Post by California gal on Feb 27, 2011 9:31:51 GMT -8
THE NIGHT OF THE EXTRAVAGANZA OF DEATH
Chapter One
[/i]Chapter One
Desperation is sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius.
— Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881), British parliamentarian[/center]
“Five minutes, West! You’ve got five minutes!”
Jim West muttered a soft but heartfelt and furious curse as he stepped back from the window, lowering the rifle he had grabbed from the rack on the wall. “Stan, I can’t get a clear shot. The way he’s holding Artie around the neck, there’s just not enough of him showing. I need to be at an angle.”
Sheriff Stan Blaine shook his head. “We might have to give in, Jim.”
“No! I know Wes Watson. He’ll renege and take Artie with him… then kill him. And try to kill us!”
A half hour ago the two agents had been relaxing in the sheriff’s office, discussing the case the three of them had just concluded successfully, rounding up a pair of counterfeiters who had been using Blaine’s Kansas town as a base of operations. Artemus had remembered that he wanted to cash a draft before they headed back to the Wanderer, and excused himself to cross the street to the bank directly opposite. Just a few minutes later, a couple of shots had resounded from within that bank.
When West and Blaine dashed outside, they had been greeted with more gunfire that drove them back inside the jail building. A woman customer managed to escape from the bank during the melee, and from her they learned that one Wes Watson and another man had attempted to rob the bank—in Artemus's Gordon’s presence. Gordon had used the name “Watson” in speaking to the robbers, and from the description the witness offered, Jim realized the identity of the man. She related that Mr. Gordon had attempted to foil the robbery. According to the woman, apparently Artie had wounded or killed Watson’s partner, taking him out of the action but Watson then got the drop on the agent. During those moments she had been able to dash out the front door.
The Secret Service agents knew Watson well, and he knew them, from previous encounters. He soon was yelling an ultimatum, demanding safe passage out of town in exchange for the lives of the people remaining in the bank, including Gordon. The two lawmen in the jail had kept him talking while trying to come up with a way to capture him without causing injury to the hostages.
Planning was difficult because, as Blaine explained, the front door was the only entrance to the bank. A rear door was always securely locked and barred from the inside and the windows in the back, like those in the front, were barred. The sheriff also pointed out that because of the arrangement of the tellers’ cages in the bank, a clear view of the customers and the criminals was doubtful through any rear windows. The partitions that created the tellers’ area were tall.
Finally, a short while ago, Watson had emerged from the bank with Artemus Gordon squarely in front of him, one arm around Artie’s neck while holding a pistol muzzle against his head with his other hand. Watson knew that the moment he mounted his nearby horse, he would be an open target. He was demanding that West and Blaine come outside and throw their guns into the street before he would allow Gordon to go free.
“Stan,” Jim said, leaning his head close to the side of one of the jail’s front windows and peering out, “the hotel next door… it has a front balcony on the second floor.”
“Yeah. What are you thinking?”
“I’ve got to get a better angle. Keep Watson talking.”
Without waiting for the sheriff to answer, Jim headed for the jail’s back door, exited through it to the barren lot behind the buildings, then raced to the small hotel next door. Finding the hotel’s rear door thankfully unlocked—so that he did not have to waste time with the picklock—he entered and ascended the back stairs several at a time, then sprinted down the hallway toward the front of the building to the tall French doors that opened to the small balcony.
He paused there, opening the door just wide enough to peer out, and his heart sank. I didn’t notice the bank’s sign! It was a large one, suspended from a projecting pole at the corner of the bank’s building—and it shielded the view of all but the legs of the two men standing close together in front of the building. If I shoot Watson in the leg, he can still pull the trigger on Artie!
Not enough time remained to formulate another plan. One advantage to the sign was that it would also block him from Watson’s view once he was on the veranda. Jim stepped through the door and moved to the railing. Without hesitation, he threw his legs over the railing, clutching the rifle firmly in one hand as he turned to face the building while holding onto the railing with the other hand, then pushed his boots through the spaces between the vertical posts.
He knew speed on his part was essential. Once he dropped down, he would be visible to Watson. He could hear Watson yelling angry words toward the jail, his patience wearing thin. Wes Watson was the type of man who would rather die than surrender, and he would be happy to take a lawman or two along with him, especially a lawman who had foiled his plans once before and sent him to prison for a stretch.
His boots firmly hooked within the posts, Jim lowered his body, not giving a thought to the fact that if a post loosened, or he lost his grip, he would fall straight down on his head. Even as he dropped, he was bringing the rifle into position. The moment his body stabilized, he aimed and fired, while hanging upside down.
For just an instant, nothing moved. Then he saw Watson crumple, and Artemus Gordon spring away. Jim quickly reached up to grab the posts with one hand, freed his boots, and then dropped feet first to the street below. His partner was running toward him. Jim experienced some alarm as he straightened and saw the blood on Artie’s shirt near the neckline.
