Post by California gal on Sept 19, 2010 15:46:47 GMT -8
THE NIGHT OF THE DARK GRAVE
[/b]Time flies, Death urges, Knells call, Heaven invites, Hell threatens.
—Night Thoughts (night II, l. 291), Edward Young (1683-1765), English poet and dramatist
—Night Thoughts (night II, l. 291), Edward Young (1683-1765), English poet and dramatist
“If the Colonel’s directions from here on out happen to be more accurate than the first portion, we could be there within an hour.”
Jim West glanced at his partner riding alongside him, noticing the tinge of sarcasm in Artie’s tone. “I wonder if he knew just how rough these hills are. I am sure he must have traveled to Lost Hills by a different direction.”
Artie gazed around at the rugged region through which they were making their way. From a distance, as they had departed from the Wanderer where it was parked on a siding, the hills had appeared low and gentle. Only when one started the ascent toward the top, on the rough trails, did one realize just how harsh and craggy they were, full of boulders, ravines, and the occasional thick stand of trees or heavy brush. They had already made a couple of detours.
“Yeah, that may be why he said the entire trip should take us a total of an hour.” They had been in the saddle for close to two hours already. “But I guess it’ll be worth it to finally learn what this is about.”
“Well, for Richmond to practically order us to join him on a family vacation, it must be something interesting.” Jim reached for the canteen fastened to his saddle. “Be nice if we could run into some fresh water.”
Artie just nodded. His own canteen was low. They had not brought extra because they did not expect the ride to take as long as it had. No streams or springs had appeared so far during the trek; most of the vegetation appeared to be the type that got on well without much moisture at this time of year.
After taking a couple of swallows, Jim returned the water vessel to his saddle, then pulled off his hat to wipe his shirt sleeve across his moist brow. The jacket had been shed early on. July in Wyoming was warm. He was just putting his hat back on when he glanced toward a higher rise to his left.
“Artie! Down!”
Artemus Gordon did not question his partner’s command, immediately flinging himself out of the saddle, grabbing the rifle from its scabbard as he did so. He quickly followed Jim behind some nearby rocks, just as several shots echoed from above them and shards of stone splintered from their cover.
“Where is he?” Artie murmured, throwing his hat aside as he attempted to peer over the rocks from his crouching position.
“Not sure,” Jim replied, also cautiously trying to see over the barricade without revealing too much of himself. “I saw the glint of the sun off metal next to that crooked pine.”
Artie saw the tree in question, but no nearby movement. “Maybe he cleared out, knowing we spotted him.”
Jim was looking around. Their horses had continued on down the trail, and now that no more shots were being fired, were standing quietly. “I think I can get around and behind that hill.”
Artie frowned. “Be careful. If he’s departing, you might just bump into him!”
“Right.”
Artemus leveled his rifle on the top of the boulder, keeping it aimed at the spot described as Jim headed downhill slightly, keeping behind brush and rocks as much as possible. He waited until he was at least fifty feet away before crossing over and starting his ascent, aiming for the crooked pine tree. Halfway to his goal, he heard the sound of hoof beats retreating in the distance, and quickly climbed up onto a boulder to peer down below. With a grimace of disappointment, he jumped back down and made his way back to his partner.
“He skedaddled.”
“Get a look at him?”
“Only that he was wearing a blue shirt and was riding a black and white pinto. Too far away to see much else.”
Artie came to his feet then, picking up his hat. “Well, what in the world?” He beat the dust off his knees before putting the hat on his head.
Jim just shook his head as he led the way down the path toward the waiting horses. They were mounted and continuing warily onward before he finally spoke. “Got to wonder if this has anything to do with why the colonel invited us.”
“My thoughts exactly. If this fellow were a road agent he would have tried to be closer to be able to stop us and do his robbing. Besides, this is an unlikely place for a thief to lay in wait. Can’t be a busily traveled area! I can only believe he was trying to kill us, or at least discourage us from going any further.”
“Failed on both counts.”
“Seems so. Good thing you spotted him, however.’
Jim did not reply, and Artie saw by his partner’s face that he too was probably considering the circumstances of their presence in Wyoming. A week ago they had finished an assignment in Idaho, just a few hundred miles away. They had known their commanding officer had taken his family on a trip west—and the reason for the journey.
Colonel James Richmond had a younger brother—a half-brother—the son of his father’s second wife. The brother, Daniel, was some fifteen years younger; that they were not really close was not unexpected. However, they had known—primarily through the colonel’s wife, Caroline—that James and Daniel had been estranged for many years, though even Caroline was not sure of the reasons. Daniel had emigrated west, married, and started a ranch. Daniel’s wife had died, leaving him with their two children. At the time of her death, two years ago, Daniel had written to James and Caroline to inform them. Since then, a tentative correspondence had taken place, until finally, this summer, Daniel invited his older brother and family to visit the ranch.
At first James had been reluctant, but Caroline urged him to accept, and also asked Jim West to speak to the colonel. Jim had been estranged from his own older half-brother, and he could speak from experience that reconciling had been important to both of them. The colonel had finally acquiesced. Artie suspected that the three Richmond children might have had a hand in it as well. He knew they were excited about a cross-country trip and a visit to a real ranch.
The two agents had heard nothing from the colonel until the unexpected telegram. While the message was not exactly a command, the urgency was clear: “Please come to Lost Hills as soon as possible.” After they had agreed, the colonel had telegraphed back instructions on how to find his brother’s home.
And now this attempted ambush. Was it connected? The two agents had made many enemies in the course of their careers. The possibility existed that the shooter had been someone who spotted them and attempted to secure vengeance for some perceived “wrong” against him, or someone he knew. The odds were just as great that the ambush had something to do with the reason Colonel Richmond had asked them to come.
