Rocky Mountain Retribution (The Ames Archives Book 2)

by Peter Grant

  * * *

  That night, Walt was preoccupied and distant. Rose left him in peace for a while, but at last could stand it no longer. “Dear, you’re treating me as if I were part of the furniture tonight. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, love,” he said contritely. “I’ve been thinking hard. I got two letters today from Fairplay. One was from Gideon, who works in the livery stable there, and the other was from Rosalva. It looks like your suspicions about Parsons were right.”

  “Oh?”

  “Someone of that name came to see Bart Furlong, and took him and his sons back to Salida. I’m told Furlong was real polite to him, as if he were his boss. I’d say that’s pretty close to confirmation of your theory.”

  “It sure sounds that way.”

  “Rosalva said one of Parson’s men, someone named Travis, came around to her cantina. He wanted to know what Furlong had done to make her kick him out. She told him, of course, and he asked whether she was going to try to get even. She says she acted scared, and told him she was too afraid of Bart Furlong to do that. She just wanted him to never come back to her place. He also asked whether she’d seen any strangers in town. She said strangers were always passing through. He asked about the time of the fire, so she told him two men stayed at her place for a couple of nights. They didn’t give their names, but their money was good, so she didn’t bother to ask questions. He asked for a description, and she gave a vague one. She told him they didn’t go out the night of the fire, but left next morning.

  “Next, he went to the livery stable and asked Gideon whether two strangers had left their horses there that night. Gideon figured he must already know something, so he told him yes, they had, but he didn’t know who they were. Travis asked him to describe them, and wanted to know whether they rode out that night. Gideon gave him a general description, nothing too close to us. He said he hadn’t seen them that night, but they’d pulled out the next morning, real early.”

  “Next day, Parsons, Furlong and the others rode out. Gideon said they talked in the livery stable while they saddled up. They were going to split up at Hartsel’s trading post. Travis would head east for the Divide, to find out what he could about the men we hanged. Parsons and the Furlongs would turn west, then south to Salida.

  “Rosalva gave a description of Travis, and Gideon of him and Parsons, as well as a third man riding with them. His name was Drake. He seemed to be Parson’s bodyguard—at least, he stuck to him like a shadow.”

  Rose nodded slowly. “So they still don’t know you had anything to do with what happened at the Divide, or in Fairplay?”

  “Sounds that way.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way! What if it doesn’t?”

  Walt shrugged. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, love. It may never happen. If it does, we’ll deal with it. I think I’ll go in early tomorrow morning, to talk to Isom again before he leaves. I’ll give him the descriptions of Parsons and his men. If he comes across any of them in Colorado City, asking questions about our wagon train, he’ll be forewarned.”

  “I think that’s very wise. What about the rest of Furlong’s men? Did they ride out too?”

  “Gideon says Parsons gave Furlong enough money to pay them off. He also promised he’d set up Furlong somewhere else. That sounds like Parsons provided the ranch Furlong was living on, to use it as a base. He probably also used it to receive mail secretly. He could give someone that address if he didn’t want them to know where he really lived, or if he didn’t want people in Salida to know about their letters.”

  “I get it. If Parsons is going to use Furlong somewhere else, does he have other people doing the same thing in other towns? Is Furlong only one of his men?”

  “I hate to think you’re right, but it’s possible.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it?”

  Walt thought for a moment. “I’m going to talk to Samson. You remember how he gathered information for us, by asking black servants and workers, people like Gideon, to pass along anything they heard? Most people talk freely in front of them. They figure they’re ignorant and unimportant.”

  She laughed. “That was to their cost, and our benefit.”

  “It sure was! I’ll make copies of the names and descriptions of Parsons and his men, and of the Furlongs, father and sons. I’ll ask Samson to pass them to all his contacts in the towns around here. They’re to tell us if they see them anywhere, and anything they hear anyone say about me. If we can build up a pattern of where they go and what they do there, that’ll help us figure out what to do next.”

