Mueller had a moustache, but no beard. He was in his late thirties, with a face that showed the effects of spending more time outside than in. He had a three corner scar on his forehead and a crescent shaped scar on his right cheek. His right earlobe was mangled and covered with crusty, dark red—almost brown—scar tissue. He had gray eyes, and dirty-blond hair, and as Blum had noted, stood no more than five feet two inches tall.
He blew away some of the foam, then turned the mug up and drained half of it before setting the mug back down. “You seen me walkin’, did you?” Mueller asked.
“Yes, sir, I been watchin’ you come up for the last ten minutes or so. I pointed you out to my wife over there,” Blum said. “Ain’t that right, Pearl? Didn’t I tell you we got us a customer comin’?” he called over to the woman.
“That’s what you done, all right,” Pearl answered, though without looking up from her sweeping.
“What happened to your horse, mister?”
“He stepped in a hole and broke his leg, so I had to shoot him.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that. I know folks tend to get real close to their horses. I sure have got close to mine. He’s not only fast, he’s got a heart so big he can run for hours without ever gettin’ tired.
“Yeah, well I ain’t goin’ to go all weepy eyed, and start cryin’ and blowin’ snot over it. It was just a horse,” Mueller said.
“Didn’t mean to imply that you would,” Blum said, somewhat taken aback by the callousness of the man’s response. “I was just sayin’, losin’ a horse is no easy thing, most especial if it leaves you afoot, like this here’n has done you.”
“That’s true, and it’s good you’ve taken note of that, ’cause, seein’ as you know all about it, now, I reckon you also know I’ll be needin’ a horse.”
“I figured you would,” Blum said. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that. Not directly, that is. But I got me a room in the back which I’ll let you use for no more’n a dollar, and that’ll include your supper and your breakfast. The stage comes through tomorrow mornin’ around nine, and it’ll take you on in to Piñon.”
“Piñon? Colorado?”
Blum laughed. “Piñon, Arizona. You’re in Arizona Territory now.”
“I’ll be damned. I didn’t know that.”
“No reason you should know it, what with no signs and all. Lots of folks comin’ through here don’t know if they’re in Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, or Arizona. That’s ’cause they’re all so close together right here. Anyhow, like I was sayin’, it’ll only cost you a dollar to stay here for the night, an’ you can go on into Piñon tomorrow and buy yourself a horse.”
“I won’t be stayin’ here, ’cause I ain’t goin’ into town,” Mueller replied.
“What are you talkin’ about, mister? You can’t just go a’ walkin’ through the desert like you was doin’ when you come up here. I could tell by lookin’ at you that you was nigh on to all done in.”
“I want your horse.”
Blum laughed. “I reckon you do. Like I said, he’s not only the fastest horse around, he’s got more endurance than any horse I’ve ever seen.” Blum shook his head. “I’m sorry, mister, but my horse ain’t for sale.”
Mueller turned the mug up, finished the rest of the beer, then set it down on the counter. With a swipe of the back of his hand, he wiped away the foam that was hanging in his moustache.
“You don’t understand. I ain’t talkin’ about buyin’ your horse, Blum. I’m just goin’ to take it.”
“What?”
“I said I plan to take your horse.”
“Are you tellin’ me you’re figurin’ on stealin’ my horse?”
“Yeah.”
“Like hell you are, you little dried-up son of a bitch!” Blum shouted. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a double-barreled shotgun, but before he could even swing it around, Mueller drew his pistol and shot him.
“David!” the woman screamed.
Without a word, or a change of facial expression, Mueller turned his pistol on the woman, and shot her, too.
Ten minutes later, with his saddle, thirty-six dollars that he took from Blum’s cash box, and a full sack of beans, bacon, and flour thrown across the back of Blum’s horse, Mueller rode off. Behind him, Blum and his wife lay dead on the floor of the store.
Chapter Eight
Phoenix, Arizona Territory
It was midafternoon when Janelle stepped down from the train, and so hot she was scarcely able to catch her breath. She had experienced some very warm days in New York, but the wall of heat that washed over her was unlike anything she had ever known before. She moved quickly to get out of the sun and into the shade, but even that offered relatively little relief.
Seeing a bench set up under the roof that extended out over the depot platform, she sat down, then looked around to examine the place.
Why had she chosen Phoenix of all places?
Oh, she knew why. Phoenix was a mythical bird that could arise from its own ashes. She considered that allegorical to her own condition. Could she arise from the ashes of her own life?
She thought of her baby, the innocent, and oh so sweet victim of it all. Tears came to her eyes as she realized she had abandoned him, and wondered if she would ever see him again. My God, what a mess she had made of her life!
Struggling to hold on to her composure, Janelle looked around at the place that was to be her new home. She saw an old lady standing near a cart. The woman was dark complexioned, with very black hair and dark eyes. She had a prominent nose and a protruding chin, and she was selling some sort of food, though Janelle had no idea what it was. She watched, with interest, as the woman took out a round, flat piece of bread upon which she put various condiments—Janelle was certain one was some sort of meat, but she didn’t have any idea what the others were. The woman put some sort of sauce on all of it, rolled it up, and gave it to her customers.
