At first, Jack dismissed the story. Finding Adams seemed an impossible task. He envisioned Carla and wanted to be with her, to watch her, to listen to her talk, imagining kissing her lips. He should write her, he thought. No, he couldn’t. He didn’t really know her. Was she who he imagined? He had told her he was going to San Francisco, but not why he was going. Not exactly. What if she learned he was tracking Haywood’s man, Steve Adams? Might she have reported it? If so, Haywood might’ve sent someone to kill Jack. Thoughts of death brought Pete’s body to mind. Carla might have heard about Jack’s botched plan at the track—how it had gotten Pete killed. Would she care that guilt was suffocating him? Maybe he should write to her. No, he couldn’t.
Iain had fastened himself to the idea that Adams was en route for the gold in the Chinaman. Somehow. Somewhere. So, what the hell, thought Jack. As Iain pointed out, they had nothing else, no other leads. Absolutely nothing. So they made inquiries around Sacramento, talking with saloon patrons, work gangs, barbershop customers, railyard crews, a few policemen, but no one recognized the story, or took meaning from “blue tent.” That is until Jack took the question to a group of Chinese men who had resettled their families just beyond the city. (He didn’t mention the vessel in which the gold was supposedly buried.) An elderly Mandarin spoke up. He had worked a claim near a place by that name not far from there, up in the Sierra Nevadas.
So, Jack and Iain took the Southern Pacific into the mountains, disembarking at the tiny stop of Alta. There they hired a guide with horses and began a day’s ride into the high Sierras—following a thirty-year-old map—heading to a dot called Blue Tent.
<><><>
“When?” asked Neva.
“Nine o’clock,” said George.
Winnie smiled. “I’m going to Boise on Wednesday, I believe.”
“I’m not sure I want to go at all,” said Neva.
The three of them were in the parlor of the Pioneer Building suites: Winnie on a chair, George and Neva sitting near each other on one of the settees, but not so close as to touch. The evening meal done, each sorted their thoughts, tabulating the day. The ladies hadn’t changed for dinner as only George had joined them—thus they were in their day dresses. While George would have said Neva’s dress was yellow and Winnie’s was purple, the sisters knew the details.
“Perhaps I should get on,” said George. “Dinner was splendid.”
“Oh, don’t,” insisted Neva. “Not yet. I’ll ride with you to the station. You still have an hour, no?”
He checked his pocket-watch. “Yes. An hour.”
“Well, I’ll leave you two,” said Winnie. “I must go anyway.”
Neva turned. “Go where, Sissy?”
“A worker’s gathering.”
“The Socialist Party is making a lot of noise about Bill,” George said toward a wall of books.
“As they should,” chirped Winnie. “Oh, I didn’t tell you. I wrote to Mr. Debs, asking him to come to Boise on behalf of Bill. He should, don’t you agree?”
George shook his head. “You know how Bill feels about Debs.”
Neva winced. “You invited him to testify? To Bill’s character?”
“Someone has to speak for him,” snapped Winnie. “You won’t.”
“No, I won’t,” said Neva, glancing at George.
“What did Debs say?” asked George.
“He will!” Winnie’s nose scrunched as she grinned. “It’s terrific.”
George frowned.
“He’ll raise an army of fifty-thousand workers,” gushed Winnie, “and lead them to Idaho to liberate Bill. By force if required.”
“Jesus,” said George.
“Don’t,” Neva said softly, placing a hand on George’s arm.
“Pardon me—yes, dear. But that’s ridiculous, don’t you think?”
“It is not,” protested Winnie. “Mr. Debs is going to lead this country to a socialist revolution. He and Bill. And since Bill is running for governor on the Socialist Party ticket. Yes. Can’t you see it? This will be the century of the people, the workers.”
Neva shook her head. “Sissy, you read a great amount of—”
“It’s all going to happen,” said Winnie. Her tone had turned sharp. “You’ll see. You always think I’m silly.”
“He’s run on that ticket before,” George began.
“And what will he do, campaign from prison?” asked Neva.
“He wouldn’t have to, if it wasn’t for ... you,” Winnie erupted, getting to her feet, her eyes knives.
“Sissy!”
“That’s not true,” said George. “You know that’s not true.”
“I have to go,” declared Winnie. She put on her hat and adjusted it in the foyer mirror. “Bill will come home soon. You’ll see. He and Mr. Debs will change everything. And I’m going to help them.” She turned to Neva. “And your precious George will help too.”
“No,” said George, “but I’ll see you in Boise by week’s end.”
“I suppose you will then,” snarked Winnie.
“Have a nice evening, Sissy,” Neva jabbed.
Winnie paused as if to retort, but only muttered, “Bye,” before slamming the entrance door behind her.
George walked back to Neva, leaned down and kissed her forehead, and then took Winnie’s seat.