Upon starting the downward side of the hills, they saw that after traversing through a dry level area, similar to these hills, they would find broad green pastures, herds of cattle and some horses, and in the distance, structures. According to the colonel, the town of Lost Hills would be between them and the Rolling R. His brother’s ranch was several miles beyond the town. Artie fervently hoped that the town had a restaurant, or at least a saloon where they might get some food. As with the water supply, they had not thought they would need extra. The sun was on its descent toward the west, and he was hungry.
Finding a road that appeared to trend toward the largest cluster of buildings, which they took to be the town perhaps five miles distant, the two agents picked up the pace. Even the horses appeared to welcome the relative ease of the flat road, without rocks and brush to contend with.
“Looks like a prosperous area,” Jim commented as the horses cantered side-by-side.
Artie nodded. “According to Mrs. Richmond, Daniel has done quite well.”
Jim was silent a moment. “The kind of area where someone might get greedy and want it all.”
“That occurred to me,” Artie concurred. “Do you suppose that’s the trouble? Seems like local law could take care of it. Not really a federal case.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Jim returned.
To Artie’s delight, the town of Lost Hills was home to not one, but two restaurants. One was next to the saloon and appeared to be associated with it; the other was a smaller place across and down the wide dusty street. By mutual consent, they chose the smaller one. The fact that it was named “Ma’s Café” helped solidify Artie’s decision. He hoped “Ma” was a good cook!
A jovial-appearing man whose girth suggested he enjoyed Ma’s cooking came through a door in the rear as they seated themselves, the only customers at the moment. “Howdy, gents. Passing through? What’ll it be? Ma has her famous chicken stew simmering, with dumplings you won’t believe, on account of they’re so light and fluffy! Or if you want, she’ll heat up a steak and fried potatoes.” He had graying reddish hair and bright blue eyes, along with a ruddy complexion and a warm welcoming smile.
“The chicken stew sounds fine,” Artie said, and Jim nodded his agreement. “Maybe some coffee while we’re waiting.”
The man brought the cups of coffee and repeated his earlier question just as two more men entered the restaurant. “Passing through?” He gave the newcomers a sharp glance, but ignored them for the moment.
“Actually we’re here to visit someone,” Jim replied, not missing how the two that entered were scrutinizing the agents. Both men were wearing guns, and they looked like the type who knew how to use them. “Maybe you could give us directions to the Daniel Richmond spread.”
Again the eyes of the rotund man darted toward the other pair momentarily, who had now seated themselves at the table next to that of the agents; however, he continued to ignore them as customers. “Why surely. Not difficult to find. Just keep traveling west out of town. You’ll see a sign about five miles out at the lane to the Rolling R. Good place. Fine man, Dan Richmond.”
Without another glance toward the other two men, the waiter went back through the rear door from which he had emerged. Jim cast a quizzical glance in his partner’s direction, tipping his head slightly toward the other two men. Artie’s return expression revealed he was just as puzzled. The two men were sitting quietly, though they were keeping their eyes on the two newcomers. Why had the waiter not even asked whether they wanted service?
The waiter returned with a large tray containing the bowls of steaming stew replete with the vaunted fluffy dumplings, fresh bread and butter, along with a jar of berry jam. “Oh, I think we made the right choice, James!” Artie enthused as he gazed upon the repast and inhaled its aroma.
“Does look good,” Jim agreed.
“You won’t find better west of St. Louis,” the waiter beamed. “Enjoy yourselves.” He again retreated to the back, still not offering service to the other customers.
They had just started eating when one of the two men got to his feet and stepped closer to their table. “What are you two doing in Lost Hills?” He was a slender man with curly dark hair and steely gray eyes.
Jim barely glanced up. “What’s it to you?” He slathered berry jam on the slice of buttered bread.
“We like to keep this town nice and peaceful. Don’t want troublemakers.” Now the other man got up behind the first. Both allowed their hands to hover near the weapons holstered as their sides.
Now Artie asked, “Are you law officers?”
“Nope.”
“We are,” Jim said quietly.
The two men exchanged startled glances. “What kind of law!” the second man demanded. He was a bit older than the other, with a few silver threads in his dark blond hair.
“Federal,” Artie replied icily. “And we’re trying to enjoy our meal. Do you mind?”
The older of the two would have departed. He put a hand on his comrade’s arm. But Curly shook it off. “I think you’re lying!” he snarled. “Prove it!”
Artie started to reach inside his coat, but Jim raised a hand to stay him then got slowly to his feet, turning to face Curly. “What kind of proof do you want?”
Curly’s eyes touched on Jim’s right hand, which now dangled loosely near the black holster at his hip. “Well,” Curly drawled, obviously enjoying a challenge, and sure of himself, “seems to me a federal man ought to be able to handle a gun.” His own right hand moved a fraction then froze, as he found himself staring at the muzzle of Jim’s gun.
Artie casually poked his fork into a chunk of chicken. “Is that proof enough, gentlemen?” he asked mildly.
“Come on, Curly,” the older man said, this time grabbing his companion’s arm. This time Curly did not shake loose. The two men departed. As they did, the waiter emerged from the kitchen door.
“Gentlemen, are you really federal lawmen?” he asked, coming to the table.
“We are,” Jim replied as he resumed his chair. “Who were they?”
“They work for Farnley Greave.”
“That name sounds familiar,” Jim frowned, looking at his partner.
“I agree, but I can’t recall why. Who is he?”
“A bully!” The sharp voice caused all three men to turn toward the kitchen door, where a very pretty woman emerged. She was attired in a calico dress with a stained white apron over it, reddish hair tied up in a bun, and flour smudges on her face. Her bluish-green eyes were flashing as she approached their table.
Jim and Artie came to their feet, as the man spoke again. “Gentlemen, the ‘Ma’ of this eating place, my daughter Madora. I’m Romney Price.”
