Colorado Sam (6 page)

   Nathan wasn't subject to fits of abject stupidity. Nevertheless, he was having difficulty following Heft Thomas' train of thought. “How can you be certain Uncle drew his pistol? And why's that so all fired important?” 

   “Your uncle's pistol was lying apart from his body with the barrel buried in the mud,” Heft Thomas said. “He wore a cross-draw holster like yours and mine. So his holster was on his left hip and the pony fell to the right. When I rolled your uncle over his holster was still in front of his left hip. The tie down thong on the holster wasn't broken, meaning he slipped it off the hammer so he could draw his gun. What sticks in my craw is, why draw his pistol with his horse sliding backwards down a steep bank.” 

   It was as if the foreman touched a match to a candle in a dark room. “He saw or heard something more dangerous than his horse falling,” Nathan ventured. 

   “Congratulations, Nephew,” Heft Thomas said. “You've roped a winner.” 

   “Maybe his horse smelled a bear,” Nathan suggested. “I've read there's lots of bears in Colorado.” 

   “That's true,” the foreman agreed. “But if your uncle's pony smelled a bear, he wouldn't even start up the bank. No cow pony will go near a bear, not even if you sink your spurs into him.”

   “What else could have scared Uncle's horse?”

   Heft Thomas let fly. “Somebody was stalking your uncle. The stalker could safely guess he'd cross the creek here at the ford. It was too dark and raining too hard to chance the bank just any old place.” The foreman shook his head and sighed. “Your uncle rode plumb into his sights, head ducked against the rain. Somehow, the stalker fired and missed. I believe the gunshot spooked your uncle's pony as he was drawing his pistol. Before he could shoot back, the pony lost his balance, fell, and rolled on him.” 

   It was a lot for Nathan to accept all at once. He walked to the top of the creek bank and stood next to the foreman, studying the ford. “Mr. Thomas, it could've happened just the way you believe it did. But Ira Westfall would say we're holding a bucket full of warm manure and little else.” 

   Nathan's bluntness didn't irritate Heft Thomas. Neither did it provoke his temper. “He the fellow sent you out here from St. Louis?”

   “Yes, Sir. He hires the guards for Father's warehouses. He told me about the murders he investigated when he was a detective with the St. Louis police. Mr. Westfall claims it's almost impossible to convict anybody of murder unless you have a witness. More than once he was satisfied he'd identified the murderer, but without witnesses, an arrest was pointless.”

   Heft Thomas grinned and spat in the creek. “Nephew, you might do to tip the glass with, you just might.” 

   The foreman's knowing grin wasn't lost on Nathan and his cheeks reddened. He hadn't told Heft Thomas anything the foreman didn't already know. “I don't like being made a fool of,” he snapped.

   Heft raised a palm and said, “Nephew, I needed to learn if you're as grown up between the ears as the rest of you. When bullets start to fly, overgrown children toting guns perish the fastest.”

   Nathan's anger cooled. The foreman had been testing him, not slighting him. “Mr. Thomas, do you have any idea who might've shot at my uncle?”

   “Not for certain, Nephew, but I got my suspicions.” 

   Nathan kicked a loose stone down the bank. “Would you care to share your suspicions, Mr. Thomas?” 

   “Only if you call me Heft.”

   Nathan grinned now. “Yes, Sir. Heft it is.”

   The foreman adjusted his Stetson and peered at Nathan from beneath its lowered brim. “I'm no police detective like Ira Westfall, yet I wasn't left behind in the corral a-purpose either. Seth wasn't lacking enemies, the worst being the Buckman brothers. I mentioned before that your uncle killed their daddy. It never made any difference to them their father had a pistol in his hand at the time. Roan, the oldest, carries the biggest grudge, though he hides his hate behind a slippery smile and fancy lawyer duds. He never found the guts to call your uncle out.” 

   “And you think he and his brothers hired someone to kill Uncle Seth?”

   Heft Thomas rubbed the brim of his Stetson and said, “That's most likely what happened. We'll never be able to prove it, but it appears the Buckman boys finally got revenge for their father.”

   Heft hawked and spat. ”We best head back. I wanted you to see where your uncle died, and tell you the truth of what happened. I wasn't joshing when I said this country could be plumb dangerous for you and your aunt. Powerful people gone wrong can do a man the most harm, and the Buckmans would kill the family dog to get what they want. Laura told you how they're trying to buy out Payne Merchandise. Who knows, with your uncle out of the way, maybe they'll be after the ST next.”

   “Is my aunt aware of what you've told me?”

   “No, I decided I wouldn't talk with her until I'd something more to offer than wild guesses. Besides, she carries a rifle and has Sam with her whenever she so much as steps out on the veranda. And she can shoot. She's as good with a long gun as Brick Redman. Ain't any cause yet to ruin her sleep.”

