The Shopkeeper (30 page)
Authors: James D. Best
Tags: #Western stories, #Nevada, #Westerns, #Historical fiction, #Fiction
The consternation on Washburn’s face was more than fleeting this time. The use of numbers that only he and Sprague had known proved that I had Sprague’s records.
“Why are ya here?” Washburn asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.
“To win five hundred dollars. You got it?”
“Yep.” Then his tone turned nasty for the first time. “No thanks to you. But I have sources ya can’t hamper.” He waved over his shoulder. “Clyde, show him.”
Clyde stepped around Washburn and opened a cloth purse filled with coins and paper money. “You want to count it?”
“How much do you think is in there, Sheriff?” I asked.
“Close to a thousand.”
“Then I’ll trust you.” I turned to Washburn. “What are the rules?”
“Shoot the first bottle anyway ya want, but ya gotta shoot at the next five in rapid fire. Clyde here’ll call it if ya fire too slow.”
“No problem. And you?”
“I like to show off a bit.” Everybody laughed but this time more from nervous relief. “You saw. But the same rules apply to me, I guess.”
“What if we both hit the same number of bottles?”
“Keep goin’ until one of us misses, but don’t worry—that ain’t gonna happen.”
“Who goes first?”
“The challenger always goes first.”
“All right.” I stepped up to the brick boundary and smoothly drew my Colt. I barely hesitated. Six speedy shots blew the bottles to smithereens—all six bottles. When I reholstered, the air was filled with smoke and pieces of flying glass.
“Fine shootin’,” Washburn said after the echoes died away.
I waved my hand toward the boy replacing the bottles. “Your turn.”
“I will. But only after you give me that book.” He held his hand out and smiled.
Shit. I looked around at the other men, but I could see no support. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, and if anyone was breathing, they kept that quiet as well. I took a step toward Washburn. “No.”
“Oh, I think you will. Yer gun’s empty.”
I glanced around again, but I would receive no help from any of these men. Had I miscalculated? I turned to Washburn and was embarrassed by the slight quiver in my voice. “You wouldn’t dare kill me in front of witnesses.”
He shrugged “You’re right. Just maim ya bad. Now give me that book, or I’ll take it while ya squirm in pain at my feet. Yer choice.”
I hesitated several seconds and then moved forward another step, until I was in his face. “No.”
He went for his gun.
I swept my left arm to knock his gun hand away and drew a pocket pistol from my shoulder holster. Three blasts ruptured the silence. His missed. I put two bullets in his belly.
Chapter 52
“Everybody stay calm!” I yelled.
Washburn yelled from the ground, “Kill ’im,” but it was more of a cry of agony than an order.
The men looked uneasy and confused. No one spoke and no one moved.
“Washburn’s dead, or soon will be,” I shouted. “Those of you on his payroll are now on mine.”
“No!” Washburn’s utterance was little more than a croak.
“Think. I pay well. Ask the men in Pickhandle Gulch.”
Indecision gripped the men around me. I held my gun level, pointing at no one specific. My shooting in the contest helped. I pointed at Washburn.
“No more money is coming from that man. I own the mortgages on all Washburn property. I can pay. Nothing’s changed but your boss.” I could tell from the faces that I had given them an excuse for inaction.
I looked down at Washburn. Both hands gripped his gut, and he had his knees pulled up to his chest. His pain had caused him to lose awareness of everything around him, and his groans of suffering almost drew my pity. Almost.
I was about to walk away when Washburn regained enough alertness to ask, “What was in that black book?”
I pulled the book out and held it up so he could see it.
“Nothing.” I flipped the book at him, and it hit him in his tearstained face.
His expression of defeat made the gauntlet ahead worthwhile. I still had to pass through the saloon to escape. I sensed no danger from the men around me, so I holstered my pocket pistol and reloaded my Colt.
Looking toward the door, I saw the burly man who had let me into the yard. I gave him a hard stare, and he just stepped to the side to give me clear passage. I let the Colt hang to my side and walked up the steps and through the saloon without incident. Reaching the boardwalk outside, I retraced my steps toward the train station.
As my luck would have it that day, the train was in the station.
Chapter 53
The prior evening I had gone from the Carson City train station directly to my hotel room. I couldn’t remember ever having been more tired. I slept the night away soundly but woke up famished because I had skipped supper.
By the time I made it to the hotel dining room, Sharp and McAllen had already finished their breakfast and were nursing cups of coffee.
I sat down and bid them a cheerful, “Good morning.”
“We were waiting for you,” McAllen said.
Somehow I dreaded this encounter more than the one with Washburn. “Captain, I apologize for misleading you.”
“I said you do foolish things sometimes.” McAllen didn’t seem angry. “Sometimes you do things smart. You handled this well.”
I was relieved. “No hard feelings?”
“Toward you? No.” He nodded his head at Sharp. “I’ve given Jeff a piece of my mind, though. I’m used to being misled by clients, but I have a different standard for friends.”
His tone said that whatever had transpired prior to my arrival had been worked out between them. Sharp had preceded me to Virginia City, not only to enlarge the stories about Sprague’s book and his pending arrest, but also to spread rumors that I had Washburn’s enterprises under siege and was about to take over his operations. It had worked well enough to get me out of town safely.
“He did me a service.” I looked at Sharp. “One I’ll be eternally grateful for.”
Sharp flipped his hand. “Forget it. By the way, McAllen’s exchanged telegraphs with the police chief in Virginia City. No charges. Almost twenty witnesses said it was self-defense.”
I smiled. “Then I don’t have to run like the dickens.” I raised my hand at the waitress. “I’m so hungry, I may eat till noon.”
