by Daniel Knapp
Good Lord, they are so high-handed in their business and banking dealings! Were it not for the intricate financial relationship between Adams and Company and Blue Star, I would take my account to another bank just to show them what I think of their haughty attitude!
When I think of it, it is strange how little the figure $450,000 registers with me. That, as they say, is "what I am worth" according to the last account. Does that astonish you? It does me. I am unable to grasp what that much money means, beyond the knowledge that I have at my disposal wherewithal unimaginably beyond that available to the average person. And that when fate ordains, I will have more than enough financial strength to deal with Mosby.
It seems ironic to me that I could hire, through third parties, Murietta — whomever, a half-dozen assassins — to find and kill Mosby tomorrow, for far less than I now have. But I could not even begin to entertain such thoughts. It seems clear to me that it would be morally different from taking revenge with my own hands. Perhaps such a distinction would seem like splitting hairs to some, but it is not to me. Moreover, it would seem to be injudicious to reveal to anyone my part in whatever happens to Mosby. How could I avoid that, and subsequent entrapment — perhaps even the gallows — if I hired someone to kill him? And now that I have focused sharply on the subject again, after weakly allowing my determination to wane, the urge to do him in by my own hand is so strong it alone would preclude paying someone else to do it.
God, I cannot believe it! Just thinking about Mosby again for more than a few seconds after so long has my hands trembling. I swear I will not let the matter drift again. I cannot wait until Murietta returns!
Forty-nine
Esther was picking tomatoes in the new, expanded garden between the ranch house and a stream that ran across the quiet, northwest corner of her property. She had just worked out a way to introduce the subject of Mosby to Murietta, when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. They were rapid, and they echoed ominously from beyond the edge of the pines. She had been concerned about Murietta. He was several days overdue. And now, as she saw him clear the line of trees without slowing, her pulse rose.
He veered when he saw her and reined up his snorting, lathered horse so abruptly he almost pitched out of the saddle.
"There is little time," he said dismounting.
"What's happened?"
"They are sure I am a man called Joaquin Ocomorenia, or another bandit who calls himself Murietta."
"Who does?"
"A man, a peace officer named Love. Colonel Harry Love. He and a band of—how do you call them?—rangers, have been scouring the area around Chinese Camp, watching the roads between Sacramento and Placerville, Coulterville, looking for the outlaws. I took the southern route, as I promised. But someone at the place where I stayed in Merced believed me to be Ocomorenia, went to the alcalde, and they locked me up and sent for Love. I gave the man who sweeps out the jail, a mestizo, a pouch of gold for the keys hanging on the wall. The alcalde came back, and I had to shoot him to keep him from killing me and the mestizo."
"Oh, God!"
He put his arms around Esther and kissed her. "There is no time, querida. I am certain I have no more than half an hour on them."
"Where will you go?"
"I do not know. South first, through the mountains. Perhaps across them and then north. I will make up my mind as I go."
"They will listen if Senator Frémont—"
"Frémont is not even at his ranch. And I may have killed a man. They are out for blood."
She was torn between an instant, blinding awareness of how much she needed him and the certainty that he had to run, leave her for God knows how long.
"Wait," she said, running to the house and motioning him to follow. He got up in his saddle and waited at the front door, watching the line of trees and then hearing the low, distant rumble of more than a dozen horses. She came back out quickly, handing him a fistful of bills and stuffing a chunk of dressed beef into his saddlebag. He gave her the papers he had brought, then leaned over and kissed her fiercely before wheeling around and galloping toward the mountains. She dropped the papers and sobbed. Collecting herself, she was ready when the thirteen men carrying rifles burst out of the woods and stopped.
Esther watched for a moment as they examined the open ground looking for tracks. Casually, she bent over to pick up the two dozen or so letters, ledger-entry copies, and bills of lading that had scattered in a wide circle after Murietta rode off. She picked up three of them, then stood holding one hand to her back as the men rode up slowly, their attention shifting from her to the house, then to the cottage where old Marianita and her husband, Emilio, stood watching.
Esther had started to bend over again to pick up another piece of paper when the rangy man with the light-brown handlebar moustache, battered top hat, and mud-splattered yellow slicker got down off his horse. She stopped halfway through the movement, put her hand to her back again, and winced.
"Would one of you gentlemen help me, please? I'm afraid I have wrenched my back and…"
The rangy man wore a small, official metal shield. He turned and motioned rapidly to three men, who dropped from their saddles and began chasing the papers, now blowing in another gust of warm wind.
"Name's Love, ma'am. Colonel Harry Love. Looking for a man rode this way. Little taller than you. Mexican. Seen him?"
"Why no, Mr. Love." She turned and pointed to the paper that was farthest away. "Please don't forget that one." She turned back to Love. "You and your men look parched. Can I get you something to drink?"
Love stared at her for a moment. He turned and pointed two fingers at another man. "Take a look down there around the corral and them sheds." He tilted his head at still another deputy. "Take Willens, there, with you."
