Damnation Road (20 page)

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Authors: Max Mccoy

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Apache Indians, #Western Stories, #Westerns, #Treasure Troves, #Large Type Books, #Cultural Heritage

BOOK: Damnation Road
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Gamble lit another match.
“Why don't you come in?”
“No,” she said. “I ... I cannot. Not yet.”
He went on around the wall, looking at more rifles and spears and tattered guidons, and then he came to a strongbox. He knelt down, holding the match close to the lid, and read the stenciled inscription:
Territory of Arizona, CSA.
The lock was broken and he flung back the lid. A mound of coins gleamed a dull gold color in the match light.
He grabbed a handful of coins from the top. They were heavy, and with the same designs as the one Anise had shown him at the restaurant in Amarillo.
“I don't believe it,” he said.
“You've found the strongbox,” she said.
The flame bit his fingers and he dropped the match. He shoved the coins in his pocket and made for the shaft of light behind him. He emerged from the cave, pulled one of the coins out, and examined it in the sunlight. They were dull, with a green patina.
“What the hell?” he asked. “Are these tarnished?”
“Gold bullion doesn't tarnish.”
“That's what I thought.”
Gamble took out his pocketknife, opened the blade, and gouged across Seated Liberty on the face of the coin. It was a silvery gray color beneath.
“Lead.”
“Plated with an alloy of copper and who knows what,” Anise said. “They shine up pretty good, though. You could almost believe it's the real thing when you've been drinking and wishing. My uncle was mostly wishing. Believed me when I told him I'd had it tested.”
“Oh, hell,” Gamble said.
“I told you the Apaches used them sometimes to cast bullets,” she said. “And you don't think wise old Geronimo would have shot golden bullets at the horse soldiers, do you?”
He threw the coin as far into the canyon as he could.
“The North counterfeited Confederate paper money by the boatload,” Anise said. “It helped win the war for them. The Apaches got the strongbox when they slaughtered a Yankee detail early in sixty-two. This was obviously an attempt to hoodwink somebody into thinking the Confederacy had actually minted some gold, but the rhymes and reasons behind it are as dead as the Yankee soldiers the Apaches killed.”
Gamble laughed.
“Well, it worked,” he said. “It hoodwinked me.”
Anise smiled.
“Why?” Gamble asked. “Why the fairy tale? The solstice, the gold, none of it makes any sense. Are you particularly cruel or simply insane?”
“Neither, I hope,” she said. “Listen to me, Jacob. When I was found thirteen years ago—”
Gamble slapped her, hard.
“Enough lies.”
She touched the corner of her mouth and looked at the blood on her fingertips.
“Good,” she said. “Blood is good. It's real.”
A rifle shot rang out from somewhere below.
T
HIRTY-ONE
There were five more shots by the time Jacob Gamble had run to the T-shaped window and looked down. Weathers was at the base of the cliff, the Model 97 to his shoulder, pointing it at Jaeger, who was facing him, thirty yards away.
Jaeger was holding the lever-action Marlin at hip level.
“Kill him,” Gamble shouted.
“I'm trying,” Weathers said. He was jerking the shotgun's trigger, but nothing was happening.
“Pull the hammer back,” Gamble said. “All the way.”
Weathers lowered the shotgun a bit and pulled the hammer back with his thumb. It locked into place with a soft
click.
But before he could bring the gun back to his shoulder, Jaeger fired, and the bullet hit the old man in the thigh. Weathers fell to one knee, firing the Model 97 toward the sky as he went down. The barrel of the shotgun wavered as he struggled to hold it in his right hand. His left hand was pressed against his thigh, which was bright with blood.
“What's happening?” Anise asked, running up behind Gamble. “On, no. Uncle!”
“Get down,” Gamble said.
“Hello up there,” Jaeger called, waving. “You are not armed, are you? I should think you would be sending blue beans my way if you were.”
“Leave the old man alone, Dutch,” Gamble said.
“He still has a very big gun in his hand,” Jaeger said. “I may have to kill him in self-defense. Or would that be murder, just as you murdered my cousins. Which is it, Lieutenant Dunbar?”
“Hell, you killed one of them yourself.”
