Rocky Mountain Showdown

by James Reasoner

  There was still a matter of proof, though.

  That was where the other item of information she had gleaned would come in handy. Judson was looking for another teller, and he insisted that he would only hire a man for the position.

  A slight smile curved Celia's lips. There had been a time, and not too long ago at that, when man might have been too strong a word for Preston Kirkwood Fox.

  Fox had been unhappy about not having a cover identity on this mission. Now perhaps a role had been found for him. He was educated enough to handle the duties of a teller's position in a bank.

  Celia knew she should discuss this with Landrum and Glidinghawk, but they were on their way out into the wilderness on their geological expedition. There was no time to waste, Celia thought. As soon as she could talk to Fox, she would outline the plan, and he could put it into effect.

  With Fox working in Judson's bank, Landrum and Gerald posing as employees of the commission, and she herself in Madam Henrietta's parlor house, Powell's Army would have just about everything covered.

  And all she had to do to accomplish her end of the job —

  Celia shook her head and put that thought out of her mind. There would be time enough to worry about that later.

  She got directions to the sheriff's office and stopped there long enough to sign the complaint against the man who had broken into her room the night before. He was still in custody and still stubbornly refusing to answer any questions about who he was or who had hired him. Celia didn't expect that situation to change anytime soon.

  She had just reached the door of her hotel when a voice behind her called, "Celia!"

  She stopped and turned around and, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, was surprised to find herself face to face with Major Devlin Henry.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The sun hadn't been up long that morning when Landrum and Glidinghawk rode northwest out of Denver, angling toward the mountains.

  They were on horses rented from one of the local liveries and paid for by the commission. Each man also led a pack mule. One of the beasts carried their supplies, the other the equipment that would be needed for the geological survey.

  Landrum had a hard time keeping his eyes open in the dawn light. There was a breeze out of the north that was downright cold at this time of day, and that helped keep him awake. Otherwise, he thought, he would have dozed off right in the saddle.

  He had actually put away more liquor the night before than he had let on to either Celia or Glidinghawk. Although the drunk act at Madam Henrietta's had been just that, an act, he had had to actually swallow some of the liquor he had pretended to guzzle. And afterward, once he had nipped from the flask, it was a little hard to stop.

  As they left the outskirts of town behind them, Landrum glanced over at the Omaha and muttered, "How the hell do you do it?"

  "Do what?" Glidinghawk asked.

  "Look so wide awake when it's still the middle of the night."

  Glidinghawk grinned. "I've never let myself be corrupted by the white man's ways."

  "Bullshit!" Landrum exclaimed. "What about all that time you were living with white folks in Nebraska? What about back East at that fancy Dartmouth College place?"

  "I may have been surrounded by white men, but I never forgot that I was a red man." Glidinghawk's mouth quirked, and his tone became bitter as he went on, "Just as when I went back to the Omaha, I was never allowed to forget the time I had spent with the white men. Neither world wanted me."

  "So you wound up with us," Landrum mused. "Reckon things sometimes work out for the best, even when we don't understand 'em."

  Glidinghawk made no reply.

  The Rockies loomed majestically, seemingly only a few hundred yards away, but as the two men rode through the morning, the mountains never seemed to get any closer. At one point, Landrum said, "Just what are we supposed to be doing out here anyway?"

  Glidinghawk turned and reached back to the mule he was leading. He extracted a map from one of the pouches on the animal and unrolled the thick parchment.

  "These maps of the area have little detail on them," he said. "You and I are supposed to fill them in with the geologic makeup of the terrain."

  "And what does that mean?"

  "We have to note the kinds of soil and rocks and rock formations that we see."

  "What good does that do anybody?"

  Glidinghawk rolled up the map again and stored it away. "It can tell a great deal to a properly trained eye. It can tell how stable the land is, how much water is available, how much erosion is going to take place under normal weather conditions. The army intends to build this fort to last, Landrum. In order to know where to put it, they have to have some idea what the territory will be like in, say, twenty or thirty years."

  "And you can tell that from all this geological foofaraw?"

  The Omaha grinned again. "Not I. I'm not well educated enough in that area. But I know enough to fake these maps and make it look like we know what we're doing."

  "Good, because I sure as hell don't."

  They rode along in silence again for a time, then Glidinghawk said abruptly, "I'm worried about Celia."

  "So am I," Landrum agreed gloomily. "I don't think anybody is on to who you and I really are, but I'm not so sure about Celia. I hope she stays away from that whorehouse until we get back. I don't want her poking around there on her own."

  "She has a mind of her own, that one, and a strong will to go with it. I fear she may not listen to our advice, Landrum."

  "That wasn't advice," the Texan snapped. "That was orders when I told her to wait for us to get back."

  "Still . . ."

  Glidinghawk lapsed into silence, but the thought of Celia perhaps risking her life stayed with both men as they pushed on over the gently rolling plains.

  The mountains still didn't look any closer when Landrum and Glidinghawk stopped for lunch. As they ate, Glidinghawk took out the map again and studied it. "That's Arapaho Peak," he said, pointing to one of the higher crests. "According to the markings on this map, we should be reaching the area we're supposed to study soon."