“Are you all right?” he asked as soon as Gordon was near.
“I’m fine, I’m fine! My God, Jim! That was an incredible feat.” He then noticed how Jim was staring at him, and glanced down. “That’s Watson’s blood. You got him in the head.”
“It was the only way, Artie. I couldn’t allow him an instant of reflex time to pull the trigger.”
Artemus reached out, put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “James my boy, this calls for a drink, and I assure you, it’s on me!”
Along the street, citizens who had dashed for cover when the standoff began were drifting back onto the walkways and porches, clustering and exclaiming over what they had just witnessed through windows and doors. Sheriff Blaine had rushed out to make sure of Watson, and now was asking a teenage boy to go fetch the doctor-coroner. Just in front of the general mercantile, a portly man in a loud green plaid suit and a black derby hat held a fat cigar in one hand as he stared down the street. After a moment, he turned to the woman at his side.
“Viv, there’s our savior.”
The woman with the cinnamon-colored curls smiled slightly. “I’ll say!” She was quite a bit younger than him, but not as young as she tried to appear in the tight fitting gown she wore.
The man glanced at her. “Not that way. A man with talent like that… he’d be a sensation. His fine appearance would be a bonus. The men would come to see him shoot, the ladies would come to see him!”
A look of skepticism appeared on Viv’s face. “I saw him before. He’s a government man. Not show business.”
Her companion took a puff on the odorous cigar, exhaled a cloud of smoke. “All the better. We know how the government pays. I’m going to make him an offer he can’t possibly refuse.”
Viv shook her head. “I don't know, Parny. I think you might be biting off more than you can chew!”
Anger flashed on his round face. “I think I know my way around men like these! I’ll sign him. You know I don’t fail when I set out to bring a man in.” He was staring down the street and did not see the expression of combined fear and distaste that appeared on his companion’s face.
W*W*W*W*W
Artemus lifted his glass of excellent Kentucky bourbon. “To the finest shot I have ever seen, and the only man who could have made it.”
Stan Blaine hoisted his own glass. “I second that.”
Jim West just grinned, picking up his own tumbler. “Lucky shot.” At least Artemus had taken the time to return to his hotel room and change his shirt. Jim had found those gory stains unsettling. “I’m just glad you didn’t move.”
Artie sipped his whiskey. “I knew you’d be up to something, pal. I thought it would be best if I played like I was a statue.”
Blaine looked at the pair. “You two work together pretty well.”
Artie chuckled. “We ought to after all this time. And we’d better! Otherwise, one or both of us would be dead by now.”
“What I want to know,” Jim said with a straight face, “is how you allowed Watson to get the upper hand in the bank.” A teasing twinkle was in his green eyes.
Artie rolled his eyes. He had known that would come up sooner or later. “I thought Pohl was unconscious or dead after I shot him, James. I saw him move out of the corner of my eye, however, and turned to make sure he did not get to his gun… the rest is history.”
Jim made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Artemus, you’re slipping. What happened to the eyes in the back of your head?”
“I think they need glasses!”
Blaine laughed. He had known this pair for a long time, since late in the war when they had fought together in the Shenandoah Valley. He was about to make a comment when the man who had approached the table interrupted.
“Pardon me. Mr. West, isn’t it?”
Jim looked up at the large man in the garish plaid suit. He held his derby in one hand, a cigar in the other, his baldpate gleaming dully in the saloon’s dim interior. “Something I can do for you, sir?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. My card.” Combining the cigar and hat in one hand, the other one dipped into an inside pocket to withdraw a small pasteboard, which he handed over. Jim looked at it briefly, passed it to Artemus.
“’Parnassus Tyrus Ordway,’” Artie read aloud. “‘Showman Extraordinaire.’ That’s a mouthful.”
Ordway smiled. “My friends call me P.T. I hope we will be friends, Mr. West.”
Jim gazed at the man, expressionless. “What can I do for you, Mr. Ordway?” he asked again.
“I would like to speak to you on an urgent matter. Alone.”
Jim leaned back. “You can talk in front of my friends. Is it a problem you need help with?”
Uninvited, Ordway pulled out the fourth chair at the table and sat down across from Jim, leaning forward as he put the hat on the table. The cigar’s rancid fumes began to create a miasma around the group. “It is a problem, in a sense. I need another act for my show, and I believe you would be perfect.”
Jim blinked. “Show? What show?” He had not expected that response.
“As indicated on my business card, I own the P.T. Ordway Circus and Extravaganza, finest traveling exposition in the world. Currently we are putting on performances in the town about thirty miles south of here, and will be setting up nearby next week to treat the citizens of this fine hamlet to an extraordinary show.”
“Have you obtained a permit from Mayor Diggs?” the sheriff asked quickly.
