by Tony Masero
Del wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand. “You’re to bring twenty-five thousand dollars cash money. You bring it alone.” He spat blood and went on, “There’s an old barn, big place next to a stream south of here. You know it?”
Demas nodded. “We know it.”
“You’ve got two days. One to get the money and one to bring it along. You don’t come, the woman dies.”
Powers looked at him disdainfully, then he stepped up and placed his boot on Del’s chest, pushing him back down onto the ground. “You tell Cole this,” he said, forcing his boot heel deep into Del’s stomach. “Any harm comes to that woman … anything … he is dead. I don’t care if she scratches herself petting a kitten, he dies. She wakes up with a headache, he dies. A butterfly bruises her brow, he dies. Am I getting through to you? Nobody touches her. I will get the money and I will come but nothing happens to the woman. Now you get up and go!”
Del scrabbled to his feet, clutching his torn shirt around him and Lee brought over his horse that had wandered off when Powers leapt up. Lee handed Del the reins, his rifle cradled easily in his arms and warned, “Better do like he says, cowboy. I’ve never seen the man so mean before.”
Del swung up into the saddle and looked at Powers with a face full of bitterness. “I’ll tell it,” he grunted. “But I ain’t forgetting you, Brent. I’ll be back someday.”
“Always welcome,” said Powers and smacked the pony hard on the rump, setting it off down the road at the gallop.
They all watched Del ride off until he was well away and had crossed the line of hills in the distance.
“You know this barn?” asked Demas.
Powers nodded. “The land’s hilly around there. Not completely flat, full of small dips and rises. The stream runs through a sloping valley from high behind the place, soft sided, lot of grass there, as I recall.”
“That’s right,” agreed Demas. “I think they wanted to make it a gristmill at one time and use the stream to turn the mill wheel but the water flow varied too much. They were never sure if it would keep the wheel turning full time when the creek dried up. But they sunk the wheel pit and built a sluice gate before they gave up on it.”
“All right, I’ll go get the cash in town tomorrow.”
“How many of them do you reckon there are?” asked Demas.
“Cole had five others with him in jail. Likely, he’s sprung them all. Boy, they’d better not touch my Mary. I swear I’ll —”
“I reckon they see her worth to you,” cut in Lee Stoffer. “They won’t cause her no grief.”
“Maybe so, Lee,” said Powers. “But there’s a world of wickedness out there and I wouldn’t put anything past those men.”
“I know it, sir,” agreed Lee. “And thinking so I believe you will need some support when you go visiting those villains. I’m up for it, how about you, Jimmy Bob?”
Little Jimmy Bob cracked a smile. He stood barely above four foot five but was of a genial nature and the very devil on horseback. “This is Diamond and a Half business and I’m a Diamond and a Half rider,” he said proudly.
“I’m sure I speak for our other bunkhouse buddy, Ty Lemon, too,” said Lee. “He’s cutting out some mustangs in the hills but he wouldn’t miss it for the world, I’m sure of it.”
Demas looked over at Powers with a smile. “Looks like it’s a full house, Boss.”
“I don’t expect this of you fellows. This is my affair and I’ve no business to bring you in on it.”
“Well, sir,” said Lee. “If we was to be out riding one day down by a certain stream, who’s to say we weren’t just out there passing a pleasant afternoon. Could be you’ll be glad of the company, Mister Brent, like it or not, you are going to need somebody watching your back.”
On his way into the National and Loan in town the next day, Powers stopped off at Minnie Cote’s for a coffee. His normal cubicle was occupied so he took a seat by the window instead.
Minnie arrived with a cup of steaming coffee in hand. “Been a while, Powers.”
He smiled up at her. “How do, Minnie. Why, look at you,” he said, admiring her new pale green dress.
“Can’t mourn forever, Powers. Besides, I’m walking out with a fellow now and the black did not seem appropriate somehow.”
“Oh, oh. Walking out, huh? Well, that’s a fine thing.”
