The Highbinders

by Matt Braun

  “It’s simple enough,” Tallman said with ominous calm. “I want some information. You answer my questions and I’ll stop the train at the next town. A doctor will have you patched up in no time.”

  “You on the square?”

  “I suppose you’ll have to take my word, won’t you?”

  “Awright.” Porter spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Who hired you to blow the railyard?”

  “Harlan Ordway.”

  “What about the other bombings?” Tallman demanded. “Was he behind those too?”

  “Yeah,” Porter said, his voice clogged. “Tonight was our fourth job.”

  “Why the Southern Pacific?” Tallman’s expression was wooden. “What was his purpose?”

  “I dunno,” Porter grunted, shook his head. “Never asked and he never told me. Strictly a cash-and-carry deal.”

  Tallman’s eyes hooded. “What about the Settlers’ League? Major McQuade?”

  “I never heard of neither one.”

  “How about the strip of land southeast of Bakersfield? What’s that got to do with Ordway and the bombings?”

  Porter gave him a walleyed look. “What land?”

  “Don’t dummy up on me.”

  “I ain’t!” Porter’s face suddenly went chalky. “Jesus, how far’s the next town? I’m hurtin’ bad, awful bad.”

  “You haven’t told me about that strip of land.”

  “I done told you all I know.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “Why would I—”

  All the blood leeched out of Porter’s features. An icy shudder swept over him and the light went out in his eyes. His mouth opened in a long sigh and his sphincter voided with a stench. One boot heel drummed the floor in after-death. Then he lay still.

  Tallman cursed and quickly checked for a pulse. After a moment he stood, holstering the Colt, and walked to the door. He stared out into the night, assailed by a sense of time running ahead of him. Without a witness, he was stalemated, back where he’d started. Worse, he’d established no link between Ordway and McQuade, the Settlers’ League and the railroad. And he had only himself to blame.

  SIXTEEN

  Vivian was beside herself with worry. For the past two nights, Ordway had courted her like a schoolboy afflicted with puppy love. He’d squired her around town, treating her to lavish dinners complete with champagne and candlelight. Her hotel suite was so filled with flowers it resembled a botanical garden. And not once had he attempted to force himself on her.

  She thought it was too good to last. Time was the enemy, and her coy response to his advances was fast losing its charm. Tonight she was dressed in another off-the-shoulder gown, and the candlelight cast a creamy, alabaster glow over her full breasts. Yet, for all her seductive efforts, Ordway was in a bearish mood. He sat across the table, swilling champagne, and his eyes were etched with a look of mounting frustration. She knew he wouldn’t wait much longer.

  Harlan Ordway, however, was only part of her dilemma. Her greater concern centered on Tallman’s strange disappearance. Yesterday, operating in disguise, he’d undertaken surveillance of the southside saloonkeeper. Last night, when he hadn’t returned to the hotel, she was only moderately worried. A surveillance often turned into an around-the-clock job, and she naturally assumed he’d stuck with the suspect. But today the newspaper had bannered the story of last night’s bombing in Fresno. Since it involved the railway yards, she quite reasonably believed there was a connection with Tallman’s unexplained absence. All the more worrisome, the newspaper revealed that the bodies of two men had been found along the tracks, some miles south of the railway yards. So far neither of the dead men had been identified.

  Vivian was forced to consider a grim prospect. It was entirely possible that Tallman had tailed the saloonkeeper to Fresno, and witnessed the bombing. Then, carrying the premise a step further, it was equally plausible that Tallman had suffered a mortal wound in the act of killing the saloonkeeper. She was filled with dread and uncertainty, and some part of her refused to believe he was dead. Yet, however grisly, the likelihood was too real to ignore. It would account for two unidentified bodies—and Tallman’s disappearance.

  Unnerved by the prospect, Vivian clung to a faint hope. She loved him deeply, and though to her religion was a sometimes thing, she prayed for his safe return. Still, in the event he was dead, that merely underscored the need to get on with the investigation, and bring down the man responsible. Harlan Ordway spent three days showing her land and three nights trying to cajole her into bed, but she hadn’t uncovered an iota of evidence. She sensed that it was tonight or never. He was grumpy and disillusioned, and only a bold play on her part would reverse the situation. She decided to risk everything on a daring gambit.

