Leadville

by James D. Best

“We have an hour before Grant arrives,” I said. “Maybe we should order oysters to wile away the time. I heard they transport them here live.”

  “You’re paying, of course.”

  Damn it, I was too slow. “Of course.”

  “Then let’s make the captain nervous by enjoyin’ ourselves.”

  I started to wave the waiter over, when I heard, “Mr. Steve Dancy, I suggest that you take every opportunity to enjoy yourself while you can.”

  The woman’s voice came from over my shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen a rotund woman get up from one of the two occupied tables. When we came in, the woman had sat with her back to me and I hadn’t paid any notice to the matronly diner. A mistake. When I turned my head, I saw my worst enemy hovering just over my shoulder.

  “Mrs. Bolton, a pleasure. I assumed that you were still in San Francisco.”

  “I had business in Colorado that my assistants couldn’t handle.”

  That gave me pause. “Was that business here or in Durango?”

  She smiled sweetly. “My interests move around.”

  I was the one that had moved, and I didn’t need a reminder that her matronly flowered dress cloaked a thoroughly demented woman. Mrs. Bolton had a huge swollen face that seemed far too large for her squat, corpulent body. Despite a less than attractive personage, she carried herself with a haughtiness that demanded toadying attention.

  Now here she stood before me, acting coy. She knew that I knew she had sent the two men to kill me in Durango. It was a measure of her malice that she wanted her enemies to plainly see her connivances while she pretended wholesomeness and innocence.

  “Cliff and Pete weren’t good ranch hands,” I said. “They were worse gunmen.”

  “For goodness sake, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” She paused dramatically to bestow one of her excessively sweet smiles on me. “Dear Mr. Dancy, do I understand that someone tried to shoot you?”

  “You know full well what happened in Durango. You hired those men.”

  “Cliff and Pete? You’re mistaken. I would never hire misfits for serious work. And Mr. Dancy, I assure you that I take our little disagreements seriously.”

  I suddenly grew interested in her dinner companion. He was dressed in respectable dinner attire and looked a full twenty years younger than Mrs. Bolton. Trouble. It would be just like her to flaunt a hired assassin in front of me. Damn her. I already had enough on my plate.

  “How’re you doing financially?” I asked to needle her. “I hope you can live comfortably with the stipend your son left you.”

  “Oh, that trifle. You must know I ran the ranch while my son ran the state. The ranch’s banking affairs were quite complex—far too complex for my son to fully understand.” She rewarded me with another of her sweet smiles. “Thank you for your concern, but money is the least of my worries.”

  Damn. The old biddy had skimmed her son’s profits from the ranch. That meant she could afford to hire professional killers. I gave her dinner mate another appraising look, but he ignored me. I didn’t have time for this right now.

  “Mrs. Bolton, when Sean Washburn hired assassins to kill me, I went directly to the man himself and killed him.” Now I paused for dramatic effect. “If you send any more men, I will also deal with you directly.” I paused. “Do you understand?”

  “I haven’t the slightest notion what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Dear Mr. Dancy, Cliff and Pete worked for my daughter-in-law. Perhaps you should be threatening her.”

  “I’m not playing your games. Please return to your table.”

  “Goodness, your ego astounds me. I have a full life to live, and it does not revolve around you.”

  “Who’s your dinner companion?” I demanded.

  “A gentleman friend. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.” Now her too-sweet-smile turned into a triumphant sneer. “His name is Bat Masterson.”

  Chapter 31

  Mrs. Bolton returned to her table, but Sharp’s worried expression bothered me more than her unexpected visit.

  “Have ya heard of Bat Masterson?” he asked.

  “Of course, but I didn’t think he was a killer for hire.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Do you know him?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Jeff, you know everyone.”

  “Never ran across Masterson.” He looked in their direction. “Sure would like to know what she told him. If he took her employ, it had to be a pack of lies.”

  “You’re right. I should go over there and set the story right. If I do it right in front of her, it’ll make her mad as hell. Maybe I can get her so angry, she’ll spew spittle all over Masterson’s dinner.”

