1889

Arango’s army is on the run again.  This time they hit the mine at Leadville.  They made off with a sack of cash and only caught a few bullets.  But the posse was ready this time, and formidable.   A couple dozen armed and angry riders are hot on their trail.

Arango charges over the bluff and into the clearing they call Caballo Blanco, dismounting from his horse at a run.  He lets go of the reins and drops into the closest hole.  The rest of the men disappear underground as well, their steeds wandering off to chew on tall grass.

Arrango leans against the strong dirt wall.  He and his band of former miners dug them all, an interlacing matrix of tunnels running under the entire field, with multiple entrances and exits.  They also dug holes for their many pursuers, nearly a hundred graves now.

He readies his gun.  Through the earth, he feels the thunder of the posse’s horses.  He can hear the clatter of sharply reined mounts.  He can hear shouts of confusion.  He prepares to leap out.  This is the signal.  His men will follow.

From behind him in the dark, someone grabs his arm.

It’s Sunday.

The Story So Far