The Shopkeeper Page 11

  Jenny’s posture stiffened. “One fuck. That’s it. I won’t allow you to keep me as your whore. When I leave here, it’ll be as a free woman. No man’ll ever buy my favors. If that’s not good enough for you, ride out and don’t come back.”

  I glanced at Mrs. Bolton, and she looked unusually pleased with the exchange. I bowed my head and said, “Good day, ladies. I shall return, and Mrs. Bolton’s conditions are completely satisfactory. I need no further remuneration.” I started to leave, but my anger got the better of me. “And you may keep your favors for someone you fancy.” I snuggled my hat back on my head. “Besides, a fuck at Ruby’s only costs two dollars.”

  I exited the house to the sound of my own boots and Mrs. Bolton’s laughter.

  Chapter 25

  After we left the ranch, I rode for nearly an hour in utter turmoil and dejection. Turning aside any attempt at conversation, I tried to think things through but could not get a grasp on my feelings. Why was I so infatuated with this girl, and why did her dismissive remarks bother me so much? She was an ignorant and sullied farm girl nearly half my age. Not exactly the type of woman I could show off to New York society. What did I expect? An affair? I certainly would never marry the girl.

  My infatuation had started the first time I saw her in Jeremiah’s general store. She was vibrant and fetching, and her personality effortlessly filled a room. But that was before the Cutlers and the bunkhouse. She had also closely witnessed her husband’s gruesome murder. No wonder she no longer radiated joy and innocence. Now she proudly displayed a hard disposition and a tart tongue, a tongue she had doubtless learned to wield from the mistress of the house.

  As I thought about it, I had to admit that my initial image of Jenny might have been false from the start. On the other hand, if it had been accurate, then her guileless and charming nature probably had been doused, perhaps beyond rekindling.

  Calming a bit, I realized she had spoken with an elocution that belied her lack of education. She must be smart—and certainly strong-willed. Her defiance of Mrs. Bolton, although shocking in its consequences, made me admire her all the more. It made no sense, but Jenny Bolton still held a grip on me, and there was no way I could shake it loose.

  Riders became more numerous, along with an occasional wagon and even soldiers. McAllen became concerned because the cramped terrain provided hiding spots, so he positioned one of his men on the far side of the river, and I could hear another thrashing through the brush to our right. McAllen feared our little detour gave Sprague plenty of time to catch up if he chose to chase us down.

  Looking around, I became aware of my surroundings and realized I had been so preoccupied with my thoughts that I had forgotten to be scared. Bless Jenny for small favors.

  Our route ran along a river bordered by picturesque pastures and meadows. Sam must have sensed that I had returned my attention to the trail, because he said, “That’s the Carson River.”

  “Pretty,” was all I could muster.

  “This here’s called the Kit Carson Trail. Blazed by the great scout himself.” When I didn’t respond, Sam added. “Ya know, the Pony Express used this route.”

  “How long ago?” I asked to be polite.

  “Almost twenty years. Telegraph put ’em out of business.”

  “Would you have wanted to be a rider?’

  “Hell, yes. I’ll take any job where they pay me to ride fast. That horse you’re on may not be as sure-footed as Chestnut, but he runs like the wind.” Sam laughed. “I love to give chase to outlaws. Most times, we gotta walk, but on occasion, I can cut him loose and ride hell for leather.”

  “I’m afraid you’re a bit large to have ridden for the Pony Express.”

  “Yep, they liked little men. But, damn, it musta been fun.”

  I like to ride a horse at full gallop and even jump, but riding all day at breakneck speed didn’t sound like fun to me. The path grew a bit broader, so I gave my horse a nudge and trotted up beside McAllen. Sam immediately moved up as well and took a position on my outside.

  “Did you find anything at the shooting site?” I asked.

  McAllen answered while keeping his eyes roving. “Wondered if you’d ever ask. Nothing at the shooting site. We found where he tethered his horse about three hundred yards further out, but he had swept it clean as well.”

  “Nothing then?”

