“If all that yelling is coming from them, then it sounds like the prefight drinking has already started,” the sheriff said.
Weitbrec grabbed Deputy Desmond by the suspenders. “Take two Pinkertons with you to the Grand Central Hotel. Deputize a dozen men and get your asses back here in fifteen minutes. We’re taking this place in twenty. Got it?”
Daniel huddled with his men. “We’ve got to keep the lid on this. Don’t bring back any liquored-up recruits.”
“What if they’re all inebriated?” a Pinkerton asked.
Daniel let the brim of his hat intentionally hide his face, as if up close he was afraid of what his eyes might reveal. This was crazy shit, and if he and his men got out of here with no one getting shot, it would be a lucky day for the Pinkertons.
“Don’t give them any damn bullets,” he said.
When the men swung up into leather and galloped off, Daniel grabbed Connor’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go look around back.” They circled the building, finding a door at the rear, windows on each side. “We’ve got to do this without any shooting. Any suggestions?”
“Don’t post any guards at the windows or back door,” Connor said. “If the men inside want to leave, let them go.”
“There’s no fight in Hardy. He made a show of it, but it was all bombast for his men. He won’t put up any resistance. What worries me is a drunken deputized mob. If they smell blood, we’ll have no control.”
Weitbrec came around to the side of the building, slanting a suspicious look at Daniel. “What are you two talking about that has you glowering like a pair of thunderclouds?”
“We don’t want any trouble. If we go in the front door and the men inside want to leave out the back, we’ll let them go.”
Weitbrec’s eyes narrowed. “All I want is possession. Do it your way. But do it.”
At the sound of pounding hooves, Daniel, Connor, and Weitbrec returned to the front of the depot. A dozen armed men carrying an overpowering smell of alcohol dismounted. Daniel wasn’t sure any of the newly sworn could stand with their hand raised long enough to have recited the oath. The beat of his heart, throbbing along his neck, beat even faster.
“Line up,” the deputy ordered, stringing his new recruits along the front of the building. “Let the men inside see they’re surrounded.”
The deputies, unsteady on their feet, lined up in a crooked line and pointed their weapons. The sheriff entered the building again along with Weitbrec, the district attorney, and Daniel. With the jeering deputies visible from the window, Hardy surrendered to the sheriff.
Daniel came out and walked with Connor a short distance from the building. “I was right. Hardy didn’t want to fight. If that’s the type of resistance we’ll encounter at the roundhouse, we’ll be out of here in an hour.”
“This is like reality TV with actors pointing loaded weapons at innocent people.”
“I don’t know what reality teevee is, but alcohol and loaded guns are never a good mix. Let’s get this finished.”
Weitbrec came over and slapped Daniel on the shoulder. “It’s time to take the depot. If it falls as easily as the dispatcher’s office, this will go down without incident.” He walked away to join the sheriff and district attorney in front of the depot.
“Police takedowns rarely happen without incident,” Connor said.
“Weitbrec was a soldier,” Daniel said. “He knows.” Daniel walked away but returned immediately. “Look, I don’t have a good feeling about this. Stay out of the way. I’m not taking ye back to Olivia with a bullet hole in yer gut.”
Connor grabbed his arm. “I’m wearing protection. You aren’t. Let me go first next time.”
Daniel threw a glance at Connor’s gripping hand. “Let go, agent.” Connor released his hold. “Lady luck might be shining on ye, Irish, but I’ve a job to do. I’m ordering ye, hang back.”
“You’re not sidelining me to watch for bears to come galumphing down off those cliffs up there. I’m part of this.”
Daniel shook his head, laughing. “Galumphing? Well, hell. Go around the back and if ye see any galumphing Santa Fe men, shoot ’em dead.”
He sauntered off to join Weitbrec, the sheriff, and a dozen drunk deputies. He stopped just short of the single broad step to the porch. Mr. Brady, an agent for Santa Fe, met them at the door, hands on his hips.
“I have a writ signed by Judge Bowen, ordering you to vacate all Rio Grande property,” the sheriff said.
