by Tony Masero
“Mary, Mary,” he cried, taking her in his arms. “Oh, my Mary. Are you all right, woman?”
She tried to talk but the inside of her mouth was swollen from the split lip, so she just nodded silently and reached up a hand to stroke his face.
“I will kill them for this,” Powers cursed, angry tears falling from his eyes. “I will kill them all.”
She took his head in both her hands and tried to smile reassuringly but it only resulted in a crooked grimace.
Powers pulled off his slicker and wrapped it around her. “Stay here,” he said. “I must finish this, then I’ll come for you.”
She nodded dumbly and he stroked her wet hair once before crawling off. From where he lay in the mud at the edge of the stream, he could clearly see the front and side of the mill house. Lee and Demas were advancing up the valley and firing as they came, each covering the other as they moved forward.
Higher up he knew that Ty and Jimmy Bob would be moving down to cover the rear. He had shed his Schofield but his pony stood nearby cropping grass and Powers made a dash for the rifle in his saddle scabbard. Firing was being returned to those below from inside the mill. The small loft door had been pushed open and Powers could see the barrel of a Winchester sticking out and aiming in the direction of the lower valley. He leveled his own rifle and sighted on the window, lining up the shadowy doorway with the front post and rear notch of his rifle. He fired and saw a wedge of the wooden frame explode away. The Winchester barrel was hastily withdrawn.
Powers noticed a sudden movement at the side of the building as a small doorway opened beside the sluice gate. A bald head appeared and the bewhiskered Luis ran out. He was followed by Little Willy and they both made a dash along the side wall with the obvious intention of making for the pony corral. Powers swung his rifle around and fired. His shot was high and cut into the wood above the heads of the running twosome. Little Willy turned in his direction, firing his rifle from the hip as the Mexican ran on ahead.
The Mexican had reached the water wheel pit when Ty Lemon appeared from cover on the hill above him and fired. The Mexican returned fire from his handgun as he dived for cover into the long trench. It was half full of mud and he landed with a slopping splat in what was no more than a two foot deep swamp of sticky wet sludge. Ty had dropped down out of sight and Powers couldn’t see if he’d been harmed by the Mexican’s return fire. It was troubling that there was no sight of him or movement at all.
Little Willy had picked out Powers’s position now and was cranking shells into the chamber and firing as fast as he could. Powers forgot Ty and dropped to one knee as the bullets hummed around him. He aimed carefully, traversing and firing as Little Willy raced higher up the stream, running for the corner of the building and out of Powers’s line of fire.
Jimmy Bob was waiting for him. As Little Willy turned the corner, Jimmy Bob stepped out and fired his rifle at point blank range. The blast took Little Willy in the midsection and he flew backwards across the creek sluice gate. He hit it hard and the aged wooden supports broke under the impact. The pressure of water did the rest. With a cataclysmic burst, an explosion of water flew through the broken gate. Little Willy’s body was thrown into the air and a tidal wave swept into the mill wheel trench and the creek beyond.
Luis was clambering out of the sticky mud bath when the blast of water struck him. It rolled and tumbled the man, submerging him under the foaming wave as it boiled over the trench and ran on at full speed, following the creek channel downhill. Powers was confronted by the advancing wall of water racing toward him. He turned and bellowed to Mary to make a run for it and then threw himself up the bank and ran in the only direction available to him, toward the mill.
Lee and Demas were already there, standing on each side of the double doors, covering the entrance with their rifles.
“How many?” asked Demas.
“Two of them down out back,” answered Powers as he ran up. He searched around until he saw his fallen Schofield and picked it up, brushing off the mud.
“Our boys okay?” asked Demas.
“Jimmy Bob’s okay. I’m not sure about Ty.” Powers reloaded the Schofield and lay aside his rifle. He felt better with the handgun. “God willing, he’s all right.”
“Three to go,” said Lee with a grin as he stepped in through the gap between the two doors. He ducked sideways away from the silhouetting light coming through the door but even as he did so, he was met by a blaze of firing from inside.