“You didn’t seem all that afraid of those so-called ‘bullies’,” Artie commented after providing his and Jim’s names.
Price chuckled. “I’m afraid I was taking advantage of the situation. They won’t hurt us. Greave tries to court Ma, so he won’t do anything to make her angry.”
Madora Price had her eyes on Jim, but she shifted her gaze momentarily to her father. “As if I’d ever pair up with the likes of that… toad!”
Price leaned forward slightly. “Have you come to help?”
Artie exchanged a glance with his partner and saw that Jim was of the same mind. “We’ve been asked to come here by our supervisor, who’s visiting his brother in this area.”
“Dan Richmond’s brother!” Madora exclaimed. “Estelle told me he worked for the government!”
“Estelle?” Jim echoed.
“She owns the hotel,” Price supplied. “A good friend. I don't think Estelle mentioned that Dan’s brother was in law enforcement.”
“Tell us why this Greave sends bullies out to bother folks.” Artie put forth.
“Because he thinks he owns us all,” Madora snapped. “He’s trying to own the whole area! Thinks that money is all it takes.”
“Well, it’s working,” her father reminded her, then turned toward the agents. “He’s bought up a lot of the land around here, and is pressuring others to sell. There’ve been some problems.”
“Isn’t there a local lawman?” Jim inquired.
Price sneered. “Walter Bird is our sheriff. About all he’s good for is hauling in drunks!”
“Gentlemen,” Madora urged, “please sit down and eat before your food gets cold.”
“Thank you,” Artie smiled, taking his chair. “Your father said this was the best chicken stew this side of Saint Louis, and I wholeheartedly agree.”
Price beamed. “Ma’s mother was a cook in a fine home in Saint Louis—where I was the butler. We came here and started this restaurant. We lost Cora two years ago, but Madora learned everything from her.”
“We’ll be talking to Colonel Richmond,” Jim said then, “to find out what this is about. Chances are it involves this Greave.”
“Good!” Romney Price responded. “And this meal is on the house, gentlemen. I don’t think I ever saw Curly so shocked!”
W*W*W*W*W
Never confide your secrets to paper; it is like throwing a stone in the air; and if you know who throws the stone, you do not know where it may fall.
—Pedro Calderon de la Barca (1600-1681), Spanish dramatist
Never confide your secrets to paper; it is like throwing a stone in the air; and if you know who throws the stone, you do not know where it may fall.
—Pedro Calderon de la Barca (1600-1681), Spanish dramatist
“Jim, do you suppose that this Greave found out we were coming and set that ambush for us? Not to mention Curly and his pal in the restaurant.” They were riding west out of town after completing the excellent meal and talking to Mr. Price and his daughter further.
“I suppose that’s a possibility, but we need more information. Curly appeared surprised to learn we were federal officers, however. Could be he just likes to challenge strangers. Seemed the type. Cannot figure out why the name Farnley Greave sounds familiar. It’s an unusual name.”
“I know. I can’t place it either. But isn’t it strange that the Colonel would call us to get involved in what is apparently a local dispute? I realize his brother is being troubled, according to what Price said. But still…” Artie looked across at his partner, puzzled.
“Yeah, I agree. We’ll find out when we get to the Richmond ranch. This area is not nearly as dry as that stretch of hills we passed through would indicate. I’m sure access to good water is important, and the best way to insure that is to own all the land.” They had already crossed two streams and a creek since leaving the hills. “Of course, it’s entirely possible that Mr. Price has a grudge of some sort against Greave.”
“Possible, yes,” Artie agreed, “but not likely. Not after those two characters interrupted our meal. Can’t imagine what they thought they were going to accomplish.”
“That’s easy,” Jim smiled. “To scare us out of town.”
“Huh! Seems they have that in common with the bushwhacker. They failed. Now what?”
“Very good question. Can’t wait to find out the answer from Colonel Richmond.”
As Price had told them, the Richmond ranch was about five miles out of town, where a sign on the main road guided them to a lane leading to the “Rolling R” ranch. After a short stretch on a narrow rutted road, a cluster of buildings appeared, including a large two-story house as well as a sturdy barn and other outbuildings.
As they approached the house, two figures that had been sitting on the front porch swing rose to peer at them. The taller of the pair let out a whoop as he jumped down all three steps to sprint out toward the fence that enclosed the house and grounds.
“Mr. West! Mr. Gordon! You’re here!” Bradley Richmond got the gate open and could barely wait for the two men to dismount before he was grabbing their hands to shake them.
The second figure was a boy of about ten, much fairer than the darker Bradley. His eyes were wide as he came to the gate. “Is that them, Brad?”
Bradley turned. “It’s them, Nathan. Mr. Gordon, Mr. West, this is my cousin, Nathan.”
Jim stepped forward, extending his hand. “How do you do, Nathan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The boy’s eyes got even wider as he gripped Jim’s hand. “Gosh!”
Artemus was shaking Nathan’s hand when Colonel Richmond emerged from the house, accompanied by a younger version of him in all but hair and eyes. The other man’s locks were quite blond, and his eyes were sky blue, just like the boy’s. The colonel extended his hand as he passed through the gate.
“Thanks for coming.”
“What’s this all about, Colonel?” Artie asked.
“I’ll tell you inside. Gentlemen, my brother, Daniel. Dan, Jim West and Artemus Gordon.”
Again hands were shaken, and the two Richmond brothers led the way inside, the two younger males following. In a spacious front room, Caroline Richmond and her two daughters, Elizabeth and Marian, had warm greetings, and they were introduced to young Annie, again with golden blonde hair and blue eyes.
