Leadville (13 page)

“Already own lots of producing mines.” Sharp tugged the sleeve of his shirt. “These ain’t worn out yet.”

“Matter of opinion, Mr. Sharp. Most people think threadbare is cause enough to throw something away.”

“That’s why most people ain’t got two silver dollars to rub together. ’Sides, buyin’ clothes takes too damn much time. Come on; let’s see where the good doctor has run off to.”

Sharp started toward the staircase, and I just stood there. When he failed to hear my following footfalls, he turned around and impatiently asked, “Well, ya comin’?”

“Naw, you go on ahead. I think I’ll knock on his door to see if he’s still in his room.”

He turned around and trudged back up the hallway. “Shit, Dancy, sometimes yer a pain in the ass.”

“Glad to hear it’s only sometimes.” I knocked on Dooley’s door.

“Yep?” came the answer from behind the door.

I enjoyed the look on Sharp’s face as I answered, “Steve and Jeff. We need to talk.”

“Well, come on in then. The door’s not locked, and your arm ain’t broke.”

Dooley sat propped up on his bed, fully clothed, reading the thickest book I had ever seen.

“Why’re ya holed up in yer room on such a gorgeous day?” Sharp asked.

Dooley looked baffled at the odd question but then said matter-of-factly, “Reading. This book’s too damn heavy to lug around.”

“What is it?” I asked. “You didn’t bring that up from Durango, did you?”

“Bought it from a doctor yesterday—used.” He lifted the tome above his outstretched legs. “Steve, I don’t think we’ll be sharing this book, unless you have a desire to learn about consumption.”

Dooley and I had been sharing books ever since we met in Pickhandle Gulch. I sure didn’t have any interest in a medical book. As I thought about it, except for
The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
, all the books we had traded had been fiction. On second thought, I suspected that a good piece of Franklin’s work might have been fiction as well.

Since Dooley made no attempt to get off the bed, I pulled over a chair, and Sharp grabbed a stool.

“Do ya know any dentists?” Sharp asked as he lowered himself onto the stool.

“I’m going to write John Holliday as soon as I finish this book. But this man’s a killer, not a healer.”

I scooted forward to the edge of my chair. “Doc Holliday? Damn, the real Wild West.”

Sharp gave me an odd look. “You’re pullin’ my leg, right? What the hell do ya call that ruckus back in Nevada?”

“Washburn was a local hoodlum. Doc Holliday’s famous all the way to New York City.”

“Famous? For what, for God’s sake?”

“Toughness … gunplay … knife fights … roaming free, doing whatever he wants, and taking guff from no man.” I decided I had to meet him. He’d get top billing in my book about the West, and my publisher would probably print another ten thousand copies. “Where is he?”

“New Mexico,” Dooley said.

“Who cares? He’s a wheezin’, scraggy drunk,” Sharp said. “Sober, ya wouldn’t pay him any mind; drunk, ya don’t want him to pay you any mind.”

“You know him?” When would Sharp quit surprising me?

“I know the sober Dr. John Holliday. Thankfully, I’ve never met the inebriated Doc Holliday.”

“How well do you know Holliday … the sober one, I mean?” I asked excitedly.

“I played at his table a couple of times. Few years ago. Holliday runs an honest faro game. He may occasionally get involved in a con with the Earps, but he keeps that away from the table.”

“A con?”

“Yep. The boys like to strip greenhorns of their money. They’re known for pullin’ off low-level swindles. Sometimes they just take an unsuspectin’ sucker for free drinks. Mostly, they do it for the fun of it rather than for the money.”

“Tell me about it. I want it for my journal.”

“Later,” Sharp said. “Steve, I got business here.” He turned to Dooley. “Doc, I got a terrible toothache. Ya know anyone in town?”

“No, but I can ask around.” He studied Sharp a second. “I don’t normally do teeth. Too much yelling for two dollars. But Jeff, if it pains you, I’ll take care of it right now.”

“I’d be obliged.”

“You’ll be in debt for two dollars is what you’ll be.” Dooley set his book on a side table and swung his legs around to get off the bed. “I’ll get to it. Need a stretch anyway.”

“Now?” Sharp exclaimed. “Maybe it don’t hurt that bad.”

“Hell, don’t be a baby. I’m leaving on tomorrow’s stagecoach. I want to get to Glenwood Springs before the first snowfall. Open your mouth, and let’s get this over with.”

Dooley took only a few seconds to examine Sharp’s teeth. “Gotta come out.” With no further ado, he rummaged around his black bag until he came out with a wicked-looking pair of pliers. “This ought to do. Open wide.”

