind which he was crouched and whined into the darkness. By God enough, he thought, and popped up suddenly.

He loosed a blast from his coach gun in the direction of the firing. He was close enough to the entrance of the shaft that light still penetrated, although just barely. The shadows were large and deep. The concussion of the blast caused dust from the walls and roof to obscure his vision. His ears were ringing now. He thought he’d heard a yelp when he fired but he couldn’t be sure.

~~~

Molly was devastated when he said he’d have to leave. She asked why he couldn’t stay and work in Las Vegas. When he told her he’d tried but there was no work to be found she began to cry.

“I’ve found my man and now he’s leaving me.”

Seth’s heart softened. He took her soft hand into his own calloused palm. He looked into her swimming eyes.

“As soon as I find work I’ll send for you. Will you come?”

She sniffled, then looked at him.

“To Clifton?”

“Yes, to Clifton.”

“You know I will. Wait for me.”

He’d stopped in Springerville for some rest and to reacquaint himself with civilization. It was a mistake. He was in a saloon whose name he’d forgotten when a large customer, upset for reasons known only to himself, elbowed Seth and pushed him aside as he bellied up to the bar. This time Seth was armed and made his displeasure known. Whether others saw the man twitch, Seth couldn’t know. He was sure they saw the blur when Seth cleared leather and drilled the other customer with a single .45 Colt round over the heart. As the man hit the floor Seth knew his chances of going back to Yuma had just increased dramatically. He walked quickly from the saloon. As he mounted up he heard someone inside yell,

“Get Sheriff McIntyre!”

Seth spurred his horse and left Springerville at a gallop.

He made his way to the Coronado Trail. Blazed by Arizona Ranger Joe Pearce, the trail snaked south from Springerville to the mining towns of Morenci and Clifton.

Just south of Hanagan Meadow his horse pulled up. Seth was certain he’d bruised a foot on a rock so he dismounted and walked him, fully aware that he was losing valuable time. When he felt sure he should walk no more, he mounted up and took it slow, wanting to spare his horse as much punishment as possible.

He’d only traveled a short distance when he looked back. He swore as he saw movement through the trees behind him. Spurring his horse he lowered his head to let the brim of his hat deflect the cold air. As he crossed a small rise he saw the mine shaft off to his left. He was torn. He could see smoke in the distance. Not too far beyond the outlying camp would be the outskirts of Clifton. His horse was beginning to limp again so he turned him toward the mine shaft and kicked him into one last sprint.

He shucked his shotgun from its scabbard and dismounted at a run. He was within steps of the mine’s entrance when he felt a sledgehammer-like blow against his lower back. He stumbled. Looking down, he saw blood oozing through his trousers and the shirt above them where the bullet had exited. He’d been gut-shot from behind. He knew that likely it was a death sentence. He made his way into the mine.

~~~

Hidden behind his boulder now he surrounded his stick of dynamite with as many of the remaining sticks that he could and tied them together with a long strand of fuse. As he reached into his shirt pocket for a match he caught himself reaching toward his other pocket for a cigar. He fought the impulse, the continuous light and smoke would pinpoint his position.

Turning so that his back was again toward the posse, he lit the match and used it to light the fuse. He stabbed the match into the dirt, grinding it out. Then, still crouching and with his abdomen feeling like it was on fire, he turned toward the lawmen.

Ten.

He rose suddenly and fired the shotgun’s second barrel. His timing was perfect. A posse member had been moving up between areas of cover and the load of buckshot caught him low, from his abdomen to his knees. The man dropped immediately and let out a painful shout. Seth remembered seeing a trail of his own blood across the mine floor as he dropped back down behind the boulder. He noted that he hadn’t seen a man with a badge but he knew that he’d be toward the front of the group, leading the way.

Nine.

He’d begun to feel woozy from the loss of blood. He broke the shotgun to reload.

Eight.

Instinctively he knew that his situation was hopeless. The posse wouldn’t leave without him. He was determined not to go back to Yuma. It was now simply a question of what would get him first, his wound or the lawmen.

Seven.

He rose again and touched off both barrels. Immediately the deafening roar of a multi-gun fusillade filled the mine shaft. He felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder and, simultaneously, what felt like a powerful punch smashed into his midsection.

Six.

He fell back behind the boulder. The air was filled with dust and gunsmoke that quickly filled his eyes and nostrils. He could hear nothing beyond the ringing in his ears.

Five.

The mine floor behind his boulder was now painted red. He laid the shotgun down.

Four.

He reached for the bundle of dynamite, fuse burning.

Three.

Picking it up with his right arm he fought the pain and began to stagger to his feet.

Two.

Eyes closed, he said aloud,

“Molly, I wish I could have waited longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hotel desk clerk was listening to the young woman before him. Pretty, he thought.

“…I left when he did. I took the stage, thought I’d surprise him. I figured we’d get here to Clifton close to the same time. Maybe just a few days apart.”

They both heard the vibration in the building walls before they felt it. Then, in a matter of seconds, the sound of a distant boom. They could tell it was miles away and yet it echoed from the surrounding hills for nearly a full minute.

“What was that?!”

The desk clerk smiled.

“Mining, ma’am. Deepening a mine shaft. We have explosions all the time, although they’re not usually that loud.”

“I see. Anyway, I am so excited to see him! And after I do, I’m going to introduce him to my father. My relationship with Daddy hasn’t been so rosy these past few years. Perhaps you know my father? Sheriff Jeremiah McIntyre of Apache County.”