The Two Devils

by David B. Riley

  "They work on monsters from Mars,” he said. “Some believe they work on angels. It was just a thought."

  "Angels?” Angel asked. “You want to shoot an angel?"

  His big eyes focused on Angel. “You once dressed like an angel, my dear. Ran around making people think you were crazy,” Ah Puch said.

  "We're talking about real ones. Miles knows what I mean."

  "You want to shoot Nick?” I asked.

  He stood and twirled the revolver around for a few seconds. “Absolutely I do, absolutely."

  "Well, maybe somebody else has some. But I'm not sure they really work,” I said.

  "Who's this Nick?” Angel demanded.

  "The devil,” we both replied at once.

  "This is insane,” Angel yelled. “I'm talking to a man with an owl head who's obsessed with the devil. That's all you've talked about since I've been here. It's insane."

  "He wants the devil's job,” I said.

  "What?” Angel glared at me, than at him. “What?"

  "Well, it's not that simple, really. But, Miles here is on the right track. I am the true lord of the underworld. It is my birthright,” Ah Puch proclaimed.

  "If my ankle wasn't chained to this chair,” Angel said. I'd been wondering why she sat there so cooperatively. She hiked her skirt up a little to show her ankle was chained to the frame of the chair.

  "Hike your skirt for him some other time, madam,” Ah Puch scolded. “We're here for my entertainment, not yours."

  She glared at him, but said nothing else. That gave me an idea. I stood and declared “You have offended my lady's honor, Ah Puch."

  He crossed his arms and looked at me. “What of it?"

  I pointed at him, lacking any gloves to slap him with, I said, “I demand satisfaction."

  "You demand?” He glared at me with those big owl eyes, then looked at Angel, then at me again. “This could be fun. Very well, I accept.” He jumped up and down a few times.

  "Shall we shoot it out here, on the stage?” I asked.

  "Yes, yes indeed. That will be splendid.” Ah Puch opened a trunk. “Since I am the one who has been challenged, it is my right to select the weapons."

  I nodded in agreement. “What do you have?"

  He held up two muzzle loading pistols. “Will these be satisfactory?” Ah Puch asked.

  "I suppose. It's just.” I stopped talking and stood there.

  "You want,” he held my revolver up, “this."

  "Well, yes,” I admitted.

  "It's mine now, Mr. O'Malley. Get used to it.” He placed it back into the trunk and locked it. “I'll load one, then you can load the other.” He poured powder from a small jar, then dropped a lead bullet and packed it with a small dowel. “Now for you.” He gestured at the powder and another bullet on top the trunk. “I shall have this pointed at Miss Jones’ head, should this prove to be some sort of trick."

  "Who's Miss Jones?” I stupidly asked.

  "I am,” Angel snapped.

  Ah Puch chirped. “You never even knew her last name? Mr. O'Malley, you are an incredible idiot."

  I felt like he was right, but I did have a plan in mind. It was my only hope. I prepared the pistol as best I could for someone who'd never even seen a muzzle-loader before. It seemed ready. I held it tightly against my chest much as Jonathon T. Livingston had once done in another duel. “I'm ready."

  He jumped up and down. “Excellent. Miss Jones can count us off,” Ah Puch decided.

  "I'll have nothing of this barbarity.” Angel looked off at the wall.

  "Please count us off,” I pleaded. “Please."

  She let out a sigh. “Very well.” She waited for us to get into position. “One, two..."

  I guess she counted off more numbers, though I cannot be certain. On one, I took off running as fast as I could. I ran out a side exit and did not stop until I reached a saloon one block down the street.

  There was a deputy town marshal standing in front of the saloon. “Some woman's in the Opera House yelling her off head off about breaking her leg!"

  "Isn't that what they say, them theater people?” the lawman asked.

  "There's no performance tonight. I think she's hurt,” I insisted.

  "Well, guess I better have a look.” He made some sort of gesture to another deputy farther down the street, then both of them started running for the Opera House.

