Sins of Motherlode

by Gillian F. Taylor

  There was another silence, broken by a call from Jonah.

  ‘I need some help here. I need warm water to wash this wound before I stitch it. We should get ready to move on when I’m done fixing things up here.’

  Robinson stood up, gradually unfolding his ungainly length. ‘We should reload our guns and stay alert. The bandits could come back, yeah?’

  ‘They’ll regret it if they do,’ Erica said simply.

  Millard looked up as the door to his office burst open, banging against the wall. Kellner barged in, followed by two of his men. They were dusty from the trail, and empty-handed. Millard rose swiftly as the outlaws strode up to his desk.

  ‘Where are the jewels?’ he demanded.

  ‘We didn’t get them, if there were any,’ Kellner spat back. ‘It was a set up. I lost two of my men back there.’

  ‘The law?’ Millard asked. ‘Have you led the law straight here?’ He glowered at the outlaws. All trace of the genial gnome was gone and his broad frame and balding head looked simply thuggish.

  Kellner shook his head. ‘It was that damned manhunter, the tall madam and one of her whores and some feller as tall as all get out. He was on the stage when we first robbed it.’

  Millard looked shocked. ‘Robinson? He’s a newspaperman. He was going to write a letter about me for the New-York Tribune.’ He felt a pang of disappointment: that letter would surely never appear now. Then he recalled something else. ‘Robinson told me that Durrell had gone to Telluride. He lied to me – they must have set Madam Jenny up as bait in their trap.’

  ‘Those whores were in on it,’ Kellner asserted. ‘They were both armed and it was that madam that put Brewster down.’

  Millard scowled more than ever. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it,’ he growled. ‘Those ungrateful bitches. I treated them like they were decent women, and this is how they repay me. I bet they dragged Durrell and. . . .’

  ‘We want money.’ Kellner interrupted Millard’s musing. He leaned over the desk, pushing his face close to the businessman’s. ‘You owe us.’

  Millard stared right back, refusing to be intimidated. ‘You didn’t do your job properly.’

  ‘We ambushed the stage like you told us to. It ain’t our fault there probably weren’t any jewels on there.’

  Millard inwardly admitted that the outlaw was likely right: the promised jewels had been invented as a trap for him, and he’d fallen into it. He didn’t let any doubt show though, just his anger at being taken for a ride. ‘Did you kill them?’ he growled.

  Kellner shook his head, looking sheepish briefly before glaring again. ‘No. And we’re through here. It’s too risky to keep working this area with a manhunter like Durrell after us. Give us our money so we can hit the trail, or you’ll be the one on the wrong end of a bullet.’

  ‘No!’ Millard snapped. ‘They’ve figured out our scheme. You have to kill the men and silence the women. No . . .’ He hesitated a moment. ‘They have to die too. I can’t take the risk, and besides, they just showed their true nature as abominations against the good name of “woman”. I can’t count them as women any longer.’

  ‘There ain’t but three of us and there’s four of them, plus the stage driver and guard. And we’re not going anywhere without some gold.’ Kellner’s hand dropped towards his gun.

  Millard made some fast calculations, weighing the value of the outlaws against the money in his safe. ‘All right. There’s not much in the safe here but I’ll give you something now. Once Durrell and the others are dead, I’ll get more from the bank and pay you.’

  ‘The three of us still won’t be enough. If we ride, you’re coming with us.’

  ‘I’m not. . . .’

  ‘There’s more of us than you!’ Kellner drew his gun, his men following suit. ‘Iffen you want to better the odds, get more men along with us. Your stage guards, anyone who can hold a gun and point it in the right direction.’

  Millard took a deep breath, glowering at the outlaws. ‘Russian Peter’s around. He can find some others.’

  ‘Good.’ Kellner nodded. ‘Now open that safe and give us some money.’

  Millard turned to the safe, resentful of the actions he’d been forced into. He wasn’t sure what hurt most: being let down by Kellner, or being betrayed by Jenny. Somehow, it was the betrayal by a woman that seemed to hurt most.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Robinson’s height came in very useful for helping to load the bodies of the dead outlaws on top of the stagecoach. Brewster, the one who had raped Louise, had died while Jonah was still tending to the guard. Robinson was heaving the one he and Erica had killed, up to the driver, trying not to rock the stage too much, as Jonah was inside, making the injured guard as comfortable as possible in the confined space. On the other side of the stage, Jenny heard something moving further along the trail, in the direction of Motherlode. Nothing was immediately visible, as the trail curved past an outcrop of trees that the bandits had used for cover. She got Erica’s attention, and picked up her rifle.

