by Peter Grant
“That was Isom, suh. He said he wanted you where his guards could protect you while you can’t fight back properly. If you’re at the yard, that makes it easier for them. He reckoned you could always use the rooms for offices later, if you wanted to live somewhere else.”
“Oh! I suppose he’s right. I wouldn’t be able to fight very well just yet.” Walt was silent for a moment, then waved his hand around the room. “Sell all the furniture in here, or give it away to good people who can use it. I’ll take my belongings to the apartment, but I don’t want anything that Rose and I shared. The memories would be too painful right now.”
“Yes, suh. That’s why Bella bought you new stuff. I said it’d be expensive, but she said you’d want it that way.”
“She’s a wise woman. Tell her I said so.”
“Yes, suh. I’ve already had this place repaired, so you can hand it back anytime. D’you want me to see to that?”
“Yes, please, as soon as you’ve emptied it. Give the owner a months’ rent instead of notice.”
“I will, suh.”
Samson drove Walt to the graveyard. Rose had been buried while he was still in a coma. “We couldn’t wait, suh,” Samson had explained apologetically. “She–”
“Yes, I understand.” There was no way to store a dead body for long before decomposition set in. “I know you’ll have done it right.”
“We did, suh. We got the Methodist minister to do the service, an’ we chose the best spot we could. It’s next to a tree, so there’s shade. We bought a lead-lined coffin, ’cause we figured you might want to move her later. They can dig it up an’ re-bury it without disturbin’ her.”
“Thank you. That was well done. What did you do with Bart Furlong and his men?”
Samson scowled. “We left ’em to the town marshal, suh. He buried all four in a single pauper’s grave, with no coffins an’ no marker. Good riddance to them!”
Walt left Samson at the buggy, and walked down the row of graves to the heap of newly-turned earth atop Rose’s coffin. She had no headstone yet, that having been left for him to order to his own tastes. A painted inscription on a plain wooden headboard read simply, ‘Rose Ames’.
He stood there for a long time, trying to summon up words for a prayer, but they would not come. In the formerly warm, soft intimacy of his heart, where Rose had been, there was only the pain and emptiness of guilt and loss. At last he whispered, “I guess you can’t hear me anymore, darling, but… you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I reckon I helped kill you, though. Furlong would never have come after me if I hadn’t given him so much cause to hate me. I still can’t regret hanging his son and his men, but I shouldn’t have made it worse by burning down his house. I guess that was the last straw for him, driving him over the edge. Maybe that puts your blood on my hands, as well as Furlong’s and Parsons’.”
He straightened, adjusting his grip on the walking stick. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. I’ll go after Parsons, and everyone else who had a hand in your death, and make them pay for it. After that… I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
Slowly, reluctantly, sadly, he turned and walked away.
* * *
Two weeks after he woke up, Walt called Samson and Isom to meet with him in his office at the freight yard. They closed the door on the bustle outside, and got down to business.
“We took the liberty of openin’ your mail while you were sick, suh,” Samson told him. “I took care of everythin’ to do with the freight line an’ the yard. I gave Isom a few letters that seemed to be about your troubles with Bart Furlong and some others. Your private letters are in there, suh.” He indicated a manila folder on the desk.
“You did right. Thank you. Isom, what were those letters?”
“One was from Rosalva, suh. It got here two days after you was shot.”
He handed it over, and Walt scanned it quickly. Rosalva had relayed what she’d heard from Clementina. “So… that woman in Salida heard this about a week before Bart attacked us. It sounds as if Parsons didn’t expect or want that.”
“That’s the way I read it, suh. I reckon Furlong found out about you some other way, an’ decided to kill you without tellin’ Parsons. By the way, suh, he’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, suh. I sent Sam to Salida the day after you was shot, with enough money for a few weeks. I told him to check whether Parsons was there, an’ if he was, to follow him if he went anywhere else. He says Parsons headed out the day before the fight. He ain’t been seen or heard from since then. No-one knows where he is. I’ve kept Sam out there, in case he came back.”
