Page 48 of Working the Lode

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Bowmaker was pleased at first to see Nutting, the man whose life he’d saved. Yet there was a growling cast to Nutting’s countenance that did not seem to soften with gratitude when Brannagh sauntered forth grinning impudently, hands on hips over the short-skirted frock coat that had always given the wearer the look of a preacher, although the two pistols at his hips were not the weapons of a missionary.

“Well, well!” Brannagh shouted heartily, as though greeting dinner guests. He even casually clapped his wide black sombrero onto his head, not wanting to pain his eyes with the overcast autumn sun. “Bowmaker, the murderer of poor folk on their deathbed! Sorry to inform you, nobody is ill around here, so you may as well turn around and go home.”

“You know I’ve come for Miss Mercy Narrimore. It’s the meanest kind of action to hold a woman against her will.”

“Is that so?” Brannagh bawled. “And so you’ve brought the two maggots who murdered three of our countrymen? Thanks for the hard work, Bowmaker. You can hand them over to the law now. I’ll see that Judge Lynch takes proper care of them.” He gestured impudently, as though requesting a whiskey refill.

Bowmaker shouted back, “These two men will witness that you paid them to ambush the train going over to the Colorado River.”

“Madre de dios!” cried Three-Fingered Jack. “You promised you wouldn’t—“

Perhaps at the news that Brannagh had committed such a heinous act, Mercy herself appeared in the cabin door, shoving aside Nutting and the other thug. As could be expected, she looked about to go under, coiffure in whipped strands about her haggard face, paltry blouse torn and mussed. Affected by her formerly refulgent face that had now seen such deprivation, Bowmaker paced toward the cabin several yards. “Cormack!” she trilled. “What is this about Brannagh paying those bandits? I had heard he is holding out for Origin Pickett to make an agree—“

Brannagh yanked Mercy’s arm so stridently that Bowmaker winced. Her head wobbled on a whipped neck and her feet seemed to leave the ground for a fraction of a moment. At the same time Brannagh’s free hand tore the pistol from its holster and leveled the barrel to Mercy’s breast. Brain calculating wildly, Bowmaker knew there was an even chance that one of his sharpshooters with their ever-ready weapons got to Brannagh before he raised Mercy’s hair, but there was a chance Brannagh’s fourth man was still câched inside the shanty. He had to remain calm, yet play what was nearly his last card.

“All right,” he drawled. “I’ll trade you for Miss Narrimore. Are you open to trade?”

He noted that Brannagh appeared thoughtful for a brief second, then took a surly attitude again. “Trade for what? Those two worthless greasers? I’ll gladly take the burden of those cussed devils off your hands, but it’s not worth handing over Miss Narrimore! Not until I get a signed contract from the Colorado River delivered to me in person by this lady’s fiancé, or Elder Pickett himself!”

Bowmaker had to reach into his saddlebag, and as expected, this caused the three brigands to stiffen and take fighting stances. However, when they saw that Bowmaker revealed not a weapon but a giant gold nugget, all three weakened a little in awe. Brannagh even lowered his pistol from Mercy’s breast, and if Bowmaker could just distract him a tad more…

Bowmaker yelled, “This one item. These here gentlemen forgot to mention to you. During another raid they obtained this thirty pound gold nugget, twenty-two carats, barely any quartz.” He hefted the large rock. It seemed to glow with a life all of its own, lighting up the park where the men stood coiled up with bunched muscles like jaguars. Bowmaker saw he had gained Brannagh’s acute attention, and he was now confident of success, even when Brannagh shouted,

“How do I know that isn’t a rock painted a gold color? Throw it over here.”

Bowmaker sneered. “What kind of a blockhead do you take me for?” He waved the boulder at Three-Fingered Jack. “Jack! Is this real gold? Tell the man.”

“Why, si,” Jack stammered. “I was too afraid to have it assayed, but I’ve laid my eyes on many a—“

“No!”

All weapons were now leveled at a spot near the pine grove. Zelnora raced across the field at full chisel, like a blur in her sudden determination.

Bear’s ass! Was she cracked? Now Brannagh would have them both, Mercy and Zelnora!

“Take me, Ward!” Zel was shouting, arms flailing bonelessly, no weapon in sight. “Cormack, don’t give him the gold! Let Mercy go, Ward! Take me!”

Bowmaker could tickle Brannagh’s hump ribs right slick, since he was scarcely looking his direction at the moment. Then one of the other lackeys would raise the hair of one of the women, and so on. Bowmaker had seen this happen before, like a deck of cards flying through the air, one toppling after the other. There would be no one left standing on the field after such a bloodbath.

And just as Zel requested, Brannagh shoved Mercy toward Bowmaker, then wrapped a rapacious arm about Zel’s torso. Bowmaker grabbed Mercy, and he knew Brannagh had not forgotten about the giant lump of gold for long. His entire body hummed with a surge of unspent energy, and he gripped Mercy with unnecessary force.

A pistol’s report came from the pines. The nameless thug by the shanty door was thrown in his tracks, gone under almost comically with flung arms and an odd scowl as though scorned in love. Brannagh didn’t appear to notice, too enthralled with the lovely package he held in his arms—Bowmaker’s woman, and Brannagh drooled upon her greedily.

“You just killed Holterman!” Erskine hissed at Joaquin.

The alleged Holterman lay limply against the shack, his neck crunched at an impossible angle. Nutting, the dodo whose worthless life Bowmaker had once saved, turned yellow when he saw his fellow empire-builder fall, and attempted to go like sixty back inside the shanty. Brannagh stayed him by the arm.

Joaquin frowned. “Who cares? Your woman is safe with Bowmaker now, and that loco Brannagh would never harm Señorita Zelnora.”

“How do you know that? I mean, what’s his objective here? He wants to be King of California, right?”

Was Erskine waiting for an answer? What a time to banter politely! “Yes, yes, King of California!”

“OK, then! Sure, Zelnora is pretty and intelligent, but what would he value more? He wants those Colorado River people back, or their money and cattle, at least! And that giant nugget, if he can get it! And leave all of us in the dust missing our topknots.”

Joaquin cocked his hammer, one eye closed, the better to aim. “You’re right,” he breathed, and squeezed off a shot that nearly blew off that thankless Nutting’s head.