by Paul Colt
“There’s no law against havin’ a new gold piece. Then again, you don’t see many as new as this. Where’d you get it?”
“Ah, a customer give it to me. Me and Tilley entertained a couple of gents at the Rusty Spike. One calls himself Collins, the other says his name is Heffridge.”
“What makes them suspicious?”
“The one calls himself Heffridge let his whiskey talk a little loose. He told Tilley, ‘There’s lots more where that one came from.’ What would you think?”
“Yes, I see your point. Where are these two now?”
She shrugged.
“When did they hit town?”
“Yesterday I reckon. They showed up at the Rusty Spike lookin’ for a place to stay the night.”
“Did they?”
She shifted one hand to her hip suggestively and pointed to the double eagle with her chin. “And where do you suppose that came from handsome?”
“Yes, of course. Where are they now?”
She shrugged. “They left early this morning.”
“Any idea where they went?”
She shook her head. “I listen. I ain’t paid to talk much.”
Longstreet suppressed a smile. “What do they look like?”
“Collins is on the small side. Got a chip on his shoulder that one. I expect he’s trouble. Heffridge is a big dumb ox. I doubt he’d know enough to come in out of the rain.”
“With a description like that, finding them should be no trouble at all. Are you sure there isn’t anything more you can tell me?”
She pursed her full lips. “Yeah, they must have stabled their horses at the livery. Collins said the blacksmith sent them our way.”
He made a note.
She smiled. “Now put me down for that reward and come by anytime to pay a girl a call. I’d make you right welcome.” She turned on a flounce of petticoat ruffles and headed for the door with a come-hither sway to her hips.
Beau chuckled to himself. Right welcome and a gait to go with it.
Shady Grove
Gray shadow crept across the polished tile floor of the visitor’s lounge. The colonel paused. He knit his brows.
“I think that’s about enough for today, Robert. Penny will be along directly to fetch me to supper. Will you be coming tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid I have another engagement.”
“Engagement is it? I hadn’t expected a man of your deliberate caution would move so swiftly.”
“Sir?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. I should have thought you more likely to advance your cause with another sundae. Butterscotch I believe is the preferred flavor.”
“If you must know, Colonel, we plan to take in a new motionpicture show.”
“Oh. Quite an adventurous choice. My advice is follow it up with ice cream. You can’t go wrong with ice cream.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your… thoughtfulness.”
He smiled. “Now about my gratuity.”
“Gratuity?”
“Yes, a small token of appreciation you can do me for kindling this new romance in your life. You may think of it as an advance on my part in the royalties for this book I’m helping you write.”
“Did you have something specific in mind?”
“I do.” He glanced up the hallway with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye.
“Whiskey.”
“Whiskey?”
“Yes whiskey. They don’t let a man have a drop in this place. Can you imagine? It borders on barbaric. If you’d be kind enough to…”
He broke off his request at the clip of heel on tile. The look in his eye spoke the rest with a warning.
I half smiled and nodded. My back to the sound I sensed the sweet scent of vanilla. I stood and smiled. Her eyes smiled back.
“Time for supper, Colonel.”
“Time for supper, hell it’s time for a drink.”
“Now Colonel, you know the rules. Let’s not start that again.” She started to turn his chair to the hall.
“Can you imagine, Robert? An Irish girl with so little sympathy for a man’s thirst, it’s unnatural.”
He shot me a helpless glance. I winked, the bargain sealed.
“Yes, well enjoy the picture show, both of you. See you next week, Robert.”
She gave me a ‘Did you really have to tell him’ look over her shoulder as she wheeled him away. I shrugged.
The motion-picture show was a Western with a lovely heroine in distress and a handsome cowboy hero, riding a beautiful sorrel horse that might have been the smartest actor in the film. The sorrel seems to fill that role in picture shows, its distinctive markings set off to best advantage in black and white. We shared a sundae after the show. I walked her home in the gathering darkness of early evening. It must have been the darkness there on the porch, rather black and white like the picture show when I kissed her. She still tasted of butterscotch.
It snowed all Friday night. By the time I made my purchase and trudged through the snow to Shady Grove, I arrived an hour later than my usual time. The attendant in reception showed me to the visitor’s parlor. I waited. She rolled him into the parlor.
“You’re late, Robert.”
“I’m sorry, sir. The snow, I hope you understand.”
“Me understand? My dear boy, it’s this past hour’s anguish for this poor enfeebled young woman you’ve completely flummoxed for the past week.”
“Colonel! You hush now.” She blushed.
I laughed. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“There may be no fool like an old fool, but you can’t fool one either.”
She laughed. “I can tell when I’m no longer needed. I shall leave you two to your nefarious purposes.”
She treated me to her Mona Lisa and heavenly stride.
The colonel watched until he was satisfied she was out of hearing. “Have you got it?”
“Got what?”
“Our bargain. You agreed. Don’t tell me a young buck like you is forgetful.”
I took my seat. I fumbled in my coat for my pencil and pad pretending to ignore the question. “You know you really shouldn’t embarrass her so.”
“It is one of the few pleasures left to an old fart like me when you’re confined to a place like this. Now did you bring me a bottle?”
