There, far below him on the slope, something was wedged into a crack in the rugged rock face. He leaned forward, fighting against the vertigo he felt, as he squinted in an effort to make it out.
The pack!
It was the pack containing the rest of the dynamite. Fox knew it must have slid off the edge and fallen into the crevice. He groaned.
There was no way he could reach it. It had to be at least forty feet below him, and the slope was too steep, too devoid of handholds and footholds to be negotiated.
As he leaned over, the butt of the pistol behind his belt pressed into his belly. Fox suddenly straightened and yanked the weapon out. He was a fair shot. There was a chance he could hit the pack with a bullet that would set off the explosive and accomplish the purpose he had had all along.
Especially if he got closer.
Fox swallowed and then got down on hands and knees, creeping forward. His head swam as the rock fell away beneath him, but he was able to keep his balance and slowly edge out along the incline. Lying head down and hanging on for dear life with one hand and his feet, he lifted the Colt and sighted in on the pack.
The light was bad, and Fox was so nervous that his hand was shaking.
But this was the only chance Landrum and Celia had.
He pressed the trigger.
The pistol blasted, the slug missing its mark and whining off into empty air. Fox shuddered as he slipped slightly, then steeled himself and drew back the hammer again.
He waited until the barrel of the gun settled down, waited until the sight was lined up properly with the target.
Then he fired again -
And the world exploded.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Landrum, Celia, and Elroy jerked their heads up as the blast roared, filling the gulch with its thunder. They saw the whole side of the hill seem to shake as huge pieces of it flew out into space.
Down the gulch, Three-Fingered Jack and his men reined in and stared up as well, awe-stricken by the explosion. A second later, chunks of rock began to rain down on them.
Tons of earth and stone began to slide downward.
"Get out of here!" Jack howled frantically, waving at his men. Some of them wheeled their horses and began to gallop back up the gulch, but most of them were petrified by panic. Jack tried futilely to force his way through them.
Landrum saw what was about to happen. Elroy did, too, and he vented his fear by screaming, "Avalanche!"
The slide was going to engulf both the cabin and the group of outlaws which had been attacking it. There was no thought of anything now except escape. No one fired at Landrum as he grabbed Celia's arm and ran from the cabin with her. Elroy was right on their heels.
The three of them circled the cabin and sprinted for safety. Debris pelted down around them, and a good-sized rock bounced off Landrum's shoulder, staggering him and making his entire left arm go numb for a moment.
The injury didn't slow him down much, not when he was running for his life and dragging Celia with him.
Down the gulch, Three-Fingered Jack looked up at the avalanche just in time to see the huge boulder that was falling toward him. He shrieked and spurred his horse, but the animal was pinned in by several more fear-stricken mounts. Jack had a second to start another scream-and then the boulder slammed into him, turning him into a bloody paste that was quickly buried by the falling rocks.
The earth-shaking roar seemed to go on forever.
Above the gulch, Preston Fox was half-unconscious, battered, and completely deafened by the cataclysmic explosion. He felt himself falling as the slope collapsed. Rock scraped underneath his fingers, and he gripped it instinctively.
His body tumbled, and his feet swung free in mid-air. But somehow his hands maintained their fragile grasp on the rock, and even though the earth trembled beneath him, his perch remained secure.
The cloud of dust raised by the landslide rolled over him, making his eyes sting and burn. As he blinked them rapidly to try to clear the tears from them, he shook his head. The silence was unnerving. He knew there had to be a tremendous amount of noise as the rocks plummeted into the gulch, but he couldn't hear it. His ears had been shocked beyond functioning by the blast.
Finally, the shuddering ceased, and Fox realized after a long moment that the avalanche must be over. Still moving in a world of hushed silence, he tried to pull himself up.
His hands slipped for an instant, and he felt himself falling. Scrabbling desperately for another finger-hold, he caught himself and pressed himself tightly against the rock face.
