Quicksilver (The Forensic Geology Series, Prequel) by Toni Dwiggins Page B
Authors: Toni Dwiggins
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rough face.
I had entered the lost river channel.
There were pebbles and cobbles and even a few boulders—the well-rounded rocks of milky quartz that were legend in and of themselves, the defining characteristic of the blue lead, carried by long-ago rivers, carried to this place. Here right now.
I lost my bearings.
For a moment I forgot that I’d been sent in here. For a moment it seemed I’d chosen this hunt.
The tunnel drifted into a bend.
I halted and stared at the wall. Gravel sitting upon bedrock. Gravel the basal layer of the ancient channel. The basal layer being the deep blue lead.
Only, it wasn’t blue.
It was reddish, the iron pyrite in the clay oxidized.
I set my field kit on the floor, fumbled it open, and grabbed the hammer and chisel. Aiming my headlamp at the wall, I went to work on the cemented gravel, gouging my way through to the virgin blue.
And then I had to stop and stare.
It was blue as the wings of a jay.
Something like a fever took hold of me. Right here in front of my nose was the deep blue lead. I’d listened to Walter and Robert Shelburne rhapsodize about it, I’d read up on it myself, I’d contemplated the geology of it, but right now what made my pulse pound was the sheer reality of it, and I had to admit that I felt a thrill. If I had to name the feeling perhaps I’d call it romance.
Walter should see this.
And then I regained my senses. Legend-worthy to Walter, yes, but to Henry Shelburne? I recalled what Robert had told us, back at the lab, back when he was spinning the legend of the deep blue lead. He’d said Henry was hunting not only gold but something more fundamental. And since Henry had been hunting his entire adult life, could he not have encountered the blue somewhere, sometime? Hacked into some forgotten gravel outcrop? Maybe. As long as it wasn’t buried in a mining tunnel. In any case, this patch of the blue lead was not the patch he sought.
To be certain, I took my hand lens and had a twenty-power look. Nope, no visible gold. There was no visible treasure here. Perhaps there was microscopic gold somewhere within this seam but surely what was economically recoverable had already been recovered. There was certainly no diorite dike, no cross-studded hornfels sheath, no intrusion acting as a giant riffle, entrapping a secret pocket of gold.
The bedrock here was unviolated.
Nevertheless, I picked up the chunk of gravel ore I’d gouged out and put it in my field kit. Better to return with something than nothing at all.
And perhaps there was something worth seeing around the tunnel bend.
Go all the way .
I wondered, again, if Henry knew where all the way led.
The tunnel was bending like a U, and there now appeared on the bedrock floor the broken remains of iron tracks. I understood. The miners had not hauled the gravel out in backpacks. They’d used rail cars.
The tunnel now straightened into the second leg of the U. The tracks continued as far as my light could penetrate.
I continued, as well, following that deep blue lead.
Even oxidized, even rusty reddish brown, it held my attention.
Within a few dozen yards, the gravel receded. Within a couple dozen more yards, the walls were pure bedrock. And then up ahead I saw the faint glow of daylight.
Another exit.
Now what?
I thought it over. I found that I knew two things.
First, Henry had been camped in Notch Valley, perhaps for a couple of days. Henry would have had time to crawl all over this place and would have found this second tunnel mouth. Which meant he already knew what was out there.
Second, what was out there could not be what he sought. What he sought must be in here, or so he must believe. Otherwise, why send his brother into the tunnel searching? Why send me? At gunpoint, no less.
I took in a deep tunnel breath. It tasted like stone.
Okay. I knew one more thing.
Third, I knew that Henry Shelburne was not going to shoot Walter, while they waited. There was no possible need. Walter was
I had entered the lost river channel.
There were pebbles and cobbles and even a few boulders—the well-rounded rocks of milky quartz that were legend in and of themselves, the defining characteristic of the blue lead, carried by long-ago rivers, carried to this place. Here right now.
I lost my bearings.
For a moment I forgot that I’d been sent in here. For a moment it seemed I’d chosen this hunt.
The tunnel drifted into a bend.
I halted and stared at the wall. Gravel sitting upon bedrock. Gravel the basal layer of the ancient channel. The basal layer being the deep blue lead.
Only, it wasn’t blue.
It was reddish, the iron pyrite in the clay oxidized.
I set my field kit on the floor, fumbled it open, and grabbed the hammer and chisel. Aiming my headlamp at the wall, I went to work on the cemented gravel, gouging my way through to the virgin blue.
And then I had to stop and stare.
It was blue as the wings of a jay.
Something like a fever took hold of me. Right here in front of my nose was the deep blue lead. I’d listened to Walter and Robert Shelburne rhapsodize about it, I’d read up on it myself, I’d contemplated the geology of it, but right now what made my pulse pound was the sheer reality of it, and I had to admit that I felt a thrill. If I had to name the feeling perhaps I’d call it romance.
Walter should see this.
And then I regained my senses. Legend-worthy to Walter, yes, but to Henry Shelburne? I recalled what Robert had told us, back at the lab, back when he was spinning the legend of the deep blue lead. He’d said Henry was hunting not only gold but something more fundamental. And since Henry had been hunting his entire adult life, could he not have encountered the blue somewhere, sometime? Hacked into some forgotten gravel outcrop? Maybe. As long as it wasn’t buried in a mining tunnel. In any case, this patch of the blue lead was not the patch he sought.
To be certain, I took my hand lens and had a twenty-power look. Nope, no visible gold. There was no visible treasure here. Perhaps there was microscopic gold somewhere within this seam but surely what was economically recoverable had already been recovered. There was certainly no diorite dike, no cross-studded hornfels sheath, no intrusion acting as a giant riffle, entrapping a secret pocket of gold.
The bedrock here was unviolated.
Nevertheless, I picked up the chunk of gravel ore I’d gouged out and put it in my field kit. Better to return with something than nothing at all.
And perhaps there was something worth seeing around the tunnel bend.
Go all the way .
I wondered, again, if Henry knew where all the way led.
The tunnel was bending like a U, and there now appeared on the bedrock floor the broken remains of iron tracks. I understood. The miners had not hauled the gravel out in backpacks. They’d used rail cars.
The tunnel now straightened into the second leg of the U. The tracks continued as far as my light could penetrate.
I continued, as well, following that deep blue lead.
Even oxidized, even rusty reddish brown, it held my attention.
Within a few dozen yards, the gravel receded. Within a couple dozen more yards, the walls were pure bedrock. And then up ahead I saw the faint glow of daylight.
Another exit.
Now what?
I thought it over. I found that I knew two things.
First, Henry had been camped in Notch Valley, perhaps for a couple of days. Henry would have had time to crawl all over this place and would have found this second tunnel mouth. Which meant he already knew what was out there.
Second, what was out there could not be what he sought. What he sought must be in here, or so he must believe. Otherwise, why send his brother into the tunnel searching? Why send me? At gunpoint, no less.
I took in a deep tunnel breath. It tasted like stone.
Okay. I knew one more thing.
Third, I knew that Henry Shelburne was not going to shoot Walter, while they waited. There was no possible need. Walter was
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