McAllen nodded toward a woman standing next to a substantial man. “Steve, I’d like to introduce Allie, Virgil’s wife, and this is Virgil Earp.”
Allie curtsied, so I returned a half bow before stepping forward to shake hands with Earp. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you for having me at your table.”
“You’re welcome,” Allie said. “I’ve been holding supper. If you sit right down, I’ll serve. Please hang your gun on that peg by the door.”
When I had first arrived in the West, I didn’t wear a gun, but a couple of incidents convinced me that it was dangerous for a man to go unarmed. Even so, I was glad to unhook and hang up my holster, because I needed to be careful about my sitting posture with a pistol on my hip. Nothing startles a hostess like a gun clattering to the floor.
“Can I offer you a whiskey?” Earp asked, as his wife went to a stove in the back of the large room. His voice was so deep, it almost sounded like a growl.
“That would be much appreciated,” I answered.
Virgil Earp was dressed in a dark suit that made me feel like I should have changed clothes for supper. His tall stature was accented by sandy blond hair, and his droopy mustache dominated a stern face that had yet to smile.
By the time we had our drinks and sat down, Allie brought over a platter with a roasted chicken surrounded by potatoes and carrots. The sight and smell made me very hungry.
“My compliments. That looks and smells great.”
Another curtsy. “Thank you, sir. I hope it tastes even better than you expect.”
“That would be a challenge, because your presentation has raised my expectations to a considerable level.” I looked at my host. “Mr. Earp, you’re a lucky man to have such a capable and attractive wife.”
A broad smile and a third curtsy told me I had atoned for my late arrival. A nod from Earp confirmed my repaired status.
Supper conversation revolved around territorial politics and the lumber business. Evidently, Earp had little respect for Governor Frémont and doubted that the territory would soon become a state. The lumber trade had slowed to a crawl because miners and the greedy had deserted Prescott to rush after silver in Tombstone. After the meal, we went outside for whiskey and a smoke.
McAllen looked impatient as I packed, tamped, and lit my pipe. When I finished, he asked, “What did Jeff have to say?”
“He doesn’t trust Blanchet and wants you to take a hard look at him. He suspects he might have been in cahoots with Campbell.” I didn’t feel a need to inform Earp that Sharp had also requested that I bribe the jailer.
Earp expertly rolled a cigarette. After an initial puff, he said, “Blanchet’s a weasel and a coward. I don’t see him being violent.” He looked at me. “Winslow’s the one with the most to lose. He guards his reputation with more care than his money.
“I’m not sure a small fraud in some distant backcountry would harm a congressional race in Boston.”
“Jonathon’s prideful,” Earp said. “As that young pup likes to remind people, the Winslows came over on the Mayflower. He thinks that means his family owns this country. And believe me, his ambitions go beyond a congressional seat. I’ll bet his parents wouldn’t let some ne’er-do-well ruin their boy’s career.”
McAllen had relit a half-burned cigar. “Steve, we need to keep an eye on that Winslow kid. That’s why I told Carl to wire his father to extend our engagement.”
I didn’t like Winslow but believed he was an unlikely suspect. “If you think he or his parents had this done, why’d they hire a Pinkerton team that might get in the way?”
“I’m not privy to the ways of the rich,” Earp said.
“I am. There’s a possibility the boy did it, but his parents would never hire someone they didn’t know for something this sensitive.”
Earp gave me an appraising look. “Joseph tells me you’ve killed on occasion.”
“I never met any Winslow before today … and I didn’t kill Campbell and then frame my friend.”
“Glad to hear it.” He took a draw on his cigarette before adding, “But you should know, Castle has you on his possible list.”
“He told me.” I tried to be nonchalant. “Constable, does this mean you believe Jeff is innocent?”
“Mr. Sharp is my number-one suspect, but Joseph convinced me that we need to investigate to be certain. I’m only saying that if I had to pick someone else, it would be that sniveling Winslow … or his family.”
“Locklear?”