“We’re not vacating,” Brady said, his jaws working methodically on a plug of tobacco. “If Judge Bowen wants to hold me in contempt, so be it.”
From the side of the building came a slow drawl asking, “What are you doing here, Sheriff Price?”
Daniel spun around, his senses instantly turning toward trouble, and he silently groaned. Ben Thompson was pointing a shotgun, the barrels agleam in the sunlight. A .45 sagging along his flat thigh told Daniel he was possibly the most dangerous man he’d ever encountered. Anger written clearly across his features gave way to a calculating look. The shotgun rocked into line and now Daniel was staring into its twin bores. His mouth was dry with a salty taste. The taste of fear… But nothing happened. Thompson had a reputation as a fast gun, but he’d never killed anyone except in a fair fight. The muscles in Daniel’s stomach knotted so tight they ached.
The seconds dragged on…
Finally, Thompson said, “I’ve been placed in charge of the company’s property. I won’t give it up without authorization by those in authority.”
“Disburse your armed mob,” Weitbrec said.
“There’s no armed mob here, Mr. Weitbrec,” Thompson said. “If any of these men are guilty of violating the law, you’re at liberty to come in and arrest them.”
Weitbrec waved his arm. “Come on, men. Let’s go.”
Thompson held his position. “Just you, Weitbrec, and the district attorney. No Pinkertons. No deputies.”
49
1878 Pueblo, Colorado—Daniel
Weitbrec huddled with the sheriff, the district attorney, and Daniel. “Go with Thompson,” Daniel said, gun hanging at his side. “He isn’t looking for trouble. Maybe ye can make a deal and bring this situation to an end before anyone gets hurt.”
Weitbrec looked hard at Daniel. After a long moment, he nodded. “Come on, Waldron. Let’s go.” Weitbrec and the district attorney left with Thompson and entered the roundhouse.
Daniel and Connor waited with the others, counting the minutes as they ticked by at a turtle’s pace. Finally, Weitbrec and Waldron returned, without the gunslinger.
“Let’s go down to the hotel and organize,” Weitbrec said. “I want this done right.” While the men headed toward their horses, he pulled Daniel aside. “Take O’Grady with you. The bank has a black case filled with money. If we pay Thompson, he’ll vacate the property, and there will be no more trouble.”
“How much are ye paying him?” Daniel asked.
Weitbrec began cursing, pacing beyond them, then turned back again. “The case contains ten thousand dollars. Guard it well.”
Daniel whistled. “Come on, Connor. Let’s go collect the bribe.”
Weitbrec grabbed Daniel’s arm. “Keep this between us, Major. Bring the cash back to me at the Victoria Hotel.”
Daniel pulled his arm from Weitbrec’s grip.
“Good thing Masterson’s not here,” Connor said. “He’d never accept a bribe, and he won’t like it when the story’s told either.” There was something in his tone, in the gravity etched on his features, that said he knew the truth and this wasn’t it.
Daniel and Connor raked their horses with spurs and galloped away from the depot, away from South Pueblo, and over the bridge. If he could keep riding all the way back to Denver, he would. He was done with the Pinkertons. Done with life and death assignments. Done with men like Weitbrec and Thompson, and crooked sheriffs, and bought-off district attorneys.
Gray clouds scuttled across the sun and puffs of wind kicked up d
ust devils that swirled through the street. Daniel lowered his hat again to keep the dust from his eyes, and he seemed to shrivel from the outside in…
Enough. Enough. Enough.
Outside the bank, Daniel reined in his horse and tied up at the hitching rail where a half-dozen men had already racked their horses. “I’ll be back.”
He strode up to the teller’s desk and asked for a satchel the bank was holding for Mr. Weitbrec. For the next several seconds the room’s stillness hung heavy in the air, but a vast relief settled through Daniel when a man identified as the bank president walked out with a valise. “Are you Major Grant?”
Daniel nodded. “Is that Weitbrec’s money?”
“You have to sign for it,” the president said.
Daniel took possession of the bag, opened it, and checked the contents. “I’m not counting this.”
“It’s all there,” the president said. “Ten thousand.”