  I went inside, insisted on a table, and ordered two beers. I sat there in silence, drinking one beer and ignoring the other. People were whispering about me.

  After a half hour, Angel arrived and sat across from me.

  "Is this for me?” she asked about the beer.

  I nodded.

  "Broken leg?"

  "They would not have responded so quickly to your aid if I'd told them you were prisoner of a man with an owl head,” I said.

  "Just run away? Some plan."

  "Well, those muzzle loader pistols are really short range. I figured I had a pretty good chance if I got off the stage."

  Angel took a meager sip of the beer, then placed the mug back on the table. “Just leave me there with him?"

  "When I saw your ankle, I realized it was the same sort of lock they'd used on me. Those guys who work for him would probably have gone off with the key. Ah Puch only had a few minutes to react, so I figured he would hightail it.” I finished my beer. “Is that what he did?"

  "Yep.” She looked at the beer, but did not have any more. “He looked at me, called for those two helpers. They'd gone off somewhere. He heard the deputies coming. He ran off."

  "Wonder where he is now?"

  "There are cavalry units covering the roads out of town. Sharpshooters have orders to shoot any owl they see.” She looked at that beer, but again backed off. “The ranchers will love me. They hate owls. They think they carry off steers in the middle of the night."

  "That's the darnedest thing."

  "Well, that's the way they think. I think they'll have mice in their lunch pails without owls and such, but I have no choice,” she said. “I've got to try everything."

  "How long have there been troops surrounding the town?"

  "Since we got here."

  She stood. “Walk me to Western Union. It's not a safe for a lady by herself this late."

  Somehow, I figured the accosters might be the ones needing protection. “Very well."

  She grabbed a hold of my elbow. “Owl Head is right about one thing."

  I waited for her to embellish me. When she did not, I asked, “What's that?"

  "You are an incredible idiot.” She filled out the telegraph slip at Western Union, making no attempt to shield the message addressed to Judge Hastings in San Francisco. Saw an owl in Virginia City. It flew away. Love, Angel.

  Angel decided she would remain there and wait for a reply. I went back to the hotel. I looked at my bruises in the mirror above the dresser, then laid down on the bed. If I stayed on my right side, I figured they wouldn't hurt too bad. I drifted off to sleep.

  I slept pretty good, but something woke me. I noticed the sun was just coming up. At first, I was not sure what had woken me up. Then, I heard something that sounded like a large animal banging into the wall of the hotel. I opened up the shutters to try and figure what was the matter. A large black horse was rubbing against the outside wall.

  It wasn't any horse. It was Paul.

  I climbed out the window and locked my arms around him. “Where have you been?” He even had his saddle on.

  "I sure wish he could tell us where Ah Puch is?” Angel said. She was now standing behind me.

  "Horses don't talk,” I said.

  "Mr. O'Malley, I know horses don't talk.” She was holding one of those yellow telegram papers. “I have to leave. I'm glad you got your horse back."

  "He got himself back. Paul's always escaping. There's not a corral or stable that can hold him.” I tied him to the hitching post in front of the hotel. “The only thing I wonder on, is how he knew I was in the hotel."r />
  "Maybe he saw you from wherever they kept him.” She looked at the telegram for a moment. “Are you going back to San Francisco?"

  "I reckon.” Even though I was afraid of becoming a city slicker, I still liked barbering a lot better than mining.

  She asked, “Are you going on the train?"

  "No, I guess we'll go overland. It'll take weeks to get back, but sending Paul on the train is way too expensive,” I explained.

  "Well, I've been ordered to Kansas City. I may not be back for a while,” Angel explained.

  "Is Ah Puch headed that way?"

  "No, Mr. O'Malley, I do not know where he has gone. There are other criminals beside him to contend with.” She kissed me on the cheek, then trotted off in the direction of the stage depot.

  "See, I told you she's not really crazy,” I whispered to my horse.

  My horse snorted.

  I had my revolver back. I had my horse. I was me again. Paul and I headed out for Carson City, then on over to California.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 19

  PROSPECTORS

  I'd planned on heading out near Mono Lake, then back up north to San Francisco. This would let me avoid the high Sierra with winter coming on.

