Leadville (14 page)

“Afraid this is a bum lead? A false showing?”

“Like I said, too easy. If a claim don’t pan out, ya gotta move on. Look somewhere’s else. And the sooner, the better, so ya don’t waste time.”

“You’re saying we need to find out for certain … and without wasting too much time.”

“Yep. Time we ain’t got.”

I lit my pipe and stared down the street as well. “Think anyone in town knows Bane?”

“Not likely, and we don’t want to be askin’ too many questions. ’Sides, we’d probably never find a white man that could tie Bane together with this Ute.”

I assumed that Sharp’s answer meant he thought we could only learn more from another Indian. “Red will be here in a couple days,” I offered.

“I’ve been tryin’ to decide if we can wait. McAllen will be here in two nights, an’ he’ll sure as hell want answers, not guesses.” Sharp turned his attention away from the hill and back to me. “Steve, go back to the hotel. I’ll meet ya there in a couple hours.”

“Jeff, I just like to gripe about the cold. I’ll go with you.”

“No … one white man askin’ questions makes ’em nervous; two shuts ’em up tighter than one of them drums they beat on.”

“I don’t think I look very threatening,” I offered.

“That blood-soaked coat won’t make people feel friendly.”

I had forgotten about the grizzly blood. I had brushed the coat and stitched the rips, but most people would still recognize the splotch across the front as a bloodstain. “Shit, I forgot. I guess I better buy a new one.”

“Buy one now, an’ I’ll meet ya back at the hotel.”

Sharp obviously wouldn’t accept any more objections, so I just said, “Don’t push questions so hard you draw too much attention.”

“I won’t. Have a fine bottle of whiskey waitin’ for me by the fire.”

With that, Sharp turned his back on me and walked up the street in the direction of the town’s Indian encampment.

Chapter 26

The haberdashery next to the hotel had the masculine feel of a New York City men’s club. It looked expensive, but my mouth fell open when I checked the tag on a coat not dissimilar to the one I was wearing.

“There’s an emporium down the street that may have something more in your price range.”

The handsome female clerk—who probably made less than a constable—wore a perfectly tailored charcoal dress and a snooty expression. I, on the other hand, was dressed in filthy trail clothes that told her I spent my time on top of a horse, not inside a money-spewing mine.

I checked the tag again before asking, “Can you explain why this coat costs twice what I paid in Durango?”

The clerk lifted her chin. “Perhaps you should retain the one you’re wearing. It looks to be broke in. A Chinaman might get those stains out.”

The woman’s attitude irked me. “Cleaning’s been tried, and I don’t like wearing the blood from one of my kills.” I was rewarded with the wince I was trying to invoke. “Can we talk about a
reasonable
price for that coat?”

The haughty clerk caught her balance faster than I expected. “Our prices are not negotiable.”

“They aren’t reasonable either.”

“As I already mentioned, there’s an emporium down the street,” she said, with her nose pointed at the patterned tin ceiling.

I didn’t like her. She was in her mid-twenties and attractive, but she reminded me of the women my family had tried to match me with in New York. Well-spoken, obviously educated, and pretty in a restrained manner that signaled that she had class and an upper-class upbringing. Except that she was a haberdashery clerk in a mining town, which meant that she pretended to be the type of woman I disliked. And a fake was even worse than the real thing in my book. She put on airs that she believed would appeal to the nouveau riche in this rustic town. I was unimpressed.

“May I speak to the owner?”

She stiffened. “I’m sorry. He’s unavailable.”

“Make sure.”

She offered me a condescending smile. “There’s no need for you to speak to the owner. Mr. Cunningham entrusts his business affairs to my charge.”

“Really? You look like an underpaid clerk dressed in a store-loaned dress.”

The woman responded in a heartbeat. “I hesitate to say what you look like, sir.”

“Good decision. Hold that tongue. Now fetch the owner. Right away, please.”

She didn’t budge. “I’m the senior clerk. You may deal with me.”

“Very well.” I held her eyes for a long moment. “What price for the entire store?”

“All the contents? Very amusing, sir.”

“Not the contents—everything. You’re the highfalutin senior clerk. Give me a price.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She started to turn away.

“Don’t
you
be ridiculous.”

