Shadow of Legends

by Stephen A. Bly

  “You are not interrupting anything,” Rebekah reassured.

  “Are you complaining?” Abigail winked.

  “Only a little!” Rebekah replied. “Anyway, it’s time to eat. Do you want to go get the gang next door?”

  Abigail brushed a few wisps of her errant dark hair behind her ear. “Yes, that’s why I’m here. Quintin is quite sure we’ve missed a meal or two.”

  “I’ll go round them up.” Todd scooted out the front door, leaving it open wide.

  Rebekah turned back to the kitchen, and Abigail trailed after her. “What have all of you been doing over there?”

  “Mother and Amber are teaching Quintin and Dacee June to play hearts.”

  “How’s your mother doing after last night’s ordeal?” Rebekah quizzed.

  “She calls it the adventure of her life and can’t wait to get home and tell her friends.”

  “I’m so thankful no one was hurt . . . at least, not seriously.” Rebekah scooted the large pan off the stove.

  “The others were busy with hearts. How about you and Little Fern?”

  “She wanted me to read to her.”

  “Did you find anything over there to read?”

  “I eh . . . I hope this is all right . . . I was reading Mr. Fortune’s big Bible.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a bit. He’s got his small one with him on the hunt, no doubt.”

  “I presume that’s a picture of him and Todd’s mother in the front.”

  “Yes, that was taken down in Brownsville after the war.”

  “She was a beautiful woman.”

  “According to Todd, she was as tough as nails, and as tender as a feather bed. Her faith and her family was the absolute center of her life. Heaven help anyone who threatened either. She and Daddy Brazos communicated with just a nod, a glance, a shout of the eyes. She was his girl . . . and that’s about all he ever really wanted in life.”

  Abigail raised her sweeping eyebrows. “I’m surprised Mr. Fortune didn’t take that photograph with him.”

  “He couldn’t get her image out of his mind if he wanted,” Rebekah said.

  “Do you find it’s a hard image to live up to?” Abigail scooped up a handful of spoons from the polished oak box and set one by each soup bowl.

  “At first it was a challenge. Deceased people are perfect. They never make any more mistakes and their former ones seem to fade as the years go by. But then it dawned on me that Todd was struggling to live up to his father’s image. I suppose we all try to copy someone else. And Todd’s mother is as good an example as I could find. I think everything’s ready. Where’s that gang from next door?”

  “I’m sure Mother won’t let them adjourn until the hand is over.” Abigail surveyed the orderly table settings. “You know, that was one of Amber’s father’s problems. The way he was headed, he was going to be just like his father.”

  “Was his father a doctor?” Rebekah asked.

  “Oh, yes . . . a doctor . . . a racehorse owner . . . and fairly addicted to Tennessee whiskey and Tennessee women. At last count he had been married four times. I suppose we all live in someone’s shadow.”

  “Maybe the secret is getting under the right shadow.”

  “You, Rebekah Fortune, are my new shadow.”

  Rebekah straightened her shoulders and stared into Abigail’s dark eyes. “Me? You can do much better than this!”

  “In the Black Hills?”

  “Yes. You saw me last night.”

  “And I see you work it through today.”

  “I’m sure there are some older women who . . .”

  “Older women? I want to see someone my age do it right,” Abigail said.

  “Do what right?”

  “Life . . . love . . . marriage . . . kids . . . faith . . . everything.”

  “Children?” Rebekah grinned.

  “Sooner or later.”

  “Perhaps sooner.”

  “Really?”

  “I think so, but I’ll have to have you help me with child raising.”

  “I’m not a good example of a mother. Having Amber with me reminds me how much I’ve never learned.”

  “Maybe we’ll just learn together.”

  Abigail took Rebekah’s arm. “Do you mean that?”

  “What I mean is as long as we’re living in the same town . . . well, I’d like very much for you to be my best friend and prayer partner,” Rebekah blurted out.

  “Prayer partner? But I . . .”

  “If I’m going to be your example, you have to pray for me.”

  “I’m not sure God wants to listen to my prayers,” Abigail murmured.

  “Abby-girl . . . I’m going to have fun schoolin’ you.”

  “Schoolin’ me? Are you starting to drop your g’s? You sound like a Deadwood old-timer.”

  “Now that, Mrs. Abigail Gordon, is an astonishing observation.”

  A line of hungry children and adults paraded into the dining room.

  “I won the last hand,” Dacee June reported. “I had a whole bunch of middle hearts, the toughest to get rid of, but I did it. I ­didn’t take one point.”

  “I don’t want any raspberry pie,” Amber announced.

  “Are we having peas?” Quintin probed. “I don’t like peas.”

  “I like mash’tatoes,” Fern added as she struggled to pull herself up onto the deacon’s bench.

  “I like beefsteak,” Quintin said. “Can I have two?”

  The inside of Fortune’s Hardware was gloomy when Todd returned to work. He couldn’t tell if it was the overcast day, the armed guard by the front door, or the mood of most of the customers and clerks. Everyone seemed to be looking over their shoulders, expecting something disastrous to happen.

  “Do you want me to run these boiler valves up to the DeSmet?” Carty Toluca asked. “We could wait until they send someone to town.”