The other thing she noticed was nearly every man carried a gun, many in a holster that hung from their belt, but nearly as many carried their pistol stuck down into the waistband of their trousers. Surely all these guns weren’t necessary, were they? My heavens, was she about to see a gun battle, with half the men choosing one side and the other half choosing the other side?
She had one hundred and forty-one dollars in cash on her person, and she wondered if she should be frightened that one of those armed men would rob her. But, surely, they would not do so in broad daylight, in front of so many people.
She knew the money she had would last her for a while. But what would she do after that money ran out? She had thought only to get away from the shame and disgrace; she hadn’t given any thought at all to what she would do to sustain herself.
“No, this isn’t right!” a woman cried. She was clearly agitated. “This isn’t at all what I ordered!”
“This is the order that arrived on the train for you, Mrs. Buckner.”
“Then send it back.”
“I’ll be glad to send it back if you want me to. But if I send it back, you do understand that you will have to pay the shipping charges, don’t you? And from the way I read the bill of lading you have already paid for the product and there is no refund, so all you would be doing is giving the product away.”
“But I ordered bonnets.” The woman pulled out a hat and held it up. “Does this look like a bonnet to you?”
“No, ma’am,” the depot agent said. “Truth is, I don’t know what you would call these here things.”
“That is called a three-story hat,” Janelle said, speaking from her position on the bench.
“I beg your pardon?” the woman asked, looking around toward Janelle.
Janelle put her hand to her lips. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me for butting in where I had no right.”
“What did you say this was?” the woman asked. She held the hat out toward Janelle.
“It is called a three-story hat,” Janelle repeated. “It is also referred to as a f
lower pot hat. Bonnets are so passé now. The three-story hat is all the rage.”
“Is that a fact? And just where is this place that they are all the rage?”
“I’m sorry, I’ve said too much already. Please forgive me.”
“No, no, my dear, there is nothing to forgive. Believe me, I’m very interested. Please. Have you some involvement with fashion?”
Janelle laughed. “I suppose that depends upon your definition of the term involvement. To hear my father tell it, one would think that my sister and I supported the entire fashion industry of New York. Now, while we were quite active in our shopping, to say that we supported the entire fashion industry would be quite an exaggeration.”
The woman laughed with her. “But you do understand fashion, don’t you, my dear? I mean, how else would you know about these things? What did you call them, flower pots?”
“Three-story hats, or flower pot hats. Yes, they have become quite popular of late. I’m afraid the ladies in New York consider bonnets to be rather matronly.”
“My husband and I own Buckner’s Ladies’ Emporium here in town. Do you think I will be able to sell these?”
“If you have enough young ladies who want to be fashionable, yes, I’m certain you will be able to sell them.”
“You wouldn’t like to help me sell them, would you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What I mean is, I am offering you a job. What are you doing in Phoenix? Do you have a job? Do you need a job?” The woman put her hand over her own mouth. “Oh, now it is I who should ask for forgiveness. I have no right to impose myself into your private affairs that way.”
A broad smile spread across Janelle’s face. “No, no, you aren’t imposing at all. I don’t have a job, and yes, I do need a job.”
“My name is Nellie Buckner. My husband, Ken, and I own Buckner’s Ladies’ Emporium. How would you like to come work for us?”
“I would love to. But first, I have to find a place to live.”
“That won’t be hard, I can take care of that for you as well, if you would like. I have a friend who owns a boardinghouse. A very nice and genteel boarding house. Come with me, I’ll introduce you to her.”
“My luggage.”
“You’ll be taking her to Mrs. Poindexter’s?” the depot agent asked.
“Yes, Mr. Donovan. Would you please see to it that Miss”—she paused midsentence and looked at Janelle—“oh my, it would appear that I have just hired you, and I don’t even know your name.”
“My name is Wellington. Janelle Wellington,” Janelle said.
“Please see to it that Miss Wellington’s luggage is delivered to the Poindexter House.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, Janelle—may I call you Janelle?” Nellie Buckner asked.
“Oh, please do.”
“Come with me. We’ll get you all moved in, then I’ll take you over to the store to introduce you to my husband, and show you where you will be working.”
“Oh, before I go, if you don’t mind, I would like to send a telegram back to New York to let my family know that I have arrived safely.”
“Yes, of course you can. I’ll wait right here,” Nellie said.
“Western Union is just inside the depot, Miss Wellington,” Donovan said.
“Thank you.”
Once inside, Janelle wrote her message out on a tablet, then slid it across to the telegrapher. He looked at it, then crossed out the period after the word spirits, and added the word stop.
“What are you doing?”
“There ain’t no code for period, so we use stop,” he said. He read it aloud. “I am in Phoenix and in good spirits, stop. All my love, Janelle. Take out the words I am and all my and and. The message would then read, In Phoenix in good spirits stop Love Janelle. Do it that way, and you will save seventy-five cents.”
“All right, if you say so.”
The telegrapher counted the words. “We don’t count the word love, we don’t count your name. The words that you got left on the paper here will send all the message you are wantin’ to send, and this way it will only cost you ninety cents.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you,” Janelle said as she handed him a national bank note for one dollar.