Jim and Artemus politely refused the meal Mrs. Richmond offered to prepare, mentioning they had eaten in town, whereupon they were informed that Mr. Price and his daughter were friends of Daniel Richmond, as they had surmised. A brief discussion of the excellent fare at the eatery ensued. Then Caroline ushered the younger females from the room—all of them reluctantly. Marian and Elizabeth had long been infatuated with Jim West, and now eight-year-old Annie could not take her gaze off Mr. West’s partner. Bradley and Nathan retreated to the front porch again.
Alone, Daniel Richmond poured whiskey and served it and the four men settled in. Jim began the conversation by telling the Richmond brothers of the attempted ambush as well as the confrontation in the restaurant. “Mr. Price said they worked for a man named Greave.”
“We’ve been trying to figure out where we’ve heard that name before,” Artie added.
Colonel Richmond smiled. “Not surprising it sounds familiar. Perhaps you read about it in a newspaper. However, you two were not in Washington in the autumn of 1863. Farnley Greave was an assistant to the Secretary of War, and was indicted for selling secret information to the Confederacy. By the time his trial came up, the witnesses had been killed or disappeared, or in one case, simply refused to testify. As well, evidence was destroyed.”
“Ah,” Artie was nodding his head. “I do remember now. The case had to be dismissed.”
“Exactly. No evidence was ever produced linking Greave with the fates of the witnesses, however obvious it was. Greave left Washington and went up into Canada. But a couple of years ago, he showed up here and bought up some land.”
Daniel Richmond spoke then. “At first he simply seemed to be a new—even a good—neighbor. He bought more property but nothing much was thought about it, because the owners appeared willing to sell. He then began to pressure others, including me, refusing to take no for an answer.”
“What kind of pressure, Mr. Richmond?” Jim asked. This still doesn’t feel like a federal case; more as though the colonel is asking us to intervene in something personal, which isn’t like James Richmond.
“Little things,” Daniel replied. “For the most part, anyway; things that could be accidents. The neighboring spread had an earthen dam in which runoff was collected. The dam collapsed in the middle of summer, just when the water was really needed. Floyd had to sell off cattle at a bad time of year, not getting the best price, and eventually was defaulting on his mortgage. He sold out to Greave rather than lose everything. No proof that the collapse was anything but natural—at least according to our good sheriff, Walter Bird, who is pretty much terrified of Greave.”
“That’s just one of many things I’ve heard about,” the colonel put in. “Greave appears to be another power hungry rascal who wants to become a major force in the beef industry, and who will do anything to attain that end.”
“What’s happened to you, Mr. Richmond?” Artie asked. “I take it you’ve had some problems.”
Daniel Richmond looked down at the drink he held for a moment then lifted his gaze. “I believe he was responsible for my wife’s death.”
A short silence ensued as West and Gordon exchanged a surprised glance. Then Artie asked quietly, “How did she die?”
Richmond cleared his throat and took a sip of his whiskey before speaking. “Mary Beth was an excellent rider. She had been around horses since she was a child. The gelding she favored was spirited, but never gave her a bit of a problem. She also liked to go out riding alone, and I knew it was something that meant a great deal to her, so even after the children came, I’d make a point to be home to be with them while she went out.” He smiled slightly. “She refused to have a housekeeper or any kind of help even though I would have hired someone for her. I’ve carried on that way. I have a woman who comes a couple times a week to clean and do the laundry but I care for my children myself. Anyway, one day she did not return… I went out to look for her, never suspecting… I found her on the ground, with her horse grazing nearby. She had been thrown, apparently, and hit her head.”
“That happens,” Jim said, looking him straight in the eye. “The best of us get thrown.”
Daniel Richmond met that gaze. “Yes. That’s what the sheriff said. Nothing was done. The rock she apparently hit her head on was nearby.”
“And…?” Artie prompted, knowing there was more to it.
“Plainly the rock had been moved. I saw an indentation some half dozen feet away from where it was found laying beside her, an indentation that the rock fit into perfectly. Someone had picked it up and moved it… perhaps even used it… on her.”
The four men were silent again, until finally Jim spoke quietly. “Colonel, I am very sympathetic toward your brother, especially regarding his wife’s death. And to the other people around here for the troubles they might be experiencing. Excuse me, sir, but how does this involve the Secret Service?”
James Richmond met the agent’s steady green-eyed gaze unswervingly. I could say, because I said so. He almost did that, just to see their reaction, to see what they would do. “I did some investigation into Greave’s activities in Canada these last years. Remember the incident with Shawn O’Reilly and Andre Durain, the insurrection they were planning? Canada suspects that Farnley Greave was active in helping finance that little gambit. Authorities in Canada would be very happy to have him back there to face an investigation. As you know, however, O’Reilly was killed, and Durain was later hanged, a revolutionary to the end, refusing to finger other co-conspirators in the plot. The authorities haven’t the proof they need to petition for extradition.”
Artemus frowned deeply. “And you expect us to find that proof… here?”
The colonel’s smile was tight. “The Mounties gave me a bit of information that might be very handy. Greave has a very bad habit for a man in his… profession. He keeps detailed journals of his activities, his contacts and their conversations. With those journals, both the United States and Canada would probably have ample evidence for convictions on several fronts.”
“How did they find out about these journals?” Jim asked.
Now Richmond sobered. “They had a spy in Greave’s group. She told them about the journals but was murdered, and Greave left the area, before they could do anything. Again they don’t have enough evidence for extradition.”
“She?” Jim echoed.
“Yes, a young woman who became Greave’s mistress for the express purpose of gaining this type of evidence. She was an American whose brother was to have been a witness in the treason case in sixty-three. When her brother refused to back down, he was killed.”
“So…” Artie spoke slowly, softly, his gaze shifting to the younger Richmond brother, “it appears Greave would have no compunctions about harming a woman.”
“Does Miss Price know about this?” Jim inquired.
