Post by California gal on May 4, 2010 12:31:02 GMT -8
THE NIGHT OF THE DEAD MAN’S REVENGE
Man... cannot learn to forget, but hangs on the past:
however far or fast he runs, that chain runs with him.
— Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), German philosopher
Man... cannot learn to forget, but hangs on the past:
however far or fast he runs, that chain runs with him.
— Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), German philosopher
Artemus Gordon opened the rear door of the varnish car, digging into his pocket as he did so, fully expecting to find the boy they had commissioned to go into the city and bring back several New Orleans’ newspapers. Instead he stopped short and gaped at the woman standing on the platform. She gazed back at him resolutely.
“Artemus, may I speak to you and Jim?”
“Caroline!” he croaked in his astonishment. “I mean… Mrs. Richmond! What…? By all means, come in. Come in!”
Upon hearing his partner’s exclamation, Jim West put aside the book he had been reading, and jumped to his feet, quickly rolling down his sleeves and grabbing for his jacket that was draped over a nearby chair. He was as amazed as Artemus. What was Caroline Richmond doing in New Orleans… alone?
Artemus looked again at the steely determination on the woman’s face. She had been the belle of Charleston in her day, and even in her late forties was still a beautiful woman, the dark hair now muting toward a gray that seemed to match her eyes. He also saw deep sadness and concern in those gray eyes. He took her arm to guide her toward the divan.
“Mrs. Richmond,” Jim said softly, “what’s happened?”
As so often occurs in the face of genuine sympathy, her resolve was destroyed, her face crumpling as gloved hands went to her eyes. Artie pressed her gently to sit on the couch, taking the handkerchief Jim had retrieved from his pocket to place in her hands.
“It’s all right now,” Artemus said softly. “Just take your time.” He looked up at Jim and saw that his partner was equally baffled. What could this be about? Has something happened to the colonel? No, we would have received a telegraph message.
After a minute or so, she regained control, lowering the handkerchief to her lap, crushing it in a clenched hand. “James is gone. He left me.” Even after almost a quarter of a century of living in the north, the traces of a South Carolina accent remained in her speech.
“Never!” The word leapt from Artemus's mouth.
“Impossible,” Jim echoed.
Caroline Richmond took a deep breath, and opened the fringed reticule she was carrying, withdrawing a folded piece of paper, which she handed silently to Artemus. Jim saw his partner’s eyes widen, and when Artie passed it to him to read, he realized why. The note was short: “Caroline, I’m sorry. It has to be this way. James.”
“Have you any idea what he means?” Jim asked.
The steadfastness was returning to her countenance. She had not faced down opposition from her family for marrying a young Yankee lieutenant by being soft-willed. “It’s very simple. There’s another woman. I… I saw her.”
The two agents exchanged glances, and Artemus turned to go to the cupboard at the front of the car, pulling out a bottle and pouring some amber liquid into a small glass. He returned and sat down alongside her, offering the glass. “It’s sherry. It’ll help.”
She accepted the glass and took a long swallow, coughed slightly. “Did… did either of you know? Please, I have to know.”
Jim shook his head firmly. “No. And I don’t believe it. The colonel is devoted to you. There must be more to it.”
“Please tell us the whole story, Mrs. Richmond,” Artemus said, as Jim moved a chair from the table over to where he could sit down and face her.
“There’s really not much to tell. I was home, in Washington. Bradley is in New York, as you undoubtedly know. School ended two weeks ago, but he has been invited to go with a friend’s family on their yacht, sailing in the Caribbean. He’ll be home for a while in August before the university classes begin in the fall. Both Marian and Elizabeth are visiting friends in Vermont. They’ll be gone all this month. James… the colonel… was in Chicago. He planned to attend a meeting in Indianapolis, and then be home for… for our anniversary late this month.” Her voice broke slightly and she took a sip of sherry this time before continuing.
“Six days ago a boy came to the door with this note. I didn’t see him but my housekeeper said the boy was just a ragamuffin. The note was in a plain envelope, and had not come through the postal system. I knew… I felt…” Caroline Richmond took a deep breath. “I felt as you did, that it could not be true, that it was some cruel hoax. I sent a telegraph message to his hotel in Chicago and received the reply he had departed the day before. When I contacted Indianapolis, they had not seen him. Discreet inquiries at the department office prior to that revealed they believed he was in Indianapolis. So… I hired a detective.”
West and Gordon exchanged glances again, neither smiling openly. This was the southern belle they had become acquainted with over the years. She had married against her family’s wishes, and then held the responsibility of running James Richmond’s household and raising his children while he pursued his career, first in the army and then as head of the Secret Service. She was not a woman who sat back and waited for things to occur around her; she took action.
“I hired a Pinkerton man,” Caroline went on. “Of course, James is well known to them, but they are also quite discreet. Within a day, information was telegraphed to me. James had been seen in the company of another man in Chicago, and the two of them boarded a train bound for Texas. The ticket was for Dallas, but I subsequently learned, through the detective’s efforts, that the two men debarked in a small town somewhat north of Dallas, called Wine Creek.”
She looked up at the two men for the first time since she began her tale, her gaze steeling again, challenging. “I immediately boarded a train for Texas. I too got off at Wine Creek… and I saw James. He was walking with a very lovely woman.” She was daring them to say she had acted foolishly; neither did.
