My pocket watch said it was about a quarter after five. If the caravan left on schedule, we estimated that the slow-moving ore wagon would arrive about six. Although we barely had enough light to see, we scurried to our respective positions. I began to worry that our plan was too simple. What had we forgotten? What if Vrable didn’t act in the way we expected? Most important, what if we had completely miscalculated, and more people were in on the conspiracy than we had guessed? Too late. If events went awry, we would just have to make the best of the situation.
In less than ten minutes, I heard the type of squeaks that wagon springs make protesting their load. Listening carefully, I soon picked up a crackling noise as the wagon wheels crushed pebbles in their path. They were early. But how far away were they? There were no male voices this time. These men were professionals. We assumed there would be some type of shout when they completed the bend and spotted the fallen tree blocking their progress. That would be our signal to start shooting.
Sound travels far in the mountain air. They weren’t as close as I had thought when I first heard them. As I strained to listen, I couldn’t pick up a human voice, but the other sounds became louder and louder as the ore wagon relentlessly rolled toward us.
Then I heard a man yell, “Hold up there!”
Without lifting my head, I immediately fired five rounds into the air. There was enough shooting that I was sure Sharp was doing the same from the other side of the road. Before the echoes subsided, I rose and aimed my rifle down on the road.
I saw one Wells Fargo agent sprawled on the ground. McAllen had his rifle aimed squarely at Vrable.
Then I heard the captain order his team to aim their weapons at the other Wells Fargo agent and the teamster.
“Drop yer guns!” Sharp yelled.
“Now!” I shouted from the other side of the road.
Everybody looked around at everyone else with confused expressions.
I decided to clarify the situation. “Captain, we killed the outlaw gang last night. We have a bead on Vrable’s men, and we shoot on your orders.”
McAllen spurred his horse and came up next to Vrable, then put his rifle barrel under his chin and lifted his head a smidgen. “Tell your men to drop their guns.”
“Drop your guns, men.” Vrable’s voice affected surprise. “It appears that Captain McAllen intends to steal this shipment.”
When the guns noisily clattered to the ground, McAllen carefully lowered the hammer on his rifle. Then in a move so fast I didn’t catch it, he drove the gun barrel into Vrable’s gut hard enough to knock him off his horse. McAllen flew out of his saddle and used the butt of his rifle to hit Vrable alongside his head. He stood there in such a rage, I thought he might shoot him.
Suddenly, McAllen turned away and signaled us to come down. As I descended the rocky slope, I heard him give a brief explanation to his two men, and then he ordered the contrite teamster to turn the wagon around.
“Steve, sit up there on the wagon. Make sure he takes it slow and easy. Throw me your rifle and use your handgun. Shoot him if he snaps the reins on the horses.”
McAllen slipped my rifle into his scabbard and went over to talk to Sharp. We finally got the wagon turned around. Slow but not easy. Sitting in the shotgun seat, I watched the difficulty in reversing direction and developed an appreciation for the driver’s skill. I was happy the teamster had enough sense to avoid getting himself shot, because I don’t think any of us could have handled the team on the narrow road, especially with the fallen tree restricting forward motion.
The whole time the driver worked his team, I kept my Colt out but along my right thigh so it was out of his reach. After the final jigging of the wagon, I raised my pistol and ordered the driver to pull up. Now what? I shielded the Colt with my thigh again and glanced over my shoulder to see Sharp approaching.
“Steve, use Vrable’s horse to gather up ours and bring ’em back here.” Sharp pointed at the teamster. “What’s yer name?”
“Brad.”
“Brad, get yer ass down here an’ load that Wells Fargo agent onto the top of this wagon.”
I waited until Brad had climbed down before I jumped from my seat. I walked over to Vrable’s horse, but before I swung into the saddle, Sharp took hold of my shoulder to stop me. “McAllen approved of the way we handled this.”
“That’s because it worked.”