  “Harlan?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m worried about my investment program.”

  “Do we have to talk business?” Ordway said with a flare of annoyance. “I get quite enough of that during the day.”

  “That’s just the point!” Vivian exclaimed. “We’ve wasted the last three days—and all for nothing.”

  “Wasted!” Ordway looked up sharply. “At some personal expense, I’ve ignored my own business affairs and devoted myself to your interests. I hardly consider it time wasted.”

  “Oh, pshaw!” Vivian’s tone was light and mocking. “You needn’t be so touchy. I only meant to say we haven’t found any suitable land.”

  “No fault of mine,” Ordway grouched. “I’ve shown you most of Kern County and quoted you prices lower than the going rate. You’re a very hard woman to please.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Vivian smiled, as if sharing a private joke with herself. “I’m particular in all things, investments as well as men.”

  Ordway grunted, and tossed off a glass of champagne. “I’d be the first to vouch for that.”

  “Don’t be nasty,” Vivian chided him. “The fact remains, you’ve shown me most of Kern County, but not all.”

  “You’ve seen all that amounts to anything.”

  “I wonder.” Vivian stared at him questioningly. “Before you arrived this morning, I was waiting in the lobby and a gentleman engaged me in conversation. One thing led to another and we began talking land. He suggested I look southeast of town.”

  “Southeast?” Surprise washed over Ordway’s face. “Who was he?”

  “I’m terrible on names,” Vivian said ingenuously. “But he seemed to know what he was talking about. He said the land there is undervalued and represents an excellent long term investment.”

  “Nonsense,” Ordway said gruffly. “Why do you think I haven’t shown you anything to the southeast? It’s practically a desert, absolutely worthless.”

  Vivian lifted an eyebrow. “Harlan, answer me truthfully. Do you own land there?”

  “Well . . .” Ordway paused, cleared his throat. “I own a few parcels, strictly a speculative venture.”

  “There, you see!” Vivian looked hurt. “It’s a good investment after all! You haven’t been candid with me, Harlan.”

  “No, I assure you,” Ordway said evasively, “it’s not what you think.”

  “Now you’ve gone and spoiled everything.”

  “What do you mean? Spoiled what?”

  Vivian put on her best pout. “I had plans for tonight.”

  “Plans for”—Ordway’s lips peeled back in a weak smile—“for later?”

  “Yes.” Vivian lowered her voice, eyes downcast. “But I could never . . . be friendly . . . with a man who doesn’t trust me. I simply couldn’t.”

  “I do trust you.” Ordway flushed with ardor. “I swear it.”

  “Then you’ll tell me about the land—no secrets?”

  “I might,” Ordway said gingerly. “Later tonight, perhaps.”

  Vivian knew what would happen at the hotel. The thought was repulsive, but she had exhausted her options. It was time to negotiate with sex.

  Only one lamp was lighted in the
suite. The wick was turned down and the sitting room was bathed in an umber glow. Ordway had her pinned in the corner of the sofa, and his hands were busy. He’d consumed enough champagne to embalm a corpse, but with no apparent effect on his passion. His kisses were wet and a hard knot bulged his trousers.

  “Oh, really!” Vivian squirmed part way loose. “You’re so impatient, Harlan!”

  “Your fault,” Ordway muttered. “You made me wait forever.”

  “Now, behave yourself!” Vivian tweaked his nose. “We haven’t had our talk yet.”

  “Talk?”

  “Yes, about the land.”

  “Later!” Ordway feverishly kissed her neck. “I need you now!”

  “You promise?”

  “On a stack of bibles!”

  “Well . . .”

  Vivian dropped the front of her gown with a quick tug. Her breasts stood out proudly, coral-tipped and beautifully shaped. Ordway stared at them a moment, pop-eyed with wonder. Then his mouth opened and he buried his head in the warm mounds. His lips closed over a nipple and he sucked like a greedy bee drawing nectar. His tongue was slick and moist and never still.

