As the vines swallowed up Heyes, a deep misgiving prickled Curry. It plummeted to the pit of his stomach like a rock through a frozen pond. With a sharp click of his tongue, he urged Buck forward; the bay waffled, swaying his head, then stepped onto the slick stones.
Curry stroked the horse's shoulder, murmuring reassurances as they approached the curtain.
The temperature dropped from the moisture collected within the verdant, dense covering. Its wetness slipped across Kid, and for a heartbeat, it and the sound of Buck's hooves were the only sensations he had. It was all so thick that he felt blind.
Then it parted, withdrawing with as much aplomb as a velvet theatre curtain, and before Kid Curry spread a canyon beyond any he had imagined.
A pair of still pools pool lay nestled in the heart of the green space, their surfaces glossy as satin. Swarths of blooms in orange, purple, and gold streamed across the plush new grass…so green, it smarted his eyes in the full sunshine, above danced butterflies to the throbbing hum of bees.
At the pool, Striga lowered her muzzle, copious waves rippling across the surface and Heyes shifted, staring about himself with a look of pure wonder.
Releasing a low whistle, Curry shook his head. "Well, I'll be…"
Heyes spun to his cousin, his grin expanding like he had just won a high-stakes poker pot.
Behind him, Curry heard hooves approaching and moved Buck on, knowing the gang was picking their way through the screen, most likely in a single trepid line.
He could even hear Lobo grumbling, "Shrubbery that consumes men whole…gotta be dotty doin' this." Then his mouse-colored gelding's inky nose appeared, and the rangy Mustang bolted through, blowing and eyes rolling.
On his heels came Trixie, her flaxen mane catching the sunlight, and Wheat pulled up, his jaw dropping as he stared.
"Keep goin'," came a call.
Wheat clicked to his mare, and Kyle's strawberry roan burst through, jumping sideways. Even as he spun his horse, Kyle gawked at the valley, shouting, "Ain't this purty."
Monty, Hardcase, and Hank flowed out next, followed by Haig, who called out, "You reckon we found paradise, boys," awe rounding out his words.
Wilkinson came next, his posture impeccable upon his sleek chestnut sorrel gelding, who had come with the illustrious moniker of 'six' when he purchased him back in Cheyenne. A very British-sounding, hearty, jovial, subdued laugh rose from him as he peered about the canyon. "If one were to be precise, they would refer to this as Edenic."
From his spot near the pool, having Heyes slid from his saddle, raised a hand and, in mock benediction, claimed, "Welcome, gentlemen, to the Garden of Eden," his voice ringing with humor.
Behind them, the sound of hooves and jingling tack signaled Preacher's arrival atop his scruffy dun horse, Penance. With a lazy smile, he tipped his hat and cast a glance at the scene. "Garden of Eden, is it?" he intoned. "Well, Pen here says he's been promised a land of milk and honey, but he'll settle for that creek water and a patch of grass. As for me—" he patted his saddlebag with mock solemnity, "I'll take the first miracle in the form of a full bottle and this peace to lay my head down in."
Hardcase brayed out a laugh, and Monty rolled his eyes, but even their gruff exteriors softened in the presence of the beauteous scene. As they fanned a quiet fell upon the group, almost as if afraid to further disturb the tranquility of the place. To the last one, they dismounted, stretching out tired limbs, letting their horses amble to the water.
"You ever been in a place so quiet you start wonderin' if the world's even still turnin'?" Haig asked.
"Too quiet for my liking," Lobo answered with dry derision, scanning nervously over his shoulder though there was nothing but stillness behind them.
"You could be correct," Preacher put in, his head lolling slightly to one side, "Mostly, it is when all seems right that the devil comes a-knockin'. Only you don't hear him till he's right atop you."
Dr. Wilkinson shifted in place, peering back the way they had come. "It is a perfect silence that compels one to listen for what is not there. What is missing.
