Power in the Blood

by Greg Matthews

  “How do you want to play it?”

  “Like we don’t know who he is, and we’re just a couple of nobodies that come in for a drink and now we’re leaving. The bottle’s paid for. In a minute or so we’ll take it outside and get mounted, and I’ll act like I’m a little drunk, see, just to make him rest easy, I hope, and we start riding and wait till we come to a place we can get the drop on him, because that shiteater, he’ll be following behind like a baby duck after its mama. You got that, Bones?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Take another drink, then take the bottle. I got to use the jakes. Be with you soon.”

  When Nate rose and walked to the rear of the barroom, Drew watched him pass by the stove, and noted the man with the long mustaches, whose face turned slightly as Nate passed him by. Drew was already looking into the bottom of his glass by the time the Pinkerton man sneaked a glance back at him. He corked the bottle and slipped it into his coat pocket, then rose and headed for the door.

  Outside, he unhitched all four horses and readied Nate’s beside him for a fast mount-up. He was sufficiently drunk, despite the brevity of his stay inside the saloon, to wonder without alarm if blood would indeed be spilled as Nate predicted. The storm had covered White Cloud with darkness in advance of the hour, and flakes of snow already were drifting down through the air. The town’s single street was made beautiful by silently drifting whiteness, and Drew experienced a momentary lapse of concentration as he watched individual flakes swirl past his nose. It seemed most unlikely that from this moment of calm repose there might spring a confrontation resulting in blood. He did not doubt that Nate had correctly identified the Pinkerton man, but to kill him somewhere along the trail struck Drew as an infringement upon a naturally peaceful setting. He wanted no part in it, and hoped enough snow might fall to prevent Torrence from following them. The means by which detectives were able to track down outlaws were interesting to Drew. He admired men capable of such intense dedication to the law, even if they threatened him personally with their expertise. He hoped, if Torrence fell into their hands, to question him about his profession. Better still would be ignorance, because a Pinkerton in the hands of Nate was sure to be a dead man soon. Drew felt again the compulsion to cut himself adrift from Lodi by abandoning Nate, but also the obligation of outlawry to defend his fellow robber; allegiance was a powerful force, applied by circumstance to the unlikeliest of partners. He was in deep, as Nate had said, and there was no means of escape for Drew that would have sat comfortably on his shoulders. Being a little drunk helped, but not by much.

  The saloon door slammed open, then shut. Nate swung into the saddle and they began ambling along the street.

  “Don’t turn around,” Nate said. “You do that and he sees it, he’ll know he’s been suspicioned.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t know nothing. These Pinkertons, they always do this, wait around in a town they figure we’ll show up in sometime. Lodi run with Arch Powell up in Montana, and when the gang busted up, there was bounty hunters and detectives combing three states for them. A couple U.S. marshals even went down Killdeer way to flush him out, only Arch happened to be dead already, and they got to be the same way their-selves before too long. Lodi laughed about that when he heard. This feller, now, he’ll have the same thing happen to him, and it’s a lesson in how not to be a fool.”

  Drew turned to see if the man with the long mustaches had left the saloon. They were at the edge of town by then, and heavier snow was spilling from the sky. The man was not on the sidewalk yet.

  “I told you not to turn around.”

  “He didn’t see. He’s not there. You could be wrong about him.”

  “Nope.”

  In less than a minute the saloon could not be seen any longer, cut off by the last building in White Cloud and the thickening snowfall.

  “He’ll be along,” Nate said.

  “Then what?”

  “Then we kill him, what else? You up to that, Bones? Ever killed a man before?”

  “Wounded one in the gut. I guess he died.”

  “Well, this time you can do it right and be sure.”

  Drew hoped Torrence had been wise enough to stay in White Cloud. He had no wish to shoot a Pinkerton, even if the man was trailing them with a mind to killing or arresting them. There was not enough snow to cover their tracks unless Torrence delayed following them by at least an hour, an unlikely event.

