“I think that Jordan and Parrish and the other gunfighters Jordan brought in could have easily been found under some of the rocks dredged up in Jordan’s mining operation. It doesn’t seem to be adding up to a very fair fight. It takes more than honesty and hard work to beat a Colt and a Winchester, especially when you’ve been bushwhacked.”
“I think we should probably stick around awhile, just in case.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Sam almost choked on his meat.
“You’re singing a different tune than you were last night.”
“Maybe I was playing devil’s advocate.”
“Like hell you were.”
“Alright. Maybe I had a few doubts at first. But events last night helped to change my mind.”
Sam chewed awhile, then understanding brought a twinkle to his dark eyes.
“I get it now. You’re singing a different song because you have a tin ear and you’ve fallen for that mining camp songstress.”
Matt answered somberly, “She’s not that bad of a singer.”
Sam answered, “No, I guess not. But if you had to fall for a woman, why couldn’t it be somebody with a little less . . . potentially troublesome.”
“I like a challenge.”
The talk was interrupted by the sound of a horse and a loud voice calling out, “Hello in the camp!”
“Come on in, Hart!” Sam said. “We’ve got plenty of grub!”
Clarence Hart, riding a large black horse, broke through the brushes and into the camp. Hart easily dismounted and tied his mount near the other horses. Today he was wearing a shirt and a narrow-brimmed felt hat.
“How’ d you know where to find us?” Matt asked, pouring a cup of coffee for the third man.
“A process of elimination,” Hart answered. “The only hotel is owned by Jordan, and you and he are not necessarily on good speaking terms. I figured you preferred to camp out in the open, and I knew this was one of the better spots in the area. Before the water got so bad, I used to fish out here a lot. I figured you’d find this place. Turns out I was right.” He took a sip of coffee, and smiled. “Hey, this isn’t bad coffee to be made by a cowboy!”
“Yeah, and you ought to see the way he sweeps the floor!” Sam said.
Matt threw the dregs from his coffee cup at Sam, who dodged easily. Both men laughed.
Hart crouched down around the fire with the two brothers and said more seriously, “You know why I came up here to see you. I wondered if you’ve thought any more about my proposition.”
“Yes, we have,” Sam answered. “No, our guns still aren’t for sale. On that point there is no argument.”
Hart sighed. “Very well. My men and I have survived this long. We’ll find a way to survive this fight, as well.” He started to stand. “I thank you for the coffee, and for the help you gave my man yesterday. Now, I’ll be on my way . . .”
Sam reached out and touched the Irishman lightly on the arm. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I said we don’t hire out our guns. But we will fight for a good cause. We decided to stick around for awhile, just in case you need a little back-up. We haven’t run across too many honest men in our travels. You’d be good for this country. A lot better than men like Jordan.”
Hart shook his head slightly. “Some might say you boys are a little touched in the head. But I have to admire a man who puts their action where their hearts are at. I’m glad you’re staying around.”
“Oh, it’s not entirely altruistic,” Sam said. “Matt has reasons of his own. He has his eyes set on a little song-bird in you town.”
“Not Malinda Melody!”
Matt looked a little sheepish, which was confirmation enough for Hart.
Sam laughed, but Hart’s face was again somber.
“I make it a point to never tell another man how to live his life or conduct his business, especially where women are concerned,” Hart said. “But I’ve got to warn you about this one. Malinda is Jordan’s property as much as if he owned her. He shows her off on the stage of his saloon, but nobody can get near her off the stage. Several have tried. None have succeeded.”
“Point taken,” Matt said. He stood, placed his cup in his saddle bags, and then started to saddle his horse, whistling a faint tune.
“Where you headed?” Hart asked.
“Need you ask?” Sam said.
Matt stepped into the stirrup and tossed his long leg over the horse’s back.
“If you need me, I’ll be in town, doing a little sparking,” Matt said.
“Like I said, it’s none of my business,” Hart said, his somber face breaking into a smile. “She lives in Jordan’s hotel. And may good luck ride with you!”
Matt tipped his hat and started his horse on a trot back into town.
As he watched Matt ride into the woods, Hart said to Sam, “You know, I just bet he might do it!”
“No bets. If I know Matt, he’ll find some clever way of meeting the woman. Hell if I know what women see in him.” Then, suddenly snapping to attention Sam said, “Hey! He rode off without breaking camp! And that was his job today! No wonder he was whistling!”
Hart laughed.
Nelson Jordan, as always, was wearing an expensive suit, even though he was on the river bank looking over some potential sites where the silver ore might be buried.
“Dammit, Smithson, I want results!” he yelled, the lit cigar in his hand making wide circles. “I’m paying you damned good money, so where’s the vein?”
The mining engineer pointed to a geological chart in his hand and said, “We’re getting close. These marked spots are the areas that have the best potential. The circled spots are where we’ve already done some exploration and some mining activity is taking place. But nothing is certain. And look—” He tapped the paper with a dirty finger. “The best spots are still on land held by Hart.”
Jordan put the cigar back in his mouth and puffed angrily. “So tell me something I don’t know. I’m paying you to find a way around this. The vein must curve around and hit my land at some point.”
