He'd never get a better chance, and he knew it.
Devlin drove an elbow back, slamming it into Roland's chest. Roland was much lighter than Devlin, and the blow sent him staggering hard into the wall of the room.
Devlin whirled, lashing out with an arm. He hit Roland's wrist and knocked his gun hand aside. Devlin sunk his other fist in the slender man's belly.
A weight fell on Devlin from behind as the doorman jumped him. Devlin staggered, trying to keep his balance. With a roar, Judson started forward to get into the fracas.
Preston Fox summoned up strength from somewhere to rock his chair back and forth. As he lunged against the ropes that bound him, the chair suddenly fell, spilling him in front of Judson. The banker's legs became tangled in the unexpected obstacle, and he went sprawling.
Gasping for breath, Roland recovered his balance and brought his pistol up and jerked its barrel toward the struggling figures. He triggered it twice just as Devlin wheeled around, the doorman still trying to strangle him from behind.
Roland's bullets thumped into the doorman's back, making him stiffen. Devlin heard him grunt once in pain, and then the strangling hands went away as the man fell to one side.
Devlin turned again and found himself staring into the barrel of Roland's gun. Above it, the man's pale face was set in cold, murderous lines.
The chair in which Fox had been tied had broken when Judson's bulk fell on it. Fox twisted desperately in his ropes, trying to get out of the entanglement. As Judson struggled to his feet, Fox reached behind him with his bound hands and caught up one of the broken chair legs. Fox lunged, thrusting out blindly with the leg of the chair.
The leg went between Judson's ankles and tripped him again. In the small confines of the room, Judson fell forward, crashing into Devlin and knocking him aside just as Roland pulled the trigger again.
"Goddamn!" Roland screamed as he saw Judson's head snap back, a small, black-edged hole appearing on the banker's forehead. Blood began to well from the hole as Judson fell lifelessly to the floor.
"You won't be so lucky again!" Roland panted in fury as he covered Devlin and Fox. "I'll kill you both!"
"Hey!" a voice yelled from the other end of the hall.
Roland spun and saw a tall man standing there, a man with a gun in his hand. Another man appeared behind the newcomer.
All of Roland's carefully structured plans had suddenly fallen apart, for no apparent reason. Now, in this little room filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood, he saw his own ruin.
And he wasn't going to go down alone.
He jerked the gun up and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Landrum Davis and Gerald Glidinghawk fired at the same instant. Their bullets slammed into Roland's thin chest, pulping flesh and bone and flinging him backward in a bloody sprawl.
He died with a grimace on his face, his eyes wide open behind shattered spectacles.
With Glidinghawk covering the rear, Landrum strode down the hall and looked into the room, his Colt ready to fire again. He took in the bodies of Roland, Judson, and the doorman, then glanced at Devlin. "You all right?" he asked.
"Yes, I am," Devlin said, not quite believing it yet. He and Fox had been rescued from certain death, but by whom . . . ? "Don't I know you?"
"Landrum Davis," the Texas introduced himself. "And this is Gerald Glidinghawk behind me. We came into town on the same train as you. We've been doing geological surveys for that commission you're assigned to."
"But why . . . how . . ."
Landrum grinned. "We'd best get out of here, all of us. And then there's a little lady downstairs who'll explain all of it to you."
Somehow, without being told, Devlin knew who Landrum was talking about.
Celia.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Landrum had left enough shells with Celia for her to reload the Winchester once she had emptied it to provide a distraction. She was supposed to wait here in the alley and let Landrum and Glidinghawk handle things inside.
But now, as she fed fresh cartridges into the rifle's magazine, she knew she couldn't do that.
Not with Devlin inside and probably in danger.
She wasn't sure how she felt about the man now. His revelation that he was working undercover had put a subtly different cast on their relationship. And yet, he hadn't done anything that she herself had not done.
Celia wasn't going to worry about that now. All she wanted at the moment was to wrap this mission up.
