Colorado Sam

by Jim Woolard

  “I believe so.”

  Ira’s head turned toward the front of the express car. “Fred, who’s the coroner in Alamosa?”

  “That’d be Ellie Langston. Some don’t like that much. I can’t see it make’s a whit’s difference after you’re dead.”

  Ira smiled and winked. “Most small places the local doctor serves as coroner. We can ask our dear doctor to come to the hotel and fill out a death certificate, which won’t arouse any suspicions.”

  Nathan studied the moaning Alana. “I’d like to uncover her and check for fresh blood, but I’m afraid to disturb her.”

  Ira patted Nathan’s arm. “We couldn’t stop the bleeding and we might worsen her situation. I know it’s frustrating. The only thing we can do is pray.”

  The engine’s whistle blew, its bell clanged, steam blasted, and the train began to slow. “Del Norte, gentlemen,” Fred informed his passengers.

  The clerk rolled the door open for Ira to step down. Ira was gone but five minutes. Upon his return, the shivering Fred accepted a mail pouch passed to him by another D&RG employee and rolled the door closed again. With no one threatening his mistress, Sam mostly slept though the entire stop.

  Ira lingered at the front of the express car with Fred as the train jerked into motion. The ex-copper proceeded to talk in low tones, and the clerk eventually did a lot of nodding.

  Ira was happier than a dog chewing on a new bone when he rejoined Nathan. “Fred and I came to an agreement. He won’t say anything about what’s he’s heard or seen after we leave the train.”

  “He agreed to that just because you asked him to?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Ira admitted with an impish grin. “My threat that if he said a word he’d find himself clerking in the Lord’s express car was what started his head bobbing.”

  The arrival of a coffin by train in Alamosa was common enough hardly a soul showed any interest, for which Nathan was thankful. The passengers disembarking were in a hurry to reach boarding houses, saloons, and private homes. The crowd on the station platform was preoccupied buying tickets for the night train to Creede that was scheduled to depart in two hours.

  Fred rolled open the express car door to reveal Jack Allred fisting the lines of a Schuttler ranch wagon. The constable halted his team parallel to the express car with the wagon’s tailgate slightly past the door.

  Nathan peered inside the coffin where Alana’s eyes blinked and remained open. Ira leaned close to her. “We’re in Alamosa. We’ll have you in bed at the Imperial House shortly. Don’t you give out on me now, you hear?”

  At her nod, Ira and Nathan closed the lid on the coffin, warped it to the doorway, jumped down, and with the help of the constable, slid the wooden box from the express car and gingerly lowered it into the bed of the waiting wagon.

  “Where to Ira?”

  “Straight to the Imperial House, Bulldog.”

  Ira turned to Fred in the door of the express car and touched his lips with an upright finger. An earnest bobbing of the clerk’s head ensued. “I’ll think he’ll stay quiet a day or so,” Ira said to Nathan. “After that it’s too good a story not to at least tell his fellow employees.”

  Ira gripped Nathan’s elbow. “Keep your mackinaw unbuttoned in case you need to get at your pistol in a hurry.”

  Ira rode on the driver’s seat with Bulldog while Nathan and Sam sat in back with the coffin. Nathan was wondering what had become of Burt Dawes. Then he spotted him amongst the disembarking passengers. The levee rat paid the wagon no attention, nor did he try to catch it. He lingered behind searching the sea of faces for anyone resembling Corbin or Cousin Hobie.

  The evening air was as cold as it had been at Creede. Owing to the lower elevation, the snow was four inches deep instead of eight. And much to the benefit of the wounded Alana, Alamosa’s streets, lacking the constant, round the clock traffic of Creede’s, were frozen solid.

  At the intersection of Sixth and Hunt, the sight of electric lights burning within Payne Merchandise brought a smile to Nathan’s lips. Eldon Payne was working late as usual. They would have no trouble locating him later in the evening.

  The Imperial House, situated a half block north of Sixth on Hunt Street was a short drive for Constable Allred. Burt Dawes joined then as Nathan lowered the tailgate of the wagon. Together, the four men slid the coffin from the wagon, and each at a corner, mounted the steps and carried it into the lobby. “The room she keeps is on the ground floor down the hallway past the desk,” Nathan informed his fellow pall bearers.