“I think he’s running or hiding. Wherever he is, we’ll find him sooner or later.”
“Yes, suh. I told Sam to ask around in town, an’ gave him money to pay for anything we can use. He’s got good descriptions of the four gunhands who work for Parsons. Rosalva already told us about two of them in Fairplay—Travis an’ Drake. There’s also Morley an’ Shelton.”
“That was good work. Tell Sam to come back. We need him here. Next?”
“There’s a letter from that Colorado Ranger, suh. He said he was real sorry to hear about what happened. He’s comin’ to see you next week. He’s got some news he says he can’t put on paper, suh. I wrote back to tell him you’d be well enough to see him by then.”
“Thank you. Did he give a date?”
“Yes, suh. I put it on your desk calendar.”
Walt glanced at it. Wednesday of the following week was marked, simply, ‘Dunnett’.
“All right. Next?”
“There’s somethin’ funny about the attack on your house, suh. That man—I think it was Furlong’s middle son, Ben—who shot through the side window of your house? He was shot three times with flat-nosed bullets from a Winchester or Henry rifle, suh. None of you was usin’ one o’ them. What’s more, the bullets went into his left side, so they was fired from the street in front of your house. I asked the marshal to check with the folks livin’ there. They all say they heard three fast shots from the street. Some of them saw a stranger standin’ there. It wasn’t anyone they knew. They said he ran off to the north as soon as he’d fired. We found three .44 rimfire cases in the street, suh.”
Walt shook his head in frustration and bewilderment. “Who the hell could it have been?”
“I’ve been wonderin’ about that myself, suh, but I ain’t got no idea. At least he killed Ben before he could shoot you as well as Miss Rose.”
Walt closed his eyes for a moment as a renewed wave of grief washed over him. He wondered whether he’d ever be free of the guilt and anguish of losing Rose. Right now, it sure didn’t feel like it. When he’d regained his self-control, he said quietly, “Well, whoever he was, I suppose we owe him for that. I’d like to find out, one day.”
He sat up. “Listen carefully, both of you, and make notes if you need to. We’ve got a lot to do in the next few weeks.
“Samson, I’m going to need all my time to hunt down the men behind this. That won’t leave me enough time to run this place as well. I’ve got two choices. I can let you take over everything, an’ run the whole business for a few months, maybe up to a year; or I can hire a manager to do the outside work, while you carry on as manager of this yard and the warehouse. What would work best for you?”
“Hire a manager, suh,” Samson said instantly. “I can do this job well, but I ain’t up to ridin’ all over Colorado to drum up more business, an’ go out with wagon trains once or twice a month to check on them—not all that, an’ keepin’ up with things here as well. The way you do it now, with two managers—me inside, you outside—works real well. Besides, suh,” and he flushed uncomfortably, “I’m black. To a lot o’ white folks, I’m ‘boy’ or ‘nigger’. They won’t take kindly to me behavin’ like I was you. You’ll do better to hire a white man for that.”
Walt nodded somberly. “You’re right, I suppose. All right, I’ll try to find someone. If you hav
e anyone in mind, tell me, because they’re going to have to work with you. I’m not going to make them your boss—that’ll still be me. They’ll work alongside you, not above you.”
“I ’preciate that, suh. Thank you. Uh… you might want to talk to Mr. Grolier in Denver. You remember we met him when we got there? He’s still runnin’ his own freight outfit. You never competed with him, ’cause he worked from Denver to other towns, an’ we only worked inside the city at first. That would have changed when we expanded, but you moved the whole outfit down here, so we still ain’t fightin’ him for business. Given that, he might be willin’ to suggest someone who could help you.”
“That’s a very good idea. I’ll write to him.”
Walt turned to Isom. “I owe you a whole lot. For a start, if you hadn’t brought Jacob and Sam to me, I might be dead now. How’s Jacob doing?”
“He’s gettin’ better, suh. The doctor says he was real lucky. He’ll be ready to ride in another couple o’ weeks.”
