by Jim Woolard
At her simple command—“Come, Sam,”—the huge dog bounded after his mistress and came within a whisker of bowling over Mr. Ming, who was in the process of fetching Nathan’s hat. Nathan grabbed the Stetson from the servant’s outstretched hand, nodded his thanks, and hurried down the hallway in the wake of his aunt and Sam.
The desk clerk stared as if Nathan sported two heads as he passed through the shabbily furnished lobby of the Imperial House. Alana Birdsong and Sam awaited him on the hotel’s front porch.
Nathan looked about and saw no sign of Brick Redman or Burt Dawes. “I sent Brick home to work the fall roundup with Heft and the crew. Your Mr. Dawes will join us for dinner. We have a few calls to make,” his aunt said with a wink. “And trust me, Nephew, I’ve a knack for spreading rumors.”
The chill October air called for Nathan’s Egyptian long johns and leather vest. The blue sky ran forever in all directions, and the Colorado sunshine was blinding. Horse backers, buggies, light freight wagons, and pedestrians plied Alamosa’s wide, dusty, manure-strewn Hunt Street. Nathan found the hubbub subdued compared to the St. Louis riverfront where a mass of human flesh and draft animals and groaning wheels overran every square inch of space from dawn to late evening. And, interestingly, the absence of the ear-pounding din of the St. Louis riverfront allowed Alamosa citizens to exchange greetings from one sidewalk to the other.
The Imperial House was located on Hunt Street a half block above Payne Merchandise. Alana Birdsong walked north to the intersection of Hunt and Fifth. Sam took station on the outer edge of the sidewalk at her left hip and matched her stride for stride. The huge dog ignored two women who nodded and passed Alana Birdsong on the right. His warning growl sent three different males scurrying from the sidewalk.
At Fifth Street, they turned east and Buckman Brothers Groceries and Drugs loomed across the way. The sign on the face of the building’s second story was as imposing as that of Payne Merchandise. Placards advertising sale items from foodstuffs and meats to elixirs and throat tonics plastered glass windows four times the length of any other store on the block. There was little doubt that, in Alamosa, the Buckmans were to groceries and drugs what Payne Merchandise was to wheeled vehicles and mechanical equipment.
A pencil-thin, apron-clad figure sweeping the Buckman porch spied the three of them and tore inside. If Alana Birdsong saw the sweeper, it was from the corner of her eye for her head didn’t turn. The less restrained Nathan stared after him like a gawking schoolboy.
They came to the door of a store bearing the name Kane’s Haberdashery. Alana Birdsong entered, whistling Sam in after her. The haberdashery featured men’s clothing and accessories ranging from pants, shirts, underwear, suits, and coats to hats, cuff links, and gloves. Alana Birdsong made for the sales counter manned by a male clerk her height with thinning red hair and a sea of freckles across his cheekbones. “Dennis, I’ve a young man in want of a warm coat for our journey to the ST. What would you recommend?”
Assured of a customer with whom there would be no haggling over price, Dennis’s outrageously wide smile was that of the happy clown in grease paint. He assessed Nathan’s size with an experienced eye, skirted the sales counter, and sped to a table piled high with short wool coats. Humming as he dug, he extracted a red and black plaid mackinaw. “This is the choice of most ranch hands. It has just three buttons and isn’t bulky enough to bunch up around your middle. Got a high collar to keep the wind off your ears, too.”
The clerk held the mackinaw up for Nathan to try. The coat fit snugly without binding against his holstered six-gun. If the center button was left undone, the pistol could be drawn through the resulting opening. The collar did indeed extend higher than his ears.
“Please charge the mackinaw to Seth’s old account, Dennis,” Alana Birdsong ordered. “And Nathan needs a pair of your best riding gloves.”
Their shopping completed, Alana Birdsong paused on the sidewalk outside the haberdashery long enough to chuckle and say, “The Buckmans bankroll Dennis Kane. Lyle Terry, the old gaffer with the broom, will come bouncing across the street soon as the coast is clear and Dennis’s mouth will runneth over. It’s almost too easy, Nephew.”
Kane’s Haberdashery was part of a four-bay brick building. Their next stop was the last bay, L.P. Millinery according to the name above the door. Assuming his aunt was now shopping for herself, Nathan blithely trailed her and Sam into the ladies’ hat shop.