  The hotel clerk, cross-eyed and bald, swallowed his fear and loathing of Sam, hustled from behind the registration desk, and blocked the hallway. “Can’t be no coffins brought into the hotel. Mr. Buckman would have my scalp.”

  Constable Allred’s cheeks were suddenly the color of his name. “Mr. Buckman or no Mr. Buckman, you want to sleep a few nights in my jail, Olney? If we have to put this coffin down that’s where you’re bound. I’m on official business.”

  Swayed by the constable’s threat and Sam’s bared teeth, Olney scooted sideways, quickly putting the desk between himself and the huge dog. If his superiors questioned Olney later, Nathan suspected he would blame Sam as well as the constable for his allowing a coffin in the Imperial House. In the hallway, Nathan called out, “Mr. Ming, are you here?”

  A door cracked on their right and the slim Chinaman peeked out. Spying the coffin, he froze until he recognized Nathan. “We need your help, Mr. Ming. Mrs. Tanner’s badly hurt and she needs Doc Ellie.”

  The Chinaman swept the door open and beckoned them inside. Compared to the room Nathan had occupied during his previous stay at the Imperial House, Alana Birdsong’s permanent suite was lavishly furnished. Brass knobs surmounted the pillars of the white enameled iron bed covered by a quilt of alternate blue and white patches, and lace-trimmed pillows of blue satin. The white enameled dresser supported a beveled plate glass mirror of French extraction, and the splashboard and exterior of the three-drawer, hardwood commode on the opposite wall had been painted white to match the dresser’s enamel finish. The room’s final piece of furniture, a tall clothes armoire, was stocked with feminine attire ranging from walking suits, straw hats, fur coats, and parasols to sleeping gowns. The entire room was free of dust, spotlessly clean, and smelled vaguely of a lilac scent.

  They managed to wedge the coffin far enough into the room to shut the hallway door. Without a moment’s delay Ira and Nathan removed the lid. The expression on Mr. Ming’s face was a mixture of relief and joy when Alana Birdsong smiled at him. “Place her on bed, please,” Ming requested. “I make ready for doctor.”

  Ira, Burt, and Nathan followed the same procedure in removing Alana as they had placing her in the coffin, one of them at her shoulders, one at her hips, and one at her feet. The second step, removing her from the Artic sleeping bag, proved a more delicate operation. Once Alana was prone on the bed, the three of them were ecstatic that no fresh blood stained her bandages.

  The next problem was what to do with the empty coffin, for the large wooden box filled the entire space between the bed and the door, and they couldn’t subject it to public view, not without telling the world Alana was alive. Mr. Ming solved their dilemma by opening the door accessing his adjoining room. Turning the coffin on its side, they were able to relocate it without making use of the public hallway. Mr. Ming then urged them to “Bring, doctor, quick, quick,” and shooed everyone, including Sam, into the room with the coffin so he could tend his patient in private.

  Ira Westfall then took charge. “Burt, you find the doctor. Bulldog, you and I will have a little chat with lawyer Abbott. Nathan, you and Sam keep watch here. The desk clerk will telephone the Buckmans, so lock the doors to both rooms and don’t open up until one of us returns. Come along, Bulldog, we’ve no time to waste.”

  When Nathan went into Alana’s suite to lock the hallway door Sam followed, and at the insistence of his patient, Mr. Ming relented and allowed the huge dog to take his n
ormal station at the bottom of his mistress’s bed. Alone in Ming’s room, Nathan shed his cap and mackinaw, washed his face in the basin atop the unfinished pine commode, dried off with a coarse towel, and sank down on the Chinaman’s narrow wooden bed, his drawn pistol beside him.

  He was terribly hungry and wanted to sleep forever. But he was too churned up to sleep a wink, and his thoughts turned, as they inevitably did now whenever he was alone, to Laura Payne. She was always with him, lurking in the back of his mind, a vision of raven hair, tawny skin, and violet eyes so real and inviting he wanted to draw her against him and kiss her. It pained and haunted him that the imprisonment of her father would create an impenetrable barrier between them. How could she ever swallow her pride and admit the father she loved, and who doted upon her, was a common thief? How could she love a man who helped make a mockery of all that was important and dear to her?

  Nathan’s mother had claimed true love knew no defeat, but he no longer heeded such sentimental tripe. He had been childish in ever believing anything so naïve and devoid of truth. Life, he was learning, ran its own course, and you went where it took you, hanging on to its halter strap, trying your best to survive the bucks and jerks that beset you. Life, he was learning, could be as mean and disappointing as it was grand and exhilarating. Life, he was learning, drove you to seek the embrace and assistance of your maker.