“You talked to him?” Artemus asked.
Her jaw tightened. “Of course not. I boarded the train again and came straight here. I knew where you were. Mr. Pike told me.”
They had been in New Orleans for almost three weeks now, having finished an assignment in nearby Mississippi and deciding to take advantage of some off time in the famed bayou city. “What… would you want us to do?” Artemus asked. Solving marital problems is not exactly our line of duty.
“There’s one thing more I didn’t tell you,” she said then. “The colonel was with this redheaded woman, as I said. The woman had hold of his arm. But Hilary was with them.”
If she had intended to shock them, she accomplished that feat. “Hilary!” Jim exploded. “Your brother?”
“My brother,” she affirmed. “The brother whose blackness caused my sin to fade to gray and allowed me to be accepted back into the folds of my family’s affections.” Her smile held irony.
“Excuse me, Caroline,” Artemus said, and then corrected himself again, realizing his astonishment at finding her on the car’s porch, along with her story, was still rattling him. “Mrs. Richmond. I thought he was dead.”
“So did we all,” she sighed. “It’s terrible to say, but I wish he were. I grieved for the little boy he had been, but not for the man he became. But I’m positive it was he. I know my little brother.”
Jim had been sitting with his elbows on his knees, intent on her story. Now he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Have you any idea what is going on?”
“None. And it’s tearing me apart. I thought I knew my husband. I thought… I just don't know why he would be in Hilary’s company, or how Hilary is alive, for that matter. I know what you’re going to say. Perhaps James was being coerced. But no one was holding a gun on him when I saw him with Hilary and that… that woman. She was laughing. I couldn’t see his face, but I know James was not being forced to be with her… with Hilary… at that moment.”
“Did the detective come up with any information to indicate the colonel was… being unfaithful?” Jim asked quietly.
She looked down at her hands and the crumpled handkerchief for a moment, then lifted her eyes and shook her head. “Not so far. He has been unable to find out who the woman is, or where James might have met her. He’s… he’s still on the job tracking James’s movements the last few months.”
“There could be any number of explanations for this,” Artemus said, “not the least of which being he is being coerced, but in such a way that it does not need to be enforced with a gun in his back.”
Caroline frowned at him a moment. “Oh. You mean, someone threatening me or the children?”
“It’s possible. Have you noticed anything, strangers hanging around?”
She shook her head quickly. “You know our neighborhood, our street. Strangers would be espied immediately. No, that can’t be it. Unless the children…” Shadows of fear washed through the gray eyes.
“What we’ll do,” Jim interjected, “is arrange for men to keep an eye on them, especially the girls at the home they are visiting. It might be more difficult if Bradley is sailing, but one would think he would be safer there than on land. The watch will be conducted discreetly, of course. We don’t need to alarm them. You haven’t told them…”
“No, no. Certainly not! So you will go find the colonel, talk to him?”
Artemus nodded. “We will do just that… if it’s possible. What I mean is, if he is being coerced, or held prisoner, we don’t want to endanger him by showing up suddenly and exposing him to peril.”
For the first time since her arrival, a smile touched her lips. “I suppose you’ll try one of your famous disguises.”
Artemus grinned. “The thought occurred to me. First off, we’ll get you on your way home…”
She shot to her feet. “No! I want to come with you.”
Both men rose and Jim put a hand on her arm. “Caroline… Mrs. Richmond… that would not be wise.” They usually spoke of her as “Caroline” on the occasion her name came up in their own conversation, but had always addressed her formally upon meeting her at the Richmond home or elsewhere. “In the first place, we don't know what’s going on, as you’ve said. Artie can go in disguise, but if you were seen, complications could arise. No, you need to go home and carry on as normally as possible. Just in case someone is watching.”
“Do you think James could be in danger?”
“We just don't know,” Artie responded. “That’s why we have to be cautious. Would you ask the Pinkerton detective to contact us? He might have useful information.”
“He’s here in New Orleans,” she said quickly. “I arranged for him to meet me here so that I could get the full report, rather than just what he wrote in telegrams. We can go to his hotel. His name is Liam O’Donnell.”
Artemus saw the surprise on Jim’s face, and while he experienced a mild shock himself at hearing the name, he wondered why. After all, they had known Liam was a Pinkerton man, having a reputation for being one of the best. The agents had met him at Liam’s cousin’s funeral. Cinnia O’Donnell had also worked for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. What did not surprise Artemus Gordon was when he noticed how his partner’s expression closed down immediately. [See The Night of the Shattered Heart for Cinnia O'Donnell and her relationship to the agents.]
W*W*W*W*W
Memoria est thesaurus omnium rerum e custos.
[Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things.]
— De Oratore (I, 5), Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero), poet, philosopher, rhetorician, and humorist (106 BC-43 BC)
Memoria est thesaurus omnium rerum e custos.
[Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things.]
— De Oratore (I, 5), Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero), poet, philosopher, rhetorician, and humorist (106 BC-43 BC)
Liam O’Donnell’s information was not very much different from what Caroline Richmond had provided, just a little more detailed. Liam was a man in his forties, with the O’Donnell copper hair and green eyes, a bit on the burly side. Artie remembered that Cinnia had said that her cousin was very successful when posing as a bartender or stevedore, usually fitting right in with a rough crowd, despite the fact that he was college educated. If Liam noticed Jim’s rather restrained greeting, he gave no sign.
