As he lay there, trying to bring his senses back to full awareness, his eyes began to gradually become accustomed to the dark. Moment by throbbing moment he lay there, concentrating on his surroundings. Eventually, the darkness seemed to become less black and he could see shapes of objects on the floor around him. A dark little splotch moved hurriedly along a wall. The squeak of a mouse. From beyond a doorlike shadow he could hear the muted sounds of voices.
Finally, the G-Man was fully awake. He knew now he had been tied and left in a back room of some old shack. He was sure he was locked in, even though he was tied and couldn't escape anyway. Beldon's men had beat him to a pulp and then brought here. Why had they not killed him, when they said they were going to? They were either trying to frighten him or they had a use for him. Probably the latter.
He struggled to a sitting position and worked at the rawhide strips that bound his hands, trying to pull them free. No use. The rawhide merely cut into his wrists. He could feel the wetness of fresh blood. He relaxed. Waited in the darkness, trying to think of a way out. Nothing. He could think of nothing. He sat silent, only the babble from the other side of the door breaking the stillness of his prison.
With his knees bent and feet on the floor, he kicked them forward and then followed with his butt, inching across the rough floor toward the dark rectangle that appeared to be a closed door. Time and again, he kicked out and moved forward until he was close to the door. He pressed his ear against it and listened. The babble became clearer now and as he concentrated, he began to make out the words.
"We should have killed him, right then and there," a voice said. Sounded like Ryker.
"The boss has a plan for him," another voice said. It sounded familiar, but Jack couldn't place it. "But don't worry," the voice continued. "When a government man is found dead at Beldon's dam site, old Hank will find he's in bigger trouble than he ever planned on."
So that was it. Clayton had been recognized by someone, as a government man. Whoever it was, had probably thought he was here to open the dam. And whoever it was had something against Hank Beldon. He was going to be blamed for Clayton's death on his premises. But why? Wasn't Beldon causing all the trouble around here? Or was he?
Perhaps, Beldon was being duped all along. Perhaps another party had reason to pit Beldon against all the other ranchers and create ill will. But why?
Clayton had stumbled into something big. There was a plot here, getting in his way, keeping him from the task he was here for. He had wanted no part of the trouble here, but he had been sucked into it now.
"It won't be long, now," the familiar voice said. "Tanner's gone for the Sheriff. He'll tell him there's a government man up here trying to open the dam and Beldon is shooting it out with him. By the time they get here, Clayton will be lying dead by the dam."
There was laughter. Ryker's voice echoing above the others. Who else was there? How many were holding him captive. He knew Tanner was gone, but what about Carver?
His question was immediately answered when he heard the familiar voice say, "Might as well get it over with. Alright Carver, get our boy out of there."
Jack heard boot steps crossing the wooden floor, coming toward the door. He quickly scooted back away from the door and resumed his prone position, his face turned toward the door. He heard the lock rasp and the door opened. Light filtered into the room from behind Carver, silhouetting his lanky body in the doorway.
"Comfy?" Carver chided, expecting no answer, as he came forward, leaned down and cut the bonds around Clayton's ankle.
"Your troubles will soon be over," he chuckled as he roughly pulled the G-Man to his feet. Clayton's knees sagged. The numbness from the tied ankles was still there. He couldn't feel his feet. "Aw, poor fella, can't stand up?" He grabbed Clayton under his arms and dragged him across the floor, his toes dragging on the rough boards.
There was no fight in the government man. He endured the handling. Feeling was beginning to creep back into his ankles now, but he wouldn't let Carver know that.
As Carver dragged him into the other room, Jack could see that nighttime must have come, for there was darkness outside the shack's open door and a globe lantern was lit, sitting in the center of a table in the middle of the room casting dark shadows in the corners. There was a half bottle of whiskey next to it. As he was being dragged into the room, he caught a glimpse of Burl Ryker in the lantern light. The other man was in shadow and remained featureless.