Wood chips and splinters shattered from the doors as bullets from the interior burst through. Powers heard Lee returning fire. The sound from inside was an intense echoing batter of firing and gunsmoke began to pour out through the door.
Powers nodded at Demas. It was their chance, the gunsmoke would mask their entrance from the shooters inside. Quickly the two ducked through the gap and were inside the mill.
They were met by a dark fog of powder smoke that filled the gloomy interior. A complex of half-finished stalls led off from the entranceway, with remnants of the proposed mill workings stacked in cobwebbed confusion. Dust-covered timbers lay scattered about and a rough cut wooden ladder led up to the second story. Gray light fell through the collapsed section of roof and shone down through the stairwell and onto the lingering gunsmoke, lending it a ghostly pallid glow. Silence had fallen inside and there was only the metallic sound of rifle magazines being reloaded and the hollow scrape of boots on wooden floors.
“You there, Lee?” called Powers into the darkness.
“They’re up top,” Lee’s voice answered from somewhere in the shadows below the ladder.
Three shots blazed down the ladder in answer to Lee’s voice. “Yeah, we’re here,” Cole shouted. “You boys come along and get us, if you dare.”
“Lee!” called Powers. “Get over here.”
The young cowhand came loping over to join them just inside the double doors. “What is it?”
They all turned, guns ready at the sound of footsteps and Jimmy Bob moved out of the shadows with a cry of warning. “It’s me, hold on, don’t shoot!”
“Come on in, Jimmy Bob,” said Powers. “How is it?”
“Not good,” Jimmy Bob’s face was twisted in sorrow. “They got Ty,” he said. “The Texan’s gone.”
“Damn them!” snarled Demas.
“Okay,” said Powers decisively. “Here’s how we do it. Jimmy Bob, get along and find Miss Mary, see she’s okay and take her back to the ranch. We’ll finish up here.”
“What’re you going to do?” asked Jimmy Bob, with a wave at the stairway. “There’s still three of them in there.”
“We’ll burn them out,” said Powers coldly.
As Jimmy Bob hurried off, the three others began to start fires around the base of the mill house.
“Once the fires are set, we split up,” ordered Powers. “Lee, you take the side where the ponies are hitched. Demas, the sluice gate. I’ll take the front, that way we’ve got every exit covered. Shoot ’em down boys, no mercy. If we don’t, they’ll be coming after us in the future and we’ll be watching our backs the rest of our lives.”
Fire blossomed as the old wood planking caught and began to blaze quite readily despite the driving rain. Shouts of consternation came from inside as the smoke made obvious to the occupants what was happening.
“You setting us afire?” bawled Cole. “You want to smoke us out?”
“I warned you,” Powers shouted back. “I told you if you harm that woman then you’re a dead man, Cole. Now you know. I’m a man of my word and all that’s about to come true.”
“The hell you say.” His voice echoed hollowly from the inside. “It ain’t over yet, Powers.”
The sound of retching and coughing came to the watchers as the smoke thickened and billowed, rising in a dense pillar skywards. Powers knew it would not be long. All the risks of a gunfight were infinitely preferable to the prospect of choking to death.
Cole and his crew came in a rush. All three of
them, racing through the smoke at the mill doorway. They had chosen a unified front rather than making separate attempts at escape. Del Tate came out first, gun blazing and screaming like a mad man. Joe Packer followed behind, a pistol in each hand. Lastly, Cole came, his head turning from side to side.
Powers could see they were red-eyed from the smoke and knew their aim would be bad, trying to see through watering eyes. He took aim with the Schofield, fired. Del, who was running at full pelt down the hill, suddenly checked, his feet going from under him as he tumbled over and lay still.
Lee and Demas had come running at the sound of the firing and the three of them now had the front of the mill caught in a triangle of hot lead. Joe Packer twisted this way and that as bullets struck him. He struggled to stay on his feet and continued to shoot off his pistols until he too was overcome, dropped to his knees and slid over into a crumpled heap.
Cole threw his pistol aside and raised his hands high. “All right!” he bellowed. “That’s it. I give it up.”