  So Nathan Tanner, alone and fearing an uncertain future, fingered the cold metal of his pistol and prayed, both for himself and for those in need of him.

  Twenty-Four

  Burt Dawes returned within the hour with Ellie Langston, and following Ira’s instructions, Nathan made sure who was knocking before opening the door of Mr. Ming’s room. The scarecrow doctor fixed her owlish eyes on him and said, “I left a very sick child. Am I to see a patient or a corpse? I can’t tell which it is from the ramblings of your friend here. I‘ve never had a live patient brought to me in a coffin.”

  Nathan decided it was better to show her rather than try to explain the situation, and he simply said, “This way, please.”

  As soon as she sighted the wounded Alana, Ellie Langston shucked her black, oiled coat. When she lifted the quilt covering Alana, she remarked, “Don’t know whose work it was, but that’s a decent job of bandaging.”

  Opening her black satchel, she placed a scalpel and pair of scissors next to Alana. “Mr. Tanner,” she asked over her shoulder, “describe the wound.”

  “Bullet struck her left side between her hip and ribs. Mr. Westfall judged it passed through her body without hitting any bones.”

  “Was she hit from the front or the rear?”

  “The front.”

  “All right, Mr. Tanner,” Dr. Langston said, unrolling Alana’s bandages, “I’m going to need plenty of hot water, not boiling, but hot. You fetch the water from the well out back and the Chinaman can heat it on his stove. It pays me no mind that Mr. Dawes was ranting about how you don’t want people knowing this woman is alive. If anybody asks, say their loony female doctor is cleaning up a lady for burial. Trust me, that’ll satisfy them right proper. Now, get moving.”

  It required a full hour for Ellie Langston to treat Alana’s wound. The smell of a disinfectant as harsh and eye watering as carbolic acid permeated Alana’s room. Nathan fetched three pails of water, which Mr. Ming delivered piping hot.

  When Ellie Langston emerged from Alana’s room, black satchel in one hand, black, oiled coat in the other, the scarecrow’s features were drawn and her expression somber enough for a funeral. “I cut away torn flesh, scoured the wounds, applied new bandages, and dosed her with laudanum. She’s resting comfortably for now. If she so much as tries to stand for a month, she’s a dead woman. No more train rides, Mr. Tanner, or she’ll be wearing black. You understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ellie Langston shrugged into her oiled coat. “Though I don’t understand your reasoning, I’ll slip in and out the rear door to treat her until you tell me differently. Just remember, Mr. Tanner, spring snow lasts longer than secrets in Alamosa. If I’ve not learned anything else doctoring I’ve learned that the curiosity of God’s creatures is unbounded. If your aunt seems to be worsening, send for me immediately.”

  The lady doctor paused at the door. “I’d suggest you and your aunt could stand a little less excitement in your lives, Mr. Tanner. Good evening.”

  The doctor having departed and Alana resting comfortably, the ever-considerate Mr. Ming seized the opportunity to assuage Nathan and Burt Dawes’ hunger. He warmed a concoction of chicken and dumplings on his cook stove seasoned with herbs and spices. It was incredibly delicious, and Nathan ate three bowls of it. Afterwards, Ming served them hot tea in china cups decorated with tiny, blue hand-painted birds.

  The next knock at the door came as they finished their tea. Sam was braced at Nathan’s knee, and Burt hidden behind the door with pistol drawn, when Nathan called out. Ira responded and Nathan admitted the ex-copper and Constable Allred. Sam sniffed their direction, and satisfied they were no threat, plopped in the corner nearest the hallway door.

  One whiff of Ming’s chicken and dumplings and the new arrivals accepted bowls from the Chinaman with heartfelt thanks. Both men ate on their feet, neither bothering to remove his mackinaw.

  Burt Dawes’ impatience surfaced like a striking trout. “Did you get it, Ira, did you get it?”

  Ira Westfall glared and continued to eat. He didn’t speak until Ming had taken his empty bowl. “How’s your aunt, Nathan?”

  “She’s resting. Doc Ellie dressed her wound and dosed her with laudanum.”

  Burt Dawes was beside himself. “Damnit, Ira. Did you get it?”

