Authors: James D. Best
Tags: #Western stories, #Nevada, #Westerns, #Historical fiction, #Fiction
The Shopkeeper (24 page)
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”
“Yes. I’m increasing your pay ten dollars a month … starting the first of this month. Give me your recommendations on the other hands.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I do appreciate it.”
“Joe, I’ll be looking for your help to run this ranch.”
“You’ll have it, ma’am.” He spoke without hesitation.
“Thank you. That’ll be all. After you finish with Cliff and Pete, you can rejoin us for dinner.”
“Very good, ma’am. And thank you again.”
The foreman was almost out the door when Jenny interrupted his departure. “Joe, one more thing. I’m going to have a lawyer draft a document that’ll give you ten percent of the profits from the next roundup.”
He looked flabbergasted. “That’s exceedingly generous of you.”
“Not at all. You’ll earn every dollar. Now, you have an unpleasant task, so you better get to it.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
After the foreman left, the room grew silent. At first, I did not want to interrupt her musing, but eventually I had to ask. “Cliff and Pete?”
Jenny acted like someone jerked away from hard thinking. “They took advantage of my exile by Mrs. Bolton.”
“Joe?”
“He did nothing to stop it, but he had the good manners to make himself scarce during the ordeal. He’s a good foreman, and I need help.”
“I think you handled the situation wisely.”
“I’m not looking for your approval.”
Her face remained blank and her voice flat, but I felt a pain that her words alone should not have inflicted. I merely muttered, “No offense intended.”
She shifted around in her seat to face me more directly. “Please excuse me. This has come on so quickly, I’m still trying to get used to it.” There was the barest of smiles. “It appears that I am in your debt.”
“No, ma’am. What I did was for my own purposes.”
“And what purposes might those be?”
“To capture Sprague and save my own skin. Carrying the two envelopes didn’t add to my burdens.”
“We both know my debt to you goes far beyond that.”
“A simple ‘thank you’ will do. I’m certainly not looking for the remuneration you spoke of during my last visit.”
“Good, because I withdraw that offer. I am now a woman of means, and I can repay my debts with other currency.”
“I’m a rich man. I don’t need or expect anything from you.”
“Oh, I presume you expect a lot.” There was a nasty edge to her voice. My face must have shown something, because she blanched and then seemed to soften. After a moment she said, “You must excuse my bitterness. You do have my gratitude.”
When I said nothing, she stood and extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Dancy.”
Chapter 42
Jenny asked me to join the others because she needed a few minutes alone. When I stepped into the dining room, Sharp met me with a glass of whiskey and a low whistle. I took a big gulp and asked, “How much did you hear?”
“Only the banshee wail.” Sharp made a show of rubbing his ears with the heels of both hands. “It hurt our ears an’ pierced our souls.” He put a comradely hand on my shoulder. “We never expected to see you alive again.”
“At times I thought I might never escape the room whole.”
“Who says ya did? She probably put a curse on ya. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up as a toad.”
I laughed. “Well, she threw curses at me, that’s for sure. That woman can curse with the best field hand.” I walked over to the sideboard to get a second measure of whiskey. “But I suspect she thinks spending my life as a toad too light a sentence.”
McAllen remained all business. “She coming with us in the morning?”
“Yes. I didn’t give her a choice.”
McAllen looked irritated. “I want her ready early. First light. And get one of her ranch hands to drive the buckboard.”
“Captain, that won’t be my call, but I’ll talk to Jenny. She fired two of her men, so she’s shorthanded.”
I didn’t want to explain why Jenny had fired them, but neither asked. McAllen gave me a dismissive look and said, “If you can’t get a ranch hand to accompany us, then you drive the team. She’s your responsibility. Mine’s Sprague.” He looked at the empty doorway. “When’s this meal gonna get started?
I was ready to snap at McAllen but simply said, “Jenny and Joe have a few tasks. They’ll be along shortly.”
I realized that my encounter with Mrs. Bolton had been lengthy and that both men had had plenty of time to sample the fine whiskey. A couple of drinks had made Sharp playful and McAllen testy. I wondered if the captain ever truly relaxed.
Sharp said, “Captain, with a buckboard, we can truss Sprague up hand and foot. He’ll be easier to handle.”
“I already thought of that,” McAllen said, “but even so, I don’t want one of my men with his back to Sprague.”
“Threaten to unleash Mrs. Bolton on him if he misbehaves,” Sharp said lightly.
While Sharp and I laughed, McAllen just looked at us, stone-faced. After our little moment of gaiety had subsided, he said, “Take it easy on the whiskey. We need to have our wits about us in the morning.”
During the wait, Sharp and I talked quietly, while McAllen impatiently paced the room, sipping his whiskey. With relief, I saw Jenny and Joe enter the room after another half hour had passed.
“I apologize, gentlemen. We had some business we needed to attend to before we could join you. Please sit. Joe, would you tell Frenchie to serve dinner. I’m sure our guests are famished.”
Famished and a bit drunk. But we didn’t have to wait long. Frenchie appeared immediately to serve soup. As we devoured the tasty beef barley broth, Frenchie placed heaping bowls and platters all around the table. He had probably been pacing in the kitchen, worried that his meal would spoil.
With Mrs. Bolton upstairs, dinner was a comfortable affair. Wine flowed freely, and the food was excellent and plentiful. Jenny’s mood lightened considerably. She even laughed a bit at some humorous stories Jeff told. The foreman spent the meal saying
ma’am
this and
ma’am
that. Some of the spark came back to Jenny’s green eyes, and I suspected she was starting to get used to her new position.
After we had been sitting around awhile, digesting our meal, Jenny went to the sideboard, opened the door, and withdrew an expensive decanter. She held it aloft. “Brandy, gentlemen?”