The sudden silence was as shattering as the continued gunplay.
Demas looked across at Powers. Lee watched them both solemnly as he quietly reloaded his Winchester. Powers walked toward Cole, who stood staring back with both hands raised.
“Looks like it’s all your, Powers,” he said. “These boys of mine weren’t really up to it, I guess.”
Saying nothing, Powers holstered his Schofield and, his eyes flat and without expression, stood before Cole. Powers jabbed, suddenly and sharply, his bunched right fist flying up and catching Cole a hard punch on the jaw, jerking his head back.
“You wanted a chance at me,” said Powers coolly, undoing his gun-belt and letting it drop. “This is it.”
Cole didn’t hesitate. He leaped forward, arms outstretched. Powers had been a bare knuckle fighter in his youth and knew the ways of the ring. He was slower now, but still as smart as he’d ever been back then and he side-stepped easily. As Cole pushed past, Powers delivered a close-in chopping blow to the side of Cole’s neck and the outlaw dropped to his knees.
“Come on, Cole,” he said. “You’re the tough guy. You like to beat up on a defenseless woman. Let’s see what you’ve got now. Come on, get up, you can do better than this.”
Cole’s eyes weaved in his head as he shook himself and began to climb to his feet. He never made it. Half bent over, he received a swinging uppercut from Powers, a blow that connected to his jaw with the solid sound of hard fist meeting bone. Cole swung up and curled over backwards, the whites of his eyes visible, as a sluice of blood escaped from his split lips. He staggered.
Powers moved in and crouched in a boxer’s pose. He delivered body blows, picking his spot carefully. Ribs, head, stomach. Cole weaved and swayed in response to each jabbing strike. Powers was making him pay, delivering a vengeful beating for the harm he’d done Mary. Every time he hit Cole, Powers felt the tension and anger begin to slide away from him.
Finally, Powers dropped his fists, stepped back and looked down at Cole, who was on his knees. Cole’s head hung to one side, his eyes lidded and unfocussed. His face was puffed up, bloodied, bruised and red and Powers was tempted to deliver a finishing blow and lay him out but he did not. Instead, he turned away and bent to pick up his gun-belt.
Cole’s beaten face slowly twisted into a look of hatred. His hand slid surreptitiously to his boot top and the blade he kept hidden there in an inside sheath. He drew the long thin, sharp silver steel and cupped it in his hand, ready to strike at Powers’s unprotected back.
The two rifle shots spun Powers around.
Lee was studying Powers calmly as he levered another shell into his Winchester, a trickle of smoke escaping from the barrel of the rifle. Cole lay dead, the dagger plain to see in his open hand.
“Sorry about that, Mister Brent,” Lee apologized. “But I couldn’t have him sticking you from behind.”
“Well, I’ll be!” gasped Demas. “I never saw him making a play for that knife. Well done, young Lee.”
Powers smiled, “You really are watching my back, ain’t you, Lee?”
“Sure thing, Mister Brent. There’s better things ahead and I’d like to see you there to enjoy them.”
“Well, I’m ready for some good times.” Powers grinned. “That’s for sure.”
Chapter Sixteen
Powers settled in his usual cubicle at Minnie’s with a sigh of contentment.
It pleased him to see that there were only a few other customers in the eating-house at this hour, it meant he could relax without fear of interruption. An aged couple that Powers recognized sat nearby. He barely knew them other than to say howdy to, but he knew they were his neighbors, homesteading some miles out of town. It was one of the properties he had his eye on for his expansion plans. Maybe he should use the opportunity to talk to them now. But no, he decided to leave it until later. He wanted just to sit still for a spell and enjoy a cup of coffee.
The other customer was obviously a traveling carpet trader since he had a roll of Navajo rugs propped next to his table. He was an older man, hollow faced and blank eyed, almost with the look of a preacher about him with his somber clothes that had obviously seen some wear. He looked tired, as if he had traveled far, and Powers spared a moment of sympathetic thought for the fellow.