  Two horsemen came into view, moving at a steady jog. Neither had a weapon in hand, so she waited a few moments until she could see them more clearly.

  ‘Why, it’s Millard!’ she exclaimed, relaxing a little.

  Millard waved as he approached. ‘I got worried when the stage was late,’ he called.

  ‘But isn’t he the one we thought organized the ambush?’ Erica said quietly to Jenny.

  Jenny turned to Erica, and in that moment Millard waved his arm in a signal.

  The three outlaws burst out from the trees, guns in hand. Two of them immediately fired at the women near the stage. Erica flung herself flat, wriggling forward slightly to take advantage of a shallow depression that offered some cover. Jenny snugged her rifle to her shoulder and aimed. It was longish range for pistols and the men were firing from galloping horses: she gambled on them missing her while she took one good shot. Her finger was tightening on the trigger when the third outlaw fired. Jenny felt something tear through her skirt. Her aim wavered at the moment she fired. Without waiting to see if she’d hit, Jenny dropped to the ground alongside Erica.

  Jonah hadn’t paid too much attention to the sounds from outside, being occupied with the injured guard. After learning that Jonah had had medical training, the guard had begun describing symptoms that could have indicated a kidney stone, or which could have been hypochondria. The guard was describing the throbbing pain in his side, when the first shots were fired. Jonah immediately jumped to his feet and headed to the door, automatically identifying the type of guns from the sound, and their distance, even before he could see anything.

  ‘Don’t leave me alone!’ The guard grabbed Jonah’s wrist. ‘I’m unarmed.’

  Caught off-balance, it took Jonah a few moments to be able to pull himself free. His eyes flashed with anger, but he didn’t waste breath on curses. Instead he threw open the door and jumped out. He saw Jenny and Erica lying out in the open, armed, with three horsemen charging towards them. Even as he was drawing his revolvers, he glimpsed another horseman much closer, approaching from his left. Glancing that way, Jonah noted another rider further back, watching, and that the closest rider was not holding a gun. Ignoring him for the moment, Jonah raised one gun and took a moment to aim.

  He’d just got one of the three riders in his sights when he felt a sudden sense of dread about the approaching rider on his left. Jonah took a deep breath, swallowing his fear as he fought to concentrate on his shot. He fired, saw his target jerk, and turned to face the nearer rider. The burly man was throwing himself off his horse as it came to an earth-tearing halt. It was Russian Peter. A cold shudder ran up Jonah’s spine as he saw Russian Peter drawing his knife. Acting on pure instinct, he pointed and shot. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Occupied by the injured guard, Jonah had forgotten to reload.

  For once, Jonah simply panicked. He pulled the trigger twice more, with the same result. Russian Peter advanced slowly, weaving the knife about at head height
as he smiled coldly. Jonah’s hand twitched, as though to throw the useless gun aside, but he couldn’t relinquish the weapon. Russian Peter was just a few feet away now, the slowly-moving knife drawing Jonah’s gaze as though mesmerized.

  ‘Good Lord. Look out!’

  Robinson’s voice jerked Jonah back to reality. Russian Peter saw the change and attacked.

  When he’d heard the shots, Robinson had simply given one last shove to the outlaw’s corpse and run, picking up his shotgun as he headed around the back of the stagecoach to see what was happening. His shout was directed at Jonah, but his attention was immediately drawn to the three riders galloping towards Jenny and Erica, who were lying in their path. Without thinking about what he was doing, Robinson yelled to attract the outlaws’ attention.

  Throwing his shotgun to his shoulder, he took a hasty shot at the one on the left. Jenny fired at almost the same moment. Their target reeled in his saddle, screaming, as his horse slowed and swerved. Jenny rolled over, away from Kellner, who was in the middle of the three outlaws. Her elaborate skirts hampered her movement, leaving her struggling on the ground.

