“The saints are with us,” Sharp said, as we took seats around a square table in the middle of the room. “I feared that by crossin’ the border, we had abandoned civilized comforts.”
Jeff and I traded pleasantries with Brow until the bottle arrived. After glasses were filled, Brow asked, “What type of business?”
I took an appreciative sip and said, “We’re looking—”
“Excuse me, gentlemen, Ah don’t mean to be rude, but do Ah know you?”
The voice was deep and the accent from the Deep South. I turned to see a slender, well-tailored man looking directly at Sharp.
“Yes, I played your table in Dallas. Seems a long time ago.” Sharp turned in his seat and nodded toward me. “This is Steve Dancy from New York City.” Sharp gave me one of his wicked smiles. “Steve, I’d like to introduce Dr. John Holliday.”
I gaped but recovered fast enough to hope I didn’t look too foolish. I stood, extending my hand. “This is an honor.”
He gave me a perfunctory shake and returned his attention to Sharp. “Ah seem to recall a closer relationship than playing cards.”
Sharp looked nervous, an uncommon state for him. “I was a witness at your trial for knifing Mitchell.”
Holliday gave Sharp an appraising stare. “In my defense, if Ah recall correctly.”
Sharp shrugged. “I merely testified that he was cheating.”
Holliday laughed. “In Texas, that’s all the defense you need.”
“Are ya runnin’ faro here?” Sharp asked.
“No … doing too well at poker. When my luck turns sour, Ah’ll head out. What brings you to Prescott?”
“Mining.”
Holliday looked puzzled. “Only small mines here … mostly played out.”
“We’re interested in supplying the needs of miners,” I interjected.
Holliday looked at me as if I had just sat down. After sizing me up, he said, “In that case, Virgil Earp has a sawmill for sale.”
“Virgil Earp’s here in Prescott? What about his brothers?” I was embarrassed by my enthusiasm, but a book that included the Earps and Holliday would sell like hotcakes.
“The rest of the Earps left, and Virg’s only staying until he sells the mill. Then we’ll follow his brothers to Tombstone.”
Sharp scratched his chin. “In another locale, a lumber mill might fit our needs, but Prescott’s too far from the new silver strikes.”
“Everything in Prescott’s too far from the new silver. What are you looking for?”
“A man,” Sharp answered.
“Who?” Brow interjected. “I know everyone.”
I answered, “Elisha Campbell.”
Holliday and Brow immediately stiffened.
After an awkward silence, Holliday bowed slightly. “Ah’ll be leaving you gentlemen now. Good day.”
Brow pushed away from the table. “If you men are friends of Elisha Campbell, perhaps I should leave as well.”
“We’re not,” Sharp said. “In fact, that man cost me a great deal.”
“Are you looking to kill him?” Brow asked evenly.
“No,” Sharp answered, a bit too forcefully.
“Then you may be the only man in Prescott that doesn’t want him dead.”
I glanced at Sharp but couldn’t read his face as he evenly said, “Wantin’ him dead an’ killin’ him are two different things. But, in truth, I don’t want him dead … not yet, anyway.”
“What business do you have with him then?”
Sharp looked as if he were getting angry. “Steve, this is yer affair.”
I hesitated and then lied. “Mr. Campbell might have information about my family. I need to talk to him. Afterwards, I don’t care if he’s lined up in front of a firing squad that includes every man in town.”
“A few women might join as well,” Brow quipped.
“What the hell did he do?” I asked.
“He owes money to everyone, including me. He’s even got a marker with Doc. The son of a bitch hides behind Governor Frémont—another damned debtor. Campbell romanced a couple of wives when their husbands were away. Took their pride and their husbands’ money. He’s got three lawsuits going, one against me. If you got anything, that sniveling tinhorn sues, borrows, or seduces his way to get it, all the while using the governor for protection. He’s not without his charms, but he’s just a common crook with an engaging smile.”
“How can I find him?” I asked.