“Goddamn it, Doc. You done this before?”

“Naw, but I always wanted to pull a tooth. Now open up.”

Sharp, a man I had never known to show fear, looked white as the pillow on Dooley’s bed, but he opened his mouth as a single tear leaked out of his right eye.

I couldn’t believe it when Dooley put his foot in the middle of Sharp’s chest and immediately yanked for all he was worth. After a short scream of pain from Sharp, Dooley held aloft a bloody tooth like he had plucked a piece of silver from a streambed.

“Gotta do it fast. That’s what separates the quacks from a skilled dentist.”

“Thought ya never done this before,” Sharp said as he examined the empty space with his tongue.

“Just joshing,” Dooley said. “Done it dozens of times. Just don’t like it. Rather set a leg or stitch a cut.”

Sharp got up on shaky legs. “I thank ya, Doc. Now I need whiskey to clean the wound.”

“Before you leave, aren’t you forgetting something?”

He turned from the door. “What?”

“Two dollars.”

“Doc, that tooth got gold in it?”

He wiped the blood away and looked. “Yep.”

“Consider yerself paid.”

Chapter 25

After we finished a whiskey in the lobby, I asked, “How’re we going to flush this messenger out?”

“Don’t know,” Sharp said. “We’ve got to find this go-between, or our plan ain’t worth shit. The captain’ll be arrivin’ night after tomorrow, and he’ll want answers.” Sharp got out of his chair, rubbing his jaw. “This feels pretty good. Let’s start by walkin’ around the seedy parts of town.” He smiled. “Get a feel for the place.”

I stayed seated. “Jeff, it’s cold outside.”

“I don’t think we’ll find our quarry in the hotel lobby, so go back to your room and get wrapped tight.”

“What about Vrable?”

“Let him stew a while. Come on. Let’s go. Get yer gear back on. It’ll be fun.”

I stood reluctantly. “Only you think it’s fun to cavort with cutthroats and whores.”

“What the hell’re ya doin’ out here if ya prefer to socialize with gentlemen?”

I smiled. “Lead on. I couldn’t ask for a more experienced guide to the underside of a mining camp.”

We walked for over an hour. Leadville was a series of broad avenues with narrow boardwalks. Most blocks were half filled with one- to four-story brick buildings. We walked in traffic lanes, because many of the empty lots were under construction, the building materials spilling from the boardwalks onto the streets. Everywhere, workmen barked orders. Even on Sunday, frenzied construction consumed the town—everybody wanted to beat the first snowfall. We had seen several shabby lodgings, but we didn’t go inside. We didn’t want word to get out that we were searching the town.

Finally, we entered a dodgy café to get warm. Boisterous and ill-clad men filled both sides of long tables that looked in dire need of a scrubbing. We sat opposite each other in the middle of one of the tables and ordered coffee from a girl no older than fifteen. My eyes scanned a blackboard with the day’s offerings, but I saw nothing that appealed to me.

“Let’s just order coffee and eat after we get back to the hotel,” I suggested.

“Might be nightfall.” Sharp laughed at the look on my face. “I’ve eaten in this kinda place lots of times. It’ll be fine, just don’t order stew. Ya might get surprised.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Well, I’m orderin’ a meal. If we’re gonna find what we’re lookin’ for, it’ll probably be in a place like this.”

“What
are
ya lookin’ for?” This came from a big, rough-looking man who sat beside me at the long table.

Before I could think of an answer, Sharp said, “A guide. Someone who knows these mountains an’ knows somethin’ about prospectin’.”

“Hell, that’s easy. Half the men in this room claim to fit that bill.”

“Like yourself, I suppose?” I asked.

“Naw, not me … hell, I could do it, but I got my own diggin’s. ’Sides, only a fool would go into the mountains now. You’ll freeze to death.”

Sharp reached across the table, extending his hand. “Jeff Sharp. This here’s my partner, Steve Dancy. Our mine in Nevada looks about played out, so we’re lookin’ for a new venture.”

The man nodded. “Samuel Washington, but everyone calls me Pie.”

“Pie?” I swung around to get a look at the man beside me.

The big weathered man shrugged. “I eat a bit of pie.”

The man’s nickname reminded me of my fight in Durango. I probably owed my life to that flung plate of pie. Perhaps I should adopt pie as my favorite dish as well.

“Anyone ya might recommend?” Sharp asked.

The man studied the room and repeated his question. “What’re ya lookin’ for?”