Ordway beamed. “That was the primary purpose of my journey here, advance man you might say. A most fortuitous journey, as it turned out. I had previously heard the tale of how Mr. West split a bullet on an axe, and thought it must have been exaggerated. Today, after witnessing Mr. West’s remarkable display of marksmanship I certainly believe what I was told.” He turned his attention back to Jim. “Mr. West, you are wasting your talents. I can make you very wealthy and very famous in short order.”
Bemused, Jim shook his head. “You’re mixed up, Mr. Ordway. My partner, Mr. Gordon, is the showman.”
Ordway was unfazed. “It was you I saw make that amazing shot, Mr. West. As said, I had heard previously that you were a fine marksman, but I had no idea just how exceptional. I’m sure you can do other tricks that would amaze and astound, and draw in spectators by the hundreds, perhaps thousands.”
Jim had picked up his glass to take a sip, and now he lowered it, untouched. “Are you saying you want me to perform in your circus?” He was having a problem comprehending that someone would even make such an offer, let alone presume that he would be interested.
“Exactly, Mr. West. Talent like yours should be put to good use. As I mentioned, I can make you world famous as well as quite rich. We could tour Europe and…”
Jim cut in then, his voice sharp. “I think I put my ‘talent’ to pretty good use awhile ago, saving my friend’s life.”
“Yes, yes, certainly,” the large man smiled patronizingly. “And if you wish, I’ll be happy to put Mr. Gordon on the payroll as well. Perhaps you can recreate the feat…”
Jim looked at Artemus and saw the same astonishment he was experiencing in his partner’s face. “Mr. Ordway, I’m aware that you are in a sense offering me a compliment.” He spoke evenly, softly. “But what I did out there on the street… I killed a man to save another man’s life. I don’t regret it, but it’s not something I want to dwell on and repeat time and again, in an extravaganza, or otherwise. I thank you for your offer, but the answer is no. I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t even heard my terms yet, Mr. West.”
“I’m not interested in your terms. Please excuse us, Mr. Ordway.”
Artemus saw the surprise on P.T. Ordway’s face. Jim’s voice and expression were hard now. Ordway seems to think killing a man as Jim did was not only child’s play, but also something we do every day. We both have killed. We have to in this line of work. Jim did it to save me, but that did not make it any the more palatable. It was a cold-blooded killing, no matter how one looks at it. I know I’ll never forget the sound of that slug entering Watson’s skull…
“Mr. West, you are making a mistake. I am willing to negotiate…”
Now Jim West stood up. “Mr. Ordway, this is a private party.”
Perhaps the ice in Jim’s green eyes did it this time. Ordway slowly rose. “You have my card. I’ll be here overnight, and then will return within the week with my show. Come and see me when you are willing to be reasonable.” He picked up his hat, turned and stalked toward the batwing doors.
Jim sank back into his chair, his expression stony. Stan Blaine whistled softly. “That’s a determined man, Jim.”
Artie smiled. “I think he met an even more determined one, Stan.”
“I think you are right, Artemus,” the sheriff replied, glancing at West’s still angry countenance. “I think you are right.”
Jim turned his gaze to his partner. “Ever hear of him before?”
Artie nodded. “I think so. He owns a tent show that flits around from small town to small town. From what I’ve heard, he’d never make it in the big city with a more sophisticated audience… unless he had a performer who could do amazing feats with a gun.” He eyed Jim.
“Then he’ll have to look elsewhere.”
W*W*W*W*W
It is the nature of every person to error, but only the fool perseveres in error.
—Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BC), Roman philosopher
It is the nature of every person to error, but only the fool perseveres in error.
—Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BC), Roman philosopher
“Don’t look now,” Artemus spoke in a low voice from behind his coffee cup, “but we have company.”
From the tone of Artie’s voice and the expression on his face, Jim knew that whoever was approaching their table was not someone they would welcome warmly. Still, he glanced around to see the wide-girthed man, this time attired in a slightly more stylish gray suit, though a large sparkling stone glittered from the tiepin inserted into his puff tie. He was not alone. A woman clung to his arm.
At first glance, from a distance, she was an attractive woman with reddish hair, though attired in a satin gown that appeared to be more suitable for an evening of theater and cocktails rather than a dusty cow town in the middle of Wyoming. As the pair approached, her age began to show. She was closer to thirty-five than the twenty-five she was obviously attempting to emulate. The dress was low cut, and she sported a glittering necklace as well as dangling, sparkling earrings.
Innate courtesy bade both men to rise, though each was aware that the female on Ordway’s arm was far from owning the title of a “lady.” P.T. Ordway was beaming. “What a marvelous surprise to encounter you two here. I was considering writing to find out if you had considered my offer further, Mr. West.”
Jim gazed at him coolly. “I never gave it another thought, Mr. Ordway.”
Ordway’s wide smile became fixed. “You have a wonderful sense of humor, Mr. West. Oh, pardon me. Allow me to introduce the brilliant star of my extravaganza. This lovely young lady is Miss Vivian La Belle. She sings like an angel and dances like a sylph. My dear, Mr. Gordon, and Mr. West. I’ve mentioned them to you.”
