“No … not if you feel that way about Indians and people that may not be the very best. I’m sorry. My mistake.” I turned to leave.
“Wait.” She looked thoughtful. “How do you intend to make this store the most profitable in Leadville?”
“First, we cleaned the store up. I’ve ordered a huge shipment of new merchandise from Denver. Today we set our prices below every store in town. I’m a shopkeeper by trade, and I know how to make money. We’ll do what’s necessary.”
“That’s a bad location.”
“Miners go where they can get fair trade for their dollar. We’re on the corner, so respectable folk never need tread on State Street. It’s also handy for Indians … and we do intend to trade with the Utes.”
Her interest appeared to grow.
“If you will come under my employ, I’ll pay you forty dollars a month and ten percent of the profits.” The last sentence obviously appealed to her.
“Why? Why me? Not because I gave you a discount on that coat?’
“Because you held your ground. I couldn’t knock you off balance. My store isn’t for gentlemen. It will attract tough men, and I need someone that won’t fold.”
Now she looked hesitant. “Are you saying I’d be alone in this store … on State Street?”
She caught me off guard. I hadn’t really thought this through. “At times … possibly.” Then I had a thought. “I have two boys that will be around if my partner or I need to leave.”
“Boys?” She turned away and then whipped around to face me again. “How much do you want me?”
I stammered. “How much … I guess … why, what do you want?”
“Fifty a month, paid in advance. Ten percent ownership, not ten percent of the profits. An additional ten percent in the second year if we double the profits of the first year. Last, you get someone to teach me how to handle a gun.”
“That’s a stiff set of demands.”
“What’s your name?’
“Steve Dancy.”
“I’m Mrs. Baker.” She held out her hand and we shook. “Mr. Dancy, I came here with my husband. He was a mining engineer and was killed in a tunnel collapse. Unfortunately, he incurred debts before his death. So far, I’ve repaid all but thirty dollars. With fifty from you, I can be debt free and still have twenty dollars. I run this store. Mr. Cunningham hardly bothers to come by. I’m a good storekeeper, and you know an attractive woman will draw as many miners as your low prices. That’s why you want to hire me. So if I double the profits, I want my ownership doubled. Last, your store is in the worst part of town, and you offer me boys for protection. I want someone skilled to teach me how to use a pistol.”
“You came up with all that on the spur of the moment?” She didn’t respond, so I added, “I’ll agree to the rest of your demands, but I don’t pay in advance. I will, however, give you fifty dollars to sign an agreement to work for me for one year.”
“If I quit?”
“If within the first year, you owe me fifty dollars.”
“You’ll pay me sixty dollars to sign the agreement, and it goes down five dollars each month.”
“Deal.” I laughed. She was audacious. “Where’re you from?”
“Philadelphia.”
“Family?”
Her expression became defiant. “My father disowned me when I married Paul, because his family failed to qualify for a listing in the social register.” Her eyes held mine with a steady gaze. “Don’t worry, Mr. Dancy, I won’t run home to Papa.”
I nodded. “If you come over to the store tomorrow, I’ll have papers ready.” I examined her maroon dress. It flared from the hips but was tight above the waist. Her hair was pulled back in a modest bun, but stylishly to show off her graceful neck. Altogether, she looked alluring yet refined. “If I may, your dress will be impractical for my store.”
She sounded wary when she asked, “What do you have in mind?”
“A gingham dress, perhaps. Something with more color.”
She stiffened her back and cocked her shoulders again. I think she meant it as a defiant pose, but it had the effect of thrusting her breasts at me. “I won’t show cleavage.”
“No need.” I glanced down at her chest and smiled. “A tight bodice like you’re wearing will be quite sufficient.”
I left while she was still blushing.
All in all, it had been a tiring day. As soon as I returned to the hotel, I ate a quick meal and retired, because Sharp insisted that we open at six in the morning. I missed the idle-rich bird hunting customers that I was used to in New York. They seldom came in until they had enjoyed a leisurely breakfast.
I unhooked my holster and was about to undress, when I heard a knock. I opened the door to see a pasty boy. “A gentleman in the lobby wants to see you,” he said.
