Leadville

by James D. Best

  “Did he overhear?”

  “Too far away.”

  Dooley was washing his hands at the basin and said over his shoulder, “What the hell were you doing up there?”

  I answered for Sharp. “A miner told us about an ornery Indian encamped up there. The way he described him, we suspected he might be Bane’s go-between.”

  “So you sashay up the hill and start asking questions?” Dooley turned from the basin, shaking his hands dry. “Jeff, I thought you were smarter than that. Maybe you deserved a beating.”

  Sharp sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his chin. “I gave that Ute no cause to pay me any mind. I only asked to hire an Indian for a couple of days to guide me around the local claims. Figured if I got him away from his brothers an’ plied him with whiskey, I could ask questions without raisin’ a fuss. All I was doin’ was barterin’ a price.”

  “Did he give any clue as to why he went after you?” I asked.

  “No. Just beat on me an’ told me to get back to my own people. Vrable might’ve described me to him, but I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Bane probably told Vrable not to go near his man until he had somethin’ important. ’Sides, Vrable wouldn’t call attention to himself by traipsing up to that Indian encampment.”

  “Maybe he’s not Bane’s go-between,” I offered. “Maybe he’s just an angry Ute who doesn’t like white men.”

  “Could be, but I don’t think so. We know Bane is a killer, and anyone he used would be tough as nails. Ya shoulda seen the Indians fade away when he came out of that shelter. They’re scared of him … and he ain’t scared of nothin’. If we’re right about a go-between, I’m bettin’ this is our man.”

  I paced the room. When I stopped in front of Sharp, I asked, “Do those Indians on the hill have money?”

  “Money?”

  “Do they have enough money to buy things in shops?”

  “Yep. Those Indians do. Most are flush from playin’ guide for every saphead that wanders into Leadville. Probably take ’em all on the same route. Why?”

  “Would this Ute go-between buy supplies before he left Leadville to meet up with Bane?”

  “Probably.” Sharp straightened a bit and rubbed his wrapped ribs “If not for himself, then to resupply Bane an’ the girl. What’re ya gettin’ at, Steve?”

  I pointed at my new coat. “When I bought that coat, I thought about buying the store that sold it.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “I paid twenty-four dollars for that coat. Twice the steep price we paid in Durango. Seems there’s more profit in selling dry goods than in digging silver.”

  “Steve, that’s the same in any minin’ town, but our purpose ain’t investin’ anymore.”

  “Seems our Ute’s skittish around white men. Were you thinking about taking a daily trip up that hill to see if he’s still sitting in that shelter or has bolted camp for the mountains?”

  Sharp’s eyes showed comprehension.“Smart thinkin’, Steve. We buy that store an’ wait for him to come an’ get provisions for the trail. Hell, we’ll be partners. I’m in for half. Ya can teach me the shopkeepin’ trade.”

  “Not that store. It caters to people with money. We need to find the store where prospectors and Indians go.” I paced the room again to think. “When I complained about the cost of that coat, the clerk tried to send me to a cheaper emporium.”

  “Probably several general stores ’bout town.” Sharp nodded toward the whiskey bottle, indicating he wanted me to pour him another drink. “Too late tonight, so we might as well put a dent in that bottle. Tomorrow morning—we go shoppin’.”

  Chapter 28

  The third general store we visited had the feel of a shop that catered to the bottom layer of Leadville’s citizenry. The store was located at the end of State Street, a thoroughfare where the pleasure houses were quarantined from respectable society. Within arm’s reach of passersby, prostitutes displayed their wares in cribs that lined both sides of State Street, but the location—just below the Indian encampment—made the store perfect for our purposes. When I stepped through the door, I saw no expensive mining equipment, only implements appropriate for crude prospecting. Likewise, the dry goods tended toward the shoddy, and the foodstuffs didn’t extend beyond wilderness basics. The disheveled and dusty appearance told me that the owner was lazy.

  The gaunt, ill-groomed man behind the pine counter didn’t offer us a greeting as we approached.

