The Shopkeeper (11 page)
Authors: James D. Best
Tags: #Western stories, #Nevada, #Westerns, #Historical fiction, #Fiction
Captain McAllen gave me a quizzical look before saying, “You haven’t been here before, have you?”
“No.”
“I thought you said you were friends.”
“Actually, Jeff was the one who referred to me as a friend. I didn’t meet him until this feud started, and I’ve kept close to town since.”
“Well, Jeff didn’t build this place. A bigheaded miner erected this monument to his supposed brilliance.” McAllen leaned over and lifted the lid from an expensive-looking humidor. The cigar he extracted looked equally expensive. “Unfortunately, the silver didn’t run as far as his ambitions.”
McAllen sniffed at the cigar before striking a match against his thigh and waving it in front of the tip. He took a long, satisfied draw, leaned his head back, and blew smoke at the ceiling. He was taking far too much pleasure in demonstrating his familiarity with the house.
“If the silver ran out,” I asked, “why does Jeff run this huge operation here?”
A voice came from behind me. “I want the men close so I can direct them, an’ I want the ore processed under my nose. We haul ore here from nine different mines spread around these foothills.”
I hadn’t seen Sharp enter the parlor. He took the armchair at the head of the seating arrangement and reached for the humidor. “Care for a cigar, Steve? They come from Cuba, an’ they’re as smooth as the inside of a woman’s thigh.”
I reached into my pocket. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stick with my pipe.” As I went through the ritual of lighting it, I said, “It’s hard to believe Washburn’s operation’s bigger than this.”
“Washburn scatters his ventures all over.” Sharp enjoyed a puff on his cigar before adding, “He doesn’t fear an attack from me, so he has no reason to consolidate his smeltin’ operations. I, on the other hand, don’t retain a similar confidence in him. I’d rather risk the loss of a single wagon of unprocessed ore than lose a remote outpost.”
I nodded because it made sense. “We saw a lot of guards on the way up. Did you add them when this trouble started?”
“Always been there. There’s a lot of silver to protect. The guards check people comin’ an’ goin’.”
“Going?”
“The greatest minin’ risk is theft, an’ refined ore is easy to steal in small quantities. People who work for me know they’ll be searched every time they leave.” He waved his cigar, leaving a trail of smoke in the air. “Just comes with the job.”
“How many people work for you?”
“Over two hundred hereabouts, countin’ miners, wranglers, teamsters, guards, engineers, an’ the people to take care of them. Washburn has at least double that number, probably more.”
The servant entered with a tray loaded with three chilled beers. After an appreciative swallow, I asked, “Who do you bank with in Carson City?”
Sharp took a swallow of his own beer before answering. “You have as much of my business as I intend to keep local.”
“I’m not interested in more of your business. I
am
interested in whether you bank with Commerce.”
“Why?” He looked surprised.
“My guess is that Washburn uses Carson City First, and I want to apply financial pressure on him. An alliance with Commerce Bank could help.”
Sharp studied his beer and then me. “You’re right about both our bankin’ habits, but I don’t see how it matters.”
“I don’t have it all figured out yet, but it’ll matter. Washburn’s spread thin, and I’ll find a way to leverage that.”
“You’re thinkin’ ya can bankrupt Washburn?” Sharp looked dubious.
“Not enough time, but perhaps I can make him desperate … and desperate men fight sloppy.”
“Washburn’ll just shoot you.” McAllen sounded disdainful.
“You mean he’ll hire someone to shoot me. Hiring takes money. If I can pinch his purse, I reduce his power. I aim to attack him on the political and business front while he tries to attack me with guns.”
Captain McAllen shook his head. “I don’t like your chances. You might be long dead before your way can work.”
“That’s why I hired you, to get me the time I need.”
McAllen took a satisfied draw on his cigar. “Time is what I sell.”
I laughed. “Please inform your office that you foresee a long engagement.”
Chapter 20
The six of us left Sharp’s place after a hearty breakfast. I should say four of us, because two of the Pinkertons had left an hour before. It was a three-day ride to the Bolton ranch, but McAllen told me that the first day held the most danger, because the narrow valley we had to pass through provided good cover and a reasonable shot for a marksman.
As we made our way down the center of the tight basin, I occasionally spotted the two Pinkertons riding up on the ridges to either side. By late afternoon, we emerged into a broad valley flanked by distant mountains. McAllen led us off a road that meandered close to the western range and guided us into the middle of the valley. Although this route made the ride more difficult, it put almost a mile between us and any ambush shelter. The expansive sight lines and the absence of trees made me feel more comfortable.
We rode mostly in silence. Jeff Sharp and Captain McAllen stayed in front and barely spoke a word. McAllen evidently thought it unnecessary to introduce me to his men, and they kept a stern, professional demeanor during the ride. The only thing I knew about the man who wore my clothes and had adopted my horse was that his first name was Sam.
Sam spoke to me for the first time, after we emerged from the foothills into the open plain. “Fine horse. What’s his name?”
“Chestnut … and I’d appreciate it if you returned him unscathed.”
Sam gave a short laugh before answering. “I’ll do my best. Where’d ya git him?”
“Denver. I traveled from New York to Denver by train, so I needed a rig. The first thing I bought was a horse. Most of my other gear I bought at auction.”
“You’re a good judge of horseflesh.”
“Well, I actually know only eastern riding horses, so I hired a wrangler to help me pick out a good horse for western terrain.”
“Really … and how’d ya pick your wrangler?”
“That’s an odd question.”
“Not if ya know Denver. The town’s full of hucksters ready to skin some newcomer with more money than sense.”
