of the dam and began walking carefully out onto the wall of logs. No doubt the rest of the gang were over there too, in the trees beyond the big pond that had been formed by the dam. Stars were beginning to twinkle into existence in the darkening sky above, and Longarm could see the pinpoints of light reflected in the calm surface of the pond. 'Lake' would have been a better word to describe the recently formed body of water, he thought; it was already larger than any pond he had ever seen. The surroundings reminded him a little of Lake Tahoe, down in Nevada, where a couple of cases had taken him in the past.
In the gloom, Longarm couldn't see the two men on the dam that well, but he thought they were Flint and Barcroft. They had just about reached the center of the dam. Longarm edged closer, using the brush for cover, and saw one of the men strike a match. The sudden glare of the lucifer revealed the craggy features of Jared Flint. Flint extended the match toward the other man, who was indeed Barcroft, Longarm confirmed. Barcroft held several sticks of dynamite that had been tied together. A single long fuse ran from the deadly bundle.
'I'll light it,' said Flint, 'and you wedge it down there behind that sluice gate lever.'
Barcroft nodded. 'All right, but don't waste any time gettin' off of here once the fuse is lit. It ought to burn for several minutes, but you can't never be sure about such things.'
Longarm drew his gun as Flint held the match to the fuse. It caught with a sharp, serpent-like hissing sound. Barcroft knelt to place the dynamite.
Longarm knew he couldn't wait for them to leave the dam, then run out there himself and pull the fuse. That would be cutting it too fine. He did the only thing he could.
He shot Barcroft.
It was getting too dark for any fancy marksmanship. Longarm aimed for the gunman's bulky body and squeezed the trigger. As the Colt bucked against his palm, Barcroft let out a howl of pain and flew backwards, driven off the dam by the impact of the slug. He fell into the waters of the pond with a huge splash, the dynamite going with him just as Longarm had hoped it would. The water put out the fuse and rendered the explosives harmless.
Flint twisted toward the sound of the shot and yelled a curse. He brought up a gun and blazed away at the spot where Longarm crouched. Longarm threw himself flat as bullets whipped through the brush above him.
'Somebody's over there!' shouted Flint to his men. 'Get him! Get the son of a bitch!'
More yelling came from the rest of the gunmen. Some of them started shooting across the water, their muzzle flashes winking like giant fireflies in the dusk, while others began running around the pond in an effort to close in on Longarm.
Meanwhile, Flint turned and dashed off the dam with the ease of a man who had spent quite a bit of time on such structures in the past.
Longarm thought bleakly that the foreman was probably going back for more dynamite.
On his hands and knees, Longarm crawled rapidly toward the dam. He didn't want to shoot at Flint's men because his own muzzle flashes would just give them something at which to aim. When he had almost reached the dam, he slid down the steep slope and wound up in the thick shadows underneath the flume.
Longarm moved under the flume in a crouching run and came out on the other side. Craning his neck, he looked up at the top of the dam looming above him. As he had feared, Flint was starting out onto the dam once more. Longarm was convinced he had brought more dynamite with him.
The hired killers were still throwing lead into the place where Longarm had been a few minutes earlier, but they weren't hitting anything except some tree branches. Longarm knew it wouldn't take them long to realize he had gotten out of there once some of the gunmen reached the far side of the pond. He went to one of the thick logs that supported the framework of the flume and wrapped his arms and legs around it. He began shinnying up the pole toward the flume itself.
As he climbed, he heard the sudden pounding of hoofbeats in the forest nearby. Someone yelled, 'Over there!' Longarm thought it might have been Matt Kinsman. A moment later, more guns began to bang. The dusk was lit by near-constant flashes of exploding gunpowder.
The help he had sent Molly and Wing for had arrived--and just in time too.
Longarm kept climbing. He leaned his head back and looked up, spotting the dark figure of Jared Flint atop the dam. Flint was fumbling with something, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what it was. Longarm lost sight of the man as he reached the flume itself. He reached up and caught hold of the trough's edge with one hand, then two. Pain shrieked in his back as he pushed off from the framework with his legs and dangled there for a moment. That bullet crease was not yet fully healed, and Longarm figured he had just torn it open again.
Pulling himself up with a grunt of effort, he swung a leg over the flume's edge and caught his heel on it. He was able to lever himself up and roll over, landing in the still-dry flume. The angle was extreme, but he began scrambling toward the top, even as Flint struck another match and moved it toward the fuse of the second bundle of dynamite.
'Flint!' Longarm bellowed, trying to startle the man into dropping the match or the dynamite or both. Instead, Flint jerked his head around to peer down into the flume, and in the light of the match, his features contorted with hate as he saw Longarm climbing toward him. With a sneer, he reached down for the sluice gate handle with the hand holding the match.
Longarm's eyes widened, and he threw all of his strength into lunging upward toward Flint. There was no time for gunplay now, only for a desperate grab. Longarm's hand shot out and closed over Flint's ankle just as the timber company foreman pulled the sluice gate.
Water slammed into Longarm and rocketed him back down the flume, but his fingers were still wrapped around Flint's ankle in a grip of iron. With a yell, Flint was jerked off the dam and crashed down into the flume just above Longarm. The force of the water carried both of them down the mountainside in a mad, careening ride.
Longarm's mouth was full of water. He spit out as much of it as he could and coughed up some more. The racing water, which was moving with enough force to carry huge logs down the flume, slammed him into the sides of the structure. He bounced off and kept going. He had ridden the rapids of some raging rivers in his time, and this experience was somewhat similar. There was nothing he could do except let himself go limp and hope the wild ride wouldn't kill him.
Something hit him in the head, but it wasn't the side of the flume. It was Jared Flint's work-booted foot. Flint kicked at Longarm again as he slid down alongside the lawman. The flume was wide enough for both of them to go flying down it side by side. Through the turbulent water that splashed in his face, Longarm saw Flint reaching for him, felt the man's fingers close around his throat.
