“If I may ask,” said Pardee, “why did you choose Telluride?”
“Because you sit in a box canyon with its only entrance and exit to the west. The situation that makes it ideal to block off his escape route if we don’t apprehend him during the attempted robbery.”
“I don’t like it,” said Oxnard. “The bandit is known to murder without batting an eye. I cannot put my employees at risk, nor will I have their blood on my hands.”
“I do not intend to have you or your people in the bank when and if the robbery occurs. Myself and one other Van Dorn agent will man the bank. Another agent will watch the trains coming in and out, since the bandit is known to escape his crimes by using a railroad freight car.”
“What about my customers?” Oxnard pressed on. “Who will tend to their transactions?”
“My agent and I are fully experienced in running the daily affairs of a bank. If the bandit steps up to a teller’s cage, we’ll be ready for him.”
“Do you know what he looks like?” asked Pardee.
“Except for the fact we know he’s missing the little finger on his left hand and he has red hair, we have no description.”
“That’s because he murders everyone who can identify him. You don’t have much to go on.”
“I still cannot bring myself to go along with this,” said Oxnard. “One of my customers could be in the wrong place at the wrong time and get shot.”
“We’ll take every precaution,” said Bell soberly. “There may be some risk, but this bandit must be stopped. He’s already killed over thirty people. There’s no telling how many more will die before we can apprehend him and stop the murders.”
“What can I do to help?” Pardee said, giving Oxnard a cold stare.
“Don’t patrol the bank with your deputies and scare off the bandit,” answered Bell. “Stand by—out of sight, if possible—but be ready to act in case he shows up. We’ll arrange a signal when he makes his play.”
Though Oxnard had his demons about the trap, Pardee was already imagining the notoriety he would receive if the bandit were caught in the act under his jurisdiction. As far as he was concerned, the debate was decisive and now it was over. He had only one more question.
“When is the supposed money shipment due?”
“Tomorrow,” Bell told him.
Oxnard looked at him inquiringly. “What about the shipment that’s already sitting in the safe for the real payroll?”
“Leave it in the safe. I guarantee, the bandit won’t get it.”
Pardee twisted the ends of his mustache. “Ever been in a mining town on payday, Mr. Bell?”
“I haven’t had the luxury, but I hear it can get pretty wild.”
“That’s true,” said Oxnard with a faint grin. “Every payday, all hell breaks loose from one end of town to the other.”
Pardee matched his grin. “Yes, the cribs will be busy until the miners have wasted their hard-earned money on whiskey and gambling.” He paused a moment and looked at Bell. “Where are you staying, in case I have to get in touch with you?”
“I’m staying at Mamie Tubbs Boardinghouse.”
“A good place to keep a low profile,” said Oxnard. “Mamie’s a fine old gal, and a good cook.”
“I can vouch for her stew,” Bell said with humor.
After breakfast, the meeting broke up. Bell and Oxnard thanked Mrs. Pardee for a fine breakfast. Then the three men stepped outside and walked toward town, Pardee leaving them when he got to his office and jail. Bell went with Oxnard to the bank to study its interior layout.
The floor plan was the same as a thousand other banks’. The bank manager’s office sat behind the teller’s cage, which was enclosed in glass except for the area in front of the cash drawers. This section of the counter was open through narrow bars. The vault was more like a large safe and stood in an alcove off to the side of the lobby. Bell learned that it was closed during business hours and opened only to withdraw currency or when all cash and coins were returned after closing.
“You don’t have a vault?” Bell said to Oxnard.
“Don’t need one. Payroll money usually goes up to the mines under heavy guard the second day after the shipment comes in.”
“Why the second day?”
“We need the time to make a count to verify the amount shipped from the bank in Denver.”
“So the bandit has a limited window of opportunity.”
Oxnard nodded. “If he’s going to make his play, it will have to be tomorrow.”
“Have you seen or had contact with any new depositors or people who simply walked into the bank and then walked out again?”
