by Caleb Rand
Linny shook her head with distress, felt the knot of frustration deep inside her. She looked to the shopkeeper and his family, knew there wasn’t much of a future in reasoning.
Further along the street, almost at the limit of Linny’s vision, somebody was pulling at the gate of the livestock pen. ‘There’s enough water backed up from them goddamn creeks to wash us to Missoula,’ he was yelling. ‘We all got to get out o’ here.’
Linny guessed that most townsfolk had already made it to the south side of the street. She had a last imploring look at those around her, then decided to attempt the lodging house again before getting away.
Immediately she was in racing water, with fragments of torn-out building planks swirling around her ankles. Through the hiss and blow of the storm, she heard the strains of shifting support timbers, then a first ominous rumble from the mountains. She stopped for a moment and dropped her shoulders, tried to keep her teeth from rattling with the fear. Up in the Flatheads, there was an immense yearly snow melt that swelled Snowshoe Creek. But south of the big lake, something more deadly heralded spring. A big, bad, blue norther was choosing the moment when incalculable tons of freeze water surged from high in the Missions.
Linny changed her mind about going back. Survival was more important than any travelling fumadiddle. She started to run south and east of the town’s buildings, wanted to catch up with the other folk who were heading for the higher benches below the timberline. But she’d left it too long, and the racing torrent pressed hard at the back of her legs. Off balance, she fell, gasped as the chill smacked at her body. She lifted her face, dragged numbed fingers across her mouth and blinked her eyes. She staggered upright, and lurched on. She’d lost her hat now, and her slicker had come open. She could see the shape of her body through the flat, sodden folds of her dress, tried vainly to refasten a button.
Her breathing was difficult and she was sobbing with despair when she stumbled and fell again. But this time, there was a foot pressing into the small of her back. Somebody held her down for a long moment, before drawing her upright.
‘Shouldn’t be out in this weather, missy. Could come to real harm,’ a voice rasped nastily.
Linny twisted to face the man who’d spoken, but that was all. Lester Madge’s broad maul of a hand clasped tight around her face.
18
HELL OF A DAY
Will was now some distance from the livery. He was standing beneath the overhang of Sentence Hotel when the squall hurled itself across town. The clouds blacked out much of the light that overhung the rush of flood water, and through the icy flakes that whipped his face, it was as much as he could do to see halfway along the street.
He’d seen something like this spectacle of nature only once before, was acutely aware of the danger. The mighty head of water would follow the land contour that led from Lonepine Lake, then seek the broad, low-lying path into Polson. Will knew where Linny should be; his problem was getting there without getting himself killed or endangering her. There wasn’t much time, and she might have fled already.
He swore and walked full into the blizzard, hurried between buildings that were already encircled with swirling currents. He drew the carbine from its long holster, and shouted at some frightened horses that had been scattered from the pen. Further on, the proprietor of Beers and Spirits was securing four beer kegs outside of his saloon. Will hadn’t forgotten Jule and Madge, and gave a hard glance. ‘Hell of a day,’ he said, getting a look at the man’s troubled face.
The roaring was oppressively louder by the time Will fought his way to the rear of the lodging. He looked up, but couldn’t see any windows of the building, guessed that if she was in there, Linny wouldn’t be seeing him either. Across the deepening torrent, he threw himself for the step rail, pulled himself up to the narrow door which was swinging on its hinges. A deep, rolling roar from the east meant the flood water was escaping the confines of the Missions.
‘Where are you bastards?’ Will yelled, his nerves jangling. He expected a volley of bullets every time he flung open a door of the deserted building. On the second floor he found one that was locked and called Linny’s name. He took a step back, hit it with the heel of his boot and it crashed open.
He pointed the carbine down at the single bed where Linny was lying. She’d been gagged and bound, abandoned by her captors. He shoved the carbine into the knot behind her back and drew her up and into his body. ‘Just think of it as dancin’,’ he rasped, as he edged them out through the room door and on to the short landing. ‘I’ll get us out o’ here,’ he promised rashly as they made it down the stairs, as the first surge of big water reached them. The building moved enough to make him stumble, almost fall to the ground floor. Then the backup swell hit low against the walls. The foundations shifted, the floor beams groaned and windows cracked.
