by Ron Schwab
The young Mexican waiter delivered their sandwiches and coffee with a promise he would return later with the pie. She waited until he was beyond hearing range before she spoke. "I'll let you be the judge of that. I've written nothing down. I hope you are an attentive listener and have a decent memory."
"Try me."
"Well, there is nothing in my story that makes me look more virtuous than a cheap spy who sells information for free meals. I may be deluding myself that I am serving a noble cause. I guess that remains to be seen. Are you a servant of noble causes?"
"If they pay well enough."
"Please say something to make me feel better about all of this."
"You may be saving a man's life. You could expedite peace with the Comanche."
"There now, I knew you could do it. I feel so much better."
"Perhaps you should tell me what you have learned. The lunch hour clock is running."
"Judge Robinson has been out of the office for a week and won't return for a few days, and my fellow office workers know I've been working though the noon hour for three days running . . . while the office was closed. They won't grumble if I'm a few minutes late."
"Please, Tara, don't torment me like this."
She reached across the table and softly patted his hand, and his heart took a leap. "But it's so much fun," she said with an impish smile. "Very well. I've searched the judge's office and found some interesting letters and papers. Organized man that he is, he had a nice history of certain activities filed away in a locked desk drawer."
"How did you get in?"
"With a key."
"How did you find it?"
"He had a single pottery vase on his fireplace mantel. That's probably where you'd put a key isn't it?"
He shrugged. "I might." Truth was, he probably would.
"Men think they're so clever, but they can be so simple-minded. Anyway, I opened the desk drawer and made myself at home. In a matter of minutes I found dozens of notes from a man named Hilton Seymour, who apparently represents someone who was always referred to as 'SW.'"
"Simon Willard. He's in charge of contracts for everything needed by the military . . . food supplies, horses, equipment, and just about anything you can think of."
"Judge Robinson and a man referred to as 'Hidalgo' are apparently major providers of merchandise for the military. The drawer was stuffed with procurement orders of one kind or another, mostly for horses and cattle, but sometimes flour and other foodstuffs. One interesting note from Seymour stated that 'ten percent was not enough and that the new rate was fifteen, returned at the time of payment.' Is this what it appears to be?"
"Sounds like 'SW' gets a kickback in exchange for the contracts with the judge and his future father-in-law."
"There were some other notes. One told the judge to have 'Hatter' report whenever Rivers was leaving town and to find out where he was headed. Another said that Rivers was trying to negotiate a settlement that would put the Comanche in the horse and cattle business. 'Not good. Even worse than end of wars,' the note added."
"Tara, you struck gold. This answers a lot of questions, and it just might save some lives . . . lots of them. I'll explain another time. Anything else I should know."
"I think I've given you a pretty good summary of what I found." A glum look settled on her face. "I'll be quitting my job when the judge returns, so I may have to head back East."
"Why?"
"Now that I know what I do about the judge's dealings, I can't continue to work for him. Besides, I've been dishonest in my own way in searching into his private papers. No matter the purpose, I feel like a criminal."
Marty felt genuinely contrite. First, he led the young woman into her detective work. And he did not want her leaving Santa Fe. It would not be the same without her.
"You did the right thing," he said. "I promise. We'll talk about this again in a few days. Everything will work out for you. I guarantee it." But, of course, he couldn't.
43
"The son-of-a-bitch," Danna hissed, after Marty had relayed his conversation with Tara Cahill. "Hatter's out of this office before the day is out."
They were sitting in Danna's private office. She had already satisfied herself that George Hatter was passing information to Judge Robinson. Obviously, Hatter's motive was money. But she had been unable to figure out why anybody would be paying the law clerk for information. Now she understood.
"Danna, there's something else I'd like to throw out for consideration . . . only indirectly related to this."
"Yes."
"Tara Cahill. She's going to be leaving the court office. We're going to have a vacancy here. What would you think about her filling George's spot in our office? She has the background for it."
Danna studied Marty's face, but, as usual, it didn't reveal much. "You have more than a casual interest in this lady, don't you?"
"Yes. I like her. She's smart as a whip, and I won't deny I find her attractive. But our relationship is barely teetering on the brink of friendship right now."
"Sometimes romantic interests among employees in a business enterprise can wreak havoc."
"I'm aware of that, but I'm not a kid, and this young woman is mature beyond her years. I'm confident we can deal with working together no matter where our private lives take us."
Danna considered his remarks. Marty was perhaps a half dozen years older than herself, had been a military officer, and started and lost a family. He was certain she and Josh would offer him a partnership in the firm within a year. He was entitled to make a suggestion and have it respected. And the firm owed plenty to Tara Cahill. Josh wasn't available to consult, and, as managing partner, Danna was entitled to make the decision. "Tell her to stop by and see me as soon as her job at the court is finished. I've met her at the clerk's office and she seems efficient and businesslike, but I need to speak with her."
"I appreciate this."
"Now, we need to get the nasty business with George Hatter taken care of."
"Do you want to meet with him privately?"
"I'd like you to sit in on the meeting. And feel free to join the conversation, if you wish, but it's my job to do the deed."
