Guns from powder valley, p.17
Guns from Powder Valley,
p.17
Ezra’s one eye danced and the red bristles of a two-days growth of beard around his wide mouth crinkled with a shame-faced grin. “I’d orta of seen ’em,” he acknowledged, “but Pat was goin’ so fast I couldn’t look and keep up with ’im.”
“I told Sally,” Martha put in brightly, “we ought to do what you said.…”
“I’m glad you didn’t … now,” Torrence said, turning his fine black eyes toward her. “This is the most fun and excitement I’ve had in all my life … being here with you … and Mrs. Stevens.” A red flush spread over his face and he looked away from her.
“Go on,” Pat said impatiently. “I’m interested to hear the rest of your story.”
“Well, there’s not much more to tell. I’m positive I’ll never grow any more after the scare I got when I deliberately dropped behind the rest of the hooded gang to show you the way to the hideout yesterday. Believe me, I did some hustling after I found out you’d been trapped in that old mine after the gang shot their guns and rifles into the snow above and caused the landslide. I had a hard time getting that map I threw down the shaft to you.”
“Waal I’ll be gol-darned,” Ezra muttered. “I’ll bet Sam’d give ’is shootin’ right arm to be heah listenin’ to this.”
“Oh.… Martha cried. “My father … is he all right!”
“Reckson so. I sent the Doc hi-tailin’ it to take keer o’ him.”
“Mr. Sutton is going to be all right, Martha,” Pat said in a positive tone. “We’ll go back and get ’im and get both of you to Denver. And the gold, too. An’ that reminds me, Torrence, your grandma’s gold is all safe at Bible Jim’s cabin, an’ Bible Jim’s in jail.”
“What about the others?” Torrence asked quickly.
“All dead as do’nails,” Ezra drawled.
“Then … you were trying to find that map when we saw you in Tola,” Sally said apologetically.
“I was desperate,” Torrence admitted. “I only wish I’d known then that they were going after … Mr. Sutton. I might have saved him from …”
“He’s all right,” Pat interrupted hastily. “Say, is there anything in this damn place to eat?” He got up agilely and started toward the stove.
“Now you just sit down, Pat Stevens,” Sally said with authority. “There’s plenty to eat, and I’ll fix it right away.”
“The best luck I had,” Torrence insisted, “was learning of the plan to kidnap Miss Sutton and force her to tell where her father’s gold was hidden after he refused to tell.”
“I would never have suspected that the black-hood was you,” Martha said thoughtfully. “You were riding a black horse with white forelegs and a blazed face when you stopped us the first time.”
Torrence laughed. The same hearty laugh as when he discovered the gold in Sally’s skirt. “I just washed the whitewash off of him. It was the same horse. There was lime in the whitewash, and it must’ve irritated his hide. I had a time holding him still while I was waiting at that boulder after cutting across the canyon floor to head you off.”
“H-m-m,” Ezra grunted. “I thought mebbe yo’ haws had fleas when I seen the way he was so fidgety. I tol’ Pat a powerful impatient haws’d been pawin’ the rocks aroun’ there.”
“You haven’t heard the best part of this whole thing, Mr. Stevens. I think your wife should tell it. Her scheme for getting a part of the Sutton gold out is one of the best tricks yet.”
Sally’s face was flushed when her eyes met Pat’s questioning and puzzled gaze.
“Oh … it’s nothing. It didn’t turn out to be so smart.”
Torrence felt the lump on the back of his head and pulled himself to his feet. “I’ve got a quarter of venison hanging back in the woods with some good steaks on it. There’s canned milk on the shelf to make cream gravy. You can tell your husband your part of the story while I go bring in the venison.”
Torrence stood looking down into Martha’s shining eyes, and Pat said, “Hurry up … I’m hungry as a wolf.”
“Would you go along with me, Miss Sutton?” Torrence asked. “Mrs. Stevens is certainly handy with a frying pan, and I still feel kind of dizzy from that lump on my head. I might need some help.”
Martha laughed brightly. “I’ll take along a dipper of water to pour on you if you faint,” she said.
Pat looked pointedly at the black robe Torrence still wore. “Maybe,” he jested, “you’d be safer in the woods around here if you took off that black thing.”
Torrence ripped it off and flung it aside. Martha stood at the splintered door, smiling and waiting. Taking the key from his pocket he unlocked the remaining portion of the door and opened it wide, then turned to Pat with an explanatory apology for the locked door:
“You can see what I was up against, Mr. Stevens. I had to lock them in. If Bible Jim had intercepted them up the road …”
“Go get that venison,” Pat interrupted with a broad grin spreading his mouth. He caught Martha’s eye and winked as she turned to go with Torrence.
The bright sunlight of midday filtered through the spruce grove as they walked along the path leading up an incline back of the cabin. Torrence stopped suddenly and turned to face the girl.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for being so brazen when I made crude love to you in the cabin. But … I meant every word of it, Martha. I knew you were the girl for me when I met you in town yesterday.”
Martha lowered her eyes for an instant. Her cheeks were flaming. “I hope you’ll come to see us … when we move to Denver,” she said. Then, looking up the slope, she saw the quarter of venison hanging high on a tree limb. She lifted her heavy skirt clear of the ground and started toward it, saying gaily:
“We’d better get those steaks cut for Pat’s supper or he’ll be out here to get them himself.”
About the Author
Brett Halliday (1904–1977) was the primary pseudonym of American author Davis Dresser. Halliday is best known for creating the Mike Shayne Mysteries. The novels, which follow the exploits of fictional PI Mike Shayne, have inspired several feature films, a radio series, and a television series.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1941 by William Morrow and Company, Inc.
Cover design by Andy Ross
ISBN: 978-1-4976-5053-4
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Brett Halliday, Guns from Powder Valley
