Devlin's Curse (5 page)

Esmeralda was on fire. She squirmed under his touch; she ached to be free of her whalebone prison and guided his hands towards the lacings. Devlin pulled her up and forward. He then reached behind her and snapped her corset free. He tossed her fine silk and bone contraption across the room and shrugged out of his shirt. He unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on her bedpost then made short work of his pants and boots. Naked, they sat on the bed in the darkened room. 

“Say you want this Angel, If you don’t I will leave now” 

Esmeralda traced the muscles of his chest and his firm abdomen her face was solemn. “Don’t talk Devlin. There will be time enough for me to hate you tomorrow.”

Devlin pulled her close, skin to skin. He lay her down on the bed and held her hands over her head. His lips and teeth grazed the ivory column of her throat. He covered her breasts, neck and lips with dark, velvety kisses. He pushed her legs open with his knee and she gasped as his marble, hard cock entered her sweet core deeply, strongly.

Esmeralda looked up and searched Devlin’s face. She tried to read into the depths of his dark eyes but he hid them from her.

His deep rhythmic strokes built a fiery tension inside her that climbed higher and higher as it reached towards a blinding climax. He urged her on. “Come with me Angel, give yourself to me.”

Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow she arched her back a thin high scream left her lips as she surrendered.

Outside, across the street under the shadow of a crabapple tree the feral eyes of Leonard White observed Devlin enter Esmeralda’s room. His lurid, hopeful, fantasies were crushed and the fine whiskey in his stomach turned to hillbilly rotgut.                                   

Chapter Six

The Lair

T
he Delta Saloon was one of the finest drinking establishments in Virginia City.

Captain James Orndorff, a very discriminating southern gentleman, was the owner of the saloon. He was a handsome man with smooth brown hair and an impressive handlebar mustache. His saloon carried the finest liquor and the best sport in town. Every week, in the back rooms special, betting events were held. Events such as cockfights, dogfights, dog and even bear baiting.

On this particular night a pen had been set up and the fight was to be held between a bull terrier and a forty-pound bobcat.

In the main room of the saloon excitement buzzed through the crowd. The gaming tables were full but most of the excited crowd had gathered around a Faro table in the corner where a lone gambler played against the dealer. A large pile of gold and silver was growing steadily at his side. The cards fell one by one in his favor inciting hoots and hollers from the crowd.  The dealer’s brow poured with sweat and murmurs of
‘the
Suicide table’
rippled through the smoke filled air. The name was in reference to an infamous faro table where more than one gambler had won big, lost it all then taken a gun to his head.

The saloon owner pushed his way through the throng. At his approach the gambler looked up from his play.

“Why, as I live and breathe, is that you Devlin Winter?”

Devlin smiled. “Orndorff, It’s a pleasure”

Orrndorff glanced at the dealer. “Are you aware sir of the notorious reputation of this table?”

Devlin puffed on his cheroot. “So far, this table has brought me nothing but luck, fifty thousand dollars of it.”

“You are on one of your cursed winning streaks and trying to bankrupt me, I see.”

Devlin laughed as Orrndorff grimaced and left.

He won one more round, then scooped his winnings into a black leather satchel and pushed a stack of silver over to the dealer, before he rose from the table.

The crowd around him grumbled and gasped. Words like ‘
he ain’t quittin’
and ‘
his luck’s run out’
, were tossed about.

Devlin walked over to the saloon owner and clamped him on the shoulder. “The way I see it, you owe me a drink,” he said.

Orndorff smiled and led them to a private table in the corner of the saloon and ordered drinks. Devlin looked around.

“Very fine place you have here with all the chandeliers and that gilt mirror over the bar. This is sure a far cry from that riverboat, The Lady Luck out of Natchez in ’48. You’ve done well for yourself, Jim.”

Orndorff smiled. “She was a sight to behold, full of some of the most disreputable scoundrels and ner-do wells ever to congregate in one place at the same time.”

