“That girl. Been here maybe two weeks. He bought her . . . from some place. She fights him. Two, three times a day the bastard will have her dragged inside. Couple of his men hold her down while he rapes her. She could live comfort . . . comfortable. If she’d give in to him. But she doesn’t. I think he is trying to break her spirit, but she’s a strong-willed little thing. She fights the guards every time.”

  “Who do you think will win?” Longarm asked.

  “Oh, he will. If he can’t break her, he’ll kill her.”

  Longarm grunted. “Could be she’d consider that a victory for her side.”

  “Yeah. She’s tough, all right. And stubborn.”

  “Do they take the whip to her too?”

  “No, they don’t. She’s pretty. I think he doesn’t want to spoil that. But if he gets tired of trying to break her, I’m betting he’ll kill her.”

  “Not to change the subject or anything,” Longarm said, “but is there a way out of here?”

  “I’ve been here . . . shit, I don’t know how long now. Long enough to think an awful lot. And to lay here looking up at those bars. The ones that cover the pit aren’t bolted down or anything, just laid over the hole. The pit is about eight feet deep. I’m thinking if I get strong enough, I could jump up and grab hold of the bars over your hole while I kick the bars over top of my hole. You see what I’m getting at?”

  “Yeah, I do. That might could work.”

  “So it could. But then what the hell would I do when I got out of the pit? There’s walls all around. Solid. With guards on top of the wall and at the gate. I seen them.”

  “How long have you been here?” Longarm asked.

  “This is . . . what? June, maybe?”

  “September,” Longarm told him.

  “I drifted past . . . or tried to go past . . . in November last year. So I been here ten months. Other guys have come by since then and been caught. Some of them died or been killed. They don’t feed worth a shit, and if a man gets sick, they just let him die rather than take care of him.” Childers grimaced and went stiff as a jolt of pain hit him. After he relaxed, he said, “You’ll learn all this. They’ll keep you here long enough to soften you up. Then you’ll go down below. You’ll likely swing a pick just like the rest of us.”

  “You keep saying ‘down below,’ ” Longarm said. “What d’ you mean by that?”

  “At the bottom of this here mesa. We’re . . . I don’t know how deep inside it we are by now. Pretty long tunnel anyway.”

  “Adit,” Longarm said.

  “Huh?”

  He smiled. “A hole in the ground is only a tunnel if it goes all the way through. If you haven’t broke out the other end yet, it’s called an adit.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Childers said.

  “Yeah, it’s interesting the shit you learn if you live in Colorado for a while. Lot’s of mining hereabouts.”

  “Listen, could I ask you for a favor?” Childers asked.

  “Sure.”

  “My back. It feels like it’s on fire. Could you put some more of that cool water on it, please? That really feels good.”

  “Glad to,” Longarm said, reaching for the water bucket.

  Chapter 39

  “You bastards!” the girl’s voice was weak but defiant as, sometime after dark, the guards dumped her back into her hole and clanged the grate down over it again.

  Longarm waited until the men above were gone, then whispered, “Are you all right, miss?”

  “Who are you?”

  “At the moment I seem to be another prisoner, but not for the same reasons as you. As it happens, I’m a deputy U.S. marshal. I came here to look into something, and it seems I found more than I was prepared to handle. Are you all right?”

  He could hear her derisive snort. “Just fine and dandy, mister. Tonight the bastard said if I don’t start being nice to him, he’ll just turn me over to the guards and maybe then to the slaves. I’ll kill myself before I let that happen. I’m . . . I was a good girl until I wound up here.”

  “What happened?”

  “I suppose it is a sorry tale but not an uncommon one. I fell in love with the wrong man. He betrayed me. That is what it comes down to.”

  “I’m sorry, miss.”

  “Don’t be. Henry Lyon is the bastard who will have to pay for this. I just hope he remembers me when he burns in the fires of Hell. I hope he screams my name. Well, screw him and all his kith and kin.” She paused for a moment. “Can I ask you something, mister?”

  “Of course.”