"Yessir." The two men wheeled and, drawing their guns, loped back toward the outbuildings.
"Marianita," Esther called. The old woman came running. "Fetch these men some water, please."
"Thank you, ma'am," Love said. "Tracks lead straight here. You sure you haven't seen anyone?"
"Seems I would have. I've been out here working in the garden…"
"With correspondence?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Workin' in the garden with them letters?" He smiled coldly.
"Why, no. They were in my apron pocket. What do you mean?"
"Nothing, ma'am. Nothing. Fell out of your pocket, did they? Blew all the way here to the front of the house? You don't mind if we search the servants' quarters over there, do you?"
"They fell when I came back to…" Her voice trailed off as she watched the two men Love had waved over to Marianita's cottage stop and take a long look at old Emilio. "Do you always behave so rudely?" she asked, conscious now that her heart was beating rapidly.
Love was looking at the ground near her feet. "Sorry, ma'am, but the man we're looking for has killed a number of people. Highwayman. You understand."
"I see. Would you like to search the house?"
"Judgin' from these hoofprints, yes."
She looked down at the tracks Murietta's Appaloosa had left. "They're fresh, aren't they?"
Love stared at her again. "Yes, ma'am, they are."
"You think I'm concealing someone?" She wondered how many minutes had passed, how much time she had gained for Murietta.
"Didn't say that, ma'am. Now, if you don't mind, I'll just take a look around…"
"You just walk into my house, into my home," she said, stalling as much as she could, any way she could, "and I have to stand still for it?"
"Ma'am," Love said, exasperation beginning to show in the set of his face. "You might not have noticed him. Could have snuck into the house while you were out here. Might be hiding somewheres."
"I doubt that." She calculated how long it would take them to look through the ranch house. "But do go in and see for yourself."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Just one moment… I believe I left some… unmentionables… on my bed.
I would like to put them away before you enter."
"Certainly, ma'am. But be careful."
"I'll just be a moment." Marianita waddled out with a wooden bucket of water and a ladle.
"Much obliged, ma'am," Love said, sipping as Esther backed slowly in through the doorway.
She was in her bedroom, peering out from beside the window, when one of Love's men ran around from behind the house.
"Fresh tracks, same as these. Headin' east."
"Let's go," Love barked, dropping the bucket at Marianita's feet.
Back outside, Esther put one arm around Marianita and wiped at the old woman's tears. "It's all right. They'll never find him. I just know it." She hated herself for not believing what she was saying.
They both turned when they heard the low whistle from the direction of the pines. Murietta sat there on his Appaloosa, barely visible behind a low-hanging branch. He waved, and she could see the white of his teeth as he grinned in the sunlight. He wheeled then and was gone, back in the direction from which the posse had come.
Esther smiled. Until Mosby finally crossed her mind once more, and the numbing certainty suddenly came over her that she would never see Murietta again.
Fifty
The poster hung on the varnished, wood-paneled wall of the new Wells Fargo Express depot in Sacramento:
$5000
REWARD!
For the Capture
of the Bandit
JOAQUIN
Alive or Dead
Sitting in the waiting room, Esther put her arm around little Moses. She stared at the "wanted" poster and thought of the dozen crimes reportedly committed by Murietta during the two months since she had last seen him. She laughed to herself at the absurdity of at least some of the charges. On several days, bank and stage robberies that had taken place hundreds of miles apart and hour or two one another had been attributed to him. A pamphlet written by a San Francisco journalist claimed that Murietta was a Mexican miner of good breeding who had turned to crime in revenge. A band of prospectors had raped his young wife. The Americans had in turn hanged his brother. They had left Murietta for dead after lashing him to a tree and whipping him for an hour.
Barnett had shown her the pamphlet at dinner in a restaurant on K Street the night before.
"It is patently ridiculous," Esther said, wondering if there was any way to enlist Barnett's aid in contacting Murietta. The idea seemed totally improbable.
"Obviously a fiction. But the business about the whipping is an extraordinary coincidence. The man who wrote it is talented, but taken to gambling. He's so heavily in debt he would probably write anything to turn a dollar."
"Is there anything we can do to help Joaquin?"
"I'm afraid it's hopeless," Barnett sighed. "Now that the Merced alcalde is dead…"
"But Joaquin was not the man they were looking for in the first place!"
"That no longer matters to those who are hunting him. I understand how it all started, but I'm only one voice." He saw the tears brimming in Esther's eyes. "Esther, I promise you I will do everything within my power to see that Murietta is taken alive."
Esther absently fingered the gold watch hanging from her neck. It was all she had left of Murietta. She doubted either she or Barnett would ever see him again. Murietta was wily enough to know that even the best lawyer in California could not save him from the gallows now. She was certain he would never allow himself to be taken alive.