“Somethin’ rare, I ’xpect,” Sharp said. “A man that knows these mountains like the back of his hand … an’ maybe knows a bit about prospectin’. An’ someone that knows the local Indians. Don’t want no trouble.”

“Kinda late in the year, ain’t it?”

“We tried Durango first and wasted too much time, but I figure we got a couple weeks before the first storm. That’s why we need someone good. Maybe a half-breed? Someone who grew up in these mountains? Knows the terrain … and the weather.”

“Couple a weeks, huh? Well, good luck to ya.”

“You don’t have anyone to suggest?” I asked.

“Nope. Ya go into those mountains this time of year, and ya’ll probably die. A honest man’ll just tell ya that right out. If ya want my advice, buy a producin’ claim close to town. Plenty about, and ya’ll likely see spring that way.”

“Nope,” Sharp said firmly. “That’s how we wasted time in Durango. I’ll not be suckered. I stake my own claims.”

The big man turned to me. “What’s yer part in this?”

“I’m the money.”

“Have ya been in the mountains this time of year before?” He stared at me. How did Westerners always know I was citified?

Sharp answered. “I have. We got good gear an’ good horses. All we need is a good guide.”

“An’ a hell of a lot of luck. Ya think ya can find a claim in a couple weeks? Some men traipse through these mountains for years with nary a strike.”

“I’ve been lucky all my life,” Sharp said. “I know there’s silver and maybe gold out there. I want to get a look and a feel for the lay of the land before it goes all white.”

Pie gave Sharp a hard stare. Finally, he said, “The men ya see here have come in for the winter. There’s only one man I know of that ventures into these mountains this time of year.”

“Who might that be?” Sharp asked.

“Don’t rightly know his name. He’s a full-blood Ute. Mean as hell. Some have used him as a guide, but he’s a savage, not one of yer civilized-like Indians. I ain’t recommendin’ him, hear. He’ll probably slit yer throat while ya sleep and leave ya naked in the woods to feed the bears.”

“Where do we find him?” I asked.

Pie looked at me and shook his head. “You loco? Ya don’t go off into these mountains this time of year guided by a savage that’s got no more use for ya than a lame pony. Whatever’s up in those hills, it’ll still be there come spring.”

“We got our minds set,” Sharp said.

“Ya
are
loco,” Pie said. He shook his head again and then added, “If ya want him, I hear he’s encamped up on the rise at the north end of town—with all the other Indians.”

“What’ve you heard about the Ute uprising at the reservation?” I asked.

“At least that ain’t a worry for ya. The local Utes weren’t a part of that mess, and the army corralled the ones that was. I met that Meeker once—a self-righteous son of a bitch. I’m guessin’ he provoked ’em. Naw, if this Ute kills ya, it’s for yer gear, not ’cuz he’s part of some damn rebellion.”

Sharp made a show of thinking through the possibilities. After a moment, he said to me, “Pie’s got a point. Maybe it’s too late in the year. Let’s eat … see how we feel in the morning.”

I took Sharp’s lead, and we changed the subject. The coffee was hot and not bad, but the steak I ordered came burnt and grizzled. I was not surprised.

At the end of the meal, the young girl brought our new acquaintance the biggest piece of apple pie I’d ever seen.

“Is that a single slice?” I asked.

“Naw. I’m known hereabouts.” He winked. “Gotta keep up appearances, or I might lose my nickname.”

Sharp reached across the table to shake Pie’s hand. “We’ll be goin’ before you dig into that, but I want to thank you. Sometimes I get dumb ideas in my head. Ya straightened me out.”

“If yer real grateful, ya’ll buy my lunch.”

“I think my partner can handle that. Pay the young lady, Steve.

Before I could pull the coins out of my pocket, Sharp had disappeared outside.

I found him at the end of the block, puffing on one of his cigars and gazing up the street to the north. I walked up beside him and pulled out my pipe. “We could’ve had our smoke inside where it’s warm.”

“In New York, did ya stay indoors all winter?”

“Most winter days in New York aren’t as cold as this … and people around here call this fall.”

“Ya get used to it.” Sharp seemed distracted.

“Do you think this Ute’s our man?” I asked.

“Might be.” Sharp puffed a moment, continuing to look up the street.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Too easy. We’ve been lookin’ for less than two hours. The reason most miners aren’t successful is that they spot a showin’ and commit their life to it. They’ll chase a bum lead all the way to the grave.” Sharp dropped his cigar and crushed it under his heel.