The Shopkeeper Page 21

  Well, this crude attempt to delay her departure wasn’t going to work. I started shoving all her clothes into her trunks willy-nilly. By the time the porter arrived, I had two pieces of baggage jammed full and instructed him to hurry and stuff a third.

  By the time we manhandled the trunks downstairs, we had only a half hour until departure. Luckily, I had a rented carriage positioned at the front of the hotel. I waved at the porter to load the baggage and walked over to Mrs. Bolton, who sat on a settee as though she had all the time in the world.

  “Why weren’t your bags packed?” I demanded.

  She sat in a relaxed pose. “I couldn’t decide what to wear. San Francisco is such a stylish town. I do hope you were careful. I have such beautiful things. I’d hate to see them ruined.”

  “We treated your clothes respectfully,” I lied.

  She cocked her head at me in doubt, and I had a fear that she would insist on an inspection, but she merely said, “I knew you would. You’ve always conducted yourself as a gentleman.”

  I hoped she would wake every neighbor within miles when she opened the trunks in San Francisco. I suddenly realized she must have more mischief on her mind. There was no way I was going to let her win, nor would I allow her to squat in my suite for even one more night.

  “Get up; we’re leaving. Now.”

  She defiantly remained seated. “Relax, Mr. Dancy. It’s only a ten-minute buggy ride.”

  “The train leaves in thirty minutes, and it takes time to load trunks. You’ll be on that train, even if I have to truss you up. You decide right now whether your trunks accompany you.”

  “Oh, very well. You needn’t get so riled.” She extended her hand for me to assist her up.

  I resisted jerking her to her feet and played the gentleman. After I got her to her feet, I stepped behind her and gave her a nudge with one finger in the back.

  She whirled on me. “You bastard!” she screamed. “You can’t poke me like some damn cow. How dare you?”

  I had expected her to make a scene inside the hotel, and I was ready.

  “Shut up!” I yelled, to show I was not going to be embarrassed by a rowdy scene. “You are an old cow. If you don’t climb on that buggy right now, I’ll knock you cold and throw you on.”

  The venom returned to her eyes in an instant. “One day—”

  “Save your breath.” I pushed her with my boot in her derrière. I meant it to be somewhat playful, but when my boot pressed her right cheek, it seemed to sink to the bootstraps. I only wanted to show her that I couldn’t be intimidated by a tantrum, but I pushed too hard and sent her staggering forward. Expecting a stream of curses from her, I instead heard a rousing round of applause. It startled both of us that we had a large audience. Even the hotel staff clapped at her humiliation. Mrs. Bolton clearly had been tagged as the villainess in our little theatrics.

  “Now go, before you’re the laughingstock of Carson City.”

  It worked. She started walking toward the door. Thank God she could be embarrassed. Just when I thought she would go quietly, she whirled on the spectators. “You people haven’t seen the last of me.” She made a show of looking at each face. “I’ll remember all of you, each and every one. You’ll rue this day.”

  “Come on; get going. Nobody’s paid attention to a witch’s curse since the Salem trials.” I pushed her shoulder. “Go.”

  She went, but if looks could kill, she was armed with 100-grain ammunition. When she arrived at the buggy, she threw me her sweet smile and waited for my arm to assist her. Nothing could deflate her for long.

  After I climbed aboard, I told the driver, “A two-dollar tip if you get us to the train station quick.”

  His whip snapped before I finished the sentence, and the horse bolted. As we trotted away, I heard a yell from the hotel porch, “Go, ya damn bitch!” Obviously, she had not made many friends during her visits to Carson City.

  When we arrived at the train station, Mrs. Bolton turned to me and demanded, “I need something from one of my trunks.”

  “Too bad. Get it in San Francisco.”

  I had anticipated this as well. She knew I hadn’t folded her clothes, and she wanted another opportunity to throw the kind of fit that might delay her departure.