Marty stood up. "I'll call him in, but I'll let you do the talking."
When Marty returned with George Hatter, it was apparent the man knew he was showing up for an execution. His face was white as fresh snow. She supposed he was too smart not to have picked up on the changes in the office routine lately. They had been bypassing Hatter with important projects and the contacts with him had turned ice cold. Small talk within the office had evaporated. Even the usually ebullient Linda, although not informed of what was taking place, had turned quiet and tentative, obviously aware something was not right in the house of Rivers and Sinclair.
"George, be seated," Danna said, "we're going to have a chat."
Hatter obeyed, casting a wary glance at Marty, who was moving a chair off to one side of Danna's desk, leaving Hatter alone in front of it. There was a prolonged silence, during which Danna studied the accused's face, watching the beads of perspiration starting to erupt.
Finally, she spoke. "George, are you acquainted with Simon Willard, the General Procurement Officer for the armies of the Southwest?"
The man's eyes widened. "No, ma'am. I know who he is, but I'm not personally acquainted."
"What about his assistant, Hilton Seymour?" She was surprised not to see the man's britches darken with piss.
"I've met him a time or two. But I barely know him."
"Where did you meet him?"
"I . . . I don't remember. At a tavern maybe."
"But you're a teetotaler, George, and I've never known you to frequent taverns."
Evidently shoring up his courage, he snapped back. "I said I didn't remember. I hardly know the man."
She decided to hit him directly. "Why have you been leaking information from our office, George, especially about Josh's travels?"
Hatter huffed up like
an angry rooster. "Who says I've been doing that? They're a damned liar." While he had turned feisty, perspiration was now streaming down his face.
"What are your visits to Judge Robinson's office about?"
"What in the hell are you talking about? I'm not visiting the Judge's office. I make court filings with his clerks. That's all I do."
"You're lying through your teeth, George. Marty has followed you there, and we have other witnesses. Now, why in the hell would a judge be having frequent meetings with a law clerk? You're not admitted to the bar. You can't even handle simple motions in chambers."
"The judge is a friend. We talk about things."
"Like kickbacks from government supply contracts? Killing Josh to keep him from negotiating peace with the Comanche? Here's what I think. You are being paid for reporting confidential client information from this office to the judge who, in turn, passes it along to Seymour, who either acts on it or sends it on to his boss, Willard. You may be the low man on the totem pole, but you are a part of a conspiracy to steal from the United States government, and you are potentially an accessory to attempted murder." She stood up. "Now, Marty's going to watch while you collect your personal things. Anything you can't clear out in fifteen minutes stays. Don't ever come within twenty feet of this office again. If you're as smart as you think you are, you will get out of Santa Fe before the scandal breaks."
Hatter rose from his chair and was out of the door in a flash. Marty followed.
Danna sat back down and tried to sort out the legal implications of what they knew about the judge and his accomplices. In less than ten minutes, Marty returned.
"He can move fast when he has to," Danna observed, as Marty reclaimed his chair and turned it toward her.
"I'm guessing that after he fills in the judge, he'll be leaving for other parts. What do you think comes of this?"
"I don't think there will be any more efforts on Josh's life from that source. We are, of course, going to have a very uneasy relationship with Robinson in the future. I don't think we have enough solid evidence to go over his head at this point. Tara's testimony is somewhat tainted, and even taken at face value, it is very difficult to put together all of the links in the chain. We're still left with a lot of speculation and circumstantial evidence. I suppose my disclosures to George Hatter will result in a lot of evidence being destroyed, but I felt I had to let them know that we were on to them in order to get them to back off."
"There will be other opportunities. People like that don't get religion overnight. Now I think I need to get back to some paying business."
44
Oliver Wolf, as he had been anointed by Charlie Goodnight, had fully recovered from his wound. Once the pus had drained, the flesh had started to heal quickly. Close to two weeks had passed since the aborted rescue, and the last four days Wolf had been helping Goodnight scout the Palo Duro Canyon floor. He sat astride Storm on the rim near the southern outlet. The panoramic view of the canyon from above was breathtaking, and as they had begun exploring the nooks and crannies below, it was no less impressive. A healthy flow of water from a narrow river that snaked its way through the canyon's bottom was nourished even further by springs along its journey. He had seen more lush grass in Arkansas and further east but not in Texas. He was not a cattleman--although Goodnight had him learning--but common sense told him the man had it figured right. Cattle would thrive in this country.
He watched as Goodnight walked his chestnut-colored mare up the tricky, deer trail that wound around sharp turns as it worked up the crumbling canyon wall. It was a tension-filled trek that he had completed himself a short time ago.
While he waited for Goodnight to join him, his eyes picked up a cloud of dust crawling along the flatter lands beyond the southern exit of the canyon. The plume was too small for buffalo, too large for deer. He concluded the dust was being raised by three or four horses, and based upon the numbers, they were likely mounted. They were headed due east in the direction of the Kwahadi village. Comanche? Or fools headed for the mouth of hell? They presented no threat to him and Goodnight, but Wolf found himself curious as hell.