Jack's body slumped to the floor as Carver loosened his hold and let him drop heavily. "Had trouble walking," Carver laughed. "Heavy galoot, I wouldn't want to carry him far."
"Legs are probably numb from the rawhide," The shadowed man said as he cut the rope around Clayton’s feet. "His circulation should be coming back soon. Try getting him on his feet again."
Carver heaved a sigh of consternation, then caught Clayton's shirt collar and heaved the G-Man to his feet.
Jack's knees seemed to sag again, but he caught himself by leaning into the table, stumbling half way around, his back to the table and steadying his tied hands against the
table top, he held himself up on his feet. "Just a minute," Jack panted with exertion. "Let me just…"
His words trailed off as he suddenly went into action. His strength had already returned more than his captors had suspected. With a sudden heave, he upended the table. Lantern and whiskey bottle crashed to the floor, shattering. The whiskey streamed across the floor boards and the flame from the broken lantern whooshed into a blazing fire. At the same time, head down, body bent at the waist, the G-Man plowed into Carrver's mid section battering him with his head. The gunslick fell backwards and Jack jumped over his body, sprinted forward, crashing into the shadowed man with his shoulder, sending him sprawling sideways to the floor.
"What the Hell...?" was Ryker's surprise. He clawed for his sixshooter, but flame flashed up in front of him, half blinding him as Clayton darted through the open door.
"Stop him, you fools!" the shadowed man shouted.
"The fire!" Ryker answered.
"To hell with the fire. Just get him!"
Without taking time to get his bearings, the G-Man just ran. Just as fast as he could, but his hands tied behind him was slowing him down and he had no idea where he was running to. Only away from his captors.
In the light of the full moon, Ryker and Carver could see the running man heading for a stand of trees. They both fired and missed as Clayton zigzagged away; then took up pursuit, running and firing occasionally until the government man disappeared into the foliage. Behind them the shack was fully ablaze; the flickering flames lighting the area brightly.
Jack moved deeper into the stand of trees and found a hiding place in a hollow at the foot of a big Cottonwood. In the darkness it would be difficult for the gunmen to find him readily unless they were extremely lucky. He needed to rest, get back more of strength. If he could only find a sharp stone to work at the rawhide strips. He groped around the area where he lay, his fingers passing over dried leaves, bark, and stones until he found one with an edge. Not much of one, but it would have to do. He went to work, furiously rubbing the edge against the strips that bound him.
It was slow going and he could hear the gunmen thrashing about the woods, heading in his direction. Better find another hiding place. Keeping the stone in his palm, he pushed to his feet and began to run, but, crashing through the brush made enough noise to attract his pursuers.
"There he goes!" Ryker shouted. Then fired. The bullet chipped the bark of a tree as Clayton dashed beyond it.
The race was on again. Clayton could see he was entering the far edge of the woods. He could see moonlight streaming in. He would soon be out of the grove and could run faster on open ground.
Clayton's hopes of running faster across open ground were dashed as he emerged from the trees. Jack found himself on a high table ledge overlooking a deep gorge, with no place to run, except along the ledge. The gorge was filled with water, almost to the top
of the table. Farther down along the gorge, bathed in moonlight, he could see Beldon's dam towering into the night sky. A glance to his right told him that the river had flowed into this gorge and formed a natural reservoir.
He was trapped now. Nowhere to run! Ryker and Carver were right behind him. No time to duck back into the trees! Trying to hold down his panic, he looked back again. He could hear the two men crashing about and then saw them emerge from the grove farther upstream. They spotted him immediately and began to fire. Bullets whizzed over Clayton's head as he took the one and only alternative left to him. He heaved himself over the ledge, hands still tied behind his back, into the deep waters of the gorge.