  Before Sharp could respond, Grant strolled right by us. I watched carefully as he approached McAllen. No immediate gunplay. No handshakes either. The two men just looked warily at each other, and then Grant slowly sat down across the table from McAllen.

  It looked like the two were just going to talk, so I glanced over at Masterson. “Stay put,” Sharp said. “We gotta keep an eye on Grant and the rest of this room. I’ll talk to Masterson tomorrow.”

  “Why you?” I asked.

  “Because Mrs. Bolton didn’t hire him to kill me. I’ll talk to him and find out what that shrew told him. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s got the story straight.”

  It made sense. I took a sip of wine and looked around the room. “I don’t see anyone suspicious. Do you think Grant came alone?”

  Sharp didn’t answer at first. After his own inspection, he said, “Steve, I’m not as good as you with a handgun … why don’t ya take a look around an’ make sure there ain’t no nasty lookin’ men hangin’ about outside?”

  “Good idea.”

  I got up and left the dining room. Nobody lurked in the lobby, and a check of the indoor privy didn’t reveal anyone hanging around there either. I hesitated and then decided to take a peek outside—without returning to my room for my sheepskin coat. I walked fast, and my outside tour took less than five minutes.

  When I walked back into the dining room, Sharp asked, “Why are your teeth chattering?”

  “Took a look outside. Didn’t see anyone I wouldn’t trust holding the reins of my horse.”

  “Steve, when I said outside, I meant the lobby.”

  I took a good swallow of wine. “I figured that, but I thought a look outside might be wise.” I nodded in Grant’s direction. “I think he came alone.” I swept the room with my eyes again. “Damn. Unless he’s in cahoots with Mrs. Bolton.” The thought frightened me. “Do you think that’s possible?”

  “Shit. Maybe. She’s got reason to hate ya, but she might also be angry at McAllen for helpin’ ya. I can’t imagine how Grant would get together with her, but we better keep a close eye on her an’ Masterson.”

  Over the next hour, we ate pheasant, drank wine, and watched the two tables. Nothing untoward happened. Bolton and Masterson left first. I couldn’t tell anything from their demeanor, but just as Mrs. Bolton passed our table, she winked at me. Damn her.

  A quarter of an hour later, Grant got up from McAllen’s table and walked out wearing a self-satisfied expression. As soon as he left the dining room, McAllen came toward our table but stopped when a hapless waiter crossed his path. He practically grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and turned him back toward the kitchen. I heard him bark, “Bring us a bottle of good Kentucky bourbon.”

  McAllen plopped down at our table. “I was right.” He looked around, as if the waiter should already be at his elbow. “He wants to take a shipment from the Carbonate Kings … before the Rio Grande finishes the train line to Leadville.”

  “What part does he want you to play?” I asked.

  “The main villain … but that’s not what he said. If I take care of the Pinkertons and the transport after the heist, then I get twenty-five percent and my daughter.” McAllen pounded his
knuckles against the table. “He conveniently forgot to explain the double cross he has in mind.”

  “Did ya tell him ya already quit the Pinkertons?” Sharp asked.

  “Yep. Told him the story we agreed on. He said if I can’t handle the Pinkertons, he’ll kill my daughter. Gave me two days to get my job back.”

  “Do you believe him?” I asked.

  “Bane’s nature is to kill. Anyway this goes, Bane’ll kill her.” McAllen shook his head. “There’s nothin’ even Vrable can do to change that.”

  “What about the letter?” I asked.

  “I decided not to bring that up yet. After a day or two, I’ll demand proof that he has her and she’s still alive. I’m going to wait until Red gets here and you boys set up shop in that store.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Sharp said.

  “Steve, one more thing.” McAllen gave me a hard stare. “Get rid of that Mrs. Bolton … and I mean now. I don’t know what she’s doing here, but there ain’t no good in it. You take care of her before she messes up our plans.”

  “How do you propose I get rid of her? I can’t just throw her on a train again.”

