Devlin's Curse

by Brenda, Lady

  Jamie’s eyes filled with tears. “She was supposed to take the train this morning but she never came back to the salon, and Mister, one of them was hear askin’ about her.”

  “Peabody’s gang?”

  Jamie met his stare. “Yes, sirree, an he was a bad un.”

  Devlin released his hold. “Walking Ghost, let’s ride hell for leather!” He looked over at Jamie. “You too boy, if you’re up to it.”

  Jamie nodded. Devlin admired the grit in the boy. He knew Esmeralda had taken him in, an orphan and one of the forgotten and now he was a loyal soldier and part of her special circle.

  Once outside the salon Devlin swung up onto Mephistopheles’ back, and along with Walking Ghost on his white mule and Jimmy on his bay mustang, they galloped south down B Street towards Carson City and the train bound for San Francisco.

  As the morning sun rose higher in the sky Big Jim sat up on the edge of his bed. He stubbed out his cigar and took a last gulp from his brandy glass. He smiled slyly.

  All of his ducks were in row including the depraved plan that he had in store for the gambler Devlin Winter and his red headed whore. He had loosed Peabody on them and now all he had to do was wait. Miners working in twenty- four hour shifts had assured him that they were within twenty feet of the Gilded Bird. He anticipated seeing the raw fear in Esmeralda Jones’ eyes. So much so that he could feel his limp member twitch under his hanging belly.

  Jim Diamond had learned long ago that it was easier to inspire fear rather than love. He had learned that from his father a dour, bearded Quaker. Even now he could still hear his sanctimonious words as he laid a leather strop across Big Jim’s bare shoulders.

  “You have no respect for the word of Gott! Unholy imp of Satan, I must beat the Devil from you!”

  He drained his brandy glass. He waited for the guilty flush of shame that overtook him whenever he thought about his father and the farm.

  Back then he could not explain the urges that surged through him. Rages that caused him to torture the farm animals, set fire to crops and play out various other perversions.

  When he was sixteen he became enamored with a girl from the neighboring farm. Her name was Greta and underneath her severe shapeless bonnet was a face of rosy innocence and china blue eyes. He did not know the real meaning of love. From the time of his birth in which he tore his way out of her womb backwards his mother had viewed him with suspicion and even fear. His bright orange-red hair was an embarrassment in a family of towheads, the Devil’s hair! Life in a dour, undemonstrative family had shriveled his youthful heart. Greta was a ray of sunshine and seeing her walk across the field with her basket of flowers gave hope to his starved heart. He became obsessed with her every move watching her from the shadows as she went about her chores, fantasizing about her and touching himself when he lay alone on his lumpy straw mattress. They shared a few brief and awkward meetings along the dirt path that led between their two farms. Greta always carried with her a basket full of delicacies, canned or pickled goods that she would trade with the other farming families. Big Jim had a powerful sweet tooth and recalled the magical day in which she gave him a jar of her own homemade strawberry jam. They had sat down beside the road under a great shady tree and eaten the whole jar together. He had wanted to kiss her that day, a first kiss for both of them he was sure. But his courage failed him fraught as he was with the severe self- loathing that had been fostered in him by both his parents.

  One day when Greta went into her family’s barn to milk the cows he followed her. He offered her a wilted bluebell and asked her if he could touch her golden braids. When Greta agreed shyly, he pounced on her overcome by his excitement. Crudely, clumsily he tried to kiss and squeeze her. Greta resisted him pushing against his hold and turning her head away from his lips.

  Greta please!” he whined.

  Greta shook her head. “No James, you must not”

  “But Greta I love you! I want you to be mine.” He tried to pull her closer but she resisted mightily.

  “No, no James, don’t touch me I am spoken for, my hand is promised to Juergen Hansen from Green Hill Farm.”

  With those words she squirmed out of his hold but he was hard on her heels and grabbed her arm and spun her around. Greta’s blue eyes, which had always been so calm and passive, shot daggers at him, “Did you think that I would want you as my husband? To bear your red headed children? It would bring shame and Satan’s curse upon my family.”