  "About time," Landrum grunted. He chewed a cold biscuit and washed it down with a swallow of water from his canteen.

  Glidinghawk found a pencil and a pad of paper in the supplies and began making notes as he looked around. Landrum left him to the work and concentrated on keeping an eye on their back trail.

  As far as he could tell, no one was following them. That much was encouraging.

  They rode on after eating, moving more slowly now as Glidinghawk scribbled notes to himself, sketched rough topographical maps, and filled in details on the maps they had been provided. The Omaha seemed to get caught up in the work, and as they paused in the middle of the afternoon, he said, "You know, Landrum, I think I could enjoy doing something like this on a regular basis."

  "For real, you mean?"

  The Omaha nodded. "It's interesting work, and a man can do it without having to be around a lot of other people. I think I'd be suited for it."

  Landrum stared off in the distance without replying. He knew that Glidinghawk wasn't really happy working as an undercover agent, even though he had grown fond of the other members of Powell's Army. As Glidinghawk had said earlier, he wasn't really at home in either world, the red man's or the white. The day would come, Landrum speculated, when Glidinghawk would leave, still restlessly searching for some place he could call his own.

  Landrum hoped the day was a long time in coming. He liked the man, and Glidinghawk was a damned good agent.

  * * *

  By that evening, they had almost completed surveying the area. An hour's work in the morning would complete this part of the assignment, and then they could head back to Denver. They would probably reach town before night; at least Landrum hoped so.

  Celia would be going back to Madam Henrietta's, and he wanted to be around when she did.

  He just hoped she didn't disobey his orders and r
eturn to the parlor house tonight.

  "Cold camp?" Glidinghawk asked as they found a likely spot and brought the animals to a halt.

  Landrum shook his head. "I think a fire would be safe enough. We haven't seen a soul all day except that cowpoke chousing a couple of steers. And there's no Indian trouble around here right now."

  They swung down from their saddles and began making camp. Landrum tended to the horses while Glidinghawk found enough wood for a small fire. When the blaze was going, he set the coffee pot out and took bacon and a pan from one of the saddlebags.

  "Nothing like eating out under the stars," Landrum said as he settled down across the fire from Glidinghawk. He leaned back against his saddle and regarded the purpling sky. The sun was gone behind the mountains now, and the stars were indeed popping into view. The warmth of the fire felt good as the chill of night began to settle down.

  The two men ate in silence for the most part. When the food Glidinghawk had prepared was gone, they settled back with cups of coffee. Landrum slipped his flask out of his coat and uncapped it one-handed with practiced ease. He hesitated as he started to pour a dollop of whiskey into his coffee cup.

  Then he grunted and put the cap back on the flask. "Don't reckon I need it," he said. "Not tonight."

  Glidinghawk said nothing.

  He pulled the maps out again and checked through them, finally selecting one and holding the roll of parchment out to Landrum.

  "What's that for?" Landrum asked.

  "We'll never be using this map," Glidinghawk replied. "It would be a good idea if you made some notes and sketches on it."

  Landrum frowned. "What the hell for?"

  "You're supposed to be the geologist, Landrum. If anyone is watching us, how will it look if your Indian assistant does all the work?"

  Landrum nodded slowly and reached for the map. "You're right. Hand me a pencil."

  He spread the map on his knees and took the pencil from Glidinghawk. Frowning intently down at the map, Landrum jotted a series of numbers in one corner.

  "It doesn't matter what you put on there," Glidinghawk told him. "Just so it looks like you're working on it."

  Landrum nodded again. Now that the Omaha had pointed out the possibility, he could almost feel eyes watching him from the shadows. It was probably his imagination, Landrum told himself.

  There probably wasn't anybody within thirty miles of them.

  He sketched in a few mountains on the map, then began writing the first names of all the women he had bedded down with over the years. It took some remembering to come up with the name of the first one, and he knew he was probably forgetting some of them, but he did the best he could.

  Landrum grinned as he put the names down, partially because of the good memories some of them conjured up, partially because he wondered what somebody would think if they got their hands on this map. They'd probably figure he was using some sort of code, since his work for the commission was supposed to be a secret.

  He paused and handed the map back to Glidinghawk, saying, "What do you think?"

  The Omaha frowned. "What's all this?"

  "You said it didn't matter what I put on there. Now nod and look solemn."

  Glidinghawk nodded. "I take it these are the names of your conquests."

  Landrum tried not to grin too broadly. "That's right."

  Glidinghawk pointed out several of them, continuing the pretense of discussing their work. "You'll have to tell me about these, Landrum. Especially this one called Kitten."

  Landrum leaned back against his saddle, sighing contentedly. "Ah, Kitten. You never saw her like, Gerald-"

  A gunshot split the night.

  Instinctively, Landrum hit the dirt, diving to the side and rolling away from the light of the fire. He heard the clatter of hoofbeats as he grabbed for his Colt. Across the fire, Glidinghawk was reacting the same way.

  "The horses!" Landrum yelled. "They're after the horses!"