  I handed the driver a five-dollar bill, far more than the fare plus a two-dollar tip. “Get these trunks loaded onto the baggage car. Then stand guard. You can earn another five if you keep her away from those trucks.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said with enthusiasm.

  I turned to Mrs. Bolton. “Time to board, ma’am.”

  “Why won’t you let me in my trunks? My clothes better all be in there and in good repair.”

  “They’re all packed, and I assure you, none are damaged, but I want you in your seat. You don’t have time to rummage through your luggage.”

  We had a contest of wills for the next few seconds. Would I need to get rough? Could I? I thought about another day with her and decided I could do whatever it took to get her on that train. It must have shown in my face because she suddenly leaped out of the buggy like a woman half her age and half her weight.

  As I took her elbow to escort her to the railcar, she said, “I apologize. I’m afraid I’m still angry at my son and took it out on you.”

  “Let’s just get you aboard.”

  She stopped and turned her big face on me. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I’ll believe you if you willingly step up those stairs and into the car.”

  With a smile that almost looked genuine, she boarded the train and started across the grated platform toward the door. Then she stopped, and I almost cursed out loud. She turned and placed one foot on a lower step and signaled for me to come closer. When I approached the car, she leaned down and motioned me even closer. We each edged closer until our heads almost touched.

  “Please, Mr. Dancy, don’t let Sean Washburn kill you.” Then she gave me her candied smile and whispered in my ear, “I want that pleasure all to myself.”

  Chapter 49

  McAllen sat down, and his demeanor told me this would not be an easy meeting. Sharp and I had agreed to meet with him for a late breakfast to discuss his Pinkerton contract. I had already seen the chambermaid off to the ranch and Mrs. Bolton onto the morning train. It suddenly occurred to me that I had never asked the chambermaid her name.

  McAllen interrupted my thoughts. “Not too private.”

  I looked around the sparsely populated hotel dining room. “It’ll be fine, unless you start yelling.”

  “I never yell.” McAllen’s tone was all business.

  “Nor do you have much of a sense of humor.”

  McAllen bristled but merely said, “I’ve telegraphed my office and explained what happened. They responded that our continuing relationship was at my sole discretion.”

  Now I bristled. “They must think highly of you.”

  “They trust my judgment.” He was arranging his napkin on his lap, when his head snapped up. “You telegraphed them as well, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was a mistake.”

  I tried to be nonchalant. “And unsuccessful.”

  “They value my continued services more than your contract.”

  “Then you have smart bosses.” I gave Sharp a please help glance, but he looked amused at my predicament.

  “Captain, I still need your services, probably for a week or two longer. I know you’re unhappy with the course of events, but you have a contract with me.”

  “The contract’s fulfilled. Sprague’s dead, and you no longer need protective services.”

  “Washburn’s my real enemy, and he’s still around.”

  “He’s in Virginia City and will probably stay put for a while. If you’re still scared, hire other men. There’s plenty about. I’ve already telegraphed my men in Pickhandle Gulch to ride out today and meet up with me here.”

  “I want you and your team, not men I don’t know. There’s no on
e else of your caliber.” The flattery had no apparent affect. “Captain, I need professionals.”

  “Why? You don’t listen to ’em.”

  I wasn’t going to listen this time either. When McAllen discovered that I was misleading him about my plans, I probably would be unable to hire McAllen or any Pinkertons again.

  I decided I needed him despite the consequences. “Captain, I want your services for tasks other than protecting me. I saw Jansen last night. We think we can get a warrant issued against Washburn. I want your team to arrest him, but only if he leaves Virginia City.”

  “How’re you gonna get a warrant?”

  “New circuit judge. The warrant will be issued from Pickhandle Gulch.”

  “On what evidence? His initials in a book?”

  “We don’t have enough for a trial, but an arrest warrant will keep him bottled up, afraid to leave a town where he owns the police.”

  McAllen turned thoughtful. A good sign. “Are you asking me to arrest him or just discourage him from leaving Virginia City?”