  “I get it. Have you heard from any of the sheriffs yet, or from Wells Fargo?”

  “No, but I posted my letters less than a week ago. I don’t expect the first replies to reach me for a few days yet.”

  Travis rode wearily up to the farmhouse. It was painted a cheery white, with flower beds in front of the porch. A hitching rail for horses stood at one side of the building, where the animals wouldn’t drop dung on the grass that spread outwards to a couple of trees.

  As he hitched his horse to the rail, Parsons came to the door. He stood waiting while Travis slowly mounted the step and clumped across the wooden porch. “You look just about worn out,” he greeted his man.

  “I am, Mr. Parsons. We need to talk.”

  “Come inside.”

  Parsons led Travis to his study, calling to the housekeeper to prepare food and coffee for the new arrival. “Sho’ ’nuff, Mistuh Pahsons,” she called cheerily from the kitchen. “Welcome back, Mistuh Travis.”

  “Take a seat,” Parsons invited, and took one opposite his visitor. “What have you got for me?”

  “A whole lot, sir, an’ none of it good news. I think we got big trouble brewing.”

  “Start at the beginning, then, and tell me.”

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t learn anything at the Divide; just that four bodies had been found along the trail from the east, behind a clump of trees near a ford. They each had a label saying they were horse thieves and murderers. Three had been hanged, one had been shot. That one was interesting; the doctor said he’d been hit by a buck-and-ball round, like they used in the early days of the Civil War, in smoothbore muskets. He took a musket ball and two buckshot out of his body before they buried him.”

  Parsons frowned. “But smoothbore muskets have been out of date for years! I don’t know anybody who still uses one.”

  “It may not have been fired from a musket. Shotguns can fire ’em, too.”

  “You’re right. Very well, go on.”

  “Yes, sir. I spent three days criss-crossin’ the area, askin’ a lot of questions. Nobody had any answers. Still, I remembered what you’d said about the people from that wagon train at Colorado City. They might have done it, then gone up to Fairplay to get even with Bart Furlong. I decided to ride down to Colorado City an’ ask some questions there. Turns out it was a real good thing I did.”

  He paused while the housekeeper bustled in with a tray bearing two cups of coffee, a jug of cream, and a bowl of sugar. “Thanks, Liza. You just saved my life!”

  “Get on with you, Mistuh Travis!” She giggled as he pretended to pinch her, and retreated in haste.

  Travis added sugar and cream, then sipped at his coffee. “Aaahh! I needed that!”

  “About Colorado City?” Parsons prompted.

  “Yes, sir. I checked into a hotel, and started lookin’ around and asking questions. Seems the robbery made quite a stir there, because some of the locals had just asked the boss of that freight outfit to help them move their buildings over to the new town they’re building along the railway line. They reckon it’ll kill Colorado City’s businesses deader than dead.”

  His boss nodded. “I’ve heard about that.”

  “They were expectin’ to meet with him the next mornin’ to make arrangements. Instead, his wife came, along with a black man she introduced as part-owner of the business. She told them about the theft of some of their horses, an
d the death of one of their hands. She said her husband had taken some of his men an’ gone after the thieves, but that he’d honor anything they agreed that morning. They cut a deal with her, then she buried their dead man in the local graveyard before the wagons pulled out for Pueblo.”

  “What was her husband’s name?”

  “You ain’t gonna like this. He’s Walter Ames.”

  “Damnation! Not that Indian fighter?”

  “The very same, boss.”

  Parsons swore. “He’s got guts and fighting spirit to spare. He proved that in ’66, when he killed that Kiowa war chief. Since then he’s played his cards very well in Denver, proving he’s got brains, too. He arrived there with only a few thousand dollars, but invested them in all the right places. He seems to have an almost uncanny knack of knowing where to buy property or do business. As prices rose with the coming of the railroad, he made a lot of money. The livery stable he started grew into a small freight line.”

  “You don’t think he might have done the same as you, boss—paid people to listen out for news he could use?”