  “Oh, we picked up his trail out a ways. Good hoofprints. The horse is missing a nail in the right rear shoe.”

  “But no casing?”

  “No.” McAllen reached into his pocket and handed over a piece of paper. “That’s a drawing of the hoofprint, signed by the three of us as witnesses.”

  “Doesn’t seem like much,” I said.

  “It’s not—not by itself, anyway. But maybe we got something else. Sharp found a cigarette butt off to the side of the trail.”

  “Can that help?”

  “Possibly,” McAllen said. “The paper’s white, and Sharp says there’s a fancy tobacco shop in Carson City. If the tobacconist can testify that the butt is the brand Sprague uses, it’ll help corroborate his presence.”

  I knew white cigarette paper was more expensive, and thus less common than brown, but it seemed awful thin.

  Sharp added from the other side of McAllen, “Considerin’ his reputation, if we can tie both the horse an’ the butt to Sprague, a reasonable judge might let it go to trial.”

  “I’ll bet he’d be acquitted,” I said.

  “Probably … but while he was in court, my job’d be a sight easier,” McAllen said.

  I matched McAllen’s light tone. “Well then, by all means, let’s find ourselves a reasonable judge.”

  “In Nevada?” Sharp said. “That’ll be harder to spot than a lonely butt tossed six feet off a trail. On second thought, we need more.”

  A thought struck me. “We might have more. Jenny said the shot blew Bolton’s brains against the wall. The shot must have passed through. The bullet can at least confirm a .44.”

  “Depends on how bad it’s mashed up. Rather have the casing, but three tiny pieces of evidence is better than two.” McAllen sounded almost hopeful.

  Sharp nudged his horse forward so he could see me around McAllen. “What happened in that house?”

  After I explained my ruse with the fake will, Sharp asked, “How’re ya gonna come up with this will?”

  “Got a couple days to figure that out. In the meantime, Jenny’s back in her own bed.”

  “You could use a forger. There’s plenty in Carson City with all the false claims.”

  “Maybe, but I’ve been thinking. Mrs. Bolton went for my line too easy. She must suspect there’s a real will and that John did give Jenny his holdings.”

  Sharp rode a ways before he said, “Did ya see that horse in the barn?”

  “No.” I turned toward Sharp. “Why?”

  “All the other horses were in the corrals. The one in the barn was small. Coulda been Jenny’s.”

  “What are you driving at?”

  “I think Mrs. Bolton was tryin’ to scare Jenny into runnin’. She could sneak into the barn, saddle up, an’ be gone easy enough, then sell the horse in town an’ jump the next stage for who knows where.” Sharp wiped his forehead with the edge of the bandanna he had tied around his neck. “Yep, if Mrs. Bolton thought Jenny might have a legitimate claim on the ranch, she’d sure as hell want her to disappear. Could explain her meanness.”

  “Her meanness, as you call it, goes beyond trying to chase her away. That was as nasty a piece of business as I’ve ever encountered.”

  “No use tryin’ to figure out a woman’s hates. I think some just hate for the pure joy of it.” When I did not respond, Sharp added, “Jenny’s little more than a child, but if the ranch is really hers, ya should stay out of it, despite what ya promised that ol’ hag.”

  “If Bolton willed Jenny the ranch or put her name on the deed, then I’ll help evict that old shrew. If Jenny has no claim, then I’ll fake one and trade
it for her freedom. Either way, I’m already in it up to my boot tops.”

  McAllen turned the conversation in a direction that made me uncomfortable. “You got that pretty lady out of the bunkhouse, so what’s put you in such a funk?”

  “Nothing. I’m just worried about how to pull it off.”

  “Nothing, my ass. What happened? The little girl reject your advances?”

  “No!” That came back too strong. “I mean, I made no advances.”

  “Well, something put you in the dumps.”

  I turned in my saddle and glared at McAllen. After a moment, he said, “I apologize. None of my business. But your safety is. Get back in position.”