  Somehow, going through Donner Pass during an early blizzard sounded like a good way for me and Paul to have to decide on who was going to eat whom. I'd checked once before. It would cost a lot of money to take Paul by train. The railroad boys always said to send him on a freight train. He was considered baggage on a passenger train, and I would have to pay very substantial overage charges to put a horse in the baggage car. So, this trek back to California was all I could afford, but it also had the benefit of letting me and my horse get reacquainted.

  I wondered what they'd done to him, but doubted I'd ever know. He seemed unfazed, acting just like he always had. So, we moseyed along as we'd done many times before. The fall colors in the trees that ran up into the mountains reminded me of Kansas. That was one thing about California, they never seemed to have any noticeable seasons. Winter and summer seemed pretty much interchangeable.

  About three days into our trip, we were out somewhere in the wilderness. I figured we were just barely inside California. It was a pleasant enough day. For some reason, Paul abruptly turned off the main road, and we went up what amounted to an animal trail. We traversed this for about a mile, then came out alongside a small creek. I figured Paul must have a reason for this detour, so I had not been concerned. Trees and shrubs lined the creek, so I was thinking this might not be a bad place to make camp, even though it was a little early.

  We soon discovered someone else had already made camp. There were horses and tents for eight to ten men set up, though I did not see anybody.

  Paul followed the creek for a few hundred yards and we came out at a wide calm pool area. Men dressed in brown robes were busily tending a sluice box they had set up. They were shoveling dirt into it as diverted stream water ran the dirt though a series of screens. The dirt washed out, larger flakes of gold remained.

  What was unusual was the fact that all of these men had the back part of their heads shaved and all wore identical brown robes.

  "Hello,” I said, as the men seemed so involved in their work they did not seem to notice me.

  The shortest of the eight men looked up first. “Bandits!” he yelled.

  I'd been called a lot of things—bandit was not one of them. I held up my hands, as if that somehow proved something. “No, I'm just passing through. I was looking for a place to make camp. I didn't know you fellows were back here."

  The others looked me over for a minute. “He seems to be alone,” the tall, lanky blonde man said. “Seems harmless."

  "I think he's a claim jumper,” the short one said as he glared at me.

  "He looks pretty sneaky to me."

  "We don't have a claim to jump, Brother Franklin,” the tall one explained.

  "Well, we ought to have,” the short one argued.

  I coaxed Paul to move over to the bank and out of the stream. “Miles O'Malley,” I introduced myself. “From San Francisco."

  "No good ever came out of Frisco,” the short one stated.

  "Please, Brother Franklin,” another man said. He left the group, came over to me and extended his hand. “I'm Brother John,” he said. “We're monks from Mission San Andreas."

  I'd heard of monks, but never actually met any. They were the male version of nuns. I certainly hoped these guys were more honest. “I'm not familiar with your mission, brother."

  "It's about fifty miles from here,” Brother John said. “Due west."

  "Out for a little panning?"

  "Yes, something like that.” He looked around. “You must be hungry, Mr. O'Malley. Please, join us. We were just going to return to our camp and prepare our supper."

  The other monks seemed pleased with the invite, except for Brother Franklin, who still eyed me suspiciously. “Thank you, I'd very much appreciate that."

  We followed them back to their camp. I put Paul with their horses and joined the monks. Lacking any duties of mine, I sat on a log next to the campfire.

  Brother John was stoking the coals and soon had a nice fire crackling away. He rubbed his hands over it, though it was not particularly cold.

  "What line of work are you in, Mr. O'Malley?"

  "I'm a barber."

  "Oh? That's interesting. There much call for barbers out here?"

  "Not really,” I replied. “Some fool run off with my horse. He turned up over in Virginia City. I had to take the train to fetch him."

  "You went all that way for a horse?” Brother John asked.

  "Yes, brother, I did.” I pointed with my thumb in Paul's general direction. “He's the finest horse a man could want."

