by Paul Colt
The waiter arrived with the drinks.
“The special this evening is chicken fried steak and potatoes.”
They nodded all around.
“You mean Kingsley didn’t play fair?”
“Nope.” He lifted his chin to Longstreet. “Beau here filled in the blanks behind his back. That’s when I first started thinking he might be a better partner than competitor.”
She smiled with a twinkle in her eye. “So you really are honest.”
He lifted his glass. “Guilty as charged, ma’am.”
Supper passed to apple pie and coffee.
The waiter appeared to clear the dessert plates.
“Will there be anything else this evening?”
Longstreet deferred to Samantha.
“I might have a sherry nightcap.”
“Make it two.”
Cane yawned. “I’ll leave you two to that. My night is already capped.” He pushed back his chair and nodded to Samantha. “Beau, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Briscoe.”
The visitor bell bid adieu as the sherry arrived.
“So, Kingsley’s other business didn’t include you.”
“Are we fishing again?” She lifted her glass.
“Just curious.”
“A girl might hope for more. Actually I volunteered to stay behind to keep an eye on you.”
“Does that make me a suspect?”
“Yesterday you were a suspect. Today you’re guilty as charged.”
“Have I been sentenced yet?”
“One more of these and I believe that can be arranged.”
“Waiter!”
Ogden
He’d no more than raised an adequate lather when the knock sounded at the door.
“Telegram for Mr. Kingsley.”
He set down his shaving mug and fished in his trouser pocket for a quarter. He tossed the coin to the messenger in exchange for the envelope. He tore it open.
Client reports fifth bond redeemed in North Platte.
—Pinkerton
There it is. Just as he suspected, she’d broken her pattern. He returned to the mirror over the dresser and wet his razor in the basin. Smooth, clean razor strokes lubricated some of his best thinking. She’d be long gone from North Platte. That was old news. He rinsed the razor in the basin. The question was, where next? The Union Pacific route map played through his mind. Stroke, rinse, stroke, Grand Island, that was it. He’d wire Maples with instructions to embark thitherward with alacrity. He’d toddle along to tidy up in North Platte. He wiped the residue of his shave on a towel.
Evanston
Pity, Samantha crumpled the telegram. Duty calls. She debated a caring farewell to Beau. Too complicated, he’d want to know where she was going and why. Business, she decided, is business. A simple note would suffice. She smiled, confident she could manage forgiveness later.
Duty calls,
—Sam
Longstreet shook his head.
“Something the matter, sir?”
The desk clerk who’d given him the note from Samantha had likely noticed their comings and goings.
“Miss Maples didn’t by any chance say where she was going, did she?”
“No, sir. I’m afraid not.”
“That from Crook?” Cane swung around the stairway turn post and tilted his chin at the note.
“No. Samantha, she’s left.”
“What and no forwarding address?”
“How did you guess?”
“I’m a detective.”
“Now what?”
“You’ll get a good night’s rest?”
“Very funny.”
“We wire Crook. Something must have happened, another bond maybe.”
Shady Grove
“Cane’s telegram proved timely.”
We were seated on the veranda enjoying an unseasonably warm May afternoon. The mountain peaks in the distance remained snow-capped to be sure, but sun soaked the wide spacious veranda that ran all along the back of the Shady Grove Rest Home and Convalescent Center. Penny set our place at the far end of the porch where our conversation wouldn’t disturb the napping of other residents enjoying such a pleasant breath of spring.
“Timely, how so?”
“Later that very day North Platte Sheriff Matt David reported their bank had been notified that a bond they’d taken as collateral had been found to be counterfeit. He wondered if that might have anything to do with the alert I’d sent out. He wondered, can you imagine?”
“Not I. Information, I guess, doesn’t always inform.”
“The banker who suffered a preventable loss of one hundred thousand dollars might have considered it malfeasance in office. At least that cleared up the matter of a proper instruction for Cane and Longstreet.”
“So you sent them to North Platte.”
“Heavens no. I sent them to Grand Island.”
“Grand Island? But the bank was in North Platte.”
“We weren’t interested in the last bank to fall victim. We were interested in the next bank.”
“Time for lunch, Colonel.”
My Penny rescued me from mortal embarrassment. She looked bright and lovely as a spring wild flower. Spring, it surely did turn a young man’s thoughts to fancy.
“Lunch, by that you mean yet another tasteless assault on a palate once accustomed to better fare.”
“Oh, come now, Colonel, it’s not as bad as all that. If it weren’t for your complaints of the food, you’d have no complaint with the world.”
“You say. Food is only the beginning of my complaints. The ‘world’ as you phrase it, has no concern for the plight of an old man incarcerated to rest. And what have you two planned for this afternoon?”
“A picnic, that is if Penny cares to join me.”
“If she cares. Robert the girl is dumbstruck with you, though I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”
She blushed. I liked it.
“You are getting old when you can no longer remember what it’s like to be young.”
“Hmm, yes I suppose that could be it. Well just remember which side of your toast is buttered in the matter of these stories.” He patted the whiskey bottle under his lap robe with a wink. “See you next week, Robert. Now take me away, fair Penny, lest I further delay young romance in season.”