  “Good day, sir,” I offered.

  The shopkeeper made a guttural noise in response.

  “Is the owner about?”

  “I’m the goddamn owner.” He gave us a nasty look. “Ya got a complaint?”

  “No, a business proposal.”

  He pointed at the door. “Get the fuck out.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Get the fuck out of my store. Now, ya goddamn fraudsmen. I don’t need yer kind in here. Go sell yer damn cheatin’ schemes someplace else. I ain’t no sucker.”

  “We’re honest men … with money to buy whatever we want.”

  “Then buy something.”

  “What’s the most expensive item in this store?”

  Without hesitation, he said, “An army model Colt. Thirty dollars. Guaranteed new from the factory.”

  The Colt .45 cost seven dollars mail order, so prices remained outrageous even in this woebegone shop. “May I see it?”

  The man looked dubious. “Show me thirty goddamn dollars first.”

  I removed my wallet and fanned out more than three hundred dollars in currency. “I have more. Enough to buy this establishment if you’re inclined to sell.”

  “It’d take a hell of a lot more than that,” he sniffed.

  I took it as a good sign that he didn’t dismiss my casual offer. “I have a hell of a lot more. Are you interested in selling, because I’m interested in buying.”

  I finally had his attention. “Why should I? This is my livelihood.”

  “There’s a long winter in the offing. Denver can be warm and comfortable with a fat bank account.”

  “Why’re ya interested in this shit hole?” He laid both hands flat on the counter and stared for a moment at the currency I still held in front of him. “Don’t make no sense.” He raised his head until he met my eyes. “Why?”

  “We arrived too late to buy a decent mine, but with a store we can still get our share of the silver.” I made a point of looking around. “We want a shit hole, as you called it, so we can fix it up over the winter. There’s plenty of money to be made from the greenhorn prospectors that’ll crowd this valley early in the spring.” I made my voice firm. “If we can’t buy this store, we’ll open one across the street.”

  “Is that a fucking threat? I don’t take to threats. I’ve a mind to throw ya outta here.”

  “How much?” I asked evenly.

  Without hesitation, he said, “Twenty thousand. Stick that in yer hat.”

  “Ten.”

  The man roiled in laughter. When he got control, he made a little wave with his hand and said, “Leave. Ya ain’t got no business here.”

  “Ten, and you retain fifty percent ownership. We’ll do all the work and send you half the profits.”

  The storekeeper slowly pulled a gun from somewhere below and laid it on the counter. “Just as I thought, goddamn fraudsmen. Now I’m not asking, I’m telling ya—get the fuck out.”

  “Fifteen … for everything.” This time Sharp made the offer.

  He looked queer at us and then laid his hand across the pistol. “Who sent ya?”

  “Who do you fear sent us?” I asked.

  “There’s some about that want me outta here.”

  “We’re not with them. You can stay or you can go. We don’t care. We’re just looking to buy a business.”

  “If ya show me eighteen thousand in cash, ya got yerself a store.”

  Sharp spoke up. “Do ya sell to Indians?”

  �
��I sell to anybody with the damn wherewithal. What the hell difference does it make? Give me eighteen thousand dollars, and ya can either sell to Indians or not. I don’t give a shit.”

  “Sixteen,” I said. “That’s my final offer.”

  “The dickering ended five minutes ago. The number is eighteen.”

  “Not cash. I can transfer the money in your name to any bank. It’s safer.”

  The store owner pulled out a sheet of paper and used scissors to cut off a small piece. He wrote for a second and then handed me the tiny piece of paper.

  “That’s my bank in Denver. Deposit eighteen thousand in that bank, and then we’ll go to my lawyer so he can draft a sales contract. One more thing: I insist on two hundred additional in cash so I can leave this godforsaken piss hole.”

  He had just increased the price by two hundred. I was about to argue but realized it had been my mistake to show him how much cash I carried. I said, “The money will be transferred to your name after you sign the sales agreement. Your lawyer can hold it until you confirm the deposit.”