The woman batted her lashes, her attention fully on James West. “I am so delighted to meet you, Mr. West. I look forward to… interacting with you in Mr. Ordway’s productions.” Jim had the distinct impression she was definitely interested, but her behavior just now was forced, the smile fake.
“How do you do, Miss La Belle,” Jim replied politely. “I’m afraid Mr. Ordway may have misled you. I have no intention of joining the ‘production,’ or anything else associated with his show.”
Immediately she turned a pouting expression toward the large man. “Parny, darling, you aren’t being stingy again, are you?”
Ordway beamed at her. If he was aware she was putting on an act, he either did not notice or approved. “Of course not, my pet. Mr. West and I have not sat down to serious negotiations yet. I’m sure once we do, the matter will be settled rapidly. If you will come to my hotel room later, Mr. West, I’ll show you the contract I have had drawn up. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with…”
“Mr. Ordway,” Jim cut in icily, “I told you before, and I’ll tell you now, I have no interest in joining your show. Not for any amount of money.”
The smile flickered ever so slightly. Ordway turned his attention to Artemus. “Mr. Gordon, as a former showman, I’m sure you have talked to your partner about…”
Now it was Artie’s turn to interrupt. “Mr. Ordway, I can assure you that what Mr. West just said is the absolute truth. Neither of us is interested in joining your circus in any capacity. I know Mr. West is flattered by the offer. I hope you’ll excuse us. We have an appointment as soon as we finish our meal… which is getting cold.” Though his tone was mild, Artie’s eyes revealed his annoyance and anger. He had become aware that he had better step in. He could see Jim’s temper starting to boil.
Ordway looked from one man to the other, glanced at the woman as though considering whether to encourage her to use her wiles further, then finally shrugged. “As I said before, you have my card. My whereabouts will not be difficult to ascertain. The P.T. Ordway Extravaganza is well known, after all. Perhaps we’ll meet fortuitously again….” He tipped his hat and led his companion away.
Jim sank into his chair, muttering something. Artie looked at him. “What’s that you said? That Ordway is a fine upstanding gentleman? I agree with you wholeheartedly, sir. Wholeheartedly.”
Jim had to grin as he picked up his fork again. “Persistent one, anyway. I believe he got the message this time.”
Artemus looked toward the pair that was just now exiting the restaurant. I’m not so sure about that… not sure indeed.
W*W*W*W*W
Jim entered the varnish car carrying the cup of coffee he had poured in the galley. He was not surprised to see his partner bent over the clattering telegraph key at the other end of the car, and caught the last few words of the message. “Is that what I think it is?”
Artie looked up. “I’m afraid so. No rest for the wicked or the weary, James. We are to proceed to Arapaho Creek, Wyoming to meet with Territorial Senator Wallace White, who will fill us in on some dastardly deeds that are occurring in his district.”
Sitting down on the arm of the sofa facing the rear, Jim sipped his coffee. “No clue what the deeds are?”
“No, but obviously something that is considered federal jurisdiction.” Artemus sighed. “And here I was hoping for a leisurely train trip back to Washington.”
Jim grinned. “With a stop in Cincinnati where a certain Miss Fortune is currently performing with her troupe.”
“That would have been nice,” Artie sighed again then pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll start breakfast if you’ll inform the crew. I hope there’s a siding right close to Arapaho Creek, I am not in the mood for a long horseback ride.”
“The name Wallace White sounds familiar,” Jim mused. “Wonder why?”
Artemus shook his head. “Probably heard it mentioned on some previous pleasure jaunt through Wyoming Territory. Or saw it on an electioneering poster.”
Jim nodded absently as he headed out to inform the train crew of the plans. He had a distinct sense that Wallace White’s name had come up in some entirely different context, but what that had been was not coming to mind just now. Perhaps meeting him would help.
Artie’s wish was partially granted as two days later the Wanderer parked on a siding that was just ten miles west of Arapaho Creek, Wyoming. As Artemus pointed out, they could at least return to the train at night, to their own beds, if no decent accommodations were available. After a good breakfast, the agents saddled up and headed toward the town, which they knew was located in a small valley just east of the rail lines.
The road led between two low hills and opened into the broad area known as Indian Rock Valley. A couple of creeks roamed through the area, including the one for which the town was named, providing water and grasslands for the numerous cattle they saw grazing in the fields on either side of the road. The area appeared prosperous—and peaceful.
“Wonder what the problem is here,” Artie mused as they spotted the buildings of the town ahead of them. “Not another madman planning to conquer the world, I hope.”
Jim shook his head. “Loveless has been quiet for awhile.”
“Yeah. I keep hoping that one of his experiments blew up on him and took him out of our lives.”
