inside, he found a pair of lanterns sitting on a desk, still warm to the touch. He lit one and held it up in front of him. A door stood at the other end of the room, and he walked through it into the processing station.
Wash found the first set of rails easily enough. He started making his way into the tunnel when he paused. Finding the coffin would be simple, but hauling it out to the wagon by himself would be damn near impossible. He walked back, following the rails, until he found a mine cart. It was empty except for a discarded pick. Grinning at his own cleverness, he set the lantern down inside and gave it a good pull. The metal wheels groaned in protest, but the cart moved. He retrieved the lantern, got behind the cart, and began pushing it down the tunnel.
A hundred yards into the tunnel, he brought the cart to a halt. Something was in his way. Squeezing past the cart's rim, he lifted the lantern above his head and peered at the objects in the tunnel. These must have been what Boots had been talking about. Not much by way of barriers; just a few beams of wood nailed together standing upright along the tracks. Crouching down, he saw that each of the three contraptions stood on a misshapen wooden base held together by a few nails. He noticed a strong smell, like garlic, and wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Wash set the lantern down and picked up the closest roadblock. It was lighter than it looked, but awkward in the small tunnel. He maneuvered it over to the mine cart and dropped it inside. After wiping his hands together, he lifted the second one and deposited it on top of the first, then crossed his arms and looked at the third. The mine cart wasn't big enough to hold it, but he couldn't just leave it after what Boots had said.
After a few moments, he thought of a solution. He leaned the cross against the wall of the tunnel and began smashing it with the heel of his boot. The pounding echoed throughout the tunnel as the boards cracked beneath his blows. He kept it up until the entire thing had been reduced to kindling. Wash tossed a few pieces into the cart, picked up the lantern, and continued down the tunnel.
As he walked, the gunman began wondering what on earth he was doing. He had blasted his way into a locked mine and spent the last half hour pushing a mine cart down a tunnel so he could steal a coffin and bring it back to a touched bartender. This wasn't the sort of fame and glory he wanted. To win a shooting match or even a duel against Cora Oglesby would earn him bragging rights for years to come. For the second time that day, he cursed his bad luck for letting her slip away. If he hadn't needed that stupid wagon, he could have made it in time and not be bothering with this little errand.
The cart's wheels continued to groan along the tracks, sending echoes bouncing off into the shadows. He just had to be patient. Boots had promised to give him power beyond what he could fathom if he could bring back the coffin. Wash wasn't sure what he meant by that, but he knew he could feel something strong and sinister whenever the bartender was around. If the bartender's promise had something to do with that power, Wash would gladly take it and show the Mad Madam who was the better fighter.
At long last, the tunnel opened into a cavern. The sounds of the cart's wheels and his own footsteps faded into the blackness around him. Wash lifted the lantern and peered to either side of him as he pushed the cart. He couldn't see anything except shattered rock and pebbles, but a tinge of fear twisted at him in the pit of his stomach. Something was lurking in those shadows; he could feel it.
The mine cart jerked to a halt, and he nearly toppled forward into the ruined crosses. He caught himself with his free hand and swung the lantern forward. The rails ended in a metal wall right in front of the cart. Wash grinned. Boots had said the coffin was near the end of the cart tracks. All he had to do now was find it and haul it out of here.