ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHOWDOWN
James Reasoner
Original edition copyright ® June 1988 by Terence Duncan
Ebook edition copyright © April 2012 by James Reasoner
First printing: February 1988 POWELLS ARMY #5: ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHOWDOWN
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Introduction
The 1986 Western Writers of America convention in Fort Worth was the first one I attended. I'd been a member of WWA for less than a year, and that convention was an opportunity for me to meet a lot of people whose work I'd read and admired. Many of them became friends, and I'm still honored to call them my friends.
Two of the people I met that week were literary agent Ray Puechner and his wife Barbara, a fine writer who was working on a Western series called POWELL'S ARMY. We became friends right away, and although Ray was never my agent, I remained in occasional contact with him and Barbara.
A year went by, and Livia and I were excited about the impending birth of our second child. The phone rang one day, and on the other end was Barbara Puechner, who had some unwelcome news. Ray was sick, and because of the need to help take care of him, Barbara wasn't going to be able to continue writing the Powell's Army books for which she had contracts. She needed someone to take over for her, and she asked Livia if she'd be interested.
Livia explained that she was going to be having a baby in the next day or two, so she didn't think she could take on anything else. But then she said, "You might get James to write them," and handed the phone to me.
The motto of the freelance writer, of course, is "Sure, I can do that." So that's what I told Barbara. I agreed to write a Western novel in a series I hadn't read, in two weeks, with a newborn baby in the house. Piece of cake, right?
I spent the next few days reading the first three books in the Powell's Army series (between the birth of our daughter Joanna, bringing her and Livia home from the hospital, etc.), then sat down and wrote ROBBERS ROOST in twelve days. I was pretty pleased with the way it turned out, too, and so was Barbara. I wrote the next two books in the series, ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHOWDOWN and RED RIVER DESPERADOES, before moving on to other things.
In the meantime, Ray passed away, and after writing one more novel, a stand-alone Western entitled CRUSH that was published by M. Evans under the pseudonym Dell Beman, Barbara took over the literary agency and proved to be an exceptional agent. Livia and I became her clients, and she represented our work for many years. We saw her at a number of conventions and became friends not only with her but also with her sister-in-law Millie, who helped her run the agency, and her daughter Glenna.
Unfortunately, illness forced Barbara to retire and then took her life at much too early an age. She was a fine writer, an excellent agent, and an even better friend, and Livia and I still miss her.
I always remembered with fondness the three Powell's Army novels I wrote, at times under trying circumstances, and with the permission of Glenna and Millie, we're glad to make them available again as e-books. All three of them are dedicated to the memory of our good friend, Barbara Puechner.
CHAPTER ONE
Celia Louise Burnett had seen mountains before, but still the sight of the Rockies in the distance thrilled her — so much, in fact, that she had a hard time concentrating on the cards in her hand.
"I'm in," the man opposite her said, pushing money into the center of the table. He glanced up, met the pretty young redhead's gaze, and smiled.
Celia looked quickly down at her cards and tried to will herself not to blush. She swayed slightly in her chair as the train rounded a bend. The Rockies were still visible through the windows of the railroad car. Celia told herself sternly to ignore all the distractions — natural and otherwise — and concentrate on the game.
If only Major Devlin Henry hadn't been so damned handsome!
To Major Henry's left, a tall, grim visaged Omaha Indian stared at his cards and grunted as he decided to stay in the hand. It was a bit unusual to find an Indian playing poker with white men, but Gerald Glidinghawk's money and manners were just as good as anyone's. And so far Glidinghawk had lost consistently, which made the other players that much more tolerant of his red skin.
Celia knew that Glidinghawk was being careful not to reveal that he knew her. As far as the other four players around the table were concerned, the redheaded young woman and the dour Indian were total strangers.
That was the way they wanted to keep it.
Glidinghawk was probably unhappy with her, Celia thought. She knew damn well that Landrum would be. She was sure to hear about it later, once the train reached Denver.
The game continued at a steady, pleasant pace as the train rolled south west ward. The club car where the game was taking place was almost like a saloon on wheels, and Celia felt right at home.
There was a small bar on one wall, behind which a white-jacketed bartender dispensed drinks. Several booths lined the other wall and gave a semblance of privacy for the couples who huddled within them. The other tables were full for the most part, and there was a comfortable buzz of conversation and laughter in the air, along with the smoke from fine cigars.
Celia knew she should have stayed in her seat in the car just ahead, should have traveled in decorum like the well-bred young lady she was supposed to be. But when Major Henry had mentioned the poker game in the club car, Celia had been unable to resist. There was something deep within her that resonated to the lure of games of chance and skill.
"Let's just up it a bit, shall we?" she said now, pushing a sizable bet into the center of the table. "I believe that's fifty to you, Mr. McDermott."
Cyrus McDermott sighed heavily. During the brief self-introductions the players had carried out before starting the game, he had revealed that he owned a successful hardware store in Denver and was on his way back from a buying trip in Kansas City. He was a born merchant, full of caution and avarice.