  Rejected, he slapped her and a cold rage filled him. When she tried to run he threw her down on the floor of the barn and his hands fastened around her neck and he squeezed and squeezed. She struggled and fought like a helpless animal then suddenly went limp. Breathing hard he stood up. Greta lay lifeless in a pool of spilt milk. He backed away then fled across the field. From that day on he hated the farm, hated his dull family more and more and when they perished in a mysterious barn fire he ran away and never looked back.

  The Monte dealer Esmeralda Jones, reminded him of Greta, an untouchable beauty that would never soil her hands with the likes of him.

  A violent pounding on the front door snapped him out of the sordid memories of his past. He lurched off the bed and pulled on his robe. He headed for the stairs while the pounding continued. He cursed.

  Where is that damn yellow servant?

  He stumbled drowsily, down the stairs. When he reached the foyer Chow was just opening the door.

  “Who is it Chow?”

  A foul cloying stench, like a Viking funeral pyre wafted through the door, so strong it almost knocked him to the floor. The next instance Lance Peabody pushed his hulking form into the lamplight. He stood before Big Jim in a blackened, still smoking coat. His rat-like eyes stared out of a red blistered face. One in which his left eye hung out of the socket like a blob of bloody custard.

  Big Jim backed up in horror. “Peabody, Goddammit! What the Hell happened!”

  Lance Peabody sneered. “Devlin and his bitch gave us the slip! Git dressed. I know where their headed and there ain’t no time ta waste.”

  Big Jim nearly choked on his fury. “So! This is all just a friggin’ fornicating mess!”

  Daylight blinded Esmeralda.

  After what felt like hours and miles of struggling through dark airless mining tunnels they finally saw light ahead and burst out at the far end of Chinatown. Perspiration dripped down her face and her feet were torn and blistered inside her fancy heels. She swayed and would have fainted if Dahlia had not grasped her arm.

  “Hold on, Miss Esmeralda, we needs ta get ya to the salon.”

  “No, that is the first place they will look for us. We need somewhere else to hide until we can get word to Jamie.”

  She took a sharp glance up and down the narrow street. Chinese men and women dressed in dark silks and long braided ponytails bustled here and there. They gave her and Dahlia curious stares from under their pointed straw hats. Once again she was hunted as bait for Devlin’s enemies. She needed a place to hide but she did not dare go to Grandfather Woo. She couldn’t be sure about his involvement in this evil scenario.

  The decision was taken out of her control.

  The bustling crowd of Chinese parted and a muscular young man blocked her path. She reached for her pistol in the pocket of her skirt. The young Chinaman held up his hand and smiled. His features, under the tight silk skullcap, were vaguely familiar.

  “No, no. Missy, you come with me.”

  “Who are you? What do you want with us?”

  Esmeralda pointed her gun at his chest.

  He made a slight bow.

  “Chow Woo, Kuong is my brother,” he said.

  “Did Grandfather send you?”

  “Yes, and you must come quickly.”

  Esmeralda wavered. His dark eyes were open and transparent. A quick read told her she could trust him.

  Dahlia did not.

  From her garter she took out her fancy derringer and held it at waist level. “How do we know he ain’t ly
in?”

  Esmeralda lowered her own pistol. “He’s not. He’s one of Grandfather Woo’s sons. We will be safe.”

  Dahlia sniffed. Still suspicious, she put away her gun. Both of them followed Chow as he escorted them through a twisted rabbit warren of an alley. At the end of the alley they found themselves at the back of the herbalist shop. Chow knocked on the door and grandmother immediately opened it.

  She waved her hands to invite them in.

  “Come, come,” she said.

  Esmeralda and Dahlia stepped into the dark interior lit only by hanging paper lanterns. They were led to a couple of rooms that were obviously the Woo’s living quarters. Esmeralda looked around to see the small rooms, furnished in oriental splendor, with silk couches and dark lacquered furniture.

  Grandfather entered through a beaded curtain at the far end of the room. He was still dressed in his scarlet silks and he puffed on his pipe. He examined Esmeralda and Dahlia thoughtfully.