He could tell from the emptiness beneath his feet that he was right on the edge with nothing to break his fall except the ground far below. For several minutes he was too frightened to move.
Eventually, though, his strength would give out and then he would fall. Staying where he was could only turn out fatal in the end. He had to move to safety.
He had to climb.
He was still crying from the dust, and now tears of fear and strain intermingled with the others. Fox slowly, gingerly pulled himself up along the stony slope. Sharp projections cut into his hands and body, but he forced himself to ignore the pain.
All that mattered was getting to the top.
He still couldn't hear even his own sobs, but there was a strange ringing in his ears now. He prayed that the sound meant his hearing was coming back, although it wouldn't matter if he couldn't extricate himself from this spot.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Fox felt the slope leveling out. He found an extra reserve of strength and increased his pace, still being careful not to slip. When he found himself pulling his weight over the top of the slope and sprawling out full-length, relief flooded through him with a sensation that was almost like physical pain, it was so exquisite.
He was safe.
And he heard shouts and more gunfire from below.
He could hear again!
The sounds were muffled, but he suddenly felt confident that his ears would be all right with a little time to recover from the blast. Fox sat up, breathing deeply, and then forced himself to twist around until he could lean forward and look over the edge.
After what he had just gone through, it took a supreme effort to do that, but he had to know what had happened down below after the explosion.
"Oh, my God," he said softly when he saw the devastation below.
He had never intended to cause such a huge rockslide. His plan had been to wait until Three-Fingered Jack and his men showed up, then set off a small explosion that would dump part of the hillside on the outlaws.
Instead, the blast had knocked down enough earth and rock to all but fill up the gulch at one point. Fox's heart sank as he saw where he thought the cabin had been. It was completely buried now.
Were Landrum and Celia inside it? Had he saved them from the outlaws only to kill them with his rescue attempt?
Fox moaned. He had to get down there and find out.
Someone was still alive. Alive and fighting, in fact. Gun flashes winked in the darkness, and Fox suddenly heard a familiar voice lifted in a shout.
Glidinghawk!
The Omaha had returned with help.
But had he returned to find two of his teammates dead?
Fox's horse had jerked loose from the bush in its fright, but it hadn't wandered far. He was able to find it in a matter of minutes, and as soon as he had the animal calmed down somewhat, he swung aboard and headed it down the trail.
Fox rode hard, his soul a turmoil of fear and grief.
* * *
When Glidinghawk heard the huge explosion, he couldn't figure out what in the world had happened.
The group led by Marshal Gideon Elbridge and Silas McCoy plunged into Alder Gulch as the earth shook and trembled. Glidinghawk forged ahead of the others, his pistol in his hand. Something awful had happened up ahead, something totally unexpected.
He pulled his horse to a stop as several men rounded a bend up ahead, galloping toward the
newcomers like bats out of hell. When the riders saw the group blocking their path, they cut loose with their guns.
Glidinghawk, Elbridge, McCoy, and the others returned the fire.
The battle, such as it was, ended quickly. The outlaws fleeing the catastrophe up the canyon were soon either shot out of their saddles or rounded up and taken captive.
Glidinghawk reined in next to Elbridge. "I've got to find my partners," he said urgently to the marshal.
Elbridge turned to McCoy. "Can you and your men handle these prisoners?"
"Damn right we can," McCoy growled.
Elbridge wheeled his horse. "Come on, Glidinghawk."
The two men hurried down the gulch. Glidinghawk 's eyes widened, and his normally stoic face showed his shock as they had to veer around the massive rockslide. The bodies of men and horses were scattered everywhere, grim testament of what had happened here.
Glidinghawk jerked his horse to a stop.
The cabin he had left earlier in the day, the cabin where he expected to find his friends, was gone, completely buried by rock.
Something inside Glidinghawk was just about to die — when he suddenly heard his name being called.
He jerked his head around. Three figures were running toward him, and two of them were easily recognizable in the dust-hazed moonlight.