   Heft Thomas filled their canteens with fresh water and led Nathan on a circuitous route back to the home yard. They rode east well away from Rock Creek, and then turned south, checking pasture fences for loose wire as they rode. The foreman was his usual reticent self when on horseback, leaving Nathan with his thoughts.

   Ira Westfall would be impressed with Heft Thomas. Without any police experience and very little concrete evidence a crime had been committed, the foreman had taken a long pull on the rope and made a silk purse out of a sow's ear. At the same time, Ira would warn that endless speculation about a crime without hard evidence of some kind could, in the end, leave you holding nothing but the original pig's ear.  

   While on shakier ground, Nathan had gone one step further with Heft's speculation. He'd noted the similarities between the circumstances of his uncle's death—deliberate stalking by an unknown assailant—and those of his parents. Nathan was certain Ira would say straight out that it had to be more than sheer coincidence when two brothers and one of their wives, living a thousand miles apart, were murdered in the same fashion within a span of two months. The odds were that the two events were somehow tied to each other. 

   Nathan seldom kidded himself. If there was a knot that linked the two crimes, he doubted he could uncover it without a great deal of help. Like Heft, Nathan suspected the Buckmans were somehow involved in his uncle's death, and given their long-standing hatred of Seth Tanner, that sounded likely. But it seemed a stretch to assume without the tiniest shred of evidence that the Buckman brothers could also arrange to have someone killed clean off in St. Louis. 

   If by chance, though, they had, then he and his aunt were in more danger than even Heft Thomas believed. Nathan had to chuckle. Maybe before it was all said and done, he might be sorry the ferocious Sam didn't sleep at the bottom of his bed instead of his aunt's.  

 
   The sheer beauty of the clear autumn night—brilliant stars, full moon, and purple shadows round about tinged with silver—went unnoticed by the two riders. Charlie Swain was too familiar with the country to take note of anything but the rutted road ahead of them. Nathan Tanner was totally preoccupied with his own posterior. 

Nathan's hams and thighs were raw and sore from long hours in the saddle wearing new, unwashed Levis. He was in such agony he rode standing in the stirrups, fearful that the tender areas might erupt into flame. Absent his worn canvas trousers, it was either boil the Levis, preferably more than once, or grow calluses on his backside from waist to knee.

   “Alamosa ain't but another three miles, Mr. Tanner,” Charlie Swain said, his tone almost too serious. If the former lawman was enjoying Nathan's discomfort, he was doing his best not to show it.

   Nathan didn't reply. He eased the crotch of his Levis and wondered for the hundredth time why it was so critical he meet Alana Birdsong at Payne Merchandise as soon as possible. His day had changed direction when Mr. Ming bolted from the ranch house and hailed Heft Thomas upon their return to the home yard. Jumping from foot to foot, the excited servant had talked a blue streak, none of which could be understood. 

   The foreman finally dismounted and seized Mr. Ming by the shoulders. “Cease that jabbering . . . Now, take your time, and tell me what the ruckus is about.”

Mr. Ming swallowed and sucked wind. “Telephone ring. Mrs. Tanner talk. Go town on horse. She call back. She says Mr. Tanner come Payne store quick, quick.”

   “Did she go alone?” Heft Thomas demanded. 

   “No, big dog go, too,” Mr. Ming responded. 

   The foreman looked at the ground, then at Nathan. “Whatever's afoot doesn't concern ranch business and I'm worn through. I'll send Charlie Swain with you. He was a lawman once and handles a pistol better'n anybody on the crew. Grab something from Spud's kitchen to gnaw on. I'll see Ike Justice fetches you a fresh horse. It ain't wise to keep the boss lady waiting.”

   Nathan chewed his last strip of jerky as he and Charlie Swain gained the outskirts of Alamosa. They passed private dwellings and outhouses, coming ever closer to the business district. While there were no streetlights, interior lights shone in several windows ahead of them.  

   Steel tracks crossed Hunt Street ahead of Charlie and Nathan. Beyond the railroad tracks loomed the Alamosa Station of the Denver and Rio Grande. Several men attired in everything from the finest to the cheapest of clothing milled beneath wall lamps extending the length of the passenger platform. They were awaiting the conductor's call to board the train poised for departure.

   “Got to be something mighty tempting to draw that big a crowd this time of night,” Nathan said.

   “Silver, Mr. Tanner, silver,” Charlie Swain said. “The Creede strike is in full swing. Sparks, the ticket agent, bragged last month that 300 men pass through Alamosa every day, half of them miners, the other half gamblers, shysters, and thieves.”

   Payne Merchandise was located on the southwest corner of Hunt and Sixth Streets, plumb against the railroad tracks. Painted in white letters three feet high, the name Eldon H. Payne decorated both the Hunt and Sixth Street facades of the enormous, one-story building. Measuring with the naked eye, Nathan estimated Payne Merchandise ran a full half block along both streets, making it half the size of the Tanner Company's St. Louis establishment.

