Power in the Blood

  No one referred to Fay on his return, and Drew was grateful for the lack of open sympathy granted him, since that made it easier to pretend he felt nothing at all over Fay’s departure.

  After a supper marked by a distinct absence of talk, Drew went outside. Nate strolled over to him. “She was a whore anyway,” he said, and Drew punched him in the mouth. They fell to the dust in a stalemated scuffle that carried them both across to the cabin, and Lodi and Levon had to come out and separate them.

  “I’ll kill you …!” growled Nate. “See if I don’t.…”

  “Cool off, the both of you,” Lodi said. “Bones, make yourself scarce for an hour or two, why don’t you.”

  Drew picked up his hat and went to the ledge pathway. He wanted to see if the blanket was still up there where Fay had placed it, and it was. He flung himself down and watched the sky turning dark. It had been at around this same time yesterday that she gave herself to him, right there where he now lay alone and in pain. He couldn’t understand any of it. Drew fell asleep there, still puzzled.

  When he woke up, the evening had become night, cool and black. The moon’s curved edge hung low in the sky, and Drew found himself shivering. He stood and beat his arms back and forth to warm himself, wondering what time it was. Standing there, he could see across the flats he had admired with Fay, and on those flats several torches burned. Drew studied them for a moment before realizing their meaning. Men were coming for them: lawmen with guns, following the wheel ruts he had laid down for them four times in three days. That was why Fay wanted to be driven back to Cortez, so the ruts would be that much deeper, that much easier to see by torchlight. They wouldn’t have come in the day, but Fay had given them a trail to follow. Sick at heart, Drew flung himself down the path and raced for the cabins.

  Lodi was still awake and dressed. He sent Drew to wake everyone else while he went up to the ledge, where Drew joined him minutes later. The torches were noticeably closer.

  “It was her,” Lodi said.

  “It was her,” Drew agreed.

  “Well, it won’t work, not if they think we’re snoring. I expect they’ll want to put riflemen all around us in darkness, then open fire or parley come morning. They’re in for a big disappointment. I wonder if she sold us to Pinkertons or federals.”

  “She offered me a way out, if I’d come with her.”

  “And you turned it down. Don’t worry, Bones; you’ll live to tell the tale.”

  Inside twenty minutes everyone was packed and mounted. Ellen sat nervously on their quietest horse; she had not ridden in more than fifteen years. “Stay together and stay quiet,” Lodi said, and they began winding their way in single file up the same narrow pathway to the top of the Rim. Once there, they could all see the torches below, flickering like fireflies. “Figure she ain’t a whore now?” Nate whispered, but Drew ignored him.

  The night was too dark for hard riding over unfamiliar ground. They walked the horses along the sweeping ledge for its entire length, then descended its sloping far side, cutting off their view of the torches. On open ground they could travel faster. Ellen clung to her saddle horn as they galloped north for a half hour, then they eased their pace to spare the horses. Pursuit would not begin till morning, with the discovery of the empty cabins. Levon predicted they would be at Bigelow’s ranch by early afternoon if nobody’s horse threw a shoe. Bigelow was one of Lodi’s comrades in crime, trading horses and cattle back and forth between the world of legitimate commerce and his more remunerative dealings with Lodi’s outfit.

  “Ellen, you still in one piece?”

  “Just about. Who put an ax handle under my saddle?”

  They laughed, and were still laughing when the first shots came from their left. Drew felt the impact of a bullet entering his mare’s shoulder, and she began sinking beneath him. He jumped clear before she fell, and looked around to see who might boost him behind his saddle for a getaway. Nate’s horse was almost on top of him. Drew readied himself to jump up, but Nate rode past at a full gallop, his face fixed on Drew’s as he swept by, and Drew was left alone, the sound of receding hoofbeats coming to him through a cloud of dust. Gunshots were still whistling by, so Drew fell to the ground behind his fallen mare, yanked his Winchester from its scabbard and began crawling away. The mare was still alive and suffering, but to put a bullet into her head would let the attackers know he had not been picked up and taken along with Lodi and the rest.