  “What does the word ‘kith’ mean anyway?”

  Longarm could not help but laugh. It seemed an odd question under these circumstances. But it did show that the girl was far from being broken by her captors if she could think of a silly thing like that. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

  “I know it,” Sam Childers piped up from his cell. “It means friends, relatives, folks that live around you or are close to you. Kin, they all have to be related to you somehow. Kith don’t.”

  “Thank you,” the girl said.

  “Is there anything we can do for you?” Longarm asked.

  “You can pray for me. Would you do that, please? Both of you?”

  “I will,” Longarm promised.

  “Me too,” Childers said. “Can I tell you something?” he added.

  “Sure.”

  “I saw you when they brought you in. You are . . . you’re awful pretty.”

  “Maybe I was once, but I’m soiled goods now. No man will have me after this.” She sounded entirely matter-of-fact about that prediction. Remarkably, there was no bitterness in her voice at all.

  “Once you leave here,” Longarm said, “no one needs to know the things that went on here.”

  “I’ll know,” the girl said, her voice very low and sorrowful.

  “You can think about that after the three of us get out of here,” Longarm told her.

  “Mister, you are dreaming.”

  “No, I’m not. Sam told me how to do it.”

  “I did?”

  “Sure you did. You said you were going to try it as soon as you were strong enough. Well, I’m strong enough.”

  “Maybe, but what happens after you get out?” Childers asked.

  Longarm chuckled. “Oh, I have an idea or two about that too. Do you think you can help if we can get out of these cells? Physically I mean. Are you up to it?”

  “I’ll help or I’ll die trying,” Sam swore.

  “Me too,” the girl put in. “I would rather die than to be that man’s slave for the rest of my life.”

  “All right then,” Longarm said. “Now, first things first. Let’s get up out of this damn hole so’s we can maybe accomplish somethin’. Sam, I want you to . . . Oh, shit. Wait.”

  He could see a growing thread of light above the grate and could hear the approach of some of Lyon’s guards. Men carrying a lantern, obviously.

  “Long,” one of the men called as they came near. “Stand up. The boss wants to see you.”

  Quickly Longarm plucked his pocket watch—with the .41-caliber derringer attached to the watch chain—out of his vest. He thrust both it and his pocketknife through the bars and said, “Hide these, Sam. Lie on top of them and pretend you’re still passed out. They are what’s gonna get us outa here. When I get back.”

  “If you get back,” Childers said.

  “I’m coming back.” Longarm chuckled. “Hey, have I ever lied to you before?”

  Even under these circumstances Sam Childers laughed.

  The covering grate was shoved back and a ladder thrust down into the pit. Longarm could see at least four men standing above the hole, one of them holding a lantern.

  “Are you coming up on your own, Long, or do we have to come down and get you?”

  “There’s no need for violence, boys. Let me freshen up a mite and I’ll be right pleased to join you.” He made sure his shirttail was tucked in, tugged his vest down, and scampered up the ladder to see what fate had in store for him this time.

  Chapter 40

  They took him to the same large room with the fireplace, except now there was a fire blazing on the hearth, cedar judging by the fragrance it gave off. The room was bright as day, in fact much brighter now than it had been in daytime, courtesy of a dozen lamps blazing along the walls. Bunny Adams was there, lean and lethal, as was Henry Lyon, who now was wearing a satin dressing gown.

  This evening, Longarm noticed, Bunny had a coiled bullwhip draped over his shoulder. His left shoulder, where it would not interfere if he needed to get his six-gun out in a hurry.

  Lyon took a seat in one of the armchairs, crossed his legs, and took a fat cigar from a small humidor that rested on a small table nearby. He struck a match, then slowly and very carefully warmed the cigar before clamping it between his teeth and lighting it. The smoke smelled good, although not as pleasant as the scent from the burning cedar.

