The Pursued Page 6

  “Bad as that,” sympathized Powers.

  She shrugged. “He meant well. Take a seat.” She offered him a place at the kitchen table. “There’s honey there, you like sweetening.”

  “I went up to see the sheriff yesterday.” He took a spoonful from the pot.

  “Uhuh, bet you didn’t get much joy there.”

  He stirred slowly. “Not much, no. But I think there’s more here than he can know.”

  She looked at him steadily. “What do you mean?”

  “What the sheriff said, it led me to believe that someone killed Red for a reason.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, the execution style of it. The fact he was probably kneeling when it happened.”

  “Kneeling?” she said with surprise. “He was kneeling? Well, if you got that out of Sheriff Moore then you got more than I did.”

  Powers paused, eyes fixed on the mug as his fingers traced the round chips of enamel missing from the handle. “I think it might have been Cole Loumis,” he said with a heavy sigh.

  “Cole Loumis. Who’s he? One of your other pals?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “He was the most reckless of us all, perhaps. A touch too wild sometimes, if you get my meaning. He had a way with him though, a turn of phrase that could put a winning light on anything. We’d follow his crazy schemes just because he could present them in a way that sounded like fun. Only thing was, the reality often wasn’t much fun at all.”

  “So what did you do to him?”

  “We had him put inside.”

  “What, you mean, in prison?”

  He nodded. “Yes, we handed him over to the authorities and they put him away for six years.”

  “What for, what did he do?”

  “He went too far, one time too many.”

  “What did he do?” she asked quietly.

  Powers raised his eyes and she could see the sorrow in them. “He stole my wife.”

  Mary’s fingers flew to her lips. “Oh, my,” she said. “Andy never mentioned that.”

  “No, it was a couple of years after the war. We were all successful by then. I had fallen in love and married a neighboring rancher’s daughter. Reenie was what she liked to be called, Irene being her given name. We got along fine. Being a rancher’s daughter made it easier in many respects. She understood what was necessary and didn’t get fractious because she couldn’t have a new pair of store-bought shoes every week. It worked out well until Cole came calling one day. A friendly visit, he said. I still don’t know the whole of it but he ended up staying three weeks and at the end of it, he took her with him. I’d like to think she didn’t go willingly but the truth is that she probably did. Cole had that capacity. A winning way that would impress a gullible woman who had little experience of life off the ranch.”

  Mary reached across and laid her hand on his. It did not feel odd or out of place, it was a natural gesture and it urged him to go on.

  “I was mad, of course,” he admitted. “I got in touch with the others and we set out after them. Ridiculous, really. We acted like some damned posse hunting down criminals. We found them eventually, in a hotel room in Las Damas, and a hell of a row broke out. I was all for busting him up good and proper while my wife, Reenie, cried and begged me not to. How and why the guns came out, I’m not sure. But one went off, I think it was Glenn’s, at least he said it was. Cole fired back but up at the ceiling. He was giggling and laughing in that crazy roustabout way of his. It was an accident, none of it was meant to happen. The short of it was that Reenie took Glenn’s bullet in the heart, it killed her right off.”

  Mary bit her lip. “That’s terrible, you must have been devastated.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. We were all excited and ranting and raving. Red hit Cole hard, knocked him clean out. Then they all come bursting into the room. The local sheriff and his deputies. Bubba did the talking, he was always good at that. He lied so naturally, I still can’t believe it to this day. He told them it was manslaughter and that we were all witnesses. Reenie had wanted to leave but Cole wanted her to stay and threatened her with the pistol. The gun had gone off and she was dead, he said. I guess the short of it was that Bubba always had it in for Cole, since Cole was always bringing Bubba down and this was a way of his getting back at him. Anyway, the sheriff picked up Cole’s pistol, smelled the cordite, saw the used shell casing in the chamber, and that was that. They took him away and we all nailed him good and proper with our statements at the trial. I think we all felt he betrayed a trust; at least I know I did. He went to prison and did the time.”

  “Sounds like deep down none of you really liked him anyway.”

  “There’s always that,” agreed Powers.

  “So you think he’s nearby now?”

  “I don’t know. Bubba is finding out just where he is for sure. When I know, I’ll go see him.”

  “If he did kill Andy, do you think that’s wise?”

  “Probably not, but it should be settled one way or the other.”

  “I suppose so, but maybe it would be best to let the authorities deal with it.”

  “No, it’s too complicated and, besides, all that I’m saying to you about Red’s death is only a theory. There’s no proof Cole did anything.”

  She made him lunch then as he sat with her in the kitchen and they talked as she did so. She told him about her childhood and how she had been the surprise of her parents’ later life. How her big brother had doted on her and how, once both her parents were dead and Andy chose to become a minister, she had followed him out here and kept house for him. She’d found his impracticality a little difficult to take and supposed her thrifty Scots origins might have had something to do with that. But she loved her brother and saw that his intentions were only of the best and so forgave him his over-generosity. She missed him already and confessed to feeling somewhat at a loss without his company.

  “You never married then?” Powers asked.

  “No,” she said a little coyly. “Had some offers, mind you. But nothing I took seriously.”