"I don't care what y'all think," Kyle remarked, sounding like a schoolboy as he turned with his hands on his hips. "Looks like heaven to me, and I ain't one to look a gift horse in the mouth."
Watching his companions, men he felt were his family, Heyes beamed as he saw their worry being laid aside, their shoulders loosening. Nodding, he thought, I'm just going to let myself enjoy this. He inhaled long and slow, allowing himself to do so without thinking about the past or the future.
The air was crisp and thin; they were still much higher than Heyes had thought they were. But it was sweet, like inhaling honey; there was no wind to pull away the layered scents of flora and green. Inhaling once more, he exhaled heavily with a smile.
Then it was shattered like a cannon blast on a clear day as a deep, brash singing male voice ripped from the treeline:
There's a spot in my heart which no colleen may own.
There's a depth in my soul never sounded or known;
There's a place in my mem'ry, my life, that you fill,
No other can take it, no one ever will.
Each of the Devil's Hole turned toward the tune ringing forth with the same melancholic majesty of 'Amazing Grace' that was carrying to them just as stridently.
Heyes' easy grin had vanished, his brow bunching tight.
Curry removed his right glove in the slip of a second, his hand now lingering near the Colt as he examined the canyon. Spying a small campsite by the second larger pool the creek fed down to; he inwardly cursed himself for his lack of vigilance.
In a sing-song whisper, Kyle said, "Maybe it's a haunt…" stepping a bit behind Wheat.
"Awful bold one," Wheat muttered dryly.
"And, loud," Hank added as the cheerful voice unrelentingly boomed on.
Sure, I love the dear silver that shines in your hair,
"And the brow that's all furrowed and wrinkled with care.
I kiss the dear fingers, so toil-worn for me,
Oh, God bless you and keep you, Mother Machree."
"Sure, sounds more like we've gone an' stumbled into a choir practice, so it does," Hardcase jested, squinting an eye, hoping to see the faraway tree line better.
Among those trees, too far off to make out clearly, a shadow shifted. Whoever it was, they were confident enough to continue singing when there was no doubt they could not have possibly missed seeing the eleven of them and their horses.
"Ev'ry sorrow or care in the dear days gone by,
Was made bright by the light of the smile in your eye,
Like a candle that's set in a window at night,"
But when the singer stepped into full view, marching joyfully toward the creek, he skidded to a halt. Only after he fully turned to stare did his song trail off. "Your fond love has cheered me…."
The lanky framed man stood outright gawking at them as he held a wide-brimmed hat in both hands, which was, oddly enough, brimming with eggs.
His voice edged with sardonic amusement, Lobo said, "Would ya look at that."
Looking to Kid, Heyes quietly remarked, "I don't see any firearms."
Monty retorted, "That's 'cause he's got a voice loud enough to stun a bull buffalo."
As the gang moved closer, their horses trailing after them, the stranger took a step back, his stunned gaze unwavering.
Curry lowered his chin, fully studying the man, while Heyes licked his lips and flashed one of his disarming smiles. Saying each word separately and calmly, Heyes called, "Don't suppose you were expecting company?"
The man's mouth opened and closed before he finally spoke, his voice quieter but still easily carrying across the space. "No, sir. Ain't every day you return to camp find a passel of men…" His gaze swept over the gang, taking in their guns and holsters. "who makes you feel like you were trespassin'."
Curry gave a faint snort, hooking his thumb on his holster belt. "Well, you sure aren't one to worry 'bout others. Don't know many who would be singin' loud enough to wake the dead when they are alone." His eyes flicked briefly toward the man's camp and back. "You are alone?"
"That I am," the man adjusted his hat, careful not to spill the eggs. "Wasn't figurin' anyone else would find this spot." He glanced to his hands. "I was collectin' some eats. Ain't got no iron on me, neither, so you don't need to fret 'bout me gettin' jumpy."
The gang exchanged mirthful grins over this man standing there, awkward and unarmed, with nothing but eggs and a startled look. A few even chuckled, enjoying the humor in the situation, even if the stranger was not feeling it.
