Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) by Anthony Strong (ebooks that read to you .TXT) 📕

“Sounds fair to me.” Travis unclipped a lamp from the pack and held it out to Karuk. “You’ll need this.”

“Thank you.” Karuk took the oil lamp and lit it, then slung the leather satchel over one shoulder. “I’ll be as quick as I can. Wait for me here. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll be right here when you get back,” Travis replied.

“Make sure that you are.” Karuk headed off toward the mine entrance.

Travis watched him enter. For a while he could see the glow from the miner’s lamp as Karuk moved deeper into the tunnel, but soon even that faded, and Travis was left with only the mule for company.

He glanced back down the trail, wishing he could return to town and partake of a couple of Mule Skinners, rye whiskey cut with blackberry liquor. His throat was dry and dusty from the trek up into the mountains. But he’d promised Karuk that he wouldn’t leave, and he would be as good as his word. His plan wasn’t fully executed yet. There was one thing he still needed to do once Karuk returned. Then there would be no one else to lay claim to the seam. As far as anyone knew, the mine was tapped out, which was why most of the miners had already departed the town looking for new opportunities. Some had gone to California. Others headed north toward Carson City. He briefly considered following them, but then Travis and his crew had found a fresh source of gold in the Ghost Canyon Mine. And since they’d sworn each other to secrecy, no one else knew about it.

From somewhere out in the desert a coyote howled, the sound lonesome and chilling. It sent a shiver down Travis’ spine. He looked toward the mine entrance and willed Karuk to return. How long could it take to scatter some old bones?

He’d barely finished thinking the question when he saw a yellow glow light the entrance. Moments later, Karuk emerged with the satchel still slung across one shoulder.

“You get it done?” Travis asked as Karuk drew close.

“It’s taken care of.” Karuk extinguished the lamp and hooked it back onto the mule pack along with the satchel. He pulled his duster tight around his thin frame and walked past Travis toward the path leading back to town. As he did, he spoke over his shoulder. “Bring the mule and let’s get out of here. I’m thirsty.”

“Right behind you,” Travis said. But instead of following along, he reached down to the six-shooter holstered at his hip. He pulled the gun free and took aim at the retreating man, cocking the hammer at the same time.

Karuk registered the slight noise and started to turn, alarmed, just as Travis pulled the trigger.

The bullet slammed into Karuk between his shoulder blades and sent him to the ground in a spinning tumble.

The mule whinnied, frightened by the sudden noise.

Travis pulled the hammer back again and kept the revolver trained on the prone man as he approached him. But Karuk was in no shape to fight back. He lay in a swiftly widening pool of his own blood and looked up at Travis with pleading eyes.

“Help me,” he said in a wheezing voice. “It hurts.”

Travis said nothing. He merely released the hammer and slipped the revolver back into its holster. There was no need to make more noise than necessary and shooting Karuk again would only waste a good bullet. He bent down and took Karuk’s arms, then dragged him to the side of the path.

“What are you doing?” The older man’s eyes widened in terror. He coughed up a mix of phlegm and blood.

Travis ignored the question. He paused a moment to catch his breath, noting how Karuk’s face was already becoming slack as his spirit took flight. Then he gripped his dying companion with both hands and pushed him off the path.

Karuk half slid, half rolled down a steep incline and disappeared from sight into the dense brush at the bottom.

The unpleasant task completed, Travis kicked dirt over the blood until it was no longer visible and then returned to the mule. Tomorrow the other miners would come up here and encounter the traps that he and Karuk had laid for them. Then, once they were as dead as the half-breed, he would enter the mine, collect the bones, and reinter them now that he knew where the old warrior lay buried.

Then the gold would be his, and his alone.

Chapter One

Today—Haley Ghost Town, Nevada

Robyn Miller stood on the front porch of the Last Chance Saloon and Hotel and looked at her watch. It was already gone eleven in the morning and the group of geologists she was waiting to meet were late. Standing at her heel was Tieg, the blond mop of a mutt she’d rescued from the animal shelter three years before. He looked up at her and let out a low woof, as if he agreed that the men Robyn was waiting for were unacceptably tardy.

She sighed and went back inside, the dog tagging along at her side.

The sound of hammers and various power tools echoed through the building thanks to the workers renovating the rooms on the second floor. The hotel’s restoration was behind schedule, with the third floor not even touched yet. She had resigned herself to the fact that it wouldn’t be open before the spring.

“Are you still waiting on those guys from Vegas?” Carlton Miller, her great uncle, appeared from the direction of the recently completed saloon bar. He stood on the other side of the lobby, arms folded, and observed her with a stare that barely concealed his animosity.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” Robyn replied. Carlton reminded her of an old crow, with a gaunt face and beady black eyes that hid an intelligent yet sardonic personality. She wished, not for the first time, that he wasn’t a one-third owner in the old