Daniel Richmond nodded. “She does now, because of the information James provided after he arrived here. But she had already rebuffed Greave’s advances, only partly because she knew of my suspicions regarding Mary Beth. Ma was Mary Beth’s friend. I should tell you that Greave made approaches to Mary Beth, which she refused, of course. I once had a confrontation with him at a social because he was bothering her. I… I have to wonder if that played a part in her death. It’s possible she met him on the trail and…” Daniel took a breath. “We did not find signs of an another rider in the vicinity, but it was a rocky area.”
The men were silent a long moment before Artie posed a question. “Was there some way Greave could have learned that you summoned us, Colonel?”
The colonel nodded, grimacing. “I had to use the telegraph operator in town. According to Daniel, he’s on Greave’s payroll.”
“Is the sheriff also one of Greave’s men, or simply incompetent?” Jim wanted to know.
Daniel shook his head. “I am not certain, but I think it’s the latter. Bird was elected some fifteen years ago, and reelected several times, primarily because he has been able to handle what little has been needed. I think he is influenced by Greave, but more by fear than money. Bird has a nice wife and two daughters who are married to local men. One has a small place over near the hills, and the other is the owner of the feed and grain in town. Neither has had any problems with Greave, and some think it’s because Bird leaves Greave alone.”
“So, Colonel,” Artie gazed at his superior, “how in the devil do you expect us to find these journals?”
James Richmond did not smile, though he felt like it. “With some of your usual tricks.”
“Here he goes again,” Jim sighed, “throwing us to the wolves without any regard to our health.”
“And he keeps refusing our requests for a pay raise!” Artie cried melodramatically.
Daniel Richmond watched the trio. He had heard about the department’s two best agents a long time ago, and when James had spoken about the two men, he discerned the affection and respect his brother had for the pair. He could now see that West and Gordon had that same respect and affection for their superior.
“Tell you what,” the colonel retorted sarcastically, “you get this done and I’ll see if I can’t give you a day off. Maybe even two.” He shook his head slightly. “I know, I know. Every time you try to take time off you somehow run into trouble. We’ll see.” Richmond sobered then. “I wish I could have talked to you personally before you arrived in this area and we could have planned something.”
Artie knew what he meant. Had they known the situation ahead of time, perhaps he could have devised a disguise that might have given him access to Greave’s inner circle. That could still happen, but it would be more difficult; Greave had undoubtedly already learned that two Secret Service agents were in the area. If he had had any communication with Durain after the anarchist’s arrest, he might be aware that Artemus Gordon had used not one, but two disguises to help destroy the plot for an insurrection in Canada.
“We may just have to play it by ear,” Jim said, “and see what happens. If Greave knows that you sent for us, he’ll know that we are not merely visitors.”
“We already had some action,” Artie reminded them. “So it appears our presence is worrisome to someone. Colonel, you have not been… bothered, have you?”
“Not at all. I met Greave in town and he was perfectly cordial, behaving as though he had nothing to worry about from a government official. I suspect he’s pretty sure of himself. He’s gotten away with two major schemes already.”
“Then it seems to me,” Artie stated, “that it would be a good idea for Jim and me to establish our official presence. I saw a hotel in town…”
“We have plenty of room for you here,” Daniel interrupted.
“Thank you, sir,” Jim returned, “but Artie is right. We need to push it a little, start asking questions. To let Greave know that we are not simply visiting—which as Artie mentioned, he already suspects. Above all, we need to draw attention away from those of you here at the ranch.” He cast a significant glance toward the door through which Caroline and the three girls had gone.
“Speaking of which,” the colonel sighed, “I’m sure that Caroline is chomping at the bit to spend some time with you two, not to mention my lovesick daughters and admiring son.”
Daniel smiled. “Mr. Gordon, do not allow Annie to intimidate you. Ever since James told her that you were once an actor and how you disguise yourself as part of your work, she has been anxious to meet you. Her dream—right now—is to become an actress. She will be pestering you with questions.”
Artie laughed as the four men got to their feet. “Don’t worry. I’m used to fending off admiring females. Right, Jim?”
“All but one named Lily,” Jim grinned back.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent pleasantly with the family members. As predicted, young Annie stuck by Artie’s side as she devoured anything he could tell her about his former profession, while bombarding him with questions. He was patient and also honest, describing the long rehearsals, the failures as well as the successes. He was actually a little surprised with just how much she already knew about the world of acting, and when asked, Annie told him that a friend of her mama’s had been an actress. She now lived in Lost Hills and owned the hotel. Artie realized that would be the lady that the Prices mentioned.
Jim West also had a close following for the afternoon, primarily the Richmond daughters. He liked to tease them and even flirt a little, enjoying the roses that bloomed in their cheeks as he did so. He had known both girls since they had been about Annie’s age, so they were more like kid sisters, although he was quite aware they did not now look upon him as a big brother!
Bradley gave him some respite by asking him to come out and look at a horse he had acquired since coming to visit. Jim was able to honestly praise the steed, a cream-colored appaloosa with dark gold spots, mane and tail, which pleased Bradley immensely. They were standing by the corral fence when Marian emerged from the house and strolled toward them, a lacy parasol protecting her head from the warm sun.
Jim always thought it interesting that Marian was a near duplicate of her lovely mother physically, but seemed little like her in personality. Caroline was a strong woman, with an independent streak; that facet had given her the courage to defy her southern roots to marry a Yankee lieutenant so many years ago, and to travel north with him. Elizabeth resembled her father with somewhat blunter features, but her demeanor was more spirited, similar to her mother’s.
Marian slipped in between her brother and Jim, and behind her, Bradley rolled his eyes. Jim simply smiled at the young woman. “It’s nice to see you again, Miss Richmond.” As the girls had matured, but he and Artie had adopted a more formal form of address, both realizing it could help avoid future complications.