  “I don’t give a shit how you do it. Kill her, for all I care. Just take care of her … and do it before Red arrives.”

  Chapter 32

  As I scrubbed my face the next morning, I worried about how to handle Mrs. Bolton. Despite what McAllen had said, I was not about to kill her, but she wouldn’t go away on her own. I also didn’t want to tangle with Bat Masterson. How the hell was I going to rid myself of this threat?

  Someone knocked on my door. I picked up my Colt and moved to the side of the door frame. “Yes?”

  “Open up, Steve,” Sharp yelled.

  When I opened the door, Sharp burst in with more energy than a youngster released from school. “What’s keepin’ ya? I already ate, an’ I’m ready to learn the shopkeepin’ trade.”

  “It’s not even seven. Let me at least get a cup of coffee.”

  “Damn, Steve. Ya don’t know squat about miners. Ya already lost half yer trade. These ain’t gentlemen bird hunters. Miners start as soon as there’s enough light to see. Let’s go. We can brew coffee at the store.”

  “Jeff, what’s got you so anxious? I thought shopkeeping would bore you.”

  “Nothin’ bores me. Specially nothin’ I’ve never done before. Come on. Get yer coat and gloves, and let’s go.”

  As we approached the store, I saw my two young helpers waiting by the locked door. “Need help today, Mr. Dancy?” they asked, as they patted their sides to keep warm.

  “Yes, boys. I’ll figure out something for you to do.” I unlocked the door. “Do either of you know how to make coffee?”

  “Yes, sir. Make it every morning for my pa.”

  “Good. Get that stove started and make us a pot.” Mostly out of politeness, I asked, “Where’s your pa this morning?”

  “At his diggin’s. Been there since sunup.”

  I didn’t need to look at Sharp. I could feel his smug expression on the back of my neck. Partly to get by the moment, I turned to the second boy and handed him a silver dollar. “Run to the bakery and buy a loaf of sourdough. You can buy a sweet roll for yourself and your friend. Bring back the change.”

  As the boy ran out, Sharp yelled, “Get apples too.” Sharp turned to me. “Now what?”

  I opened the shades. “How are you feeling?”

  When I turned around, Sharp looked puzzled. “Oh, ya mean the beatin’. Hell, I’ve been beat up before. I don’t want nobody to poke me in the ribs, but otherwise I’m fit enough.”

  “Then how about you nose around the other general stores and get their prices. I want the lowest prices in town, but I don’t want to give merchandise away either.”

  “Lowest prices? Hell, I’ve been paying outrageous prices for gear all my life. I thought it was time to even up the tally.”

  “Did you see any customers waiting at the door? Word will get out about our low prices, and we’ll get all the business we can handle. Speaking of that, we need more stock.” I checked to make sure the boy had our coffee going. “As you drink your coffee, make me a list of merchandise miners and prospectors buy. While you’re checking around town, I’ll leave the shop in the boys’ hands and send a telegram order to Denver.”

  “Steve, we aren’t really in the shopkeepin’ business. Remember, this is a ruse.”

  “The better we run the store, the better the ruse. Besides, I don’t know any other way.”

  Sharp thought a minute. “Might as well do the job right. I’ll add to my list stuff Indians buy.”

  “Don’t worry about cheap whiskey. Seems we got plenty of rotgut under the counter.”

  “How ’bout knives, used rifles, cornmeal, wool yarn, beads … ?”

  “Plenty. Seems the former proprietor catered to our friends on the hill.”

  “Probably did right well with that trade. Prospectors right off the stage too, I suspect.”

  “Jeff, how do you think that Indian who beat you up will react when he sees you in this store?”

  “Coffee’s ready,” the boy yelled from the stove in the back of the store. About the same time, his friend came bursting through the front door clutching a burlap bag with a loaf of bread peeking out the top.

  “Looks like breakfast’s here,” Sharp said.

  After we had filled coffee cups and sliced apples, Sharp tore himself a section of sourdough and ripped a good chunk off with his teeth. Around a mouth full of bread, he said, “I’ve thought about it, an’ I don’t believe that Indian knew who I was. I think he was just angry, an’ I was handy.”