“A new superintendent for the Liberty Bell mine opened a checking account.” He paused to gaze up at the ceiling in thought. “Then there was a very attractive woman who opened an account. A very small account. Very sad.”
“Sad?”
“Her husband left her back in Iowa to strike it rich in Colorado. She never heard from him again, and the last thing she learned was from a friend, a conductor on the railroad. He told her that her husband left word he was going to Telluride to work in the mines. She came here in an attempt to find him. Poor soul. Chances are, he was one of the many men who died in the mines.”
“I’d like the name of the mine superintendent,” said Bell, “so I can check him out.”
“I’ll get it for you.” Oxnard went into his office and returned in less than a minute. “His name is Oscar Reynolds.”
“Thank you.”
Oxnard stared at Bell. “Aren’t you going to check out the woman?”
“The bandit has never worked with a woman—or any man, for that matter. He always commits his crimes alone.”
“Just as well,” Oxnard sighed. “Poor thing. She only opened an account for two dollars. In order to eat, she’ll probably have to work in a bordello, since jobs for women are scarce in Telluride. And those jobs that do exist are filled by the wives of the miners.”
“Just to play safe, I’d like her name, too.”
“Rachel Jordan.”
Bell laughed softly. “Her, you remembered.”
Oxnard smiled. “It’s easy to remember a name with a pretty face.”
“Did she say where she was staying?”
“No, but I can only assume it’s in a crib.” He gave Bell a sly look. “You going to look her up?”
“No,” said Bell thoughtfully. “I hardly think a woman is the Butcher Bandit.”
25
MARGARET WAS NOT ENDURING THE LIFE OF A PROSTITUTE in a crib on Pacific Avenue. She was living in style in the New Sheridan Hotel. After opening a small account at the town bank to examine the floor plan, number of employees and where they were located, and the type of safe, she made the rounds of the mining companies to make inquiries about a long-lost husband who never existed. The effort gave her story substance, and soon she became the source of gossip around town.
She went so far as to call on Sheriff Pardee with her bogus story, to see what kind of man he was face-to-face. Mrs. Alice Pardee came into the office when Margaret was asking the sheriff for his cooperation in finding her husband. Alice immediately felt sorry for the woman in the cheap, well-faded cotton dress who poured out her sad tale of the abandoned wife desperately seeking the man who had deserted her. Alice assumed that this Rachel Jordan was half starved and invited her up to their house for dinner. Margaret accepted and arrived in the same cheap dress, which she had bought in San Francisco at a used-clothing store for the poor.
That evening, Margaret made a display of helping Alice Pardee in the kitchen, but it was obvious to the sheriff’s wife that their guest was not at home over a hot stove. Alice served a homemade meal of mutton chops, boiled potatoes, and steamed vegetables, topped off by an apple pie for dessert. After dinner, tea was served and everyone settled in the parlor, where Alice played tunes on an old upright piano.
“Tell me, Mrs. Jordan,” Alice asked, pausing to change the sheet music, “where
are you staying?”
“A nice lady, Miss Billy Maguire, hired me as a waitress at her ladies’ boardinghouse.”
Pardee and his wife exchanged pained glances. Alice sucked in her breath. “Big Billy is the madam of the Silver Belle bordello,” she said. “Didn’t you know that?”
Margaret made a display of looking sheepish. “I had no idea.”
Alice bought Margaret’s lie, Pardee did not. He knew there was no way any woman could fail to recognize the difference between a boardinghouse and a bordello. The germ of suspicion began to grow in his mind, but his wife was swept by compassion.
“You poor thing,” she said, putting her arm around Margaret. “You’ll not stay at the Silver Belle another minute. You’ll stay here with Henry and me until you find your husband.”
“But he may not be in Telluride,” Margaret said as if about to weep. “Then I would have to move on, and I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Nonsense,” said Alice. “You march right back to Big Billy’s and bring back your things. I’ll make up the spare bed for you.”