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because he may have something I’m willing to buy. If I do a deal with him, I’ll let you know before he skips town.”
Brow laughed uproariously, and I noticed a curious look from Holliday, seated at a poker table across the room.
“You’re a man after my own heart.” Brow laughed some more. “He’s out of credit on Whiskey Row, so he usually does his drinking in the home of a political figure seeking favor with the governor. He stays at Cunningham’s boardinghouse on Goodwin Street, so you might find him there.”
Sharp jumped to his feet, wearing a fierce expression. Following his gaze, I saw a neatly dressed man in his fifties strolling into the Palace like he owned the place.
Brow exclaimed, “Oh, my God, that’s Campbell there!”
Without hesitation, Sharp marched across the saloon and smashed Campbell across the face with a huge fist. Campbell stumbled backward and collapsed against a table, spilling the drinks of four men. Two of them charged Sharp, but he easily dodged them, using his boot to trip one while flooring the other with a roundhouse punch that must have broken his jaw. It had all happened instantly, and now the saloon was so quiet, I heard a chair creak from a customer’s shifting weight. Moving carefully, I scanned the room, but nobody looked threatening.
Sharp moved forward until he loomed over Campbell. “Eli, don’t let me see ya again, or next time, so help me God, I’ll kill ya with my bare hands.”
Without a glance or hesitation, Sharp left the deathly silent saloon.
Chapter 9
I rapped on Sharp’s door. Getting no answer, I knocked again. “Jeff, it’s Steve.”
“Come in, it ain’t locked.”
I open the door to find Sharp sitting on his bed, rubbing his hand. His Winchester lay on the bed beside him. He looked angry, and his eyes challenged me. I had never seen Sharp like this before, and I wasn’t about to risk his rage by reprimanding him for hitting a longtime enemy.
“How’s the hand?”
“Sore. What happened after I left?”
“Not much. I offered Brow five dollars for the damage, but he wouldn’t take it. Said he’d have paid ten to see that punch. So I gave the five dollars to that stranger you clobbered to pay for the drinks and to make up a bit for his sore jaw. He was pretty drunk and seemed to blame himself more than you. Still, he took the five dollars.”
“What about that son of a bitch, Campbell?”
“Brow told the barkeep to throw him out, but Campbell scurried out on all fours first. As soon as the two of you left, the saloon went back to normal.”
Sharp started to reach into his pant pocket and grimaced. “Damn!” He shook his hand, rubbed it, and then sucked on his fingers. “Steve, I’ll pay you the five bucks when this hand works again.”
“Forget it. I’d have paid ten dollars to see that punch too.”
The anger faded, and he looked like an eight-year-old boy caught by a schoolmarm while doing something rotten to the little girl sitting in front of him. Sharp smiled wanly. “Steve, I’m sorry I ruined yer plans.”
I was sorry too, but I realized I wasn’t blameless. This venture had always been about finding a man Sharp hated. Now that the inevitable had happened, I couldn’t heap all the blame on my friend. Besides, everything had happened so fast, Campbell probably didn’t know we were together, so I would just have to work him alone. I hadn’t been looking for a lot of help from Sharp for this phase anyway.
I put my hand on his shoulder and squee
zed lightly. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out … but tomorrow. Tonight, I’m bone tired.”
“Ya know, if Campbell’s that broke, he probably already sold those shares. Edison Electric Light Company ain’t exactly a secret.”
“Not many believe the story. To most people, power comes from steam or rushing water, and it’s used to move things like locomotives or textile looms. People can’t imagine electricity creating light. No … I don’t think he would find many buyers on the frontier. Besides, he’s maneuvering Governor Frémont to get the investigations dropped. He’d gamble everything he’s got except those shares. I’m sure he’d keep them for his triumphant return to New York.”
I really was tired and wanted to sleep on a soft mattress for the first time in over a week. I said good night and walked toward the door. Sharp stood and walked a pace behind me. I thought he was escorting me out, but then he stepped into the hall and turned toward the stairs.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
“Saloon.” He must have seen something on my face because he quickly added, “I’m just goin’ down to buy a bottle for my room.”