“It’s quite puzzling to me,” O'Donnell said as they sat at a table in the hotel’s restaurant sipping rich black coffee. “Nothing I found indicated the colonel was involved in anything—whether a clandestine affair, or some other bit of chicanery. Nothing. He was attending to business in Chicago, which I gleaned had to do with recruiting a couple of men for the Secret Service. By all accounts, on the day before he was due to leave for Indianapolis, he boarded a train heading south instead, with a man I have not yet identified. As Mrs. Richmond has informed you, they departed the train at Wine Creek, Texas, rather than travel all the way to Dallas as his ticket entitled him.”
“Was there any indication he had been contacted by other parties beyond possibly this man who accompanied him?” Artie asked.
Liam shook his head. “I particularly asked the hotel employees concerning his companions or visitors during his stay there. Every one of them swore he left the hotel alone every morning and returned alone every evening. They did not see him talking to anyone. I also found out where he was meeting these potential candidates and was informed that other than the men he interviewed, no one else was seen talking to him. I can’t find a witness who saw him previously in the company of this fellow who accompanied him on the train, though obviously that contact occurred at some point. The people at the federal building gave the impression that Colonel Richmond was all business. One young man, a clerk, however, said that on the last day the colonel seemed a bit distracted. He could not really say why he got that impression, just that it was… there.”
“You haven’t been to Wine Creek?” Jim inquired.
“No. I gained my information from the conductor and porters who had made that run. I know Mrs. Richmond traveled there… against my advice.”
“I had to,” Caroline said sharply.
None of the three men spoke to dispute her, though each wanted to tell her she should have either instructed the detective to make the trip, or come to find the two agents earlier.
“I did find out something about Wine Creek,” O'Donnell went on. “It’s a cattle town, surrounded by ranches. Not overly prosperous by all accounts. The biggest property holder is a man named Reed Hilary.”
Caroline gasped. “Hil! That’s the reverse of his name!”
Liam showed confusion; Mrs. Richmond had apparently not informed him about spotting her supposedly deceased renegade brother. Artie quickly explained what Mrs. Richmond had told them, adding, “Hilary Reed was believed to have died when a blockade runner he was on was sunk in sixty-four, outside Mobile Bay. He was a dealer in contraband and other illicit trade goods, a great deal of which was suspected as stolen from warehouses and military stores in both north and south, then extorting outrageous prices, whether he was trying to sell to needy southerners or, for instance, bales of cotton to wealthy northern manufacturers. He was outlawed by both sides.”
“So the colonel is in the company of his brother-in-law, believed dead nearly ten years ago?”
“Appears so, if Mrs. Richmond is correct.” Artie looked at her.
“It was Hilary, I’m certain. And the name… he seems to have just switched his given name and his surname. But I don’t understand any of it!”
“Which is why Jim and I are going to Texas.”
“Please, Artemus. Let me go with you!”
Artie patted her hand. “Mrs. Richmond, you have to leave this to us now. We are old hands at this kind of business.”
“Mrs. Richmond,” O'Donnell said, “I would be glad to represent you in Texas.”
Jim’s head shot up. “That’s not nec…”
“Thank you, Mr. O'Donnell,” Caroline Richmond said quickly. “Jim, Artemus, it’s not that I don’t have complete faith in you, just as James always has had. I understand why you don’t want me to accompany you, and I can accept it, if reluctantly. But please, allow Mr. O'Donnell to represent me, and work with you.”
“Of course,” Artemus said before his partner could speak. “I suspect you’ll send him anyway, and it would be better if Liam was working with us.” He smiled, carefully avoiding Jim’s eyes. “Can you leave in the morning, Liam?”
“Certainly. I’ll buy my ticket…”
“No, no,” Artie held up a hand. “You’ll come with us on the Wanderer so we can discuss the situation and make plans. You’ve never met Colonel Richmond have you?”
“No.”
“Perhaps we could plant two undercover agents in Wine Creek. What do you think, Jim?”
Jim West knew when he was licked. “That should work.”
W*W*W*W*W
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee.
— And Thou art Dead as Young and Fair, Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron), English poet (1788-1824)
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee.
— And Thou art Dead as Young and Fair, Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron), English poet (1788-1824)
Caroline Adelaide Reed Richmond made one more effort to convince the men to allow her to accompany them to Texas, but they were firm. As they saw her settled in her compartment on the northbound train that would take her to a connecting point and thence east to Washington, all three promised they would send her reports as often as feasible, and that they would do their best to not only find out what was going on, but bring her husband back to her… if she still wanted him.
Caroline had smiled ruefully. “Talking with the three of you caused me to realize that I was letting jealousy overcome common sense. James would not be involved with another woman. Please bring him home safely. That’s all I will ask of you. However, I will insist on a full explanation of why he was in the company of that redhead!”
The two agents and the Pinkerton man then boarded the Wanderer where the engineer had arranged for their passage over the westbound lines toward Texas. Using public tracks was a tricky business; they did not want to encounter another locomotive on the same track from the opposite direction. They had already told Orrin Cobb where they wanted to go, and how far away he should halt the train from that destination. They did not want to travel all the way to Wine Creek, which had a small depot, as Caroline Richmond had when she espied her husband and “late” brother.