  The law had been smarter than anticipated, had set an ambush along the only escape route in case the party approaching from Cortez was seen. Drew had been the one to tell Fay about Lodi’s back door, and now he was paying for his loose mouth. Nate had been right about Fay, but Drew would still call him out, if they ever met again, over the way Nate had made no attempt to pick him up. It was a worse betrayal than Fay’s, because even if they had never liked each other, they had ridden together.

  Soon he heard voices, and stopped his crawling through the sagebrush. The voices came from several directions, and Drew wondered if he had somehow turned himself around. He could be sure of nothing at ground level, and so raised his head carefully to see if some avenue of escape might present itself. If he could learn where the hunters stood, he might be able to wriggle through between them in the dark.

  “Hold it there. You drop that gun.”

  The voice was calm, unhurried. Drew did as he was told.

  “Be real still now. Hey! Over here! I got me one!”

  More figures came toward Drew and his captor. A man who appeared to be in charge asked him, “What’s your name?”

  “Lodi,” said Drew.

  48

  With more money in her hand than she had thought it possible for one person to carry unaided, Zoe found a kind of courage. She had intended to flee the state, flee the country eventually, to ensure the safety of herself and Omie. But the money changed that. The audacity and ease with which it had been obtained gave her confidence, and following close behind that came defiance. Riding out of Denver aboard a first-class car, Zoe felt a robber’s surge of gratitude for an easy getaway, and then the heady rush of belief that similar crimes could be committed with impunity.

  She fought these impulses, knowing them for the aftermath of danger they were, a false excitement threatening to carry her beyond prudence. She had Omie to think of. Actually, it had been Omie who made the feat possible. Omie was a kind of armor, a shield against ill fortune, uniquely potent. Had there really been any risk in their venture to take what rightfully was Zoe’s?

  “Does anyone in this car recognize us?”

  “No, Mama.”

  Zoe wore her false arm sling, and Omie’s face was hidden again by the veil. Their appearance had attracted some attention at the station, veils being uncommon in the wardrobe of children, but Zoe had anticipated this by knotting a black scarf around Omie’s arm, making her a mourner. Omie said all was well, so Zoe could relax, if her humming bloodstream would allow it.

  They changed trains several times, riding through the night, and all of the following day, choosing the next section of their railroad escape arbitrarily, Zoe allowing Omie veto over whatever decision she made at each changeover. They zigged and zagged on rails, heading south by west in awkward increments. Eventually they stepped off their latest train at a small town in northern Arizona. Omie declared the place safe to rest in, and they took themselves to a hotel for some much-needed food and a room in which to be themselves.

  Zoe ordered all available newspapers to be delivered to their room next morning, and scanned them for articles relating to the theft of so much money from the Denver National Bank and Trust. There was no mention of any such deed, and she asked herself if this was because it had not been considered a theft, since the money was in effect her annulment settlement, or if Leo had ordered the bank manager to tell no one when the incident was reported to him. That seemed the more likely scenario.

  She read the newspapers in haste, and overlooked completely a small article concer
ning the discovery of a man wandering in from desolate country several days before, a man unable or unwilling to give his name, who credited his rescue from the rigors of the desert—bearing nothing in his arms but a sawed-off shotgun—to the timely intercession of his guardian angel. The story was barely fifteen lines of type, and Zoe’s anxious gaze swept across it in a trice, in pursuit of news closer to her own interests.

  Worn out with traveling, the inner ferment caused by their success fading now, Zoe began to wonder what her next step might be. Flight beyond Leo’s reach no longer held the same appeal. She had bested his killer and his banker, thanks to Omie, and it would have seemed like quitting to give in now by sneaking away to foreign shores. Leo was not so all-powerful as many thought him. Who knew him better than Zoe? He was a pathetic figure, really, a straw man, all of his strength stemming from his position rather than his person. Should she and Omie be afraid of him to the extent that they must run as far as possible to be free of his influence? Should they instead try to make some kind of peace with him, on equal terms? She did not know; nor did Omie, for whom all the options were meaningless.