  When Drew and Nate had ridden for a while, Nate said, “Far enough from town now, they won’t hear nothing. Get down and go back to the last bend. Wait for him there and get him good, you hear? I’ll be expecting to see the feller dead on the ground. Take this.” Nate threw him his Winchester.

  Drew dismounted and retraced his trail to the bend, then positioned himself behind some trees. This was a test he would have to pass if he wanted to remain with Lodi on Lodi’s terms, and those terms would not permit allowing a Pinkerton to go free when he was so close to the hideout. He thought about shooting Nate instead, but that seemed equally odious, even if Nate was sure to have killed men during his outlaw years. The only chance for Drew to escape moral compromise was if Torrence had not followed them.

  That possibility was expunged several minutes later, when Drew heard the approach of hooves, a single horse walking slowly. He saw it coming through the snow, its rider leaning low in the saddle to assure himself he was still on the double set of tracks he had followed from White Cloud. He passed within three yards of Drew without noticing, then was further up the trail toward Nate, who would not hesitate to shoot him down if Drew failed.

  “Hold it there!”

  The horse shied a little and the rider came upright in the saddle as he turned. Drew had the rifle trained on his chest in case there should be a gun in the rider’s hand, but there was not. The horse danced nervously as Drew came closer. “Get down,” he told the rider.

  “Why would I want to?”

  “Get down or get shot down.”

  The man dismounted.

  “Now lead your horse up ahead. Keep your hands wide apart where I can see them.”

  “I don’t have any money. You’re wasting your time.”

  “Turn around and start walking.”

  Nate was waiting beside the trail with the horses.

  “Bones, I told you to shoot him, not deliver him.”

  “We need to be sure who he is first.”

  “You never even took his gun, you jackass. Torrence, dump that belt now.”

  “The name isn’t Torrence, mister.”

  “Unbuckle it right now.”

  Torrence dropped his gun belt.

  “Now step away. Pick it up, Bones.”

  Drew collected the belt. Nate edged his horse closer.

  “It’s you, Torrence. You done the wrong thing, following us. You’d be dead right now if Bones had’ve done what I said.”

  “We need to be sure,” Drew repeated.

  “You think so, huh? Well, all right. Take the rifle out’n his saddle, then both of you get mounted. We’ll take a little ride and maybe dig out more truth than you can handle, Bones, but if that’s what you want, we’ll do it that way.”

  “You men are mistaking me for someone else. I’m Bob Weeks, from Sioux City.”

  “No you ain’t; now do like I say.”

  Some time later, the riders heard two shots from the direction of the cabin, then a third. Nate asked Torrence, “You got a partner working with you?”

  “I don’t have any partner, and I’m not who you think I am, my friend.”

  “Go on ahead,” Nate told Drew. “Scout things out and be careful you don’t get seen. Could be there’s more like this one around.”

  Drew understood that the job had been given to him because Nate considered him an unreliable guard over Torrence. He went on up the trail another half mile and came in sight of the cabin. Far from finding Clarence and Lodi pinned down inside by Pinkertons, he saw them by the corral with a lante
rn apiece, inspecting the ground. Drew rode up and asked why the shots had been fired.

  “Mountain lion,” said Clarence. “The horses started screaming, and I come out to see why. Seen him for just a moment, a big one. Take a look at these tracks here—you ever see a print the size of that?”

  “Where’s Nate?” asked Lodi.

  “Back a little ways. There’s a man with him Nate says is a Pinkerton.”

  “Go get the both of them here now.”

  Drew fetched Nate and Torrence. The supplies were unloaded and the horses quickly rubbed down by Drew while Clarence stood guard with a rifle.

  “Lions, they can be tricky,” said Clarence. “Now he knows there’s a bunch of horses here, he’ll come back. That feller really a detective?”

  “I don’t know. Nate thinks so.”

  “They won’t let him out of that cabin breathing, you can bet on it.”

  Drew dumped feed into the trough and began walking to the cabin with a sack of flour. Clarence said, “Come out and spell me soon, all right? It’s cold out here.”