  “I want it known around Carson City that you and your men intend to arrest Washburn on sight. Don’t go into Virginia City. We just want him holed up in his saloon to buy us time … enough for an election.”

  “I’ve lost a man and a prisoner in this engagement. My instincts tell me to say no.”

  We all waited while a waitress served coffee. After he took a sip, McAllen asked harshly, “Will there be any further trips to the Bolton Ranch?”

  “No.”

  “Will Jennifer Bolton visit Carson City?”

  “I don’t control her, but no, not to my knowledge. If she does, you needn’t have any dealings with her.”

  For a moment, McAllen looked ready to spew some vulgar epithets, but instead he simply said, “I ain’t gonna argue about that girl, but if I see she’s got a hand in any of this, our contract is terminated.”

  “Agreed.” McAllen stared at me until I blinked. “Any other conditions, Captain?”

  “Sam’s bonus.”

  That was an easy condition to meet. I reached for my bankroll and handed over one hundred dollars. McAllen counted it, seemed to examine the bills, and then handed them back to me.

  “Did I miscount?” I asked.

  “No.” He blinked several times. I thought it odd that he appeared to be blinking back tears. “Sam bequeathed his bonus to you. But he insisted I get it from you and then hand it back.”

  “Shit.”

  I could see Sharp swallow hard. “I think ya should feel honored.”

  “I do.” I held up the bills. “I’ve even got something special in mind for this money.”

  McAllen said, “I’m only considering giving you another chance because of Sam. What else do you want besides us looking mean and ready to arrest Washburn?”

  “Jeff has business in Virginia City. I want two of your men to accompany him. He doesn’t need to get anywhere close to Washburn, but I want some protection for him, just in case.”

  McAllen looked at Sharp. “What kind of business?”

  “Mining.”

  McAllen looked at both of us and seemed to come to a decision. “All right.” He gave Sharp a hard look. “Don’t leave until my two men arrive from Pickhandle.”

  “I need to leave in the mornin’. I can’t delay my business anymore.”

  “Nothing’s happening here,” I said. “Let your men already here go with Sharp. It’s only a couple of days, and you can keep an eye out for me.”

  “You mean keep an eye on you. Promise you won’t leave town?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Does this mean you’ll continue in my employ?”

  “Will you stay away from Jenny Bolton if she comes to town?”

  “Yes.”

  McAllen looked a little surprised. “You’re not gonna defend that girl?”

  “No.” I played with my coffee cup and then looked McAllen in the eyes. “I’m not sure about her. I’m beginning to suspect you might be right about her intentions in the shed.”

  McAllen nodded. “Then my team will continue to work with you.” McAllen took a sip of coffee and gave me a rare smile. “I like you, Steve, but sometimes you’re a damn fool.”

  I returned the smile. “Fools need even more protection.”

  Sharp raised his hand. “Let’s order food.”

  I reached out and lowered Sharp’s hand. “One more thing. When your men are in Virginia City, I want them to spread the news that there’s a warrant for Washburn. Also have them complain that they aren’t allowed to bother him while he remains in Virginia City. Have them grumble about their orders.”

  “I understand.” McAllen said. Then, “You think Bradshaw can win?”

  “Bradshaw is doing such a good job smearing Stevens, I’ll be surprised if Stevens doesn’t withdraw from the race. Washburn must be furious.”

  “Will he sit still?” McAllen asked.

  Sharp leaned forward. “I’m going to spread the story that Sprague’s little black book contained names instead of initials. Make him think we have a stronger case. I’ll also start a rumor that he’ll be indicted for corruption associated with the First Carson City Bank. He’ll spend at least a few days figuring out a response. After that, it depends on whether we can actually get an indictment.”

  “Where’s that book?” McAllen asked.

  “With Jansen,” I lied.

  McAllen nodded and then said, “Remember, you stay close by me.”

  “Chestnut’s getting new shoes, and the blacksmith can’t get around to it until tomorrow.”