  I reined my horse around and fell in with Sam behind Sharp and McAllen. It took a few minutes for my temper to abate, but I knew it was embarrassment, not McAllen’s nosiness, that got my ire. I was tired and sore from riding, and I wanted my own clothes and my own horse back. In fact, I wanted this whole damned affair over with. How had I gotten so deeply involved with these hardtack men?

  Then I remembered that day in the street with the Cutlers. What had I been thinking? I hadn’t been thinking. I had let emotions rule me, just as I was letting an obsession with a young girl dictate my actions now. Jenny was not important. I barely knew her. In fact, I’d had had only one real conversation with her and that had been rather unpleasant.

  I told myself that I should be concerned only with getting out of this mess. As I thought through my tasks in Carson City, I felt myself relax, and I was finally able to ride comfortably in the saddle.

  More soldiers passed us on the road, and I saw a fort ahead. I was trying to think how the cavalry might be useful, when Sharp interrupted my thoughts. “Fort Churchill. Built durin’ the supposed Indian troubles about ten years ago.”

  “Any trouble nowadays?”

  Sharp sighed. “Yep, but of a different nature. The Indians have a tent encampment in Carson City. Sits right close to Chinatown. Now you’re more likely to meet a drunk Indian than one on the warpath.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I don’t go for that noble-savage crap you easterners peddle. I’ve known too many Indians close up. Same faults as us. But it makes me sad when I think about what we lost.”

  “You mean the Indian way of life?”

  “No. I mean fightin’ a worthy enemy.”

  Chapter 26

  Carson City disappointed me. It looked like all the other collections of slapdash buildings that Nevada called towns. I had always believed that if Abraham Lincoln had not needed another free state to shore up the North during the late war, Nevada would still be a remote and ignored territory.

  Carson City had been settled as a trading post less than thirty years earlier, so I should not have expected the sophistication of Denver or St. Louis. I had visited both cities, and neither was the primitive hinterland a New Yorker might expect. Carson City, on the other hand, lived up to the image of a new-made town populated by people who had nothing but wanted everything.

  After we passed the railroad station and approached the statehouse, the town began to look a bit more established. The main thoroughfare was crowded with wagons, horses, and people bustling about with purpose. Although the commercial district had the same disheveled look as most of the other towns in the West, the residences along the side avenues set Carson City apart. Radiating off the central artery were numerous tree-lined lanes with houses substantial enough to indicate that people intended to stay awhile. In fact, some of these homes were large and well designed.

  “Do they mine hereabouts?” I asked Sharp.

  “Nope, but Virginia City is only about twenty miles away.”

  I glanced up another side lane with nice homes set back from the street. “Looks like there’s some money in Carson City. Settled money.”

  “For a mine to prosper, you need two things: lumber to shore up the shafts an’ a way to transport your bullion to market. Trees an’ trains. Carson City has a lock on both. Sometimes I think we miners just toil for a bunch of shysters in starched collars.”

  “Which reminds me, I want to buy some clothes while we’re here.”

  Sharp pointed ahead. “That’s the new state capitol building. Wherever ya find politicians, ya’ll find haberdasheries.”

  The stately capitol building looked sturdy and permanent, as befitted the only pretense to law and order in a society struggling against anarchy. The structure sat in the center of a city block, surrounded by a pleasant park with footpaths, trees, and neatly groomed grass. A white cupola with a silver roof capped the two-story sandstone building, giving it a Federal-style appearance that I had seldom seen west of the Continental Divide.

  “Looks impressive.”

  “Looks deceive.” Sharp spit. “A more corrupt state government you will not find.”

  We wove our way through the traffic clogging the street and made our way to the St. Charles Hotel. As we dismounted, a liveryman ran up and offered to take our horses to the stable. Perhaps Carson City had some sophistication after all. I gave the boy two bits and looked around. New construction seemed to be going on everywhere, filling the street with the noise of hammering, yelling, and an occasional curse.

  When we checked into the hotel, McAllen insisted on rooms next to each other. I noticed that he did not ask to nail the back door shut. The hotel must have been one of the best in town, because I was able to get a two-room suite, and the hotelkeeper informed us that there would be daily maid service and hot baths with fresh water for every guest. In Pickhandle Gulch, I paid extra for water that miners hadn’t already turned to mud.