“Plannin’ a short meal?” Sharp asked. “Ya slept the mornin’ away.”
My easy laughter came from relief.
After I’d ordered a hearty breakfast, Sharp asked, “What are your plans after noon?”
“First, I need to see Bradshaw and complete the sale of the Pickhandle Gulch Bank to First Commerce.”
“You’re selling?”
“I’m not going back to Pickhandle,” I said. After the waitress brought my coffee, and I had the first sip of the day, I added, “Commerce Bank will control all of Washburn’s assets. They’ll need a manager.”
“Not interested,” Sharp said. “I only run what I own.”
“So you’re going back to Belleville?”
“Not right away.”
My breakfast arrived, so conversation stopped until the food had been distributed. While I started digging in, Sharp explained. “Do you remember when you and McAllen caught up with me in Jeremiah’s store?”
“Yes.”
“I was readin’ purchase contracts for minin’ claims in Leadville. I worked on the deal while I was in Virginia City.”
“Where’s Leadville?” I asked, swallowing a huge mouthful.
“In the Rocky Mountains. Colorado. My agent did most of the barterin’. Now I got a few more details to nail down, an’ I’ll leave to inspect it.”
“Train?”
“No. I’m goin’ by way of Durango. Other minin’ business.” Sharp mused for a moment. “Why don’t ya come with me? Appreciate the good company, and it don’t look to me like ya got anything holdin’ ya here.”
He said this last with a lilt at the end of the sentence that meant it was really a question.
I did my own musing. “Could we stop at the Bolton ranch? Then I’ll know.”
“Sure.” That was his only comment, but I heard disappointment in the tone.
A thought suddenly struck me. “If you don’t mind, can Dr. Dooley join us?”
“He leavin’ Pickhandle?”
“Yes, he sent me a telegram a few days ago. Seems he’s done with wild mining towns. He secured a position at a consumption clinic in Glenwood Springs. If he hasn’t left already, we can pick him up on our way to Colorado.”
“Always wanted to travel with my own doctor. Never know when it might come in handy.”
“I’ll send him a telegraph.” I hesitated. “You’ll pick him up then, even if I don’t join you?”
Sharp smiled. “Yep, don’t worry. Any other news from Pickhandle?”
“No more from doc, but Bradshaw told me he has convinced Richard to run for the state senate. If he wins, he’s going to move to Carson City and open a print shop. Bradshaw has fixed it so he’ll get plenty of business from the mint as long as he doesn’t open a competing newspaper. I suppose Jeremiah’s rooted in Pickhandle.”
Sharp nodded. “Glad to hear they all survived this mess.”
“I’ll be leaving with my team tomorrow,” McAllen said. When I heard you’d gone to Virginia City, I knew it was over … one way or the other.”
“Only one way. If he had killed me, you’d still be in it up to your neck. I wrote a will with Jansen. Sharp was the executor, and my entire fortune—quite substantial, I might add—was to be used to destroy Washburn.”
“Vengeful bastard, aren’t ya?” McAllen laughed for the first time in my memory.
I reminded myself to write a new will. I had other unfinished legal work as well. I stood to make a decent profit selling the bank and withheld the hotel from the deal. I needed clear title, but I believed I would have no further trouble with the sheriff.
As soon as that little administrative task was complete, I would deed twenty-five percent of the Grand Hotel to each of my whist partners. Since Jeremiah was staying, he could run the establishment for the lot of us. I still thought the hotel was misnamed. From now on it would be called Hotel Whist, and there would be a permanent whist table set up in the lobby.
I pulled a thick envelope out of my pocket and shoved it toward McAllen. “Here’s the rest of your pay, including bonuses for you and your men.”
McAllen took the envelope and put it in his pocket without counting. “Thanks.”
“Thank you, Captain. You were thoroughly professional, and I appreciate it. I’ll send a telegram to your office this afternoon.” When he made no response, I asked, “Did Sam have family?”
“The Pinkertons were his family.”
I nodded. Finished with my meal and having a lot of work to complete during the remainder of the day, I got up to leave.
McAllen said, “Washburn lasted three hours.”
I nodded again. “I should have shot him only once. He would have lasted a couple more.”
With that I went to my room to freshen up before seeing Jansen and Bradshaw.
Chapter 54
The following day, I rode out of Carson City before first light. Sharp intended to leave later in the morning, and I wanted to be ahead of him by several hours. Chestnut made the trip with ease, but I had seldom been more anxious.
As I reined up in front of the main house at Bolton ranch, operations seemed to be back to normal, and everything had the appearance of a working ranch. After I hitched Chestnut, Joe sauntered over from the corral area to bid me welcome.
“Ya here to see Jenny?” he asked, after the preliminaries.
“Yes. She around?”
“Over in the barn. Just delivered a calf. She’s gonna make a good rancher. Want me to let her know you’re here?”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go over with you to the barn. Like to see that new calf.”
As we walked together, Joe said, “We heard about the doings in Virginia City. Think all the trouble’s over?”
“Troubles never seem over, but that particular brand seems done.”
“Glad to hear it.” After a pause, “An’ glad to see ya whole.”
“Thanks. Glad to be whole.”
When we walked in, Jenny was a mess: blood all over from the waist down, with a streak across her face where she had swiped at herself. She beamed. Despite her dishevelment, I had never seen a more beautiful or happy woman.
She came toward me and said, “Nothing makes a day better than a new life.” She gave me an appraising look and added, “How’re you fairing?”
“Me? I’m fine. My business is at an end.”
“So I gather. Well done, I might add.”
“Thank you.” Her buoyant mood encouraged me. “I came here to talk to you.”