“Sure is, Powers Brent. Seeing as certain parties were paying no attention to my winning ways, I thought it about time to find myself a new beau.”
“And just who is this lucky fellow?”
Minnie nodded out the window. “Why, Mister Jack Carver, the gentleman who keeps the store over there.”
Powers sipped his coffee. “That’s just fine, Minnie. I’m real happy for you.”
“I heard you were shot, is that right?”
“Indeed I was.” He indicated the shoulder. “Took one here but it’s okay now.”
“Do you know who it was?”
He shook his head. “Nope, it’s a strange thing, all right. The boys back at the ranch found the shell casings and they’ve also discovered evidence of somebody out on the range. Small fire sites, empty food tins and such. Whoever it is, they’re living rough out there but we can’t find them, no tracks, nothing.”
“Must keep you on edge some?”
“That’s a fact. Poor Demas is fretting over me day and night, he’s like to drive me crazy with all his fussing.”
“Well, it appears he has a good case to worry so, by the sound of it.”
“Aw! We’re all right. I’ve got some good boys out there with me. We’ll be fine.”
“I sure hope so, Powers.” She laid a hand on his shoulder and patted him. “And why are you in town today?”
“Business at the bank.” He said it abruptly and tried to hide the troubled look he could not quite disguise by slurping more coffee.
“What’s wrong, Powers? You’re not telling me everything are you?”
He crumpled under her withering glance. “No, ma’am, I’m not.” He sighed. “Like you, I found me someone too. A sweet lady who I care for. She’s sister to my old friend Red McArthur, I met her while I was taking care of that thing I had to do a while back, you remember? That note about the dying friend.”
“I recall,” she said.
“Well, there’s a man holding her to ransom now. I have to go get out some cash to fetch her back.”
“That’s too bad, Powers. That really is. Can’t the law help you out with this outlaw?”
“I have today and tomorrow to get it done or they’ll kill her. There’s no time to fetch a marshal. No, I have to do this myself.”
Minnie looked at him with a worried frown on her brow. “It’s about time we had our own town sheriff here. This is just the sort of thing we need a professional for. I’m going to start keeping a shotgun behind the counter now. You never know when something bad like this is going to happen.”
Powers set aside his finished cup and got up to go. “Now, don’t start fretting, Minnie. I have enough of that with Demas.”
She laid her hand on his arm and he looked down to see tears filling her eyes.
“Hey, hey,” he said, putting an arm around her. “Don’t take on so now. It’ll be fine, don’t you worry.”
“I ain’t worried.” She pulled herself roughly out of his embrace and walked away. “You go save your lady friend,” she said viciously over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.
Powers looked after her, surprise written across his face. “Minnie. What … ?”
Then he shook his head sadly as he realized that she was just showing a streak of jealousy over his newfound love.
Chapter Fifteen
Powers couched the Schofield under his left arm. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to carry a pistol but a light rain was falling and he had chosen to wear a pommel slicker against the damp. The gun was easier to get at from his dry armpit than by dragging the long-tailed wet oilskin aside and fumbling u
nderneath for his holster. It was the seven-inch barrel model and long enough to fit there easily. He liked the revolver fine and had picked it up by a roundabout route. It came to him from a Russian immigrant, who told him it was the European version of the Smith and Wesson model; high in quality and cheaper in price. The man said S & W had almost gone bankrupt when the Tsarists reneged on their initial massive order for Schofield pistols. The Russians had reverse engineered and started making their own copies of the revolver at their armory in Tula. So, although not strictly a Smith and Wesson Model 3, it was close enough and proved to be a reliable weapon.
He rode out front, the rest of the Diamond and a Half men strung out in a spread line behind. Ty Lemon had come down from his mustang hunt in the mountains and chosen to ride with them with as much keenness as Lee promised.
Ty was a west Texican, and long and lean as they are from that part of the world. He held a humorous eye and an easy drawl and was a practiced hand with the cows. Powers was glad to have him as a cowboy and now was doubly glad that he’d chosen to join them in this fight.