   Charlie Swain reined down Sixth Street. Electric ceiling lights burned inside the Payne establishment, but no human activity was visible through its tall windows. The hands of the wall clock read seven forty-five. 

   The Payne stable and carriage barn was attached to the west end of the store. Coal oil lanterns cast yellow pools before the stable's open doors. Charlie Swain yelled out, got no answer, dismounted, and said, “We'll have to care for the ponies ourselves. Old Lester's probably sleeping off a toot somewhere.”

   The hanging lanterns lit the first dozen feet of the stable, leaving the balance dim and gloomy. The center runway coursed between a dozen stalls, six to a side.   Charlie took Nathan's reins. “I'll unsaddle the nags and keep watch. You best find Mrs. Tanner. Was I you, I'd try the door here on Sixth Street.” 

   There was still no sign of human activity inside the Payne store. Nathan found the Sixth Street door standing ajar. When he stepped inside, he heard voices, one of which was ranting and raving. “I'm not listening to anymore with your senseless enthusiasm, Alana. I'm not waiting until something bad befalls me like Lucius. I thought the world of both him and your husband, both as men and as partners. But they're in the grave and what's left in their stead is a tired old man, a widowed woman, and a lad still wet all over for all we know. You need to vote with me and take what's being offered, whether your nephew agrees or not.”

   “Papa, shouldn't you at least wait for Nathan?” a female voice said. 

   That had to be Laura Payne speaking. Nathan removed his Stetson and ventured deeper into the store, winding between hay rakes and Schuttler wagons. He discovered the rear of the display area had been walled off, creating an open-air office whose entry was shielded by a wooden partition.

   “Quiet, Laura, you shouldn't be hearing this. I'm sorry Alana brought you with her. We're not in the middle of some silly dream, girl,” Eldon H. Payne said. “We aren't strong enough without Seth Tanner to defy the Buckmans. They're holding the traces now, not us. We should take their greenbacks and be safe from their bullets.”

   Nathan stepped around the partition screening the office. First to spot him was the pimply, pasty-skinned clerk perched on a stool behind a slant-topped desk near the entryway. The clerk's pen froze in mid-air and his loud gasp alerted the others. Alana Birdsong and Laura Payne sat in front of the mammoth desk. The two women turned in their chairs, and Sam, resting on the floor in the corner closest to his aunt, growled his usual welcome. 

   Nathan looked behind the mammoth desk. Eldon H. Payne was no runt of a man. His shoulders were broad and his chest deep. While his chin and upper lip were clean-shaven, white muttonchop whiskers covered his sagging jaws. The starched collar of his pleated shirt was stiff and spotless, his black coat unwrinkled. Nathan suspected Eldon H. Payne was a town merchant that seldom graced the saddle of a horse or the seat of a buggy. 

   Laura Payne's pale-eyed father made no attempt to rise from his plush leather chair and greet his new business partner. He sat rigid as a post, his features equally stiff, and subjected Nathan to a withering stare. “You the pup from St. Louis?”

    Nathan figured he appeared to Eldon H. Payne a nice-sized youngster uncomfortable in western clothes and toting a pistol that would scare him half to death if he fired it. The merchant's scowl implied that Nathan was of little consequence and shouldn't have interrupted his elders while they were conducting adult business. 

   Nathan's father had warned him that the kind of intimidation employed by Eldon Payne was as common to transactions within a company as it was between rival firms. When he'd asked how best to survive such infighting, his father had been exceedingly blunt. “Pick your allies and never lose the upper hand. Take any risk necessary to maintain control. If you hesitate or falter in the least, you may sink your own ship.” 

   The course Nathan chose to steer wouldn't have surprised his father as much as it did everyone else in the office. He squared his shoulders, and, twisting the brim of his Stetson to hide his nervousness, said, “I overheard you asking my aunt to help sell your company to the Buckmans, Mr. Payne. That may be your wishes, but I'm not about to concede a single dime to them, so I'm asking her to vote with me instead of you. How about the two of us buy you out?”

   It was a bold gamble on Nathan's part. He had, of course, not consulted with Alana Birdsong. He could only trust that her intense dislike for the Buckman brothers hadn't wavered since the previous evening. 

   Eldon Payne's pale eyes narrowed and his lips quivered. “Why you young whelp, who are you to try and buy me out of the company I built?” he raged. “You aren't your father or your uncle, you young snot!”

   Alana Birdsong's laugh reminded Nathan of the soft chords on his mother's spinet. “Eldon, you were being overly rude, and my nephew called you on it. And as you well know, what he's proposing can be done. The Payne company charter gives each of the four owners or their heirs a single share. I now hold two shares, my husband's and mine. Nathan inherited his father's. The charter says the company can be sold whenever the majority of partners vote to do so.”

