Page 49 of Working the Lode

The gore must have been a sight for poor Miss Zelnora, for she wrenched free from Brannagh. Smart enough not to go flailing across the meadow as an easy target for the businessman, she vanished into the darkness of the shanty. When Brannagh pivoted away from Bowmaker, the mountain man’s Colt spoke just as a report of a small caliber pepperbox lit up the inside of the cabin. In what was probably an unusual occurrence, for a mountaineer “seldom pulled the trigger without sending the bullet to the mark,” Brannagh was not rubbed out cold. A splash of crimson appeared on his shoulder before he, too, dove into the shanty.

“Zel shot whoever was inside that cabin,” Erskine noted, while Joaquin made an instant decision to step into the meadow and reveal himself.

“Brannagh!” he bawled, walking toward the cabin. “Trade me for the woman! I heard they are shouting for my head in a glass jar. ‘Bring me the head of Joaquin Valenzuela,’ they are clamoring. Think how praised you will be, bringing in my head! You will become alcalde of San Francisco. I just killed two more men, two more than the previous two hundred. Think how honored you will be to display my body at a necktie party!”

Behind him, Joaquin heard Erskine sprint through the knee-high dried grass, flashing across the meadow to reunite with his beloved—probably not wishing to be on the receiving end of a fresh volley of fire.

Bowmaker sent Erskine and Mercy galloping off on his mount, presumably with the enormous nugget in the saddlebag, and Joaquin’s two cowardly former comrades took this opportunity to do the same. The muzzle of Brannagh’s rifle poked through the tiny cabin window, but all was silent inside. The two remaining gunmen walked sideways, angling toward each other.

“Valenzuela, don’t be a potatohead!” Bowmaker said. “We can get her back unharmed. You go round the back of the cabin while I distract him with some highfalutin jawing. Go, go!”

Zelnora had shot William Clyde Tuggle! Why, they had come around the Horn together from New York, and she had just shot him through the throat! No one had expected her to have a weapon, as she had concealed her little pocket pistol so well. Zelnora knew that Tuggle, as a henchman for Brannagh, would have done the same to her given a chance.

Brannagh ducked inside the cabin. He didn’t appear to give a rat’s ass about Tuggle, but he batted her pistol from her grip before grabbing Tuggle’s rifle out of his crow-like fingers and scrabbling to the small window. The little pistol went sashaying harmlessly underneath, of all things, the disgusting chamber pot they had apparently provided Mercy with.

“You stay put, you heartless slut!” he yelled at her, now leveling two weapons out the front of the shanty. “I’ve had enough trouble out of you. You’ve been nothing but trouble since I agreed to let you onto that ship in the first place! Now I’m stuck with you, and I have no use for you. Origin Pickett doesn’t care about some divorced slut—it’s Mercy Narrimore they gave a hang about. Listen here. You’re gonna walk to that door, and tell that fur-wearing brute that we’re staying put here, I’m gonna be humping you every hour on the hour until he charges over those mountains and brings those pioneers back.”

That was to be expected, and Zelnora said, “All right. That’s fine, Ward. I’m certain they’re already on their way, having heard that you took Mercy prisoner in the first place. Bowmaker can ride fast, and I’m certain he can catch them. What’s all that shouting?”

Out front, Joaquin yammered away, shouting at the cabin. “Trade me for the woman!” he was saying.

Oh, no! Not that!

“Heh,” cackled Brannagh. “How noble of that murderous bandit. I’ll just pick him off from here, then I can bring in his head and be a hero, how does that sound, Sister Sparks?”

A bright flash and puff of smoke cracked from Brannagh’s rifle, and Zel crawled to the door, able to see under the sulphurous gray smoke cloud. Against the warmth of the tawny autumn field, Cormack had raced to Joaquin’s side, propping up the limp torso to check his wound, then sending Brannagh the most lethal and hateful look she’d ever seen from those crystalline eyes. His nostrils only flared like that when acutely excited, but she certainly did not expect his next step.