Margaret went into her act and shed a few tears. “How can I ever thank you? How can I ever repay you?”
“Don’t give it a thought. Henry and I are only too glad to help a poor soul in distress. It’s the Christian thing to do.”
As she sipped her coffee, Margaret moved the conversation to Pardee’s job as sheriff. “You have to live an exciting life,” she said. “Telluride seems like an uninhibited town. You must be kept quite busy.”
“The miners can get pretty rowdy at times,” Pardee agreed, “but serious crimes like murder don’t happen but once every six months or so. It’s been peaceful since the union strikes by the miners two years ago, when the governor sent in the army to squelch the rioting.”
Margaret was slow and deliberate in her answers to Pardee’s questions about her missing husband. She in turn made general inquiries about the town and the mines. “A lot of money must pass through the bank to the mining companies,” she said casually.
Pardee nodded. “The payrolls can add up to a considerable amount.”
“And you never have a fear of robbers and thieves?” she asked innocently.
“The miners are a solid lot and rarely indulge in crime. Except for occasional fights in the saloons, or a killing when a confrontation gets out of hand, the town is pretty quiet.”
“When I was in the bank, I saw that the safe looked very strong and secure.”
“It’s strong, all right,” said Pardee, lighting his pipe. “Five sticks of dynamite couldn’t blow it open.”
“And the bank manager is the only one who knows the combination?”
Pardee thought it strange a question like that came from a woman, but he answered without hesitation. “Actually, the locking bolts are set to spring open at ten o’clock every morning. At three o’clock in the afternoon, the manager closes the door and sets the clock.”
“Someone at the Silver Belle told me Butch Cassidy robbed the local bank.”
Pardee laughed. “That was a long time ago. We’ve never had a bank robbery since.”
Margaret was leery of pushing too hard, but there was information she had to know if her brother was to carry out a successful robbery. “The miners’ payroll. Is it taken directly to the mining companies when it arrives?”
Pardee shook his head and went along with Bell’s story. “It came in today and went directly to the bank. Tomorrow, it will be counted and sent to the mines the next day.”
“Are there extra guards in the bank to protect the money?”
“No need,” said Pardee. “Anyone who tried to rob the bank wouldn’t get far. With the telegraph lines running alongside the railroad tracks, peace officers around the county would be alerted and posses formed to wait for the robbers when they tried to escape.”
“Then such a crime would be impossible to commit successfully.”
“I guess you could say that,” Pardee replied confidently. “There’s no way it could succeed.”
Margaret left the Pardee house and walked toward the Silver Belle. As soon as she was out of sight, she ran down an alley to the New Sheridan Hotel to pack her meager clothes. She felt pleased with herself and could not believe her luck. Staying with the sheriff and his wife would give her access to most of the town. When her brother arrived, she would have enough information for him to plan a foolproof crime.
Her only problem was the whereabouts of her brother. To her knowledge, he had not arrived in town, and tomorrow was the only day the payrolls could be robbed before they went to the mines for distribution to the miners. She began to feel extremely uneasy.
26
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, A BLACK-HAIRED WOMAN drove a smart-looking buggy pulled by a dappled gray horse on the road into Telluride. The road led from the ranching community of Montrose, a rail terminus for the Rio Grande Southern Railroad. She had arrived from Denver and rented the rig and horse at the local stable. She was dressed in a long buckskin skirt over a pair of pointed-toe leather boots. Her upper torso was covered by a nicely knit green sweater under a wolfskin fur coat. A lady’s-style flat-topped cowboy hat was set squarely on her head. She was fashionably attired for the West, but not ostentatious.