McDermott glanced at his cards again and grimaced, but he said, "I'll stay."
Celia let her eyes roam around the table, taking in the other players. Besides Glidinghawk, McDermott, and Major Henry — she already wanted to refer to him as Devlin — there were two other men in the game. Curt Selmon was a rancher, relatively successful from the look of him. The final player, Oliver Blaine, was obviously a gambler. His fancy dress and his deft touch with the cards revealed his profession. No doubt he made this journey often and joined in all the games along the way.
The bet was back around to Devlin Henry, who raised it yet again. Glidinghawk's mouth twitched disgustedly, and he threw in his cards. "Injun no damn fool," he said in self-mockery, which drew a chuckle from several of the other players.
Devlin didn't laugh. He seemed to take the game quite seriously. But there was still a slight twinkle in his eyes when he glanced at Celia.
She had known him only a few hours, but already it seemed as if they had been friends for years.
He had introduced himself to her that morning in the dining car, being quite the gentleman about it. He had noticed that she was traveling alone, he had said, and he offered to accompany her to whatever hotel she was stopping at when the train arrived in Denver. There was not a hint of anything improper about the offer, Celia sensed. She had a feeling that he would have made the same suggestion had she been a white-haired, sixty-year-old lady.
Of course, considering his broad shoulders and crisp dark hair and dashing mustache, Celia might not have minded at least a hint of something improper . . .
They had sat together during the morning, dined together at midday, then both had gravitated ba
ck here to the club car for this friendly poker game. Celia had been aware a time or two of the veiled warning looks sent in her direction by Landrum Davis, but the tall Texan was not supposed to know her, any more than Gerald Glidinghawk was, so there wasn't much Landrum could do about the matter except send the Omaha along to keep an eye on her.
Besides, as long as she did her job, Landrum had no right to complain about her choice of companions. And it might help to get to know Major Henry better.
He was, after all, heading to Denver to join the very commission that was bringing Powell's Army to Colorado Territory.
The dispatch from Lt. Colonel Amos Powell assigning them to this case had reached them in Montana Territory. Celia, Landrum, and Glidinghawk, along with the fourth member of their team, Preston Fox, had just brought a dangerous mission to a successful conclusion — successful for the most part, anyway.
Faced with the threat of being disbanded had the mission gone badly, Powell's team of undercover civilian investigators was back in the good graces of the adjutant general's office, at least for the moment. All of them knew quite well that things could change rapidly should they have trouble with this new assignment, however.
Which was one more reason Celia should have resisted the temptation to join this game, she mused. But as she laid down a full house and raked in a good-sized pot, an undeniable thrill shot through her. She might be the daughter of a well-respected army officer, but she was a gambier at heart.
The only thing that would improve the current situation was if she could go over to that bar and get a drink. Something stronger than the too-sweet brandy which she had allowed herself a little earlier.
The sun was dipping down toward the jagged crests of the mountains to the west. The train would not pull in to the Denver & Pacific station in the territorial capital until after dark. That was the main reason Devlin Henry had offered to escort her.
Denver was a fairly young town, growing steadily, full of all kinds of people — including some who were not too nice, even to visiting young ladies.
Especially visiting young ladies as attractive as Celia.
As the deal passed to Celia, she heard Cyrus McDermott scrape his chair back. "This game is just too steep for my blood," the businessman muttered. He turned and headed for the bar.
He hadn't been gone thirty seconds when a new figure stood beside the table, a hand on the empty chair. "Mind if I sit in?" the newcomer asked.
Celia looked up to see a young man dressed like a cowboy. The range clothes were clean but well worn. The man's Stetson was pushed back from a lean, dark face with sharp eyes. There was something unsettling about the grin on his face and the set of his jaw.
Devlin Henry was regarding the stranger with equal scrutiny. After a moment, he nodded. "All right with me," he said. The rancher, Selmon, grunted assent, as did Glidinghawk.
The gambler, Oliver Blaine, smiled up at the cowboy. "Please have a seat," Blaine said smoothly. "That is, if the young lady has no objection."
"How about it, ma'am?" The cowboy smiled cockily down at Celia.
Her instincts told her that this young man might represent trouble, but she couldn't explain that to the others. If they saw no reason not to welcome the cowboy into the game, she couldn't very well deny him the empty chair.
"Please join us," Celia said, forcing a tiny smile onto her face.
"Name's Ben Malone," the cowboy said as he sank into the seat. He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and dropped it onto the table in front of him. "Don't know what your limit is in this game, but I reckon I can afford it."
No one was going to ask him where he had gotten the money. That would have been rude to the point of being a shooting insult. But the other players didn't have to wonder for long. Ben Malone turned out to be a talkative young man.
"Just took a herd into Dodge City," he told them. "Brought them beeves all the way up from San Antone. I didn't feel much like heading back to Texas right now, though, so I decided I'd come see me some mountains." He nodded toward the train's windows and the Rockies beyond. "They're mighty impressive."
"That they are," Devlin agreed.