Will pressed his back to a slanting side wall at the front of the building. He pulled the carbine from Linny’s bonds, eased the gag from her mouth. ‘You all right?’ he asked, having noticed she was wet through. ‘This stuff’ll rust your stomach, if you swallow too much of it, you know.’
‘I was supposed to be safe here. You said,’ Linny gasped.
‘I never did,’ Will responded with a tight smile. ‘You must’ve got the wrong idea, an’ for that I’m real sorry. I know your pa’s in town, Linny. You ain’t goin’ to tell me it was him, who did this?’
‘Lester Madge. I guess it’s the same thing. Now you’ve gone and sprung their trap, Will.’
‘Yeah I know it. Took a bait I couldn’t resist. I guess that’s what you done to me.’
For a moment their fingers held, as Will teased the binding from Linny’s wrists. ‘They’re somewhere’s out there, watchin’ an’ waitin’,’ he said. ‘With this blow an’ all, we’re in one hell of a scrape.’
Linny was near to tears. ‘All this comes with owning a ranch, does it?’ she asked tiredly.
‘No. It all comes with tryin’ to hang on to it.’ Will kneeled to free her ankles, saw the water seeping through the puncheoned floorboards. The building slewed underfoot, then canted from level, as a corner stanchion gave way.
‘But we got options,’ he offered, with a calm smile. ‘Drown, or have the building collapse on top of us. Both, if we don’t get out o’ here.’ Will said it, knowing that supporting Linny would cut his fighting chances when they got outside.
‘It’ll take more than a hog-tie to stop me,’ she said, with feigned pluck.
Will had a quick look around them, decided the rear door was still the best bet. The couple worked their way along the sloping floor as the house twisted again. A long gash opened beneath their feet, and icy dirt water sluiced in. The door was partly open, but jammed, warped tight shut against its frame. Will cursed and pointed to an adjacent side window. He knocked out the remains of a broken pane. ‘Don’t want that slicin’ us up,’ he mumbled, and rammed up the sash.
The scene outside stunned him. The town had its footings gripped in a whirling rushing flow of water. Some of the smaller buildings had already subsided, others were creating breakwaters for timberline debris. Drifting around the lodging house, Will could see sluice and cabin timbers, battered tool crates that had rafted all the way from the worked-out Bole Mines. Among young spruce and old pine, the dark fur of a coon glistened, all locked together in the throes of drowning. There was nothing but the frosted water race between where Will and Linny were trapped, and where bales of hay floated free from Caddo’s livery at the south end of town.
The snow was still sleeting down thick and heavy, but for all its might and phenomenal drama, Will thought the flood wasn’t worsening, not getting higher or faster in its flow. ‘Hey, it ain’t goin’ to get any worse,’ he yelled, above the groan of the pitching building. ‘It’s nearly done. From now on, it’ll drain out into the range.’
Will’s attention then switched to the whereabouts of Larris Jule and Lester Madge. He knew they had to be watching from somewhere. I’m here, because
I’m supposed to be, he was thinking. An’ they’ll most likely shoot me dead, the moment I leave.
Linny shared the thought. She was shaking with fear as she looked at Will. ‘You’re not going to tell me to stay, are you? Not again.’
‘Hell no. You got to paddle us down to Missoula,’ Will told her. He considered a swift grin, but noted the panicky tremor in Linny’s voice. ‘I’m thinkin’ there’s another reason you ain’t keen on stayin’,’ he added. ‘Somethin’ you ain’t told me.’
Linny nodded. ‘Madge threatened me. He said, there’d be a price to pay if …’
Will didn’t need Linny to finish Lester Madge’s threat. ‘We ain’t all deservin’ of our kin, Linny,’ he said, with a concerned shake of his head. ‘Your pa’s runnin’ with maggots, an’ that’s a fact.’