  Erica held her fire as she watched the third outlaw gallop towards her. Unlike the others, he was urging his horse faster, his swarthy face creased in a cruel grin. From where she was lying, it was difficult for her to shoot him without hurting his horse, which she was reluctant to do. He had his gun in hand, but wasn’t yet aiming for her. Erica guessed at what he intended, and waited, pressed flat to the grass. It seemed as though she could feel the hard impact of the horse’s hoofs through the ground as it closed on her. When it was just a stride away, Erica curled up her legs and tensed. Dust rose from the ground, the horse grunted and then its dark shaped passed over her as it jumped. The hind hoofs had barely cleared her head before Erica was twisting onto her back and sitting up in the same move. The outlaw may have wanted to trample her, but Erica had gambled correctly on the horse’s reluctance to tread on an obstacle like a fallen human. As she brought the shotgun to her shoulder, the outlaw was hauling on his reins, trying to spin his horse. Erica had a clear shot at him and took it, sending a load of buckshot into his back.

  Robinson saw Jenny struggling and ran closer. Kellner was reining in his horse: he glanced at the newspaperman holding his shotgun, then at the woman with her repeating rifle. Ignoring Robinson, he took aim at Jenny. Robinson yelled and fired off a quick shot. Kellner flinched, stung by some of the buckshot. Fiercely controlling his frightened horse, he changed aim. Robinson was about to fire again, then realized that he’d emptied both barrels of the shotgun. He frantically twisted aside as Kellner fired. Something seemed to punch him high in the chest and he staggered back, his left arm falling to his side. Kellner pulled back the hammer for another shot.

  Russian Peter darted forward, slashing the knife at Jonah’s face. Jonah went to block the move with his empty gun and saw the look of triumph in Russian Peter’s slate-blue eyes just a moment too late. The Russian grabbed Jonah’s other hand and twisted it painfully, nearly making him drop his other pistol. His fingers were being crushed against the revolver, but Jonah couldn’t spare the time to free himself from the powerful grip. Russian Peter sliced at him again with his knife. Fear shot up Jonah’s spine like a jolt of electricity but this time he didn’t panic. Instead, he was spurred to anger at his own weakness, his vanity.

  Deflecting the knife with the revolver, Jonah quickly slammed the butt into Russian Peter’s nose. The big man hissed a curse, crushing his hand tighter around Jonah’s trapped hand. The knife came around again, lower this time. Jonah pulled hard with his left hand, twisting his body. He managed to pull the Russian’s left arm between his ribs and the knife, forcing him to pull short the attack. Having to suddenly stop his move also threw Russian Peter slightly off balance. Jonah felt the change in weight and acted immediately.

  He slammed his body into his opponent. As Russian Peter rocked back, Jonah hooked his foot behind the other man’s leg. The Russian was flailing with his free hand, trying to keep his balance. Jonah shoved hard with his trapped hand and simultaneously smashed Peter in the face with his gun again. The Russian cried out as he fell backwards, blood springing from his mashed lips. He towed Jonah with him as he went, still clutching the hand he controlled. Russian Peter managed to push Jonah as they fell, so the manhunter landed partly on the ground beside him.

  Jonah mostly broke his fall with his right arm. Changing tactics, he let go of the empty pistol. From the corner of his eye, he could see Russian Peter lifting the knife for another attack. Bracing himself with right hand and knee, Jonah twisted, and rammed his left knee into the other man’s crotch. He couldn’t get much force into the blow, but it was enough to distract Peter for a few, vital moments. It was long enough for Jonah to reach across with his right hand and take the other gun from his trapped left hand. Grimacing with effort, Russian Peter crushed harder on Jonah’s now-empty hand as he pinned Jonah’s leg beneath his own and raised the knife again. Jonah spun the Smith and Wesson around in his right hand, the familiar shape of the gun nestling into his palm. His fingers instinctively found the right places even though he could hardly see what he was doing as he lay tangled with the Russian. He glimpsed sunlight flashing on the blade as the knife plunged towards his ribs. Jonah thumbed the hammer and pulled the trigger in a split second.