She made a little moue with her pretty mouth. “Why, Mr. West, you’d think we were strangers!” On the other hand, the Richmond children had always addressed the two agents with the formal title, although Jim was sure that Marian, at least, would like to be invited to be much more familiar!
Jim winked. “Don’t forget, your father is my boss!”
She sighed, fluttering her eyelashes a little too strongly. “But we have known each other for so long!”
“That’s so true,” he responded. “Since you were in pigtails and pinafores… and had freckles!”
She did not care for the reference to her awkward childhood, but before she could respond, her brother intervened. “Mr. West, I hope you will have an opportunity to go riding with me, perhaps even ride my horse yourself. I value your opinion.
“I hope we do have the opportunity,” Jim nodded, turning his attention to the spirited gelding that was prancing around the corral, obviously showing off. “Are you planning to take him east with you?”
“I’m not sure. Uncle Dan has offered to keep him here for me. I do intend to visit, often. But… I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Marian looked at her brother. “But you’re going to be a lawyer, not live in the… the back country!”
Bradley smiled. “What better place to build a career that in an area where attorneys are scarce?”
“Good idea,” Jim nodded.
Marian jumped on the bandwagon. “Why of course! And who knows… perhaps I’ll find a fine western gentleman to marry and settle out here as well.” Again she fluttered her lashed at Jim.
Jim prevented himself from laughing, taking her arm and suggesting they return to the house, out of the hot sun. Marian was clinging happily to his arm as they approached the front porch, where Elizabeth had just emerged, and now glared at her sister. She quickly sat down on the glider and invited Mr. West to join her. Mr. West avoided confrontation by saying he needed to talk to the colonel again.
Finally, after a fine supper prepared by the ladies, the two agents mounted up to return to town. Caroline tried to persuade them to stay, but after her husband spoke quietly to her, she understood. The younger Richmonds did not, however, and were very disappointed, despite both agents promised they would return as soon and as often as possible.
“Aunt Caroline,” Annie turned to Mrs. Richmond as they stood on the porch watching the two men ride off, “does Mr. Gordon really have a sweetheart?”
“Yes, he does. I believe he showed you her picture. A very lovely lady, Lily Fortune, the famous actress.”
“Oh.” Great disappointment washed over Annie’s countenance for a moment. Then she brightened. “Well, she’s going to be old soon, and I’m sure Mr. Gordon will want a new sweetheart, won’t he?”
Caroline bit back her smile. “Only time will tell, dear. Now, will you help me put the dishes away?”
W*W*W*W*W
Reaching town, the two agents rode directly to the two-story building they had previously noticed, bearing the sign “Traveler’s Rest Hotel.” The outside was well kept up, and when they dismounted and entered, they found that the interior was also neat and clean, if a bit faded. The sofa at one side of the lobby was covered with a knit afghan, perhaps to disguise some of its wear.
A woman was behind the tall desk, her back to them as she apparently was sorting something on a small table there. They could see graying auburn hair and a slender form. She turned then, and both men stopped in their tracks staring, as she in turn gaped back at them in utter surprise. She was the one who finally spoke first, stepping closer to the counter. “Mr. Gordon? Mr. West?”
Artie found his voice. “Phalah! This is astonishing!” They moved closer to the desk. “You work here?”
The older woman smiled. “My niece owns this hotel. Her willingness to give me a home, and a job, as well as your recommendations for leniency, allowed me to be released early. I’ve been here about six months now.”
Artemus reached out and touched the hand she had rested on the desktop. “You deserve it, Phalah. You helped us a great deal, and probably saved Jim’s life.”
Sadness shadowed her eyes now. “I was a foolish old woman to…” She could not seem to continue; perhaps unable to mention the man she had been in love with, Dr. Articulus.
“You were merely human,” Jim said gently. Although the shot she fired when Articulus was savagely attacking Jim had not been fatal, it had caused the mad doctor to tumble into the pool of his own diabolical formula for creating mindless zombies that would have filled his army of conquest. By his own admission, once a person was submerged in that cesspool, he was lost. Jim was wondering now whether he had imagined he saw Phalah react when Artemus touched her hand.
She seemed to take a mental breath. “Well, that’s neither here nor now. I’m quite settled and very happy here with Estelle. Are you visiting someone here? Or is it business. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so nosy…”
Artie laughed. “We are visiting, in a sense. Our boss is here spending some time with his brother at the Rolling R ranch.”
“Oh, of course! Colonel Richmond and his family! I met them at Ma’s. Such lovely people! And Daniel Richmond is a pillar of the community.” A frown creased her still smooth brow. “Are you here to deal with Mr. Greave?”
“Don’t worry, it won’t involve you, Phalah,” Jim reassured her as the door to the side of the lobby desk opened and a younger woman appeared.
She had the auburn hair and slenderness of her aunt, but her eyes were green-gray rather than dark brown, her face slightly rounder. Not a truly beautiful woman in the classic sense, but quite attractive, in her early thirties, Jim thought. Phalah glanced around.
“Estelle! You remember I told you about the government agents who were so unusually kind to me? This is Mr. James West and Mr. Artemus Gordon. They are here visiting the Richmonds. Gentlemen, my dear niece, Miss Estelle McCray.”
Estelle smiled brightly, extending her hand over the desk to each of them. “This is wonderful! Aunt Phalah told me all about you two. We are extremely grateful to you for being so generous.”
“As we were just telling Phalah,” Artie put in, “we are the grateful ones. She helped us immensely. We merely told the judge the truth.” This would be the woman, he realized, whom Annie stated had been an actress. She had an interesting face, and an aura of self-confidence.
“Are you here for rooms?” Estelle asked then, appearing a bit puzzled.
She must realize that Daniel Richmond has a large home, Artie surmised. “We are,” he said aloud. “We feel we would be better situated here in town.”