****
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Big Flush
Bullets spattered the water around him as he plunged downward while the two gunmen reached the ledge and fired repeatedly after the G-Man. Clayton sank below the surface momentarily and bobbed up again breaking the surface. More bullets splashed around him. He gulped a lung full of air, threw himself sideways, doubled at the waist and plunged back beneath the still waters.
"Hold your fire!" Ryker bellowed to Carver. "Wait until he comes back up for air."
Clayton's body sank deeper into the reservoir. He pulled savagely at the now water soaked, rawhide strips that bound his hands and found them begin to stretch. Down, down, he went. His chest began to ache. Harder, and harder he pulled his arms apart, the rawhide finally stretching enough for him to pull one hand almost free. Continuing to work at his bonds, he kicked his legs to propel him upward. He needed air. His chest felt like it was about to burst. Up, up, up, he floated, still pulling at the rawhide strips. Finally the right hand slid free, just as his head burst above the surface. Once again bullets, plopped around him. Another gulp of air and Jack dove back beneath the surface. With his hands now free, he could swim under water just deep enough to not be seen, but close enough to the surface to chance popping up for air occasionally.
Up on the ledge, the two gunmen waited for the G-Man to come back up for air. He would have to come up sometime and they would be ready. Clayton was trapped between them and the dam with no means of escape, unless he could swim upstream, which was highly unlikely. Minute after minute passed by. The gunmen grew frustrated with impatience. "He's gotta come up sometime," Carver whined.
"Hey, maybe we got him after all. Or maybe he drowned."
"Naw. His body would have floated to the surface. He's down there all right. I don't know how he's doing it, but I'm gonna fix him." He started to move away from ledge. "Stay here and watch for him. He pops up, plug him."
"What are you...?" Carver started as Ryker headed downstream toward the dam.
"I'm gonna flush him out." Ryker's laughter echoed across the gorge.
Meanwhile, Clayton had swum to the side of the gorge, beneath the ledge above where the outlaws waited. The walls of the gorge here were slippery and smooth, extending straight upward with no ridges or indents for hand holds. There would be no climbing out of the gorge here, but he could brace himself against the wall beneath the surface, tread water, keep his head above water, and breathe the blessed, fresh night air. He would rest awhile, then he would have to figure something out. But what? He was trapped. He couldn't swim upstream and there was no other way out of the reservoir that he could see!
Burl Ryker was still smiling with self satisfaction as he neared the dam at the far end of the gorge. He'd fix that pesky G-Man for good. He would open the flood gate and flush him right through under the dam. The valley ranchers would reap the benefit of new water for free, but he thought it was worth it. His boss may not think so, but hell, he was in charge here. Besides, he would enjoy seeing Clayton try to squirm out of this one.
As he climbed onto the river bank, he could see the control shack that had been set up for guards and for a keeper of the flood gates. It was a small square hut built on a wooden platform, that also supported a six foot tower like structure, housing a large wheel with handles along its circumference, much like the helm of a ship. A system of beams pulleys and cables ran across the gorge near the top of the dam. Vertical cables hung from this system attached to the flood gates at the base of the dam.
Ryker quickly mounted the platform, released the breaking lever to put the wheel in gear, and started turning; a gleeful grin on his face
In his hiding place, still trying to figure out a plan of escape, Jack's thoughts were interrupted by a strange noise echoing across the gorge. It wasn't any kind of animal sound. Or any other kind of sound he had ever heard before. It sounded more mechanical, like metal screeching against metal and the creak of moving wood. Then a crashing, sucking roar with a huge splashing sound that lasted only an instant.
The stillness of the water seemed to gradually subside. Or was it his imagination? Gradually, the water around him seemed to rock in small rippling waves and he found himself bouncing about like a rowboat on a choppy sea. Steadily the movement increased and the waters churned more rapidly.
Now he knew what was happening. The floodgates had been opened! The noise he had heard was the movement of the cables, the sucking sound of the gates rising out of the riverbed, and the first gush of water through the opening. They were flushing him out. His first thought was to cling to the rocky side of the gorge, but it was no use. It was too slippery and smooth. He felt himself descending along the wall as the water level started to fall.