Powers had left Mary back at the Diamond and a Half in the care of Demas, who watched out for her every need as if she were family. Which she would be soon enough. Her bumps and bruises were healing well and it was hard to obey the Doc’s instructions and keep her in bed to recover. She would prefer to be up and about, already planning the look of her new home and the wedding dress she would wear once she looked presentable again.
He had come into town alone to return the ransom cash to the bank and to enjoy a few moments making peace with Minnie before heading back to the ranch. The saddlebags lay on the table before him and he pushed them aside as Minnie arrived with his coffee.
There was no indication of the discord that had arisen out of their last meeting and Minnie patted his hand as she sat down in the cubicle opposite him.
“So, how’s this new relationship of yours faring?” he asked her.
“Pretty good,” she said. “It turns out Jack is something of an entrepreneur.”
He looked out the window at Jack Carver’s store down the street. “That a fact?” he said. “What has he got planned?”
“Well, he reckons we should go into business together once we’re married. Build us a rooming house here in Fellows Crossing. We could have a restaurant and a supply emporium next door, all a part of one place. At least that’s Jack’s suggestion and, I have to say, I quite like the idea.”
“Sounds like a great plan, Minnie. I think it would work. Town’s growing all the time, there’ll be plenty of custom coming in.”
“Well…” She sighed. “We think so.”
“Congratulations to you both. Hope you’re going to invite me along on the big day.”
“Well, concerning that, there’s a favor there I have to ask of you.”
His heart sank as he expected another of Minnie’s plays for his affections and he covered his doubts by raising his coffee cup in front of his mouth. “Shoot,” he mumbled.
“My folks are gone, Powers, and there’s no one left alive to give the bride away. I wondered if you’d do the honors for me.”
With an almost audible sigh of relief, he grinned in response then burst out with, “Why sure, Minnie, I’d be glad to.”
“Well…” Minnie frowned. “Don’t be so all-fired glad to be getting rid of me, Powers Brent.”
He modified his attitude. “No, no, I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Minnie. It’s a real honor you’re allowing me. I’ll be only too happy to oblige.”
They were interrupted by the elderly couple getting up and Minnie excused herself and went over to the till with them.
Powers settled back in his seat and cradled his cup, thinking on his own planned marriage. He did not deserve a wo
man like Mary, he knew that. She was the best he had ever found and he was only sorry that her brother and his other friends were not around to celebrate it with him. Glenn, Bubba and Red appeared in his thoughts, the vision only slightly marred by the memory of Cole Loumis. Only half-seeing the street outside, he jerked awake from his thoughts suddenly as he recognized the man riding down Main Street.
It was Lee Stoffel and Powers frowned curiously at sight of him. The young man tied up his pony and mounted the boardwalk easily, jingle bobs tinkling as he came over to the eating-house. Politely, he opened the door, tipping his hat and allowing the elderly couple to exit as he came in. Powers wondered what had brought the boy away from the ranch. He hoped it wasn’t bad news or some emergency concerning Mary.
“Lee?” said Powers as the boy came over.
Lee nodded and stood silent a moment.
“What is it, Lee?” Powers asked, a worried frown creasing his brow.
“I’d like you to meet my father, Mister Brent.”
Powers sighed with relief. So it was not an emergency after all. “Sure, I’d be —” Powers stopped as he saw Lee indicating the somber carpet salesman sitting across the room.
“This here is my Pa. Jacob Stoffer.”
“Well, I’m pleased —” Powers rose to greet the man but he saw the salesman had shucked off the rug he had next to him and had uncovered a Sharps carbine that had been hidden inside. The man raised the carbine to cover Powers, clicking back the hammer as he did so.
“I should introduce myself proper too,” said Lee, taking out the bone-handled revolver he carried and pointing it at Powers. “My full name is Lee Cabot Stoffer. That ring any bells for you, Mister Brent?”
“No,” fumbled Powers, bemused by this turn of events. “I don’t think so. Just what the hell is this, Lee?”
“Think on the name a mite longer, Mister Brent,” advised Lee.