19
SHAKY TOWN
From having clambered out to the top of the rear steps, Will saw what was stopping the lodging house from further collapse. It was pitching on to a floating jam of wood sheds and bin stores.
‘Home ground ain’t lookin’ too rich. But the water ain’t risin’ any,’ he said, taking his carbine from Linny. ‘Still deep enough for the bath I been plannin’ though,’ he mused, just above a whisper.
‘We’ve got to get out of here, Will,’ Linny said, easing herself through the window space.
‘We’re of a like mind there, Linny. We’ll make our way up to the benches. That’s where the others will have gone. I’m hopin’ that old Caddo’s got my mule with him. I ain’t for wastin’ ten dollars.’
For a moment, Will stared at the stark flotsam, wondered if the body of Goober York would arrive, dead swimming through the icy waters. Then he looked through the snow fall to the town’s remaining structures, flinched at the thought of the first bullet from Jule or Madge. ‘So let’s go,’ he shouted.
South-east of Polson, high above the water race, Will and Linny mingled with the wretched dispossessed. They were silent people, huddled close in their distress. They’d lost just about everything, save their hefty clothing and some blankets. Occasionally, Will called for Rio. He had a feeling the coon hound was down from higher in the timberline, was probably making up his mind how near to get to the wet trouble.
They found Caddo, and he’d found the buggy and got it harnessed to the mule. Linny was going to busy herself with comforting, try and soothe the heartbreak and tears, not least her own. It was a way of dealing with Will’s purpose in going back. She kept reminding herself of what he’d said about undeserved kin, thought it was all so unfair. She was going to ask him what he’d do, decided that he’d do what was needed. And that would be best, because now she loved him. She gave a curious, quick smile.
‘What was that for?’ Will asked.
‘You. You remind me of Dan Tucker.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘He’s in the song; “Old Dan Tucker went to town, ridin’ a mule leadin’ a houn’.…” Doesn’t it remind you of someone?’
‘No. I won’t be takin’ either of ’em.’ Will returned the smile, only for longer.
With a solitary purpose, Will turned from the benches, back towards the shattered town. He knew that neither Jule or Madge would lose time in getting shot of Polson, if they’d witnessed the lodging house going down. But it wasn’t, so they’d still be there.
Far to the north of the town, his eye caught a flicker of movement. It was a mounted figure who fluttered in and out of vision in the thick swirl of snowflakes. Who the hell’s that? he wondered, before whoever it was, was lost again to the vast, white landscape.
Will actioned the carbine, blew snowflakes from around the hammer, small heat on to his fingers. As he approached the wrecked remains of the livestock pens, he plainly saw that beneath the crusting of broken ice, and although still running knee-high deep, the flood water had started to slow and subside. But the town of Polson wouldn’t be standing in the same way again. It ain’t all bad then, he thought wryly. Perhaps next time they’ll get ’emselves a town planner, or the like, get things built somewhere up near the benches.
He watched for signs of movement among the stark remains, a glint of gun barrel from atop a deserted building. ‘Where the hell are you?’ he hissed.
The few walkways and porches that were annexed to buildings, had been swept away, and those that retained a foundation, were enter-able. Some of the more hardy folk had remained, were already estimating on the salvage, Will supposed. He made his way in and around the rear of the south side buildings until he came to the Sentence Hotel.
The building was holding together, but the downstairs windows were all twisted and broken from their frames. He glanced inside, saw that the bar room was now a mud-swathed surface beneath tables and chairs, bottles and glasses. There were no footprints to show the place had been entered since the rising water had surged in. ‘Not in here then,’ he muttered, flexed his taut fingers on the grip of the carbine.
Will turned away, glanced across the broad swirl of water to the office of the Circuit Sheriff. The place was single-storey and block built, was protected either side by stone cells. He half expected Abe Dancer to appear through the mud-splattered doorway. Instead, Jule and Madge elbowed their way on to the stoop, their faces grim with hurtful purpose.