The two women exchanged a glance, but did not comment further. They were obviously aware of the problems in the area, especially if they were acquainted with both the Prices at the restaurant and the owner of the Rolling R. Without further ado, the agents registered, and Estelle escorted them upstairs to the side-by-side rooms, laughingly explaining that the hotel was not crowded.
“Most of our business comes from people who need to make a switch of stagecoaches here. One comes in on Wednesday each week, going north, and another arrives Thursday, heading west. The following week they go through in different directions. So those people stay overnight, or sometimes a little longer.”
The rooms, like the lobby, were worn but clean. Jim threw his saddlebags and blanket roll on the bed then went to the adjoining door, opening it but not entering, leaning against the frame. “This is an interesting situation.”
Artie glanced around. He was already stowing his gear in the small bureau below the mirror. A porcelain basin and pitcher rested atop the bureau. “You mean Phalah turning up here, or the situation with Greave?”
“Maybe both. No connection, of course. I’m just not sure how the colonel expects us to get those journals he talks about.” Jim did not want to mention the reaction he thought he perceived in Phalah as Artie touched her hand; it might have been his imagination.
Artie’s smile was ironic. “Yeah. It’s not like we’re burglars or anything.” They had done their share of breaking and entering during their careers. “I guess we’re going to need to ride out to visit Greave.”
Jim nodded. “It’s an odd state of affairs,” he murmured, turning back into his room. He was pulling items from his own saddlebags when Artie came to the doorway, imitating his partner in leaning against the jamb.
“Maybe we should go talk to Greave about his employees accosting customers in the restaurant.”
Jim glanced over, smiling slightly. “Be a start, I guess. Introduce ourselves, so to speak. Perhaps mention our surprise that we were greeted that way, not to mention the attempted ambush in the hills.”
“That might be the way to go, James my boy, unless we come up with something better. Shall we go first thing in the morning?”
“Sounds like a good plan. Perhaps an evening in the local tavern might produce some information as well.”
“Not to mention a smooth bourbon or perhaps a cold beer!”
Estelle McCray had informed them the hotel had a stable in the rear, but no one to tend the horses; they would have to do it themselves. The alternative was the livery and blacksmith shop on the other side of town. They decided they would prefer to have their horses close at hand, so once they finished putting their own gear away, the two men took their steeds from the street to the stable, and got them settled and fed.
From there, after washing up, they strolled down the board walkways to the saloon with a sign proclaiming it the “Dixie Bell.” Neither was surprised when they entered to see the Confederate Stars and Bars and portraits of noted Confederate personalities on the walls. The tables were about half filled, primarily by townsmen, it appeared. Only a few of them had the look of a cowhand.
At the bar, a bartender with a scowling countenance served them whiskey and took their money. As they walked toward a vacant table with their drinks, Artie glanced back and noticed that the barkeeper continued to scowl as he refilled the glass of another customer. At least it’s not personal, he mused.
A few minutes later, a man descended some stairs at the far side of the room, his eyes scanning the customers. Upon spotting newcomers, he strolled toward them immediately, exchanging greetings with other patrons as he passed by them. Looks like a riverboat gambler, Jim decided. He could put Frank Harper to shame! The man was tall and slender, with a neatly trimmed dark goatee and mustache, his hair slicked back with pomade. He wore a swallowtail coat in pinstripes and matching trousers, finely tailored, and his ascot was decorated with a tiepin bearing what appeared to be a fairly large ruby.
“Gentlemen,” he greeted, and his Deep South accent was immediately evident with the one word. “Welcome to the Dixie Bell. Traveling far?”
Artie smiled. “What makes you think we’re traveling?”
The man chuckled, pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m Romney Bellingham, proprietor of the Dixie Bell. I take it you two are the ones I heard about earlier, Mr. West and Mr. Gordon. Mr. West, I understand you outdrew Curly Lonergan. Not an easy feat.”
“Nice to know our fame precedes us,” Jim commented, taking a sip of his drink. “You stock fine whiskey, Mr. Bellingham.”
“Only the best, sir. Only the best, especially for gentlemen of the reputation you two have.”
“You’ve heard of us?” Artie inquired. “Only the good parts, I hope.”
Bellingham laughed. “Oh, indeed! The sad part is, you’re Yankees.”
“Accident of birth,” Jim drawled.
Now the saloon owner threw his head back and laughed even harder. “True enough. If your mama and daddy had had the good sense to move to, say, Georgia… who knows, history might have been different.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the able. “You in town on business?”
“I expect that’s our business,” Artie replied pleasantly.
“I’m sure you are right. I’m just naturally nosey. Got to wonder if it doesn’t have something to do with Farnley Greave.”
Jim glanced at his partner before speaking. “What do you know about him?”
“Mostly that he throws his weight around pretty good. Doesn’t like people to say no to him, especially women.”
“You’re speaking of Miss Price?” Artie asked.
“Her and a couple others. I had a lady working here—a real lady, named Leona. She sang and talked to the boys and that was about it. Everyone loved her. When Greave came into town, he decided he wanted something more than singing and talking. She said no… and disappeared.”
“Left, you mean?” Jim inquired.
Bellingham’s gaze grew dark. “No. She would not have left without telling me. She knew I would help her all I could. She just disappeared.” He leaned further forward, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I think Greave killed her, or had her killed.”
Again the agents exchanged a glance. “We did hear a rumor,” Artie put in, “that he might have been responsible for the death of a woman in Canada. Don’t suppose you have anything more than suspicion going for you.”
With a noisy sigh, Bellingham leaned back. “If I’d had any kind of proof, I’d have made sure that stupid sheriff of ours did something about it, if only to send for a U.S. marshal or something.”
“Wonder if that could be our opening,” Artie murmured.