Artemus showed Liam to his quarters, talked a few minutes, then left him there to unpack, returning to the varnish car where he found his partner sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. He braced himself automatically as he heard the shrill call of the whistle, and the car began to move. “With any luck, we’ll be in place tomorrow night,” Artie said, pouring himself a bit of brandy. “So we’d better spend some time making plans.”
“Going to be difficult to plan anything when we don't know what the devil is going on there.”
Artemus perched on the sofa’s arm. “That’s where Old Tom will come in handy.”
Jim looked at him. “Who’s Old Tom?”
Artie pointed to himself with his thumb. “You’re looking at him. I figure an old sot who hangs around the saloons ought to hear a lot of gossip. Not to mention cadge a few free drinks.”
Jim smiled briefly. “Just don’t let all that liquor go to your head.”
“You know I’ve got an iron stomach, James. Plus a knack for dumping drinks when no one is looking. Liam thinks he’ll go in as a cowboy looking for work.”
That surprised Jim. First off, he had not heard O'Donnell say any such thing. Then again, Artie had been about ten minutes getting the Pinkerton man settled, so they must have talked some. Beyond that, despite that O'Donnell had put a horse in the next car with the agents’ steeds, Jim had not had the opinion that a Chicago man, a detective agency man, would be that much of a rider.
“You sure about that?”
“Liam worked on ranches as a kid, and he’s posed as a cowhand before. What’s left is to know what you’re going to do.”
Jim pulled himself up to a sitting position. “I guess I’ll just ride into town and see what I can see.”
“That’s probably a pretty good idea,” Liam O'Donnell said, entering. “Artemus and I are going to need someone to report to—and to watch our backs.”
Artie watched Jim’s face and knew that his partner was realizing the same thing he was, that O'Donnell was deferring to Jim as the senior agent. Obviously Jim had not expected that to be the case. Artemus asked, “Do you plan to play tourist?”
Jim shrugged. “Something of that order, just passing through, laying over a day or two to rest my horse. I’ll think of some excuse. Might even manage to meet Hilary Reed… or Reed Hilary, whichever he prefers.”
“Liam, you said that Reed is the biggest property owner,” Artie put in. “I presume that makes him the big frog in the local pond.”
“Seems so.” Liam brought a chair over from the dining area and sat down. “From the information I gathered, he’s been there four or five years, started out small and expanded when other folks had troubles. One source stated that the local law is Reed’s friend.”
“Four or five years,” Jim mused. “That leaves a gap between the date of his ‘death’ before he popped up again. Wonder what he was doing all that time?”
“Making money somewhere,” O'Donnell supplied. “He seems to have plenty.”
“Why would he want Richmond?” Artie pondered. “Presuming that he somehow forced the colonel to join him there. Why?”
“Revenge?” Jim put in. “I understood that although the entire Reed family was against Caroline’s choice of a husband, Hilary was particularly incensed about it. Even challenged the young lieutenant to a duel, even though he himself was in his mid teens at the time.”
“Which James Richmond wisely declined,” Artemus said. “It is odd, when you think about it. Supposing Reed thinks that the colonel could help him mastermind some robbery. Why not force him to stay in his official position and feed information back to Reed? If we are right in believing that he somehow coerced Richmond to leave his family, that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“True,” Liam concurred. “He could have used that same pressure—whatever it is—to compel the colonel to pass along information from his regular position as head of the Secret Service. Richmond’s absence from his post—and his home—is going to be noticed eventually.”
“It could be,” Jim said slowly, “that Hilary Reed’s motive is revenge… in the form of destroying the colonel’s reputation.”
All three men were silent for a long moment before Liam spoke. “I guess that’s what we need to find out. Along with learning whether Colonel Richmond is there of his own free will.”
Artie glanced at his partner and knew that as usual their thoughts were the same. He wanted to protest such a preposterous idea; however, he was aware that such things happened. They knew Colonel James Richmond as well as they knew any man in the department, yet they were not privy to his innermost thoughts and feelings. He would not be the first man to have an outer façade that completely disguised what was going on inside him.
The plan devised was that Artemus would enter Wine Creek first in his disguise as an old sot looking for handouts, but willing to do chores to earn a drink or meal. He would spend at least a day learning as much as he could. Liam would follow as a down-on-his luck cowboy. One other thing the Pinkerton man had been able to discern earlier about the Wine Creek area was that few were hiring hands at this time, so he was unsure that he would actually get an offer of work. For appearances sake, he would hire on elsewhere, at least for a short time, but the job he really wanted was at Reed’s place.
The two men would find a way to communicate and then Liam would leave town in his quest for work in the surrounding region, meeting with Jim to pass on whatever Artie had learned. Finally, Jim would drift in, as he suggested earlier, with the story of just passing through and laying over for a rest.
During that day, Artemus noticed how Liam occasionally turned a thoughtful gaze toward Jim West, especially if Jim was not looking in his direction. Artie could almost read the Pinkerton man’s thoughts, but he did not say anything. Finally, late that evening, when Jim excused himself to turn in while the other two men were engaged in a chess game, Liam stared toward the closed door.
“Does he ever talk about her?” he asked quietly.
Artie shook his head. He did not need to ask who the “her” was. “Never. Jim is not a man to normally display his emotions. But I know he’s never forgotten her… I think he’s never completely gotten over Cinnia. She was one in a million, and I believe he feels he lost his chance.”