She spotted the rear door of the mansion and ran toward it. The door was locked, she discovered when she got there, but a .44 slug through the lock took care of that. She jerked it open and hurried through.
Celia hadn't been in this part of the house before, but it was easy enough to find the parlor. The screams and shouts led her there. She stepped into the room just as several doormen and bartenders, all carrying pistols, started toward the staircase.
Landrum and Glidinghawk — and Devlin — had to be upstairs.
Celia levered the Winchester and pointed it at the group of armed men. "Hold it!" she called.
They stopped and looked at her, clearly shocked to see a beautiful redhead covering them with a Winchester. Celia hoped they didn't notice how the barrel of the heavy rifle was shaking from the strain of holding it steady.
One of the bartenders said, "Lady, you'd better get out of here."
Celia shook her head. "Get away from the stairs."
The room was emptying rapidly as customers and inmates alike hurried out the front door, wanting to get as far away as possible before more trouble erupted. Celia was left facing the small group of Madam Henrietta's employees across a nearly deserted parlor.
More gunshots rang out from upstairs. Celia flinched as she heard the familiar crack of .44 Colts. Landrum's and Glidinghawk's?
"I said move!" she snapped.
She pressed the trigger of the rifle. It blasted hard against her shoulder, and the slug splintered a newel post on the banister of the staircase.
The men held on to their guns, but they moved away from the stairs. Celia had jacked another round into the chamber of the Winchester as soon as she fired the first shot, and she kept its muzzle trained on the men as she crossed the room and began to back up the stairs.
She didn't know what she was getting into, and her heart was pounding in fear, but she kept going.
As she reached the top of the stairs, a clanging sound came through the open front door. The local police were on their way, ringing the bells on their wagons, Celia thought.
That assumption seemed to be shared by the men still grouped near the bottom of the stairs, because they exchanged meaningful looks and then turned away, heading for the door just as the frightened customers had done. None of them wanted to be here when the police arrived.
Celia heard voices, heard the sound of footsteps hurrying down stairs. She turned as the door of Madam Henrietta's office opened.
Henrietta came out of the office, unsteady on her feet but clutching a small pistol tightly in her hand. She didn't see Celia because her attention was drawn by the sudden appearance of Devlin Henry, Landrum, Glidinghawk, and Fox as they came down the rear stairs from the third floor.
Henrietta raised the pistol toward them.
"Drop it!" Celia barked, settling the rifle's sight on Madam Henrietta's head.
The older woman looked over her shoulder and saw the Winchester lined up on her. A sick smile passed over her drawn face as she let the pistol slip from her hand.
Devlin spotted Celia and rushed down the hall toward her. Landrum covered Madam Henrietta while Glidinghawk scooped up the gun she had dropped.
Celia let the barrel of the rifle sag as Devlin took her in his arms. All the strain of the evening caught up with her then. The Winchester slipped completely out of her fingers as she let Devlin enfold her in his embrace.
The moment didn't last nearly long enough.
"We'd best get out of here," Landrum said. "This is all
too complicated to be explaining to the local sheriff."
Devlin nodded reluctantly. "You're right." Looking at his former wife, who stood nearby with her head hanging in defeat, he said, "Judson and Roland are dead, Henrietta. I don't know how much you knew about their plans, but if I were you, I'd move on away from Denver as fast as I could."
Henrietta lifted her face long enough to say, "I don't intend to be here when the police arrive either."
Devlin nodded. His arm around Celia's shoulders tightened. "Let's go."
Celia glanced at Preston Fox and saw the bruises on his face. Other than that, he seemed to be all right, though. And none of the others appeared to be hurt. They had been very lucky, she knew.
As they reached the parlor, a door behind the bar suddenly opened. Landrum reacted instinctively, spinning that way and lifting his gun, but he held off as a young girl came reeling out of a narrow passageway. Her face was terribly battered, and she walked as if she was broken inside. She went to one knee as Celia gasped and hurried forward.