“Good. I’ll visit him this afternoon. As for you, you’ve stood by me all the way, ever since we met. You sided me up in Fairplay; you’ve been my strong right arm in figuring out what Parsons was up to; an’ now you’re going to help me learn to live with only one hand. I gave Samson a share of my freight business, because he earned it the hard way. I’ll do the same for you. You can have a share in my horse ranch, when I set it up; or, if you prefer, I’ll set you up with a part share of this transport outfit.”
Isom’s mouth hung open for a long moment, until he forced himself to close it. “I… I don’t reckon I did that much, suh.”
Samson smiled at him. “It won’t do you any good to argue, Isom. Once Mister Walt gets an idea in his head, he won’t be swayed. Matter o’ fact, I agree with him. I couldn’t have done what you’ve done for him. I’m real glad he’s had you around, these past few weeks. I reckon you’ve earned, an’ will earn, whatever he decides to give you.”
Isom gave in. “Thank you, suh. I’m grateful.”
“Don’t thank me until you know what I have in mind. First off, we’re going to war. I’m going to track down everyone involved in this, and kill them all. To hell with the law, and mercy, and everything else. Are you with me?”
Isom’s face hardened, his eyes like flint. “All the way, suh! I liked Miss Rose. They gonna pay for her.”
“They sure are! I’m going to treat this like an army scouting problem. I’ve got to figure out who our targets are, then find them, then attack them. I’ll work on that in three ways.
“First, I’m going to take several weeks—maybe even a few months—to find out all I can about them. Samson, I want you working with us on that. Ask every contact you’ve ever made for every scrap of information they can give you, and look for new ones, too. I’ll pay well for solid facts. I’m going to write to Rosalva, too. She seems to have friends in a lot of towns, and Mexicans are just like blacks—whites don’t pay them no never-mind. They’re in the background, almost invisible, and they hear a lot. I reckon, if I treat her right, she might bring me almost as much news as Samson has in the past.”
Isom nodded. “Good idea, suh.”
“I’m also going to milk Dunnett for everything he can tell me, and ask him to suggest other ways I can gather information. There’s no point in starting out until we’re ready. We need to know who and where our enemies are before we can hunt them down.
“Next, I need you to find me six to eight men, including yourself. They’ve got to be good fighters, good with their guns, and above all they’ve got to be disciplined. They’ve got to take my orders and do this my way, not theirs. Can you get me men like that?”
“You got three already, suh; me, Sam an’ Jacob. We’re all in this with you, all the way, whatever it takes.”
“Thank you,” Walt said simply. “Every man is on fighting wages as of right now—a hundred dollars a month and found. You’ll be my second-in-command, so you’ll get a hundred and fifty. I’ll pay the doctor’s bill for anyone who gets hurt, and pay his wages while he heals. When this is over, I’ll pay a bonus of a thousand dollars to every man who’s seen it through to the end. If anyone’s killed, I’ll pay his bonus to whoever he leaves it to.”
Isom’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you, suh. With pay like that, I can hire good men. I already know who I want. We’ll have about half white an’ half black, suh, an’ mebbe one Mex, if I can get him.”
“I’ll leave that in your hands. Get them here as soon as you can, and rent a house where all of you can live. Someplace outside town will be best, where gossips won’t see you together. While I’m gathering information, you’ll all work together and learn from each other, and practice with your guns a lot. The people we’re up against are good with theirs, so we’ve got to be better with ours. I’ll pay for the ammunition, of course.”
“Yes, suh.”
“Make sure everyone understands that we’re going to hunt people down and kill them. It won’t be safe work, or easy. Some of us may not come back.”
“Yes, suh. If we’re drawin’ fightin’ wages, that goes with the territ’ry. I’ll make sure everyone understands that.”
“Good. Third, I’m going to take up a lot of your time learning to cope with only one hand. I can’t even do up my own shoelaces any more, dammit!”
Isom chuckled. “It takes time, suh, but I already went through all that. I reckon I can speed it up for you.”