“I can only do what’s scientifically possible,” Smithson responded. “And let’s face it, Hart’s facing the same problems we are.”
“Like what?”
“Like he can only do so much exploration, and with his limited resources he can’t hit as many areas at one time as we can. And he has to fight the river just as we do.”
Jordan started to puff less angrily. “Let’s see that map again.”
Smithson spread it out on the ground. “Look, here is the river. Here are some of the feeder channels leading to it, crossing right over where some of the potential sties are located. Here is where we’ve managed to dam some of the flow, and here is where Hart’s men are working. We have better pumps than they have, we have more men than Hart has. But we’re all fighting the same battle.”
“Hmm. What if the dam gives way?”
“We’d both lose a lot of work.”
“Yes. But we could probably recover faster. And in fact it might ruin Hart’s operation.” Jordan was now puffing contentedly, the smoke rising in a faint cloud around his face. “You’ve done good work, Smithson. But I wonder if you might have better luck trying some different sites.” Jordan pointed to a different spot on the map.
“But that’s up in the hills, and based on the geological strata, the chances of finding ore is much slimmer . . .”
Jordan lifted his hand to stop the flow of words. “I just have a feeling. Trust me on this one. You just get my men, and my more valuable equipment, up there.”
“If you say so, Mr. Jordan.”
“Trust me on this one.”
Matt Bodine rode slowly into town that was called, almost by default, Jordanville. In the daylight, it looked even more dingy than it had the night before. The streets were nearly deserted, as the men were all along the river or in the mines, searching for the buried treasure of gold and silver ore.
Matt was still whistling softly to
himself, full of good humor, though he wasn’t sure why. He had mainly been joking with Sam about his intent to woo Malinda, but it was an idea that had taken hold in his mind and wouldn’t let go. It was true that in his travels he had seen many good-looking women, some of them far more beautiful than the mining-town singer. Matt had been with a fair number of them, though none had ever convinced him to give up his wandering life to settle down, or to even stay for more than a short time. For some reason, however, he felt a strong attraction to Malinda, even though they had never met.
He was sure he could find a way for their paths to cross before the day was over.
Though the town at this time of day was relatively quiet, Matt watched the area around him with experienced eyes. Most of the buildings were only one story high, and there were no good hiding places for a would-be bushwhacker. Matt passed the saloon where Malinda had sung the night before. Some men were inside drinking and playing cards. These would be some of the riffraff that frequented every mining town, trying to fleece the hard-working miners of their hard-earned money.
Soon, the Hotel Jordan came into view. It appeared to be slightly more substantial, with two stories and a porch on the front and a plank sidewalk extending in front of it. The lots on both sides of it were vacant, as if in anticipation of future growth.
Matt stopped his horse to look over the hotel and figure his next move and how he could arrange a meeting with Malinda.
Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to tingle and he sensed rather than saw the glint of morning sunlight off the gun barrel on the roof of the hotel. Matt spurred his horse and dropped his head to the horse’s neck as the shot rang out. The bullet whizzed past the spot where Matt had been just seconds before.
Matt urged his mount toward the hotel at full speed. Without slowing the horse, the young adventurer slipped his right foot out of the saddle and leaped toward the ground.
Another shot range out. This one was even farther from its mark than the first one had been.
Matt rolled in the dusty street behind a horse trough, pulling his own revolver. He shot twice toward the area from where the attack had come. Matt had no illusions that one of his bullets would find its intended target, but it might put his attacker on the defensive. The bullets sent splinters flying, but did no other damage.
The horse rushing toward the hotel was a different matter. It could not stop in time, and crashed into the porch. It panicked, reared on its hind legs, and brought its front legs down through the front wall.
Suddenly there were men swarming out of the hotel as Matt’s horse turned and ran in the opposite direction. They were all cursing and screaming at the unfortunate animal. If they were aware of the shooting, they gave no indication of it, and they apparently did not see Matt.
No other shots came from the roof, so Matt raced from behind the water trough to a corner of the porch roof. He holstered his gun to get a better grip on the rafters. The men now yelling among themselves about the damaged hotel front did not even notice Matt as he jumped up and with an easy athletic grace, spun himself to the porch roof, and pulled his gun again. The roof was at a slight pitch, making it easy for him to run across it toward where the shots had come from—a higher part of the roof that covered the hotel itself. He moved slowly at first, until he was sure that he was not making himself an easy target and that the roof was strong enough to hold him.
Matt looked around, wondering if he had missed his attacker. He got his answer when another shot was fired from behind a chimney. Matt fell to the roof, returned the fire, and moved toward the chimney. He circled it in time to see only a blur of black going toward the rear of the building. Matt shot again, and gave chase, his footsteps echoing loudly into the hotel below.
In the few seconds it took Sam to cross the length of the roof, his attacker had made it to the edge and was making his escape. At the rear of the building, a black hat was descending almost out of sight toward the ground and a pair of hands was holding onto the roof.
“Stop!” Matt said. “I’ve got you covered. Don’t move and I’ll let you live.”