  “I’m surprised,” he said. “I would have thought you would have been a great catch for any man.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You make me sound like a fish in a pond.”

  “Hardly.” He chuckled. “It was meant as a compliment.”

  She softened at that and smiled. “Too long on my own with a saint for a brother,” she apologized.

  “Might I see you again, Mary?” It burst out. He had meant to make it a more subtle approach but when it came to it, the words just seemed to escape of their own volition.

  “Why not?” She said it brightly, her eyes watching him cautiously, as if unwilling to totally believe him. “I’m freely available now,” she finished in a rather lame tone.

  “No,” he said. “I’m serious. I like your style, Mary McArthur, and I’d be pleased of your company.”

  She quieted then. “And I of yours, Mister Brent.”

  Later, when he took his leave, Powers kissed her sweetly on the cheek as they stood in the doorway.

  Tentatively, she placed her hand on his arm and pulled him close to her.

  They stayed like that a long moment, just standing together. Powers thought of them, enjoying the newness of strangers becoming a little more than friends. It left him feeling flustered yet, as she closed the door, his heart jumped and a great flood of joy ran through him.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day there was an envelope waiting for Powers at the hotel reception. He suspected it was news from Bubba and hurriedly carried it up to his room, opening the flap as he went. A sheaf of notepaper fell out as he placed his key in the lock. Opening the room door, bent down and retrieved the note, noticing there was a lawyer’s heading at the top. Closing the door, he scanned the letter eagerly.

  Dear Sir,

  I am writing to inform you of the sad demise of your friend Bubba Jones.

  Mr. Jones was found deceased in his home and the sheriff’s de
partment have taken Mrs. Letitia Bellevue Jones (the deceased’s wife) into custody on suspicion of murder. It appears there had been loud arguments that day and it is well known by neighbors that the couple have had differences for some time. Mr. Jones had his throat cut open by a knife found among the kitchen utensils in the house, a particularly brutal crime but a technique often utilized by women of a vengeful nature. By the time the housemaid discovered her unfortunate employer’s body, sadly it was too late. I am sure the lady in question will be prosecuted to the limit that the law will permit and if found guilty will suffer the ultimate penalty. If you wish information regarding the venue or outcome of the trial, our office shall be pleased to advise.

  On another matter, I enclose information that was destined to reach you from Mr. Jones before his untimely death. Through this means, we discovered the details of your whereabouts. It concerns the locality of one Cole Loumis whom our office was hired to uncover. We have utilized the services of the Hallmark Detective Agency, which we have used on numerous previous occasions and I can assure you are a most trustworthy and extremely able body of investigators.

  Mr. Cole Loumis is, at present, in his second year of a three-year term of imprisonment for attempted robbery of the Overland Stage and is serving his sentence at the Yuma Territorial Prison. Any queries regarding the prisoner whose number is 373 should be addressed to prison officials, either the Chief Warden or the Governor.

  I hope this information proves satisfactory.

  I remain your servant, sir. Should you require further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me personally or one of my staff. Having attended on Mr. Jones for many years, may I take the liberty of offering my personal condolences on the loss of your friend. Bubba Jones will be remembered as a most noble gentleman and stalwart client who shall indeed be sadly missed by this firm.

  Yours sincerely,

  Amos Lester Cuthbertson

  Cramer, Cuthbertson and Spinx

  Notaries and Attorneys-at-Law’

  Powers’s hand shook as he read the letter. Bubba was dead! It hit him hard. Three of his good friends lost to him and so close together after so many years. There was a thing called “coincidence” but this was verging on the ridiculous. Yet still he paused and wondered if he was over-reacting. After all, Glenn had certainly passed away from natural causes and there was nothing suspicious in that. He could well imagine Bubba being murdered by such a discontented wife, who considered herself a class above and his wealth the only reason for locking herself into the marriage. It was Red who stood out as the only positively unexplained death.

  And Cole was in prison! There was no way he could have committed murder from there. So perhaps it was all just coincidence and his imagination, after all.

  He hurried out to give Mary the news.

  She smiled, obviously pleased to see him again so soon. But the smile dropped from her face as she noted his furrowed brow and intense attitude.

  They sat in her parlor and he showed her the letter.

  “What will you do now?” she asked.

  “I must go and see Cole and find out for certain if he is involved in any way.”

  “But how is that possible with him safely locked up?”

  He opened both hands wide and shrugged. “There is always a possibility that he has friends on the outside willing to do his bidding. Remember, it’s been many years since I’ve seen the man and, going by my recent experiences, he has probably changed a great deal.”

  “This is becoming a terrible mission for you, Powers.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m not sure whether I’m following death around or it’s following me. My friends seem to drop like flies as soon as I make an appearance.”

  She reached across and laid her hand on his. “Don’t say that. It is nothing to do with you. How can it be?”

  He said nothing but looked down at her hand on his. A hand used to work, not a soft hand pampered and delicate. He loved her for that and he laid his own over hers.

  “You must go to Yuma now and settle it once and for all,” she said.

  “Yes, I know it. Then I will come back for you.”