For a moment the thought of him dead and the task ahead of her with little Moses became too much to bear. Barnett didn't know anything about Moses, was not aware that Esther even had a son. She had purposely kept it from him and almost everyone else. Now she had the sudden urge to share the secret, to relieve herself of some, any part of the mental burden she was carrying. She was about to tell him about the boy, reveal that an elderly woman was watching over him at the hotel, and that she was taking Moses north to enroll him in school. But then the waiter came to clear the dishes and bring them coffee. It is too complicated, she thought. She was too tired to parry the questions Warren would ask about Moses' father.
"You are going to Marysville to look at property?" Barnett said, interrupting her thoughts.
"Yes," she answered, suddenly thinking she might do just that after she had taken Moses north to the school. Perhaps it was time for her to be away from the mountains, away from direct involvement with the gold. It occurred to her that if she moved, she might persuade Miwokan and Solana to come with her. If she could, it would prove that she had no intention of dropping them from her life now that Moses was no longer with them. And it might spare them any more heartbreak. She was suddenly aware that Barnett had asked her a question. "I'm sorry, Warren. I wasn't listening. What did you say?"
"I asked if you are taking the new Wells Fargo stage to Marysville?"
"Yes, I thought I would have a look at Adams's competition."
"I'll be interested to hear what you have to say. I've heard glowing reports, but Adams is too powerful to be threatened by them, I would think."
Unconsciously, Esther seized on the welcome distraction the subject of Wells Fargo provided. Concentrating, she suddenly hit on an idea. "Too powerful now."
"What are you getting at?"
"When will the Blue Star merger with Pacific Mail Steamship be official?" she asked.
"In a matter of days, I would think. A week at most."
"And if Wells Fargo becomes a serious rival to Adams, it will be a dog-eat-dog affair. Wells Fargo will need cash to survive, to gain an enduring place here in California."
"True… but what is your point?"
"I was just thinking," Esther said, weighing, sifting, calculating. "If they do become serious rivals, and we joined forces with them—became partners by providing the cash they will need—the combination of Blue Star, Pacific, and Wells Fargo would be the foundation for a mail, express, and banking company of even greater power than Adams."
Barnett raised his eyebrows and whistled. "My God, Esther. Is there no end to the things that marvelous brain of yours can imagine? It's a marvelous idea. It will bear watching, careful watching. But I'll speak of it to William when I return to San Francisco."
Absorbed, Esther's mind was still ticking. "We might want to assist them in the early stages, help them reach the status of serious competition more quickly."
"I don't see how… The risk… We rely heavily on Adams."
"It could be done secretly."
"But how…?"
"There are numerous independent mail and express companies operating in the shadow of Adams…"
"Such as Todd's."
Esther smiled to herself. "Wells Fargo would need immediate cash to do it, but if the new company absorbed some or all of the smaller operations…"
"Ingenious!" Barnett exclaimed. He calculated for a moment. "Why, they'd become a threat to Adams almost overnight."
And Alex could take a step to even greater success, Esther thought. "We would need someone we can trust, someone who had proven himself to us, on the inside, to look out for our interests."
Barnett thought for a second. "Todd. He has done an excellent job for us, don't you think? He would be perfect. Part of the arrangement might be that he be given a substantial managerial job in the enlarged firm. If he's willing to be bought out."
"I have no mind for such decisions," Esther said casually, positive that Alex would leap at the chance to tangle on even terms with his brutally competitive rivals. "I have nothing but praise for Mr. Todd, but I would leave that choice up to you and Bill."
Esther smiled now, thinking about the maneuver, as the Wells Fargo stage pulled in. Five minutes early. It was almost certain that Barnett and Kelsey would choose Alex, if such a merger ever took place. And Alex's impression that it had been the idea of his good friends, Kelsey and Barnett, would be sustained. For the time being, however, she would see for herself if Wells Fargo was all it was cracked up to be.
She watched as four Chinese and
two heavily rouged women emerged from the stage and came into the waiting room. There were no complaints. Esther listened as the courteous clerk explained a schedule to one of the Orientals. She glanced at the "wanted" poster, felt a pang of longing, then fought it off by turning her attention to the two men coming down off the driver's seat of the stage.
Waiting for a moment to observe the care and efficiency of the firm's freight-handling, she gathered up little Moses as the driver took their bags, and they walked out to the open stagecoach door. In minutes they were at the magnificent new Embarcadero levee, waiting for the ferry to take them across the river. On the ride north through what had once been Sutter's enormous land-grant from the Mexicans, Esther's bitterness over Murietta was replaced by resignation and a small measure of thanksgiving. At least he was still alive. Then melancholy superseded her faint hope that Murietta would continue to elude the persistent hunting of Harry Love and God knows how many others.
She turned to little Moses. The suit, shirt, and shoes she had bought him the day before fit perfectly, seemed almost made to order. Still, they did not look right. They fit him physically but in no other way. With his longish black hair and permanently wary dark eyes, the predominant impression he gave was of a subdued but still wild creature trapped in a tight cage.
He looked at her now and then, expressionlessly. Most of the time he gazed out through the window, intently studying the countryside slipping past. She wondered if he was storing the route in his mind, preparing himself to retrace it if he could escape from the school. He had not uttered a word to her since the painful parting at the village.