They were five against six. It could go either way, Powers decided. But one thing was for sure — he was going to get Mary away safely, whatever happened.
His saddlebags, the leather flaps slick with rain, bulged with the coin stacked inside. But he guessed it would not be enough and the affair would end in blood. There was no way he could see Cole letting things ride. The man wanted more than money out of this business, he wanted the satisfaction of revenge for the betrayal, his own actions never entering into his considerations as equal acts of disloyalty.
In a way, Powers welcomed it. The approaching showdown seemed to be a way for him to settle the entire debt that hung over him from the past. A penitential fire by which he might cleanse himself of the crimes he participated in at Cabotsville and also a way of making amends for the deaths of his friends. None of those deaths were his fault, he knew that, but there was no memorial raised to the three deceased, no place where one could lay wreaths and bid farewell before a collective resting place. There was no closure and he hoped his actions this day would bring that about.
With such grim thoughts filling his mind, Powers crested the rise and looked into the valley that held the old gristmill. The light rain drifted down the valley from the high mountains; it twisted and hung in suspended misty streams, turning the valley gray and bleak.
A figure stood outside the building, down by the deep wheel hole dug alongside the sluice gate that held back the water in the creek. The creek seemed full and Powers considered it was probably from the rain run-off higher up the valley.
The solitary guard carried a rifle and was huddled in a torn oilskin that had seen better days. The man hadn’t yet seen Powers and looked cold, wet and irritable. He sheltered as best he could under the wall of the two-story structure, which had fallen into disrepair. Planks of wood hung loose in places and a part of the Dutch style gabled roof appeared to have collapsed. There were a few windows but they were closed and shuttered and kept out both the weather and any light. Beyond the building, horses were tied to a line on the far slope. He counted seven. One more, he guessed, for Mary.
He looked over his shoulder. His men waited on him out of view below the crest. He gave a low pass with his right hand and they separated, Ty and Jimmy Bob heading up toward the high ground and Lee and Demas starting to circle around to where the valley opened out lower down.
When they had moved out, Powers waited a moment to give them a good start. Blown rainwater dripped from the brim of his slouch hat and worked its way past the collar of his slicker to run in a cold trickle down his back. Powers barely noticed it as he kneed his pony over the rise and started down the grassy slope toward the gristmill. He was tense now, his mind focused on what lay ahead and his heart hammered with expectation.
The guard below noticed the movement of Powers’s bright yellow fish skin coat and gave a start. He turned and ran around to the front of the mill. Double doors stood there with a grain loft access above. The guard pushed one of the doors partly open and ducked inside.
Slowly Powers picked his way down the wet slippery grass of the valley and made his way across the high-sided creek at a spot where the banks had crumbled and fording was easy. Cattle had been here and the ground stank with their slurry and was chewed up with their passage. There was an even flow down the creek at this spot, the sluice gate holding much of the press of water higher up and the water rising not more than a foot above his pony’s fetlocks. Powers urged the pony up the opposite slope and approached the front of the mill.
He reined in and sat there, waiting, the thin rain falling in gentle bands of mist.
They filed out then, the six of them. The guard, that Powers now recognized as Del Tate, still in his slicker and carrying his rifle. Little Willy Wise, who also carried a rifle, the two Mexicans had drawn pistols in their hands and held them down by their legs. Joe Packer pushed them aside as he strode out, his hard stare fixed on Powers. Finally Cole was there, hatless, with a .45 stuck in the waistband of his pants.
“Well then, Powers,” Cole called out loudly. “You made it.”
“Where’s Mary?” he asked.
“You have the cash?”
He patted the saddlebags. “Where’s Mary?” he asked again.
“My, my, will you look at that bleeding heart, boys?” The men all laughed dutifully. “Who’d have thought it? And at your age, Powers. Like a love sick little calf, ain’t he, fellers?”
Powers ignored the sneering humor. “Where is she, Cole? Nothing happens until I see she’s okay.”
