by Jake Logan
The other decorations had been kept to a minimum. Two low tables held strange dwarf trees all bent up in a style Slocum had seen over in Japantown. The oak desk was polished so hard he had to squint against the reflection of the afternoon sun.
“You like the trees? Bonsai. That one is two hundred years old. The other is newer. Only fifty years old. Both were brought from Edo by a gardener I employed until he died.”
“You took the trees then?”
“He willed them to me. That’s the way it’s done. These are heirlooms.”
“You keep your possessions real close to you, don’t you?” Slocum had heard talk like this before.
David Collingswood, or so read the nameplate on this desk, was dressed to the nines in an outfit Slocum knew wouldn’t be out of place at the Union Club. In the midst of his impeccable jacket, vest, and ruffled shirt shone a headlight diamond bigger than any Slocum had ever seen worn by the most prosperous gambler. The difference was the gambler carried his wealth against the time his luck dried up. Collingswood wore this to hold his cravat in place. Slocum wondered if the man had a dozen more like it at home, maybe up on Russian Hill, where the richest of the rich in San Francisco lived.
A man like this was the sort to hire Tamara Crittenden to guard his doorway. And maybe there was more to their relationship beyond work. It made sense. Somehow, Slocum felt a bit disappointed in that notion.
“I have a reputation for selling dearly and buying cheaply,” the man said. He sank into his leather chair and closed his eyes. For a moment he looked twenty years older than the forty that Slocum guessed. He opened his eyes and stared almost forlornly at Slocum. “You carry yourself well. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you couldn’t use that side arm well and perform the rest of the services I require.”
“You trust Underwood that much?”
“With my life, if necessary. But his real ability comes in sizing up men.”
“Like Miss Crittenden, too?”
Collingswood lifted an eyebrow, and a small smile danced on his lips. He perked up as he leaned forward, forearms on his desk. Before, he had just stared at Slocum—or through him. Now he gave him as thorough a once-over as Tamara Crittenden had.
“All the trappings of wealth mean nothing to you, do they?” Collingswood had finished his appraisal and sounded as if he were delivering a report to his board of directors.
“If I have food in my belly and a roof over my head, I’m happy.”
“Not true, sir. The part about the roof. You prefer the open sky, the endless range, to roofs and walls. Underwood must have determined your tracking skills are what I need.”
“What is this ‘great hunt’ you’re hiring men for?”
“What makes you think there are more than just you?” Collingswood looked sharply at him. “What have you heard?”
“You’re edgy about something. Underwood never said as much, but I got the sense that he had brought you other men for this hunt. You look like a belt and suspenders fellow. You don’t take unnecessary risks.”
“I got here by taking calculated risks, yes, but you are right about the job. And I take it as a personal affront when something is stolen from the railroad.”
Slocum said nothing. He hadn’t heard of a recent robbery. That meant Collingswood either quashed the story for the railroad to protect its—and his—reputation, or what had been stolen was more a matter of pride than value.
“The train was carrying a load of silver from Virginia City bound for a company bank vault here in San Francisco. The robbers got away with the entire shipment.”
“You want me to track down the robbers? Or to get back the silver?”
“There are several others already hired to find the shipment and return it. While bringing the outlaws to justice is important, returning the shipment is paramount.”
“How much silver was stolen?”
“Close to ten thousand dollars’ worth.”
Slocum simply stared at the railroad officer. Most men he knew could live pretty well on a few hundred dollars a year. This was an unimaginable fortune.
“How many robbers?” Slocum finally asked.
“The number is uncertain since those who would have been able to know are dead. The engineer guessed at four.”
A welter of questions ran through Slocum’s head, but he held them back.
“One hundred dollars a month, plus supplies and a reward if you return the shipment.”
“How much would the silver weigh?”
“The point of the robbery was rocky and the road ran along a steep cliff. All I can believe is that they had freight wagons to move the silver.”
“What’s to keep me from finding the outlaws and keeping the silver?”
Collingswood glared at him, then said coldly, “Underwood found you. He can find ten more to track you down and kill you. However, you seem intelligent and are likely a man of your word. If you get the job, do you give your word to return the stolen silver?”
“I give value for my work,” Slocum said. “Why haven’t you sent out the law to find the robbers? A federal marshal could mount a posse for the money you’re offering me.”
“I have my reasons. Do you accept?”
“I do.” Slocum shook hands with the railroad vice president and was surprised at both his strong grip and the calluses there. Underwood hadn’t exaggerated. This was a man who sat atop a tall building looking over the harbor but had worked his way up there.
“Miss Crittenden will give you the details and an advance on your first month’s pay.”
“This won’t take more than a month. I either find the robbers and the silver by then or I can’t do it at all.”
“Your honesty is refreshing, Mr. Slocum.” David Collingswood turned in his chair to stare out the window through the Golden Gate. What he saw out on the Pacific, Slocum didn’t know. It might have been anything or nothing as other matters consumed him.
Slocum took his leave, anticipating another talk with Tamara Crittenden. To his disappointment, both she and Underwood were gone. In the center of her desk was a large envelope with John Slocum written on it in a flowing feminine script.