“We all miss her,” Liam sighed. “Even as a child, Cinnia was… different… and special. Her brothers and I could never beat her at anything—at least not easily. Not riding, not base ball, nothing. And she was smart as a whip. Sometimes I blame myself for getting her involved with the agency, yet I also know that she was never going to settle down to be a farmer’s wife.”
“Do you ever see Sam McKee?”
Liam nodded. “Once in a while. He retired last year. I think losing Cinnia took something out of him too. She was like another daughter to him.” O'Donnell smiled slightly. “Sam told me once that he had looked forward to having Jim West as a ‘son-in-law.’ He was that certain of the two of them.”
“Nothing is ever certain,” Artie smiled, “but I know my partner well enough to predict that something would have come out of the matchup.”
W*W*W*W*W
We are so accustomed to wearing a disguise before others that
eventually we are unable to recognize ourselves.
—François De La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680), French author & moralist
We are so accustomed to wearing a disguise before others that
eventually we are unable to recognize ourselves.
—François De La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680), French author & moralist
The old man leaned over with an audible grunt as he picked up the cigar butt on the floor of the Queen of Clubs, but the four men at the nearest table did not pay him any mind. Old Tom was just another in a string of drunken bums who policed the floor in order to earn a drink or two. They did not even notice, or care, that he leaned against the nearby wall, wheezing as he caught his breath after the exertion, their conversation continuing.
Artemus Gordon was glad that one man in particular did not look too hard at him. Colonel James Richmond knew him well, and might even see through the disguise. Artie had considered wearing glasses to camouflage his eyes, aware that that was one feature Richmond might pick up on, but decided against the spectacles. An old drunk likely would have lost his eyeglasses long ago, if he had ever owned any in the first place.
Artie wished he could linger and hear more of the conversation, but what he had heard was interesting if puzzling. Picking out Reed Hilary—or Hilary Reed—had not been difficult. To begin with, the owner of the Queen of Clubs, one George Southworth, had called out a greeting to “Mr. Hilary” when the four men entered a while ago, and the slender man with silver hair and gray eyes had nodded back. But Reed had his sister’s eyes, which would have been a giveaway if identifying him had been necessary otherwise. Reed was doing most of the talking at the table. Richmond had not said a word, keeping his eyes downcast.
He looks tired, Artie decided as he shuffled away, carefully holding the tin pie plate on which he’d been gathering the butts and other trash he had picked up. Tired, and wishing he was somewhere else. Yesterday morning Artemus had ridden to within a mile of town, accompanied by Liam, who took the chestnut back to the train. He had walked the remaining distance, arriving in town suitably dusty and perspiring.
Since his arrival in Wine Creek, Artie had not learned anything of real significance. The bartender, also named Tom, was a talkative sort, so Artemus had artfully picked his brains regarding the situation in the town and surrounding area. However, he had not learned much more than they already knew, that “Reed Hilary” was the boss and that the sheriff, one Jess Metcalf, was in Hilary’s pocket. Everybody knew that, Tom-the-bartender stated, but there wasn’t much folks could do about it.
“Old Tom” barely glanced toward the front door as he headed for the trash bucket behind the bar with his pickings, but that glance was enough to recognize the sturdy form of Liam O'Donnell. The Pinkerton man was attired in grubby trail clothes, his boots well worn, denim trousers patched, and the brim of his hat floppy from having been used as a bucket too often, as well as having seen many a rainstorm. He also had not shaved in a couple of days, so that his jaw had a rusty cast to it. For his part, Liam simply ambled toward the bar, not looking around at either the old bum or the only other customers at the far table in the mid afternoon hour.
Artemus dumped the contents of his pie plate into a bucket behind the bar then shuffled over toward Liam, where the bartender Tom was serving the cowboy a beer. “Is that ‘nough, Mr. Tom?” Artie asked eagerly, his voice rough and croaking. “Time for a beer?”
Tom lifted an eyebrow, glanced at Liam with some resignation, and nodded. “All right, all right. You’ve been dry for a long while. But I want you out there with a bucket washing off the front porch soon’s you finish.”
“Sure, sure! Thankee, thankee! Long dry spell. Howdy, mister. Look like you come off the trail.”
Liam lifted his beer. “Long dry trail.” He took a hefty swallow, wiped the suds off his grizzled face with his sleeve. “Looking for a job.”
“Bad place to look,” Tom-the-bartender said, placing a glass of brew before the eager old-timer. “Nobody hiring around here that I heard of.”
Liam sighed noisily. “Been hearing that all over. Getting’ so I’m feelin’ willin’ to do most anything for some food money. You need any help around here?”
“Sorry, no. You might ask down to the livery. Fred down there sometimes hires fellas for a day or two to swamp out the stalls.”
“Thanks,” Liam replied sourly, then muttered under his breath, “I ain’t no manure shoveler.”
Artie chuckled. “Man’s gotta be way down on his luck afore he does that, huh?” He drained his beer. “Well, if’n I want supper and another beer or two, I’d best get busy. Say, if you want to wash up, there’s a pump out back. That’s where I’m goin’ to get a bucket of water.”
He turned and shambled toward the rear door, not looking back at either Liam or the men at the table. The pump was on a platform about twenty feet behind the building, and some distance from the two outhouses sitting out there. Artie made a show of looking for a bucket that did not leak from among several that were piled nearby, killing more time by taking a drink of water from the pump. About then Liam wandered out.