  He smiled. “Figured that.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take the two hundred now as a sign of good faith.”

  I smiled in response. “If you want the two hundred, close up and have your lawyer draft the contract now.”

  Sharp added shrewdly, “Our offer is good for today only.”

  After we got the lawyer’s address, we stepped outside, and the cold bit me. I cinched my coat collar tight against my throat and glanced up at the Indian encampment. “I sure hope this works.”

  “It should,” Sharp said. “He trades with Indians. I saw pelts on the floor behind the counter.”

  “Could’ve been from white men,” I said.

  “Not nowadays. The old mountain men are long dead, an’ younger men ain’t made of hardy enough stuff to traipse around these mountains on their lonesome. Nope, those pelts came from Utes.”

  “Let’s get to the telegraph office. I want to close this deal before McAllen arrives tonight.”

  “Yep. He’ll surely enjoy hearin’ that yer a shopkeeper again.”

  Chapter 29

  The transaction went smoothly. Within hours, our banks had made deposits at the Denver bank whose name the gaunt shopkeeper had written on the piece of paper. After we met in a lawyer’s office and signed the contract, another telegram transferred the funds to the seller’s account, and a later telegram confirmed the transfer to the seller. I handed over two hundred in cash to complete the transaction. Sometimes the speed of the modern world astounded me.

  My first act after leaving the lawyer’s office was to hire two young boys to sweep, dust, and arrange the store. I wouldn’t own the store long, and a tidy shop might even put off some of the normal customers, but I couldn’t own a shop in such a mess. Besides, when I sold it, I wanted a higher price than I had paid. Getting the better end of this deal shouldn’t have been important, but my nature forced me to look at every business transaction with an eye on potential profit.

  I spent the rest of the day cleaning the store, while Sharp waited at the hotel for McAllen. In the late afternoon, Sharp appeared and gave a low appreciative whistle. “Steve, I thought I’d wandered into the wrong shop. Ya sure spruced up this damn hellhole.”

  “McAllen here?”

  “It’s polite to say howdy before jumpin’ into business.”

  “Howdy … is McAllen here?”

  “Yep. He gave us a little errand. Can ya close up?”

  I untied my apron. “Never opened. Boys, come collect your pay.”

  The two boys stopped what they were doing and scurried over with their palms up. I had picked them randomly on the street, but they had both proved to be hard workers who knew how to follow directions without my having to keep an eye on them. Neither of them had ventured toward the hard-candy jar either.

  I dropped several coins in each outstretched hand and said, “If you want to earn more, come back tomorrow.”

  Both boys smiled at each other and ran out.

  “What does McAllen want?” I asked.

  “We’re to tell Grant that he’s arrived and McAllen will meet him for dinner.”

  I reached into my pocket for the latchkey to the shop. “Let me lock up. Any sign of Red?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you tell McAllen about the store?”

  “Yep. Thinks we lost sight of our task. The captain ain’t a patient man. After we talk to Grant, we better try to calm him a bit.”

  As we started walking the three blocks to the Wells Fargo office, I said, “Jeff, I’ve been thinking: The shop’s location’s not bad for general business. Since we’re on the corner, people can walk down Chestnut Street and avoid the brothels. The trick is to give them a reason to traipse down here.”

  “Steve, don’t make McAllen right. We don’t need to git him all agitated at us.”

  “Absolutely agree.”

  The Wells Fargo office was busy with end of the day mining business. Grant sat behind the same desk, ignoring the clutch of people at the counter.

  Sharp edged in alongside the wall and said, “Mr. Grant, may we have a moment?”

  Grant looked up with an annoyed expression, but then recognized us and smiled like we were the most welcome sight he had seen that day.

  “Gentlemen, I’ve been expecting you. Let me get my coat, and I’ll escort you to the property.”

  What property? Then I realized the reference to a property was a ruse so we could go somewhere private. If nothing else, Grant was quick-witted. Whatever we planned, we needed to take into account that our adversary was clever and not easily fooled.