“
Ja,
scarecrow, this is true. But it was necessary.”
“You wanted me, now you've got me. Let the girl and her uncle go.”
“But I have all three of you,” Jaeger said. “It is a rather convenient number, considering I once had three cousins. But no more, not for a while now.”
“He has shattered my thigh bone,” Weathers said, as if he were remarking on the weather. “Hit an artery as well, judging from the color and quantity of the blood. Strange, but I thought there would be more pain. That comes later, I suppose.”
“Ah, what a shame,” Jaeger said. “You are bleeding to death. You might ask the outlaw about what to expect. He very nearly bled to death, before a doctor in Guthrie saved him. But there are no doctors here.”
The shotgun barrel wavered.
“Quite right, I suppose.”
“Work the pump,” Gamble called.
Weathers shifted the gun in his right hand, but kept his left pressed against his thigh.
“Use both hands,” Gamble said. “Pump it.”
“No, he'll kill him,” Anise whispered.
“He'll kill him anyway,” Gamble said.
Weathers looked up at the T-shaped window and smiled. He lifted his left hand from his leg, but became unbalanced and fell on his back.
Jaeger laughed.
“I'm going down there,” Anise said, brushing past Gamble toward the rope. “We can put a tourniquet—”
“No,” Gamble said, gripping her forearm. “He'll just kill you, too.”
Weathers began crawling toward the cliff face, fifteen feet away. He pulled the shotgun along with him.
“Oh, how rude of me,” Jaeger said. “You are probably wondering what the shooting before was all about, because there is only one hole in your uncle. Observe! I have killed all of your horses and mules except for one animal, the gray. That, I am saving for myself. The rest are gone. I may have some horse steak for my dinner tonight.”
“You egg-sucking bastard,” Gamble called.
“Careful,” Jaeger said, pointing the rifle at the old man. “You wouldn't want me to finish him off prematurely, would you?”
Dragging the Model 97 behind him, Weathers had crawled to within a yard of the base of the cliff.
“This is rather interesting,” Jaeger said. “What is the old fool up to? Let us see how this plays out.”
“What do we do?” Anise whispered.
“Clear out,” Gamble said. “Hop from apartment to apartment down the canyon. Run as far and as fast as you can and then hide.”
“No,” she said. “I will not leave him.”
“Then we might all die here.”
“Kill him,” Anise called, “and you'll not get the gold.”
“Oh, not that again!” Jaeger said. “Always with the gold. Jakob Gamble tried to use the same trick on me in Oklahoma Territory, and it did not work on me then. It will not work now.”
Weathers had made it to the cliff.
“So, that is what you've been looking for?” Jaeger asked.
“That's right,” Gamble said, digging in his pocket for the other coins. He held one up. “Look at this, Dutch—there's a whole strongbox full of the stuff somewhere up here. Let the old man die, and you'll never find it.”
“You hold rubbish.”
Weathers pulled the shotgun into his lap.
“That's right,” Jaeger said. “Brace yourself against the rock and you might have enough leverage to work the action. Yes, this game is more interesting than shooting horses, don't you think?”
Gamble tossed the coin down. It landed between Jaeger and Weathers.
“Ah, you are trying to draw me in closer to the old man so he has a better chance of hitting me,” Jaeger said. “That's cheating, Jacob Gamble.”
“I'm lousy at baseball, Gamble said. “But here's another, and one more.” He threw the first one behind Jaeger, and the next nearly at his feet. “Take a look at any of those and then you tell me they're trash.”
Still keeping the rifle leveled, Jaeger stepped forward and snatched the nearest coin from the ground. While Jaeger's eyes were on the coin, Weathers found the end of the rope and passed it beneath the sling of the Model 97.
“This coin is very odd,” Jaeger said. “It is also green.”
Weathers tried knotting the rope, but his fingers seemed too thick for his hands.
“Get down,” Gamble said, shoving Anise hard to the floor.
“What's this business?” Jaeger said, frowning at the rope in Weather's lap. “Stop that.”
“You are a Teutonic egg-sucking cur,” Weathers wheezed, struggling to finish the knot. “Anise, my dear, upon your return you should write a letter of complaint to Pinkerton headquarters in Chicago, and file a copy with the British consulate. They must learn that they cannot treat her majesty's subjects in such fashion.”