“Customer service. That’s what Western Union is all about,” the telegrapher said as he made change for her.
When Janelle stepped outside, she noticed a disturbance where she had seen the old woman selling food items from her pushcart.
“Hey, what are you doin’ here?” a loud, angry voice shouted at the vendor. The man yelling at the woman who was selling food from her cart was wearing a vest, upon which was pinned a star.
“I’ll not have you comin’ into my town botherin’ the decent citizens,” the man said.
“I do nothing wrong, Señor Deputy,” the woman said.
“You are breakin’ the law,” the deputy said.
“Señora Muñoz isn’t bothering anyone, Deputy Appleby,” Donovan said. “All in the world she is doing is selling tacos, and most of the folks that come here like them. Besides, I gave her permission to be on the railroad property.”
“Yeah? Well I ain’t give her permission to sell anything in this town,” another voice said. A new man arrived on the scene, and like Deputy Appleby, the man, who was bigger and had a bushy moustache, was also wearing a star.
“Marshal Cairns. It’s like I told Deputy Appleby, Señora Muñoz has my permission to be on railroad property,” Donovan said. “She isn’t breaking any law.”
“She has no business license. And bein’ as I’m the marshal, I’m the one who decides who is and who isn’t breakin’ the law.”
“She isn’t breaking any law,” Donovan said again. “And she doesn’t need a business license as long as she is on railroad property. The railroad has a business license that covers anyone who does business on our property, with our permission,” Donovan insisted. “And as I said, I gave her permission to be here.”
“Who said she don’t need a business license?”
“Why, you can look it up for yourself, Marshal Cairns. It’s in the municipal code,” the station agent replied.
“If she don’t buy herself a license, that means she ain’t payin’ any taxes. And if she ain’t payin’ taxes, I’m not gettin’ my cut.”
“Your cut?”
“Yes, my cut. How do you think me and my deputies get paid? When the city council hired me, they agreed to pay me a base salary, and two percent of all business license fees and taxes.”
“That may be, but Señora Muñoz is not in violation.”
Cairns nodded at Appleby who, with a loud, cackling laugh, picked one side of the cart and turned it over, spilling the contents onto the ground. The old woman cried out in protest.
“It don’t matter now, does it?” Cairns said. “She don’t have nothing to sell.”
“Marshal Cairns, you shouldn’t have done that,” Donovan said.
Cairns pointed at the station agent. “Donovan, I’ll thank you not to be tellin’ me what I should and shouldn’t be doin’. I’m the marshal here and I’ll do what I damn well please. Let this be a warning to you. Don’t be letting indigents come into my town and use your property to get around the law.”
“In the first place, she isn’t an indigent. She makes enough money selling tacos to support herself and her two children. In the second place, I told you, she is not violating any law. And in the third place, what made this your town?”
“I made it my town,” Cairns said. “Maybe she ain’t breakin’ the law now, but I intend to talk to the city council today to get that law changed. If you try and help that Mex woman, or anyone else get around it, I’ll throw them and you in jail.”
After the marshal and his deputy walked away, Janelle went over to help the old woman.
“Gracias, Senorita, gracias,” the old woman said as Janelle began helping recover the utensils strewn about. The food she had been selling was sc
attered on the dirt.
“You are a good woman, Janelle,” Nellie said as she and Mr. Donovan joined Janelle in helping the old woman.
“Please don’t tell me those awful men were really officers of the law,” Janelle said.
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you that but, unfortunately, they are,” Donovan replied. “Cairns is our city marshal, duly appointed by the city council, and he hired Appleby, who is just as bad.”
“I can’t help but wonder how in the world the city council could have ever been foolish enough to appoint such an evil man as Mr. Cairns,” Nellie said as she continued to help Señora Muñoz recover her utensils. “What they should have done, after Harold Wallace retired, was appoint Deputy Forbis as marshal. He was Marshal Wallace’s deputy, and he is a good man.”
“John is a good man. But the city council thought he was too young,” Donovan said.
“Well if this is what your marshal is like, I certainly hope that I never get on his bad side,” Janelle said.
“Oh, honey, you can’t help but get on his bad side,” Nellie replied.
“What? How?” Janelle asked, concerned about the remark.
“Because he has no good side,” Nellie replied and all, including Señora Muñoz laughed.
Finally, with everything recovered, the scattered meats and vegetables cleaned up and put in a trash container, they set the cart back upright. One of the other men who was nearby came over to look at the cart. After feeling the wheels and axles, he stood up and rubbed his hands together. “The cart is undamaged,” he said.
“Gracias,” Señora Muñoz said.
“Come, dear,” Nellie Buckner said to Janelle. “I’ll take you over and introduce you to Mrs. Poindexter. She is a wonderful lady and runs a clean and orderly boarding house. I think you will be quite comfortable there.”
“I’m sure I will be,” Janelle said.
“I cannot get over how cruel that policeman was to that poor Mexican lady,” Janelle said as she helped Nellie arrange the three-story hats on a display table.”
“We don’t have policemen, dear, we call them city marshals,” Nellie replied.
Slaughter of Eagles Page 7