The ringing of the small bell attached to the front door announced their arrival. Lila Blackridge Tanner had been passionate about hats, collars, and gloves, and having accompanied his mother on numerous visits to various St. Louis millineries during his growing years, Nathan could name most all the shop’s inventory. Headdresses of every possible shape and color—wire-crowned straw hats with chiffon overlay and silver buckles, straw turbans with fancy rosettes of ribbon and knots of velvet, and flat straw hats of Milan braid with lace—adorned carved female heads that lined the front windows as well as the wall shelves of the shop. Several tables contained embroidered bonnets, lace and silk collars, long dress gloves, silk mitts with kid palms, linen handkerchiefs, and other sundry feminine articles. None of the items offered were necessities other than perhaps a single quality hat, or so Nathan’s father had raved to no avail.
The paneled door at the shop’s rear opened and Nathan froze in mid-stride. She wore a simple gray dress with white lace collar and her raven tresses were pinned atop her head, but Laura Payne was no less appealing. She was, Nathan concluded, that rare young woman who couldn’t be unattractive if she tried.
The shock of her sudden appearance rendered Nathan speechless. “Why, Mr. Tanner, I believe you’re at a loss for words,” Laura Payne quipped. “Perhaps Alana will take pity and speak for you.”
So much for the hope she might have cooled down since the scene in his hotel room yesterday. Anger pecked at Nathan, and he blurted, “I’ll wait outside. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your shopping.”
“Shopping? You think I’m shopping?”
Heat built in Nathan. “Why else would you be in a millinery shop trying on hats?”
Laura Payne snorted and took full advantage of his ignorance. “I happen to own this shop, Mr. Tanner, and men of your ilk aren’t welcome.”
It was a biting, cruel dismissal. A sinking sensation washed through Nathan and he swore under his breath. Much as he disliked the thought of it, maybe the situation with her father precluded his being anywhere near Laura Paine, now or in the future.
His failure to respond infuriated Laura Payne. “Well, Mr. Tanner, I’m waiting,” she snapped. “You’re trespassing, and if you don’t leave my shop this very minute, I’ll telephone Constable Allred?”
Alana Birdsong moved to intercede. Nathan halted her with a raised hand. Even if it got him arrested, he wouldn’t be run off like a hound with cans tied to its tail. He spurned the door and advanced on Laura Payne. Her lower lip commenced to quiver but she stood her ground with clenched fists. Neither did she flinch when Nathan seized her by the shoulders, pulled her to him, wrapped an arm about her, and kissed her flush on the mouth.
To his surprise, Laura Payne didn’t resist immediately. Then she stiffened, gathered herself, and jerked free of his grasp. More truthfully, Nathan, not desiring to abuse her, dropped his arms. He knew it was coming, but didn’t bother to dodge the slap she planted on his cheek.
Laura Payne was shaking all over. “Well, Mr. Tanner, you’ve insulted my father and taken advantage of his daughter. Are you through? Or must I get my revolver?”
Stealing kisses from an unarmed girl was one thing, taking a bullet for a successful theft quite another. Nathan backpedaled for the door. He couldn’t resist smiling in triumph. “Miss Payne, I suggest you remember that kiss and pray it isn’t our last.”
He turned and ducked outside as a carved female head, complete with straw hat, smashed into the jamb of the door. The straw hat sailed past Nathan into the street. The carved head ricoche
ted into the display area of the front window and overturned the carved heads lined up behind the glass one after the other. It was the finest strike Nathan, an avid lawn bowler, had ever witnessed.
He burst out laughing.
It may have been short in duration, but Lord, what a wonderful kiss.
Seventeen
An angry, strident voice curtailed Nathan’s laughter. “If you believe he’s right, you’re not welcome in my shop either, Mrs. Tanner!”
Alana Birdsong whistled for Sam, marched from the millinery, caught Nathan by the elbow, and steered him toward Hunt Street. “I apologize. I’d no idea Laura could stay mad at anyone for more than an hour or two. Don’t fret. She’s in love with you.”
Nathan eyed his aunt as if she’d lost her mind. “In love with me? Why she practically threatened to shoot me!”
“Think about it, Nephew. If she didn’t truly care for you, she’d have been calm and indifferent,” Alana Birdsong assured him.