  Torrence was on the floor as Drew entered, Nate standing above him with a chunk of firewood in his hands. Lodi was smoking his pipe, a pistol on the table before him. Nate kicked Torrence in the ribs to stir him, but the downed man simply grunted in response.

  “You hit him too hard,” Lodi admonished. “You won’t get a thing out of him like that.”

  “It’s Torrence,” Nate said. “I know it. I told you about him when we were still up around Butte that time.”

  “I recall it, but I never did set eyes on the man myself. Unless he breaks, it’s your word against his.”

  “Oh, he’ll say what he needs to, never you mind. I ain’t about to let one of his kind lie his way out of here.”

  “Did you go through his pockets yet?” Drew asked, setting down the flour. “He might have proof of who he is.”

  “Pinkertons carry everything they need to fool you,” Lodi said, “so whatever’s in his pockets don’t mean a damn thing. Get the rest of the supplies in, then stay out and watch the corral.”

  Drew sent Clarence inside and cradled the rifle, huddled in a corner of the stable. Torrence would die, probably after being severely beaten. It would have been a mercy to shoot him as Nate had told him to. Now the man would suffer before death came to release him. Nate would almost certainly insist that Drew be the one to finish him off with a bullet, if he did not die quickly enough when they were done with questioning him. Drew could saddle up a horse now and lead it away from the cabin while the other three were occupied with Torrence. The snow was coming down heavier than before, and would hide his tracks if he could just get far enough away before they discovered he was gone.

  It might work, but it would not help Torrence. Drew found himself resenting the man for having blundered into the situation that was going to end only when he was dead. He had thought Pinkertons were smarter than that. He told himself it was not his fault. He knew he was not about to ride away; he had almost a thousand dollars inside the cabin, and Torrence would soon be a dead man in any case. Drew tried to ignore the weak scream that came to him across the wind-whipped corral. The horses munched their fresh oats, already unmindful of the lion. Drew wished he could be so placid, so uncaring.

  When Nate came out to watch for the lion, Drew went inside.

  Torrence was alive but unconscious. “Well,” said Lodi, “he’s a Pinkerton, all right. Talked up nice and loud when Nate got done persuading him. You should have done what Nate said, Bones, and spared the man some pain.”

  “I was just thinking that myself.”

  “Were you now. Then I guess that makes it all right with you if you’re the one that does what has to be done.”

  “He looks like he’s pretty near dead already.”

  “Nowhere near it. I’ve seen more dead men than you’ll ever see, and he’s got life in him yet, just a little busted up is all. He’ll be useful to us just like he is.”

  “Useful?”

  “There’s two problems we’ve got right now, Bones. One’s him, and the other’s that lion out there looking to rip open a horse or two. A man with brains, he’d take those two problems and put them together, and you know what, Bones? He doesn’t get a double problem, he gets both of them taken care of. You following me yet?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll keep it simple. Take him outside, not too far off, and stake him down, then wait for the lion. It’ll smell the blood that’s on him and come for fresh meat. When it does, you shoot it.”

  “Bait?”

  “That’s it, Bones. Get yourself set up in a tree perch is my advice, less chance the lion’ll smell you too.”

  Drew looked over at Clarence, plaiting a rawhide quirt on his bunk. Clarence would not look up.

  “Looks like you don’t approve,” said Lodi.

  “I don’t.”

  “Makes no difference. I tell you to do it, you do it. I’m not agreeable like Nate is when someone don’t do what I said. I always get my way, Bones, I’m lucky like that. Take him out now while there’s no fight left in him. Take rope for him so he don’t run off, and some for you to tie yourself onto a tree. Better go high, Bones. Lions can jump pretty good. Clarence, go help him get set up.”

  After Torrence had been laid on the snow in a clearing some hundred yards from the cabin, Drew sent Clarence back for a chair and blanket to keep the unconscious man from freezing on the ground. When Clarence came back he said Lodi had laughed, but allowed the extra comforts anyway. They set Torrence on the chair and swathed him in the thick blanket.

  “This ain’t my notion of a good idea,” Clarence said.