Jim chuckled. “Wishful thinking.” The little doctor appeared to be indestructible, at least if one considered the number of times they had believed him to have been involved in a fatal incident, only to have him pop up again elsewhere.
They had just reached the first building at the edge of town, a large structure that appeared to be part of the livery stable and blacksmith shop whose sign they saw hanging from the front, when Artie groaned aloud. “I don’t believe it!”
Jim looked around. “What?”
Artemus pointed toward the building and Jim saw what he meant. A large, colorful poster announced that the astonishing and amazing P.T. Ordway Circus and Extravaganza would be performing in Arapaho Creek. “They should be here anytime now,” he commented, noticing the dates on an overlain strip.
Though annoyed with the coincidence, Jim just shook his head. “If he tries to interfere with our investigation, we’ll just throw him in jail.”
Artie wondered if his partner was as okay with the fluke that put them in the same town as the showman as his demeanor indicated. They had not talked about Ordway after the encounter in the restaurant a few weeks ago, although Artemus had mentioned the incident to Lily Fortune in the last letter he wrote to her. The response to that letter arrived just the day prior to the telegraph message with this assignment.
Lily had heard of P.T. Ordway. At one time, she understood, he was a well-known and reasonably successful performer on the New York stage, renowned for his extravagant attire and bawdy songs. Some years ago he had bought into a traveling show, and when his partner died in an accident, took complete control. Rumors were that his excessiveness now extended to his spending habits, both for the show and personally, and that income from the show never came close to matching expenditures. He was deeply in debt.
That certainly explains why he is desperate for a top-flight act to draw in customers, Artie had reflected. James West, already famed for his exploits as a government agent, would certainly fill that bill. Artie knew that Jim would have never agreed to any offer, although Ordway had gone about approaching the agent in the worst manner possible. A little subtlety might have at least caused Jim to be a bit intrigued.
Jim was the one who spotted the shingle suspended from the edge of the overhanging roof of the porch on the small building: Wallace White, Attorney-at-Law. They had been told that the state legislator was a practicing attorney; during a recess in territorial business, he would be in Arapaho Creek to meet with them. They dismounted and tied their horses to the rail in front of that building. Neither could help but notice that a few passersby cast distinctly cool and suspicious looks their way.
Stepping through the front door, they found themselves in a small anteroom, where a thin young man with slicked down hair looked up from the typewriting machine he had been using. His eyes registered disdain as he surveyed the two dusty men in trail garb. “May I help you, gentlemen?”
Artemus pulled out his identification folder and extended it toward him. “We’re here to see Senator White.”
The clerk’s demeanor changed immediately. “Yes, of course. He’s expecting you. One moment please.” Rising from his chair he tapped on an interior door, then entered, closing it behind him. The agents exchanged glances as the waiting period extended toward several minutes before he returned, smiling politely and leaving the door open behind him. “Please go on in.”
The interior office was what one might expect of a lawyer’s office: walls lined with books, a few framed certificates in bare spaces, a fine heavy desk covered with papers and a few knickknacks such as a carved wooden figurine of a buffalo and another brass one depicting an Indian chief in feathered headdress. Two wooden chairs completed the furnishings.
The man behind the desk was not what either anticipated. Artie knew he had thought the elected representative would be white haired, perhaps even on the portly side. The man who rose from behind the desk and extended his hand was young, probably in his mid thirties. His blond hair was very wavy, just short of being considered curly. Smiling blue eyes gazed at them, surrounded by even features. A much younger and more handsome man than they had expected.
Jim made the introductions, and then they sat down. “Senator White, we were told you would enlighten us as to why our presence is needed here,” Jim said.
“I can tell you one thing,” White smiled. “Your presence is most welcome here.”
“We understand you feel the need of federal intervention in some matter,” Artemus prodded.
White cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I believe a resident of this area is plotting to assassinate President Grant, and possibly take over the government in Washington.”
Neither man rolled his eyes, but both felt like it. Jim asked politely, “What causes you to come to that conclusion, senator?”
“The majority of the residents of Arapaho Creek as well as Indian Rock Valley are northerners, gentlemen. Many, like myself, engaged in the recent war on the side of the Union and fully support the government. However, we do have a few who were ardent supporters of the Confederacy.”
“Excuse me,” Artie spoke mildly, smiling a little, “but that does not necessarily make them anarchists.”
“I am quite aware of that. In fact, of the twenty or so men and women in this area who have southern connections—some farmers and ranchers, some hired men—I am thinking of just one, a man who has caused a number of disruptions in the local taverns with his anti-Grant rhetoric.”
“We can’t arrest a man for talking,” Jim pointed out.
A flash of irritation appeared in White’s eyes. “I’m aware of that, Mr. West. I’m merely suggesting that you visit Merrill Harkness and form an opinion. I should point out that he is a client of mine. I’m the only attorney in this area, and I don’t find it prudent—or good business—to refuse my services because of personal animosity. I know he feels the same way about being required to deal with an ex-Yankee soldier. I represent all citizens as a legislator.”