  The master of the manor—Longarm had already come to the realization that Senator Lyon was quite mad—motioned with one finger, and his thugs grasped Longarm by the upper arm and guided him to a spot directly in front of Lyon and about six feet away. Obviously they thought it a safe distance. In truth Longarm could kill Lyon, perhaps Bunny Adams too, before the guards could stop him. He felt sure that he could. A quick blow to the throat and a violent wrench of the neck and it would be done.

  Of course then there would be the small problem of the four guards. They would not stand idly by and allow it to happen.

  Longarm had no intention of offering himself as a sacrifice. His moment would come. But not now.

  “Bring me a brandy,” Lyon said, looking at Adams.

  Longarm doubted that the man particularly wanted a brandy. What he did want was to demonstrate his control over Bunny Adams. He had the killer on a leash and wanted this deputy marshal to know it and be cowed by it.

  Bunny dutifully went to the sideboard and poured his master the requested drink.

  “I’ll take one of those too, Bunny.”

  Adams merely scowled, but Lyon accepted the brandy and said, “Do pour one for him, Bunny. And one for yourself if you like.” He smiled, although there was no trace of warmth or friendliness in the expression. “We do try to be hospitable here, Mr. Long.”

  “Very kind of you, I’m sure,” Longarm said dryly.

  Bunny poured another brandy and brought it to Longarm. He did not take one for himself.

  “Thanks,” Longarm said, raising the glass and inhaling the aroma of the brandy. Brandy was not his preferred tipple, but even he could tell that this was an exceptionally good one. He tasted it and found it to be smooth and pleasant on the tongue. “Very nice,” he said.

  “I am so glad you approve. Would you care to sit?”

  “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  “That is all right. What I have to say will not take long.”

  Longarm took another small sip of the brandy.

  “There are things I would like you to tell me. If you do talk to me, openly and honestly, I will grant you your life. You will be allowed to work for me in my gold mine. That may be a difficult life for you, but you will be allowed to live.”

  “And the alternative?” Longarm asked.

  “If you fail to answer my questions, Mr. Adams here will have the pleasure of using that whip of his. He is very good with it. He can hit the same spot. Over and over again. He can cut limbs off that way. I have seen him do it. Why, he can practically dismember a person before they have the relief of death to free them from the agony. Believe me, Marshal, you do not want to experience that. It will be much better for you to tell me what I want to know. And my questions are really very simple. Basically it boils down to what you have reported back to Marshal Vail . . . a very good man, by the way; I know him well from my work in the capital . . . and who else you may have told about my little . . . my fiefdom, you might call it.” The mirthless smile flickered onto his face again. “That will be easy enough, will it not?”

  Lyon took a sip of his brandy and said, “Well?”

  “Well fuck you very much, but I think not,” Longarm responded.

  “I rather suspected you would feel that way, so Bunny will give you a small foretaste of what you can expect. Then tomorrow morning you will be asked again. If you still refuse to cooperate with me, I will have you taken down below so all my slaves can witness your pain. Your pain will serve as an example to them, you see. It is good for a slave to understand the price of disobedience, so you will serve me whether you wish to or not.

  “I will have you tied in place, and Bunny here will use his blacksnake to very slowly cut you apart, one small piece at a time while the slaves all watch. And listen.

  “But it needn’t come to that, Long. You can choose to preserve your life by simply telling me all I want to know. That will undoubtedly anger Bunny, but it will save your life. Think about it tonight, Long. I shall ask you again tomorrow.” He nodded toward Adams.

  While Longarm’s attention was on the madman Lyon, Bunny had taken the blacksnake from his shoulder and shaken it out. Now he took a step forward and suddenly lashed out with the whip.

  The rawhide popper found its mark just above Longarm’s left knee. It cut through his corduroy trousers as cleanly as a knife. And almost as deep. Longarm felt like a hot branding iron had just been laid across his flesh.

  “Jeez!” he cried out. He tried to back away from the whip, only to discover the guards’ hands clamped like iron on his upper arms, keeping him in place where he was.

  The whip snaked out again, but this time the tip cut only cloth, leaving the skin beneath that cloth untouched.