  “You cannot go home; you must leave this town. The Devil’s maggot is searching for you.”

  “How do you know this? How does he know we escaped?”

  “Chow is his manservant. News of your Lord travels fast. A messenger came to Big Jim’s house at sunrise. He heard Big Jim scream like a swine.”

  “And Devlin? What have you heard? Is he alive?”

  Grandfather shrugged. “This, I do not know. I know there was a fire in the mine and that your Lord has killed many of them.”

  Esmeralda and Dahlia exchanged glances. “Can you get us to Carson City? We can catch a train from there, and Grandfather Woo please, Devlin must not know where I have gone,” Esmeralda said.

  Grandfather Woo nodded. “My grandson Yang will take you. Come, we must hurry.”

  Grandmother then led Esmeralda and Dahlia into a small bedroom in the back of the herbalist shop. She went over to a black lacquered armoire, opened it, and pulled out some dark silk garments. She motioned for them to put them on.

  Esmeralda and Dahlia shed their torn dresses and put on the strange garments. The silk pants and long tunic felt foreign but at the same time loose and unrestricting. They covered their hair with scarves and straw hats. Afterwards Chow led them out through the alley. A donkey cart, driven by a skinny boy, stood waiting.

  He handed them up into the cart. “Yang will take you down the hill to Carson City.”

  Esmeralda thanked him and reached into a pocket of her skirt and pulled out a small purse. She tried to press some gold coins into his hand but he waved her away. Yang slapped the reins and the cart abled off towards C Street and Gold Hill.

  They did not notice the bent figure of Wing, a tattered crow, standing in the shadows.

  Inside the herbalist shop Grandmother knelt down at a small altar that was set up in the corner of the shop. She bowed her head as she lit a fresh stick of incense, filled a small bowl of rice and then placed it before the goddess statue. She prayed to Quan Yin, the mother goddess of all mankind, to protect the white women and all of Virginia City from the demon.

  Grandfather watched her from behind the counter as he continued to puff on his long pipe. When Grandmother got up from the altar he took a scroll of parchment out from underneath the counter and studied it.

  “May the Gods hear your prayers, Grandmother. The stars are not auspicious this night.”

  “I have seen you and our sons in the demons lair.” she said. Her gaze was still on the altar and the goddess. “It will fall to you to kill it, the fate of the Jaing Shi, their Lord has not been made clear to me but you, my husband, must not fail.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bait

  The goddess of good fortune had just spread her legs for Wing. He had loyalty to no one. As slippery as an eel he made a business out of playing both sides against the middle as long as he ended up with money in his hands.

  When he saw the two women loaded onto the donkey cart behind Woo’s shop he knew that the opium eater in the filthy coat would pay him in gold for that information. He hurried out of the alley and shuffled his bones up to D Street and the shanty where “Buffalo Hide” stayed. He overheard yelling and cursing from inside and gingerly scratched on the door.

  Peabody himself, a burnt and blistered horror opened the door. He pinned Wing with his one good eyed the other one hidden by a seeping linen patch.

  “What the Hell!” he said.

  Wing gave him a toothless grin. “Wing have information, you pay.”

  Lance grabbed him by his collar and pulled him through the doorway before he could utter a squeak.

  “Spill it ya old turd!”

  Wing straightened his clothes and then held out a grimy hand. “You pay Wing, chop, chop!”

  Lance shrugged. He dug into a pocket of his scorched coat and came up with a gold coin. He tossed it at Wing. “It had better be worth it,” he growled.

  The old man caught it in midair and tucked it away into his ragged pajamas. “Two women come out of the back of shop of that blister on Budha’s backside, The Imperialist Woo. They take cart driven by grandson Yang to Carson City”

  “White women?” Lance asked. Wing nodded. “Hot Damn! Are ya sure?”

  Wing nodded again several times. He waved his arms. “White women, white women. One with the Devil’s hair.”

  Lance Peabody grinned. He reached into his coat and whipped out his bowie knife. Wings eyes bugged out with fear. In less than a second Lance had stabbed the old Chinaman in the gut. When Wing crumpled to the ground clutching his bleeding stomach. Peabody snatched up the gold coin before he stepped over him like a piece of offal.