“Herb? He’s plenty pissed he got took, but killing’s too messy for him. He’d write it off as a bad bet and try to keep it quiet.”
“Looks like he hired Blanchet.”
“Naw. Probably asked for free advice. That would be more like our dear councilman.”
Something occurred to me. “Castle said a couple of women got fleeced. Any possibility of an irate husband?”
Earp stepped off the porch and crushed his cigarette under his heel.
McAllen made an aside to me. “Lots of sawdust around. Be careful with matches and dumpin’ out your bowl.”
I nodded understanding.
After Earp stepped back on the porch, he leaned against the rail before saying, “Three women, to my knowledge. Amy Hill was one. Her husband owns the hardware store. Mrs. Potter. She’s a widow. And Mrs. Cunningham. Her husband ran off to Tombstone.”
The last one caught me by surprise. “I just took a room at Mrs. Cunningham’s. She only mentioned that Campbell owed her back rent.”
Both Earp and McAllen glared at me.
“You took Campbell’s room?” McAllen asked, nonplussed.
“I did.”
For some reason, Earp laughed. “You know, men have killed to get close to a pretty woman.”
“She’s married.”
“Story has it that her husband was killed in a street fight in Tombstone.”
“Story?”
“It was reported in the Tombstone Epitaph, but Mrs. Cunningham says it was a mistake. Claims to have received mail from her husband. Few believe her though.”
I thought about it. “That eliminates her unless she has a man friend. She’s not nearly strong enough to get Campbell all the way out here. Even with a wagon.”
“Mrs. Potter, as well,” Earp said. “Elisha Campbell courted both, so I don’t think another man is around.”
“No jealous suitors?”
“Possible, I guess,” was all Earp offered.
After a moment of silence, I asked, “Captain, what do you think?”
Instead of answering, McAllen stepped off the porch to crush out his cigar. After he resumed his position against the railing, he said, “In my experience, this isn’t woman’s work. Back shootin’ usually means a cowardly man, so I’m going to look closely at Winslow and Locklear. Problem is findin’ new evidence. We’ve already got the weapon, and I’ve gone over the site. Nothin’.” McAllen looked at me. “Steve, see what you can discover about Blanchet.”
“I will, but you don’t sound confident.”
“I’m not.”
“Then we’re going to have to work harder. There are five of us, counting the Schmidts. We ought to be able to discover something.”
“Six of us,” McAllen said in a quiet voice.
“Six?”
“Maggie insists on helpin’.”
“Maggie? You’re not going to allow her to get involved in this, are you?”
“Not much choice. Appears she picked up a single-mindedness from somewhere. Better to make her part of the team than to pretend she’ll stay out.”
“What’ll she do?”
“Whatever you say.”
“Me?”
“Yep. She insists. Won’t work with the Schmidts.”
“Because they’ll keep her on small stuff.”
“Probably. Anyway, she wants to help you.” McAllen finished his whiskey in one gulp. “Steve, keep her safe.”
“Yes, sir.” This time I said it with respe
ct.
Chapter 22
When I stepped out of Earp’s cozy home, I was startled by the darkness. Clouds blanketed the sky, shielding even the minimal light from a new moon and the stars. Earp left the door open, so I had enough light to saddle Liberty and cinch the flank strap properly.
“Stay on the road; it’ll take you right into town,” Earp said.
“Trust Liberty,” McAllen added. “A horse sees better than you in the dark. Just don’t take him from a lit barn into the night and expect him to see right away. Horse’s eyes take a long time to adjust.”
McAllen had been teaching me the ways of the West for nearly a year. I guess he wasn’t done.
I mounted up and said, “When will I see you?”
“I’ll be movin’ into the Palace tomorrow. Be about town from now on, but tell Maggie to ignore me for a day or two.”
“I’ll pick her up after breakfast. Do we have a story?”
“Make one up. Ride careful.” With that, McAllen went back into the house. Earp followed, and after he closed the door, I found myself sitting astride Liberty in the pitch dark.