We had shot a few rounds into the air, figuring the only way to expose the conspirators was to make them think the robbery was happening according to plan. We had assumed that Vrable would shoot at McAllen because he hated the captain and McAllen was a dangerous man in a fight. It was a gamble, but Sharp and I had agreed that McAllen would also go after Vrable. We knew the captain was fully capable of taking care of himself in that type of situation. Also, McAllen had forewarning, so his readiness would give him an edge. We hoped. We had taken this course because the feud had to end, right here on this road, and not in some courtroom with uncertain evidence that a crime had even been intended. We had never anticipated that Vrable would shoot the Wells Fargo agent. He must have relied on the ambushers to kill McAllen and the other two Pinkertons. In the end, there would be a trial, but several trustworthy witnesses had seen Vrable commit a hanging offense.
“Yep. Right about that,” Sharp said. “If our little trick had failed, McAllen would’ve been mad as a hornet.”
I laughed. “In that case, I intended to act like a dumb city dweller following your lead.”
Sharp released my shoulder and slapped me on the back with a snort. “Ya’d probably got away with that one too … except for this.” He showed me a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
“What’s that?”
“Last will and testament. Wrote it out last night in case things went bad this mornin’.” He smiled and snapped the paper against his other palm. “In here, I give ya credit for our ruse.”
“Damn.” I shook my head and pulled myself into the saddle of Vrable’s horse. “Jeff, you sneaky son of a bitch. I guess I am just a dumb city dweller.”
Chapter 50
I looked at my watch and saw that it was only a little after nine. Damn, the day seemed long already. As we rode back into Leadville, I remembered that the main thoroughfare was named Chestnut, and the troubles I had left in town leaped back into my consciousness. McAllen may have had his daughter and reputation intact, but I still had unfinished business.
McAllen ordered us to the town office of H. A. W. Tabor, the biggest, and some said the luckiest, of the Carbonate Kings. Tabor was also mayor of Leadville, which meant he was the town marshal’s boss. The marshal, a man named Mart Duggan, was a notorious bully, and I had been lucky enough not to encounter him or any of his police thugs. It helped that I had stayed away from the brothels and the rowdier saloons. The police effectively kept the town reasonably peaceful, but the Carbonate Kings used Wells Fargo and Pinkerton to protect their property. The rich always trusted private police more than public servants on the taxpayer payroll.
McAllen went into Tabor’s office by himself, while we kept an eye on our prisoners. Vrable and his enlisted robbers were subdued, but the Pinkertons still made a show of looking intimidating. After about a half hour, McAllen stuck his head out of the door and waved me in. Odd. Why would I be called into the ongoing discussions? I gave Sharp a glance, but he just shrugged.
Tabor’s office was luxurious, even by New York City standards. I had heard idle talk in my store that he was worth several million and on the way to more. Much more.
As I entered, he approached with his hand extended. “Mr. Dancy, I’ve heard about you, and I’m glad we have this opportunity to meet.” He shook my hand vigorously. “Thank you for all you did today.”
“You’re welcome, but I must admit, I did it for Captain McAllen, not you.”
“Of course, of course. You don’t even know me. But I still feel an obligation, and I think I can repay it.”
“That’s not necessary.”
/> Tabor gave me an indulgent look. “Mr. Dancy, please listen to me a moment.” He paused dramatically. “Mart Duggan accepted a contract to kill you. He’s already deposited five hundred, and he’ll get another five hundred when the deed is done.” Now he looked a little too pleased with himself. “I presume you know Mrs. Bolton?”
“I know Mrs. Bolton, but how do you know about a deal between her and the marshal?”
“I have a man inside his police force. Mart is not the kind of man you allow to move around without a watcher.”
“He’s the marshal, for God’s sake.”
“Mart is a scoundrel and a killer. He once threatened to throw me in jail when I criticized the way he ran his office. Since then, the town leaders have let him run his petty rackets because he keeps a lid on the town.”
I turned to McAllen. “Captain, it appears I need to pay attention to my own affairs. Let me know when the trial will be held, and I’ll make myself available.”