  “Could give away our plan if you’re wrong.”

  “I weren’t askin’ questions, I was hirin’ guides. And I don’t think that dandy Grant talks regular with Indians.”

  “He talked to Bane.”

  Sharp shrugged. “What choice do we have? You got another plan?”

  “Not now. I suppose we’ve got to play this one out.” I sipped my coffee. “But this plan, if you can call it that, sure relies on events going exactly as we hope.”

  “Well, if ya remember right, until we came up with this shaky plan, we had no plan at all.”

  “I’ll think about an alternative.”

  “I’ll tell ya what ya better think on: gittin’ somebody to run this store. We gotta be free to git up an’ go. McAllen’s gonna keep givin’ us errands, an’ when the time comes, we gotta skedaddle after that Indian. Those two boys ain’t gonna cut it.”

  That brought me up short. “Damn, you’re right.” I walked over to the stove and refreshed my coffee. I stood by the warmth and took a couple sips. “I need to think on it some more, but I might know someone.”

  “Bullshit, Steve. The only person ya knew in Leadville was Doc, an’ he’s left town.”

  “Not Doc.”

  “Who?”

  “Not now. Finish your breakfast. We’ve got work to do.”

  Chapter 33

  By the end of the day, we had a handle on pricing, we had finished organizing the store, and I had ordered a wagonload of merchandise from Denver. Customers were rare, but those that came in were surprised by our newly reduced prices. Hopefully, they would spread the word fast. The two boys had shown themselves to be good workers with a surprising maturity. I guessed children grew up fast on the frontier. No Indians had entered the store, but Sharp said they probably already had their stores for the winter.

  After we closed, I left Sharp at the hotel door and walked on to the haberdashery. Several customers milled around, and I pretended to examine pieces of clothing as well. When the senior clerk noticed me, she nodded curtly in my direction and then continued to advise a tall, skinny man about the advantages of a tailored suit.

  When she finally came over, she looked wary. “Good evening. I hope you find your coat satisfactory.”

  “It keeps me warm. Or at least as warm as a person could expect in these mountains.”
/>   “How may I help you?”

  “I’d like to talk to you in private.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the only clerk working.”

  “When do you close?”

  She looked irritated. “I’m busy. What do you want?”

  Before thinking, I blurted, “I want you.”

  “Go to hell. Please leave the store. Immediately.”

  “I’m sorry. Poor choice of words. I meant, I want to hire you.”

  She stiffened her back and cocked her shoulders. “Get out. I’m not for hire. I believe you can find what you’re looking for on State Street.”

  I had inadvertently made her furious, so this time I paused to think before I spoke. “Excuse me. This is a complete misunderstanding. Will you give me a moment to explain?”

  “No. Last time you spewed a bunch of lies so I’d give you a discount on that coat. I won’t be taken again. Please leave.”

  I tried a smile. “You always seem to be trying to get rid of me. The last time you kept sending me to an emporium down the street.”

  She tilted her head and examined me. “You speak like an educated gentleman, but you dress and lie like a guttersnipe.” She glanced around. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have other customers.”

  “Wait. I didn’t lie to you about having enough money to buy this store. In fact, I bought a store, and I intend to make it the most profitable in Leadville. I came here to hire you to run it for me. I pay well, and I’ll give you an ownership position.”

  “Why? You don’t know me.” She sounded dubious, but I had captured her attention.

  “That’s why I want to talk in private.”

  “Please go. You people are so tiresome.”

  “What people?”

  “Con artists. People who work to take advantage. You’re no different than all the rest, and I’m weary of your kind.”

  “You’re mistaken. I’m not conning you. A friend and I bought the general store at the end of State Street. My partner is much more rustic than me, but I assure you, we’re both gentlemen.”

  “That’s an Indian store.” Her eyes narrowed as she took half a step away from me. “You expect me to give up a position where the very best people shop to wait on Indians?”