  He surged to his feet. The animals had been tied to some small trees maybe twenty yards away from the camp, close by but out of the circle of light. Someone must have sneaked up and cut them loose, because Landrum could see them running now, being hazed along by a man on horseback.

  Landrum jerked his gun up and triggered off a shot. He ran after the horses, Glidinghawk close behind him. Both men fired. The horse thief leaned low over the neck of his mount, riding hard now. He veered away from the other horses.

  "He's giving it up," Landrum panted as he came to a stop. He fired again into the darkness, not really expecting to hit anything. Glidinghawk held his fire and slid his pistol back into his holster.

  "I'd better go round up our horses," he said. "They probably won't run too far now that they're not being driven."

  "I'll keep an eye open for that skunk," Landrum said. "I think he's gone, but he might come back. You reckon it was that cowhand we saw earlier?"

  "Could've been," Glidinghawk said over his shoulder as he moved off after the runaway horses. "Might have thought he could pick up some easy money by stealing our mounts."

  Another sound suddenly came to Landrum's ears. More hoofbeats, but these were coming from the other direction — back toward the camp. . . .

  "The camp!" Landrum yelped. "They were just drawing us off!"

  Glidinghawk stopped in his tracks and spun around. In the moonlight, his face twisted in a grimace. "Come on," he grated to Landrum.

  The two men ran through the night back toward the beckoning light of their campfire. As they pounded into the small clearing where they had made camp, they saw that they were too late.

  "Dammit!" Landrum growled as he surveyed the looted packs. Whoever the bandits had been, they had worked quickly and messily, rummaging through the gear and dumping anything they didn't want on the ground.

  Glidinghawk knelt among the debris and grunted, "Their distraction worked. They got us away from the camp by trying to steal the horses, then had a free hand to go through our things."

  "What did they take?"

  A smile slowly spread across the Omaha's face as he mentally cataloged their losses. "Nothing important," he announced a moment later. "And I'd say this is definitely connected with our assignment here. They took the maps we used today, Landrum. That's all."

  Landrum stared for a moment, then abruptly began to laugh. "Including the one I was just working on?"

  "Oh, yes," Glidinghawk answered, indulging in a chuckle himself. "I guess they hoped to glean some useful information about the commission's work. They're going to be rather disappointed, I'd imagine."

  "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. Let's go catch those horses. I don't feel like walking back to Denver in the morning."

  CHAPTER TEN

  "I'm glad I found you, Celia," Devlin said as they stood in front of the hotel. "I've been wanting to talk to you since last night —"

  "Please, Devlin," Celia interrupted. "I'd rather not discuss it."

  A wave of acute embarrassment went through her. She had wondered what Devlin was doing at Madam Henrietta's, all right, but he could have been wondering the same thing about her. And while there might be several plausible explanations for his presence in such a place, there was only one real reason a young woman would be there.

  She started to turn away from him. He reached out and caught her arm. Celia was surprised he would be so brazen as to do such a thing.

  "Listen, this is important," Devlin said urgently. "I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to talk to me, not after you saw me in Madam Henrietta's.

  I'd like to explain to you why I was there."

  Celia wanted to hear that explanation, but if he bared his soul to her, she would feel obligated to do the same. And she didn't want to admit to him that she had gone to the parlor house to inquire about working there.

  "You don't owe me any explanations, Devlin," she began.

  "You're going to have one anyway," he insisted. "Tonight at dinner."

  Celia shook her head. "No, really
, I couldn't."

  "Of course you can. And you're going to. I'll be by here at seven to pick you up. We'll go to Maxwell's. I hear it's quite an elegant place."

  "Devlin, I'm sorry —"

  "I won't take no for an answer, Celia." His voice was quiet and determined.

  She sighed. "Very well, then. Seven o'clock." She glanced down pointedly at her arm, which he was still gripping.

  Devlin released her. "I'm glad you agreed. I can be very persistent when I have to." He touched the brim of his hat. "Good day, Celia. I'll see you tonight."

  As she watched him walk off down the sidewalk, she wondered what the hell this was all about.

  * * *

  After eating lunch, Celia went onto the sidewalk and waited until she spotted a suitable-looking small boy walking along. She put a hand out to stop him and said, "Excuse me."

  The boy looked up at her in surprise and a little bit of fear. "I didn't do anything," he said quickly. "I was on my way to school right now —"

  Celia shook her head and smiled, trying to put him at ease. "I don't care if you go to school or not," she told him. "I just want you to carry a message for me."

  "Oh." The boy looked relieved. "I'd be glad to do that, ma'am."

  Celia handed him the envelope she had prepared earlier. Inside was a note asking Fox to come to the hotel for a meeting. She gave the boy directions to the rooming house where the second lieutenant was staying, then pressed a coin into his grubby hand.

  "You'll deliver the message for me?" she asked earnestly.

  The boy bobbed his head. "I sure will, ma'am." He clutched the coin happily. "I'll go right now."

  "Thank you."

  Celia watched for a moment as he hurried off toward the boardinghouse in the next block, then she turned and went back to the hotel. No one had been paying any attention to her as she engaged the urchin's services — at least no one that she had noticed.