A waiter brought brandy and the men made a toast to each other. Then Orndorff leaned towards Devlin his tone serious. “I would not presume to know your business, Winter, but the word on the streets of this fair city have linked you with The Gilded Bird mine…”

“That is correct. What precisely have you heard?” Devlin asked.

“Just that you are the new owner and that you won her in a card game with Anderson just before he put a gun to his head.” Orndorff moved closer. “Are you aware of the rumors about that mine? That many a smart man has stayed clear of her?”

Devlin gave him a half smile.

“Well, I just happen to be going down into that mine tomorrow, and yes I’ve heard it all, the curse the cave ins - don’t tell me you are superstitious?”

Before the saloon owner could answer the barkeep came over and whispered in his ear. Orndorff looked annoyed. “My apologies…” He stopped as the crowd parted to reveal the corpulent figure of Big Jim Diamond. He was headed straight for their table. 

“Evening Orndorff,” Big Jim said. His voice boomed across the noise of the saloon. His small eyes darted towards Devlin.

“Evening to you, Sir. Have you come for the match tonight?”

Big Jim nodded. He continued to stare at Devlin. “That and to meet the gambler everyone’s talking about, the one who just won big at the ‘Suicide Table’.” 

Orndorff glanced at Devlin. “Why you’re in luck Sir, meet Devlin Winter. Winter, this is Big Jim Diamond.”

Devlin now leaned back in his chair as if to take measure of the man that stood before him. A current of energy pulsed between himself and Big Jim.

“Evening,” he said.

“I want to speak to you in private, Winter,” Big Jim said. 

Ordorff shifted in his seat. He took out his gold watch and looked at it. “I will leave you gentlemen to your business I have to check on things in the back room.”  

After Ordorff left Big Jim sat down opposite Devlin. He puffed on his fat cigar.

Devlin smiled. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense Diamond, I know why you are here.”

Big Jim leaned forward. “I am prepared to offer you a handsome sum for the Gilded Bird. Name your price.”

“The mine is not for sale, Diamond, and even if she were, you would be the last person on earth and in hell that I would sell her to.”

Big Jim’s face flushed red. He slammed his hand down on the table. “Remember Winter, I made you a fair offer for that mine. I want that mine, and I
will
get it.”

Devlin said nothing.

Big Jim spluttered.

“Do you have any idea who I am? That mine and what’s in it belongs to me and there is no one that will stand in my way leastways a tinhorn gambler.”

Devlin sneered. “Do you know what lies at the bottom of that mine? Or are you just an ignorant pawn in this Devil’s game? I wonder. If you dare to make good on your threats I am sure you know where to find me..”

Big Jim rose ponderously from his chair and pointed his cigar at Devlin.

“You will regret those words, Winter,” he said.  Devlin watched Big Jim back away into the crowd. He had wanted to confront the man; to look into his soul and see if a demon crouched in there. Big Jim had confirmed his suspicions.

The beast had chosen well
, he thought,
because it looked as if Diamond was a willing vessel in which evil water sought it’s own level.

Later that night in the back room of the Delta Saloon, Big Jim Diamond sat at a front row table and waited for the match to begin. He nearly choked on his fury at being dismissed like a coolee. He felt like smashing everything in sight but most of all, the gambler. He guzzled champagne and oysters while trying to dampen his rage at Devlin Winter. Sore as a bear with a thorn in his paw his thick fingers pinched and prodded a buxom floozy who sat on his lap. At his table the sheriff of Virginia City and a mining superintendent, Robert Wells, of the Belcher Mine, sat down to join him.

“Howdy sheriff,” he said. “Do you have any information on that gambler I told you about? Devlin Winter?”

Sheriff Ahern shrugged. “Can’t say that I do. Nothing heinous if that’s what your aski’n.”

Big Jim squinted.  “What do you have on him? A man like that must have a past.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Ain’t nothing specific. Some kind of ruckus in Red Bluff, California, but nobody is talkin’.”

“This is Virginia City Ahern, and may I remind you there’s elections coming up, I want you to find something on him, something that will make him disappear.”