When Goodnight led his horse over the canyon rim, Wolf pointed toward the dust cloud. Goodnight steadied the mare and unfastened his saddlebag and pulled out his mariner's telescope. He spent a few moments wiping off the lens and fiddling with some of the knobs before he pressed it to his eye, mumbling to himself as he tried to focus. Wolf had noticed Goodnight was given to one-man conversations. Too much time alone? "Two riders with pack animals. Not Comanche. Do we want to meet them?"
"They're heading in the direction of the Comanche village. Of course, it might be on purpose. And they would have a good three or four days' ride in front of them. They might veer away long before they're in danger."
"Oh, what the hell, curiosity's got the best of me. We can catch up in a few hours. I know a short cut. Let's go see who else is crazy enough to be wandering around this godforsaken country without military escort."
A few hours later they had nearly reached the strangers, moving in on them from their north side. He knew they had been spotted when the riders reined in their horses and turned toward them, waiting and watching cautiously but with no sign of hostility as he and Goodnight approached.
They were both relatively young men, probably short of thirty, Wolf guessed. They showed the wear of a long ride, dust-coated and wind-burned faces--tired eyes. Both were tall and rangy men, he could tell by the way they sat in their saddles. The man whose hair and beard were the color of wheat straw was probably an inch or two short of six and a half feet. Wolf couldn't explain it, but it seemed he was the rougher cut of the two and appeared to fit in more on the plains. The man with reddish hair was no dandy, but his buckskin gelding carried an expensive saddle, and the rider's dirty shirt and trousers suggested high quality even to Wolf's uneducated eye.
As they drew closer, Goodnight spoke first. "Gentlemen, we come peaceably. Saw you from upon the canyon rim to the north and got to admit we was curious about you and thought we ought to warn you there's a hornet's nest in the direction you're headed."
The man with rusty-looking hair dismounted. "Get down and we'll talk a spell."
Wolf and Goodnight followed his cue, and after casting his eyes studiously in all directions, the blond, shaggy-haired rider joined them.
"I'm Josh Rivers. This is my brother, Cal." He extended his hand and Wolf accepted the firm grip, and Goodnight followed, and Calvin Rivers stepped forward to offer his.
Goodnight said, "I'm Charlie Goodnight, and this here's my friend, Oliver Wolf."
It seemed strange to Wolf to hear his recently awarded name spoken in full, but he didn't correct it. But stranger yet was the last name of the strangers, and he was sure he had heard their names spoken before.
Josh Rivers said, "You mentioned we were headed toward a hornet's nest. Care to explain?"
"I'll let Oliver tell you about it."
The men looked expectantly at Wolf who decided to start at the end of the story, but thought he would first toss a little surprise to the visitors and hook their attention. "Josh, I understand you are a lawyer, and, Cal, I believe you are currently in the ranching business and that you were once an army scout like myself."
Both men stared at him incredulously.
Josh said, "Should I know you from someplace?"
"No, but I know your sister very well. I last saw her in the camp of a Kwahadi band."
"She's alive then?"
"She was at that time, very much so. And knowing her as I do, I'm very confident she's still alive. She seemed to be well on the way to surviving when I made a fool of myself." He then proceeded to tell the story of Tabitha's capture and his foiled attempt to rescue her from the Comanche village. "If I hadn't come across Goodnight here, I wouldn't be telling this story."
"We are on our way to ransom Tabby or get her out of that Comanche village one way or the other," Josh said.
Goodnight said. "Texas
covers a lot of country. I'm curious how you happened to be down this way. Damn big coincidence we'd meet up like this."
"Not so big," Cal said. "I was an army scout with Mackenzie. I've covered this country again and again. It's not that hard to figure out about where Quanah's going to be. Actually, he's running out of places to hide out. He'll be moving out this way soon. He can't resist stopping at the canyon. If we just settled in here, he'd show up sooner or later."
"But we're not waiting," Josh interjected.
Goodnight said, "I've been scouting Palo Duro Canyon for ranching prospects. Sounds like it's about time for me to finish up and head out."
"Mr. Wolf," Josh said, "you told us you watched the activity in the village and saw my sister walking with a woman there. Did she appear to be talking with this woman?"
Wolf pondered the question, putting together the pieces of that afternoon and evening. "She was. Definitely. They were speaking with each other. Not in a chatty way, but there words exchanged between them. I didn't give it a thought at the time, but now that I think about it, this was very strange."
"What did this woman look like?" Josh asked.
"Quite slender. About Tabitha's size, now that I consider it. I wasn't near enough to make out her features."
"She Who Speaks, also known a Jael Chernik."
"You know this woman?"
"I've met her. She was a captive, adopted into the band. She has learned multiple languages and made herself useful to Quanah in particular as an interpreter. She has some influence as a counselor."
Wolf responded. "Perhaps that's why Tabitha was determined to stay behind. She may be under the protection of this woman, but that is fragile. In the end the Comanche will do what they want."
"Well," Josh said, "Cal and I are on our way to get Tabitha out of there before they change their minds."