"Well," Heyes said, striding toward the man. "Guess introductions are in order."
Closer now, Heyes could see the lines of a life lived outdoors etched in the man's face and his thin layer of sparse, unkempt hair that clung to his scalp. In his entirety, he was a dusting of faded browns, save for his eyes. They were bright, lively, and a more vivid blue than even Kid's.
The man shifted in place as Heyes evaluated him like he was debating if running would do him any good. At length, with a small uncertain nod, he said, "Name's Harding. Clem Harding. Folks call me Blue."
In that same stretch of time, Heyes debated on which soubriquet to give for himself. Sometimes, he preferred aliases to keep the tone light and himself less known. But then again, he liked being known, liked the notoriety and the reactions. Plus, for that matter, he liked the name his parents had given him.
Nodding back, he made his choice. "Hannibal Heyes, folks call me Heyes." And flashed his dimpled grin, nearly as notorious as himself, that put an exclamation mark on a person recalling his appearance. "We're just passin' through. Mind if we rest up by your pond?"
"Don't see why not. Long as you don't mind me fryin' up eggs while you do."
"Only part we'd mind is if'n you weren't intending on sharin'," Kyle said, stepping out of Wheat's shadow.
In short order, unsaddled horses hobbled about grazing. Gear was unloaded and arranged, enlarging Blue's campsite. With additional foodstuffs being brought from packs, adding to and extending the simple meal of eggs that Blue had intended.
During the settling-in, Dr. Wilkinson noted a few shovel holes. Stepping along the creek, he found more. Despite the bustle around him, he kept looking from one hole to another, lining both sides of the stream, unable to shake the feeling that there was something important about them.
When his travel companions took seats about the fire and began filling their tin cups, Wilkinson turned on their new friend. "Blue, do tell, what is the meaning of these curious holes? Are they the result of some manner of excavation?
Lifting fried eggs from his cast iron skillet, Blue chest rose and fell with a whoosh. "Excavation?"
"Yes," Wilkison replied, waving so that he gestured at how the double line of holes went up the hill, converging in a V. "Your diggings."
"Ain't no diggings, just some holes I've been makin' for myself."
Kyle sucked down part of a hot egg white, puffing and blowing before he could get out. "Maybe he's lookin' for treasure, Doc!" Tilting to the side, he nudged an elbow into Kid Curry, who chuckled.
Wilkinson ignored them both, his gaze remaining fixed on Blue. "What I meant to ask is, are you performing an archaeological dig? A scholarly endeavor to study history?
Blue stared blankly. "Ain't sure about no 'archi-whatever,' but I am sure I ain't doin' it." He waved his hand in a wide arc. "Can't hurt to dig a few holes now and then."
"That is not a reasonable answer, not in the least," Wilkinson scowled again at how the holes marching toward the top of up on the hill they had rode down.
Haig, who was cutting slices from a block of cheese, piped in with a condescending smile. "He's been a-searching for a pocket, Doc, and don't want to say so."
Blue burst out a laugh that shook the air about him. "There ain't no pocket here!"
"But you were lookin'," Haig answered, popping a sliver of cheese into his mouth.
"I was," Blue answered with a caustic chuckle, "but there ain't one here."
Haig set to cutting another sliver. "Then why you still here?"
"It's just so damn pretty," Blue turned to look at his mule with an affectionate smile. "Turnip talked me into stayin' here for a while."
The gang, now more intrigued, shared looks that spoke loudly if you could decipher the language.
Frustrated by all that was passing him by, Elias Wilkinson demanded, "Might one of you define your meaning of a pocket."
Heyes leaned forward, a sly grin tugging at his mouth. "A pocket of gold."
"Noted his holes as we came down to camp," Preacher squinted an eye at the double line bordering the stream banks. "Blue here, he's a miner, sure enough, one the Good Lord gave the know-how to read the land."
The group hushed, processing the idea that Blue might actually be onto a pocket.