Nathan remained dubious. “If it’s all the same to you I’m not going near her again anytime soon.”
Alana Birdsong laughed. “I’ll admit I was as happy as you that she didn’t have that pistol within reach.”
Sam paused, bristled, and growled in the direction of Buckman Groceries and Drugs. Instead of the old gaffer Lyle Terry, a wedge-shaped individual whose bulging biceps strained the sleeves of his white shirt occupied the store’s porch. If you missed the man’s bulging muscles, his spectacular handlebar moustache, gleaming, clean-shaven skull, and blood-stained apron commanded your attention. His posture was equally striking. He stood ramrod stiff with fists balled on his hips, and glared at Sam, his hostility evident from the opposite sidewalk.
“Quiet, Sam,” Alana Birdsong ordered without missing a step.
“Who’s that?” queried Nathan.
“That’s Calvin Buckman. He’s a year younger than Roan.”
“He mean as he looks?”
“Meaner, and he’s hates anyone named Tanner. First, your uncle shot his father, and then he beat Calvin to his knees in broad daylight with half of Alamosa watching.”
Nathan studied Cal Buckman’s chunky frame and muscular limbs. “Uncle must have been something. Was he afraid of anything?”
“Not hardly,” Alana Birdsong said. “He brooked insult from no man, or woman for that matter. It’s unfortunate that he and Cole Buckman both settled in the San Luis Valley. Cole had to be the top dog in the kennel, bar none, and Seth was the thorn in the side Cole couldn’t tolerate. The shame of it is, this valley was big enough for the both of them.”
Alana Birdsong sighed. “Sad, isn’t it, that none of Cole’s sons can own up to that and bury the hatchet.”
They waited at the intersection of Fifth and Hunt for a freight wagon and two buggies to pass, then crossed over and continued west on Fifth. “One last call before dinner, Nephew, and you needn’t worry. Heads won’t fly this time,” Alana Birdsong promised with a laugh.
Their destination was a small house nestled between two low wooden structures, one of which displayed a red and white barber’s pole, the other a painted portrait of boots and saddles. The gilded letters on the door glass of the small house read, J. Franklin Abbott, Attorney at Law. “You’ll like Franklin,” Alana Birdsong said. “He’s older than dirt, and crusty as year-old bread. Your uncle thought the world of him.”
A heavily wrinkled, hunched-over gentleman with thick glasses, a heavy growth of whiskers, and rumpled clothing answered his aunt’s knock. “Well, horse whip me, the woman of my dreams hasn’t forsaken me for another,” J. Franklin Abbott said, his welcoming grin punctuated by a broken tooth. “Come in, my dear, come in, and bring Sam and your guest with you.”
Lawyer Abbott, limping on his left leg, led them into what had once been a formal parlor, but was now most assuredly a law office. Rows of leather bound volumes covered three walls and additional tomes rose in plies atop an oaken desk. The array of magnifying glasses resting on the desk’s blotter exposed their owner’s steadily failing eyesight.
“Please sit, the both of you,” lawyer Abbott said, pointing to two decrepit leather chairs with worn, shiny seats.
Once his guests were comfortable, J. Franklin Abbott settled into a wheeled chair and lifted a cigar from a tin ashtray. Instead of lighting the stogie, he began to gnaw on it. “Can’t smoke them any more without coughing, so I mostly chew them. Ain’t pretty, but it satisfies my craving. Lord, how Emmaline hated the stink of tobacco. You’ll learn young people that old habits tend to go to the grave with you.”
Lawyer Abbott squinted from behind his thick glasses and inquired, “And what, may I ask, brings a beautiful woman to my door?”
“Franklin, this is Nathan, Seth’s nephew from St. Louis,” Alana Birdsong said. “We’re in need of advice and counsel.”
Lawyer Abbott jerked the cigar from his mouth. ”Wouldn’t have anything to do with the attempt on this lad’s life, would it?”
“Yes, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to explaining the mess we’re in.”
“Yes, I imagine it is. Laura Payne told me of the murder of your parents, Nathan. She also told me you’re an only child like her. It must be quite a burden to suffer that great loss and try to assume control of your father’s vast financial holdings at the same time.”
Nathan nodded. “More than I ever dreamed, Mr. Abbott. I’ve discovered Father wore mighty big shoes.”