I reached inside my coat. “You know this is against my better judgment.”
“What better judgment? You’re a pup. And a lovesick pup I’ll wager thanks to my better judgment.” He held out his hand.
I passed him the bottle. He sequestered it beneath his blanket. “Not a word now.”
I shook my head. “And implicate my own complicity? I should think not. Now shall we begin?”
“Where were we?”
“The whore alerted the Pinkerton man.”
“Ah yes…”
EIGHT
Julesburg
September 22
Cane rode into Julesburg two days after the robbery report reached Sydney. He decided to stay the night and move on to Big Springs in the morning. He jogged into the windswept west end of town followed by a lazy sage ball. South Platte Hotel, the cracked signboard read. Not much to look at for sure. Still it looked like a roof over a man’s head with a hot meal and a drink somewhere nearby. He stepped down at a hitch rack recently repaired, judging by the green wood. He looped a rein over the rail, threw his saddlebags over his shoulder and stepped up the boardwalk fronting the hotel. He entered a small shadow-cast lobby with a deserted registration desk. No need to light a lamp he guessed, unless somebody needed to see. He rang the bell on the counter and waited. A stair creaked in the gloom off to the left. Boots clumped down a narrow stairway accompanied by the rattle of a scrub mop and bucket. Now there’s an encouraging sign.
A dark hulk reached the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry, I ain’t lit the lamp down here yet.”
Cane chuckled. “I noticed.”
A lucifer flared behind the counte
r. The rawboned clerk wearing shirtsleeves and an apron lifted a soot-smudged chimney and lit the lamp. He blew out the match and trimmed the wick.
“That’s better. Now what can I do for you?”
“I need a room for the night.”
The clerk spun the register. “That’ll be two dollars.”
Cane slid the coins across the counter with a scowl. “Kind of pricey.”
“You pay for the best in town.”
“I didn’t see another hotel in town.”
“That’s right, you didn’t. That makes us the best in town.” The clerk passed a key across the counter. “Room two, top of the stairs, fresh scrubbed to boot, no extra charge.”
“Much obliged. I need a place to stable my horse.”
“Livery and blacksmith’s down the street.” He hooked a thumb east. “Best eating in town is my brother’s place next door.”
“Your brother’s place, I see. How about a drink?”
“Rusty Spike.” He tossed his head. “Yonder across the street.”
Cane hefted his saddlebags and climbed the creaky stairs to room two. He found the small room better lit than the lobby, courtesy of a dirty, lace-curtained window, catching the last fast-fading daylight. He dropped his saddlebags on the small bed. A wooden dresser, table and oil lamp completed the furnishings. He cracked the window open in hopes of catching a fresh evening breeze.
Back outside he led Smoke down the street to the blacksmith shop and livery. He found a stocky barrel-chested smith folding his heavy leather apron preparing to close for the night.
“Got room for one more?”
The man sized up the late arrival. “How long he gonna be here?”
“Just overnight.”
“That’ll be fifty cents. You can put your tack in the shed. I’ll take care of water, a scoop and some hay.”
“Much obliged.” Cane fished a dollar out of his pants pocket and handed it over.
The smith drew a handful of coins from his pocket searching for change. A bright gold double eagle caught the dim light.
“That one looks like it might still be warm from the mint.”
The smith arched an eyebrow. “It’s new.”
“How’d you come by it?”
“What’s it to you?”
“The Union Pacific lost a passel of ’em three days ago.”
“So I hear. No law against holdin’ a double eagle. You the law?”
“Bounty hunter.”
“Pinkerton, bounty hunter. Seems these boys is real popular with everybody but real lawmen.”
“Pinkerton?”
“Yeah. Fella named Longstreet come by yesterday askin’ after the same pair.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Ask him. I ain’t in the bounty business.”
Cane fished a five-dollar gold piece out of his pocket. “This help your memory any?”
The smith eyed the coin. “Picked up their horses and rode out early day before yesterday. Rode southeast on takin’ their leave.” He held out his hand.
Cane held the coin. “How’d you come by that double eagle?”
“Sold a pack mule to ’em when they rode in.”
“Any idea what they did while they was in town?”
“Went up to the Rusty Spike is all I know.”
“Sounds like a popular spot.”
“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for. Ask for Sadie. She might know what become of them.”
“Much obliged.”
Cane surveyed the scene from the bat wings. The atmosphere in the Rusty Spike suited its name. Unlike the raucous clamor of a boomtown saloon like the Last Stop, the Spike settled for the faded glory left over from more vibrant times. A quiet card game or two and a few hard-rode soiled doves served the needs of those inclined to a local watering hole. He stepped up to the bar and signaled the bartender, a balding man with flabby jowls, waxed mustache and large belly covered in a stained apron. He sauntered down the bar wiping a glass with a towel in desperate need of a washtub.
“What’ll it be stranger?”
“Whiskey.”
The bartender set the glass on the bar. He pulled a bottle off the back bar and poured. He set the bottle on the bar and started to walk away.
“Where can I find Sadie?”
The bartender paused and jerked a thumb toward three doves lounging at a back corner table.