One hand let go and the other was about to let go. Matt thought quickly, and decided he could let the man drop to the ground, where he would be an easy target from the high vantage point of the roof.
The second hand let go, and Matt heard the soft plop as the man landed on the ground below.
Matt took a quick step, when he heard a faint crunching sound. His foot hit a rotten part of the roof, causing it to cave in on him.
Matt rolled himself in a ball and tried to land as softly as he could.
To his surprise, he landed not on hard plank flooring or dirt, but on a large bed.
Through the dust swirling around him, he saw one of the most beautiful—and unexpected—sights he had seen in years.
Malinda Melody was in a large, steaming bath tub, wearing nothing but soap suds and a confused look in her eyes.
Chapter Six
Falling through the roof into Malinda Melody’s room while she was taking a bath was Matt Bodine’s first surprise.
That she did not react like what he considered a typical hysterical female was his second surprise.
It was difficult to maintain his dignity after he had fallen on his rear with dust still swirling around him, but Matt did the best he could. He rolled quickly off the bed, took off his hat, and introduced himself.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, bowing slightly. “My name is Matthew Bodine, and I’m quite a fan of yours. I apologize for crashing in on you like this.”
Malinda was even prettier in person than she had been on the stage of Jordan’s saloon the night before. Her eyes were a deep shade of blue. Her brown hair, which had been arranged in tight curls the night before, now hung loosely around her lovely face. Her skin was smooth, almost the color of ivory with touches of pink in the cheeks. Matt wished that the soap suds were not quite so thick so that he could see more of the woman than just her head, neck, and bare arms.
“I’ve had many men approach me, but never in a way quite this direct.” She was smiling as she talked. “You realize, of course, you’re taking quite a chance. When Jordan’s men find you here, you’ll be going out the door—feet first, headed for a grave.”
Outside the door, Matt heard voices and footsteps. He figured he had only a few minutes before Jordan’s men figured out where he had gone. He considered his rather limited options. He could try to escape the way he came in, except that the hotel was probably now surrounded. He could try to shoot his way out. This was tempting, since he was still all fired up about one of Jordan’s men taking potshots at him from the hotel rooftop. On the other hand, if it was Jordan trying to kill him, why hadn’t there been a more organized attempt? Jordan didn’t seem like the kind of man to allow a loose cannon in his organization.
Maybe there was a third option?
“Well, ma’am, if I must die, then I can die a happy man. I can say that my eyes have seen the most beautiful woman from California to St. Louis!”
Malinda’s smile grew even larger.
“You look like a cowboy, but you talk like a gentleman.”
“Don’t ever underestimate a cowboy, ma’am. We can probably appreciate a fine woman more than any Easterner, and we have talents that would surprise you. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me for this intrusion, and make it up to you with dinner tonight, I could surely appreciate it.”
Malinda cocked her head to one side, used her right hand to pull her hair back. The bubbles started to slide down her arm suggestively, but still only far enough to suggest the delights hidden below the water.
“Just how much of a gentleman are you, Mr. Matthew Bodine.”
“Call me Matt.”
The woman laughed. “Very well, Matt. You can call me Malinda.” She motioned at him with her finger to come closer. “I could use some help out of the tub. But, please you must keep your head turned and your eyes closed.”
It was
Matt’s turn to laugh.
“Who would believe it? I’m with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, in her bath, and she asks me to close my eyes to the beauty!”
“If you are a gentleman . . .”
Outside the door, voices were louder and footsteps were pounding down the hall.
“You have my word as a gentleman that I shall avoid the temptation to look.”
True to his word, Matt turned his head and closed his eyes even as Malinda pulled herself out of the tub, wrapped a large towel around herself and disappeared behind a large curtain dividing the room.
When he heard the woman close the curtain, Matt started to pull out his Colt, then changed his mind. He wanted to avoid shooting in such tight quarters, if possible. A stray bullet could accidently hit the woman behind the curtain, humming softly to herself.
Matt placed his gun back in its holster and took a position to one side of the door.
A rough voice called out, “Malinda! Are you alright?”
Without waiting for an answer, the door crashed open and three men rushed in with guns drawn.
As Jack Parrish approached Hart’s camp, canvas bag in hand, he considered his morning’s work. He felt he had at least partly met his goal adding fuel to the already hot fire between Hart and Jordan and maneuvering Matt Bodine and Sam Two-Wolves into the fray.
On the other hand, he had seriously underestimated Matt Bodine.
Parrish hadn’t really wanted to kill the stranger, since the gunfighter’s feud was with Bodine’s blood-brother, Sam Two-Wolves. The two men, however, seemed as much of a matched team as Parrish had ever seen, which meant that an attack on one would be an attack on the other. By taking shots at him from the top of Jordan’s building, Parrish had hoped to make Bodine think that Jordan was trying to have him killed. If this led to Bodine killing Jordan, or the other way around, made no difference to Parrish. He just wanted to muddy the waters and get some bullets flying from both sides. In the end, Hart, aided by the blood-brothers, and Jordan would destroy each other, leaving Parrish to come in and pick up the pieces.
Blood Bond 7 Page 4