“Do me a favor, don’t make any more trouble.”
Sharp laughed. “Trouble is the furthest thing from my mind.”
Chapter 10
I woke before sunrise but felt well rested. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I stuck my head out the window to see what the weather was like. A brisk breeze tousled my hair, but the sky was crystal clear with the deep iridescent blue of a pending sunrise. It was going to be a grand day.
After dressing, I grabbed Roughing It and ran down the outdoor staircase that led to an alley behind the Palace. My lifelong practice had been to read while I ate my morning meal. On the ride from Nevada, we ate breakfast in the saddle, so I was looking forward to getting back to old habits.
As I entered the Palace through a rear door, I saw that they had covered a few tables with gingham cloth, and a couple of early-rising patrons were eating food that smelled terrific. As soon as I chose a table, a buxom, matronly lady came over, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Good morning, gent. Coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before I asked what was on the menu, she was gone, but she returned in quick order with a hot coffeepot she held with the bottom of her apron. She expertly filled a blue enameled mug already sitting on the table. After pouring, she said without preamble, “Steak and eggs, chop and eggs, oatmeal, mush, flapjacks. What’ll it be?”
“Flapjacks, chop, and eggs. All together.”
Without a word, she whirled and, barely breaking stride, filled two more coffee cups on her way to the kitchen.
In less than ten minutes and four pages of my book, she returned with two plates, sliding them in front of me without the slightest clatter. Then she reached into her apron pocket and handed me a cloth napkin wrapped around my tableware.
“How’s that look, gent?” she asked with a smile and both hands on her hips.
“Perfect,” I answered.
“Well, you enjoy yourself.” And she was off to another table, wiping her hands on her all-purpose apron.
I unwrapped the napkin to find a fork and a knife for the chop. The food looked and smelled delicious, and the service was friendly and efficient. Perhaps the Palace didn’t have the elegance of the St. Charles Hotel in Carson City, but it was a huge improvement over Pickhandle Gulch.
After I was halfway through breakfast and another ten pages, Brow sauntered into the now half-filled saloon with the confidence of someone who liked what he saw. That is, until he saw me. His expression immediately turned troubled, and he approached with a hesitation that made me wary.
When he loomed over me, he said, “I’m sorry about your friend.”
I was confused. “What? You mean Jeff Sharp?”
He appeared confused. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Brow sat down. “He was arrested last night for the murder of Elisha Campbell.”
I sat stunned a moment before blurting, “From that single punch?”
“No, from a rifle shot to the back of the head. Close range.”
I shook my head. “No. Jeff wouldn’t do that. He’d never shoot anyone from behind.”
“If a man hates enough, he can do anything.”
“I’ve seen back-shooters threaten Jeff’s life. He still fought fair. Only way he knows. There’s been a mistake.”
“I don’t think so.” He held my eyes. “Sharp’s Winchester did the killing. It was found close to the body—two spent shots.” He looked down, as if embarrassed. “His name was carved into the stock.”
“Wait a minute. Where did this happen?”
“Base of Thumb Butte.”
“How far?”
“Almost a mile from here.”
“And Jeff was found that far away?”
“No. He was found in his room … in a drunken stupor.”
“This is bullshit!” The more I learned, the more it looked like someone had framed Sharp. “What time did this happen?” I asked.
“The killing? Somewhere around midnight.”
I had left Sharp about eight o’clock … so I guessed it was possible. Still, it didn’t make sense. When Sharp left his room for a bottle, he didn’t seem angry anymore.
“Were you in the saloon about eight o’clock?” I asked.
“I’m always in the saloon at night.”
“Did you see Jeff Sharp come in about that time?”
“Sure. Big event. At first he tried to order a bottle, but men kept buying him drinks, and he spent most of the night right over there.” Brow pointed to the end of the bar. “Pretty drunk when he staggered out.”
“What time was that?”