  “Ooooh Harlan!” Vivian murmured. “You’re wonderful!”

  Her hand went to his trousers. She unbuttoned his fly and pulled down his shorts. His cock jumped out like a one-eyed monster, rigid and stiff. She grasped it and squeezed and began to stroke gently. He groaned and suddenly flopped back on the sofa, paralyzed with lust.

  “Harlan?”

  “Ummm . . .”

  Her hand bobbed up and down. “Why is that land a good investment?”

  “Ahhh, Jesus!”

  Her stroke quickened. “Tell me and I’ll kiss it—the French way.”

  Ordway moaned. “A railroad charter.”

  “And you own the right-of-way?”

  “Ummm . . .”

  Her hand rode his rod. “How soon will it be built?”

  “Sweet Jesus!” Ordway hunched upward. “A year . . . less.”

  “And it’s certain to go through, absolutely certain?”

  “Yessss!”

  Her hand pumped three rapid-fire strokes. His cock quivered and suddenly spurted a thick milky jet of come up the front of his vest. There was a moment of stark silence. Then he exhaled a long sigh and opened his eyes. He looked down at his vest with an expression of doglike disbelief.

  “Ooh!” Vivian cooed. “What a shame!”

  His manhood shriveled, went limp in her hand. She neatly tucked him away and slipped the bodice of her gown up over her breasts. Then she graced him with a dazzling smile.

  “Don’t fret, Harlan. You’ll do better tomorrow night.”

  A short time after Ordway left there was a knock at the door. Vivian thought she was rid of him for the night and she uttered a soft curse. Searching her mind for a new excuse, she put on a smile and opened the door. Tallman stepped into the suite.

  Vivian’s heart almost stopped. She squealed with relief and threw herself into his arms. She was crying and laughing and peppering him with kisses all at the same time. He embraced her warmly and assured her he was still very much alive. She hung on, her arms locked around his neck, as though she might awake and discover it was all a dream. Finally, with some effort, he calmed her fears and got her seated on the sofa. She composed herself and listened while he talked.

  Tallman quickly recounted the events of the previous night. Following the shootout, and Porter’s confession, he’d tossed the body out of the boxcar. At Delano, a town further down the line, he had hopped off the freight train and checked into a hotel. Early that evening, rested by several hours sleep, he had boarded a passenger train and proceeded to Bakersfield. Under cover of darkness, he had made his way to the hotel and changed clothes in his room. Then he’d taken a seat in the lobby, waiting to make certain she was alone. The moment Ordway departed, he had come straightaway to the suite.

  “That’s it,” he concluded. “With Porter dead, we’ve got no proof that Ordway ordered the bombings. And nothing whatever that ties him to McQuade and the Settlers’ League. No witness, no proof and no case.”

  “But we’ve got a motive.” Vivian’s eyes glittered like candles in a pumpkin. “I persuaded Ordway to talk about the land southeast of town.”

  “Well?”

  “Hold on to your hat.” Vivian giggled. “Someone has a charter to build a railroad to Bakersfield. Ordway bought that land to provide a clear right-of-way.”

  Tallman stared at her in mild astonishment. “A railroad from where?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Vivian shrugged. “He wasn’t too free with details and I was afraid to push it. I quit while I was ahead.”

  “Hmmm.” Tallman watched her with an odd smile. “How’d you get him to talk?”

  Vivian’s laugh was low and infectious. “Let’s just say I conned him with a little femme and a little fatale.”

  “How much femme?”

  “Oh, enough.” Vivian’s eyes shuttled away. “I got my hands dirty, but my honor’s still intact.”

  “Say no more.” Tallman grinned and squeezed her leg. “Ordway will never know what he missed.”

  “Horny bastard!” Vivian said vehemently. “I had to promise him a return engagement tomorrow night. Otherwise he’d still be here!”

  “You’re off the hook,” Tallman said, suddenly sober. “I wired Otis Blackburn from Delano. In so many words, I let him know it had to do with last night’s bombing. He wired back and ordered us to San Francisco. We’re scheduled to meet with him tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What do you think he has in mind?”