  "He is a splendid looking animal,” the monk decided.

  The tall monk came over and placed a Dutch kettle oven on coals next to the fire. “Mr. O'Malley, would you care to sample our wine?"

  "This is Brother Thomas,” John said. “Yes, we make wine back home. It's quite good."

  "I'd love some.” I soon had a cup of red liquid. There was talk that California could someday rival places like France in wine production, but I knew little about the product. I took a sip. It was smooth and had an excellent taste. “This is very good."

  "We're very proud of it,” John said. He poured himself a cup out of a wooden cask that I would estimate as holding about five gallons. “It's better in a crystal glass, but they do not travel all that well."

  "No, I guess they wouldn't,” I agreed.

  "They serve our wine in some of the restaurants in San Francisco,” Thomas told me.

  "I'll keep an eye out for it,” I agreed. Most restaurants charged more than my earnings could allow for.

  In no time at all, the meal was prepared. “This is venison stew,” Thomas explained. “There was one near here."

  The stew was delicious. The meat quite tender. The wine went very well to make this one of the nicest trailside meals I'd ever eaten.

  As we sat by the fire watching the sun fade below the horizon, I asked, “Brother, this is strictly your concern, but a band of monks was about the last thing I expected to come across today."

  "I would suppose so,” John agreed. “We decided to try our hand at panning. I'm afraid the gold rush is over these days, but we just need a little to tide us over. You'd be amazed at the expenses of running a mission, Mr. O'Malley. And wine, well it takes a while to age and such."

  It seemed anybody can find themselves tight on funds. I certainly had. “Well, I hope you do well. There's still gold turning up here and there. In San Francisco, they still prefer gold dust to money. Probably always will."

  "I had heard that,” Thomas said.

  They didn't have any room in their tents, but I was welcome to sleep alongside the fire, which I did. As the fire faded to coals, I faded off to sleep. I slept well, until I woke up.

  There is something rea
lly unnerving about waking up with the Angel of Death standing over you. People who are alive don't usually win this honor. I'd lost count of how many times it had happened to me. And it was still the sort of sight that made my heart skip a few beats. “Uh ... Hello Death.” I sat up and looked around. The sun was just sneaking above the hills. The monks all seemed to be gone. “Where are the monks?"

  "All down at the river, panning.” Death wandered over to the wine and filled a cup. “These monks make really excellent wine. It's some of the best I've ever had.” He took a sip, savored the taste for a moment, then downed the rest of the cup. “You know, Miles, I should go and reveal myself to them. Seeing me—that would make their day."

  "I'm sure it would.” By then I was up. I wanted to wash up, but that seemed to require a trip to the creek. I noticed my horse was standing in the creek, eating something growing on the bank.

  Death handed me his reaper thing. “Here, hold this.” He picked up the little barrel of wine and chugged a good pint directly out of the container.

  He sat it back down. “I don't like those cups, Miles. And there aren't any glasses. I'm not a barbarian, Miles."

  "Never said you were."

  "Good man, Miles. We'll see you. Should I go push one of them in the stream? Could be fun.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Guess not. We'll see you, Miles. Glad you got your horse back."

  I looked away for a second. Then, I noticed Death was gone. I liked Death, though I really wished he'd stop standing over me when I haven't had a chance to wake up. Frankly, he seemed a little too fond of alcoholic beverages, but who am I to tell an angel how to conduct his affairs?

  The cold water from the creek cleared my head. I sauntered down to see how the brothers were faring. I knew a thing or two about mining, but I had not really dealt with the panning aspect of man's quest for gold.

  "Good morning, gentlemen.” I noticed Franklin hurriedly hid a small sack in wooden box.

  "Good morning, Mr. O'Malley,” John greeted. “Sleep well, I trust?"

  Except for a visit from the Angel of Death. I saw little point in mentioning that. “Yes, quite well, brother."

  "We wanted to get just a little more panning in. We're heading back this morning,” John explained. “Perhaps you'd like to ride along with us?"