Jaeger raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired a round into the old man's chest. Still, the old man pulled the knot tight.
“Haul away, lieutenant,” Weathers said weakly.
Gamble began bringing up the rope as fast as he could. The shotgun bumped against the pine stakes and scraped on the rock wall. Jaeger fired, and Gamble ducked as the slug knocked a chunk of rock out of the T-shaped window. Jaeger levered another round and fired again, and this time the bullet whistled past Gamble's ear.
“Hard to shoot uphill, ain't it, Dutch?”
Jaeger worked the lever on the Marlin, drew a bead on Gamble's chest, and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber. He had exhausted his magazine.
“Schiesse!”
The shotgun was nearly at the top.
He dropped the Marlin and clawed for the Reichsrevolver in its holster. He got it free at about the same time that Gamble was grabbing the barrel of the shotgun, and by the time Jaeger had the revolver extended in his hand, Gamble was pumping a round into the chamber of the shotgun.
Jaeger began running forward as he pulled the double-action trigger twice and the 10.6mm slugs pockmarked the cliff face below the T-window. Gamble leaned far out from the window and fired, but that angle was bad and the buckshot splattered the ground behind Jaeger.
“Ha, you missed!” Jaeger shouted, flattening his body against the rock. He was beneath a slight bulge, which prevented Gamble from seeing him.
“So did you, Dutch.”
Gamble glanced over at Weathers. He was leaning to one side.
“My uncle?” Anise asked.
“Dead,” Gamble said. “I'm sorry.”
She nodded.
“But the old boy did good,” Gamble said. “He got us the shotgun. We've got a chance, now. He gave us that.”
“He showed no fear.”
“None,” Gamble said. “Damn few of the soldiers I knew remained as calm under fire as he did. You should be proud.”
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his back.
“Scarecrow!” Jaeger called. “We find ourselves in a dilemma, no? A regular Mexican standoff. If I move out from beneath this ledge, you have a clear shot. If you climb down the rope, I've got the drop on you. What to do?”
Gamble racked another round into the chamber. The ejected shell bounced on the stone of the window ledge, then fell to the ground.
“See who has the most nerve, I reckon.”
T
HIRTY-TWO
Jacob Gamble sat in the T-shaped window, his legs dangling over the edge, the shotgun across his lap. Gamble had been watching the bottom of the cliff for hours, waiting for Jaeger to show himself. The sun was slipping toward the Continental Divide, abandoning the valley to shadow, and a light wind was rustling the spruce and pine. Not far off, a wolf howled, and was answered by a wolf chorus.
Anise came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“We're going to have to do something and quick,” Gamble said. “In a couple of hours, it will be too dark to keep watch. I don't like the thought of the sonuvabitch roaming around loose in the dark. I also don't like the thought of those wolves getting close to your uncle's body.”
“There's the rifle Jaeger dropped,” Anise said. “One of us could get it while the other covers from up here.”
“No good,” Gamble said. “The Marlin's dry.”
“We could wait him out from up here,” Anise said. “He can't scale the cliff without us knowing it. It would take him days to walk around to the other side, even if he knew the path.”
Gamble shook his head.
“We've got Jaeger cornered,” he said. “He can't surprise us. I'm reluctant to give up that advantage. Also, he's armed with a handgun, which places him at a disadvantage—if he's off a foot one way or the other, he's likely to miss altogether. If I'm off by the same, the buckshot is still likely to kill him.”
Anise nodded.
“The problem is how to get down the cliff and keep the shotgun trained on Jaeger's rat hole at the same time,” Gamble said. “I really need both hands to aim, fire, and pump the shotgun.”
“One of us could lower the other down.”
“No, you don't have the strength in your arms and shoulders,” Gamble said. “You'd drop me on my head.”
“I wasn't talking about me lowering you down,” she said. “I was thinking the other way around.”
Gamble hesitated.
“You can handle a hundred and fifteen pounds of woman, can't you?”
He eyed her coldly.
“What troubles me is whether you can handle eight pounds of shotgun. If you miss, Jaeger will kill you and take the Model 97, too.”