Daniel dipped a pen into an inkwell, signed his name, and included a note below his signature to indicate that he hadn’t counted the money and was accepting it as-is.
The president blotted the signature then slipped the sheet of paper into a leather portfolio. “Do you need a guard to accompany you?”
Daniel shook his head. “Two Pinkertons can handle it.” He left the bank, tied the valise to his rig, then stepped back into the saddle. “Let’s get this done.”
“I’m right behind you,” Connor said.
They galloped back to South Pueblo, keeping their thoughts to themselves.
Opposite the Victoria Hotel, Daniel and Connor slid aground and looped the reins around the hitching rail. With an irritable shrug, Daniel, with Connor following, picked his way through the gathering mob and entered the hotel, removing his hat, and running his fingers through his sweaty hair.
He found Weitbrec pacing the lobby. “Are ye sure this is what ye want? Those men out there are drunk and well-armed. Somebody’s going to get killed.”
Weitbrec took the money bag. “If the situation gets out of control, we’ll pay Thompson. He’ll quit the depot property as soon as he gets paid. Now, get out there and keep those men from killing each other.”
They walked away, and Daniel gave Connor a partner-style backhand across the chest. “Let’s ride.” Then he gave Connor an odd look. “What are ye wearing? A brick?”
“I told you I was wearing protection.”
“Yeah, but I thought ye were talking about an Irish blessing or something.”
“I’ll show you later.”
Daniel resettled his hat with careful deliberation. “Another long story.”
They walked outside to find Deputy Desmond yelling at the new recruits. “Fix bayonets, men, and follow me.”
“What the hell?” Connor said. “What do they think this is? A war?”
“Come on. We’ve got to beat them there.”
Daniel led the way, riding hard down a side street, trying to get ahead of the men running the three-block distance to the depot where Sheriff Price was reportedly waiting. Daniel and Connor arrived moments before the mob, leaving their horses tied to the rail in front of the telegraph office. They ran to the depot, arriving in time to see a man in front of the pack knocked down. The solid thwut of fist hitting flesh was followed by yelps, and the prone man was hit repeatedly as he tried to rise.
Daniel pushed his way through the crowd. “Back. Move back.” But he was rebuffed in the sweeping tide.
Connor ran into the crowd from another direction trying to steer the mob to one side of the man or the other, but he was pushed aside, and the crowd stepped on the injured man, squashing him into the dirt.
When Daniel finally reached him, the mangled, bloodied body lay seemingly lifeless.
Connor grabbed two men at the rear of the mob and ordered them at gunpoint to take the man to the doctor.
“We’ll miss the showdown if we leave.”
Connor noticed a newspaperman observing the scene from a distance and waved him over. “Get their names. Turn them into heroes for saving this injured man.”
The writer lifted his hat briefly, his bald pate appearing and disappearing in a snap. He hurried behind the two new heroes and the victim.
The violence and blood fed the appetite of the already well-lubricated deputies. They yelled their next objective, “Let’s take the telegraph office.”
The mob ran toward the building. Deputy Desmond used the butt of his gun to break open the door. “Surrender now.” The door was slammed shut, and the assaulting party commenced firing through the building.
When there was no return fire, Desmond ordered, “Cease firing.”
Daniel and Connor ran to the back of the building as the drunken deputies stormed through the front door. A faint but sharp echo of a gunshot rode straight out on daylight and buzzed Daniel’s head. A scream followed, and Daniel wheeled around.
“There,” Connor said, pointing. “Man down!”
A bulky male figure loomed on the ground outside a busted window, blood seeping from a wound in his lower back.
“Man down!” Connor yelled again, grabbing a man running out of the building. “Get that wagon over there. This man needs a doctor.”
The newspaper reporter stood over the victim licking the tip of his pencil before jotting in a small notebook. “This place is full of boorish brutes shooting guns, as if this is some ghastly dime novel come to life. What’s this man’s name? Anybody know?”
Deputy Desmond rolled the man over. “Looks like Harry Jenkins. He’s from Dodge City.” Desmond grabbed two deputies. “Get this man into the wagon. Take him to town.”