  Parsons regarded him with surprise. “Why didn’t I think of that? If I can do it, of course he could have done the same.” He sighed. “All right, go on.”

  “Yes, sir. Ames has moved his freight line to Pueblo. That was the wagon train you told Furlong to hit, to steal its mule teams.”

  Parsons swore again. “I didn’t know who it was—my man in Denver didn’t say. If I’d known Ames was involved, I wouldn’t have gone near those damned wagons!”

  “I figured so, sir. Anyway, if Ames went after Furlong’s men, I’d say it’s a sure bet he’s the one who killed them. He must have got past them somehow, and laid an ambush.”

  “You’re right. A man like that wouldn’t hesitate to hang them, not after Furlong’s men killed one of his.”

  “Yes, sir. I also figure he got one or more of them to talk. They would have told him about Furlong. Ames was a Rebel cavalry scout during the war. Their job was to go find the enemy and report back about them. It’d be as natural as breathin’ for him to head for Fairplay, to find out more about the man behind the raid. I reckon he’d also be sure to take revenge if he could. Burnin’ the place down while Furlong an’ his son was on a drunk in Fairplay would fit that.”

  “It certainly would—but that raises another question. A man like Ames wouldn’t just burn it down; he’d go through it with a fine-toothed comb first, to see what he could learn. Furlong said all the letters he was holding for me were burned up in the fire, but what if they weren’t? What if Ames took them before he started the fire?”

  “Would those letters tell him anything, boss?”

  “They’d tell him my name, and a lot of other things I’d rather not have widely known. They’d also reveal my connection with Furlong. There’s another thing. What other papers were in the house? I’ve told Bart time and time again to burn everything as soon as it’s no longer needed, but what if he didn’t? A man like Ames has the brains to put two and two together—and, as you said, he may have a network of people like mine, that he can put to work, to find out more about us. Dammit, Travis, you’ve got me worried now!”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  “Oh, don’t apologize. I should be grateful to you for bringing me early warning. Did you learn anything else?”

  “Yes, sir.” Travis finished his coffee with a gulp, and set down the cup and saucer. “While I was in Colorado City, three ox-wagons arrived to fill the contract Ames’ wife had made with the storekeepers. A black man was in charge. I tried to ask the teamsters some questions, but they all clammed up, as if they’d been warned not to talk to anyone. A couple of them told me to see their boss. I cleared out quickly, before word could get back to him about me, but I learned three things before I did. First, he’s a former sergeant in the 9th Cavalry, out of Fort Davis in Texas.”

  “A buffalo soldier, eh? Those men are fighters, not rear-echelon garrison troops. Even the Indians respect them. If he was a sergeant, he’d be better than most of them. They have to earn their promotions the hard way.”

  “Yes, sir. Second, he’s lost his right hand. He wears a hook on the stump. Remember what that deputy told us in Fairplay?”

  “Yes, dammit! One of the strangers there was black, with a hook on his right wrist. Rosalva and that stable hand didn’t say anything about that, so it’s a good thing you asked the deputy—and that he saw both of them on the street that one time.”

  “Yes, sir. Finally, I rode past their wagons on my way out of town, to see what I could see. That black man was sittin’ on a wagon seat, cleanin’ a break-action double-barreled shotgun. Remember that buck-and-ball load? That could have been fired from a shotgun.”

  Liza called from the kitchen, “Mistuh Travis, food’s ready.”

  “Go and eat,” Parsons said, waving his hand at the door. “Come back here when you’ve finished. I’ve got to think.”

  Travis needed no second invitation. He polished off two plates of ham, onion and baked bean casserole, washed down with more coffee. At last, replete, he thanked Liza and went back to the study. He found his boss seated where he’d left him, slowly rubbing his chin with his right hand, his brow furrowed with concern, deep in thought.

  Parsons looked up. “Sit down. I think you’re right: we have big trouble brewing. In fact, the time may have come at last to shut down the network.”

  “All of it, boss? After all this work, for so many years?”

  “Remember what I told you when we started?”