Celia caught the girl before she could fall. "My God," Celia said. "What happened to you?"
"The . . . the colonel . . ." the girl choked out. "When he . . . when he was through . . . with me . . . they shut me up . . . in a little room in the basement . . . And then . . . when the shooting started . . . my guard ran out . . . I got the door open . . . Help me . . ."
Devlin knelt beside the girl as Celia held her. "Who did this to you? A colonel, you said?"
"I — I heard his name . . . Colonel Porter, they said . . ."
The bleak look on Devlin Henry's face at that moment was the most frightening thing she had ever seen, Celia thought.
* * *
There was a young trooper on guard duty in front of Colonel Matthias Porter's room at the Colorado House. He snapped to attention as Major Devlin Henry strode up, even though the major's uniform was disheveled and his face was grimed with powder smoke.
"I need to see the colonel, son," Devlin said quietly.
"I — I think the colonel has retired for the night, sir," the trooper replied. His voice was nervous as he went on, "Begging the major's pardon, sir, but I don't think the colonel would want to be disturbed. He seemed awful tired."
Considering what Porter had done to the girl named Ellen Franks, he should have been tired, Devlin thought grimly. But he said, "It's important, Private. I'll take the responsibility."
Without waiting any longer, Devlin stepped past the guard and pounded on the door..
A moment later, a groggy voice answered from within. "Who the devil's out there?"
Devlin glanced at the startled trooper and then grasped the doorknob and twisted it. He shoved the door open and stepped into the room.
Colonel Porter was lighting the lamp on the bedside table as Devlin shut the door. With a disapproving frown, he snapped, "Major Henry, do you know what time it is? What the hell are you doing in my bedroom? Dammit, are you even going to salute?"
Devlin slipped the Colt from his holster and pointed it at the nightshirted colonel. "I don't salute a bastard like you," Devlin said in a voice that was deceptively soft.
Porter's eyes widened. "What the hell? Have you gone crazy, Henry? I'll have you court-martialed, you stupid son of a bitch!"
Devlin shook his head as he said, "I don't think so, Porter. You see, I've been talking to a girl named Ellen Franks."
"Who?" Porter demanded angrily.
"That's right. You probably wouldn't know her name. You didn't stop to ask it before you raped and beat her in Madam Henrietta's house earlier today."
Porter's face went pale in the harsh yellow light from the lamp. He stammered, "I — I don't know what you're t-talking about, mister —"
"I think you do." Devlin eared back the hammer of the Colt as Porter stirred in the bed. "Just stay still, or so help me I'll enjoy blowing your brains out. Ellen's in a private hospital now, and the doctor thinks she'll recover in plenty of time to testify against you. She heard quite a bit from that other room before Roland gave her to you. She heard all about how you and Roland and Judson plotted to cheat the army and the country out of a fortune by leaking the commission's decision. Roland and Judson may have blackmailed you into joining their scheme because of your perversions, but that doesn't make you any less guilty than they were." Devlin's face tightened in a grimace as he thought about how he and the others had discovered Ellen Franks. "They were just out for profit. You're a monster, Porter!"
The colonel shook his head. "It's a lie, all of it, lies! You can't take the word of some . . . some little trollop!"
"It's good enough for me. And I think it'll be good enough for General Carruthers." Devlin paused and let that sink in. "He's the one who sent me out here to find the traitor on the commission."
The life went out of Porter's eyes as he realized the hopelessness of his position. At the very least, a court-martial and life imprisonment in the stockade were staring him in the face. At the worst — a firing squad . . .
Porter lunged for the holstered gun hanging on the chair beside the bed. Devlin cried, "Colonel! No!" as the man got his hand on the butt of the weapon.
Porter yanked the revolver free. Devlin hesitated, his finger taut on the trigger of his own Colt, giving the man every chance he could.
Colonel Matthias Porter jammed the muzzle of the pistol in his mouth and jerked the trigger.
