Two-gun Trouble
Gillian F. Taylor

EXCERPT

This was where Goff had registered his claim. There wasn’t much to be seen yet: a log hut, half-buried in snow, with a lean-to stable built on the side, a spoil heap of worthless rock and a small lumber building that covered the entrance to the mine workings. Not that there was much of a mine here yet. Jonah Durrell had never been interested in prospecting, he preferred his gold and silver to have ‘In God We Trust’ stamped on it, and a number to indicate its value. He was smart though, and during the last two years in Colorado, had picked up a fair understanding of hard-rock mining. There was no mechanization at this mine yet, no steam-driven hoist to lift the ore from the tunnel. Jonah could see layers of frozen snow in the heap of gangue by the mine entrance. The top of the rock pile was more recent than the last snowfall. No doubt Goff had wintered out here, digging his claim and collecting ore to be milled and processed when the snow had cleared enough to get it to town.

Jonah began working his way closer to the buildings, keeping himself out of sight as much as possible. Deep pathways had been cleared through the snow between the buildings. As Jonah got close to the mine, he could hear a rattling and squeaking that he guessed was the sound of the windlass in the mine building being used. Jonah took advantage of the noise to cover the sound he made on the snow, and got closer. A thundering rattle told him that ore was being transferred from the bucket on the windlass to something else. Jonah reached the cover of a couple of scrubby pines and some buffaloberry and crouched in their shadow to watch.

A man emerged from the door of the mine building and stood blinking in the sunlight for a few moments before trundling his crude wheelbarrow over to the spoil heap. He was medium height, with shoulder-length brown hair and a beard trimmed short on the cheeks but long in front. Jonah grinned to himself as he recognized the deep-set eyes, low, bushy eyebrows and prominent upper teeth he’d seen in the sketch of Goff on the wanted dodger. Goff was wearing a loose, mud-stained coat over his stained woolen trousers and frayed jacket, and sported a greyish hat with a sagging, uneven brim. Reaching the spoil heap, Goff began sorting the rock he’d brought up, singing to himself in a baritone voice that was pleasant when he hit the right notes.

He had his back to Jonah, his attention on the rock he was efficiently sorting. Jonah rose out from his cover, rifle aimed at Goff’s back, and moved as fast as he could without making too much noise. He got to within ten feet before Goff started to look around.

"Don’t try anything, you’re under arrest," Jonah said clearly.

Goff let a lump of ore fall back into the wheelbarrow and turned slowly.

"Who in Hell’re you ?" he demanded, squinting towards Jonah, who had the sun at his back.

"I’m Jonah Durrell. There’s a warrant out for your arrest over the killing of a gambler named Jacobi. I’m taking you back to Motherlode."

"The tinhorn was a cheating skunk," Goff stated irritably.

"I don’t give a damn," Jonah answered cheerfully. "My job’s to take you back and let a jury sort it out."

"A goddam manhunter," Goff said scornfully.

"And good enough to earn fancy clothes and this smart rifle," Jonah replied. "So turn around and lie on your belly, with your hands together behind you. Slowly."

Goff did has he was told, cursing aloud all the while. Jonah took no notice, moving forward cautiously to stop just out of Goff’s reach. There was much less snow here, most of it trampled down hard, but it would hamper any sudden movement from Goff as he lay prone. Jonah took his left hand off the rifle and reached into his overcoat pocket for a pair of handcuffs. A movement, glimpsed from the corner of his eye, grabbed his attention. A shadow was moving on the banked snow; the shadow of someone behind him. Jonah let go of the cuffs and started to turn, getting his left hand back on the Winchester.

Goff’s partner moved in close, swinging his shovel at Jonah’s head. Jonah instinctively threw up the rifle to block the shovel. The impact jarred dead leaves and animal muck from the shovel, splattering them onto his face and shoulder. The unpleasantness distracted Jonah for a moment, letting Goff’s partner pull back his shovel for another swing. Jonah blocked again, almost too late this time. He caught the impact close to his body and it pushed him off-balance. There was no time to turn the rifle and use it to shoot. There was no time either to pay attention to Goff. Jonah’s full attention was on defending himself from the fast blows launched by the other miner. The miner knew his shovel well, and was an expert in swinging a hammer or a pick.