“We can do that,” Artie said, as both agents got to their feet. “Where will we find Mr. Harkness?”
“The Rocker H ranch is the last one at the north end of the valley. It’s quite a good spread. Mr. Harkness arrived several years ago with funds to purchase two properties and merge them into one. I will mention that some resentment arose with that acquisition, as the Rocker H now has the best water and the best grazing land in the area. Other longer-established residents had hoped to acquire that property, but Mr. Harkness outbid them.”
Artie caught his partner’s glance as they both turned toward the door, and knew that Jim’s thoughts were the same. Had Wallace White been one of the bidders?
“We’ll look into it, senator,” Jim said as he reached for the door handle, becoming aware of voices from the outer office, one a rather loud male voice. This time he looked at Artie directly, brows lifting.
Artie heard it too, and the voice was too familiar. Jim proceeded to open the door, whereupon neither agent was surprised to find Parnassus Tyrus Ordway, resplendent in his green plaid, standing in front of the young assistant’s desk. He looked as the door opened, and his eyes widened in great surprise; too great.
“I don’t believe it! Surely this must be kismet! Here we are together again in the same location. Mr. West, Mr. Gordon, how good to see you again!”
They ignored his proffered hand, barely nodding as they exited onto the wooden porch. Artie saw the anger on his partner’s countenance and sought to distract him. “Jim, there’s a sheriff’s office down the street. See the sign?”
Jim looked and spotted the wooden sign positioned vertically to the front of a brick building, the only brick structure visible. “We’d better talk to him,” he nodded. He knew he needed a few minutes to cool his irritation anyway and the walk down the street would help.
Leaving the horses tied in front of the senator’s office, they angled across the dusty street to the porch of the brick structure. The door was standing open, so Artie stepped up to the entrance and called, “Hello!”
Upon receiving no reply, he moved farther in, Jim following. The room was dim and cool. A roll-top desk was at one side, a bench against the wall near it, and a barrel-back chair in front. A rack on the wall held rifles, securely locked in. But no one was present. Jim spotted the heavy door at the rear and went to it, pulling it open and peering in toward the empty cells.
“Not there, either,” he commented, closing the door and turning back.
“Must not be too far away to have left the front door standing open,” Artie posited. “Guess we could wait a few minutes.”
Jim nodded. “What did you think of White?”
“I don't know. I think I’m remembering where you may have heard the name before though.”
“Yeah?”
“Must have been about ‘fifty-nine. Before the war anyway. Wallace White ran for the U.S. Congress from Kentucky—until it was proven he was not yet twenty-five years old, the minimum age requirement. He didn’t get the seat, but he got lots of publicity.”
Jim frowned. “That might be it, though I don’t recall that specific incident. Maybe it’ll come to me.”
“Or maybe we can send a few messages from the train this evening.”
“Something I can help you with, gents?” inquired the dark shape that suddenly filled the doorway.
“We’d like to discuss something with you, sheriff,” Jim replied, spotting the shiny badge on the corduroy vest the burly man was wearing. “I’m James West, and this is my partner, Artemus Gordon. We are…”
“I know who you are.”
The iciness of the tone, matched by the coldness in the man’s brown eyes, was startling., “Sheriff, I wonder if we are not being mistaken for someone else,” Artie ventured. “We couldn’t help but notice a few stares by people on the street.”
“I don't think so,” the lawman replied, moving to sit in the chair by the desk. “Tell me what you want and then get the hell out of my office.”
Now the two men exchanged glances before Jim spoke quietly. “Sheriff, why don’t you just tell us what you think we want?”
“You’re here to harass one of the most popular men in this valley, at the behest of Senator White.”
“And that popular man is…?” Artie prompted.
“Merrill Harkness. Am I right? Did White sic you on him?”
Jim folded his arms across his chest. “All the more reason why we need to talk to you, sheriff. To get your side of the story.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed as he looked from one man to the other. “What did White tell you?”
“That Harkness is an anarchist looking to overthrow the U.S. government,” Artemus replied flatly.
The lawman slapped his palm on the desk beside him, and threw his head back to bark a raucous laugh. “Well, nothin’ else has worked to get Harkness to sell out, has it?”
Again the agents looked at each other, and Artie urged, “Do you mind telling us your side of the story?”
For a long moment the sheriff gazed at each of them. Then he seemed to make up his mind and nodded. “Sit down, gents. By the way, I’m Floyd Lyon, the first and only sheriff Indian Head Valley has ever had. Sorry if I sounded cross. I reckon a lot of us are tired of Wallace White’s highhandedness.”
Artie was nearest the lone visitor’s chair and he took it, while Jim perched on the nearby bench. “We didn’t get much information when we were sent here,” Artie put in. I wonder why. White must have friends in high places, especially if what Lyon is going to tell us is true. Without even hearing the sheriff’s story, Artie knew he was prone to believe it.