“Did he give a name?” I asked.
“Nope, but I knows him.”
“Would it be inconvenient for you to tell me his name?”
“Do ya have two bits?”
“I do.” I kept my hands at my side.
After a puzzled moment, he said, “If you gives me two bits, I’ll gives you the name.”
“Two bits is a lot of money. If I give it to you, I want you to let me know if any strangers ask about me or my friend, Mr. Sharp, in room 207.”
“Two bits ain’t a lot of money. If ya want me to keep an eye out for ya, it’ll cost ya four bits … every day.”
“How do I know you’re worth four bits a day?”
“You see me in the lobby. All the times. I’m always there, and I keep a keen eye out.” He shuffled his feet. “Listen, Mister, I don’t work for the hotel. I hang around and do favors for guests. I’m a professional.”
“A professional?” I laughed. “Well, I’m a cheap. I’ll pay you two bits a day.”
“How good a job ya want done?”
I laughed again. I liked this enterprising kid. I reached into my pocket and held out a silver dollar. “For two days, but it includes giving me the name of the man downstairs.”
He grabbed the coin. “His name’s Bat Masterson. I’d bring my gun if I was you.” A sly smile took over his pasty face. “I’ll see you in two days for the next dollar … if yer still around.” He scurried away before I could respond.
Bat Masterson? Shit. Why would he want to see me? Should I avoid him? I decided it was better to see him in the lobby rather than on the street. He couldn’t mean to shoot me in a high-toned hotel. After thinking it through, I decided to go unarmed. No sense in provoking a famous gunman.
I walked downstairs and saw Masterson in the quiet corner by the fireplace that Sharp and I had used earlier. He spotted me as I walked up, so I extended my hand and said in a friendly voice, “Mr. Masterson, pleased to meet you. I’m Steve Dancy.”
He stood to shake my hand and simply said, “Likewise.”
After the preliminaries, we sat in chairs facing each other in front of the welcoming fire. I guessed that he was in his mid-twenties, and he was smaller than his reputation. His custom-tailored suit fit perfectly, and his white shirt was clean and pressed. He had the look of a dandy but sported a short-barreled Colt.
“I thought we’d better talk,” he said. “I don’t know you or anything about you, but I believe in giving a man fair warning until I learn he doesn’t deserve it.”
“Mrs. Bolton hired you?” I asked, getting right to the point.
“Mrs. Bolton tried to hire me, but I’m otherwise engaged.”
That stopped me for a second. Finally, I said, “I’m glad to hear that. I wouldn’t want you after me.”
“Don’t take it as good news. There’s plenty of idle men in this town. My take on Mrs. Bolton is that she doesn’t give up easy. She’ll find someone. Unlike me, he’ll probably be a back shooter.” He gave me an appraising stare. “What’d you do to piss her off so much?”
“I helped her daughter-in-law with the execution of her son’s will. Her husband left alm
ost everything to his wife.” I paused. “To her way of thinking, I helped steal the ranch she built with her husband and managed for her deceased son. A large ranch, by the way. The largest in Nevada.”
“Her daughter-in-law may’ve got the lion’s share, but Mrs. Bolton has enough ready cash to hire anyone in this town willing to take on the work.”
“You said you were otherwise engaged. May I ask how?”
“No secret. I work for the Santa Fe Railway … and I’m still sheriff of Ford County in Kansas.”
“The Santa Fe? How did you come to be employed by them?”
“Long history. I helped them lay the tracks into Dodge City back in ’72 when I was only eighteen.”
“You’re not laying track now, I hope.”
“No, security. We’re having skirmishes with the Denver and Rio Grande line. Miners are hauling fifty tons of refined silver a day out of these hills, and they haul the ore out by wagon surrounded by a heavy guard. The canyon along the Arkansas River has room for only a single pair of rails, so whoever gets here first will have a highly profitable monopoly.”
“I heard the Carbonate Kings hire Pinkertons to ride alongside the Wells Fargo guards.”
Masterson looked quizzical. “That’s right. What’s your interest?”