  After we stepped out to the street, Grant’s demeanor immediately turned surly. “What the hell happened to McAllen the other night?”

  “He arrived in town only an hour ago,” Sharp said.

  “Where was he? And why the hell didn’t you inform me he wouldn’t meet me for dinner?”

  “We ain’t his servants,” Sharp said. “McAllen takes care of his own business.”

  “You’re his friends.”

  “In case ya haven’t noticed, there ain’t any telegraph stations on the road from Durango. How the hell were we supposed to know when he’d arrive?”

  “What held him up?”

  “Goddamn it, ask him yerself.”

  “I will. When?”

  “He’ll meet ya tonight for dinner.”

  “Alone?”

  “We’ll be at a table where we can keep an eye on things.”

  Grant seemed to consider that and nodded before asking, “What’s McAllen’s mood?”

  “If he don’t kill ya on first sight, ya just might get through dinner.”

  “Tell him he needs to hear me out first. If he gets too riled, he’ll regret it.”

  “You think you can win a fight with the captain?” I asked.

  Grant looked at me for the first time. “I won’t fight McAllen with guns, knives, or fists. I have another weapon that’ll hurt him more. Just tell him to stay calm until he hears what I have to say.”

  “We’ll tell him,” I said. “But you two must have some history, because he thinks you had something to do with the Utes grabbing his daughter.”

  “He’s guessed more.”

  “If he has, he ain’t shared it with us,” Sharp said. “If ya know McAllen, ya know he don’t talk a hell of a lot.”

  “Gentlemen, I’ll see you at dinner.” Grant turned to go but then swiveled back to face us. “But stay a couple of tables away. If you get within earshot, I’ll leave. This is private business.”

  Chapter 30

  The three of us entered the Carbonate dining room about an hour before the appointed time. McAllen wanted to arrive ahead of the dinner crowd so we’d have a broad choice of tables. Only two tables were occupied, and those were filled by elderly couples.

  The captain scanned the room. “Nobody looks suspicious.”

  “We do,” I offered.

  McAllen th
rew me a nasty look. “Then take care of it, Steve,” he said with an irritated tone that I had come to expect. “Tip the staff generously and tell ’em to leave us alone unless we call ’em over.”

  I approached the dining room steward and, with a folded banknote in my palm, shook his hand. When I withdrew my hand, the banknote no longer belonged to me.

  “Good evening. My name is Mr. Dancy, and I’m a business associate of that gentleman over there.” I pointed to Captain McAllen.

  He nodded slightly.

  “We need two tables for the night: one for my associate to discreetly discuss a business arrangement, and another for myself and another associate. We’ll pick our own tables. Please ask your staff not to disturb us unless we call them over.” Still no reaction from the steward, so I added, “Have I made myself clear?”

  “Not quite clear enough,” he said as his eyes flitted down to his closed fist.

  I shook his hand again, and another banknote passed between us. “I’m sure we’re clear now,” I said firmly.

  “Enjoy the evening,” he responded.

  After I returned from my errand, McAllen said, “You two take the table to the left of the door. If anyone comes in, their back will be to you. I’ll sit at that table in the rear corner.” Before leaving us, he added, “Drink beer or wine. And not much of that. I want you to keep a sharp eye out.”

  I restrained a yes, sir.

  After Sharp and I took a seat at our designated table, I called a waiter over and ordered an expensive French Bordeaux. McAllen told us not to drink a lot, so we might as well drink well. After the waiter uncorked the bottle and I tested it, I looked over to see McAllen scowling a warning at me.

  As the waiter poured, Sharp said, “Captain ain’t too happy about ya disobeyin’ his orders.”

  “We’ll only be disobeying if we order a second bottle.” I hooked a thumb at the dining room steward. “Besides, that steward’s happy, and one happy man per room is plenty.”

  After testing the Bordeaux for himself, Sharp smiled appreciatively. “Good choice, Steve.” After another taste, he added, “Yep … a mighty fine sippin’ wine.”