Rising slowly with hands above his head to display his revolver—the other hand held the giant nugget, which had been hidden in the grass!—Cormack shouted, “All right, Brannagh. You win, you’ve got the head of Joaquin Valenzuela. I just ask one thing. Trade me for Zelnora. I can tell you where I câched all my other gold. Think about it. Valenzuela’s head. A lump of solid gold big enough to build your entire empire. And my whole fortune of gold. I’ll even deed you that San Francisco lot. Just let Zelnora go. She’s useless to you. Just think. You’ll be a hero for bringing in Valenzuela’s head, and a rich hero to boot.”

Brannagh finally spoke, still not showing even the tip of his snout around the edge of the window. “Is Miss Sparks really worth all that, Bowmaker?”

Cormack shrugged lightly, making what she knew to be an attempt at a careless face. “You’re a businessman, Brannagh. You evaluate the deal. Miss Sparks for all of that. It should be obvious which the better deal is.”

Finally Zel cried out. “No, Cormack, don’t. I’ll be fine here, Brannagh won’t hurt me, you just go get those pioneers.”

Evenly, as though purchasing eggs or a jar of pickles, Cormack grinned a bit and said, “You let me be the judge of that, Miss.”

“Shut up!” Brannagh hissed at her. He yelled out the window now, “All right. Just drop your piece before you come forward, and we got a deal.” He looked at Zel. “Did he drop it? Aw, hell’s bells, why should I trust you?”

“He dropped it,” she told Brannagh.

Cormack slowly allowed the revolver to slither from his fingers, and it fell into the grass with a dull thud. With hands held high, Cormack started cautiously walking toward the cabin. Only then did Brannagh dare to peek through the window, and saw that Zel told the truth. Now he grabbed her, yanking her to her feet in the doorway, and pressed the pistol muzzle to her ribcage.

“All right, Bowmaker,” Brannagh growled. “Toss that nugget over here, just right through this door. Throw it at my head, and your girl’s a goner.”

She must have been so fatigued and nearly prostrate with terror, but it suddenly struck Zel as humorous—“a goner.” As though he were a sheriff confronting—well, confronting a terribly deadly outlaw, which he was. Yet Cormack could toss the nugget, and Brannagh could still hold her captive. She had absolutely cracked from the events of the past few days!

Without taking his eyes from Brannagh, Cormack rolled the nugget like playing tenpins, and it zigzagged past Zel’s feet. Brannagh stepped forward with his prisoner, and she squirmed to test the extent of his slimy betrayal. Would he let her go? He was definitely distracted by the hunk of ore.

“Let her go,” Cormack suggested mildly, one eyebrow arched, stepping closer yet.

She felt Brannagh’s hesitation. He held all the cards, after all. He was the only one who had a pistol.

He shoved her so suddenly she stumbled forward a bit. Cormack did not catch her, and when she twirled around, she saw why. In a flash, everything happened at once. Cormack turned his back to Brannagh and stomped on the top of Brannagh’s boot at the same time he jammed a powerful elbow into the missionary’s Adam’s apple with an audible crack of neck bones. A nauseating oomph of air was expelled from the windpipe, as Cormack wrenched the pistol from his hand and Zelnora swept down to grab the nugget. Cormack leaped back to allow the businessman to fall face down in the grass, sombrero flying, and with a rage Zel had not known was present in her gut, she smashed the back of the skull with the huge rock.

She drew back and breathed, prepared to land another blow, but Cormack stayed her hand. His calm, steady fingers were reassuring against her shaking arm—that nugget was suddenly unbelievably heavy—and they both stared unblinking as Cormack stuck out a boot and flipped Brannagh over. Blood trickled from his gaping mouth. He breathed no more.

Zel handed Cormack the nugget. Her arm was as weak and useless as a feather. “We have his blood on our fortune,” she nearly sobbed with relief. Cormack’s chuckle made her feel better. “Are you sure he’s dead?”