“Well said, lad. He was sitting in that very chair the evening we created the ST partnership that included him and Alana as co-owners with your Uncle Seth. The next evening, Eldon Payne joined us and we wrote the charter for the Payne Company. What a grand occasion that was. We had a round of sherry in Emmaline’s stemmed glasses after the signing.”
“That’s one reason we’re here, Franklin,” Alana Birdsong said. “I’m afraid the cooperative spirit of that evening has gone a-glimmering. Eldon suddenly wants to sell out to the Buckmans.”
“I’ve heard rumors to that effect,” lawyer Abbott allowed, “and at first, I was mystified. But you know how we old lawyers are, we have our sources, and not just at the courthouse or around the public beer taps. Before my leg quit on me I frequented the Alamosa Club for a jolt or two after dinner. Now, the Club’s poker games don’t appeal to me, but Eldon can’t resist the pasteboards. He sits in a game every Wednesday with Roan and Calvin Buckman, among others. Sometimes the games last half the night.”
Lawyer Abbott licked his unlit stogie. “It didn’t mean much at the time until the month before we lost Seth. Press Norwood stopped by. Press owns the flour mill on Alhambra, and he’s been a regular in the Wednesday poker game from the beginning. He told me Eldon was losing substantial amounts of money to Roan and Calvin. When Press expressed his concern, Eldon said he was just having a run of bad luck and wasn’t quitting until he won back what he’d lost. Press got so disgusted watching Eldon dig himself a deeper hole every week he dropped out altogether.”
Alana Birdsong slid to the edge of her chair. Nathan was no less alert. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you, Franklin?” Alana said. “Eldon’s so far in debt to the Buckmans he’s got to sell out to pay what he owes them.”
“And maybe steal from his own company to boot,” Nathan put in.
Lawyer Abbott spat brown tobacco juice into his tin ashtray. “Apparently, you two have information I don’t. Should I be aware of it?”
“Yes,” Alana Birdsong said. “If you’re to be of help, you have to be aware of everything we suspect.”
It was by now a lengthy story of murder, attempted murder, robbery, and fraud, and Alana spared none of the details. Lawyer Abbott chewed, licked, and listened without interrupting. When she finished, he pulled a wooden match from a desk drawer, struck it on his thigh, and lighted what remained of his stogie. “Wildest yarn I’ve ever heard. You realize, don’t you, that without some kind of documented evidence or a confession from one of the participants, a judge would thro
w us out of court.”
“What if we can prove Eldon Payne has stolen funds owed Tanner Supply?” Alana suggested.
Lawyer Abbott puffed his stogie and steepled his fingers on his chest. “It might enable you to unravel the whole scheme,” he surmised. “Maybe force Eldon to rat on the others to save his own hide. How do you plan to prove Eldon’s a thief?”
“Nathan and I are taking the train to Creede. We’ll locate Josiah Pedigrew and show him the telegram from Devlin Kellerman. If he paid Payne Merchandise, he’ll have either written receipts or copies of bank drafts. You don’t hand over fifty thousand dollars to anyone without demanding proof of payment in return.”
Lawyer Abbott rubbed the hot end of his stogie against his bare palm and dropped the dead cigar into a wire wastebasket. “You get your evidence, you bring it straight here. We’ll hunt up Judge Harlan Dodge and have the court order an immediate audit of Payne Merchandise. If Eldon fights such an order, he’ll prove his own guilt.”
“Thank you, Franklin,” Alana said as she prepared to stand. “I hope my little scheme works. I want the Buckmans to pay for Seth’s murder, if not in court, then by some other means. And I won’t quit until that happens.”
Hitching to his feet, lawyer Abbott stomped his game leg to restore circulation. “My dear, I admire your spunk. I’ve known two generations of Buckmans. They’re a vicious lot, and they get so much as a sniff of what you’re about, they’ll kill you, the lad, and Eldon to cover their tracks. I wouldn’t even let them see you board the train.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Alana said. “Will you join us for dinner, Franklin?”
“No, my dear, I’m afraid not,” lawyer Franklin said, kissing Alana’s cheek. “Much as I hate my own cooking, this damnable leg is aching like a toothache. You don’t mind, please show yourselves to the door.”