Liam, too, went to the pump and put his head under while working the handle. “Anything?” he asked.
Artie scratched under his fake beard, turning his back to the building. “That was Hilary Reed in the green coat at that table, and the colonel in the gray one.”
Liam scrubbed his hands over his wet face, and rubbed the water out of his hair. “I recognized the colonel from a picture Mrs. Richmond showed me. Hadn’t seen Reed before. Anything else?”
“Only that Richmond does not appear to be here willingly. I heard Reed saying something like, ‘come off it, James, you’re going to be a rich man when this is finished.’ But that’s about it. They weren’t saying much at the table.”
Liam now used his shirttail as a towel. “So something is in the works.”
“Seems so. Just don't know what. Not much to pass onto Jim.”
“Well, every little bit helps. I’ll see about getting odd jobs around town and listen to gossip. Somebody has to have some knowledge to pass on. Have you met the local law?” Liam tucked his shirt back inside his trousers.
“Yeah, he was in the saloon yesterday. As unsavory a chap as you’d ever want to encounter.” Artie made a show of checking to see if the bucket he had chosen was leaking.
“I caught a glimpse of him when I rode in and I agree. Looks more like a gun hand than a sheriff.”
“Likely he’s both. Question might be why Reed needs to have the badge under his thumb. And what else does he control?”
“I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll try to check back with you later today. Maybe we can scrape up more to tell Jim.” Smoothing his damp hair with his hands, Liam turned toward the buildings.
Artie covered his mouth with his hand, scratching his nose, to hide the smile that he could not stop. “I have no doubt my partner is wearing a hole in the floor of the parlor car, pacing. He’s not the most patient man you’d want to meet.”
W*W*W*W*W
Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start
When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!
— Journal (vol. IV, Old Dobbin, st. 16), Eliza Cook (1818-1889), English author & poet
Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start
When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!
— Journal (vol. IV, Old Dobbin, st. 16), Eliza Cook (1818-1889), English author & poet
Jim West swung into the saddle with a sense of relief. He had hated remaining on the train while Artemus and Liam O'Donnell rode off toward Wine Creek. Even playing poker with the train crew last night had not helped very much. He had been distracted and the trio from the engine had won one hand after another, much to their glee. Bad enough that the man the agents greatly admired appeared to be in serious trouble, but to have O'Donnell involved… too many memories had been dredged up, and raw nerves exposed. Jim had not slept well the last two nights.
A light touch of his heels to the black’s sides was all that was required to set the steed into a ground-eating gallop. Blackjack did not like inactivity either. He reached the meeting place, a hill that overlooked the town, well before the Pinkerton man, which gave him time to compose himself and his thoughts.
The last person he had wanted to encounter in New Orleans was Cinnia O'Donnell’s cousin. Jim had met the man just once previously… at Cinnia’s funeral. Liam had been the one who recruited Cinnia to help the detective agency with a case he was working on. She had done so well and liked it enough that she applied for a position, and had been accepted. Jim and Artemus had met Cinnia in California while searching for Sweet Alice Benning. She and her partner, Sam McKee had been on the same case.
Jim remembered how the vivacious woman with the mass of coppery hair and emerald green eyes had initially rubbed him the wrong way. He had not understood it at first. He usually enjoyed being in the company of a beautiful woman. Slowly he came to grasp just what a hold she had taken to his senses, to his soul, to accept it, even treasure it. During those last hours they spent together, he had begun to think of a new direction in his life, something he had never anticipated happening: life with a woman he could call his own.
Jim got to his feet when he spotted the rider approaching from town. Not difficult to recognize O'Donnell’s burly form atop the sturdy pinto. They had chosen this morning hour to meet because for the job-hunting cowboy to ride out early would not be unusual. He would want to catch foremen and owners before they headed out on the day’s labors. He’s a better rider than I would have expected.
Liam heaved a sigh as he dismounted. “Sorry if I’m late, Jim. I had to earn my breakfast at the café by chopping some wood for the stove.” He flexed his sore hands.
Jim smiled briefly. “The trials of a working man. Anything interesting going on?”
“Not a lot yet. Artemus is working in the town’s biggest saloon, the Queen of Clubs. Seems to be the place Reed frequents, and he was there yesterday with Colonel Richmond and a couple of other men—one of whom matches the description of the man who escorted Richmond to Texas. Artemus overheard Reed tell the colonel that he should be happy to be in line for a lot of money. But Richmond doesn’t look very happy.”
Jim dropped to his haunches, snapped at a blade of grass with his hand. “Sounds more like our theory that Richmond has been forced into this is correct. Big questions are what did Reed do to convince the colonel to cooperate, and what does he expect the colonel to do? It seems to me that if Reed had threatened Caroline and the children, the colonel could have acted to place them under protection.”
Liam also knelt down. “Yes, those are the questions. No sign yet of the redheaded woman Mrs. Richmond spotted. Hard to say whom she might have been. I hung out at the Queen of Clubs last night, thinking she might be someone working there, but if so, she never came to work.”
“Reed’s wife?”
Liam shook his head. “I don't know. I haven’t heard that he’s married—or not. I’m on my way out to the Reed ranch to look for work. Maybe I’ll spot her out there.”