“Then tie the shotgun to the rope,” Anise said.
“Have you ever fired a gun before?”
“No,” Anise said.
“Then what do you think the odds are that you'll hit a bull's-eye with your first shot, dangling at the end of a rope, against an experienced killer?”
“Long.”
“It would take more than beating long odds,” Gamble said. “It would take nothing less than a miracle, and I'm not sure either of us are candidates for a favor of that magnitude.”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Which gods you pray to.”
“You scare me,” Gamble said. “You know that, right?”
Anise smiled.
Gamble was holding the shotgun by the grip, his finger curled over the trigger guard. He extended his left arm, trying to keep the shotgun level. His wrist weakened and the barrel dipped, and he had to use his right hand to steady it.
“If only I had another hand,” Gamble said. “But maybe ...”
“What?”
He began removing the sling from the barrel swivel.
“If I can strap the stock of the shotgun to my forearm, that will keep the strain off my wrist and allow me to point and fire it while using my other hand to hold onto the rope,” he said.
“But you won't be able to work the pump.”
“I'll only have one shot,” he said. “At least, until my feet are on the ground and I can use my other hand. But I'm betting I can kill the kraut-eating sonuvabitch before he can kill me. Here, help me strap this cannon to my arm.”
With the sling still attached to the swivel at the shoulder stock, Anise began wrapping the loose end around and around as Gamble held the gun tight against the inside of his forearm.
“Tighter,” Gamble said.
She tightened the strap, then drew it around several more times, working toward the grip.
“Now, tie it off.”
She knotted the end over the back of his hand.
“Good,” Gamble said, shaking his arm and seeing that the gun didn't loosen. Wrapping the rope around his right arm, he eased himself out over the lip. Then, he looked back.
“You know—”
“Yes, I know, if he kills you then I'm to throw myself off the cliff and dash my brains out on the rocks below so I don't suffer a fate worse than death. I've heard it all before.”
“That's not what I was about to say.”
“What, then?”
“Forget it,” Gamble said.
“Tell me.”
“The moment's gone.”
“Were you going to tell me you love me?”
“Not on your life,” Gamble said. “I was about to say that it is strange, the first time I killed a man—and began my career in crime—I was standing atop a considerable rock in Taney County, Missouri. Now, my life and my wicked career may end on yet another rock.”
“Yes, and you'll likely ascend bodily to heaven from this same rock. What a saint. If you're not going to declare love or at least passion, will you please get on with it?”
“Gladly.”
He began easing himself down, from one pine stake to another, the rope slithering over his right arm, using his right hand like a vise, keeping his left arm pointing at Jaeger's hiding place. He could feel the rope biting into his flesh, and soon blood was flowing down his arm and dripping from his elbow. Halfway down, his right arm began to cramp, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind and concentrated on pointing the shotgun.
“Where are you?” Gamble whispered. “I know you're still there, Dutch—I can feel you. Just give me the chance, and I'll send you where I sent your cousins.”
The lower he got, the more he could see beneath the overhang where Jaeger had hid. When his boots were still twenty feet above the ground, Gamble heard an odd scuffling sound, and he knew that Jaeger was sliding back against the wall to keep from being seen.
Then the scuffling stopped, and Gamble knew Jaeger was getting ready to spring. Gamble pushed off the wall with his feet and released his hold on the rope. As he fell, he saw Jaeger lunging forward, the revolver extended in his hand.
His finger jerked the trigger at about the same time that the revolver began to bark. The shotgun boomed and the recoil traveled up his wrist and elbow like a mule kick. Then he hit the ground, his legs folded beneath him, and the shotgun hit the ground and then the barrel slapped back and struck him on the left side of his face.
The world was turned on its side, his ears were ringing, there was blood in his eye, and as if from far away he could hear the pop of the revolver in Jaeger's hand.
Gamble stood and staggered a few steps back, dragging the shotgun still clutched by the leather strap held tightly in his left hand, trying to make the world stop spinning long enough to get a bearing on Jaeger. Then he saw him, the Reichsrevolver held in a white-knuckled grip, advancing in halting steps.