  “Don’t go down to the livery. I’ll check on your horse. Stay close to the hotel unless I’m with you. Understand?”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  McAllen grinned. “Sometimes you do foolish things.”

  Chapter 50

  I looked in the mirror and snuggled a bowler hat on my head. I liked what I saw. My dark New York suit draped off my shoulders perfectly, and my shirt looked crisp and white. I picked up my gun belt and slung it around my waist, cinching it comfortably tight.

  I pulled my Colt to check the load and then enjoyed the heft for a minute before slipping it back into the holster. The last thing I did was pick up the little black book and secure it in my inside breast pocket. I was ready.

  It had been three days since the meeting with McAllen, and I had kept busy closing an important business deal. Sharp had left for Virginia City with two guards almost immediately after our breakfast, and yesterday the two Pinkertons from Pickhandle arrived. McAllen ordered them to march up and down the streets asking people if they had seen Sean Washburn. Everybody in Carson City knew they meant to arrest him. Hopefully, everyone in the state knew.

  McAllen had made himself obvious around town and had hired a man to ride out to Virginia City to eavesdrop in the saloons, so we could have an early warning if some unsavory characters rode out toward Carson City. The newspapers and the senate continued to rail against the sinister doings of Carson City First Bank, with hints that Stevens and Washburn were in cahoots with shysters. Bradshaw had certainly demonstrated that he could pull the levers of power.

  That morning, I had received a telegram from Sharp, saying that Washburn was still in Virginia City. More importantly, the telegram informed me that Washburn was staying at the Comstock Lode Saloon and that Sharp’s own business was near completion.

  These messages were codes in case McAllen saw the telegram. Mention of the Comstock Lode Saloon meant Washburn was still hosting his shooting contests, and the reference to Sharp completing his business meant that the rumors he was spreading had reached Washburn. Both were crucial to my plans. The shooting contest would help me escape the law, and the rumors would, hopefully, protect me from Washburn’s henchmen. It seemed that everything in Virginia City was ready and waiting for me.

  One part of Sharp’s telegram bothered me. He said Washburn appeared unconcerned. Was he a good actor, or did he have plans of his own? I didn’t know, but by th
e end of the day, it shouldn’t matter.

  All of this was sideshow. I had deceived McAllen about the book and lied to him about staying close by him in Carson City. I grabbed my lapels and tugged them taut. The curtain was about to go up on the main act.

  Since I did not own this hotel, I was able to exit by an unbarred back door. I had told McAllen I wanted to finish Tom Sawyer in my suite so he would not look for me until dinner. I left the hotel, walked west until I reached a residential street that paralleled Carson Street, and continued toward the train station. There was a short spur that connected Virginia City to the Carson City main rail line. It was used mainly to transport ore and mining materials between the two towns, but it also had a passenger car.

  I had walked out of the hotel only twenty minutes before the train was supposed to leave because I didn’t want to hang around the station and be spotted by a Pinkerton. I arrived with only five minutes remaining before the scheduled departure, and I was pleased to see that the train was in the station. No delays. With a quick ticket purchase, I was on board before anyone noticed me.

  The freight train took nearly an hour to travel the twenty miles to Virginia City. When I walked out of the rail station, the city visually fell away down a steep, stony mountain, and the steeply terraced roads provided good sight lines of much of the town.

  The vibrancy startled me. Virginia City was bigger and more frantic than I had imagined. The town streets cut horizontally across the hills, and I could see hundreds of people milling around. Someone with little imagination had named the streets after the letters in the alphabet, and a simple inquiry informed me that the Comstock Lode Saloon was on C Street. I found it with little trouble, but I didn’t want to go in yet. I looked around, spotted a café across the street, and hurried over before I was recognized.

  I took a seat at a tiny table and ordered a meal I had no desire to eat. Timing was everything. The shooting contest had to have begun before I made an appearance. My plan suddenly seemed a bit shaky. It depended on Washburn taking action on the spur of the moment, and the man had not shown himself to be rash.