“Well, I watched the horse trading for a couple days to see who bought and at what price. I also wanted to see who would back off and let another buyer take an animal that had outrun its value. After I spotted a savvy buyer, I approached him and asked for his help.”
“How much?”
“We agreed on a ten-percent commission.”
“He picked the horse on his own?”
“You mean, did he pick the seller?” I had figured out where his questions were leading. “No, I’d heard about buyers and sellers in cahoots. I asked a lot of questions about the animal and the breeder before I authorized haggling.”
“Ya did right well by yourself. Chestnut’s a fine horse for rough country.”
This pleased me more than it should have, because I already knew Chestnut was an exceptional animal; but praise from someone as seasoned as Sam made me feel good.
Just when I thought Sam had relapsed into silence, he asked, “Your saddle doesn’t look new.”
Now I laughed. “I thought if I bought used gear, I might not look like a greenhorn.”
“Guessed as much.” Sam adjusted his seat. “’Twern’t to save money.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You make decisions like a rich man … ’Sides, six Pinkertons don’t come cheap.” Sam leaned forward and patted Chestnut’s neck. After he resettled in his saddle, he asked, “Why’d ya leave the big city?”
“Family matter.”
Sam looked intrigued. “What kind of family matter?”
“A private family matter.”
“Sorry.” He tipped his hat in my direction. “Didn’t mean to pry; it’s just that a family quarrel drove me outta Missouri.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help but ask, “What kind of family quarrel?”
“Well now, perhaps mine’s private as well.”
I chuckled at the expected answer and tipped my own hat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”
“Actually, not private at all. Kinda spread all over the country, for that matter.” Sam’s expression took on a melancholy hue. “Bad times back home. Despicable Yankees versus true patriots. At least, that’s the way my family saw it. Since my sympathies fell with the Union, I became despicable.” He sighed. “Almost twenty years ago.” He rode a few strides before adding, “Haven’t been home since … Miss it terrible at times.”
That gave me pause. I intended to stay away for a good while, but in the back of my mind, I had thought I would eventually return home. Before I knew it, I found myself saying things out loud that I seldom even said to myself.
“When my father died, his older brother took me under his wing. My uncle showed me how to make money … New York style. After a while, I learned why my father had kept his distance from him and the rest of the family’s affairs. I was young and naive, but eventually I got tired of his sleazy way of doing business and told him I no longer wanted his help. Made him madder than hell. He secretly got on the other side of a deal of mine so he could teach me a lesson, but I won, and he lost a pile of money … family money.”
“So ya left?”
“Not right away. But the whole family turned on me, so when I saw they weren’t going to forget about it, I sold everything and said goodbye to the big city.”
“So you became despicable too.”
“Guess we got that in common.”
Sam rode awhile before saying, “No offense, but that story kinda backs what my father always said about Yankees and their greed.”
“No offense taken. I wish money wasn’t so important to my family.”
“Not to you?”
“Me? No, money’s just the score. A way to keep track of who’s winning and who’s losing … and I like to win.”
“There’s ways to win that ain’t scored with money.”
I wanted to change the subject. “Why are you in this line of work?”
“Pride in workin’ for a top-notch outfit. Work’s interestin’, an’ we do more good than bad.”
“You do bad?”
Sam shrugged. “Men sometimes lie when they hire us.”
“Did you ever quit a job when you found out the truth?”
Another shrug. “Not my call.”
“You hold with the captain’s decision?”
“If I want to ride with Pinkerton, that’s just the way it is.”
“Suppose so.” I stood in my stirrups a minute to relieve my sore buttocks. “Are you comfortable with this engagement?”
Sam looked at me. “Washburn’s a bad man. I don’t like the trail ya picked much, but I’ll stick with it.”
I settled back in my saddle. “What would you do differently?”
Sam rode in silence for a long moment. “I’m a direct man who likes simple solutions. Your path meanders, an’ I can’t see the end point. But … that said, other than just walkin’ up an’ shootin’ the man, I don’t know what else ya can do.”
“Neither do I. I’m trying to figure things out as I go.” I pulled my hat brim down against the setting sun. “Also, I’m not eager to be hanged for murder.”
“Nope. Seen men hanged. Looks mighty uncomfortable.”
When I laughed, Captain McAllen wheeled his horse around and trotted up beside us. “Sam, you keep a good lookout, hear?”
Sam answered in a brisk, no-nonsense tone, “Yes, sir,” and directed his eyes across the horizon. I looked around but saw only flat, empty country. I guessed that the captain did not consider levity an admirable trait.
Chapter 21
Two shotgun blasts made me reach for my rifle.
“No alarm,” McAllen said. “I sent Sam after dinner. Best birder I ever saw. We’ll be eating fresh meat shortly.”
We had set up camp in a dry gulch and had just finished brushing down the horses, when the loud reports startled me. Captain McAllen had at least allowed me to groom Chestnut, but I wondered where Sam had run off to when I saw another Pinkerton taking care of the horse I had ridden.
McAllen told his three men to arrange their sleeping gear about fifty yards out from us in different directions, but we kept the horses together and close to where we would bed down. I had left New York to experience the West, but I had soon discovered that I preferred a mattress to the hard ground. These seasoned hands had taught me something: a dry, sandy streambed is more comfortable than the hard pack I normally chose. I just needed to remember to climb out quick if it started to rain.
When I saw one of the men stacking sticks to build a fire, I asked, “Won’t a fire draw attention for miles?”
“That’s why we stopped before dark,” McAllen explained. “Dry wood doesn’t smoke much, and we’ll put it out at dark. When we’re in winter pursuit, we stop even earlier to build up a good supply of embers before nightfall.”