Gamble lifted the shotgun and grasped the pump with his right hand. He tried pulling the mechanism back, but it only moved about an inch and then jammed. Looking down, he saw that the slide was bent and that the stock had been shattered by a round from the revolver.
“Ja,
you cannot make that awful sound now!”
The revolver was held in Jaeger's right hand, but his left clutched his stomach. As he took another jagged step, a sausage of bluish-pink intestine peeked from beneath his hand.
“Part of you is oozing out there, Dutch.”
The barrel of the Reichsrevolver was less than a foot from Gamble's head. He could see Jaeger's finger tighten on the trigger.
“Ficken sie!”
The hammer snapped on a spent cartridge.
Jaeger cursed and snapped the gun twice more.
“Well,” Gamble said. “Who's all out of blue beans now?”
“Damn you, scarecrow.”
Jaeger sat heavily on the ground. He looked in disgust at the revolver, then flung it away. Gamble shook off the leather strap and dropped the broken shotgun on the ground. He felt his wrist with his other hand.
“I think it's broken,” he said.
There was a howl.
“The wolves,” Jaeger said. “Coming closer now.”
“Probably smell the fresh blood.”
“Tell me,” Jaeger said. “Is it ... how bad is it?”
“Bad,” Gamble said. “The worst.”
Jaeger nodded.
“You're hit,” he said.
“Where?” Gamble asked, looking at his torso.
“Side,” Jaeger said. “Under your arm.”
“Ah,” Gamble said, probing with his fingers. The bullet had dug a furrow across his ribs. “If it hadn't hit the stock, it probably would have killed me.”
“Shame,” Jaeger said.
“Jacob,” Anise said, releasing the rope and dropping the last foot to the ground. “Are you all right?”
“I'm in one piece.”
Anise looked at Jaeger and winced.
“What do we do?”
“Leave him for the wolves.”
Jaeger laughed.
“We can't,” Anise said.
“He would us.”
She picked up the shotgun from the ground.
“It's broken.”
“I know,” she said, turned the gun around and getting a grip on the barrel as if it were the oldest of weapons, a club. Then she swung the gun as hard as she could, driving the receiver into the side of Jaeger's head. He slumped and then gave a kind of gasp. She swung the gun twice more, caving in the top of his skull.
She wiped a fleck of blood from her brow with the back of her hand.
“Feel better?” Gamble asked.
“It was necessary,” she said.
She threw the broken gun aside. It clattered impotently on the rocks. Then she turned to look at Gamble.
“You're shot,” she said.
“Grazed, anyway,” he said. “Wrist is broken. And my head hurts.”
“You look like hell,” she said.
“That's all right, you don't have to thank me.”
“You nearly got yourself killed.”
“The important word in that sentence is nearly,” Gamble said. “Any gunfight that you can walk away from is a good one. And I could walk, if I wanted to.”
A trickle of blood ran into Gamble's eye. He blinked hard and tugged up the collar of his shirt to wipe it away.
“Let's get out of here,” Gamble said. “You can ride the gray and I'll lead him. We'll have to send somebody back after your uncle.”
“Don't be crazy,” she said. “It's almost dark. We'd break our necks. And you don't look like you're in any shape to go anywhere, not just yet. We have to wait until morning. I'll get some things from the mules and we'll set up camp here against the cliff.”
“I don't like sleeping near dead people.”
“Be a man, would you?”
“Right,” Gamble said, easing himself to the ground. He lay on his back and looked up at the deepening blue sky. In the east, a new moon was rising over the needle.
Anise knelt beside Jaeger's body.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Searching his pockets,” she said. “For useful things.”
“Look for aspirin.”
She pulled out the notebook, flipped through the pages, then tossed it aside. She found the stack of photographs and did the same. There was a half-full box of ammunition for the Marlin rifle, which she put aside. Then she found the folding camera.
“Hello,” she said.
“What is it?” Gamble asked.
“A Kodak.”
She looked over at Gamble.
“You're going to look like death in the morning.”
“Yeah, this goose egg is already swelling something fierce,” Gamble said, feeling the bruise over his left temple with his fingers. “I'm going to be as blind as Oedipus in the morning.”
“Think about what I just said.”
“You think ...”

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