"And that I can," Blue gusted. "Only, this time, it ain't here," his face pinched, looking beyond at the Arcadian canyon. "Pretty as it is, it don't have glitter I was lookin' for."
"And glad I am that it don't," Preacher mumbled, looking across the canyon, continuing on as if he did not realize he was speaking aloud. "Gold's naught but a curse. It brings on greed, turns brother against brother, and like a plague's fever, it breeds violence. Seen it all too many times back in the gold fields. Folks trading their souls for a little glint in the dirt."
Sounding like a child that had been told there was no St. Nicholas, Kyle asked, "So, there ain't no pocket."
Blue shook his head.
Setting his empty plate to the side, Hardcase leaned aggressively in. "An' how is it, then, ye figure we should just be for believin' ye, eh?" his lyrical Irish sounding uncommonly hard.
"Cause he only got his hypothesis trajectory holes, and the dirt's a few days old on them," Preacher answered for Blue. "If there were a pocket, he would have torn it open by now. Ain't that so, Mr. Harding?"
Blue nodded dismally.
"And, Patrick MacAlea, I hear that bloodletting greed building in you."
Hardcase's head jerked to Preacher, his square jaw popping and nostrils flaring.
"Hey, Preacher, that's a hell of a thing to say to one of'n us," Heyes said overly brightly to diffuse what was building.
At the same time, Kid leveled an icy stare on Hardcase that had the man easing back against his upturned saddle, feigning the casualness of having been there for hours.
Taking a drink from his coffee, Blue studied the circle of men. Took a second drink and sighed. "Preacher is correct through and through. It's like I said, ain't no pocket here. Figure I'll be needing to pull out of this…" he nodded to the canyon, the purple of twilight slipping down the mountains ringing it, "soon as my provisions begin to dwindle."
Clearing his throat, Elias spoke up, "I have encountered your sort at historical digs. Gentlemen, who possess the rare gift of reading what lies buried beneath the earth, interpreting the very topography of the land."
Blue nodded in acknowledgment.
"If you are of their class and a miner, then, pray tell, why are you not wealthy?"
Blue cast a sidelong glance at Preacher. "Cause, Sir, I ain't greedy. I like the challenge," he shrugged, "and living outdoors."
"That is all is quite fine to learn," he said, his eyes narrowing with contemplative, calculation. "I propose, since our party is traveling to find treasure, that Blue's expertise with the topography, could perchance be precisely what we require."
A subtle tension spread as several of the men cast wary looks at each other, and Lobo grumbled, "Don't seem like much a treasure hunter to me."
"Yeah," Kyle drawled, "I don't trust 'em, never met a man who couldn't talk up a story about what he's done, but Blue... something don't sit right."
"If Blue can see like he says," Heyes slowly said, "he could be of use."
Wheat, always keen to add his two cents, leaned in. "I don't see we need 'em."
Heyes shot back, "You want to wander about digging up the whole damn area!"
Just as fast, Wheat countered, "Takin' on someone who ain't one of'n us doesn't sit right with me."
Kid Curry laid a hard, unamused stare on Wheat, and the burly man taking sudden note of his empty coffee cup; set to refilling it.
Blue scowled at the men who had invaded his canyon. "Y'all are a bickering, and I ain't even said I would help." He threw a few more sticks on the fire, and it flamed up, cinders snapping brilliantly in the closing darkness.
The low hum of night insects raising their voices filled the space between the men. But the silence was tight, each man handling the conversation in his own way. Wind whistled through the pines, and Blue's mule brayed at a horse it felt had come to near, the friction growing thicker like winter fog.
Leaning heavily against the leather backrest of his camp chair, Blue's eyes played across those surrounding him. Finally, they stopped on Heyes, staunch and steady. Then Blue's mouth quirked into a slow smile as if understanding a long-fought-upon riddle. "Comes to me," he drawled, his voice low and unchallenging, "I know who and what you are."
The firelight cast shadows across Heyes' features as he met Blue's gaze, his expression utterly unreadable.