  Ira blew out a big breath. “Yes, we got it. We have a bench order for the audit of Payne Merchandise by a court appointee. It wasn’t easy. Judge Dodge doesn’t often grant orders after the court’s closed for the day, particularly when it’s directed against one of Alamosa’s most respected businessmen.”

  “Why’d he do it then?”

  “Lawyer Abbott insisted the judge reach the president of the Grand National Bank at home by telephone. President Hollister confirmed Josiah Pedigrew phoned him this morning requesting a letter be prepared stating he’d paid Payne Merchandise weeks ago. What clinched it was Devlin Kellerman’s telegram from St. Louis stating his audit found Payne Merchandise weeks overdue on Tanner invoices, and that Eldon had ignored his partner’s demands for an explanation.”

  Now it was Nathan that couldn’t contain himself. “Then everything’s ready for our showdown with Eldon Payne?”

  Constable Allred nodded, sat his empty bowl on Ming’s small table, and wiped his mouth with a sleeve. “I thought about making a call to my day patrolman,” he said, glancing at Ira. “But I believe the two of us, along with Nathan to swear to the details, should be enough. We’re delivering a bench order to Eldon, not arresting him.”

  Mr. Ming appeared in the connecting doorway. “Mrs. Tanner, she say you come, please,” the slim Chinaman said, nodding at Nathan.

  Nathan hesitated, looking at Ira. At the ex-copper’s “Make it fast,” he followed Ming into the adjoining room.

  Alana’s breathing was so shallow Nathan couldn’t tell if she were alive until he was a step from her bed. He thought there might be the faintest smudge of color on her rounded cheekbones, hopefully not from fever. The corners of her mouth and eyes, where pain had recently puckered and pinched the skin, were smooth and relaxed thanks to Doc Ellie’s laudanum.

  Alana clasped Nathan’s fingers and drew him to the edge of the bed. “I overheard the constable and Mr. Westfall,” she said, her voice very weak, “and I won’t try to stop them. But I think you’re wrong about Eldon. He wouldn’t have me hurt, nor abide it, ever, for any reason. He’s too good a man to grovel in the dirt with the likes of the Buckmans by choice. They’re holding something over him . . . something bigger than gambling debts. You’ve got to help him.”

  Nathan stood nonplussed, staring at
her. “Help him,” he stammered. “Why, he may be as responsible for my parent’s murders as the Buckmans.”

  “No, Josiah Pedigrew was right,” Alana countered. “Eldon wouldn’t resort to robbery and murder for his own gain. He’s slaved too many years to risk losing Payne Merchandise for a few more dollars. He deserves a chance to explain himself. Will you promise me that?”

  Nathan couldn’t deny he sincerely hoped Eldon Payne wasn’t guilty of theft and conspiring against the Tanners. Yet he’d made no attempt to explain the missing Tanner money to his partners, and he’d helped arrange the meeting with Roan Buckman the night Nathan was nearly killed in the Payne stable. Nathan just couldn’t fathom how you could explain those facts away with a few fancy words or sorry excuses. But torn as he was, he couldn’t refuse the wounded woman clasping his fingers.

  “I’ll listen,” Nathan managed. “I’ll listen to what he says. I won’t promise to believe him.”

  Alana’s smile was at most a slight parting of the lips. “Thank you, now I can sleep.”

  Ira and Constable Allred were waiting at the hallway door for him. Nathan pulled on his mackinaw. “Keep the flap unbuttoned same as before,” Ira ordered. “Burt, lock the door behind us.”

  Sam was sitting on his haunches watching all the commotion, fierce gaze trained on Nathan. “What about Sam?”

  “Burt will be fine here,” Ira answered. “Bring him along if you like.”

  Nathan didn’t hesitate. In unpredictable situations that might turn violent with no warning, Sam’s lack of fear and unerring obedience bolstered one’s courage. At his snap of his fingers, the huge dog pushed past Ira and the constable and took the lead.

  Olney’s eyes bugged when the three of them crossed the lobby in Sam’s wake. Nathan would have bet another telephone call to the Buckmans was in the offing. Doc Ellie was right. Secrets in Alamosa lasted about as long as a hiccup.

  There was no wagon or horse traffic on Hunt Street at 8:30 p.m., for the evening train had departed and most businesses closed an hour after dark. In the absence of streetlights, Hunt Street was a shadowy tunnel.