  The tall man had been visiting her again of late, requiring her help, it seemed to Omie, although she could not recall with any detail the exact circumstances of his visitations and requests. She had been of use to him in some unfathomable way as they both passed through a landscape of redness and heat, and that pleased her, but the tall man’s needs had to be set aside now in favor of her own and Mama’s. Together they had done something bad, even if the money they stole was Mama’s anyway, and Omie wanted to forget such things as theft and the tall man for a while, and concentrate her attention on the one rag doll Zoe had allowed her to retain.

  His handcuffs were kept tight despite his requests to have them loosened a notch or two. The train ride across Colorado to Glory Hole was going to test his patience. Drew was escorted by four federal marshals and a host of deputies, all crowded into one private car provided free of charge by Leo Brannan. Lodi had stolen from him, so Leo was determined that the court which tried him should convene in Glory Hole. Drew understood from casual conversation between the lawmen that Leo Brannan would have to fight the state government for that privilege, since Leadville was the official county seat, not Glory Hole, even if Lodi’s infamous payroll robbery had actually occurred nearer to the latter.

  He had not expected his deception to be swallowed so easily. Drew was at least ten years younger than Lodi, and although he had regrown his beard, there really wasn’t much of a resemblance. He suspected no one wanted to question his identity too closely, since the capture of Lodi was of greater importance, so far as newspaper headlines were concerned, than the capture of one of his men. Awaiting transportation in Cortez, Drew had expected a visit from Fay, who could have told his captors they had a much smaller fish than they thought, but Fay had not come, and Drew continued his deception, more from mischievousness than anything else. It helped him to know that the men surrounding him, the men who would not allow him a little comfort, were being made fools of.

  The marshal opposite him, who insisted on blowing his cigar smoke directly into Drew’s face, asked, “What the hell have you got to smile about?”

  “Not a thing,” Drew said, smiling even wider.

  The marshal leaned forward and slapped him hard across the face.

  “Then quit. I don’t like to see it.”

  “Anything you say,” Drew said.

  Leo had several things to be thankful for now. The model for his gold elk had been prepared in record time by a Pittsburgh sculptor of some renown, with the assistance of a team of willing students, and preparations for the creation of a mold had begun. The gold for the casting was on site, guarded around the clock by a team of Pinkerton detectives, and reports of the golden elk already were becoming part of the nation’s daily gossip. Most press articles on the fabulous beast erroneously stated that the elk would be made of solid gold, which had indeed been Leo’s original intention, until he was informed it would weigh too much for competent handling. He had given permission by wire for a hollow elk, which would be far cheaper and more manageable, but had not passed this revision on to the general public. An elk of solid gold had about it the stuff of legend, and Leo was determined that it should achieve such status.

  He had chosen to forget that it was his lying mistress who first proposed the creation of the elk; Leo took that role for himself, and on the one occasion when she sulked over the absence of her name in all of the press coverage relating to the elk, he had hit her very hard and told her to mind her business. He had seen fear creeping into her face more often lately, and that pleased him. Leo was still unsure what her ultimate punishment should be, once he revealed to her that he knew everything about her she had attempted to hide. It should be something interesting, unusual, original.

  He also had the capture of Lodi to exult over. There was some difficulty with the state regulations over where Lodi’s trial should be held, but certain members of Big Circle were working on his behalf to have the usually applicable statutes waived in favor of a trial in Glory Hole itself, the right and proper place in which to administer judgment and justice on the fellow, in Leo’s opinion. Lodi was currently being held in the county jail in Leadville, while the necessary legalities for a transfer to Glory Hole were under way. Leo had been told it was a secure building, with well-armed men in attendance. News of Lodi’s capture had received as much ink as the golden elk, and rightly so.