  “I imagine he plans to roast our coals. As you’ll recall, our assignment was to stop the Settlers’ League . . . and the bombings.”

  “But the settlers aren’t responsible.”

  “Exactly,” Tallman nodded seriously. “So we have to convince him there’s more to this conspiracy than anyone suspected.”

  “Easy to say,” Vivian noted with an intense look. “But we’re still very much in the dark ourselves.”

  Tallman considered a moment. “Let’s try a bit of supposition and see where it leads. As an example, suppose someone wanted to break the Southern Pacific’s stranglehold on central and southern California. Wouldn’t the first step be to establish a competing railway line?”

  “It’s been tried before,” Vivian observed. “The Southern Pacific undercuts their rates and forces them into a price war and poof! There goes the competition.”

  “Let me rephrase the question.” Tallman’s features creased in a frown. “Suppose someone wanted to destroy the Southern Pacific in lower California? Not a rival railroad, no competition—but destroy them.”

  Vivian caught her breath. “It wouldn’t work without public support. So our theoretical ‘someone’ starts a farmers’ revolt and then nudges it along until it turns into a statewide rebellion. Am I close?”

  “Very close.” The lines on Tallman’s forehead deepened. “Someone bides his time awaiting an opportune moment. The Southern Pacific finally creates the perfect issue by attempting to evict the farmers in Hanford. At that point, Major McQuade appears Johnny-on-the-spot. He organizes the Settlers’ League and leads them into battle—a holy crusade against the Octopus.”

  “Complete with sabotage,” Vivian added. “The Southern Pacific blames the League for the bombings. And McQuade tells the settlers it’s a plot—the railroad sabotaging itself—simply to discredit the League. All carefully orchestrated to win public support and divert attention away from the ultimate objective: a new railroad.”

  “A really diabolical scheme,” Tallman said with a trace of admiration. “Well conceived and brilliantly executed, the work of a mastermind.”

  “Are you talking about Ordway?”

  Tallman was quiet, a long pause of inner deliberation. “Ordway will make a fortune on the sale of the right-of-way. Whether or not he’s the mastermind remains to be seen. A scheme this elaborate required someone with an ex
tensive knowledge of railroads.”

  “I almost forgot!” Vivian sat upright. “Ordway told me the railroad will be built in a year or less. Does that mean anything?”

  “I’d say it’s perfect timing. A year will allow the rebellion to spread and create a public outcry for a new railroad. Our ‘someone’ probably already has the roadbed surveyed.”

  “Sounds like they’re operating on a schedule.”

  “Yes, it all fits.” Tallman hesitated, slowly shaking his head. “One thing still has me puzzled though. Why a charter to the southeast? It would be a railroad to nowhere.”

  “Perhaps they don’t care,” Vivian said with a sweeping gesture. “Maybe it’s just a way to get a foot in the door and spread out from there. A bunco artist would call it the flash—the come-on!”

  “Highbinders employ somewhat the same tactic.”

  “Highbinders?”

  Tallman’s mouth curled in a sardonic smile. “That’s what these westerners call someone who’s underhanded and vicious by nature.”

  Vivian’s voice rippled with laughter. “I think you just described our employers.”

  “We’ll find out tomorrow—in San Francisco.”

  SEVENTEEN

  McQuade is nothing more than a front man.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Harlan Ordway’s the one we have to nail.”

  “You’re convinced he’s the ringleader?”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because everything dovetails.”

  Tallman and Vivian were seated in Otis Blackburn’s office. Late that afternoon they had arrived in San Francisco and gone directly to the Southern Pacific headquarters on Montgomery Street. From the outset, it had been apparent that the general superintendent was boiling mad. He held them responsible for the Fresno bombing.

  Thus far, Tallman had acted as spokesman. He’d delivered a report on their investigation, fitting the pieces together into a broad mosaic. Vivian had stayed in the background, saying nothing, all too aware of Blackburn’s contempt for lady detectives. She watched now as the two men stared at each other across the desk.

  “I agree,” Blackburn said at length. “Ordway’s admission to Miss Valentine corroborates everything you learned the night of the bombing. I regret you found it necessary to kill Porter. His testimony would have made our case.”