Murder at Thumb Butte (2 page)

The U.S. government had demonetized silver in 1873, and the Free Silver Movement wanted silver coinage reinstated. Silver men would grow richer, but I feared it would cause inflation that would erode my paper investments. Richard was my friend, one I had been proud to help elect to the state senate. Despite Sharp’s criticism, I had no regrets on that score. The whippersnapper Sharp referred to was another matter altogether. Peter had been a skittish law clerk when I met him. I set him up as an assistant manager at a bank I had once owned in Pickhandle Gulch, Nevada. When I sold the bank to Commerce, he was made manager, and—away from the prying eyes of the parent bank—had built his deposits and profits using dubious means.

Something caught my attention in the street traffic. Speak of the devil. It was Richard hurrying directly toward me. What did he want?

He clambered up the porch steps and plopped into the seat Sharp had vacated. Without preamble, he blurted, “Steve, we need your help.”

“
Who’s we, Senator?” I had no inclination to get involved in state politics.

“
The Whist Club.”

“
I’m listening.” These were people I cared about.

“
Peter has taken over our hotel and Jeremiah’s store.”

“
How?”

Jeremiah was another friend from my days in Pickhandle Gulch. When I left the mining encampment, I owned the sole hotel in town. In a gesture of friendship, I had deeded one quarter of the hotel to each of the members of our nightly whist club, which included a quarter share for me. The other partners were Richard, Jeremiah, and Dr. Dooley, who now resided in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Since Jeremiah was the only one remaining in Pickhandle, he ran the hotel for us, along with his general store.

“
Peter controls the county, and he boosted taxes on both properties … seven thousand a year for the hotel alone.”

I almost jumped to my feet. “That’s outrageous!”

“
No, it’s thievery.”

“
The town owns the hotel?”

“
The county … and Peter is the county.” With an embarrassed expression, he added, “You created this monster.”

Because I was in a hurry, I had casually selected Peter to run my small bank. At the time, my main concern had been that he wasn’t tough enough for a lawless outpost. I certainly never expected him to become a petty tyrant. I was wealthy, with most of my investments in Wall Street. I hadn’t taken my small stake in this hotel seriously, except as a way of thanking my friends for helping me out of a tough situation.

“
I’ll talk to Commerce Bank,” I said.

“
No! You gotta go down there. I’ve already talked to Commerce. They said this is local politics and has nothing to do with them. They refuse to intervene.”

“
I can’t go to Pickhandle. I promised Jeff to go with him to Leadville.”

“
That’s right.” I heard Sharp’s voice behind me. “Nothin’ Steve can do anyway.”

I whipped my head around to see Sharp with a mug of coffee in each hand. “You know about this?” I asked.

“
Yep. Reason I’m sellin’. This state’s too corrupt. Knock down one crook, and another just pops up like those little creatures at a carnival shooting gallery.”

“
Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.

Sharp smiled and waved his arm, encompassing the whole street. “Didn’t want to spoil this gorgeous mornin’. Life’s what it is down south. Nothin’ gonna change for decades.”

“
You can change it, Steve,” Richard insisted. “You can put Peter in his place.”

Something occurred to me. “Is the sheriff part of this?”

“
Clive? Of course. Peter couldn’t handle this by himself. But Clive’s been pushed aside. Now he’s town marshal. There’s a new sheriff, and I hear he makes Clive look like a schoolmarm.”

I had been sympathetic up to this point, but now I had to bring this conversation to a halt. I was not going to get into another gun battle.

“
Richard, I’m leaving for Colorado. Soon.”

“
It’s your property they stole … and they beat the hell out of Jeremiah.”

“
What? How bad’s he hurt?

“
Not sure, but I heard he lost sight in one eye. Might be dead. Can’t get a telegram out of that hellhole since the incident.”

I gave Jeff an angry stare. “Didn’t want to spoil a gorgeous morning, huh?”

Jeff shrugged. “Nothin’ to be done ’bout it now.”