At first the waters movement had been fairly negligible, but with each passing moment, it seemed to churn and swirl more. Clayton could feel a current pushing against him, sliding him along the wall edging closer toward the dam. At first it was just a gentle push, then a shove. He began to bump into the wall, bounce away, only to be slammed against it again and again.
The waters were churning faster now, foam was starting to fleck on the surface, and he found himself steadily floating toward the dam. Each time he slammed into the rock wall, he seemed to hit with a greater force. Soon he would be emerging out from under the protection of the ledge above and be a target once more. He would no longer need to hover around the pounding wall anyways, so he might as well push away farther into the reservoir and avoid the beating he was taking from the wall. He knew as soon as he was visible to the outlaws, firing would resume. His only chance was to go back under water to avoid being seen, but this meant being without air again. But there was no other alternative.
Taking a huge gulp of air and filling his lungs completely, he pushed off from the wall, bent at the waist and dived back under water. At first he didn't dive deep, He needed to be close enough to the surface to chance another lungful of air, but when he finally came up for air again, the bullets started flying; this time from two directions; upstream and downstream. Carver on the ledge and Ryker on the platform near the dam.
The plop, plop of the bullets in the water was now muted by the churning of the waters and the current was now so strong that Jack could feel it carrying him onward with accelerating force. The choppy current swelled into waves that struck him in the face, pushing him backward to sink once again beneath the surface. He drank in air just before going under. He twisted his body into a prone level position, stroking smoothly and swimming under water with the current propelling him closer and closer to the dam. He could feel the downward pressure of the water as it sought to retreat beneath the dam through the open floodgates. Greater and greater, the pressure grew, he knew he was being sucked downward.
At the rate he was traveling, he would slam headlong into the dam wall with tremendous force. There was only one chance left open to him and he took it. With a jackknife turn, he twisted and dived deeper, letting the pressure of the water above and the escaping stream through the gates suck him further downward toward the base of the dam.
His air supply had just about run out now and he was too far from the surface to get more. His chest ached unmercifully, his teeth clenched as he held his breath and swam downward. Finally he saw, ahead of him, the gaping gates. He kicked f
orward and swam into the channel, feeling the raging tug of the current as it burst through the gate openings.
Down, down, down, he propelled, letting the swift current carry him further into the escape channel. He had held his breath as long as he could now. His chest felt like it would burst. There was no choice left, but to exhale slowly, letting the air out gradually, hoping to make it last until he was through the gates. Closer and closer he approached the opening. The force of the water, now extremely strong, drew him swiftly into the channel. He bounced against the sides of the gate as he went through, the churning waters heaving him with tremendous force.
As the last bit of air expelled through his tightly held lips, Clayton felt his body being thrown upward, the current swirling and churning beneath him. Water raged into his nostrils and his lips parted, taking on an unwanted gulp. He felt the water lash against his eyes as he realized he had been catapulted above the surface as the escaping waters left the gate and spread outward in both directions, filling the previously dried up river bed. A breath of air mingled with the water gushed into his lungs. He choked and went under again. Again and again, he was thrown to the surface, alternating darkness beneath the waters and quick flashes of moonlight flashed through his brain as semi consciousness set in. He felt himself being swept away in the current and then all went black as he slid into complete unconsciousness and drifted away into a black void.
****
CHAPTER TWO
Fast Horse
The night was still, save for the sounds of birds in the night and an occasional hoot of an owl and the gurgle of the current that now flowed gently in the river bed and trickled over the still form of a man lying half in and half out of the water. His face was turned to the side, lying on the muddy river bank.
Eventually, the man began to stir. His body quivered a bit, then he coughed, expelling liquid from his mouth and nostrils. He felt the sensation of something soft, wet and warm pressing against his cheek. There was something familiar and reassuring about it.