Devlin stepped aside as the startled sentry burst into the room. The young trooper stopped in his tracks, gagging as he saw the bloody mess on the bed.
"I believe Colonel Porter has just relieved himself of command," Devlin said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She had met Devlin Henry on a train, Celia thought. It seemed fitting that she was saying good-bye to him as she was about to board another one.
"Don't worry about me," Devlin assured her. "General Carruthers himself is coming here to straighten everything out. With the testimony of that girl, all the questions should be cleared up. And you know I'm not in too much trouble, or the army wouldn't have placed me in temporary command of the commission."
"Where will you be going from here?" Celia asked, looking up at him. Steam was puffing up from the engine and the station's platform was crowded with passengers embarking and disembarking, but she tried to ignore all of that.
Devlin shook his head. "Who knows? Back to my regular duties, perhaps. I know one thing — I don't want anything more to do with these undercover assignments. I'm not cut out for that."
Celia's smile was bittersweet. Devlin might not feel comfortable with such missions, but for the moment, they were her life. She had thought long and hard on the matter, but in the end, she had made the decision that she couldn't leave Powell's Army . . . at least not yet.
Devlin still knew nothing of that part of her life. He had been convinced that everything she had done was simply to help him. He had accepted the story that she had run into Landrum and Glidinghawk and recruited them to help because she knew they had only recently joined the commission and couldn't be part of the plot against it.
At least he seemed to have accepted the story. If he did have any suspicions, Celia realized she would probably never know about them.
Fox had claimed to be a not-so-innocent bystander. His story was that he had been trying to rob the bank when Judson caught him there. Devlin had been tempted to turn him over to the sheriff, but that would have raised more questions than Devlin wanted to answer. He had settled for giving Fox a stern warning to get out of Denver, just as he had done with Madam Henrietta.
Henrietta was already gone, and no one knew where. Fox was on the train that was about to pull out, and he was not going to be eager to return to Denver anytime soon, not after the beating he had received at the hands of Judson and his henchman.
And the commission was scheduled to announce its decision for the site of the new fort within the week.
Somehow, through perseverance and sheer luck and with the help of Devlin Henry, Powe
ll's Army had brought this mission to a successful conclusion.
But that didn't ease the hurt of parting, Celia thought.
She lifted her face to Devlin's as he took her in his arms. His kiss had all the passion and fire that she remembered so fondly. And perhaps one day she would taste it again. . . .
She lingered for a moment as the conductor yelled, "Boooard! All aboard!" Then she slipped out of his embrace and went to the steps of the car where her seat was located.
She went up the steps without looking back.
Celia knew if she looked back, she wouldn't be able to go.
The train was about a mile out of Denver when someone sat down in the empty seat beside Celia. She glanced over and saw Landrum Davis through the tears in her eyes.
Landrum didn't look at her. He kept his eyes straight ahead. But he said, "He was a good man. I'm glad we all turned out to be on the same side."
"Yes," Celia nodded. "I am, too." She tried to force herself to think of other things. "Where are Gerald and Preston?"
Landrum chuckled. "Gerald's trying to talk Fox into letting him use some redskin remedy on his injuries. Claims it'll take care of those cuts and bruises right away."
"I'm sure Preston's not fond of that idea," Celia said with a smile. "Did you get any reply to that coded telegram you sent to Amos?"
"Not yet. I figured he'd want us to get out of Denver while everything's settling down, though. If I know Amos Powell, our next job will catch up to us soon enough."
"I hope so," Celia said. She lifted her chin and watched the spectacular Colorado scenery rolling by outside. She was ready for their next assignment. A little excitement would help her forget . . .
Or maybe not.
James Reasoner is the author of Under Outlaw Flags and Cossack Three Ponies, both published by Berkley Books and nominated for the Spur Award. A professional writer for more than half his life, he has written everything from mysteries to science fiction and fantasy. He lives in a small town with his wife, Livia, also known as the novelist L. J. Washburn, and they have two grown daughters.
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