I stood. “We’ll see. I’m going to Pickhandle.”

_{Chapter 2}

Pickhandle Gulch hadn’t changed. The stamp mill still spewed dust everywhere, and the miners’ scattered rock hovels proved that only rough, untidy men resided in this woebegone encampment. The miner dwellings were made of rocks because trees were a long way off, and lumber that made it this far into the southern Nevada desert was more valuable shoring up mine tunnels. Leadville last autumn had been a beehive of frenzied construction, but I could see nothing new in Pickhandle. Materials were scarce, but more to the point, time was better spent clawing silver out of the ground.

Jeff Sharp rode beside me. He had suddenly claimed to have unfinished business at his mining headquarters in Belleville, twenty miles north of Pickhandle, but I suspected he felt guilty about convincing me to go to Leadville without telling me about Jeremiah. Whatever the reason, I welcomed his presence. I also welcomed the two guards he had picked up at his mining operation the night before. They were hard-looking men, which I liked. I’d much rather resolve this issue with intimidation than with guns.

I had renamed the Grand Hotel the Whist Hotel after I got full ownership, but as we approached, I noticed the sign over the porch once again read Grand Hotel. Now I understood how a rancher felt when he discovered his cows with an altered brand.

I only knew the sheriff by the name of Clive. He was a big, heavy-gutted man who made a comfortable living as a bully. In fact, he had four thousand dollars of mine, money I had paid him for his half of the hotel. Come to think of it, he probably again owned the hotel that used to belong to my partners and me. Then I remembered that he had been booted out of the sheriff’s job and was now town marshal. I found that disappointing. The new sheriff might not be as easy to handle.

We rode directly to the livery. Liberty had taken the four-day ride with ease. I cut him loose a few times, and he ran fast and with enormous enthusiasm. Even though I had owned this horse only a couple of months, we were getting used to each other, and I enjoyed riding him.

The liveryman recognized us but gave only a curt nod as he led the horses away for grooming and feed.

“
The town doesn’t feel friendly,” I said.

“
Yer trouble. They wanna stay clear.” Sharp looked around. “What first?”

“
Find Jeremiah. We’ll start at his store. Why don’t you let your men get a beer? It’s been a long, dusty ride.”

“
Hell, they only rode from Belleville. I’m the one could use a cold beer. That is, if Jeremiah still operates his icehouse.”

“
Let’s find out if he operates anything.”

Sharp nodded permission to his men to visit the saloon, and the two of us walked the fifty yards to the general store. Sharp carried his Winchester like always.

As soon as I stepped through the door, I knew Jeremiah wasn’t running the shop. He kept things fastidiously neat, but the place had an unkempt look about it.

The shopkeeper saw us and then pretended to be busy with something on a lower shelf. I rapped hard on the counter to get his attention. I never saw a man rise more slowly.

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Do you run this establishment?”

“
I do.”

“
Where can I find Jeremiah?”

“
Don’t rightly know. Ain’t been around in weeks.”

“
Do you know who I am?”

“
Steve Dancy … and Jeff Sharp.”

I made a point of looking around the empty store. “Then tell me where he is while I’m still calm.”

Last summer, I had killed two gunmen in this town, and my reputation evidently still held sway. The shopkeeper’s right cheek flinched twice before he glanced toward the door for help.

Deciding no one would come to his rescue, he said simply, “He’s got a shelter on the north side.” I didn’t say anything, so he added, “That’s all I know.”

“
It’s not, but that’ll do for now.” I slipped a ten-cent piece onto the counter. “Give me a bag of gingersnaps.”

After he handed me a waxed-paper bag of the cookies, I nodded and we left.

We both looked across the street to the north side. Sharp asked, “How do ya ’xpect to find him? Those rock hovels don’t have addresses.”

“
If we have to, we’ll yell. Let’s go.”