“I certainly hope so! I’ve already asked Shep to make me a new fore-end, like yours, for the second Winchester carbine we took from Furlong’s place. I’ll ask you to smooth over the action for me, like you did with yours, and help me master it, as soon as my stump has healed enough to be fitted with a hook. Now, I’ve got to read through all my back mail, and send a few telegraph messages. You two get on with your work, and leave me to do that. We’ll talk again soon.”
* * *
Dunnett arrived early on the following Wednesday morning. He wore nondescript trail clothing, very different from the city suit Walt had seen him wear in Denver.
“You look like you’ve come upon hard times,” Walt observed jokingly as they sat in his office, drinking coffee.
“I told the boss I was goin’ to help another Ranger chase a bunch o’ cattle rustlers,” Dunnett replied. His face twisted sourly. “I had to get out o’ the office, or punch him in the snoot. This was the easiest way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got pulled off investigatin’ those papers you gave me.”
Walt stared. “But you said they were valuable clues!”
“They were, but I reckon they’ve been burned by now. Someone high up got to my boss. He took ’em all, an’ told me to forget I’d ever seen ’em.”
Walt sat in grim silence for a moment, fighting down the fury welling up inside him; then he said simply, “Parsons.”
“I reckon so. I figure he’s got hooks into some of our politicians in Denver. If he greased the right palms…”
“Yeah. I get it.”
“That don’t mean I won’t help you, though,” Dunnett assured him. “I just can’t do it officially. I want these bastards as badly as you do, partly ’cause o’ them interferin’ in my work like that, but ’specially ’cause o’ what they did to you a few weeks back. I was real sorry to hear about your wife. I never met her, but I heard from folks who had, back in Denver. They said she was somethin’ special.”
“She sure was,” Walt said quietly. “They’re going to pay for that, the hard way.”
“Good. I reckon Parsons might even have enough pull, or be able to pay enough in bribes, to get off a charge of murder; so, I ain’t got no problem at all if you make him pay some other way. My boss may have pulled me off the case, but I still got a network of informers. I also got a few other Rangers who’ll tell me things, or do me favors, and ask no questions. I reckon, if you an’ I can figure out what to ask, an’ who an’ where to ask it, we might be able to find out what we need to know. I already got
something for you in that line.”
Walt sat up with a jerk, then winced as a stab of pain went through his still-recovering head. “Ow! What did you find out?”
“I saw that a lot o’ those telegraph messages about corn or hay came out o’ Denver. I figured Parsons might have had more than one gang workin’ like that, so I went to the telegraph company, an’ asked to see their register of messages for the past five years. I got a few people to help me sift through them. Guess what? Four people got a lot o’ messages like that. One was Furlong, but we don’t need to worry about him no more. Another was a guy named Muldoon in Fort Collins. There was also Wadsworth in Alamosa, an’ Sanchez in Trinidad. We—the Rangers—know all three names. They head their own gangs, an’ a lot of the people who work for ’em have spent time breakin’ rocks, behind bars.”
Walt nodded thoughtfully. “And in those places, they could each cover different territories without getting crossways with each other.”
“That’s how I see it, too. Tell you somethin’ else. Muldoon an’ Wadsworth have both vanished in the past couple o’ weeks.”
“The hell you say!”
“They each paid off their gunhands an’ left town. Muldoon rode off with two men named Morley an’ Drake. Wadsworth went with another two named–”
Walt interrupted him. “Let me guess. Travis and Shelton?”
“Now just how the hell did you know that?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment. What about Sanchez? Has he vanished, too?”
“No, he ain’t. I made sure o’ that. Y’see, when I heard about Muldoon an’ Wadsworth, I got me a funny feelin’. What if Parsons got spooked—maybe by Furlong tryin’ to kill you? What if he was tryin’ to tie off loose ends, and shut the mouths of everyone who might talk too much about him an’ what he’d been doin’? Y’see, those men ain’t been seen nowhere else since they left. I’m willin’ to bet Mr. Muldoon an’ Mr. Wadsworth are buried somewhere they won’t ever be found. After all, they do say that dead men tell no tales.”