Celia was dealing the cards. The pasteboards left her hand with practiced ease. She was more at home dealing faro, had in fact done just that during Powell's Army's first mission together. But she had quite a bit of experience at poker, too.
Celia took the first hand she dealt, then Devlin Henry won the next two. As she won the next hand, she saw Ben Malone looking narrowly at her out of the corner of his eye. So far he hadn't come close to winning, although he had plunged heavily on a couple of hands and seemed to think he had them. At the rate he was going, the roll of bills wouldn't last him too long.
His luck seemed to turn as the deal passed on to him. He won a hand, then Glidinghawk and Selmon each took one before Malone won two more. The young cowboy had just about recouped his losses.
When it was Devlin's turn to deal, Malone's newfound luck seemed to desert him once again. Celia won most of the hands for a while, and when she wasn't raking in a pot, Devlin was.
Malone kept looking from Celia to Devlin and then back again. His face became darker, his eyes narrow with suspicion as he squinted at his cards. He flung the hand down in disgust.
"Seems like the only way I can get a good hand is if I deal it myself," he snapped.
Oliver Blaine chuckled humorlessly. "Comments like that might tend to make people a bit suspicious of you, my friend."
"Take it easy, Malone," Selmon put in. "This is a friendly game."
"Hell, I'm as friendly as the next fella," Malone shot back. "Reckon I should have said the only way I can get an honest hand is to deal it myself."
Slowly and carefully, Devlin Henry put the deck of cards down on the table. There was still a smile on his face, but his features were tight with controlled anger now.
"There's no call for that kind of talk," he said. "And no place around this table for either rash accusations or profanity. Not with a lady present."
Malone glanced at Celia. "Sorry, ma'am," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Reckon I was out of line to hint that you and this pretty-boy major are in cahoots and cheating."
"You certainly were," Celia said icily. She glanced at Glidinghawk and read the concern in his eyes. It was bad enough that she had gotten involved in this game in the first place. It would be even worse if some sort of trouble came out of it.
Malone nodded. "I should have come right out and said it," he sneered. He looked back at Devlin. "You and this lady are cheating, mister. "
"What are you going to do about it?"
Devlin wasn't smiling now. He stood up, his face dark with anger. "Why, you young —" he began, his hands curling into fists. Malone was suddenly springing up and back, knocking his chair over behind him, his hand flashing toward the big gun holstered on his hip. Celia screamed.
CHAPTER TWO
Malone was fast, no doubt about it. His gun was clear of its holster, the barrel tipping up toward Devlin, when Celia moved with a speed born of desperation.
The cowboy was only a couple of feet away from her. She reached out, acting instinctively, and planted her hands on his hip. She shoved as hard as she could.
The push was just enough to throw him off balance. The gun in his hand blasted, the racket of the shot deafening in these close quarters, but the bullet came nowhere near its intended target, Major Devlin Henry. Instead the slug thudded harmlessly into the wall of the car..
The other occupants of the club car went diving for cover. There were more screams from the ladies present.
Malone caught himself before he could fall and tried to bring the gun back into line. But Celia's action had given Devlin the chance to lunge around the table into striking distance. The major's fist lashed out, and hard knuckles crashed into Malone's jaw with a sickening smack.
The cowboy's head was snapped around by the blow. He stiffened, and the pistol slipped from suddenly limp fingers. Malone
pitched forward, bouncing off the table and then sprawling bonelessly on the floor of the car.
Devlin rubbed his knuckles and grimaced. His hand was already starting to swell. He shook his head and grinned at Celia. "Thanks," he said. "That lunatic would have drilled me if you hadn't shoved him."
Celia swallowed and then licked dry lips. Her ears were ringing from the gunshot, and her nerves were stretched taut by the sudden violence. "He . . . he was crazy, all right," she said, her voice hoarse.
"Of course he was," Oliver Blaine said. "I assure you, I would have known about it if you or the major had been, shall we say, tilting the odds too much in your favor. Despite what our young friend on the floor might have thought, this is an honest game."
Curt Selmon stood up wearily and glanced at Glidinghawk. "Come on, mister," the rancher said to the Omaha. "Let's drag him out of here."
The train's conductor appeared, either having heard the gunshot or been summoned by the club car's bartender. He was a burly man with a face like a middle-aged bulldog, and he asked, "What's the trouble here?"
"No trouble now," Devlin told him. He nodded to Malone's body as Glidinghawk and Selmon stooped to grasp the unconscious cowboy. "That man thought he was being cheated at cards. He drew his gun and fired a shot. With the help of this young lady, I subdued him."
The conductor glanced dubiously at Celia, as if unsure what help she could have been in taming a wild young cowboy. Then the trainman looked at Blaine and said, "Don't I know you?"
"Indeed you do, sir. Oliver Blaine, at your service. I ride these rails quite often."
The conductor grunted. "And this fella thought you was cheating him?"
"No," Devlin said quickly. "He accused the young lady and me of working in concert."
Blaine raised one eyebrow mockingly. "You see, conductor, I'm not the only one who has aspersions cast upon his honesty."
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