  “Yes, sir. You said it was better to make money in smaller amounts, from lots of smaller crimes, rather than try for a big score, because the big robberies attracted all the attention. You also said we couldn’t go on forever, so we’d better invest the proceeds in land and honest businesses against the time we had to stop.”

  “That’s right. That time may have come.”

  “Well, I figure you’ve proved yourself right every time so far, sir. By givin’ a few people all the information they need to steal lots of stock around the Territory, and takin’ only a third of the money for yourself, you’ve earned a lot over the past five, six years. I’m willin’ to take it on trust that you may be right again.”

  Parsons nodded. “I owe the four of you for that. I couldn’t have done it without trustworthy men to ride the circuit, collecting mail and money for me, and recruiting informers. Also, the biggest problem in dealing with toughs like Furlong is that they’d kill me as soon as look at me, if it was to their advantage. I avoided that in three ways. I proved I was tougher and more ruthless than they were, and better with a gun; I made myself indispensable to them, providing information they couldn’t get elsewhere; and I made sure they knew about you four. They all knew, if they did anything to me, you’d make sure they didn’t survive it.”

  “You made it worthwhile for us, sir. You’ve been real generous.”

  “And you’ll earn more in the coming weeks and months—a lot more. There’s a great deal to be done, and I’ll reward you well for it.”

  His man grinned. “Like what, sir?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re all together again. I’m going to send telegraph messages to Drake, Shelton and Morley. Morley’s the furthest away—he’s busy with a job for me in Arizona. I’ll tell him to drop it and get back here, but it’ll take him a while. We’ll meet here three weeks from now, to discuss all you’ve learned and what to do about it. I’ll take suggestions from all of you, then we’ll decide on a plan of action.”

  “Sure, sir. Er… there was one more thing, sir.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I was thinkin’ about Walt Ames. If he wasn’t around, would that reduce the risk?”

  “Yes, it would, but we might expose ourselves if we tried to kill him. Besides, he’s more than capable of defending himself. Let me think about that for a while.”

  After Travis headed for his room in the bunkhouse, Parsons turned to his desk, pulled a sheet of
paper towards him, and dipped his pen. He had informers and contacts in most Colorado towns—more than one, in the larger cities. He’d instruct his man in Pueblo to hire a couple of people to keep an eye on Walter Ames, and report regularly by letter, or by telegraph in an emergency. It would be a worthwhile precaution.

  * * *

  The lawyer’s offices were in a newly-erected building in the center of Pueblo. Walt smelled the odors of sawdust and cement as he entered, and noted that the last traces of construction had still not been removed. It was a useful reminder that Pueblo was growing almost as fast as Denver, although it was still much smaller.

  A smiling secretary ushered him into Henry Lee’s office. He stood as Walt closed the door behind him, and came around the desk to offer his hand. “Good morning, Mr. Ames. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Brown wrote to me from Denver to introduce you, and said I’d be hearing from you.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Lee. Yes, he recommended you to be our lawyer here in Pueblo. He said you went through law school with his son.”

  “That’s right. Jim and I became good friends.”

  They sat down in comfortable armchairs to one side of the desk in the spacious room. It was brighter than many other lawyers’ offices Walt had seen in Denver, paneled in a light wood, with two windows each on the east and south walls to let in the sunlight. Bookcases lined the west wall, filled with legal tomes.

  “First off, Mr. Lee, I need a lawyer for my business, Ames Transport, and to represent myself and my wife if need be. I’m also going to set up a horse ranch, a day or two’s ride outside Pueblo. For that, I’ll be buying property and breeding stock. I’ll be needing all the usual legal services. Given Mr. Brown’s recommendation, I’m not inclined to look anywhere else for representation, if you’re available.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure, Mr. Ames. I’ve only recently hung up my shingle here, so I’m looking for clients. You’ll find my rates very reasonable.”

  “Then let’s take it that you’re my attorney of record from now on. I’ll put you on retainer, if you’ll send me your standard contract.”