The sheriff nodded, unfazed by Big Jim’s bluster and then got up from the table and left. Big Jim turned to the mining superintendent. “Well’s, your shaft runs parallel to the Gilded Bird, I want to tunnel into her but I’ll need to come through your mine to do it.”  The superintendent looked uncomfortable. “I can make it worth your while.” 

His answer was drowned out by the sound of hooting and hollering as the terrier and the bobcat were brought out. Men crowded around the pen. The terrier came out growling and snapping at the caged bobcat. Then the cage was sprung and the wild bobcat streaked out in a spinning ball of fur. In a flash the bobcat jumped out of the pen and into the crowd. It bounced off tables and walls before it was finally cornered on the top of the piano.

The next day Big Jim caught up with Laredo at his favorite watering hole, The Bucket of Blood. He went up to the bar and clamped a beefy hand on Laredo’s shoulder.

Laredo, in mid-gulp swallowed hard. “Boss?”

“Let’s get a table so we can talk in private.”

Laredo followed Big Jim to a corner table. They ordered whiskey, and when the girl had served their drinks, Big Jim lit a cigar and glared hard at Laredo. 

“What in the hell am I paying you for? That gambler Winter is struttin’ all over town as free as you please. I want something done about him. I want him dead.”

At that moment, Devlin and Walking Ghost crept cautiously through the main tunnel of the Gilded Bird mine. The light from their lanterns cast flickering shadows in darkness so dense they could almost feel it clinging to them like a sticky spider web. The silence that enveloped them was absolute with only the sound made by the soft shuffle of their feet on the dirt floor.

A place ripe for fantasies and tricks of the mind
, Devlin thought. He came to a sudden stop.

A cool mist originating from the floor enveloped him a fragrant cloud.

They are the same as the ones that blanket the dark forests of my homeland
.  

He blinked, shook his head, and the mist cleared. Then he found himself in a medieval forest surrounded on all sides by the tall trees. He began to run. Fast. He had the bounding, leaping stride of a predator Not the two legged stride of a man but that of a wolf. Every one of his senses felt vibrant and alive. In this creature form he could smell the scent of man miles away and galloped towards it hungrily. When at last he burst through the trees he saw an ancient stone church. Still in wolf form Devlin leapt up the steps and then slowed and crept inside.

At the far end of the church a man and woman stood before the altar. A dark robed priest spoke words to them in Latin. Devlin understood it to be a wedding.

The man at the woman’s side wore an elaborate black velvet doublet embroidered in gold he held hands with an angelic blond woman. Her eyes, when she looked up at the man were a bright emerald green, fey, like a forest creature. The robed clergyman handed them a chalice. When the man looked inside he saw it was filled with blood. It splashed out of the chalice and spilled across the bride’s snow white dress. Then, from behind the altar, a large winged form began to emerge.

Devlin shook his head again.

The beast, the demon, was here. Of that he was certain and he was also certain he was ready to end this thing once and for all. He reached for the leather scabbard, which hung down his back, and pulled out a sword. It was an ancient two handed Scottish Claymore. It was special. A master sword maker had crafted it nearly four hundred years ago. He kept it with him always.

Walking Ghost followed behind him, tomahawk in hand, softly chanting a native charm. A distant knocking echoed through the tunnel. Devlin felt the short hairs on the back of his neck rise. He halted abruptly nearly colliding with Walking Ghost. Then pebbles began to rain down on them from both the sides and top of the tunnel. 

Devlin grasped Walking Ghost by the arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

They leapt and scrambled through the narrow passage towards the entrance of the mine.

Outside the Gilded Bird, Laredo crouched behind an outcropping of rock. Ever since they had crossed paths the gambler, Devlin Winter had become a blistering itch he needed to scratch.

Now he had his chance. 

He smirked before he plunged the handle down on the wooden blasting box. It sent a charge through the fuse to the bundles of dynamite hidden in the mine.

“Take that, you son of a whore,” he chuckled. 

The ground shook with the blast.

The mine caved in upon itself in a huge cloud of yellow dust. Inside the mine, timber and rocks buried Devlin and Walking Ghost alive.