“She is insufferable,” fumed Neva. “Infuriating. Trying to blame me. She—” Seeing the docility in George’s brown eyes, she wrestled her tone to something more hospitable. “Why are you sitting there? Come be here, beside me.”
George took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. “I need to talk with you.”
Neva’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
“I’ve called a meeting of the locals. A special meeting.”
“The money?”
He nodded. “Do you still have the record book I gave you?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Good.”
“What will they do?”
“I’m not sure.”
Neva’s eyes narrowed. “They’d better not try to blame you, or they’ll hear from me.”
George put on a small smile. “They shouldn’t, but—”
“Does Bill know about the meeting?”
George nodded.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Neva. “But they’ll see you’re the one bringing the embezzlement to them—that you’re not to blame.”
“I don’t know. If I was to blame, how would my actions look different? They might say I waited till Bill was taken, then blamed him behind his back.”
“That’s not right.”
“It’s how it could look. And now they might think I’m working with the Pinks. Which of course could be dangerous.”
“Why in the world would they think that?” asked Neva.
He frowned at her. “Uhmm ... the deal you cut with them? With Detective McParland of all people. You gave him the floorplan of this place, trading on his promise not to investigate me. Right?”
Neva didn’t answer.
“Right?”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t. I lied. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t talk to McParland about me? You said—”
“I know. I thought to make that bargain, for you, but only after I’d already talked to him. After I left. I so wished I’d made that deal. I was mad at myself for just giving him what he wanted without getting anything in return. I was so mad.”
“Oh my, dear. No, no. That’s good. I’m relieved. That’s good.”
“You’ve always been so kind to me,” she whispered tearfully.
“It’s all right. You wanted to make me happy. But what makes me happy is that you didn’t. A devil’s bargain like that would’ve been picked up by a
Federation spy, and it would’ve made the chapters think I’d turned on them. Or, worse, they might think I’m a spy. That might’ve gotten me killed.”
“I’m sorry.” She took his handkerchief for her eyes. “But wasn’t I a fool to not get something in the bargain?”
“Not everything needs to be a trade, dear. Some things are what they are, all that they need to be. And that’s enough. You thought helping them with Bill was right, so it was enough.”
She nodded and sniffed.
George moved to sit beside her on the settee, then wrapped her in his arms. “You have a golden heart. But you should’ve been honest with me.”
She remained in thought. “How can we protect you from being blamed for Bill’s stealing? If the government gets involved, Bill will blame you. And if Bill is … gone, you’ll be the only one left.”
“Perhaps in a few weeks, after I’ve met with the local chapters, then maybe an arrangement can be made. But, dear, only after you and I have discussed it. All right? We’ll talk about it in Boise.”
“I don’t want to go to Boise.”
“I know. But Darrow will insist.”
“I hate that you’re going now.”
“It’s all right. You’ll come. We’ll endure the circus together.”
She took his face into her small hands and kissed him deeply.
<><><>
– 42 –
MONDAY
March 18, 1907
Jack and Iain stood still, studying the non-existent mining town of Blue Tent, California. Before them, in a concave meadow of early spring grasses, rusted mining equipment lay scattered—angular, thick, iron pieces, abandoned machinery the color of dried blood—protruding from where life reemerged, wisps of yellow buttercups bobbing in the cold breeze, beside snow pockets hiding from the sun under the limbs of stalwart pines and budding oaks.
“Ain’t no chink bodies out there,” said a hump-shouldered old miner with tobacco teeth—the only person they’d found who could tell them about the place. He might’ve qualified as a local, had he not lived nine miles away, merely passing along when they encountered him. (Their guide had turned back well before this meadow.) “Heared me the same tale, but it’s a fool—” The man stopped talking and began moving into the meadow. “You two’s already gone a diggin?”
“No, we just arrived,” said Jack. They followed the old man toward the remnants of a conveyor’s flywheel and axle. Just beyond the dead machinery, they saw what had the man’s attention: a dozen or more holes, thirty or forty feet between them, spread across the lower portion of the field.
“Well, if it ain’t you,” said the old-timer, “then somebody’s been a badger out here, searching for your stuffed Chinaman.”
“Wasn’t us,” said Iain.
Jack walked around a hole and kicked its mound. “This was dug in the last day or two.”
“No siree,” said the man, waddling toward Jack. “Rained the Furies last night. That’s fresh. Reckon the feller’s here somewheres.”
Jack turned to Iain, alarm in his eyes. “Then we’re sittin Indians. Let’s go.” Once both remounted, they galloped from the meadow.
“Alright den,” mumbled the man, still standing amid the holes.
Under dense trees, the horses picked across fallen trunks and up through crusty snowbanks as they climbed. When Jack reined in at a boulder outcrop, Iain stopped too. “We could be in his sights right this bloody instant,” Iain exclaimed, twisting, creaking the leather of his saddle.
Jack looked below the canopy to the meadow beyond. “No, he’s not out here. We didn’t need to run off like that.”
“How do ya figure? Could be a bad coincidence.”