“I guess there’s nothing for me to do except ride on into town and see what transpires. I’m guessing that Richmond is staying at the Reed ranch, and not in town?”
“Far as I know. They left about an hour after I first arrived in town and did not come back. I got the bartender into some conversation and he said that ‘Mr. Hilary’ comes into town every other day or so. He didn’t know the colonel, said he was a stranger. The other two apparently work on the Box RH, Reed’s ranch.”
Jim straightened now. “Well, I’ll get myself set up in town. Is there a hotel?”
“More like a boarding house. Just across the street from the Queen of Clubs, fortuitously. Seems to be run by a handsome older lady by the name of Mrs. Shea. She was very sad that she couldn’t provide any work for a fellow Hibernian when I called on her. All she was able to offer was a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee.”
Jim had to chuckle. “Maybe I’ll change my name to O’West to get close to her. Sounds like she might be in a position to know a great deal of what goes on in Wine Creek.”
“I got that impression. She shared a bit of gossip with me about a man who cleans her stable, but nothing about Reed, and of course, I could not ask her straight out.”
“Maybe I can encourage her to talk,” Jim said. “I haven’t had breakfast yet so I’ll go on into town and get acquainted.”
Liam stood up, picked up the reins of his horse. “Jim, sometime when you’re in Iowa, my uncle would be happy if you stopped by.”
Jim turned away to mount. “We don’t seem to be in that state very often, or when we are, we’re traveling straight through.”
“Just thought I’d mention it. Good luck in Wine Creek. I’ll be getting in touch with Artemus to let him know if I come up with any information.”
Jim merely waved as he started the black horse moving down the hill toward the road that led into town. How many times had he come so close to suggesting to Artie that they make a slight detour so that they would indeed pass close to the area where the O'Donnell farm lay in Iowa? Close to the small church and the cemetery… Somehow he always lost his nerve. Facing Loveless and his ilk was easier.
Wine Creek, Jim discovered, was a great deal like dozens of other towns he and Artemus had traveled through or visited over the years. Rutted dusty streets, buildings of all shapes and sizes, some in excellent condition, others badly in need of upkeep and paint. He dismounted in front of “Mrs. Shea’s Rooming House,” conscious that he was the object of attention of several people who were on the sidewalks and porches in the vicinity, one of whom was an unshaven but bald man wearing a badge standing directly across the street in front of the Queen of Clubs.
Barely glancing around, Jim pulled the saddlebags and bedroll off the back of the saddle, gave the black horse a pat, and mounted the steps to the porch. The door opened before he had an opportunity to even reach for the handle. The woman was in her fifties, with snow-white hair, clear blue eyes, and as Liam had commented, handsome indeed. In her youth she would have been a beauty, Jim judged.
She looked him up and down. “Come for a room?”
Jim pulled off his hat. “If you’ve one available, ma’am.”
After a moment more of scrutiny, she stepped back to allow him to enter the foyer with its polished hardwood floor and colorful braided throw rug. Noticing her glance, Jim carefully wiped his boots on that rug, then followed her through a door into a larger room, one that looked as though it had been a formal parlor at one time, but now a desk was located at one side, with a series of mailbox slots on the wall behind it, along with a rack of keys.
“I’m Mary Shea, owner of this establishment.”
“James West, ma’am.”
“West. So you’re not Irish? I thought with those green eyes you might be.”
Jim smiled. “Not recently at least.”
“How long will you be with us, James?”
“I’m not sure. Two or three days, perhaps longer. I’ve been on the trail for a week and both my horse and I can use a break.”
“Got far to go?”
“Mexico. But I don’t have a deadline to get there.”
She picked up a ledger book, then paused, gazing at him a long moment. “James West. Are you that government man I’ve read about in the newspapers?”
“I do work for the government.” Jim smiled slightly. At times, notoriety was an advantage, at other times, not so much.
“Hmm. Sign here.” Opening the book, Mrs. Shea produced a pen and a bottle of ink from a drawer of the desk. “Will you be wanting meals?”
“I’m not sure,” Jim replied, signing. “Are there any restaurants in town?”
“Two. But you won’t find food as good as what you’ll get here.”
Jim grinned. “Then I’ll try to take as many as I can at your table, Mrs. Shea. Thank you. Do you happen to have a room overlooking the street?”
“Is that important?” Her blue eyes were sharp on his face.
Jim suddenly got the impression that this woman was more than just a gossip. “It might be,” he replied soberly.
She just nodded, coming around the desk. “This way.”
“Have you lived here long?” Jim asked, as they ascended carpeted stairs, hoping the query sounded merely like one of curiosity.
“I came here as a young bride thirty years ago,” she replied. “My husband and two other men founded Wine Creek.”
Jim did not miss the sharp bitterness in her tone. “Interesting name for a town… and a creek.”
Reaching the landing, she guided him down a hallway. “The area was in a drought when we arrived, and we were short of water. When we found the creek, the water was like the best French wine to us.”
He laughed. “I can imagine.”
The room was not overly large, but it was spotlessly clean and nicely furnished, with a single bed, a wardrobe and a dresser. A small table in one corner held a basin and pitcher, with a mirror above it. Mrs. Shea told him that he could get hot water in the kitchen at any time—but did not offer to bring it to him.
“Have you had breakfast?” she asked as she went toward the door.