“White showed up here in ‘sixty-three,” Lyon began, and Jim immediately interrupted.
“He told us he was a veteran of the war.”
“Oh, I guess that’s true enough. Never been able to track down just what his record was, but I saw his discharge papers when he was running for office and his opponent challenged him. Appeared he was let go for ‘health reasons,’ but he sure seems hale and hearty to me. As I recall, he was in a Kentucky regiment, one that was on the Union side at least. Anyway, he came to town, hung up his sign and started practicing law. At first folks were a bit leery of such a young fellow, but he seemed to know his law books. And he was generous. Didn’t charge high fees, especially to folks who didn’t have the wherewithal to pay them.”
“When did it go sour?” Jim asked.
“Long about the end of the war when men who had gone off to fight started coming back, along with newcomers, looking to settle, like Merrill Harkness. Two families related to each other through marriage, the Eversoles and the Kendalls, owned property side by side at the end of the valley. They decided to pull up stakes and move further west, putting their properties up for sale. White bid on the properties, and was courting the widow Lofton around that time. The Lofton ranch borders what was the Eversole property, and it seemed to many of us that White figured on killing three birds with one stone, if you get my drift, ending up with one of the largest ranches in the state. And best, what with the water in that area.
“Anyway, Harkness put the kibosh on that by showing up with money to outbid everyone on those two spreads. White was fit to be tied, and tried to stop the deal, but there wasn’t nothing he could do about it. Shortly, he gave up on Lucy Lofton, went to Cheyenne and came back with a bride. Then he ran for the territorial seat.”
“If he’s such a despicable character,” Artie wanted to know, “how did he get elected?”
Lyon made a disgusted sound. “On account of the whole district is more than just this valley. He went outside the valley and used his considerable charm—and money—to wrap up enough votes to get the seat. It’s a six-year term that will expire this coming fall. I don't think he’ll win again.”
West and Gordon were silent a long moment, then Jim rose. “I think we’d better go talk to Harkness.”
Artie got to his feet as well. “Is the part about him being a rabid hater of Yankees true, sheriff?”
Now Lyon grinned. “Well, he don’t love us, that’s for sure.”
Jim asked, “White told us that he has been doing a lot of talking in the saloon, disparaging the government and threatening President Grant.”
Again the sheriff snorted. “It’s a saloon, gentlemen. What do people talk about in a saloon? Cattle and politics. I’ve been there. Harkness doesn’t drink much—he’s a family man—but he’s not afraid to state his opinions. And he listens to what others have to say. Never heard of him making any threats. Like I said, he’s a popular man. He helped rebuild the schoolhouse and church when they burned down two years ago—they sit next to each other south of town. He married a local girl, which softened things, I reckon. Anyone needs help, they can almost always count on Merrill Harkness. Some think he should stand for White’s seat, but he’s not inclined to politics. At least not in that way.”
“Thank you for your help, sheriff,” Jim said.
Now the lawman displayed an abashed grin. “I surely want to apologize for how I greeted you. We heard that White sent for some government men to help him drive Harkness out.”
Artie cocked his head. “You believe he has that kind of influence?”
“It’s happened before. I told you how he tried to stop Harkness from buying that property. He had some fellow from Washington come in and claim that Harkness was wanted for being part of Cantrell’s boys, tried to arrest him. But Harkness showed his papers and proved he was serving in Virginia all during the war, even offered to get a letter from General Longstreet, who he knew personally it seems. That’s when White backed down.”
“Do you remember the name of this government man?” Jim asked.
Lyon frowned, gazing at Jim. “Not offhand. I reckon I could come up with it. Important?”
“Might be. Depends on how things play out. Thank you again, sheriff. We’ll be talking to you.”
“Oh, sheriff,” Artie paused on the porch, “one more thing. This circus that’s in town… know anything about it?”
Lyon shook his head. “It was kind of a sudden thing. All of a sudden that fellow Ordway showed up, asked if they could put on a show. About three days ago I think now. Whole shebang ain’t arrived yet. Just Ordway and some posters.”
When they crossed the street to retrieve their horses, White’s assistant was standing in the doorway of his office. He nodded in their direction. They nodded back, mounted and rode north out of town, neither speaking until they had cleared the last building.
“Odd situation,” Jim commented.
“That, James my boy, is putting it mildly. I’m really anxious to get back to the train to send some messages now. I’m getting the distinct sense that Territorial Senator White is trying to use us to increase his wealth.”
“Of course, if Harkness turns out to be the rabid anti-Yankee that White claims…”
“Yeah. I see what you mean. Ordway showing up here is what throws me. I cannot believe it’s a coincidence. Seems as though a showman of his experience would realize this is not a profitable location to put on an exhibition. The town and the outlying population seems too sparse.”