“No such thing as coincidences—good or bad. No, Adams wouldn’t have known we were coming. We’d have surprised him.”
Iain groused, “So, he’s not here because we aren’t dead?”
“About the size of it. We shouldn’t have ridden up on the place without scouting it first.”
“But he was here,” said Iain. “Dug for his gold.”
“Somebody did. Maybe it was him.” Jack frowned. “That guide of ours—he said he hadn’t seen Adams, but then he turned back early. What if, instead of going back, he crosscut us and came ahead to dig for himself. Or to help Adams?”
“Help Adams? The bastard has no friends and less money.”
“I don’t know,” said Jack. “We probably shouldn’t assume that.”
Both paused a moment in their own thoughts while their horses hooved at the mountain foliage, snuffling for something to eat. “I bet he’s already back in Alta, or on up in Truckee, on the main line,” said Iain. “Probably there waiting on the next train.”
Jack sniffed. “Or maybe he’s already halfway across Nevada.”
“Maybe so,” said Iain.
“Or he might’ve followed the Yuba River further north.”
“Or an aeroplane came along and scooped him up,” said Iain.
Jack snorted a laugh. “Let’s get back down to the rail and see what we can figure.”
“Lead on,” said Iain, turning his horse to follow. As they moved off, Iain asked, “What did you mean, there’s no coincidences?”
“Yeah. Chief said that.”
“That motorcar hitting Pete, right when he was fighting—”
“Just the way it happened,” Jack said quietly.
“Seems like a damned coincidence to me.”
<><><>
Clarence Darrow arrived in Boise at 10:15 on the morning of that same day. By noon he had requisitioned the meeting rooms on the first floor of the Saratoga Hotel for Federation business and leased six bedrooms (including one for himself) indefinitely. By 2:00, he had couches, chairs, and tables brought into one of the rooms—the one he designated as his office. George arrived at 4:50 and sat on one of the couches, listening to the Federation’s lawyer.
“We need twenty trustworthy men handy with rifles. Chain lightning on the draw.”
George frowned. “Are you planning a gunfight?”
“No,” said Darrow. “But what, I’m not sure.”
“We’re not busting him out,” said George.
Darrow gave George a curious scowl. “Of course not.”
“Captain Swain can get you more men.”
“I’m not sure what he can do,” said Darrow.
“All right. Well, you have the ten I brought with me.”
“Good, so ten more please.”
“Like I said, let’s see if Swain can get them.” George sat forward, watching Darrow. “So, you’re in charge here?”
“On trial matters,” Darrow said. “Union concerns are yours, George. But then again, anyone who thinks Bill isn’t in command from his jail cell— Well, they don’t know him, do they?”
George drummed his fingers on the leather arm of the couch. “Probably true. But the money needs to come through me.”
Darrow nodded. “I just need to supervise our legal strategy.”
“Of course,” George replied.
“Speaking of men,” Darrow began. “I’d appreciate it if you made us three lists.” He took a seat opposite George. “List A: those we absolutely trust.”
“Absolutely?” George shook his head. “I only know one.”
Darrow chuckled. “All right, that we trust for the most part. Granted, it’ll still be a short list. Then list B: Any Pinkerton, and anyone else working for the prosecution, or cooperating with them. And C: those here in Boise who are associated with all this, in some form or fashion, but we don’t know which list, A or B, to put them on yet.”
“All right,” said George. “The unknowns.”
“And your men all need be vetted and armed to the teeth. Bill wants them guarding this hotel around the clock.”
“You’ve been t
o see him today?”
Darrow ignored the question. “No one gets into this building who’s on List B without an escort. And have your men double check everyone on List A at least once every three days. Assign some to watch others. Boise is the prosecution’s territory, so that makes it the Pinkerton’s. And that snake McParland has this city thick with spies. Not only do they occupy the high ground, they’ve had months to prepare.”
“The high ground?”
“Judge Wood is theirs.”
George nodded.
“And McParland’s a crook. Borah too. Senator, my ass,” scoffed Darrow. “They kidnapped Bill in gross violation of all legality. As unconstitutional as it gets. And now you and I are here, having to prepare on their battlefield. I don’t like it.” After a beat, he asked, “Why didn’t Mrs. Haywood come with you?”
“I’m not sure when she’s coming.”
“But she will, right?”
“I believe so,” said George. “They’ve had a discordant episode.”
“A discordant episode?”
“A falling out. Did you know?”
“To some degree. What matters to me is that she’s here. And if this goes to trial, that she’s sitting on the front row, right behind him. And she’ll need to testify on his behalf.”
George inhaled. “I’m sure you’ll discuss that with her.”
“Right now, I need to talk to Swain about those additional men. Where is he?”
“Bill sent him to San Francisco weeks ago—after Adams.”
Darrow stared at George until the full meaning of that sentence set in. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “If Adams is never seen again, then—”
American Red Page 35