  After we had climbed the stairs, McAllen stopped us on the landing. “This is Sprague’s home base, so I don’t expect trouble, but don’t go anywhere without one of my men.” He nodded toward Sharp. “Not even with just Jeff.”

  “I have sensitive business to conduct.”

  “One of us will accompany you, but we’ll stay out of earshot.”

  I turned to Sharp. “What’s the best restaurant in town?”

  “Right here in the hotel. Not in a class with New York but good nonetheless.”

  “Would Bradshaw accept a dinner invitation with you and me?”

  “I’ll see.”

  “Good. I’m going to order a bath. Let me know when you get an answer.”

  The hotel bathroom had four tubs separated by folding screens. An attendant drained the dirty water between guests and even made a rough attempt to scrub the tub before pouring in fresh water. In the Pickhandle Gulch barbershop, I had paid six bits for a fresh bath, but the hotel charge of two dollars still seemed like a bargain.

  I had just had my bath freshened with a bucket of hot water, when Sharp came in and swung a stool around next to me. “Bradshaw meets us for supper at seven.”

  “How do we approach him?”

  “Straightaway. Bradshaw isn’t given to political blather.”

  “But he is a politician.” I sunk down until the water touched my chin. “He’s mayor, and he has his fingers in everything else.”

  “He’s a businessman first. Bein’ mayor requires only his pinkie.”

  “You don’t think he’ll bite, do you?”

  “I’ve thought about it, an’ I can’t figure an angle that would get him into the race.”

  “I have.”

  Sharp looked dubious. “What?”

  “Washburn wants to be the most powerful man in Nevada. I don’t think Bradshaw’s ready to relinquish the title.”

  “Stomp the pretender before he gets a toehold?” Sharp signaled the attendant and started to pull off his boots. “Bradshaw’ll look for a way to do that without gettin’ hobbled by the governor’s job.”

  The attendant filled the tub next to me and folded back the screen so we could see each other. Sharp started to hand two dollars to the attendant, but he waved it away. “Mr. Dancy bought all four tubs.”

  Sharp laughed and then said, “Ya do things in a big way, don’
t ya?”

  “I like privacy when I bathe.”

  Sharp stopped just as he was about to step out of his drawers. “Sorry. I just—”

  “Jeff, I meant strangers. Hell, get that trail dust off you.”

  Sharp finished undressing and slid into the water, giving a long sigh of pleasure. I allowed him to enjoy the moment before I said, “Bradshaw has controlled the governor up to now. He knows how useful it is to have the state chief executive in his pocket.”

  “Let me tell ya somethin’ about Bradshaw. I like the man, but he’s a master at corruptin’ people. He knows Craig Stevens, dealt with him as head of the Assembly, an’ he’ll be confident he can seduce him after the election—Washburn or no Washburn. Might already have him in his pocket an’ suckered Washburn into payin’ for his campaign.”

  I thought about it a minute. “I don’t think so. From what I’ve seen, Washburn’s a smart operator. He’ll have something on Stevens to keep him in line.” I dunked my head and wiped the water away from my eyes with the fingers of both hands. “I need to persuade Bradshaw to run. Everything depends on it.”

  Chapter 27

  Bradshaw was older than I had expected. I guessed he was in his midfifties, which looked out of place in a town populated with people twenty to thirty years younger.

  His age was not the only thing that made him stand out. A few scattered couples in the hotel restaurant were dressed well, but for the most part, customers were dressed in a rough type of attire more appropriate to a saloon. Bradshaw set off his tall, thin stature with a charcoal suit that looked as if it had been tailored in the East. His short hair and neatly trimmed beard projected an image of power and money. I was glad I had brought along one of my own New York suits and had it brushed and pressed for this appointment.

  We stood as Sharp made the introductions. Captain McAllen and one of his men watched the exchange from another table, but Bradshaw did not seem to notice. After we had retaken our seats, Bradshaw said, “So you’re the famous shopkeeper.”