  Todd glanced around the store. “I want you and Dub to take them up to the mine. I promised to send them up as soon as they came in.”

  “It ain’t more than a crate full,” Carty mused. “I reckon one man should be able to handle it.”

  Todd rested his hands on his hips and could feel his holstered revolver under his suit coat. “One of you ride shotgun. We aren’t taking any chances.” Todd paced the aisle, but kept his eyes toward the front door.

  Carty waved his shirt-clad arm towards the badlands. “The whole town is takin’ this personal. Talk is, if them two show up below the dead line, they will be shot down on sight. Folks down there can be mighty protective of ladies up on Forest Hill, too. Nevada Jack is offering to give the Piedmont Saloon to any man who kills them both.”

  Todd parked himself by the open front door and surveyed the rigs and riders in the street. “He said that?”

  “Yep. That’s how the regulars feel. The drifters and bummers . . . well, they’re hopin’ ever’ lawman and treasure messenger leaves the gulch. But that type is no account.” Carty opened a small folding knife and cleaned the dirt from under his straight-cut fingernails.

  Two men galloped up the street and Todd slipped his hand on the grip of his holstered revolver. “I reckon we’ll all be jumpy for a while.”

  “Kind of reminds you of ’76, right after the battle at the Little Bighorn.”

  After the horsemen passed the hardware store, Todd dropped his right hand to his side. “When we closed the roads and put up barricades to fight the Sioux and Cheyenne?”

  “Yep. But they never came.” Carty’s grin revealed a slight gap between his upper two front teeth.

  “Well, Mr. Toluca, I hope that’s the way it is this time, too. It’s just hard to imagine those two not coming back to complete whatever it is they are aiming at.”

 
Todd had just watched Carty and Dub Montgomery drive off when Elijah Lander strolled through the front door shaking his finger as a prelude.

  “Elijah, what are you doing over here during banking hours?”

  He bounced his finger in the air three times before he replied. His full lips formed an oval, mimicking the shape of his bald head. “Fortune, when is your father coming back?”

  The banker rocked forward on the toes of his black patent leather shoes, slightly elevating his five-foot-four-inch frame. “I reckon it will be another week or so,” Todd replied. “Don’t suppose I can help you with anything?”

  Lander’s sideburns were about as thick as Grass Edwards’s, but with a bald head, they were clown-like. Again, his hands waved before he spoke. “I’ve decided to take the gold bars out of the window.”

  Todd glanced back out at the open front door. He watched Madame DuFur whip her ox team that struggled to pull two loaded freight wagons toward Lead. “Sounds prudent to put the gold in the safe.”

  “But I’ve got to ship it on schedule on Monday. I’ve got to get the bullion to the train in Sidney, Nebraska, on time. I just got a telegram from the secretary of the treasury personally saying they must have our shipment on the train to Philadelphia as per schedule.”

  “You actually got a telegram from the secretary of the treasury?”

  Elijah Lander pulled a square piece of paper out of his pocket. “Right here!”

  Todd looked it over. “Whenever you need Lars, Pete, and the boys, you take them. We’ll make other arrangements for guards.”

  “Thanks, but even then I hate to ship at half strength.” Now Lander shook his right hand so hard, he seemed to be having an attack. “I trust the sheriff will be back soon. I’ll need to hire some additional messengers if he delays. I don’t suppose you could spare a few days . . .”

  “I just can’t ride off and leave my family. If I hadn’t had that trouble up at the house, and if . . .”

  “If you hadn’t had that trouble, all my messengers would still be in town.”

  “If you’re asking me to choose between protecting my family or your gold, then my choice is easy,” Todd said.

  Lander bounced his index finger in the air. “Quite so. I must agree.” He finally pointed out to the armed guard on the boardwalk. “Do you think you could really spare Princy Black and the others?”

  “If you have to ship the bullion Monday, we’ll figure out something. Is Handsome Harry well enough to drive the coach?”

  “No, but I’ve got this new man, Tweed Bucklan, lined up. Handsome Harry heard tell that he’s an outstanding driver.”

  “So now you’re rounding up extra messengers?”

  Lander glanced around before he spoke. “Well, I’m not going to make a general announcement down in the badlands. I thought I’d hire a half dozen at the last moment, mix them in with the regulars that are left, and send ’em off. It’s good pay, and they wouldn’t have time to get greedy.”

  “I think you ought to wait for the sheriff’s bunch. They force you to change plans, and you’re playing into someone’s hands.”

  “I have to ship on Monday. You saw the telegram.”

  “What could they do if you shipped one day late? Or two? They will not refuse the gold.”

  “No, but they could contract someone else to handle the transactions.” Lander waved his arms in the air, then folded them across his chest. “Maybe Brazos will be home by Monday.”

  In his mind, Todd imagined his father and Yapper Jim scampering up and down some tiny creek in the Bighorns, panning for gold. “We never know about him.”

  “That reminds me.” Lander’s mouth chewed air, then continued. “I opened a rather substantial account this morning in the name of Olene Steel Company.”

  “I’ve met Mr. Olene.”

  “I know. That’s why I figured you’d be interested in his account.”

