Power in the Blood (79 page)

“How do you support the other three, Clarence?”

“Well, I don’t, not regular, but they’re all good workers themselves, so the kids don’t starve.”

“How many?”

“Be eight of ’em when Mae drops around next July. She’s the one in Utah. Lodi says I can go see her pretty soon, take her some cash if I got any left by then.”

“You won’t spend any up here, Clarence.”

“No, but here to Utah’s a fair stretch, with temptation along the way. By God, I just better be good if she’s gonna get some. I never hit any one of ’em, but I tipped my hat to temptation a considerable number of times in between getting hitched. That’s where the money goes, boy.”

“How does Lodi spend his?”

“I never asked. He’s a sinner, same as me, and Nate too, but not near so much. I believe Lodi, he’d put it in a bank if he could just find one that’s robber-proof. That ain’t his name, by the way. He’s from Lodi, Wisconsin, he told me one time, but that’s all he told. Where you from, Bones?”

“New York State.”

“I never went further east than Saint Louis, myself. Nate, I believe he’s been to New York, only he don’t talk about it, or anything else much. This outfit never did have anyone in it that’s willing to talk.”

Drew’s share of the robbery proceeds came to less than a thousand dollars, since he was considered an apprentice. He was tempted, while they lazed around the cabin waiting for time to pass, to saddle up and ride away before harm came to himself or anyone who might get in Lodi’s way during the course of a holdup. This idea seldom lasted longer than five minutes. Working with a gang had not been his plan, but his efforts alone had brought such poor results, he was not driven to leave his teachers until he had learned more of their technique. When he had a substantial bankroll of his own he would quit, without asking Lodi first. Lodi had reminded Drew several times of his debt, and seemed the kind of individual who would not be inclined to accept nonpayment; a dangerous man to cross, was Drew’s cautious assessment, and he planned to take his leave of Lodi only if he should chance upon an opportunity to do so without risk.

The weather forced Lodi’s men into closer fraternity than any of them, with the exception of Clarence, had any liking for. A blizzard late in February kept them snowed in for several days, their only opportunity for relief from the cabin’s smoky air the occasional trip to a latrine hole nearby, or to ensure that their horses were safe in the stable.

When the skies cleared, Drew was ordered to fetch oats and supplies from White Cloud, a town about nine miles away. Nate Haggin would accompany him, and they would take another two horses to serve as pack animals. Drew understood that Nate was to be his partner on the trip, rather than Clarence, because Nate was capable of shooting him should he attempt to absent himself indefinitely. He was not permitted to take any money other than the amount necessary for their purchases. No warning was given, nor needed, to let Drew know he was still serving a term of probation in Lodi’s eyes.

On the ride to town Nate kept his horse a few paces behind Drew’s, even when the trail was wide enough to permit riding side by side. The insinuation was so clear it began to irritate Drew.

“How long does it take before Lodi trusts a man?”

“Depends on the man. A year, maybe, for some. Lodi’s a careful feller is all. He’s got his own way of doing things, and you better do it like he says or be answerable for it, so I’m doing like he said. Don’t take no offense.”

“How many years have you been riding with him?”

“Three. Men that rode longer with Lodi are all dead now. Lodi, he’s never been winged, even. Got a charm from a nigger woman tied around his ankle, keeps him from harm, they say. I expect every man’s got to die, but Lodi don’t intend for it to happen anytime soon.”

In White Cloud, Drew purchased all the necessary supplies while Nate busied himself in the saloon. Drew joined him there after loading the horses and hitching them outside. Another snowstorm was advancing on the town, darkening the sky as Drew entered, and the lamps over the bar caused the glasses lined up there to twinkle and shine in a way that made him instantly thirsty, eager to linger and make conversation, even with so untalkative a man as Nate Haggin.

Nate had a bottle before him at a corner table, a quarter of its contents already gone. Drew pulled out a chair and sat. “More snow coming,” he said, noting that Nate had been companionable enough to provide a second glass.

“Figures,” said Nate. “I ain’t gonna pour it for you.”

Drew tipped whiskey into his glass and drank it down.

“You get everything?”

“I did, and there’s money left over.”