“All right,” said Cole, raising his hands. “All right. We’ll get her. I never did see a man so hot and bothered over a female, I swear I didn’t. Joe, you want to go fetch the lady?” Cole turned back to Powers. “Now, I know you wanted her back in mint condition, Powers. I appreciate that but, you see, she was a mite ornery. And, well … we had to chastise her a little, just a little, I swear.” Powers’s face clouded over and Cole’s words rushed out. “Now I can see you getting all red in the face, but it was just a slap or two. Anyways . . .” Cole’s voice dropped from its high mocking tone to a deeper one and it took on a harder edge. “Did you really think you were going to give me orders? I took your woman away from you once already, it was real easy that time, so I thought maybe I’d just try that again. You really don’t have much luck with your women, do you?”
Joe came to the barn doors, pushing Mary in front of him. He held her with her elbows pulled back so she faced Powers straight on. One eye was red and so swollen it was a slit that she could not see out of. Dried blood streaked her chin from a split lip and bloodied nose and mottled purple bruises marked her neck. She raised her chin so that she might look at Powers through her good eye and nodded groggily when she recognized him.
“Throw over those saddlebags and she’s yours,” snarled Cole.
Powers stared at the beaten figure of Mary. His blood had turned to ice water and the anger roared through his head and tightened his body as if it was bound with wire. He reached behind his saddle and quickly unfastened the thong that tied the bags. He pulled them around and tossed the heavy packs forward so that they fell on the ground between him and the gathered gang. A buckle strap parted as the bags hit the muddy ground and the flap flew open, spilling a cascade of gold coins. Both Del and Little Willy started forward, their eyes fixed on the gleaming pile. Cole watched them with a disdainful expression as the two scrabbled on their knees in the mud.
Del held up brimming handfuls of cash and displayed them, laughing wildly. “Will you look at this? My God! There’s more money here than I’ve seen in my whole life.”
Cole looked up, a sneer crossing his face.
Powers indicated Mary, and Cole nodded at Joe, who pushed her forward away from him. The two Mexicans, their eyes agleam and fixed on the cash spilling from the saddlebags, brushed the weaving Mary aside as they rushed to grab some of the gold.
“Now it’s just you and me, Powers,” said Cole confidently, his fingertips fondling the butt of the pistol at his waistband. “Bit of payback is due.”
Powers saw that Mary was safely clear of the men and stumbling away toward the creek. She was weaving unsteadily but she was safe. He went for the hidden Schofield.
Cole’s eyes widened as he spotted the revolver being drawn from under Powers’s arm. “Gun!” he shouted. “He’s got a gun!”
Powers extended his arm and fired at Cole. A splintered hole appeared in the barn door behind as Cole as ducked sideways.
Joe Packer backed off quickly and disappeared into the darkness within the mill while the four on their knees looked up in shocked consternation at Cole’s sudden cry. The Mexican, Rodrigo, jumped up and grasped Powers’s reins and began to pull the horse’s head around to give a clear side-on shot at Powers from the two over by the mill doors. Powers pointed the Schofield at him and from two feet away shot him full in the face. The Mexican fell back and released the reins but the pony bucked and whirled, terrified by the burst of firing so near its head.
Little Willy, Del and the remaining Mexican, Luis, raced for the cover of the barn as Powers struggled to bring the pony under control.
Cole got to his feet as his men dashed past him and tried to bring Powers under his sights. The bucking and twisting of Powers’s terrified pony made it impossible for Cole to draw an accurate bead on him.
Then a patter of firing came from lower down the valley as Demas and Lee, running uphill on foot, opened up with their rifles. Shots shattered planks around Cole and he gave up aiming at Powers and ran quickly to the mill doors and inside.
Dropping the Schofield, Powers brought the pony under control with both hands, whirled around and, at the gallop, chased after Mary, who had almost reached the banks of the creek and was stumbling awkwardly through the gouged mud. Hanging from the saddle, Powers one-handed swept her up and carried her across the stream. Then dismounting, he brought her to the ground under cover of the creek bank.