She blushed again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Grand Island
Patron favored the De Chico brothers when the work became messy. They stepped off the train from Cheyenne and proceeded across the tracks from the depot to the Red Garter Saloon on the other side of town. The brothers took a back corner table with a bottle of tequila. Ramon, the leader, told the bartender to notify Escobar of their arrival. He sent a young boy in bib overalls off on the errand while Ramon joined his brothers.
The older and younger De Chicos followed the lead of their middle brother. It wasn’t because of his size. The older brother, Louis, was a bull of a man, strong and powerful. He was also dull-witted. He seldom said more than a grunt, whether expressing consent or uncertainty. Ramon didn’t lead because of his skill with weapons. That distinction went to younger brother, Raul, who turned cat-quick and deadly with both his gun and a knife. Ramon led because the other brothers knew he was bright.
Thirty minutes later, Escobar entered the dingy saloon. He cut his eyes across the bar, ignoring the hopeful come-hither of a hard-worn whore, drawn as if by instinct to the back corner. He crossed the room and took the fourth chair.
“Ramon,” he said, exchanging nods with the other two.
“Señor Escobar, you have work for us?”
“Sí.” He poured tequila and swilled fiery agave. “You have no lime or salt?”
“Gringo cantina what do you expect? Now, how then may we be of service?”
“We wish to eliminate a problem.”
“How many are this problem?”
“One that I know of, though there could be mo
re by now.”
“And where do we find this problem?”
“At the bank.”
“You wish us to rob it?”
He shook his head as he poured another drink.
“The problem we wish to eliminate is a detective who is following one of my associates. Mi Patron will be very grateful if this detective gives up his search, permanentemente.”
“Bueno. Where is this bank?”
“In town, I will show you.”
“And how will we know this detective?”
“I will wait nearby and give you the sign.”
The gold painted sign in the window glinted late afternoon sun. It proclaimed Farmer’s and Merchant’s Bank of Grand Island. Very impressive, Samantha thought as she entered the lobby. The tap of her heels on the polished wood floor drew the attention of the teller at the nearest cage.
“May I help you?”
“Where might I find the cashier?”
“Mr. Bixby.” She pointed to a dark-suited gentleman seated at a desk beyond the far end of the teller counter.
She crossed the lobby to the low railing separating the important banker from the bank’s run-of-the-mill customer.
“Mr. Bixby?”
He glanced over the wire rim of his spectacles. His brown barbered hair was a little gray at the temples; his stern brown eyes softened at the prospect.
“Alexander Bixby,” he rose. “How may I be of service?”
“Samantha Maples, Pinkerton Agency, I’d like a word with you if I might.”
He opened a gate in the low railing inviting her to approach his desk.
“Pinkerton, I must say you’re nothing like any other Pinkerton Agent I’ve ever encountered.”
“Women agents often have that effect on unsuspecting men. It disarms them. That’s why Mr. Pinkerton employs them.”
“I never knew. Please have a seat and let me assure you, I’m unarmed.”
She smiled. “I am,” and took the offered chair.
He took his seat.
“Now what can I do for you?”
“I am investigating a forgery ring engaged in passing Texas & Pacific bonds.”
“In rather large denominations.”
“Why, yes, how do you know?”
“Regrettably Miss Maples, you and the sheriff are both too late.”
“Then they’ve been here.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“An attractive woman used the bond to secure a letter of credit.”
He nodded.
“Did she say anything that might give a clue to her whereabouts?”
“One could scarcely rely on anything that woman might say, but no, she didn’t.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Bixby.”
“I haven’t lost anything, yet.”
“You will.”
His countenance sank crestfallen and sour.
“One more thing, you mentioned the sheriff being late too.”
“He tried to warn me. He had a bulletin he called it, from some association he belongs to. Missed her by two days.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Bixby.”
“You will let me know if you apprehend this woman.”
“Of course. Good day.”
Leaving the bank a metallic flash of sunlight across the street caught her eye. A large dark-skinned man seated in front of a cigar store covered something with his coat. A gun? She glanced to her left, preparing to cross the street to a millinery shop. Another dark-skinned man lounged against the corner of a building in the next block. Was he Indian? Mexican, possibly? She crossed the street to admire a bonnet in the shop window. The window reflection revealed yet another dark-skinned man, two doors up from the bank. It struck her as too odd to credit coincidence. The sheriff’s warning likely meant Longstreet was on his way here. She remembered Cane’s encounter with the snake in his hotel room. This smelled like a trap.
Omaha
Nebraska First Bank Cashier Orville Mather folded thick fingers across the vest warming his paunch. Who would ever take such a refined and beautiful woman for a common criminal? Well, not really all that common. Common criminals didn’t typically go in for one-hundred-thousand-dollar forgery swindles; and good ones too by the look of this one. No, this was definitely an uncommon criminal, though criminal nonetheless. Had it not been for Sheriff Bassett’s timely warning he might have been taken in. He stroked his mustache in his most thoughtful banker demeanor.