As Jenny poured each of us a glass, she told us we could light our tobacco. She obviously had no intention of leaving our presence, so we lit up and filled the room with smoke. One sip told me this was John Bolton’s private stock, used for special occasions. I could not think of a more special occasion. Jenny and I were each free of our nemeses—or at least we would be as soon as we delivered the two of them to Carson City.
With the whiskey, wine, and brandy, the mood turned celebratory, and Mrs. Bolton must have heard the noise of our party. She would be furious in the morning.
When there was a pause in the bantering, Jenny asked, “What’s Sprague like?”
“Cold,” McAllen said. “Cold as death.”
“Will he hang?”
“We have some good evidence,” I said, “but to be honest, a good lawyer might get him off.”
Jenny straightened her posture. “I might be able to help hang him.”
“Oh, really? Please tell us how?” Captain McAllen looked more amused than intrigued.
“I’ll need to see him.” She pushed back her chair. “Joe, get a lantern.”
“No.” McAllen did not move. “Sit down.”
“Mr. McAllen, I should think you’d want this man dealt with permanent.” Jenny put on a coy smile. “Or do people like Sprague provide your employment?”
“Bad men are common enough. I’ve no need to worry about my employment.”
“Then let me see him. If I’m right, I can identify him and seal his fate.”
McAllen looked dubious. “I thought you didn’t see who shot your husband.”
“I didn’t, but I saw Washburn point out my husband to a man.”
“That seems unlikely,” McAllen said.
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not. But perhaps you could explain the circumstances.”
Jenny’s next action showed she had learned a thing or two from Mrs. Bolton. Her green eyes became ice as she gave McAllen a glare that would freeze a small pond.
“After we left Pickhandle Gulch, we went directly to Carson City. My husband had business to discuss with other politicians about his governor’s race. When we left the statehouse grounds, I saw Washburn across the street, pointing his finger at us. Another man standing beside him nodded.”
“That hardly seems like conclusive evidence,” McAllen said.
“If you don’t need testimony that Sprague knew what my husband looked like, then I apologize for interrupting with a woman’s trifling.” She took a sip of brandy. “I suppose a connection between Washburn and Sprague would not be of much value either.”
Sharp and I laughed at the baffled look on McAllen’s face. Jenny had matured fast and, in fact, continued to grow right in front of our eyes. McAllen flicked his angry eyes between us. People probably did not laugh at him, drunk or sober.
McAllen turned back to Jenny and softened his glare only a little. “Excuse me, ma’am, but you aren’t intending to travel with us tomorrow are you?”
“Heavens, no. In fact, I don’t intend to be up by the time you leave. I shall say my farewells to you fine gentlemen this evening. Why’d you think I was going with you? I have to learn how to run a ranch.”
“With all that talk about Sprague, I thought you wanted to testify.”
“I’ll testify if it puts my husband’s killer on the gallows, but you can send a rider for me once the trial date’s set. That is, if there’s any reason for me to testify.”
“You were right, ma’am. I apologize for my ill temper. There’d be plenty reason for you to testify if you saw Washburn point out your husband to Sprague.”
“I said I saw Washburn point out my husband to another man. Until I see him, I have no idea whether that man was Sprague.”
McAllen stood and unhooked his gun. “Joe, I think we’ll be needing that lantern. Any of you who intend to join us should leave your guns and knives in the house.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Sprague’s dangerous. Do as I say.”
“Not that dangerous unarmed.”
“Put a weapon within his reach, and he could get dangerous with one swift grab.”
“I don’t think he’s that comfortable with handguns,” I said offhandedly.
“This is not a debate. If you want to carry your gun, stay in the house, but if you intend to join us, unhook. Am I clear?”
McAllen remained too testy for me to argue with, so without a word, I unbuckled my gun and hung it over the back of my chair. I wanted to see firsthand if Jenny could identify Sprague. Or perhaps I just wanted to spend every remaining moment with her.
Sharp remained seated and armed. “If you gentlemen don’t mind, I’ll wait here with another glass of this fine brandy. I’ll see enough of Sprague on the trail tomorrow.”
Joe stepped back into the dining room with a lit lantern. “Ready.”
Jenny stood and smiled demurely. “Gentlemen, please excuse me. I need to step to my room for a moment. I shan’t be long.”
After she left, McAllen whispered to me, “Never argue with me in front of others.”
When I responded, I did not bother to whisper. “Perhaps I made an ill-conceived comment, but I did not argue with you. And may I remind you that you work for me?”
“I accepted responsibilities beyond your purview when I took custody of Sprague. I’ll decide how to best handle the prisoner.”
“In that case, Captain, take it easy on the brandy. I need you to have your wits about you in the morning.”
For the briefest moment, I was happy McAllen was unarmed.
Chapter 43
The night was pitch dark, so the three of us kept close to Joe and his lantern as we walked to the shed. In an unnecessary gesture, Captain McAllen held Jenny’s elbow and guided her across her own property.
When we arrived at the backside of the bunkhouse, the Pinkerton on guard said, “’Night, Captain.”
“Open the shed, please,” McAllen ordered, flipping him the key.
“Sir?”
“We have a potential witness here. Open the shed so she can get a look at our man.”
“Yes, sir.” The Pinkerton stepped forward and fiddled with the lock until it snapped open. Before opening the door, he asked, “What would you like me to do, Captain?”
McAllen talked loud enough for Sprague to hear inside. “Stand back, at your post. If Sprague comes through this door, shoot him. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dancy, you and Joe go in first, give an ‘all clear’ call, and then Mrs. Bolton and I will follow you into the shed.”
