In The Beginning by Gail Daley (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

came into town with Alec, so they haven’t associated me with you, and they talk to me."

Henry took a sip of his whiskey. "Sometimes I get some mighty queer notions hanging around the bad elements in town."

"Oh? What kind of funny notions?" inquired Carlos.

"How much do you know about a gent named Lutz?"

"Jacob Lutz?" demanded Michael.

"That’s the name."

"Why, he owns the local bank," Michael said slowly. "Kind of a fussbudget; nobody likes him because he’s got the rep for being a sharp operator. I wouldn’t borrow money from him. He got rich on foreclosures. Why?"

"Well, the rumor is he's got a man named Franks on the payroll."

"Max Franks?" Carlos demanded.

"Yep, I think that was his handle."

Carlos swore. "That’s the yahoo who was hanging around Iris when we went to the revue, and later at the wedding reception. I told her he was un hombre malo, but she didn’t believe me."

"Word on the streets is when he wants to foreclose on a farm or a mine claim, Lutz uses Franks to convince folks to give up on paying back a loan."

"Well, that’s interesting," Michael said, "but I don’t see as it’s got anything to do with what we asked you to find out."

Henry took another sip. "Maybe nothing, but Franks doesn’t just work for Lutz. On his own time, the word is he makes spending money by robbing honest miners. This may not have anything to do with what you wanted to know either, but last night Franks spent some time at Lutz’s house and later he was having a drink with Ben Sykes. I was too far away to hear what was said but looked to me like he was giving him orders."

"Sykes is a gutter rat who beats up honest men for money," Michael stated. "If everyone wasn’t afraid to testify against him, he’d have been locked up a long time ago."

"The miners look away when I asked about Sykes," Henry added. "I think he’s forcing them to do something. Something they don’t want to do, but they are afraid not to do what he wants."

"He’s not smart enough to organize the bluestone thefts," Carlos said thoughtfully.

"Jacob Lutz is," Michael said. He looked at Henry. "Can you find out more about what Sykes is making honest miners do? Without putting yourself in a hole, I mean?"

Henry nodded. "Probably. Right now, most of them think I’m just a nosy old man who used to be a hard rock miner, so they talk to me. What are you going to do?"

"Watch Franks," Carlos said. "When he leaves town, I want to follow him. If I can locate his hideout, maybe I can find proof he’s the one running our miners off their claims. I need to pick up a couple of good trackers from the ranch; Red and maybe Durango if Alec can spare them."

Miller shook his head. "If you’re waiting for Franks to leave town so you can follow him, you’re wasting your time. He got on the same steamer your fiancée did."

"What!" Carlos exclaimed in outrage.

The two older men exchanged an amused glance. They both knew Madonna was more worried about Franks paying court to Iris than whatever else he might be up to on his trip upriver.

Michael St. Vyr shrugged. "Relax, son. What if Franks is on the steamer? None of my girls is silly enough to fall for a slick charmer like Franks. Even if they were, Mom would send him on his way."

After a brief struggle, Carlos agreed. "Well I think I still need those trackers. I want to look at the area around where the three miners were robbed. Maybe we can find where Franks has his hideout. It’s been pretty dry up in the hills, so the tracks should still be there."

Accordingly, he rode out to the Golden Tricorn that afternoon, intending to leave in the morning for the hills. Alec was happy for him to take the two trackers with him.

Durango was a big handsome man of Hispanic ancestry who fancied himself one of the Vaqueros he read about in the western romances smuggled through the Portal by the Runners. He dressed in tight leather pants, a loose shirt and a large sombrero. His boots carried huge roweled spurs that jingled when he walked. Despite his fancy dress, he was excellent on a trail. Red Courteen was a tall carrot top whose freckled face always showed sunburn. He had learned to track as a boy when finding game for the table because if you missed a shot you might not eat that night.

The trail to the mining claim followed the rocky stream up into the Ironwood forest. The gray Ironwoods, so called because they were hard to burn and even harder to cut, grew a thick canopy of broad leaves over the top of the forest, shading all underneath them. Because of the shallow sunlight, the only things growing close to the ground were the low yellow bushes that needed less sun to thrive. Small rodents who fed on the unripe Ironwood nuts rustled overhead, and shrill bird calls sounding an alert as the mounted intruders passed could be heard.

The three men arrived at the first claim that had been raided a week later. A hand-cranked dry washer still stood up the hill from where the men had worked, although it was listing badly to one side, and pieces of the broken sluice box were scattered along the shore of the bubbling creek. Most telling was a dark splotch of dirt where a body had lain. Up the hill by a rough-built wooden cabin there were two freshly dug graves.

The man who reported the attack to Carlos had taken the time to bury the two dead miners before he came into the headquarters of the Lucky Strike.

"I’m through," he said, spitting on the floor. "It ain’t worth it Madonna. Them claim jumpers was on us before we could blink. They just up and shot Jase and Carl point blank. They’d have got me