Beneath a Wounded Sky by Kurt R A Giambastiani

Author:Kurt R A Giambastiani [Giambastiani, Kurt R A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781480165861
Published: 2013-02-16T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Thursday, October 9th, AD 1890

Advance Camp

Spanish Expeditionary Forces

Near the Red Paint River

Alliance Territory

The tent flap opened and Alejandro looked up from his work as D’Avignon came in, unannounced and unbidden.

“Do you try to be rude?” Alejandro asked, annoyed. “Or is it just a gift you have?”

D’Avignon waved a hand, dismissing the gibe. “They’re all gone, Excellency. All of them!”

“Gone?” The man was speaking in riddles. “Who? Gone where? What are you—?”

“From the Indian camp,” D’Avignon explained. “All our babysitters are gone. One Who Flies, Storm Arriving, even that spooky Speaks While Leaving. Gone!”

Alejandro leaned elbows on his worktable and steepled his fingers. “Which means what? Exactly?”

D’Avignon looked around theatrically. “It means,” he said, “that the hen house is unguarded.”

Alejandro rolled his eyes skyward. “I swear to God above, I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about.”

D’Avignon brandished his fist in exasperation. “We’re free to act!” he said. “We’re free to prospect where we will!”

Alejandro shook his head, comprehension dawning. “Haven’t you been making progress with your panning in the lowlands?”

“Mere ounces,” the rogue said with a wave. He was positively gleeful. He looked around once more, as if there might have been others in the tent beside the two of them. Then he stepped forward, showed the fist he had been flailing about, and slammed it down on the table.

“I’m talking pounds,” he said, and lifted his hand to reveal two bean-sized nuggets. Even through the soil that caked them, they gleamed with a honeyed fire.

Alejandro stared. His hand reached forward of its own volition, needing to touch the nuggets and prove that they were real.

Despite the dirt that clung to their crevices, the metal was smooth and still warm from D’Avignon’s clutch. With a finger and thumb, Alejandro picked up one of them. It was the size of a broad-bean.

So heavy! he thought, and realized that he was grinning.

“You see?” D’Avignon said.

“Where did you find them?”

“Up there.” D’Avignon pointed in a generally northward direction.

“Damn it,” Alejandro said, feeling the jubilant mood sour. “You know what happened last time.”

D’Avignon crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels.

“I picked those up off the ground.”

Alejandro blinked. He looked at the nuggets, then back at D’Avignon.

“This site is too rich to ignore,” D’Avignon said.

Alejandro thought about it. The Cheyenne, with One Who Flies as their spokesman, had been perfectly clear: no mining in their holy hills. But D’Avignon was right. This was too rich an opportunity to ignore. And now, with their overseers gone and the tribes already starting to leave the main camp for their winter grounds, who would know? If Storm Arriving, One Who Flies, and most of the soldiers were busy with shoring up Pereira’s incompetence, who would be here to check on what they were doing? Who would be here to object?

“What about men? Who would we get? I’m still dealing with the problems the last group created.”

D’Avignon smiled. “I have that completely under control. A small group. Hand-picked from our panners. I had to promise a bit more, but with what I’ve seen already, that won’t be a problem.

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