The deputies carried Jenkins to the express wagon and dumped him unceremoniously into the bed. Then they jumped into the back of the wagon with the injured man. The driver slapped the team to a smart trot and headed toward town.
“Jesus. This is like the Keystone Cops,” Connor said.
Daniel wiped his cheek with a handkerchief. “Who are they?” He folded over the blood on the handkerchief and wiped again.
“An incompetent group in pursuit of failure. Chaos on wheels. Ineffectiveness on steroids. Take your pick.” Connor examined Daniel’s face. “Looks like a bullet grazed your cheek. You need to get that looked at.”
“Not now,” Daniel said. “I’m still standing. Scratches can wait.”
Weitbrec rounded the side of the depot with the black satchel snugged under his arm. “This situation has deteriorated. We have to pay Thompson now. Take the money to the back of the roundhouse. He’s expecting you. Hurry before someone else gets shot.”
Daniel could hardly speak around his mounting anger. “This never should have happened.”
“It’s on your shoulders,” Weitbrec shouted, shoving Daniel in the arm. “I told you I didn’t want any trouble.”
Daniel stepped up close, almost nose to nose. “Ye didn’t give a damn how this came down. Desmond gave guns and bayonets to drunks. What’d ye expect?” He yanked the satchel out of Weitbrec’s hands and marched toward the roundhouse.
“If Weitbrec tries to blame this on the Pinkertons, I’ll set his ass straight,” Connor said, “and so will that newspaper man who’s been tailing us since we first left the St. James.”
“I never saw him,” Daniel said. “I must be slipping.”
“Nah, tailing is my specialty.”
As they neared the roundhouse, Daniel wiped more blood from his cheek. “I guess I should get this looked at when we get back across the river.”
“I got something that will work for now.” Connor withdrew a paper square from his pocket, ripped part of it off, then pressed the remainder on Daniel’s cheek. “There you go, buddy. If anybody notices it, just say a medic put it on you.”
“Medic, huh. I guess that’s the best I’m going to get.”
“For right now, yeah.”
They circled around to the back of the roundhouse. “Thompson. Get yer ass out here,” Daniel yelled.
The door edged
open. “Not likely,” a disembodied voice said.
“If ye want yer money, ye’ll get yer ass out here.”
“If you’re Major Grant, drop it by the door.”
Daniel ordered Connor to stay back then yelled at Thompson, “Not until I see yer ugly face. Two men are severely injured. Probably won’t make it. This is yer damn blood money. Get out here.”
Thompson appeared, nostrils flaring, his thumb curled over the hammer of a horn-handled .45 against his thigh. The dark pattern of his beard plainly shadowed a broad face, and deep lines surrounded eyes and mouth. The knife-edge bridge of his nose was slightly thickened near the base by the ridge of a healed fracture.
Daniel set the bag on the unfinished wood floor. “Take the money. Get yer men out of this building now before that mob tears down that big old wooden door that ye think will protect ye. Trust me. It won’t. Those men out front are crazed lions. They’ve smelled blood. They’re coming after ye.”
Thompson scooted the money bag with his foot. “Is it all there?”
An old man with a tobacco-stained longhorn mustache snuck out the door, snatched up the bag, and ran back inside.
“Ye got all I was given.”
Thompson slammed the door in his face.
Connor, standing at Daniel’s back, said, “That’s a fine how-do-you-do.”
Daniel turned, glowering at Connor. “I told ye to stay back.”
“And Olivia told me different.”
Daniel stalked away. “When I give an order, I expect it to be followed. This is my command.”
Connor followed him to the front of the roundhouse where a knot of men hovered near the door, their hands up, surrendering to the sheriff. With help from the inebriated deputies, the Santa Fe men were herded off the property. Interestingly, there was no sign of Thompson. Daniel considered searching the roundhouse, but he had no stomach for chasing after the gunslinger.
The newspaperman, writing in his notebook, followed behind the sheriff.
Daniel took off his hat and swiped his arm across his brow, removing a mixture of blood, sweat, and dirt. “Looks like ye were right. Somebody is writing down this story.”
The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8) Page 59