  The explosion so close to his ear deafened him. Jonah flinched, his left hand pulling free from Russian Peter’s suddenly limp grip. Something struck his side heavily: Peter’s other arm with the knife dropping harmlessly beside it. Jonah lay still for a moment, trying to locate other sources of pain besides his throbbing, crushed fingers and his ringing ear. The air smelt of sweat, gunpowder and blood. Just a few inches from his face were the gory remains of Russian Peter’s head, the eyes staring emptily at the sky above. Jonah felt giddily alive and triumphant, realizing he’d defeated his fear. Sucking in a deep breath, Jonah began to wriggle clear, looking about to see what else was happening.

  Robinson burst into a zigzag sprint, getting stabs of pain from his shoulder with every step. He had no plan other than to somehow help Jenny. He saw Kellner fire a quick shot but felt nothing. As Kellner tried to correct his aim, Robinson flung himself in the opposite direction, long limbs flailing untidily. Kellner tracked him, eyes narrowing as he concentrated. Jenny, given a few moments to aim, fired. Her shot took Kellner through the upper chest. He stayed still for a moment, before buckling and starting to slide from his saddle.

  The outlaw grabbed for his saddle horn with his free hand, struggling to bring his gun up again. Jenny took no chances but shot again. Kellner dropped his gun and toppled from his saddle, hanging with his feet tangled in the stirrups. Robinson thankfully came to a halt and looked around. To his relief, Erica was scrambling to her feet. Her shotgun was trained on the body of the outlaw who’d charged at her. He lay on the ground beside his snorting, shuddering horse. To Robinson’s other side, the outlaw he and Jenny had shot was still in his saddle. He was hanging onto the mane of his horse as it sidled about, its ears flickering back and forth. Jenny too was rising, her rifle in one hand as she pulled her skirts out of the way.

  ‘Don’t . . . don’t shoot,’ the outlaw begged. Patches of blood blossomed across his clothes. He looked from Jenny to Robinson, his eyes pleading and distressed.

  A single shot cracked in the quiet. The wounded man made a gargling sound and folded over, reluctantly sliding to the ground.

  ‘Millard!’

  The businessman was riding up, gun in hand. ‘He was going to shoot!’

  ‘He was surrendering!’ Jenny protested.

  Robinson and Jenny both reached the fallen man. As they knelt down, they heard indistinct sounds of pain between the spasmodic breaths. Robinson ducked his head close, putting his good hand on the dying man’s shoulder. He stayed like that for long seconds until the irregular breathing ceased.

  ‘Explain yourself, Millard.’ The order came from Jonah, who was back on hi
s feet and had his gun pointed at the businessman.

  Millard lowered his own gun. ‘They forced me into it all,’ he said anxiously. ‘Kellner came to me just after we moved here. He said I had to tell him when we were carrying payrolls, or else he’d hurt my family.’ The words tumbled out fast. ‘They burst into my office and forced me to come along with them. They wanted revenge on you.’

  ‘It’s quite a coincidence that Kellner should come to you here in Motherlode, yeah?’ Robinson rose slowly to his feet, cradling his damaged arm with the other one. ‘He’s been making quite a habit of robbing your stagecoaches over the last few years.’

  Millard looked hurt. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Robinson approached him. ‘I got curious about why you’d moved your business so often. I wrote the editors of newspapers in Cañon City, Boulder and Denver.’ He paused as he fished awkwardly in his left jacket pocket with his right hand. ‘I got more replies today while I was in Silverton.’ He successfully extracted a couple of envelopes and held them up. Millard went white but held his silence. ‘I don’t believe anyone put these reports together before,’ Robinson went on. ‘You kept moving from town to town and changing the name of your companies. But in every location, you had big payrolls stolen from your stages – only a couple from each line, but they were all considerable sums of money. Kellner and his ruffians were implicated in every one of those robberies. And moreover, we have a confession: that man’s dying words.’ He waved the envelopes in the direction of Jenny and the dead outlaw. ‘He said it was your idea, Millard.’

  Millard stared at Robinson, his face stricken. He missed Jenny’s brief look of surprise, as she had heard no confession from the dying man.

  ‘Drop the gun, Millard,’ Jonah ordered, moving closer. ‘I’m taking you in for robbery and murder. Maybe your wife can wear the brooch you gave her, that was stolen from Miss Louise, when she attends your trial.’