Behind the single row of buildings, a ratty collection of rock structures crowded the relatively flat area. There must have been fifty of them. They were small and windowless, probably just big enough for a bedroll and a few personal belongings. Empty bean tins, cigar butts, and other trash had been tossed from inside to litter the front of each shelter. As we walked through them, I noticed burrows cut in the loose sand by piss. The foul smell led me to believe that these miners didn’t bother to venture far to take care of other business.

A dirty, bearded man ducked out of a shelter, looking warily at us. His hand rested on the butt of a Civil War-era revolver tucked into his belt.

“
What ya fellas doin’?”

“
Looking for Jeremiah. He used to run the general store.”

“
Up thataway.” He pointed up a scarred slope.

“
Much obliged,” Sharp answered.

“
I guess we should tread lightly here,” I said after we moved away.

“
Noisily. Quiet men mean trouble.”

Sharp knew miners, so I started whistling. Badly.

Laughing, Sharp said, “Steve, please stop before someone throws a blind shot out his hovel to shut that awful noise.”

I dutifully quit. As we climbed up the easy slope, we saw no one else. It was eerily quiet. The men who slept in these rock enclosures were underground, swinging pickaxes. The bearded man was probably protecting their meager possessions. I glanced back, and sure enough, the unkempt ruffian was watching our every move.

“
Jeremiah!” Sharp’s voice was loud but not a yell.

We stopped and finally heard a muffled, “Here.”

We marched toward his hail, but no one emerged from a shelter, so Sharp repeated, “Jeremiah.”

“
Is that you, Jeff?”

“
And Steve. Come out.”

From the next row of hovels emerged a man I barely recognized as my friend. The Jeremiah I knew was pudgy and neat. This man looked emaciated and as bedraggled as any of his neighbors. He wore a patch over his left eye, and his face had some ugly scars that would never disappear. This had been more than a beating.

We were stunned into silence, so Jeremiah said, “Glad to see you boys. Either of you got any food? Water?”

I stepped forward. “Damn. You look a mess.” I held up the wax bag. “All I brought were gingersnaps. Let’s go to the café.”

Jeremiah took the bag, giving me a forlorn look. “They won’t serve me. Do you have water?”

“
They’ll serve you with us. Remember, I’m a deadly gunfighter.” I smiled to show I wasn’t serious.

He looked at the small bag, and tears welled up. “Thanks for remembering that I love gingersnaps. Thoughtful, Steve.” He sighed. “I haven’t had a gingersnap since they took the store away from me, but I can’t eat these without something to drink.” He looked up from the bag. “They took all my money too. Not a penny for water, food, or a stage ticket out of here. They sent me here to die. Just punishment for my sins, in their eyes. More than that, I’m an example to anyone else that might be thinking about bucking town authority.”

I put my arm on his thin shoulder. “Come on. You can tell us about it at Mary’s.”

He started down the hill on wobbly legs. “She’s still there, but it ain’t her café no more. They took her place too.”

I looked at Sharp. “Is this why you’re selling out?”

Sharp nodded. “They put a heavy use tax on the stamp mill. Ain’t gonna work my butt off to make some politicians rich.”

“
Jeff, why didn’t you tell me?”

“
Only guns can fix this. No need for ya to get in another fight not yer doin’.”

“
Peter scares easy,” I offered.

“
Madison doesn’t,” Sharp said.

“
Who’s Madison?”

Jeremiah stopped me with a hand on my forearm. “The new sheriff. A tough man, and he’s got two capable gun hands for deputies. Clive’s still around too, but he’s the town marshal.” His voice was raspy.

“
How long since you had water?” I asked.

“
Last night … after dark. One of the miners I grubstaked a while back sneaks me a canteen.”

“
Let’s get you watered and fed before you talk anymore.”

We proceeded in silence down the slope and into town. When we emerged from between the buildings, I looked around but didn’t spot anyone that looked dangerous. As we entered Mary’s, I noticed that the new owners hadn’t done anything to improve the dowdy café.