I stepped toward the clerk. When our faces were inches apart, I added, “If you can get that kind of price for a standard sheepskin coat, then I want to own this store—or one like it. I came to Leadville to invest in mines, but I’m a shopkeeper by trade, and suddenly I realize I ought to stick to what I know. Shopkeeping appears to be a hell of a lot more profitable than I imagined … possibly more profitable than mining.”

The unruffled clerk seemed bewildered and unsure for the first time.

“Now, give me a price … or do you need to go get the owner?”

She straightened her shoulders in an attempt to regain her composure. “The store is not for sale.”

I walked to the front of the store and looked out the window. A new building was going up directly across the street. “Where’s the telegraph office?”

She looked confused by the question, so I added, “I want to send a telegram to my associates in New York City.” I pointed out the window. “I should be able to fully stock a haberdashery in that building across the street before the first thaw.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m serious.”

The clerk’s haughty manner collapsed. “The owner of this store owns the Carbonate Hotel. You can find Mr. Cunningham in his office behind the reception desk.”

“Good. I have four rooms at the Carbonate, so he probably won’t treat me as dismissively as you did.”

“Four rooms? How did—” The clerk threw a furtive look at the store entrance. “I apologize, sir. Obviously, I misjudged. Perhaps we can work a discount for that coat, after all.”

“I no longer want just the coat. I want the entire store, or I’ll open a competing store directly across the street. I owned several carriage trade shops in New York City, and I know how to run a pretentious enterprise.”

I gave the clerk an appraising look. Her dark dress, cinched at the waist, showed off an excellent figure, and she carried herself with assurance. “If I buy this store, perhaps I’ll even retain you as my senior clerk. You’re certainly snooty enough.”

“I come more expensive than you may think … and this is not a loaned dress. Besides, I would never leave Mr. Cunningham’s employ. He’s a gentleman.”

“Not even for a piece of the business?”

That question got the reaction I wanted, but I suddenly wondered what the hell I was doing. I guess my business instincts had taken hold, but I wasn’t in Leadville for business, at least not for my business. It was more than that. She had nettled me from the time I’d entered the store. All the women I knew in New York looked with disdain at anyone without money. I hated their condescension toward servants and riffraff they encountered in their daily lives. I came west to escape them and their so-called gentlemen friends. Perhaps that was why Jenny appealed to me. She was everything this type of woman was not. Jenny was uneducated but smart as a whip. She had been raised by a tenant farmer and had grown up working with her hands. A man might describe this clerk as beautiful, but Jenny was pretty—simpler and fresher, with an engaging smile.

I had to extricate myself from this situation, but I decided to take advantage of having placed doubt into the mind of this clerk. “I’ll pay half for the coat.”

“No, sir.” Her voice was firm. “Twenty percent is the absolute best we can do.”

“We?” I looked around. “I don’t see anyone else.”

“I meant the store.” She waved her arm around like the dry goods were participating in the negotiations. “That’s the best the store can do. Prices are sky-high in Leadville. Transportation costs are set at extortionist levels. Everything costs dear … but you already know that if you aren’t lying about having four rooms next door.”

I decided that I had let my pride get the better of me. There was no way I wanted to own a business in Leadville. Without any further dickering, I said, “I’ll take the coat. I’m sorry to have bothered you with my nonsense.”

Chapter 27

My encounter with the store clerk had delayed me, so I had just finished ordering a bottle of whiskey when I heard Sharp call to me from across the Carbonate’s expansive lobby. One glance in his direction and I rushed over. He had been beaten badly. Sharp was a sturdy-built man with a solid demeanor, but his swollen left eye and blood-caked nose and lower lip made him look his age and a bit fragile.

“Damn it,” I said, as I rushed up. “I knew I should have gone with you.”

“If ya want to help, grab that bottle of whiskey and help me up to Doc’s room.”

I turned to see a bewildered waiter standing behind me with a bottle and two glasses on a silver platter. I signaled him to come over. “Take that bottle and three glasses up to room 302.”

I turned my attention back to Sharp. I began to pull his arm across my shoulder, but I hesitated for fear of hurting him. “Where’re you hurt?”

“Mostly my ribs. That Ute pounded me with the handle end of his knife. Promised to use the other end if I came back.”

