acknowledgement, leapt down from the rear of the wagon, keeping a tight hold on his spear as the club swung at his waist. Martha. Wilder watched his departure fearfully.
"Guard against what?" she asked, beginning to worry her blood-caked lip again.
"Maybe Jake Tabor," Edge said as he checked the Winchester, using a corner of his blanket to wipe off the moisture. "The guy who sort of blew up when he couldn't get his hands on this shipment."
"You know him?" She was surprised.
Edge grinned coldly. "Well enough to know he won't give up on this silver till he either gets it or dies in the attempt. I watched him gun down a whole wedding reception trying to get a line to where it was. They hadn't even cut the cake."
The woman looked horrified, "The Firman wedding," she whispered.
"Right," Edge answered, as he finished with the rifle and started on the Colt. "It has to be this silver. The Comstock mines have been filled with water for too long for there to be more than one batch of bullion this big in the area. And a freight line would have hauled the shipment at a lower rate and with more protection—if your Pa had the right kind of papers."
Her dark eyes examined Edge closely in the flickering light of the hissing flames. "Father told me about you. If something is stolen, you don't consider it wrong to steal it again."
Edge shook his, head. "I'm lazy, Miss Wilder," he said softly. "A million dollars worth of silver just ain't worth the trouble when I can get five thousand of folding green instead. But I'm curious. My life is on the line protecting this stuff. I'd just like to know who it really belongs to, that's all."
"A dead man," Martha Wilder answered without hesitation. "The Comstock Lode is rich beyond imagination, but it can't be tapped by any known methods. Not to any great extent. They tried them all and then invented new ones: Millions of dollars were invested in equipment to hold up the tunnel roofs, pump out the water and siphon off the poisonous gases. And for a time the investment began to pay off. But it was only possible to merely scratch at the veins. Three years of the Comstock's discovery, the big mines closed down and now there are only the grub-stake prospectors digging in the mountains."
"Your Pa closed down his operations?" Edge asked.
Her expression became bitter. "He was one of the last to admit defeat. He built the Ritz early on with his first profits and now that's mortgaged to the hilt because he needed money to buy new equipment."
"So he's pulling out? All the way to the other side of the world?"
"There's nothing left for us here," she retorted.
"Except stolen silver."
She glanced at the bars of precious metal exposed in their crates. They glittered expensively in the firelight. "He'd never be allowed to turn it into cash in this country," she said. "Too many people know he's penniless."
"He gave me two-and-a-half thousand and he'd better have at least that much in the bank in San Francisco." Edge's voice spoke a threat in every word.
"Passage money," Martha answered. "That's why father was so anxious to get it back when it was stolen. Now we're going to have to persuade the clipper captain to accept payment in silver."
"Who's the dead man who's changed the Wilder fortunes?" Edge asked, throwing more splintered wood towards the fire.
"A mine owner who brought up the ore, had it refined and smelted, then hid it away as insurance against future misfortune."
"It wasn't a life policy," Edge muttered.
"A gang of outlaws led by a man named Warner shot him and stole the silver."
Edge grinned again. "So your Pa and me think alike. He stole the stolen silver and figured that made it his?"
Martha pouted and it was an expression that didn't suit her. She was too old for it. "A desperate man must take desperate measures, Mr. Edge. You can understand that."
"Sure," he answered. "He ought to have killed Warner's girlfriend as well, though. She had a hard time trying to convince Jake Tabor she
"Guard against what?" she asked, beginning to worry her blood-caked lip again.
"Maybe Jake Tabor," Edge said as he checked the Winchester, using a corner of his blanket to wipe off the moisture. "The guy who sort of blew up when he couldn't get his hands on this shipment."
"You know him?" She was surprised.
Edge grinned coldly. "Well enough to know he won't give up on this silver till he either gets it or dies in the attempt. I watched him gun down a whole wedding reception trying to get a line to where it was. They hadn't even cut the cake."
The woman looked horrified, "The Firman wedding," she whispered.
"Right," Edge answered, as he finished with the rifle and started on the Colt. "It has to be this silver. The Comstock mines have been filled with water for too long for there to be more than one batch of bullion this big in the area. And a freight line would have hauled the shipment at a lower rate and with more protection—if your Pa had the right kind of papers."
Her dark eyes examined Edge closely in the flickering light of the hissing flames. "Father told me about you. If something is stolen, you don't consider it wrong to steal it again."
Edge shook his, head. "I'm lazy, Miss Wilder," he said softly. "A million dollars worth of silver just ain't worth the trouble when I can get five thousand of folding green instead. But I'm curious. My life is on the line protecting this stuff. I'd just like to know who it really belongs to, that's all."
"A dead man," Martha Wilder answered without hesitation. "The Comstock Lode is rich beyond imagination, but it can't be tapped by any known methods. Not to any great extent. They tried them all and then invented new ones: Millions of dollars were invested in equipment to hold up the tunnel roofs, pump out the water and siphon off the poisonous gases. And for a time the investment began to pay off. But it was only possible to merely scratch at the veins. Three years of the Comstock's discovery, the big mines closed down and now there are only the grub-stake prospectors digging in the mountains."
"Your Pa closed down his operations?" Edge asked.
Her expression became bitter. "He was one of the last to admit defeat. He built the Ritz early on with his first profits and now that's mortgaged to the hilt because he needed money to buy new equipment."
"So he's pulling out? All the way to the other side of the world?"
"There's nothing left for us here," she retorted.
"Except stolen silver."
She glanced at the bars of precious metal exposed in their crates. They glittered expensively in the firelight. "He'd never be allowed to turn it into cash in this country," she said. "Too many people know he's penniless."
"He gave me two-and-a-half thousand and he'd better have at least that much in the bank in San Francisco." Edge's voice spoke a threat in every word.
"Passage money," Martha answered. "That's why father was so anxious to get it back when it was stolen. Now we're going to have to persuade the clipper captain to accept payment in silver."
"Who's the dead man who's changed the Wilder fortunes?" Edge asked, throwing more splintered wood towards the fire.
"A mine owner who brought up the ore, had it refined and smelted, then hid it away as insurance against future misfortune."
"It wasn't a life policy," Edge muttered.
"A gang of outlaws led by a man named Warner shot him and stole the silver."
Edge grinned again. "So your Pa and me think alike. He stole the stolen silver and figured that made it his?"
Martha pouted and it was an expression that didn't suit her. She was too old for it. "A desperate man must take desperate measures, Mr. Edge. You can understand that."
"Sure," he answered. "He ought to have killed Warner's girlfriend as well, though. She had a hard time trying to convince Jake Tabor she
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