  “You see, Long, I can cut wherever I wish, and it will be my pleasure tomorrow to show you just how much pain a man can stand,” Adams said. He sounded eager for the chance to kill with that long and deadly bullwhip.

  “Go to hell, Adams.”

  “In due time perhaps, but not until you’re dead, Long.”

  “That is enough, Bunny,” Lyon put in. “You made your point. Long, think about what I have told you. We will speak again in the morning. You have until then to make up your mind.” With a curt nod to his guards, he sent Longarm staggering out of the room, his left leg still afire and his arms secured by the guards.

  That whip was awfully damned persuasive; the son of a bitch hurt!

  Chapter 41

  There was no ladder this time. The guards merely walked him to the rim of the pit and gave him a shove. Longarm fell the eight or nine feet to the bottom of the pit and landed with a thump. The air rushed out of him, and he was left writhing in pain and gasping for breath while the heavy iron grate was again laid over his underground cell.

  “Bastards,” he snarled when he again had breath enough to speak, but by then the guards—and their lantern—had returned to whatever hole they crawled into.

  “Are you all right, Long?” Sam Childers asked from the other side of the bars.

  “No. That son of a bitch Adams tagged me one with his fuckin’ bullwhip.”

  “Just once?”

  “Yeah, but that was enough. Teachin’ me a lesson, they said.”

  “Believe it,” Childers said. “I saw him kill a man with that whip once. Killed him slow and deliberate. Poor son of a bitch died hard, I can tell you, and the worst of it was that Adams enjoyed it. You could see it on his face. He liked killing that way. Liked it. Jesus!”

  “That man is evil,” the girl put in from her end of the dark pit. “He gives me the creeps. I don’t think Henry Lyon knows it, but when Henry is done with me and they are bringing me back here, Adams likes to feel me up. He touches me, and when I try to pull away, he laughs. He likes for people to be afraid of him, and I think he likes it that he disgusts everyone. I think I hate him even more than I hate Henry.”

  “With any kinda luck, missy, we won’t none of us have to worry about Bunny Adams or Henry Lyon either one. We’re fixing to get outa here.”

  “Do you really think so?” the girl asked.

  “Yeah, kid, I do.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Good. You should be. Sam, d’you think you’re strong enough to get outa here if I can get these grates pushed off of us?”

  “I’ll make it,” Childers said, determination steeling his voice. “If you can do that, Long, I’ll do my part.”

  “Good. Give me back my derringer then. You keep the knife. Girl. Are you up to this?”

  “Just give me a chance. I’m ready.”

  Longarm stood. He put his back against the bars that separated him from Childers’s cell and jumped up to grab hold of the grate that covered his part of the pit.

  He hung there for a moment, then shifted his hands through the bars so that he was holding onto the grate above Sam’s cell, leaving the grate over his own free of his weight.

  Longarm jackknifed his body, planted his feet onto the grate, and pushed. The heavy grate barely moved.

  He tried again. Pushed harder. There was a little more movement this time.

  “Son of a bitch!” he said as, his arms tiring, he dropped away from the grate and once again hung straight down.

  Longarm dropped down and landed on the floor.

  “You can’t do it?” Childers asked. “Is it hopeless?”

  “Hell, no, it ain’t hopeless, Sam. I told you we’re gonna get outa here, and we will. Just give me a minute to rest my arms. We’ll do it. If not this next time, then the time after that. Or the time after that one. However long it takes, we’ll get it done.”

  “Can I help?” the girl asked.

  “Yeah. Pray,” Longarm said.

  “I’ve been doing that, Marshal.”

  “Good. Keep it up.” Longarm swung his arms around a bit to loosen his muscles, then repeated his movements: jumped up to hang from the grate, moved his hands to cling to Sam’s grate instead of his own, swung his boots up to contact the iron grate above his cell, and . . . pushed.

  He gave the grate all the power he could muster.

  It moved. Not more than six inches perhaps, but it was pushed aside.

  Longarm was smiling when he pushed again. And again after that. In a few minutes he had his cell partially uncovered. Enough for him to fit through.