“Cost. I’m trying to gauge the profit in hauling a trainload out of these mountains. Shares in the winning line should do well on Wall Street.” I tapped the arm of my chair in thought. “These skirmishes you mentioned, are they shooting skirmishes?”
“On occasion. Mostly moving survey stakes, man-made avalanches, and tearing up each other’s tracks.”
“Can I help? I own Santa Fe and Rio Grande stock.”
Masterson gave me another appraising look. “Are you the gent that had a shooting in Durango?”
“Yes. The first of Mrs. Bolton’s hired guns. Thankfully, they were just cowpokes looking for easy money. Not so easy, as it turned out.”
Masterson shook his head. “People like you and me build reputations off no-accounts with shaky hands.”
“I understand you faced some dangerous men in Dodge City.”
“Drunk men for the most part. The secret to a long life as a sheriff is to approach danger stone sober. I learned that from Wyatt Earp.”
“Is it true he’s a teetotaler?”
“He takes a drink on occasion but never when he might face trouble. A sober man facing someone in his cups always has the edge. I’m giving you good advice. Don’t drink in public until you deal with this threat.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. May I ask a question?”
“You can ask. I’ll decide whether I want to answer.”
“I have a friend who’s acquainted with Doc Holliday. He says he’s only dangerous when drunk. How does that fit with your advice?”
“Doc’s a strange one, and your friend’s right. His hand shakes when he’s sober and gets steady when he drinks. He also gets mean as hell sometimes, especially if wronged. But Doc’s different than most men. Don’t be fooled into believing you get better with a couple drinks under your belt. You just think you’re better.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t discard advice from you and Wyatt Earp.”
After a pause in the conversation, Masterson asked, “How much stock do you own in the Santa Fe and Rio Grande?”
“I’d have to check my records, but if memory serves, about ten thousand shares of each.”
Masterson sat upright. “That’s a hell of a lot of money. Are you wealthy?”
“Yes. How long has this contest gone on?”
“Almost four years. It started with the line into New Mexico. The Santa Fe won that one, but the Rio Grande had the upper hand on the Leadville line. I think the Santa Fe hoped that enlisting someone with my reputation would encourage the Rio Grande to back off, but they didn’t. Just got more aggressive. To tell the truth, my fee is substantial, so I’m not all that eager to see this contest end.”
Since I held large investments in both rail lines, I did want to see this conflict brought to a reasonable conclusion. “Speaking of your reputation, I came west to write a book about the frontier. Would you be open to an interview? I have a contract with a New York publisher, and I promise to give you a prominent position.”
“No, I’m sorry, but I’m writing my own book.”
“How’s it going?”
“Slow. Been busy.”
“You know, if my book’s a success, it’ll give yours a boost when you get it finished.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dancy, but I’m not in a hurry.” He smiled. “I’m a young man, and the story is not near complete. I’ve been approached by many writers, but I’m determined to write my own story.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a carte de visite that I had had created for me before I left New York. I realized this was the first calling card I had used since I had ventured west. I supposed Masterson’s impeccable attire made me assume he wouldn’t consider it pretentious.
I held the card out between us. “If you change your mind, please contact me first. I’ll do you justice, and as you mentioned, I’m rich, so I can make it worth your while.”
He accepted the card and put it into a vest pocket without looking at it. “You may be wealthy, but you’re also building your own reputation with a gun. I suggest you rely on your experiences.”
“With any luck, I won’t have enough adventures of that type to fill an entire book. Keep me in mind.”
He gave me yet another appraising look. “Put me out of your mind. I didn’t like Mrs. Bolton, so I decided to warn you about her intentions. That’s the only reason I came to see you. Good night.”
With that, Masterson got up and left the Carbonate Hotel. I hoped that wouldn’t be the last time I saw him.
Chapter 34
The next couple of days, we concentrated on running the store and stayed away from McAllen, Grant, and the Indian encampment. Townspeople had to believe we took our enterprise seriously, or Grant might guess our purpose. In the evenings, I went to bed early, but Sharp visited saloons and spread the word around town that he had discovered better profit in shopkeeping than in mining. Despite first approaching Grant as friends of McAllen, we hoped this would make us look like another couple of money-grubbers with our own interests.