“Hold on, Steve. Mr. Tabor isn’t just giving you a warning. He intends to resolve this issue … at least as far as Duggan goes.”
My head whipped around to Tabor. “How?”
“He’s doing this for money. I’ll pay him more not to do it. He has it good here. He’ll see reason.” Tabor laughed. “The man doesn’t have an honorable bone in his body. I bet he keeps the five hundred he’s already got.”
“That would be a mistake. Mrs. Bolton does not forgive, and she never forgets. But, I thank you. I’ll repay you, of course.”
“Not necessary. Captain McAllen says he owes you an enormous debt, and he has instructed me to use his share of the reward to remind our dear marshal that he is an officer of the court. Besides, this won’t come cheap, young man.”
I looked at McAllen. “Thank you, Captain, but that won’t be necessary. I can afford it.”
“Steve, you’re going to let me help with this.” The tone of voice ended that discussion.
I extended my hand to Tabor. “Thank you for the information and the intervention. It’s appreciated.” I turned to leave.
“Where do you think you’re going?” McAllen asked.
“To my hotel to get warm and fed so I can think. I need to figure out how to end this feud with Mrs. Bolton.”
“Steve, we didn’t call you in just to tell you about her shenanigans. I wanted you off the street. Someone could’ve plucked you off that horse as easy as shooting that wooden Indian in front of your store. Stay here until Mr. Tabor returns and tells you he has convinced Duggan to double-cross that bitch.”
I thought about it. My natural instinct was to ignore them and do what I wanted, but that was incautious. No, it was foolish. It made no sense to risk my life against yet another of her hired gunmen, and it made no sense that I resented help from Tabor. I needed to avoid trouble because, sooner or later, my luck or skill would fail.
“Will you do it now?” I asked Mr. Tabor.
“Yes. We need to secure the ore, but the captain has his instructions. The marshal will be sleeping in his room at this hour.” Tabor smiled, as if he looked forward to interrupting the marshal’s sleep. “He needs to be rousted anyway to take charge of these prisoners.”
“Captain, this may take a bit,” I said. “After you secure the shipment and prisoners, could you have one of your men order breakfast sent over to this office?”
“I’ll do it on my way over to the marshal’s room,” Tabor said. “Help yourself to coffee in the meantime.”
I wanted to object because I didn’t want to be beholden to this man. Why did I feel competitive with him? I fought McAllen’s enemies because the situation called for it, not because I felt a need to win a confrontation. Tabor was just being polite, and I bristled. I looked at Tabor and looked around his office, and I knew. This man competed in my arena—business. Those gunfights were someone else’s arena, and I didn’t care about winning; I cared about surviving. This realization made me enormously happy. I may have been in the West, but the West was not yet in me. Even though I had been thrilled—even euphoric—after surviving gunplay, the violence hadn’t corrupted me. I needed to get back to my journal. It seemed that with a little thought, I could put together an interesting entry.
I was walking over to the stove to pour coffee for myself when I had a thought. “Mr. Tabor?”
“Yes.”
I reached inside my coat and withdrew my wallet. “If you offered Duggan another five hundred, do you think he’d testify against Mrs. Bolton?”
Tabor contemplated my question. “No, perhaps for a thousand, though.” He made a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”
I pulled out a thousand dollars and held it out to him. “No, Mr. Tabor. You’re taking care of breaking his agreement with Mrs. Bolton, and I’m eternally grateful, but I’ll handle the bribe to get him to do his duty.”
Tabor tentatively took the currency I held in front of him. “You own that general store at the end of State Street, am I not correct? With a partner, if I heard correctly.”
“You heard correctly.” The end of State Street was his way of saying in the low-rent district.
He held the bills up in front of him, but I noticed he had a firm grip. “This is a lot of money. Are you sure?”
“I want Mrs. Bolton in prison.”
“You made this kind of money from that ramshackle shop?” Tabor sounded incredulous.
“I own other things.”
Now he looked intrigued. “What other things, if I may ask?”
“Among other assets, I own shares of the Santa Fe and the Denver and Rio Grande.”