Jonah’s Winchester was taking a battering, and his forearms were starting to ache from absorbing the blows. Catching the shaft of the shovel on his rifle again, he pressed back, trying his strength against the other man’s. The miner was strong, but Jonah was taller. Jonah leaned into the wrestling match, gritting his teeth with the effort as he shoved. The miner began to give way, but as Jonah moved his weight forward, his foot slipped on the snow.

Jonah suddenly dropped, twisting to his right as he lost his balance. From pushing down on the shovel, he managed to push it up and away as he fell. He landed on his back, snow getting into his hair and inside his coat collar. Jonah didn’t notice. He brought the rifle up, bracing himself to catch the shovel as it swung down towards his face. The reflexes that made him so fast on the draw saved his life again. Jonah got his arms fully straight before the edge of the shovel crashed into the wooden grip of his rifle. The impact jarred him back into the snow, but the shovel stopped dead. Grunting with the effort, Jonah rolled to his right, twisting the rifle to try and tear the shovel from the other man’s grip. The miner rapidly changed grip, swinging the shovel away and raising it. He took a short step forward and plunged it straight down, aiming for Jonah’s head.

Jonah snatched the rifle back up again as he rolled the other way. The Winchester collided with the shovel as it drove downwards, deflecting it just enough that it caught the brim of his hat before hitting the ground just a couple of inches away. Jonah’s heart was thudding fast with the exertion, and the fear from the near-miss, but he didn’t have time to think about it. As the miner yanked the shovel out from the earth and snow, Jonah twisted himself around and kicked the man’s leg. The miner yelled as he lost his balance. He skidded around in the hard-packed snow, taking one hand off the shovel as he tried to keep upright. Jonah rolled to his knees and got his rifle aimed at the miner just as the other man regained his balance.

"Throw that damned shovel over there before I put some daylight into you," Jonah snapped.

They were still very close, close enough that the miner only had to take half a step to reach Jonah with his shovel. The battered rifle was aimed steadily at the miner’s head. Both men knew that Jonah could fire a fatal shot before a blow from the shovel would reach him. The miner slowly lifted the shovel one-handed and tossed it where Jonah had indicated by a slight nod of his head.

"You got nothing on me. I ain’t wanted for nothin’," the miner said, his pale blue eyes insolent.

"How about sheltering a fugitive and common assault ?" Jonah replied, getting to his feet in a graceful motion. The aim of his rifle never changed. "Open your coat. I want to be sure you’ve not got anything packed away under there."

He also wanted to know where Goff had gone. Jonah had seen him heading for the log cabin, or its lean-to stable, while he had been fighting. It was possible that Goff had lit out while Jonah had been on the ground. Right now though, Jonah needed to concentrate on the man in front of him.

"Who are you ?" he asked.

"M’name’s Oldfield," the miner grunted. Oldfield’s face was dominated by flaunting red whiskers, which drew attention from his lumpy nose and narrow-set eyes. He grinned at Jonah, showing tobacco-stained teeth. "I’ll give you fifty shares in the mine, if you let me go," he offered. "Our ore assayed at five hundred dollars a ton. There’s no reward for me, you won’t get anything iffen you take me back to town."

"I’ll get the satisfaction of seeing you behind bars," Jonah answered. "Now open your coat."

When he was satisfied that Oldfield was unarmed, Jonah handcuffed him and walked with him to the log cabin. The lean-to stable was empty; Goff had taken the mule and fled. His tracks were clear enough, and Jonah made a mental note of Goff’s most likely route out of Slagle Basin, but there was no point in immediate pursuit. It would take the best part of an hour for Jonah to fetch his horse and bring it up to this point. More importantly, he didn’t want to take off on a chase after a dangerous man while single-handedly watching over a prisoner. Jonah glanced at the brilliant blue sky, gauging the amount of daylight left, and started Oldfield on the walk back down. Jonah Durrell had no reason to hurry after Goff. He thought about getting back to Motherlode and seeing Miss Jenny and her girls again. Jonah smiled to himself.

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