Jim nodded. “Mr. Bellingham, would you mind telling us all you know about Leona and her connection with Greave—what you witnessed between them, the last time you saw her, anything that might point toward Greave?”
W*W*W*W*W
The surest way of making a dupe is to let your victim suppose you are his.
— Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton (1803-1873), English novelist and politician
The surest way of making a dupe is to let your victim suppose you are his.
— Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton (1803-1873), English novelist and politician
The following morning after breakfast at Ma’s—a meal that had Artemus speculating about purchasing a home in the town just so he could eat Madora’s cooking for every meal—they saddled up and headed out. Romney Bellingham had given them directions to the Greave ranch, as well as a great deal more information. The problem was how much of that information they could use. They were not authorized to investigate a local murder—not even the disappearance of a local woman.
Artie was the one who had come up with a possible solution, and Jim agreed it was worth a try. They rode directly up to the big white house—a home larger than that of Daniel Richmond—ignoring the men who moved out to watch them arrive. One of those men was Curly, and his glare was throwing daggers toward Jim in particular. But no one made a threatening move; they just watched.
As the agents dismounted and walked toward the porch, a man emerged from the front door. “Something I can do for you gents?” He was a stocky man with a mane of white hair, clean-shaven except for a fringe of whiskers outlining his strong jaw. The jaw and beard accented his frosty gray eyes as he peered at them. He was attired in a perfectly tailored gray suit with maroon piping that matched the gleaming brocade vest under the coat, and his shirt collar was spotlessly white.
Artemus stepped forward slightly, pulling off his hat and clearing his throat. “Mr. Greave? My name is Artemus Gordon and this is my partner, Jim West. We are…” He tried to appear ill at ease.
“I know. Government agents.” The eyes narrowed slightly. These two are supposedly very clever. But I’ve dealt with clever men before… and bested them easily.
“Yes, sir. We apologize for interrupting your morning,” Jim spoke politely as he jerked off his own hat and fingered it somewhat self-consciously. “I’m afraid we’re under orders.”
“What kind of orders?”
Again Artie cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Mr. Greave, as you may know, Colonel Richmond of the Secret Service is visiting in this area.”
“I heard that.” The obvious unease of the pair was drawing Greave’s interest. Maybe I had the wrong suspicions about their presence in this area…
Artie glanced nervously at Jim and continued. “Well, he’s our superior, and he ordered us to come here to look into some information he had.”
Greave looked at them for a long moment. Plainly he was wary, but also curious. Finally he stepped back. “Why don’t you come inside? I have fresh coffee.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jim said quickly, trying to display some relief. The whole idea was to make Greave believe they had come unwillingly, reluctant to hassle a leading citizen with what was probably a wild goose chase.
He led them through a foyer with polished hardwood floors into a parlor where the floor was covered with what appeared to be genuine Turkish carpeting, along with other appointments that were clearly very expensively purchased. Greave waved them to chairs as he pulled a bell rope inside the door before taking a plush easy chair. A moment later, a middle-aged woman appeared and Greave ordered coffee.
“What is it that brings you gentlemen here this morning?” he asked then.
One more time Artie performed that nervous-sounding throat clearing. “We’re told that you were acquainted with a woman named Leona who worked in the Dixie Bell.”
That wariness even more evident now. “I recall a woman of that name.”
Jim took it up. “You see, Mr. Greave, a man in Washington—a very, er, well-placed man, has been looking for his niece for some time now. Her name was Leona. Colonel Richmond, after hearing this woman’s name, asked for her description, and she sounds a great deal like Leona Darwin. We’ve been told she apparently left this area. We were hoping that, because you were… friendly with her, she might have given you some indication of where she went from here.” He kept his gaze direct and, he hoped, guileless.
The housekeeper returned with a gleaming silver coffee service, replete with exquisite china cups, and a plate of small cinnamon rolls. She served silently, expression never changing. Her task completed, she placed the coffee server on the silver tray and departed.
“Excellent coffee,” Artie murmured after tasting his. It was as good as anything he had ever been served in New York or Paris.
Greave leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He seemed relaxed and confident now. “Leona,” he said. “A lovely lady. Not entirely to my taste in femininity, but charming nonetheless. Her greatest asset was her singing voice. I told her that she could do very well in a larger venue, such as San Francisco or even Montreal. She spoke French, as you may know, and could sing in it as well.” He appeared not to notice that he used the past tense.
Artie cocked his head. “So you think she may have gone somewhere like that?” He sounded hopeful.
“It’s possible. I also know she was concerned that Bellingham wouldn’t let her go. Not that she had a contract with him, as I understood it. I was not surprised to hear that she slipped away one night.” Plainly these two are out of their depths; tracking missing women is not what they usually do. I should be able to make fools of them easily. Chasing bank robbers is nothing like dealing with Farnley Greave. Durain forewarned me. I won’t be duped as he was. Perhaps I was hasty in sending Colgan and Lonergan after them. However, I don’t believe I’ll rescind my orders just yet.
Artie nibbled on one of the cinnamon rolls. “We spoke to Mr. Bellingham. He expressed surprise that she would have left so suddenly. She seemed happy there.”
Greave smiled. “I suppose she was—until she realized she was destined for bigger and better things. I wouldn’t be surprised that she’s in a big city, making good money—and under a different name.”
Jim sighed. “You are probably right. Only problem is, we’re going to have to have more information, more proof. The Senator—I mean Leona’s uncle, isn’t going to be satisfied otherwise. I hope you don’t mind if we talk to you further at another time about this. Perhaps you’ll remember more about your conversations with Leona Darwin.”
The smile widened. “Anytime, gentlemen. Feel free to call at any time.” That was easy. These simpletons won’t bother me again. And if they do… I’ll handle them just as easily. Or bury them.