Blue's tone swung lower, more casual, almost mocking. "So, if'n I join this treasure hunt of'n yours…" He paused for effect, letting the breaking point build, each moment punctuated by the sharp pops of the fire. "…does it mean I'd be a legit member of'n the Devil's Hole Gang?"
His question hung, dense, and loaded, and the gang members shifted uncomfortably.
But not, Heyes. He remained coolly withdrawn, but there was a set expression about his face as if Blue had just opened the part of Hannibal Heyes that made him such a powerful leader.
The seconds dragged by, each drawing out longer than the last as the outlaws waited for Heyes' reply.
Finally, Heyes spoke, his tone so serene it sounded hollow and detached. "You're a sharp one, Blue. Been proving it more and more." He leaned forward, the lock he had on Blue's eyes never wavering. "But you ought to know, the Devil's Hole Gang doesn't take kindly to anyone deeming they can simply waltz in."
Blue's smile widened, a slow curve that held no warmth. "Ain't no one ever accused me of waltzing in where I'm not wanted." He reached for his mug, his fingers brushing the handle with a deliberate leisureliness. "And I ain't stepping in here," he grinned, "I was invited."
"Not by me," Heyes said in a low, half-amused way, "and not by Kid Curry, either."
At this, Blue broke the staring contest he had been having with Heyes when his eyes darted to Kid, who sat loose and easy, looking mighty positive of his abilities.
Having won the battle of wills, when Blue looked away, Heyes leaned back into his saddle. "Ain't just anyone we bring in." Bending a leg, he draped an arm across the raised knee and looked flatly at Blue. "Being in the Devil's Hole Gang ain't about some handshake or a promise made in the moment. It's about trust….loyalty. It's about knowing you're never alone and your back is covered."
Heyes' head turned slowly, his gaze pausing at each gang member who nodded their confirmation before he returned to Blue. "We're bound by more than blood or business. You ride with us; you ride like you've got something to prove—not to me, not to Kid—but to every man who calls the Devil's Hole home."
"That's some strong talk 'bout loyalty. Reckon it's worth a price, ain't it?" Blue said.
Heyes sat expressionless, his lithe fingers absently tapping the front of his shin where they dangled. At length, he stated, "Everything comes with a price. But some things… they ain't for sale….they must be earned."
Blue settled back in his chair, weighing the words. A coyote sang out, filling the night with his yipping yodel, and was answered by another.
"Appears you're as smart as they say, Heyes. A point though you are missin' is, I didn't come searchin' you, askin' for your charity," Blue answered, sounding almost mocking. "But earlier, I did say I wasn't wealthy 'cause I ain't greedy; that is only partially true. Rest of'n it is, I ain't got none to spend it on." He looked to where his mule and horse stood side by side amidst the gang's horses. "Time comes a man wants family." He brought his gaze back to Heyes. "And ain't that what y'all are?"
Heyes studied him for a long minute, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. Then he looked to Kid, who did not move, not one muscle, but Heyes nodded as if Kid Curry had spoken to him. Then, without missing a beat, his mouth split into a smile. "Welcome to the Devil's Hole Gang, Blue." He extended a hand to Blue Harding, and the man took it. When he did, Heyes clamped down with a viper's grip. "Your word is your bond. Do you give it?"
Blue did not flinch as whiteness spread from where Heyes clenched his hand. "You have my loyalty."
"Not just me," Heyes answered, his eyes narrowing.
"The Devil's Hole has my loyalty."
"Guess we'll see about that," Heyes answered, releasing Blue and again looking to Kid, who this time gave him a full nod. "We'll call this trip your trial run."
"Well, hell's fires," Preacher drawled, passing around a wry smile, "break out the liquor, boys. Time to drink to our new brother."
"You mean rest of'n us break out the liquor," Kid said, raising an eyebrow to the black-clad scarecrow.
Preacher laughed deep and loud, slapping the half-empty whiskey bottle in his hand. "There is that..."