He picked it up and saw a sheaf of papers, a map, and five ten-dollar gold pieces.
A clanking sound made him look down the corridor. The woman entered the elevator cage and disappeared down. Slocum hesitated, then wondered what sent her scurrying away from her post in the middle of the afternoon. He found the stairwell and raced down the steep steps as fast as he could go. He made it to the lobby in time to see Tamara leaving the building through the Market Street door.
Not bothering to examine his motives, Slocum ran after her.
3
Slocum stepped out into the street and looked in both directions, hunting for Tamara Crittenden. The woman’s quick departure struck him as out of the ordinary. If David Collingswood wanted him to find the owlhoots responsible for stealing so much silver, he had to be aware of anything unusual.
He turned and caught sight of her rounding the corner farther toward the dock area. A woman as well dressed as she was asked for trouble going down there, even in the daytime. Slocum’s long legs devoured the distance to the corner. He rounded it and skidded to a halt. Tamara spoke with a man not ten feet away. Her back was to Slocum. The man was roughly dressed and carried a six-shooter slung at his side. From the way he stood, the man was within an inch of drawing his gun in spite of no one nearby threatening him—or Tamara. This told Slocum the man’s uneasiness came from being in San Francisco and not from anything immediate.
He understood that foreboding sensation. He felt it himself.
The man took Tamara by the arm. She pulled back, stood her ground, and then went with him. Slocum followed a dozen paces behind, but he walked a trifle faster to narrow the gap so he could eavesdrop.
“. .
. specials,” the dark-haired woman said. “You’ve got to get out of town.”
“I don’t care squat about specials. If Collingswood had any sense, he would have had an army on that train.”
“You know why he didn’t,” Tamara said. The uneasiness in her voice caused Slocum to halt. She was more involved with something Collingswood knew nothing about than was healthy for her. All Slocum could figure was that this had to be one of the train robbers, and Tamara was involved up to her plucked, arched eyebrows.
“The others all lit out. It’s just us,” the man said.
“Please, Jack. I don’t dare leave right now. He would be suspicious.”
“You should never have got involved with him. Not like that.”
“I didn’t have any choice. We needed what he knew.”
“That makes you into some kind of whore, Tam.”
She spun on the man and slapped him hard. The sound echoed like a gunshot and drew attention all around. Slocum pressed himself against a building to keep from being seen as Jack looked about wildly. The expression on his face, the set to his shoulders, and the fierceness in his eyes said this wasn’t a man who took such abuse. Slocum touched the ebony handle of his Colt Navy, ready to throw down if the man started to whale on the woman.
To Slocum’s surprise, Jack’s anger faded, and he touched his reddened cheek.
“I’m sorry. Shouldna said nuthin’ like that to you. We all did what we had to.”
“You killed those men. You told me there wouldn’t be any shooting,” Tamara said angrily.
“There wasn’t any choice. A couple of them dyin’ was pure bad luck on their part. But it’s over. Come with me right now, Tam. We kin be across the Bay and headin’ north ’fore Collingswood gets wind of it.”
“He’s got eyes everywhere. I do declare, Underwood is like Argus.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Let’s leave now, and you can explain that to me. You got the book learnin’.”
“You can learn, too, Jack. You’re smart.” She moved closer. Slocum missed much of what the woman said, but the way she pressed close against Jack took away any need for the exact words.
After a spell where Slocum heard nothing but seagulls squawking above, the slosh of the tide against the docks, and the heavy wagons in the street, Tamara’s words came clear enough again for him to hear.
“Smart enough to take up with you,” Jack said, but something in his words put Slocum on guard. “I’ll wait until you give him notice.”
“That might be a week, Jack.”
“You do that, and we’ll leave here. Together.”
Tamara chanced a quick kiss, then cut across the street and melted in with the crowd. Slocum’s senses came fully alert. He had heard double-crosses before, and Jack handed the woman one as sure as the sun shone down on San Francisco Bay.
He hesitated, looking after the woman. Catching her wouldn’t be hard since she hadn’t much of a head start on him, but the envelope with the pay for finding the train robbers and returning the stolen silver rested in his left hand. He looked up. Jack wasn’t in any hurry to go anywhere. Slocum pulled out the map in the package and stuffed it into a coat pocket. The ten-dollar gold pieces slipped into a vest pocket. The rest was a contract he barely glanced at. He stuffed that into his other coat pocket as Jack finally turned and walked away.
The outlaw’s gait changed from slow to determined. He had reached a conclusion. It had to be about leaving Tamara in the city on her own—possibly with David Collingswood. The outlaw hadn’t taken it well when he mentioned the railroad vice president and how Tamara wanted to stay to deflect suspicion. To Slocum, that said Tamara was playing another hand, one hidden from the outlaw.
And Jack realized it.
Slocum walked faster and closed the gap between them. He was so intent on getting to the man he failed to notice a scrawny rat-faced man move from a doorway into his path. Slocum collided with him, stumbled, and swung around to keep his balance. This put him into the arms of a burly sailor. The man smelled of the sea and dead fish and had arms like a sailing ship’s anchor chain. They closed around him, pinning his arms to his side.