She came onto Colorado Avenue, passed the San Miguel County Courthouse, and pulled the horse to a stop in front of the town stable. She climbed down from the buggy and tied the horse to a hitching post. The stable owner came out and lifted his hat.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I wonder if you would please feed and water my horse. I have to be on the road back to Montrose this afternoon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the stable owner politely, slightly taken aback by a voice that had a gentle harshness about it. “I’ll take care of it. While I’m at it, I’ll tighten your front wheels. They look a mite loose.”
“You’re very kind, thank you. Oh, and by the way, my sister will come for the buggy and pay you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman left the stable and walked a block to the New Sheridan Hotel. She approached the desk clerk and asked, “Do you have a Miss Rachel Jordan registered here?”
The clerk shook his head, stared at what he saw as an attractive woman, and said, “No, ma’am, she checked out last night.” He paused, turned, and pulled an envelope out of a mail-and-key slot. “But she said if someone asked for her to give them this.”
The woman thanked the clerk, walked out onto the sidewalk, opened the envelope, and read the note. She stuffed it in her purse and began walking through town. After a short hike, she came to the Lone Tree Cemetery, on a hill north of the San Miguel River. She passed through the gate and walked among the tombstones, noting that most of the deceased had died from mine accidents, snow slides, and miner’s consumption.
A pretty blond woman was sitting on a bench beside a grave site, leaning back and sunning herself. Out of the corner of one eye, she caught the approach of another woman. She sat up and stared at the intruder, who stopped and looked down at her. Margaret began to laugh.
“My God, Jacob,” she finally gasped. “That’s the most ingenious disguise you’ve ever created.”
Cromwell smiled. “I thought you’d approve.”
“A good thing you’re short, thin, and wiry.”
“I don’t know why I never thought of it before.” He awkwardly bunched up his buckskin skirt and sat down on the bench next to Margaret. “Tell me, sister dear, what have you learned since you’ve been here?”
Margaret told him how she became friendly with the sheriff and his wife. She handed him a sketch she’d made of the Telluride First National Bank’s interior and a description of the employees. Her report included the arrival of the payroll shipment from the bank in Denver and the counting today before it was sent to the mines tomorrow.
Cromwell looked at his watch. “We have one more hour before the bank closes. The best time to remove the currency and leave t
own.”
“I spotted a man hanging around the railroad depot. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I suspect he might have been a Van Dorn agent who was on the lookout for you.”
Cromwell looked thoughtful. “Even if Van Dorn sends agents to watch train arrivals and departures during payroll shipments, they’re only chasing a phantom. No way they could know where I’ll strike next.”
“If they’re wise to your boxcar, it’s a good thing you had it repainted.” She looked at him quizzically. “Just how do you expect us to make a clean escape after you rob the bank?”
Cromwell grinned wolfishly. “Who would suspect a pair of clean-cut, attractive ladies riding slowly out of town in a horse and buggy?”
She placed her arm around his shoulders. “The simplest plan is the best plan. You are brilliant, brother. You never cease to amaze me.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” he said, rising to his feet. “We don’t have much time. The payroll awaits.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Go to the stable and pick up my horse and buggy. I told the stable owner my sister would come by to get the rig. Then wait at the back door of the bank.”
WHILE IRVINE watched the train station and town railyard, Bell and Curtis manned the Telluride Bank. Sitting in Murray Oxnard’s office, Bell began to think he had bet on the wrong horse. There were only ten minutes left before closing time and no sign of the bandit. Playing the role of a teller, Irvine was getting ready to close out his cashbox in anticipation of waiting on the last customer.
Bell glanced down at the .45 Colt automatic he’d kept in an open desk drawer and regretted that he would not get to use it on the Butcher Bandit. Blowing the scum’s head off was too good for him, Bell mused. Not after he had murdered so many unsuspecting people. His death would save the taxpayers the expense of a trial. Now Bell was faced with admitting defeat and starting over again with the meager clues he and his agents had ferreted out.
Irvine walked over to the office door and leaned his shoulder against the frame. “I can’t deny it was a good try,” he said with a tightness in his voice.
The Chase Page 18