“Let’s see, Julie had just started singing, so it must have been about eleven.”
“See him again?”
“No.”
“Did you see Campbell in the saloon again?”
“You ask a lot of questions, but no, I never saw Campbell again.”
I took a sip of my tepid coffee. “How did you learn about this?”
“About one in the morning, a deputy came in to ask if I had a Jeff Sharp registered. Not long after, someone spread the word that a man had been arrested for killing Campbell. A cheer went up.” When he saw the look on my face, he quickly added, “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just that everybody hated Campbell, and nobody knows your friend.”
I lifted my coffee cup toward the waitress, and she hurried over to fill the cup of a “gent” talking with her boss. I used the distraction to think. The timing seemed implausible to me. In two hours, Jeff would have had to follow or lure Campbell out to Thumb Butte, kill him, and get back to his bed so he could pass out. And he had to accomplish this while falling-down drunk. As I thought it through, I realized he didn’t have even two hours, because within that time, the body would have been discovered, the arrest made, and word spread to the saloons. The timing would be extremely tight for a sober man, but impossible for Sharp if he was really drunk.
I took a shallow sip of the hot coffee and looked at Brow. “My friend didn’t kill Campbell.”
“I guess a court will decide that, but it doesn’t sound good if he was killed with your friend’s rifle.” Brow looked uncomfortable. “He threatened to kill Campbell right here in this saloon. Everybody heard.”
“With his bare hands, if memory serves. Jeff would never back-shoot a squirrel.” I shoved my breakfast away. “He didn’t do it.”
Brow just shrugged.
“Where can I find him?”
“The jail is in the basement of the courthouse.”
“Who’s the sheriff?”
“Virgil Earp’s the town constable. He’s the one in charge.”
Chapter 11
Because of the early hour, the courthouse was quiet, but I found a watchman to ask about seeing a prisoner. After some preliminaries, he took my gun
and then unlocked a door that led to a dark stairwell. He repeatedly pulled a wire attached to a tinkling bell at the bottom of the staircase. Eventually, a door opened, and light leaked up to us from a lantern in the room below.
A large, scruffy-looking man peeked around the doorjamb. I hoped he wasn’t Virgil Earp.
“Visitor!” the watchman yelled down. Then he turned an appraising look on me. “The night jailer is named George. He’ll let you talk to the prisoner for five minutes … but … if you buy us both breakfast, you can talk as long as it takes us to eat it.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I said evenly. “I’ll go to the Palace and bring back something. What do you and George want?”
He winked. “A silver dollar’ll do. I’ve got someone to fetch food.”
“And you’ll keep the change, I suppose.”
“Won’t be no change. George and I are big eaters.”
“Very well.” I handed him a dollar coin.
“George, I’ll be sending breakfast down soon.” The watchman made a sweeping wave with his arm to signal that I could descend the stairs.
As I approached the bottom of the stairwell, George backed away from the door and kept a hand on his pistol grip.
When I reached the last step, he said, “Take your coat off and hang it on that peg.” He nodded toward four pegs on the wall. After I hung my coat, he ordered me to slowly turn in a circle, and then he told me to lift my pant legs above the top of my boots.
“The man upstairs took my gun,” I said.
“Don’t mean ya don’t have another or a knife. Gotta be careful.” He dropped his hand away from his pistol. “Who’re ya here to see?”
“Jeff Sharp.”
He nodded. “Last cell. Stand back against the wall, away from the bars. Do not pass anything to the prisoner. Do not accept anything from the prisoner. Do not approach the bars. I’ll be watching.”
“I understand.”
As I walked down the hall, I was surprised to see every cell full—most held two men. When I got to the end, Jeff was lying on a wood army cot with his face against the stone wall. No one was on the other cot. A chamber pot, wood stool, and small writing desk comprised the remaining furnishings. With no windows, the only light came from a couple of lanterns hanging outside, along the corridor. The odor of vomit I had smelled coming down the hall came from this cell.
Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale) Page 5
