Page 16 of Calder Country

Again, Capone and Colucci exchanged glances, as if the latter needed approval for what he was about to say. “We’re aware of that, Mrs. Weaver. But before we invest in an expensive new plane, we’ll need to know whether the plan will work. We’ll go with your Jenny and pick up another one to use as backup and for your training. Does that meet with your approval, Mr. Murchison?”

“Yes. Yes, I believe it does.” Art was nodding, almost smiling. That these men planned on buying a new plane, and that they were willing to train Ruby for future work, appeared to outweigh the risk to their lives.

But then, as she met her father’s eyes, the truth struck home. The two of them had already met with these gangsters. They had seen their faces and heard their plans. They couldn’t just reject their offer and walk away—not if they wanted to live.

* * *

Three nights later, Mason loaded a cart with a stack of firewood and two gallon-sized cans filled with kerosene. With a calm horse hitched to the load, he drove out through the back gate and headed south. Forty minutes later, he reached the entrance to the cave.

Steeling himself for a dirty job, he unloaded the wood and fuel outside the cave. The bats were gone. In the morning, they would have to find a new place to roost.

After moving the horse and empty cart to a safe distance, he soaked the woodpile with kerosene, carried each piece into the cave and tossed it into the dark, hollow space at the rear. He didn’t use the flashlight, but he could hear each piece thudding against the wall or clattering onto the floor. Sometimes he heard nothing at all. That was when he imagined the wood striking the soft clothing and crumbling bones of the corpse that had begun to haunt his nightmares. Several rats fled past him as he used the last of the kerosene to pour a trail leading out of the cave. There was just enough to get him past the outside entrance and into the open.

Striking a match on a rock, he touched it to the spilled fuel and stepped back to watch. He held his breath as the flame snaked along the trail of liquid. Anything could happen. The flame could go out. The burst of heat could collapse the cave or set the prairie on fire. The light and smoke could attract unwanted attention from as far away as the ranch or even the town.

The flame vanished into the opening. Seconds crawled past. Drops of sweat trickled down Mason’s face.

From the depths of the cave came a roar and an explosion of flame and heat that seemed to suck the air out of his lungs. Tongues of fire leaped out of the cave entrance.

Mason retreated to where he’d left the horse, prepared for a fast escape in case the dry scrub caught fire. But that didn’t happen. As the minutes passed and the explosive roar faded to the crackle of burning wood, he realized that, aside from the foul-smelling smoke that rose from the mouth of the cave, everything had gone according to plan.

He waited long enough to make sure the blaze wasn’t going to spread, then headed the horse for home. He would give the embers a few days to cool, then return to clean up the mess.

By now it was well after midnight. The sky was clear. The light breeze, blowing from the northwest, would carry the smoke smell away from the ranch. He would put the horse away, sneak up to his room, and go to bed. His mother would be none the wiser.

The house was dark when he pulled through the back gate, unhitched the horse, and left it in its stall with food and water. Stealthily, he tried the kitchen door. It was locked, probably from the inside, and he didn’t have a key.

With a muttered curse, he stole around to the front of the house and mounted the porch steps. His mother had always kept a spare key under the doormat. Yes—there it was. He thrust it into the lock. It turned easily. Mason exhaled with relief and reached for the latch.

That was when he heard snuffling and scratching sounds, followed by a low growl from the other side of the door. Damned miserable dog.

“Brutus,” he whispered, trying to sound friendly. “It’s all right, boy. It’s just me.”

The growling ceased. He could hear the dog’s clicking toenails on the hardwood floor, fading toward the parlor. Mason opened the door, half expecting to be attacked. One hand gripped the pistol. He wouldn’t shoot the dog except to save his own life, but he couldn’t be too careful.

No attack came. As his eyes adjusted to the dark parlor, he could see the dog sitting next to his mother’s big chair. Only as she spoke and moved did he realize that his mother was there, too, concealed in the chair’s deep shadows.

“Aren’t you too old to be sneaking out at night?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “You could’ve at least let me know.”

Scrambling for his wits, Mason forced a laugh. “I’m not a teenager anymore, Mother. And since when do I need your permission to visit a lady friend?”

“Does your so-called lady friend entertain her customers in a gas station? Don’t lie to me, Mason. I can smell you from here.”

He hesitated, knowing he couldn’t tell her the truth. “All right. I didn’t want to worry you. A couple of saddle tramps were camped out on the range. The fools used some kerosene to start their campfire. I saw it from the house and went out to chase them off. When they heard me coming, they rode away. I had to stamp the fire out. That’s what you can smell.”

“A likely story!” she snapped. “But even if you told the truth, I wouldn’t know whether to believe you. That’s why I can’t trust you with my money.”

“Then how do you expect me to run the ranch? How do you expect me to pay for my own needs?”

“You mean, like your lady friends? I’d say that’s your problem. If you need cash for ranch expenses, you can ask me. As for your personal needs, I already mentioned that I’d pay you a small salary in addition to room and board. That should suffice until you’ve earned my trust, but you’ll be expected to earn every cent. And you can start now.”

She glanced from Mason to the restless dog. “Brutus needs to go outside and do his business. You can take him and bring him back when he’s done. I never let him out alone at night. He’s apt to run off and get into trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?” Mason couldn’t resist some wishful thinking.

“There are skunks out there, even coyotes and bobcats. And if there’s a female in season within a mile, he’ll smell her and be off like a shot. Not so different from you in that respect—or your father. So keep an eye on him, understand?”

“I understand.” Mason knew better than to argue. He switched on the flashlight, opened the door, and whistled for the blasted dog. Brutus trotted out the door ahead of him, crossed the porch, and vanished into the dark.

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