  “Indeed.” She smiled again. “You shall be free of all these inquiries and we can look at the future with a clearer eye, I think.”

  Chapter Eight

  Yuma Territorial Prison stood on a bluff near where the Gila and Colorado Rivers met on the edge of the Sonoran Desert. The seven original prisoners had been set to work building the place back in 1875 and construction was still going on, prisoners in striped woolen outfits working the chain gangs in heat up to a hundred degrees. They burrowed and dug into the rock, fashioning the narrow, strap-iron cells that were to become their homes.

  Powers arrived on a Sunday. A day of rest. It was the day the prison opened up to the public after church services and the prisoners were allowed to hold a bazaar of sorts, a kind of marketplace where they could sell the things they crafted in their spare time. Wooden spoons and toy dolls, bead necklaces, crude pottery and bone scrimshaw were displayed on blanket-covered stalls and sold for a few cents. Mostly, though, folks came to gawk at the wife-killers and grand larcenists, to look at and watch the inhabitants like visitors at a zoo.

  Powers strode among the stalls, looking for one man only.

  The man he wanted sat, resting his back against an adobe wall at the far end of the open plaza, squatting on a wooden crate with a heavy ball and chain attached to his left ankle. Powers strode down the alleyway between the stalls that separated them as Cole Loumis calmly sucked on a corncob pipe and with narrowed eyes watched him approach. There were five others lounging near Cole, although not so close that they appeared to be friends. Powers came to a halt six feet in front of him. With a wave of his pipe stem, Cole ushered the others away.

  “Cole,” said Powers, by way of greeting.

  Cole steadily looked him over, then spat to one side. “You’ve come a long way to this hell hole, must be important.”

  Powers nodded, then jerked a thumb at the ball and chain. “You trying to escape?”

  “That’s what they do here when you get your running legs on,” said Cole.

  He looked thinner than Powers remembered. More gaunt. Bony and hard, with not an ounce of fat on him. His floppy hat brim hid most of his unshaven face but Powers could see the gleam of Cole’s eyes shining there among the deep shadows cast by the hot sun overhead.

  “Still raising Cain, huh?” said Powers.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, Powers. I’ve been in and out of this place so many times, they treat me like family now. They have a Dark Cell here where you go when you’re real bad; that’s my second home. The regular cells here take six men, it’s tight, bunked up one on top of another and those boys you just saw, they’re my cellmates. They’re real friendly. They have to be, they know who they’re dealing with.” The tone was a warning, an obvious threat.

  “That was over a long time ago, Cole.”

  “Maybe for you. I never killed your wife and you know it. I did time for something I never did. But you all lied and put me away. My friends. You all put me away.”

  Powers was cynical in reply, “No, Cole. You just went and stole your friend’s wife. You’re the one acted more like an enemy than a real friend. The money wasn’t enough, was it? It never was. Meanness was all the riches you ever wanted.”

  Staring hard at Cole, he could sense the distaste they both felt for each other simmering in the overheated air between them.

  “So what are you here for?” Cole asked, finally. He hadn’t moved much, just his fingers playing with the home made pipe, rolling the stem and bowl in his hands.

  “Glenn’s dead. He asked me to come. Wanted some sort of restitution made, told me to tell you he’s sorry.”

  Cole snorted and barked a laugh. “That’s rich. That really is. Fellow puts a slug in your old lady and then sends you down here to apologize to the guy who’s done the time for his crime. That beats all, that really doe
s.”

  “Well, I didn’t expect nothing more from you myself but I said to him I would do it and now it’s done.”

  “What about the others?” Cole put the pipe stem back between his teeth and struck a match along the wall. “The rest of the old pals.”

  “Bubba and Red are both gone too. Looks like Bubba’s own wife did for him and Red … well, that’s a bit of a mystery. Just who’s responsible there, we don’t know. I did wonder if you had anything to do with it.”

  Cole sucked on the pipe, drawing the flame from his match across the tobacco. He puffed a while. “Both gone, huh? Well, Bubba I won’t miss. He was a little toady and a fink. Red, I liked Red, I wouldn’t go and hurt Red. Why would I do that?”

  “His sister’ll be real glad to hear it.”

  “A sister! Well, I didn’t know Red had family.”

  “None of us did. He kept it quiet, maybe thought it was for the best. Knowing the way we were back then.”

  Powers could have bitten his tongue when he saw how Cole had noticed his tone when he spoke of Mary.

  Cole’s voice took on a sly note, a grin cracking open around the pipe stem. “She’s nice, huh? I see she’s nice. You like her Powers? She a single lady perhaps?”

  “Somebody killed her brother. Put a slug in the back of his head and blew his face off, that’s all,” Powers said coldly, wanting to change the subject.

  “Yeah, but you like her, Powers, don’t you?” Cole persisted.

  “Shut up, Cole, or I’ll shove that damned pipe down your throat.”

  Cole nodded, the grin never fading from his face. Then he got serious, “You’ve done all you’re ever going to do to me. Don’t ever consider otherwise.”

  “What? D’ you think I’m about to run scared from you?”

  “There’s just you and me now, Powers. And somebody’s got to pay for what was done, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Well, it won’t be me.”