20
BREAK UP
Will took a deep breath, wondered if he’d done something real bad in a previous life. But he wasn’t one for superstitions, so he cursed the men’s livers.
‘Sheriff ain’t at home,’ Jule shouted into the blasting wind.
‘An’ you surely ain’t got the posse,’ Madge added.
The two men were out of reliable range for their Colts. But Will didn’t want to provoke too soon, and remained very still. With the carbine, he could drop one, maybe both of them from where he stood.
But Madge knew, was reasonably certain, it would be him first. Will assumed the goading was rash settlement for the death of the man’s nephew. Then Madge said something to the effect, and it was Jule’s expression that gave the game away. That was reason enough for Will to make his move.
Madge had regained some self-control though. He’d moved behind Jule, shrewdly stepped back into the office by the time Will had levelled his carbine.
‘Gunfighters shouldn’t let sentiment get the better of ’em, Madge,’ Will yelled. ‘It’ll lead to places they oughtn’t to be.’ He aimed low, shot twice at Jule’s legs.
Jule made a sharp, jig-like jump, drew his Colt and fired back at Will. But the bullets were way off their mark, sliced their way high and wide into the solid backdrop of snow.
Will took a deep icy breath and brought up the carbine for a more considered shot. ‘No more kickin’ heels or dogs, for you, daddy hogdirt,’ he rasped, seeing a leg shatter below the man’s knee.
As Jule fell, he clutched an overhang support, fired again, this time closer to Will’s body.
Will cursed and fired again, a final frightener into the hanging sign above the stricken man’s head.
But Jule was finished. Screaming, he went down to the hefty boards that skirted the front of the sheriff’s office. Will looked away from him, saw the blur of a figure running low from the building beyond one of the cells. It was Madge, and he’d be making for the rear door of the saloon. More like a practised gunman, he’d try and get close, go for a side-swipe as Will exchanged gunfire with Jule.
‘You’re leadin’ me then,’ Will proposed acidly.
On reaching the rear of Sentence Hotel, Madge fired twice. Will snorted wearily and snapped off a shot in return, hurled himself sideways to cover.
With his back pressed hard against the wall of the hotel, Will paused to reload and listen. There was no sound, save the cursing groans from Jule. He guessed that Madge had found the rear door, was probably in the sleeping shed, and hearing the same. He took a few cautious paces, stopped beside the half-open front door. ‘Jule’s finished, Madge,’ he shouted. ‘Like me, you ain’t got no real need to die. It’s up to you.’
Then Will heard another sound from above him. He looked up, saw a run of clapboards bulge, felt the door frame shift beneath his fingers. ‘Goddamn buildin’s on the move.’ he muttered. He pushed the carbine around the door, took a step into the muggy chill of the bar room.
Almost immediately, Madge’s gun roared and the lintel of the door frame shattered. But Will didn’t go back. He hurled himself forward and down to the floor. A shadow passed across the glass-fronted door to the rear room and it clattered as it slammed to. Madge was now falling back, waiting for Will to follow him in.
Will eased himself to his knees. He kept his eyes on the door in front of him, got to his feet and edged towards the bar. Over his head, a happy jack lantern swayed as bearing timbers moved again, and the blizzard started to whistle through breaches in the clapboards. Will stood very still for a long minute, until he saw the shadow again. It was a slow, dull movement behind the door, and he thought he knew what it meant. Silently the handle turned, and Will hunkered to the floor. With his carbine held across his chest, he eased himself behind the bar, where the murky, narrow confines reeked of mud and stale liquor.
21
DROWNING RATS
Lester Madge was in no hurry to get the connecting door open. He wasn’t certain, was hoping that his shot had forced Will back outside of the building.
But Will was going to wait it out, wait his chance like the coachwhip. Then, dark scufflings among the piled glasses and bottles on the shelf that ran alongside his shoulder caught his attention and he twitched.
As Madge came through the door, one, two, then a third rat dropped onto Will’s shoulder, and ran down his front. They’d been hiding up under the bar, a refuge from the swirling torrent of water that had flooded their creepy runs.