  “Did he decide to buy out Ayres and Wardman’s Hardware?”

  “No, he bought the old Langrishe Theater,” Lander announced.

  “A theater? What for?”

  “He’s going to tear it down and build a flat-iron and brick hardware store.”

  “He said that?”

  “Yes, and he’s transferring sixty-five thousand into a new account.”

  Todd glanced out at the sky above the gulch. He was surprised how much darker the clouds had become. “That will be the fanciest building in the Black Hills.”

  “Certainly the nicest hardware building in all of Dakota. He said you turned him down when he offered to buy you out.”

  Todd paced the floor next to a rack of nine-pound sledge hammers. “I told him we’d think about it and let him know in a few weeks. I suppose that’s the same thing as turning him down.”

  “What will Brazos say when he returns?”

  Todd could envision his father’s flushed face and clenched fists. “He threatened to put us out of business if we didn’t sell. I don’t figure Daddy will be too pleased with that. Is Olene still in town?”

  “He’s not leaving until tomorrow. Are you going to talk to him?” Lander quizzed.

  “What is there to say? He’s free to do what he wants, and we’re free . . . well, we would be free if these two outlaws get captured.”

  “I suppose so. I don’t think I’ve known of a time in the past three years where so many good men in this town were either absent or preoccupied.”

  “Mr. Lander, I still say you should jam those gold bars in your best safe and leave them there until you get your regular messengers back.”

  “But, the Secretary of the Treasury said . . .”

  “You can stall him for a day or two. He won’t send in the troops . . . which wouldn’t be a bad idea. Maybe you should ask for an army escort from Fort Meade.”

  Lander windmilled both hands with limp wrists. “I couldn’t do that. That would be an admission that we can’t look after ourselves in the Hills. That’s an image we’ve tried so diligently to overcome. How will we achieve statehood if we have to rely on federal troops to conduct our regular business?”

  Todd rested his hand on the shorter man’s shoulder as they walked to the door. “Elijah, we aren’t ever going to have statehood until the folks in Yankton and Bismarck decide to get along with each other.”

  “Yes, quite so.” Lander continued to wave his hands. “The fact remains, we have to handle this ourselves and prove that we can keep a schedule.”

  After Mr. Lander left, Todd surveyed the store from the staircase at the back of the building.

  It’s just a hardware store.

  A mining camp hardware.

  Goods, parts, mining supplies.

  Nothing fancy. Nothing special.

  Except memories.

  Memories when there were only a dozen tents in this gulch and those that wintered out were convinced they would freeze, starve, or get slaughtered by hostiles.

  But businesses come and go. A big eastern store . . . it would bring prices down . . . for a while. They must be counting on the railroad coming in soon. That could be five, ten years away.

  But prices would be cheaper. For some. For a while. After they drive off competition, it will be difficult not to raise prices.

  Todd hiked up to his second-story office, then strolled to the Main Street window to glance over at the Wells Fargo office. He thought he could see a few sprinkles dripping into the dusty street from the dark clouds.

  The whole reason for building Fort Meade was to protect the Black Hills. I can’t figure why Lander is so dead set against rousing out some troops for the treasure coach. Stubbornness is what it is, mining camp stubbornness. “We don’t need any help, and we’ll put a fortune in gold on the line to prove it.” If I can convince him to just wait two days, the treasure me
ssengers will be back and they can ship out like normal.

  The Secretary of the Treasury? I think Daddy knows the Secretary of the Treasury or is that the Secretary of War? Doesn’t matter. Even if he were pals with President Rud Hays, Daddy’s just like Mr. Lander. He wouldn’t send for troops no matter what.

  Todd caught up three days of bookkeeping and made out his orders for the following week. He heard someone sprint up the stairs but didn’t bother to turn around and look.

  “You get those deliveries made, Carty?”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “No one else has the energy to race up the stairs this late in the day. Did you have any trouble?”

  Carty looped his thumbs in his suspenders. “None, but the mines have the guards out and armed to the teeth. People drivin’ up the road ain’t friendly until they see who you are. It’s like everyone’s expecting somethin’ terrible to happen.”

  “As soon as the sheriff brings in those two ol’ boys, it will quiet down.”

  “I surely do wish Daddy Brazos was home,” Carty added. “He’d get things settled down in a hurry.”

  “He’d probably enjoy the whole thing a lot more than we do. The old man thrives on adversity.”

  “I have an idea,” Carty blurted out. “Why don’t you send a telegram to Buffalo . . . or Fort McKinney . . . and see if they know where Daddy Brazos and Yapper Jim happen to be? They could be home in three or four days if they knew we were in trouble.”

  “We do not need to send for Daddy Brazos,” Todd said.

  “I thought you said . . .”

  “What I said was, we all would enjoy having them home,” Todd snapped. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t handle this ourselves.”

  After Carty slunk down the stairway, Todd stared across the room and out the window at the low-hanging clouds that blocked his view of Mount Moriah and White Rocks.

  I guess I’m as stubborn as Landers. But I’ve got to know. Can I make a decision . . . carry it out . . . protect my family . . . lead the commu­nity . . . without my father around? A man has to learn that sometime.