Mrs. Baker slowly adjusted to her new position. She obviously felt out of her usual social class, but she gamely tried to fit in with us and our customers. She wore a woolen day dress with a murky paisley pattern that outlined her figure perfectly. When Sharp met our new senior clerk for the first time, he thought she was an odd choice—until he noticed how miners lollygagged until she was free to wait on them. Further down State Street, passersby saw all sorts of lurid displays by prostitutes in their boardwalk cribs, but none could compete with the attractions of the demurely dressed Mrs. Baker.
Word about our new pricing spread, and each hour we saw more business. I wondered if lower prices were a good idea, after we began to run low on stock. I sent the boys around to other shops, and they scavenged some second- and third-rate goods that the other stores couldn’t sell. I followed up on their visits and convinced a couple of store owners to transfer more of their slow-moving stock to me on consignment. We didn’t sell much of the shoddy merchandise, but it helped fill the empty shelves. Another advantage to these arrangements was that the other shopkeepers came to the conclusion that we only sold inferior goods. I was pleased to keep our real intent hidden until our Denver shipment arrived.
Masterson’s warning kept me alert. I wore my Colt at all times and kept a shotgun under the counter. When Sharp and I made the ten-minute walk between the hotel and the shop, we both carried Winchesters. Sharp always preferred a rifle—even for close work—and I wanted to look as intimidating as possible. Sharp also slung a bag over his shoulder with enough coins to jingle so that people would think we were heavily armed to protect our till receipts instead of my life.
My biggest worry remained
Mrs. Bolton. She had taken up residence in the Carbonate Hotel, and I saw her on occasion in the lobby or the dining room. She always nodded pleasantly, like we were old friends, but I took it as a reminder to follow Mr. Masterson’s advice and have only a single glass of wine with my evening meal.
On her second day, Mrs. Baker approached me in the mid-afternoon. “Mr. Dancy, you have not met all of our agreed terms.”
“Excuse me?” After we had both signed her agreement, I had handed her sixty dollars.
“Is Mr. Sharp an expert gunman?”
I remembered. “Mr. Sharp is partial to rifles. I’ll teach you how to use a handgun.”
“Mr. Dancy, my husband taught me how to fire a pistol … I intend to be skillful. I overheard you tell Mr. Sharp about a conversation between you and Bat Masterson. Are you friends? Can he teach me?”
“No and no. I’ll teach you.”
She looked dubious. “Perhaps … this is the slow part of the day. Shall we see if you know any more about guns than I do?”
“We should wait for our new merchandise. I don’t have a decent handgun in stock.”
She reached into the folds of her dress and withdrew a small pistol. “I have a gun, Mr. Dancy. I just need someone to teach me how to use it properly.”
“May I see that?” She laid it flat in my outstretched palm. “This is a new Colt Lightning .38. Where’d you get it?”
“My husband. He felt a woman needed protection on the frontier.”
“This is a double-action pistol. All you do is squeeze the trigger. There’s not much to teach.”
“Aim, Mr. Dancy, aim. I want to hit what I want, and only what I want.” Despite her attempt to disguise it, I saw that I had won a bit of her confidence by recognizing the model of her pistol.
I walked behind the counter and pulled out two boxes of .38s. “Let’s go to the livery and rent a buggy.” As I came out from behind the counter, I yelled, “Jeff! You got the store.”
It was damn cold, so I didn’t drive too far out of town. Mrs. Baker had put on a heavy full-length wool coat, which she buttoned up against her neck, raising the collar. With gloves and hat and myriad undergarments, she was dressed more warmly than I. I snapped the reins and drove until I saw a hill we could place behind our targets to catch any errant shots. After helping Mrs. Baker down from the wagon, I took a burlap bag of bottles over to a flat rock about twenty feet away and started setting them up in a line. I glanced back to see Mrs. Baker taking practice aim with her small Colt. At least, I hoped it was practice aim.
Leadville Page 14