“Here, Knothole,” said the rat man.
The sailor swung Slocum around off his feet and pressed his face into a rough brick wall.
“Hang on tight while I get his money. I seen him puttin’ some coins in his vest pocket ’bout here.”
A hand more like a boneless tentacle slipped between Slocum and the wall, searching for his vest pocket. The man worked as a pickpocket to be as deft as he was at plucking the coins from the pocket.
Slocum grunted, strained, and saw immediately how impossible it was to break free. He lifted one boot heel and raked his spur along the sailor’s leg. The man cried out in pain. The next time Slocum kicked back, he drove the rowel into the man’s flesh and felt hot blood begin to spurt. The pain forced the sailor to relax his grip the tiniest amount. Slocum got his other foot up, kicked hard against the wall, and sent them both stumbling away from the pickpocket.
Landing with his butt in the sailor’s stomach knocked the wind from him. Slocum tried to stand and found his spur was entangled in the man’s muscled calf. Not caring what damage he did, he kicked hard and pulled the spur free, rolled to his hands and knees, and came to a crouch.
The pickpocket had lifted the fifty dollars and wasn’t waiting around to help his partner. The last Slocum saw was the man’s dark hair flying behind like a greasy banner as he raced away, skidding around a corner and disappearing.
“My leg. You ripped off my leg,” the sailor moaned.
Slocum kicked the man in the ribs to give him something else to think about. Then he drew his Colt, cocked it, and aimed between the man’s deep-set eyes.
“Your partner stole my money.”
“I don’t know Wellesley. I swear I don’t!”
Slocum didn’t bother arguing. The two worked as a team. He could shoot the sailor and nobody on the docks would pay much attention, but that let the rat-faced man get away scot-free.
“How much money you have on you? You and him been working hard today stealing other men’s money?”
“I . . . All I got’s this.” The sailor fumbled out a few silver cartwheels. Slocum was alert for the man dropping them as a diversion. He kicked out and knocked the sailor flat onto the ground again. “Please, mister, I got a family. I—”
“Shut up.” Slocum knelt and picked up four silver dollars. Then he patted down the sailor and got a gold double eagle. It wasn’t near what he’d lost, but he wasn’t totally broke because of the two street lurchers.
The sailor bled profusely onto the dirty street. The dust soaked up his life’s blood like a sponge, leaving only dark lumps. Slocum lowered his six-shooter but held it at his side.
“The next time I see you or Wellesley, you’ll be heavier by a couple ounces of lead in your thieving bellies.” He kicked the sailor again, then stepped back.
The man scrambled to his feet the best he could. The injured leg dragging behind, he lumbered off venting curses learned over a long time at sea. Slocum saw how he rounded the same corner where his partner had gone. They likely had a hideout in that direction. When the sailor caught up with his cowardly partner, more blood would flow. Slocum only wished he could have gotten his fifty dollars back.
Still, he wasn’t entirely down on his luck again. Going back to David Collingswood and asking for the balance of his month’s pay wouldn’t do, though Slocum wondered if Tamara had returned immediately to the office. She had met Jack to tell him about the railroad vice president hiring a small army to track down the robbers. That involved her in the robbery, but she was on her way to being cut out entirely because she had warned her partner.
Slocum shook his head. It amazed him how gullible women could be—and men. Collingswood had undoubtedly told Tamara all the det
ails of the silver shipment. She had passed them along to Jack. The outlaw had a yen for her, but was it anything like the one she had for him? Slocum doubted that. When she had refused to come away with him, the outlaw’s attitude had shifted. Wherever he went now, it was without Tamara.
Slocum walked fast, head swiveling around as he hunted for the outlaw. Losing him because of the two cutpurses rankled, but Slocum knew a few things that kept him looking. Jack wasn’t a sailor, not from the way he dressed. His slightly bowed legs spoke of long days in the saddle, not hauling cable or furling sails on a ship. Wherever Tamara had met him was on land. He might have come into the Central California Railroad office. A railroad foreman? That might put him into contact with the woman.
How and where Jack and Tam had teamed up mattered little at the moment. The outlaw was deserting her. That meant he was hightailing it for wherever the silver had been stashed. Such a huge load required a couple freight wagons to move, if Collingswood’s description was to be believed. If Slocum had to, he could ask around at towns along the tracks for a man matching Jack’s description who had bought a heavy wagon and a team. High in the mountains meant that oxen might be a better choice than horses. They were slow but powerful, able to haul heavy loads up steep inclines.
All this flashed through Slocum’s head as he walked along the docks. Jack had come this way for a reason other than to go in a direction opposite Tamara’s when they parted.
“He’s leaving San Francisco,” Slocum said to himself. A slow grin curled his lips. The ferry across the Bay to Berkeley was an obvious way to flee.
It took him a few minutes to backtrack along the docks and find the Ferry Building. The next ferry left in a half hour. If Slocum found Jack before then, the outlaw would give up all the answers to the identity of his partners and where the silver had been hidden before the sun went down. He touched the knife sheathed at the small of his back. He knew ways of making a statue scream for mercy. He hadn’t been a prisoner of the Apaches for damned near a week without learning some vicious tricks.