I let Sharp lean his weight against my shoulder, and then we moved with a halting pace toward the stairs. It took us probably ten minutes to climb the two flights. Sharp’s grunts and pants restricted our conversation to me saying “careful” and Sharp repeatedly exclaiming “shit.”

Dooley, who had been alerted by the hotel steward, met us at the top of the landing. I was worried, but the doctor looked curious, like a blacksmith sizing up a broken wagon. He stopped us and quickly examined Sharp’s injuries.

“Sit him in a chair in my room. Keep him upright so I can wrap those ribs. The rest of his wounds just need to be cleaned and dabbed with iodine. He ain’t hurt bad.”

“Glad to hear it, Doc. Now that I know that, maybe this pain’ll go away.”

“Quit whining. You’ve been hurt worse.” With that, Dooley turned and preceded us into his room.

As he went to work, I poured three glasses of whiskey. Sharp swallowed his down in a single gulp. I kept my questions to myself until Dooley had finished wrapping Sharp’s ribs and had cleaned up his bruised face.

As Sharp examined himself in the commode mirror, I opened with, “I guess you haven’t learned how to conduct a civil conversation.”

“It was civil enough until this mean son of a bitch decided to introduce himself. I just asked a couple of braves how much a guide might cost. I spotted our man sittin’ under a shelter, eyein’ me, but I ignored him. Pretty soon, he marched right over an’ proceeded to pummel me. No reason other than meanness that I can figure.”

“Did he overhear?”

“Too far away.”

Dooley was washing his hands at the basin and said over his shoulder, “What the hell were you doing up there?”

I answered for Sharp. “A miner told us about an ornery Indian encamped up there. The way he described him, we suspected he might be Bane’s go-between.”

“So you sashay up the hill and start asking questions?” Dooley turned from the basin, shaking his hands dry. “Jeff, I thought you were smarter than that. Maybe you deserved a beating.”

Sharp sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his chin. “I gave that Ute no cause to pay me any mind. I only asked to hire an Indian for a couple of days to guide me around the local claims. Figured if I got him away from his brothers an’ plied him with whiskey, I could ask questions without raisin’ a fuss. All I was doin’ was barterin’ a price.”

“Did he give any clue as to why he went after you?” I asked.

“No. Just beat on me an’ told me to get back to my own people. Vrable might’ve described me to him, but I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Because Bane probably told Vrable not to go near his man until he had somethin’ important. ’Sides, Vrable wouldn’t call attention to himself by traipsing up to that Indian encampment.”

“Maybe he’s not Bane’s go-between,” I offered. “Maybe he’s just an angry Ute who doesn’t like white men.”

“Could be, but I don’t think so. We know Bane is a killer, and anyone he used would be tough as nails. Ya shoulda seen the Indians fade away when he came out of that shelter. They’re scared of him … and he ain’t scared of nothin’. If we’re right about a go-between, I’m bettin’ this is our man.”

I paced the room. When I stopped in front of Sharp, I asked, “Do those Indians on the hill have money?”

“Money?”

“Do they have enough money to buy things in shops?”

“Yep. Those Indians do. Most are flush from playin’ guide for every saphead that wanders into Leadville. Probably take ’em all on the same route. Why?”

“Would this Ute go-between buy supplies before he left Leadville to meet up with Bane?”

“Probably.” Sharp straightened a bit and rubbed his wrapped ribs “If not for himself, then to resupply Bane an’ the girl. What’re ya gettin’ at, Steve?”

I pointed at my new coat. “When I bought that coat, I thought about buying the store that sold it.”

“What the hell for?”

“I paid twenty-four dollars for that coat. Twice the steep price we paid in Durango. Seems there’s more profit in selling dry goods than in digging silver.”

“Steve, that’s the same in any minin’ town, but our purpose ain’t investin’ anymore.”

“Seems our Ute’s skittish around white men. Were you thinking about taking a daily trip up that hill to see if he’s still sitting in that shelter or has bolted camp for the mountains?”

Sharp’s eyes showed comprehension.“Smart thinkin’, Steve. We buy that store an’ wait for him to come an’ get provisions for the trail. Hell, we’ll be partners. I’m in for half. Ya can teach me the shopkeepin’ trade.”