“We’ll lose it here, then.”

“You want to try for home while there’s light?”

“No, and it ain’t what I’d call home. They won’t be expecting us back till tomorrow anyway.”

“Then I’ll go put the horses in the livery stable.”

“After you drunk another drink you can do that. You the kind that’s got to be taking care of business right this exact minute, Bones?”

“I believe I am. Does that cause you pain?”

“I see enough of it, it might.”

Drew poured himself another drink, aware of a draft against his back as the door was opened and closed. He turned briefly to examine the man who entered, then tossed his drink down. Nate said, “Don’t go turning your head again, Bones, but the feller that just come in with the long mustaches is someone I seen before one time, and he’s trouble for you and me.”

“Why so?”

“On account of he’s a deputy marshal or detective or some such. I seen him a year or two back, poking around after us when we done the bank in Monte Vista. He’s the one. Name’s Torrence. He’s a Pinkerton, I remember now.”

“Think he’s watching out for us?”

“Naw, most likely come around here to make sure his granny got her liquor supply all right. Listen, fool, he’s gone over to the stove to get warm, and he’s pertending not to look this way, but now and then he does, so it’s him all right, and I figure he knows me for who I am, only he don’t know you. Shame you went and sat down here like you done, Bones. You coulda stalked him like he’s doing to me. Well, he’s seen us together now, so you’re in this thing deep as me. This feller, he’s a mean one, I heard, so you and me together, we’re gonna have to kill him dead before too long, see.”

“Why not just leave and lose him in the dark?”

“Because with snow coming on like you said, he’d track us easy, dark or not. Better get used to the notion there’ll be blood before we make it back to the others, you hear me? You got the stomach for what we need to do, Bones?”

“Surely.”

“Surely, shit. You better not fade out on me now. He’s here to get my hide and yours too now, so don’t be letting him, is all I’m saying. You do what I tell you and we’ll take them supplies back like we planned, and the Pinkertons, they’ll have to recruit theirselves another detective man, because this one here won’t be around by sunrise.”

“How do you want to play it?”

“Like we don’t know who he is, and we’re just a couple of nobodies that come in for a drink and now we’re leaving. The bottle’s paid for. In a minute or so we’ll take it outside and get mounted, and I’ll act like I’m a little drunk, see, just to make him rest easy, I hope, and we start riding and wait till we come to a place we can get the drop on him, because that shiteater, he’ll be following behind like a baby duck after its mama. You got that, Bones?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Take another drink, then take the bottle. I got to use the jakes. Be with you soon.”

When Nate rose and walked to the rear of the barroom, Drew watched him pass by the stove, and noted the man with the long mustaches, whose face turned slightly as Nate passed him by. Drew was already looking into the bottom of his glass by the time the Pinkerton man sneaked a glance back at him. He corked the bottle and slipped it into his coat pocket, then rose and headed for the door.

Outside, he unhitched all four horses and readied Nate’s beside him for a fast mount-up. He was sufficiently drunk, despite the brevity of his stay inside the saloon, to wonder without alarm if blood would indeed be spilled as Nate predicted. The storm had covered White Cloud with darkness in advance of the hour, and flakes of snow already were drifting down through the air. The town’s single street was made beautiful by silently drifting whiteness, and Drew experienced a momentary lapse of concentration as he watched individual flakes swirl past his nose. It seemed most unlikely that from this moment of calm repose there might spring a confrontation resulting in blood. He did not doubt that Nate had correctly identified the Pinkerton man, but to kill him somewhere along the trail struck Drew as an infringement upon a naturally peaceful setting. He wanted no part in it, and hoped enough snow might fall to prevent Torrence from following them. The means by which detectives were able to track down outlaws were interesting to Drew. He admired men capable of such intense dedication to the law, even if they threatened him personally with their expertise. He hoped, if Torrence fell into their hands, to question him about his profession. Better still would be ignorance, because a Pinkerton in the hands of Nate was sure to be a dead man soon. Drew felt again the compulsion to cut himself adrift from Lodi by abandoning Nate, but also the obligation of outlawry to defend his fellow robber; allegiance was a powerful force, applied by circumstance to the unlikeliest of partners. He was in deep, as Nate had said, and there was no means of escape for Drew that would have sat comfortably on his shoulders. Being a little drunk helped, but not by much.