“The bank will be most happy to accommodate your transaction, Miss Reed, though I’m afraid given the amount, we shall have to redeem the bond before issuing the bank’s letter of credit. It shouldn’t take more than a week’s time. We can deposit the proceeds into an account you may draw on, or we can wire our letter to you or your designate at your instruction.”
“But, Mr. Mather, I haven’t got a week’s time. That’s why I need the letter now. Good heavens, this is a Texas & Pacific bond. It couldn’t be any more secure if it were certified by the U.S. Mint.”
“I understand that, Miss Reed; but I don’t make the bank’s policy, I simply enforce it.”
“Isn’t there something you can do for me?”
Her lashes fluttered in appeal.
The woman is good, very good.
“Sorry, I’m afraid the matter is out of my hands.”
“Very well then, my bond if you please.” She extended a gloved hand. “I shall simply have to take my business elsewhere.”
He handed over the bond. She tucked it in her purse and left with little more than a curt nod. She did leave a little more behind as Mather watched her leave.
“Mr. Sullivan.”
The senior teller left his cage.
“Sir?”
“Go along to the sheriff’s office and tell Sheriff Bassett I need to see him at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shady Grove
“So you got her in Omaha. What happened to Longstreet and Cane in Grand Island?”
The colonel shook his head. “Not so fast, Robert. We didn’t get her in Omaha. Tony Bassett, Omaha sheriff at the time, got word the woman had attempted to cash a bond at the Nebraska First Bank. He thought she might next try the Bank of Omaha. He informed me he intended to set up a watch for her there. I determined Longstreet and Cane should join him and dispatched a wire forthwith. Unfortunately, my communiqué found them variously occupied by more pressing matters.”
“Speaking of pressing matters, Colonel, lunch is served.”
My lovely Penny interrupted.
He shook his white mane with a wince. “Robert, I would be cautious were I you when it comes to this woman’s standards where food is concerned. The tasteless fare they masquerade before us here as food scarcely meets the test of veracity.”
“You don’t appear to be wasting away.”
“He’s not, Robert. ’Tiz only he’s incorrigible peevishness running away with himself again.”
“Incorrigible? Peevish? Hardly, my dear. Jaded perhaps, but you wouldn’t understand. You don’t have to eat the gruel. I am fairly wasting away inside. And my taste buds? I’d venture to say they haven’t been used since the day I arrived.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Grand Island
A long whistle blast followed by two shorts announced their arrival. Cane nudged Longstreet awake. Dull gray light seeped through the dust-streaked window as the train slow-rolled into the depot. A knot of departing passengers waited on the station platform. The car lurched to a steam hiss and the squeal of metallic brakes. Cane slid into the aisle and tugged his valise out of the overhead rack. Longstreet stretched and yawned.
“Come along, Sleeping Beauty, time to get back to work.”
Longstreet hauled himself out of the window seat, grabbed his bag, and followed Cane up the aisle to the coach entry. A warm dry wind beneath a thick deck of cloud greeted the arriving passengers. Longstreet followed Cane woodenly, not fully awake.
“Beau.”
A f
amiliar female voice brought him up short. He seldom forgot one he remembered on those terms. He turned and smiled.
“Samantha, what a pleasant surprise. I’d ask what you are doing here, but what would be the point of that?”
Cane heard the exchange and returned through the arriving and departing crosscurrent.
“I’m here, though the surprise may not be all that pleasant.”
“Is it something I said?”
“Don’t be silly.” She patted his cheek, then caught herself, conscious of Cane. “Remember your friend, the one who plays with snakes?”
Cane lifted a brow.
“I think he’s here with three or four new friends, two-legged this time. I spotted them watching the bank.”
“What makes you think they’re watching for us?” Cane asked.
“Call it women’s intuition, that and too much to credit coincidence.”
He exchanged a glance with Longstreet. “Then I expect it’s best if we don’t just drop in on the bank.”
“That’s why I’m here. I think we may find opportunity in this.”
“How so?” Longstreet felt the need to seem relevant to the conversation.
“These, ah, gentlemen are looking for you. They don’t know we know they are laying in wait. You two go to the Paradise Hotel and lay low. I’ll fetch the sheriff and together we can arrange a surprise for your new friends.”
“Ever the clever girl.” Longstreet held her gaze. “Paradise Hotel, is it?”
“It’s not what you think. Let’s just say it’s unlikely you’ll be discovered there.”
Unlikely indeed, the Paradise proved to be a second-class hotel in a town with two classes, first and last. Not surprisingly they had rooms. Somewhat more surprising they passed an old oaken scrub bucket and mop idling in the uncarpeted hallway leading to those rooms.
Thirty minutes later Samantha arrived with a cherry cheeked, portly, bespectacled man wearing a derby hat and frock coat.
“Chauncy Tubbs, sheriff.” He extended his hand.
“Briscoe Cane, Great Western Detective League, this is my partner Beau Longstreet.”
Hands shook. “A couple of Colonel Crook’s boys, eh? I’m a league member myself. I’m surprised you’re working with Pinkerton.”