I nosed the horse around, and he seemed sure-footed as he walked along at a leisurely pace. Town was only about a mile, so even at a slow tempo, I expected a short trip.
In a few minutes, I could see the edges of the trail, but I held a loose rein so Liberty could find his own way. If not for the chill, it would have been a pleasant ride. After about fifteen minutes, I grew anxious without cause. I was about to shake it off when I heard a yell.
“Stand and deliver!”
I pulled up. “Deliver where? I can’t see a damn thing.”
“Just drop yer valuables to the ground and keep ridin’.”
I thought about going for my gun. If I couldn’t see, then how could the robber know what I was reaching for? While I was making up my mind, I heard a gunshot. I immediately recognized it as rifle fire. I found myself on the ground. Damn. Had I been shot? I ran a hand over my face and felt nothing wet or out of place. I saw another muzzle blast and rolled off the road. Where the hell was Liberty? Had the robber killed my horse? Suddenly anger welled up, and I went for my Colt. After I pulled my coat up, I discovered that my holster was empty.
Things were still for a moment, so I hugged the ground and squinted to make out any unusual shapes on the road. I saw something that could be my pistol and crawled as flat as possible until I could reach out my arm to the object. It was my Colt, thank God.
As I rolled away again, I saw Liberty. He was behind me, not ahead. The road bandit must have fired a warning shot to hurry me up, and Liberty had bolted, throwing me to the ground. Now my horse was over twenty feet away … with my Winchester in a scabbard strapped to his side.
I looked across the road but saw nothing. I had only five shots, so I had to wait for another muzzle flash, or I’d waste bullets and give away my position.
What was the robber doing now? Why was it so quiet? I vowed not to be the first to make a noise.
At last, I heard, “Throw yer purse out, but I wanna hear yer gun fly ’cross the road first. I got all night, cowboy.”
I could tell his voice was directed away from me. My bet was that he had his back against a tree and was yelling in the opposite direction. Not a bad plan. I swung my legs in an arc behind me and found a tree close by. As I moved to hide behind it, another shot rang out, and my hat was no longer on my head. Damn, that was close. I had been too busy moving low to see the flash, so I still didn’t have a fix on his position.
Now safe, I yelled my own warning. “You don’t have all night! Virgil Earp will be here shortly.”
“Bullshit. Let’s hear yer gun, or I’ll put this-here next bullet in yer head.”
“You’re dumber than a half piece of soap. Earp lives less than a quarter mile up this road. He heard your shots.”
I waited. Then I heard him scurry away in the brush. I started to throw a couple shots after him but held back because I didn’t want to be responsible for any more killing. Instead, I sat behind my tree and listened. Finally, I heard a horse off in the distance. The road agent was running away.
I felt safe enough to collect Liberty. When I got to him, he was skittish as hell but settled right down with a neck rub and a few mumbled assurances. I realized that this was the first gunfire Liberty had encountered. Horses had to be trained to remain calm around loud reports. It also occurred to me that I hadn’t practiced with my guns since last fall. I needed to remedy both of those omissions.
In a few moments, I heard, “Who goes there?”
“It’s Steve, Virgil. It’s all clear now.”
Earp approached carefully, with a shotgun at his waist. I looked for McAllen but heard his footfall before I saw him. He was walking to the extreme side of the road with his rifle at the ready.
“What happened here?” Earp asked.
“Highwayman, but he ran away.”
Both men came up to my position and looked around. I’m not sure what they thought they could see. Maybe more than I thought, because McAllen picked up my hat and handed it to me. I started to put it on my head, when I felt something. It was a hole through the crown.
“Damn, that son of a bitch almost killed me.” I showed the hat to McAllen.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Earp said. “Everybody knows I live just down the road. Tell me exactly how this happened.”
After I told my short story, both men shook their heads in disbelief.
“Either that was a stranger, or someone was out to kill you,” Earp said.
“I don’t think he wanted to kill me. He could have shot me as I rode up. Why give me warning?”
“Don’t know, but better come stay the night at my place. You can ride back in the light tomorrow.”