   Alana Birdsong gazed at Nathan, winked, and then turned back to the fuming Eldon Payne. “I'm sorry it's come to this, Eldon. My nephew and I are voting not to sell to the Buckmans or anybody else. If you wish, we'll buy you out for one-fourth of whatever Roan Buckman offers when he gets here.” 

   Nathan was jolted by the revelation Roan Buckman was about to join them. Had he arrived any later or had his aunt lacked resolve, Payne Merchandise might have already been sold. Maybe it resulted from too many hours with Ira Westfall, but Nathan couldn't help wondering if the calling of this sudden meeting to pressure his aunt into selling had originated solely with Eldon H. Payne.   

   A rap on the Sixth Street door curtailed his speculation. Footfalls ensued. Roan Buckman, carrying his planter's hat in both hands, looked the perfect gentleman as he strode into the office. Hazel eyes and curly brown hair enhanced his finely drawn, clean-shaven features. He wore a tan buckskin coat with fringed sleeves, tailored trousers, and hand-tooled boots depicting eagles in flight. A diamond encrusted horseshoe pendant hung from a rawhide thong about his neck.  

   Sam rose to his feet, growled, and left the corner of the office to stand beside Alana Birdsong's chair. Roan Buckman paid the huge dog no heed. 

   “Good evening, folks,” he said with a wide smile. “It's a pleasure to meet with you.”

   Like Sam, Nathan was instantly on guard. Roan Buckman's wide smile appeared genuine, yet he could detect no corresponding warmth in the man's hazel eyes.   Sam continued to growl and bared his teeth. Alana Birdsong pointed to the corner he'd vacated and ordered him to sit. The huge dog retreated, his fierce eyes never leaving Roan Buckman. 

   The oldest Buckman brother stepped to the edge of Eldon Payne's desk, his attention focused entirely on Alana Birdsong. He acted as if no one else was present in the room. “Mrs. Tanner, Mr. Payne has informed me you might be interested in selling your shares in Payne Merchandise, and I'm prepared to make you a handsome offer. What say you?”

   “Exactly what are you offering, Mr. Buckman?” Alana Birdsong inquired.

   “One hundred thousand dollars cash,” Roan Buckman answered, “for which I will demand full title to the premises and your current inventory.”

   Nathan thought it a heap of money. The clerk almost fell from his stool. Laura Payne gulped. Surprisingly, Eldon Payne was suddenly calm and collected. The volatile merchant hadn't so much as twitched at the size of the Buckman offer, as if he'd known all along what Roan Buckman would bring to the table.

   Alana Birdsong's grin was both coy and calculating. “That's a stupendous sum, Mr. Buckman, and I thank you. But I can't accept it. I've no plans to part with any of my late husband's assets, not now, not ever. I intend to manage the ST as well as become intimately involved in the operation of Payne Merchandise.”

   Roan Buckman glanced at Eldon Payne. He bowed, smiled as if Alana Birdsong's refusal was no great disappointment to him, and donned his broad brimmed hat. “Thank you for your time, and good evening, Mrs. Tanner.”

   The occupants of the office sat mute until the Sixth Street door closed behind Roan Buckman. Alana Birdsong broke the silence. “Eldon, if you truly want to sell your share, I meant what I said earlier. I'll give you one-fourth of the Buckman offer—$25,000 dollars.”

   It was the same amount Eldon Payne would have received had Alana Birdsong voted with him to sell the company. The merchant harrumphed and squirmed in his leather chair. “I'd like to think on it, Alana. Could I have a day or two?”

   Nathan's brow puckered. It seemed terribly odd that a man wanting to sell out more than anything in the world was unsure of his intentions not five minutes later. Was Eldon Payne truly experiencing second thoughts? Or did he need to consult with Roan Buckman about their next move?

   “You can have your two days, Eldon, and no more.” 

   Eldon Payne stood behind his mammoth desk. “You'll have my answer by then, and if I decide to sell, I'll want my money within thirty days just like the charter says. Come along, Laura, our business is finished for the evening. Giles can lock the door after us.”

   Eldon Payne seized his daughter's arm and led her from the office. Alana Birdsong waited until they were gone before retrieving her Winchester from beneath her chair. Nathan stepped aside, and then followed her from the office. Sam padded in their wake. 

   Alana Birdsong halted outside the Sixth Street door and waited again, this time for the clerk to kill the store lights, lock up, and be on his way.

   Though Alana's face was barely visible in the dark, Nathan had no trouble hearing what she said. “I owe you an apology, Nephew. I didn't anticipate Eldon's sudden craving to dispose of Payne Merchandise. There's trouble afoot and I had planned to discuss it with you over dinner at the ST.”