Landrum and Celia!
Glidinghawk shouted their names and slid down from the horse's back. As Elbridge watched with an uncharacteristic grin on his lean face, the Omaha greeted his friends with hugs. Everyone seemed to be pounding on everyone else's back.
Glidinghawk saw that the third figure was Elroy Strickland, the friendly miner from down the gulch. He gripped Landrum's shoulder with one hand and tightened the other arm around Celia's waist as he said, "Are you all right?"
"A little bruised and shaken up," Landrum replied with a grin. "But I think we'll make it. It's good to see you, partner."
"Oh, Gerald, I was so afraid something had happened to you," Celia said, resting her head against his shoulder.
"To me?" Glidinghawk snorted. "It looks like the two of you had all the action."
"You were a little late getting back here," Landrum said dryly. "But we got lucky."
"I'll say," Glidinghawk said, looking back over his shoulder at the destruction. "What happened?"
"The whole damn mountainside came down and landed right on top of Three-Fingered Jack and his men," Landrum told him. "And I'll be a ring-tailed monkey if I can see how it happened. There was some sort of explosion . . ."
Glidinghawk frowned. "Where's Fox?"
"He ran out on us," Celia said, a touch of bitterness edging into the relief in her voice.
"At least we thought he did," Landrum mused. "Elroy here came over to warn us about Jack and lend a hand, but it sure looked like Fox took a powder. Now I'm not so sure."
Celia stared at him. "You don't mean you think-"
"Surely not," Glidinghawk said emphatically.
"Somebody else coming," Gideon Elbridge warned.
The five of them turned to look down the gulch at the figure riding wearily out of the shadows. Moonlight shone on the haggard face of Preston Kirkwood Fox, a face which underwent a startling transformation when he caught sight of the little group waiting for him.
Fox dropped the reins and slid off the back of the horse, staring at them from ten feet away. Finally, he said fervently, "Thank God. You're all alive. I thought I'd killed you."
There was a part of him that wanted to rush forward and throw himself into their arms, to join in the embrace of reunion that they were sharing. But he held back, content for the moment to know that they were alive.
Landrum inclined his head toward the rock-slide. "You did that, Preston?"
"I-I suppose I did."
"Well, if you planned on getting Three-Fingered Jack, you sure as hell succeeded. You almost got the rest of us, too, but I reckon close doesn't count."
Fox allowed a tired grin to crease his face. "You mean I did the right thing?"
"Preston," Celia said softly, "come here."
Fox stepped forward, letting himself be drawn into the circle of Celia's arms. She rested her face against his chest and whispered, "Thank you," as Landrum slapped him on the back and Glidinghawk picked up his limp hand and shook it.
The four of them knew that they would probably have their differences again in the future. Nobody could change completely, and there was too much natural friction between them for all of it to go away.
But right here, right now, Powell's Army was together again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"I hate to break this up," Marshal Gideon Elbridge said dryly, "but there is still some work to do here."'
Landrum nodded. "The marshal's right. I'm sure he'd like some more explanations."
Elroy Strickland put in, "So would I. I ain't sure just what the hell happened here."
A shout from down the gulch forestalled any more discussion. Silas McCoy was waving his arm toward the little group, summoning them.
The four members of Powell's Army, plus Gideon and Elroy, joined McCoy near a mound of rubble. Some of the cowhands were clearing away the large chunks of rock.
From underneath the largest boulder, legs were protruding. It was a grisly sight, because everyone there knew what the avalanche had done to the unlucky victim beneath the rock.
When the cowhands rolled the boulder aside, amazingly, the man's face was still recognizable.
McCoy snapped, "Bring a torch over here."
Celia turned away when the harsh light from the torch washed over what was left of Three-Fingered Jack. McCoy looked down at the corpse for a long, grim moment, then said, "I recognize this yahoo. Used to ride with Plummer. That was ten years gone, so I reckon he figured it was safe to come back to this part of the territory and take up where Plummer left off."