I thought about the Saratoga trunk waiting for me in my room. I was anxious to see what was inside.
“I’ll be fine. It’s a short ride from here and he won’t try again.” I mounted up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself, but something ain’t right. We’ve had some highwaymen to the south but never up here.”
I rode away slowly. I was concerned, but in less than five minutes, I could see a glow in the sky that must have come from lanterns along Whiskey Row. In another ten, I was riding into the livery.
After grooming and feeding Liberty, I rushed over to Mrs. Cunningham’s, carrying my rifle. I never left my rifle at a livery. I nodded politely to a couple of men in the parlor of the house and scampered up the stairs. The trunk was at the foot of my bed. I hung my sheepskin coat on a peg by the door and looked around the room. John had followed my instructions and transferred our things from the Palace.
Although some men wore a knife at all times, I wore mine only in the wilderness. I wasn’t good with a knife in a fight, so wearing one around town made no sense. Besides, the one time a man had charged me with a knife, I shot him. At the moment, however, not wearing my knife meant I had to hunt around the room to see where John had stored it. I found it in a top bureau drawer.
The steamer truck was well built, and I tried many times before I was able to force the lock with my knife. I opened the lid with a little trepidation. At first, I saw only clothing. As I threw them aside, I noticed they were summer garments. At the bottom, I found what I was looking for. Or at least I hoped so. There were papers, writing utensils, stamps, and gold foil seals. On closer inspection, I discovered that the papers were preprinted stock certificates for the Edison Electric Illumination Company. These were the phony certificates. Campbell used the stamps and seals to make them look official. I rifled through everything but couldn’t find the genuine article. Then I used my knife to slit the lining to check for a hidden certificate. No luck.
I sat on the floor, disappointed. Nothing had gone right since we rode into Prescott. The man I had come to see was dead, my friend was accused of murder, and the stock certificate for the Edison Electric Light Company was nowhere to be found. My priority had to be
Sharp, but I still wanted to complete the business that had brought us here. I thought I couldn’t be more dejected, and then I saw light leaking through a hole in my coat. I got up from the floor and examined it. The hole was new, with a companion hole on the backside. I put the coat on and stuck my finger through the holes, which were to the side. Damn, a bullet had just barely missed me. I had been lucky twice.
Then a realization struck me. This shot had to be the bandit’s first attempt, the gunfire that had spooked Liberty and thrown me to the ground. The implication was undeniable. There had been no warning shot. That man had been sitting in ambush to kill me.
Chapter 23
The knock was loud and authoritative. As I rolled out of bed, I noticed that the light seeping around the drawn curtains was bright. How late had I slept?
As I stumbled toward the door in my nightshirt, I yelled, “Damn it, just a minute!”
When I flung open the door, I couldn’t have been more surprised.
“Mr. Dancy, we have work. Do you intend to sleep the morning away?”
I quickly closed the door to a crack and stuck my head in the opening. “Maggie, what are you doing here?”
“Waking you, evidently.”
“To what purpose?”
“To find Mr. Campbell’s killer. Don’t you care about your friend?”
“Of course. I was up late with your father and Constable Earp. We were discussing the case.”
“Discussions are what men do when they sip bourbon. Mysteries are solved by investigations.”
“And you know this from your extensive experience with the Pinkertons.”
“I do.”
I had meant the comment sarcastically. She either didn’t notice or refused to be intimidated. Maggie was proving herself a McAllen with her every utterance. Then it occurred to me that that was exactly what she was doing. Because her mother had moved away after she remarried, Maggie saw her father only once or twice a year. She idolized him. She probably saw him as a knight of the frontier, saving the good folks from outlaws and brutes. When I first met McAllen, I considered him an employee, but we eventually became friends. Perhaps he was a paladin. He certainly had rescued me from a desperate situation more than once. Then another thought occurred to me: For nearly two months, Maggie had watched Mrs. Schmidt perform the duties of a Pinkerton agent. No wonder she thought it was appropriate for a woman to engage in this line of work.
Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale) Page 11