Tabor actually took a half step back. I was having fun, but I noticed McAllen looked irritated. “Both lines?” Tabor asked.
“Yes. And I intend to stop this feud. I’m sure you’ll agree Leadville needs a secure method of refined-ore shipment.”
Tabor shook his head in disbelief. “Why is a person of your means running a shoddy general store?”
I signaled him to come over to the window. “See that gruff man on the black horse?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my partner, Jeff Sharp. Have you heard of him?”
“No. He’s rough looking.” He studied him. “Is he a gunman?”
I laughed. “No more than necessary to protect his property and his friends. No, Jeff’s the largest independent mine owner in Nevada. We only got into storekeeping to help foil this robbery.”
“I see.” He left the window. “Now that you put the name in context, I have heard of Jeff Sharp, and what I hear is mostly good.” He gave me an appraising look before continuing. “Mr. Dancy, you don’t need to concern yourself further about the two lines competing for Leadville. My sources tell me a deal was struck in a meeting between the parties in New York. The Santa Fe gets the southern route into New Mexico, and the Denver and Rio Grande gets uncontested rights to Leadville. Thankfully, your intervention won’t be required.”
“That means my intervention has already worked. I sent a series of telegrams suggesting that same solution.”
“Well, I’m sure—”
“Mr. Tabor, we need to get to our respective tasks.” McAllen’s tone would brook no argument. “You two can discuss business when we get this shipment off the road and these prisoners behind bars.” He grabbed Tabor by the elbow and gently led him to the door.
After they had passed onto the boardwalk, McAllen stuck his head back into the room before closing the door. “Steve, sorry to spoil your fun, but for your information, a man’s pecker is not measured by how much money he has.”
I thought about the long-barreled Smith & Wesson that McAllen carried. “Nor is it measured by the length of his pistol barrel.”
McAllen, a man who rarely smiled, gave me a grin. “Steve, I think you got it wrong there.” His head disappeared, and the door closed with a solid click.
I laughed. This was one of the rare times that McAllen had made a humorous comment. At least, I assumed he meant it humoro
usly.
I poured myself some coffee and sipped as I watched McAllen through the window. He briskly took charge and got the teamster to move the wagon down the street. I assumed they were taking it to the Matchless, Tabor’s biggest mine. McAllen looked his normal brusque self, but I could see that he was happier than I had ever seen him. After all he had been through this last month or so, he must have felt enormous relief. I was happy for him, and I realized I was feeling pretty good myself. No family member of mine had been in jeopardy, but this whole episode had been scary as hell, and my nerves had been keyed up for far too long. Thank God it was over.
I was at the stove refilling my coffee when I heard the door open behind me. I turned, expecting to greet Tabor. It wasn’t him.
“Can I help you?” I asked, from the other side of the room.
The huge man stood as still as a statue and just stared at me and then spit on the carpet in utter disrespect of civilization. His clothes looked solid and in good repair, but filthy. His face was so pockmarked and scarred, I wondered how he shaved. After a moment, a putrid stench wafted across the room and almost made me recoil. But the eyes were what grabbed me and held me like a taut lariat. Those eyes spewed hatred and told the world in no uncertain terms that this man was decidedly dangerous. His existence threatened all things living.
Bane was an apparition from a nightmare.
I knew only one of us would leave this room alive, but how did he intend to kill me? His hands were empty, and if he wore a gun, it was underneath his over-large coat. I decided it was foolish to analyze or finesse. I needed to react, not think.
Shifting my coffee cup to my left hand, I said, “Bane, if you twitch, I’ll kill you.”
He snorted indifference. “I want the girl.” Nothing moved but his mouth.
“Didn’t you see the commotion outside? It’s all over.”
“Give me the girl and you live.” He remained still, like a cat ready to pounce.
Why? The girl meant nothing now. He must have wanted the pleasure of killing her to get even or because he wasn’t right in the head. I held no illusions that if I told him where to find Maggie that he would let me live. It wasn’t his nature.
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