  The one blot upon these prospects for imminent personal satisfaction was the outrageous manner in which Zoe had helped herself to her annulment settlement in Denver. The manager of Denver National Bank and Trust was under investigation by Big Circle for possible complicity in the case. Blye’s unacceptable excuse for having handed the money over was that he simply could not remember the event with any clarity, a ridiculous defense. Blye had even been so bold as to suggest that Leo was a fool to set aside a cash settlement of such proportions if he was not prepared to let the lady take it, a statement of such obvious malice it served to implicate the fellow even more. No word of the incident had been made public, of course, nor would it ever be. Membership in Big Circle certainly had its compensations. Leo wondered sometimes if being a member of the Praetorians was not foolhardy, given the conveniences of the larger body. He felt a twinge of guilt over his association with the revolutionary kernel slowly gathering strength to burst through from within, but for the moment was content to wait and see what might transpire. He shared none of his misgivings with Rowland Price.

  When Lodi robbed a train up in Montana less than a week after his own supposed capture, there was consternation in Leadville. Within the space of a day it was ascertained that the prisoner being held as Lodi was in fact one of his men. Confronted by marshals, Drew told them he was John Bones. Two of the marshals held him while a third beat him senseless. By evening the federal contingent had withdrawn, leaving Drew under no more than the usual jailhouse guard.

  Nursing a swollen jaw and a closed eye, Drew told himself the ruse had been worthwhile, even if it left him bruised. He was surprised that Lodi had been able to organize a job so quickly, and assumed the train had been stopped solely to let the world know of the law’s mistake. Drew could imagine the panache with which Lodi announced himself to the passengers as he robbed them, and he wondered if Lodi would take a chance and attempt to spring him from jail before his trial began, in order to thumb his nose at the law again. Drew wondered also how he might react to his next meeting with Nate, if such a thing should occur. Nate had deliberately left him stranded, an outright violation of the outlaw code, and could not be permitted to go unpunished. That alone was a good reason to hope for escape. It was a hope worth nurturing, since it was all he had.

  Otis Trevitt was a disappointed man. He had bragged to his girl that he was part of the group guarding none other than Lodi, and now that it was known a trick had been played on everyone, Otis was left in charge of a nobody. His girl wou
ldn’t be impressed at all by that. The town marshal had said another deputy would be given double duty with Otis, beginning the next day, in case the real Lodi should attempt getting his man out. But for the moment, with Lodi having robbed a train less than twenty-four hours earlier in another state, there was no possibility of that happening, so Otis was on his own, and would be until dawn.

  When the woman and the girl came in, he was not fully alert, having been awakened from a catnap by the sound of the opening door. Otis was aware of his own drowsiness and its cause, but he could not understand why it was that when the woman asked him for the keys to the cell containing Lodi, he pointed to the key ring on the wall without a second thought. Why had he done that? He was sleepy still, and the girl watching him had a blue mark on the side of her face, which should have piqued his interest, but didn’t; he was just as tired as tired could be, and when he saw the prisoner walking past him with the woman, he couldn’t raise a hand or open his mouth to let the woman know it wasn’t even Lodi she had released, just some nobody that rode with Lodi, but by then they were out the door, the girl leaving last, and Otis felt himself slipping back into a comfortable sleep. Everything that had happened was probably a kind of catnap dream, so he had nothing to worry about.

  For Drew also, the arrival of the woman at his cell door had a dreamlike ambience. She said not a word, had simply unlocked the door and beckoned with her one arm. He could swear he had seen her somewhere before, but the time and place eluded him. He rose, put on his boots and jacket and went with her out to the office, where a deputy sat with hanging jaw and glazed eyes, staring at a young girl who stared at him with equal fascination. Drew thought the girl was also familiar somehow, but again, he could not recall where he might have seen her, despite the blue birthmark on her face.