  “Mine neither. I can’t climb a pine tree. You see anything around here but pines? That part won’t work.”

  “Lodi said to climb a tree.”

  “Not around here. I’ll just hide myself.”

  “Lion might smell you out.”

  “That he might.”

  “Well, you do what you think is gonna work, but I won’t be the one that says to Lodi you wouldn’t get in a tree.”

  “Then don’t. Let Lodi come outside and find out.”

  “He won’t do that. He’s got Nate in the corral still. Lodi don’t like to be out where it’s cold.”

  “Then he won’t ever know, will he? Go on back, Clarence.”

  “It ain’t my kind of a good idea to put a man out for lion bait.”

  “It won’t come. Lions are smart animals.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Clarence said, and turned to go back to the cabin.

  Drew listened until the crunching of his footsteps had faded, then stationed himself beneath the low boughs of a nearby tree. He turned out his lamp and watched his own breath form clouds in front of his face. Similar clouds formed around Torrence’s slumped shoulders and were carried away on the wind, whisked to invisibility within seconds. The snow had stopped abruptly while Torrence was being roped onto the chair. Drew could see him clearly through a network of pine needles, a figure barely recognizable as human. Drew had seen the blood clotting in his hair as they took him from the cabin; Nate had struck Torrence’s head with force many times. In a way it was better that he remained unaware of his new circumstances.

  Drew had no faith at all in Lodi’s plan, and suspected Lodi had no faith in it either. Torrence and Drew were both being punished, one for being a Pinkerton, the other for being weak. The worst that could happen was being obliged to spend the entire night outside, freezing his feet and trying to stay awake in case of the lion’s improbable return. Torrence would very likely freeze before dawn, inactive as he was, but there was little Drew felt he could do to avoid that, apart from providing the blanket. Freezing might prove a merciful release from whatever Lodi had in mind if the lion did not take the bait offered to it. Drew surmised death by freezing must be akin to falling asleep and never waking up, a civilized way to pass on, and one that Drew would have preferred himself over hanging, for instan
ce.

  He stamped his feet to keep the blood moving through his toes and to scare away the lion, should it be in the vicinity. Sometimes he asked Torrence if he was all right, but there was never any reply beyond the breath drifting from beneath his hat. Drew became miserable. He had chosen the wrong path, fallen in with bad company, and could see no practical way of escaping with his skin intact.

  He had never seen a mountain lion, but had heard stories of their attacking children. Drew could not be sure the lion would prefer easy meat in a chair over something more to its natural taste, like horses. He would keep it away from Torrence if it came anywhere near. Of course, if the lion had no chance to kill the Pinkerton, Lodi would give the job to Drew. There was no escaping the dilemma. The best thing would be for Torrence to die of exposure, and yet Drew had gone and provided a blanket for him. It was becoming more difficult to think about. Cold was seeping beneath his skin, creeping through the flesh, invading his bones. He wanted to be anywhere but where he was, doing anything but watching over a man set up for lion bait. He felt sleepy despite his discomfort, less concerned for himself or Torrence, and he felt a warm flush of shame prickle his face and neck.

  Drew stepped out from beneath the tree and approached the bound man on the chair. “Torrence? Hey, Torrence.” Breath still came from his mouth, but the wisps were less powerful than before, the pauses between them longer. Torrence was dying, succumbing to the cold, the best of all possible deaths, under the circumstances. Drew shook him several times without eliciting any response. He stood there, hating himself, helpless.

  The scream came to his ears like a steam whistle, beginning low and rising in pitch to a crescendo that suddenly was cut off completely. Drew turned to face the direction it had come from. It was not the scream of a horse, so it had to have been the lion, and it was over toward the cabin. The scream returned, and this time he knew it was human. Drew began to run. Whoever was screaming had stopped, and the silence was replaced by a deep coughing that became a snarl. Drew stopped, then began running again. He heard shouting from the cabin and the corral, but the lion was closer than that, much closer, coughing and snarling again, and the nearer he came to it, the more Drew felt his scalp crawl.