“No, ma’am.”
“Come down when you’re ready and I’ll fry a couple of eggs for you. I’ll be serving the noon meal promptly at twelve; supper is at six. Breakfast I’m a little more lax with. I know not everyone is an early riser like me.”
“You have many other boarders?”
“Just two right now. The schoolteacher, Mr. Hervey, and Mrs. Grace, a widow and an old friend of mine.”
“Is there a place I can get my horse taken care of?” Jim asked.
“Well, there’s a livery down the street, but I suspect you want a horse like that to have fine care. I have a stable out back if you want to look after him yourself. There’s oats and hay.”
Jim thanked her, smiling. She had obviously gotten a look at Blackjack, and did not have a high opinion of the local hostler. He would, he told her, take the horse to her stable and then come in for some hot water to clean up before eating.
When she had gone, Jim went to the window, pushing the light curtain aside slightly as he gazed down at the porch of the Queen of Clubs. He was not surprised to see the old man come shuffling out with a broom. Nor did he miss the sharp look the old fellow cast in the direction of the horse hitched in front of the boarding house. Artie then simply went about sweeping the porch, never giving the horse a second glance.
W*W*W*W*W
There are times when I wonder why I’m in this business. And this is definitely one of them! Artemus Gordon plunged his hands in to the sudsy water and began scrubbing the used beer and whiskey glasses. At least this was an establishment that did more than just give the glassware a cursory rinse in cold water, if that. Mr. Southworth, the genial owner, explained that his mother had been a demon for cleanliness.
“I always worry about her looking down and seeing that my establishment is not being run according to her standards,” Southworth sighed. He was a chubby man with rosy cheeks and a big walrus-style blond mustache that matched the flowing mane of hair on his head.
Old Tom had clicked his tongue and agreed that pleasing one’s mother was important, whether she was standing behind him with a hickory switch—“that’s what my old ma did!”—or gazing down from on high. Southworth seems like a good man, maybe not connected with Hilary Reed except as proprietor of Reed’s favorite watering hole.
Artie saw Jim enter through the front door of the Queen of Clubs, and gave him the same amount of attention the few other patrons did a stranger. At this early afternoon hour, the customers were older men who probably did not have much else to occupy their time. A heated checkers game had been going on in one corner for over an hour.
Jim paused, looked around then wandered to the bar, where the bartender moved to serve him. He saw Artemus down at the far end of the polished bar, bent over a dishpan, but managed not to smile. “Just a cold beer,” he told the barkeep. Need to work out a way to make connections. I probably better let Artie make the first move. He knows what’s going on around here.
He had consumed about half the glass when the shiny mirror behind the bar gave him a clear view of the group of men entering the saloon, a group that included Colonel James Richmond. Jim carefully avoided looking their way again for the moment. Now to see if the colonel acknowledges me. If not, I’d better not acknowledge him!
Artemus kept a close eye on the group that entered, also noticing that Jim turned his body at an angle so that he would not appear to be watching the room in the mirror. He saw Colonel Richmond react slightly. He recognizes Jim. Now to see what he does! For the moment, nothing. The five men sat down at the same table they had occupied the day before. Tom the bartender hurried out with the special bottle of whiskey that “Mr. Hilary” apparently kept here, along with glasses. One was filled for Richmond, but he ignored it. He’s trying not to stare at Jim. That was evident to Artie.
Colonel James Richmond carefully, and he hoped casually, prevented his eyes from straying toward the young man standing at the bar, his back to the room. How the devil did Jim West show up here? Why? He couldn’t possibly know where I am or anything about this… could he? Richmond knew that the agent was among the best and brightest, and that along with his partner, managed some nearly miraculous deeds over their tenure in the department. For that matter, is he here alone? Where’s Gordon? Is it pure coincidence he’s here? That can’t be possible. I can’t allow Hilary to know who West is. Not until Jim is ready. But what can he do…?
Artie noticed that Jim was nursing his beer. Killing time, probably waiting for me to give him a clue about where and when to meet. Not as easy as it had been connecting with Liam yesterday. He placed the last scrubbed tumbler on a towel spread on the bar for that purpose, picked up the pan and carried it out the back door, where he pitched the soapy water to the ground alongside the stoop there.
Returning, Artemus sidled up to the bartender. “Say, Mr. Tom, can you give me a couple bucks advance on my pay? I’m doggoned hungry.”
“Eat some more of those boiled eggs and baked ham.” The bartender nodded toward a spread he had just put at the end of the bar.
“Aw, Mr. Tom, I et so many of those eggs I’m about to start cluckin’! Thought I might go down to Emory’s and get me a roast beef sandwich an’ a cup o’ coffee.”
Tom stared at him. “You want coffee?”
Artemus shuffled his feet in chagrin. “Well, sometimes… ya know. They don’t serve likker at Emory’s.”
“I doubt they’ll let you sit at one of their tables.”
“Well, I know that. But I can get it and go out back. There’s a clump of trees back there behind the café, y’know? Makes a fine place for a fella to relax awhile.”
Tom sighed and opened the cash register, pulling out a couple of coins. “Don’t forget, this is coming off your Friday pay!”
“Thankee, Mr. Tom. You’re a fine fella.” He shuffled out the door as fast as his old legs could carry him, never glancing at either Jim West or the group at the table.