  That will make damn sure the old shit heel does not sell back his information to Devlin Winter.

  “Much obliged,” he sneered.

  Wing writhed on the floor as Peabody yelled for his crew to saddle up.

  Esmeralda and Dahlia led by Grandfather’s young grandson ambled their donkey cart down past Gold Hill and across the Stagecoach route at the south end of Silver City.

  The teenage boy Yang pulled the cart across the road just as a southbound stage rounded the curve.

  Yang stood in his path and waved frantically.

  “Stop, stop mister!”

  The stage driver, or what was commonly referred to in the West as a Jesu, stood up and lay back on the reins. “What in the gol’ darn tarnation! Clear the damn road!” he yelled.

  When Yang did not budge the stage driver was forced to bring the team to a swerving stop a few feet from the donkey cart. Cigar clamped in his teeth and whip in hand he shouted. “Move yore damn cart or I’ll blast ya outta the way.” He reached for his shotgun and pointed it at the cart.

  Yang bowed furiously. “No, no. Missy need ride, must go to Carson City, chop, chop!”

  The driver eyed Esmeralda and Dahlia in their Chinese silks. “I ain’t takin up no Celestials, an the roof is loaded to the gills. No siree, you just get a move on, son.”

  Yang crossed his arms stubbornly. “No, Missy need ride, big hurry get to Carson City.”

  Esmeralda stepped down from the cart. She and Dahlia whipped off their straw hats and scarves. The scarlet flag of Esmeralda’s hair blazed in the noonday sun. She lifted the edge of her tunic and took out her pouch of gold.

  “What about gold? Would that change your mind? I have five hundred dollars in gold and it’s yours if you can take us to Carson City.”

  The hard bitten visage of the driver softened. He was struck by Esmeralda and Dahlia’s beauty. He smiled as he eyed the pouch of gold. He relented. “Well then William Lightfoot’s the name and I reckon you ladies are in a sorry fix. Hike yourselves up here an I’ll make room fer ya.”

  Esmeralda pressed a gold coin into Yang’s hand along with a word of thanks before they climbed into the stagecoach. Once the door shut it lurched forward into a full trot once again. They rolled on towards Carson City sandwiched between four other passengers.

  Esmeralda finally released the breath she’d held, it seemed, since their flight
from Virginia City. “We should be safe now Dahlia. Once we reach Carson City we will book passage to San Francisco.”

  Dahlia pouted. “An what about Devlin? He ain’t gonna just let you just slip away.”

  Esmeralda turned her head and looked out the window. What about Devlin? The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and a chill ran down her spine. She would not go back and she would pray to the gods that he understood. Understood, that without her, Big Jim would have nothing to hold over him. Still, her heart felt squeezed, pulverized with the pain of her love for him. Tears blurred her eyes. The wind from the open window stung her eyes turning them into tiny rivulets.

  A shot rang out.

  She and the other passengers jumped in their seats. They sat forward and then strained to look out the window behind them.

  They are coming for us!

  She could see it in her mind’s eye as she gripped the leather strap held on for dear life and prayed to the goddess for the horses to outrun them.

  As if conjured by Esmeralda’s vision a large cloud of billowing yellow dust rose around a bend in the trail. Ahead of it rode Peabody, Big Jim and a posse of gunmen galloping down the road towards the stagecoach. They did not see Yang, where he hid in the bushes, his hand covering his donkey’s muzzle. Instead they pounded on past him and down the road closing rapidly on the lumbering stagecoach.

  The driver of the stagecoach looked over his shoulder and saw the gunmen. He also knew now, that bushwhackers pursued the coach. He reckoned the men galloping after him where out to rob and murder them.

  “Stand ready,” he said.

  The Mexican man who rode by his side lifted his shotgun. He cracked the whip and the horses sprang into a full gallop. Esmeralda and Dahlia, along with the other passengers, gripped the leather straps and whatever else they could to steady themselves. Esmeralda could see the burly form of Peabody galloping ahead of his posse of gunmen.