"He was wrong," Elbridge said flatly.
Fox felt a little sick again as he witnessed the results of his handiwork. He might have had to go in the bushes and heave if he had not already emptied his stomach after the fatal fight with the claim-jumper.
Glidinghawk put a hand on Celia's shoulder and squeezed. "He was an evil man," he murmured. "Do not mourn him too much, Celia."
She nodded. She knew quite well what Three-Fingered Jack had been, and she knew Glidinghawk was right.
Elbridge stuck a cigar in his mouth and lit it with a lucifer that he scraped into life on his saddle. "All right, we got the head snake and plenty of his henchmen. But there's still a little matter of proof. All I've got is your word that he was behind that payroll robbery."
Landrum nodded. "How would you feel about paying a visit to Robbers Roost?"
Elbridge looked at the rancher and former vigilante. "You and your men want to finish the job, McCoy?"
McCoy snorted. "Try and stop us."
"We're coming along, too," Fox declared. "We have a right to be in on the finish."
What he said was true, but more than anything else, he was thinking about Ching Ping. Now that Jack was dead and Robbers Roost was on the verge of being cleaned out, she would need a place to go.
It might as well be with him.
McCoy detailed a few men to take the prisoners back to Virginia City, and then the group started toward Robbers Roost. It was a strange mixture of individuals-a United States Marshal, a former vigilante and his ranch crew, a young miner, and four undercover operatives for the US Army — but between them they were going to write an end to lawlessness in this part of Montana Territory.
* * *
A couple of hours later, Elbridge, McCoy, and the four members of Powell's Army rode slowly up to the big log house. Several yards behind them waited the ranch hands, bristling with weapons and eager for the chance to use them.
So far, they had not been challenged, and Elbridge had decreed that there would be no more violence than was necessary.
Madame Varnish appeared in the doorway and stepped onto the porch. She had a
shotgun cradled in her fleshy arms. The weapon looked out of place being held by a woman in a gaudy dress, but all of the visitors respected its threat.
The madame's face was haggard in the lantern-light. Tears had run down her cheeks, cutting furrows in her thick make-up.
"What the hell do you want?" she demanded, her voice harsh with emotion.
Elbridge edged his horse forward slightly, ahead of the others. "I'm a United States Marshal, ma'am," he said. "And I intend on searching this place."
"And what if I tell you to go to hell?"
"I'll use force if necessary, ma'am."
Madame Varnish stood straight and defiant for a moment, then her body seemed to sag and the twin barrels of the scattergun drooped toward the porch.
"I've got nothing to hide," she said softly. "Nothing."
Before dismounting, Elbridge asked, "Who else is inside?"
"Just my girls," Madame Varnish told him. "If you're looking for outlaws, you ain't going to find any. There were some boys; here, but they took off when they heard about what happened to . . . to Three-Fingered Jack."
McCoy grunted. "Reckon at least one of those fellers must've got away from the gulch and brought the word back here. And the other gangs decided to clear out," Landrum added quietly. Elbridge had introduced all of them to McCoy on the ride here, telling the rancher that they were helping him in his investigation without revealing their true status.
The ride had been a long one for Fox, and now this further delay was chafing him. He wanted more than anything else to rush into the building and seek out Ching Ping. He could almost feel the warmth of her body in his arms again.
He held back as they all dismounted and moved toward the door, however. He did not want to make himself look like a fool in front of the others. They had seemed impressed with his efforts so far this night, and he did not want to lose that hard-won respect.
Even the bartender was gone, Fox saw as all of them entered Robbers Roost. All that was left was a huddled group of frightened prostitutes. One of them broke away and rushed across the room.
Landrum had his hand on his gun, as did the others. There was always the chance that they were walking into a trap. He tensed as the beautiful young Chinese girl ran toward them, but then he relaxed and grinned as she threw herself right into the arms of Preston Kirkwood Fox.
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