The saloon door slammed open, then shut. Nate swung into the saddle and they began ambling along the street.

“Don’t turn around,” Nate said. “You do that and he sees it, he’ll know he’s been suspicioned.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know nothing. These Pinkertons, they always do this, wait around in a town they figure we’ll show up in sometime. Lodi run with Arch Powell up in Montana, and when the gang busted up, there was bounty hunters and detectives combing three states for them. A couple U.S. marshals even went down Killdeer way to flush him out, only Arch happened to be dead already, and they got to be the same way their-selves before too long. Lodi laughed about that when he heard. This feller, now, he’ll have the same thing happen to him, and it’s a lesson in how not to be a fool.”

Drew turned to see if the man with the long mustaches had left the saloon. They were at the edge of town by then, and heavier snow was spilling from the sky. The man was not on the sidewalk yet.

“I told you not to turn around.”

“He didn’t see. He’s not there. You could be wrong about him.”

“Nope.”

In less than a minute the saloon could not be seen any longer, cut off by the last building in White Cloud and the thickening snowfall.

“He’ll be along,” Nate said.

“Then what?”

“Then we kill him, what else? You up to that, Bones? Ever killed a man before?”

“Wounded one in the gut. I guess he died.”

“Well, this time you can do it right and be sure.”

Drew hoped Torrence had been wise enough to stay in White Cloud. He had no wish to shoot a Pinkerton, even if the man was trailing them with a mind to killing or arresting them. There was not enough snow to cover their tracks unless Torrence delayed following them by at least an hour, an unlikely event.

When Drew and Nate had ridden for a while, Nate said, “Far enough from town now, they won’t hear nothing. Get down and go back to the last bend. Wait for him there and get him good, you hear? I’ll be expecting to see the feller dead on the ground. Take this.” Nate threw him his Winchester.

Drew dismounted and retraced his trail to the bend, then positioned himself behind some trees. This was a test he would have to pass if he wanted to remain with Lodi on Lodi’s terms, and those terms would not permit allowing a Pinkerton to go free when he was so close to the hideout. He thought about shooting Nate instead, but that seemed equally odious, even if Nate was sure to have killed men during his outlaw years. The only chance for Drew to escape moral compromise was if Torrence had not followed them.

That possibility was expunged several minutes later, when Drew heard the approach of hooves, a single horse walking slowly. He saw it coming through the snow, its rider leaning low in the saddle to assure himself he was still on the double set of tracks he had followed from White Cloud. He passed within three yards of Drew without noticing, then was further up the trail toward Nate, who would not hesitate to shoot him down if Drew failed.

“Hold it there!”

The horse shied a little and the rider came upright in the saddle as he turned. Drew had the rifle trained on his chest in case there should be a gun in the rider’s hand, but there was not. The horse danced nervously as Drew came closer. “Get down,” he told the rider.

“Why would I want to?”

“Get down or get shot down.”

The man dismounted.

“Now lead your horse up ahead. Keep your hands wide apart where I can see them.”

“I don’t have any money. You’re wasting your time.”

“Turn around and start walking.”

Nate was waiting beside the trail with the horses.

“Bones, I told you to shoot him, not deliver him.”

“We need to be sure who he is first.”

“You never even took his gun, you jackass. Torrence, dump that belt now.”

“The name isn’t Torrence, mister.”

“Unbuckle it right now.”

Torrence dropped his gun belt.

“Now step away. Pick it up, Bones.”

Drew collected the belt. Nate edged his horse closer.

“It’s you, Torrence. You done the wrong thing, following us. You’d be dead right now if Bones had’ve done what I said.”

“We need to be sure,” Drew repeated.

“You think so, huh? Well, all right. Take the rifle out’n his saddle, then both of you get mounted. We’ll take a little ride and maybe dig out more truth than you can handle, Bones, but if that’s what you want, we’ll do it that way.”

“You men are mistaking me for someone else. I’m Bob Weeks, from Sioux City.”