“How about another glass?” The bartender set one on the bar and moved off. Cane turned the glass over the neck of the bottle, picked it up and headed back to Sadie’s table.
“Sadie?” The redhead looked up, a flicker of interest in her eye. “Care for a drink?”
“Excuse me ladies.” She rose, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her full red lips.
Cane led the way to a nearby table and held back a chair. She brushed his hand taking her seat.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr…. ?” Her voice trailed off.
“Cane, Briscoe Cane.” He poured.
“Like I said, Briscoe Cane, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m lookin’ for a couple of men. Someone thought you might have seen them.”
“Pity.”
“How’s that?”
“I thought you might have been sent by a satisfied customer, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m sure that happens quite regular.”
“Not like the looks of you.” She took a long pull on her drink and held out the glass. “Who might these two be?”
Cane poured. “Sam Bass, travels with a man name of Collins.”
Sadie eyed him over the rim of her glass with naked interest. “Don’t know anyone named Bass. Collins come through a couple days ago with a feller called Heffridge.”
Cane scowled. “Short guy with a mustache and an attitude?”
“That’s him.”
What the hell happened to Bass? Clearly they’d split up. The realization dawned. Bass might have gotten away.
“You think he’s mixed up in that Big Springs train robbery don’t you?”
Cane snapped back from the prospect of frustration. “I didn’t say that. What makes you bring it up?”
“Cause I think he was and so do the Pinkertons.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Them two threw around brand-new gold double eagles and bragged there was more where they came from. I give my information to the Pinkerton man up to the depot. They’re offerin’ a reward you know.”
“I didn’t know that.” The whore’s eyes strayed over his shoulder toward the door with a flicker of recognition. He heard boots clip the plank floor coming toward them. He eased back from the table, making room for his gun and kicking himself for leaving his back to the door. He knew better than that.
“Evenin’ Miss Sadie.”
Cane glanced over his shoulder. The big man with dark eyes and a barbered mustache wore a bowler hat and frock coat with a bulge under the left arm.
“Forgive the intrusion. I’ve a few more questions to ask.”
“Might as well sit down and join us Mr. Longstreet. Briscoe Cane here and me was just discussin’ Collins and Heffridge.”
Longstreet cut his eyes to Cane. “Beau Longstreet, Pinkerton agent.” He stuck out his hand.
“Briscoe Cane, bounty hunter.”
Longstreet pulled up a chair. Sadie signaled the bartender for another glass.
“So Mr. Cane what’s your interest in the Big Springs robbery?”
“I been on the trail of Bass and Collins long before Big Springs. Call me Briscoe.”
“My pleasure, my friends call me Beau. Your mention of Bass is interesting. Our agents on the scene at Big Springs also think he was involved. The gang divided the loot and split up not far out of town. They used the river to cover their tracks.”
“It ain’t quite trail sign, but if they keep droppin’ them new double eagles we sure as hell ought to be able to find ’em.”
“I quite agree.”
>
Sadie gave Longstreet a playful pinch on the cheek to remind him he’d come to see her. “You two big handsome boys just go round up them crooks right quick and bring me my reward.”
Longstreet smiled.
The bat wings flew open to the clump of boots and the ring of spurs. Three hard cases trooped in.
Sadie went round eyed over Cane’s shoulder with a small gasp.
Shit bein’ in the wrong chair was becomin’ a habit in the presence of this woman. Cane eased his chair away from the table angled toward the bar where he could see the door. Three well armed young toughs filled the entrance. The leader, a hawk-featured gun hand dressed in black had fire in his eye and a thin scar splitting the corner of his lower lip. He swept the room with his eyes clearly looking for something or someone.
“Sadie darlin’ I got a need fit to drive a fence post!”
The Rusty Spike fell silent. Sadie shrank back as though trying to disappear into the back of her chair. Longstreet cut his eyes to Cane and then to Sadie. “Who’s that?” he hissed.
“Braylin Cross,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Cane had heard of him. Mean as a scorpion and said to be near as fast.
“Well now, seems like you got a couple of friends callin’. You boys won’t mind runnin’ along so me and Sadie here can have us a romantic reunion. Hear that boys?” He called over his shoulder. “It’s a reunion. I kinda like that.”
The two toughs laughed. Sadie winced.
Longstreet rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his full height. Cane slipped out of his chair and backed away from the table. Cross brushed past Longstreet toward Sadie. Longstreet barred his way with an arm.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t believe the lady desires the pleasure of your company this evening.”
Cross paused. He looked down at Longstreet’s arm in stunned disbelief. “You ready to die for a whore, Johnny Reb?”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. You’re simply going to take your ‘fence post drivin’ need’ and your friends over there and leave.”
Cross laughed over his shoulder. “You hear that boys? Sadie’s gentleman friend here thinks he’s gonna throw us out of here.”
Cross made a move to draw. Longstreet dropped the fist of his restraining arm hard on the gunman’s forearm. The tough’s gun hand went limp, the pistol fell harmlessly to the floor. In an instant Longstreet’s nickel-plated .38 pocket pistol flashed from its shoulder holster to a cocked position beside Cross’s eyes.