“You’d sure think so. How would he know that we were going to be here?” Jim’s frown was deep.
“That, my friend, is the question indeed. And what, if anything, does his presence have to do with… anything? Senator White requested our presence, and the first thing we see is Ordway in White’s office. Like I said, too much of a coincidence to suit me.”
“He could be following us,” Jim put in, without much conviction.
“Maybe,” Artie concurred. “Maybe.”
At a steady lope, a little less than an hour was required to reach the lane leading to the Rocker H, and another five minutes to come in sight of the ranch buildings. A number of men were working in and around a corral, apparently training some horses, and all stopped to gaze at the strangers who rode up toward the fine looking two-story white house.
The man who came out onto the porch was in his middle thirties, with sandy hair and a ruddy complexion. He also was missing his left arm, the sleeve tucked into his trousers. “Something I can do for you gents?” he asked.
Neither dismounted immediately, and Jim spoke. “Mr. Harkness, my name is James West and this is my partner, Artemus Gordon. We’re federal agents.”
The smile that widened Harkness’s lips was wry. “So he did it. Light down, boys, and come on in. I reckon we have some talkin’ to do.” His accent was distinctly southern.
Tying their mounts off at the wooden rail at the end of the path that led to the porch, the two agents followed Harkness into a nicely furnished but not luxurious front parlor, where a lovely woman with dark hair and worried blue eyes was waiting, an infant in her arms while a toddler of three or so hung onto her skirts. Harkness introduced her as his wife, Rebecca, and asked her to bring coffee. He took the baby from her, cradling it in his remaining arm, and nodded Jim and Artie to the sofa while he seated himself on a rocker. The older boy climbed onto his knee, still staring at the visitors.
“What tale did White come up with to get you out here?” he asked.
“That you want to assassinate President Grant,” Artie replied, keeping his eyes on the rancher’s face. He saw utter astonishment.
“Well, I always knew he was an imaginative liar. But I won’t lie to you. Ulysses Grant ain’t my most favorite fellow, that’s for sure. We were doing pretty good in Virginia, at least holding our own ‘til Grant showed up.” He glanced at his empty sleeve. “I was finished in The Wilderness, but I know what happened after that. I lost friends at Cold Harbor.”
“So did we,” Jim replied softly.
Harkness was silent a moment, his gaze going to the infant cradled in his arm. He looked up. “I know that. It was a hellish situation. None of it ever should’ve happened. Never was sure why I even joined up. I didn’t own slaves. Didn’t like slavery, neither. But…” He shrugged. “My friends were enlisting.”
“May I ask you a question, Mr. Harkness?” Artie inquired. When Harkness nodded, he continued. “I’m getting the distinct impression you were not of the gentry in… wherever you came from.”
“Arkansas. Nope. My folks were poor. Dirt poor. Now you’re wondering where I got the money to buy this place.” Harkness grinned.
“That was going to be the question, yes.”
“Crazy thing. I got back home and my pa was dead, the homestead gone for taxes. Ma was ailing. Just about the time she passed away, I got a letter from a lawyer in Sacramento. Seems Ma had a brother—one I’d heard about but didn’t know where he was—who made a goodly fortune in California. He’d passed away and made Ma his heir. Since she was gone, I was next in line. I decided on a fresh start in a fresh place, and came here. I can show you all the papers if you want.”
Seems like everyone has papers to show us! Artie smiled and shook his head. “That’s not necessary at the moment.” He looked toward his partner. “How did White expect us to swallow his story?”
Jim shook his head. “A better question might be why he thought we’d believe him. I think we need to return to the train.”
Mrs. Harkness entered just then, bearing a tray with cups of coffee. “I hope you’re not leaving immediately,” she said. “I would like to invite you to lunch.”
“You don’t want to turn down one of Rebecca’s meals,” her husband put in. “She’s the best cook in Wyoming.”
“You sold me,” Artie said quickly, shooting a pleading glance toward his partner.
Jim chuckled. “We don’t need to rush off.”
W*W*W*W*W
Periculosae plenum opus aleae tractas, et incedis per ignes suppositos cineri doloso.
[You are dealing with a work full of dangerous hazard, and you are venturing upon fires overlaid with treacherous ashes.]
—Odes (bk. II, 1, 6), Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus; 65 BC-8 BC), Roman poet
Periculosae plenum opus aleae tractas, et incedis per ignes suppositos cineri doloso.
[You are dealing with a work full of dangerous hazard, and you are venturing upon fires overlaid with treacherous ashes.]
—Odes (bk. II, 1, 6), Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus; 65 BC-8 BC), Roman poet
“I got Rebecca Harkness’s recipe for the chicken, Jim. That had to be the finest fried chicken I’ve ever eaten! I can’t wait to prepare it.”
Jim glanced at his partner with a tolerant smile, knowing how much cooking and good food meant to Artie. “Afraid that’s going to have to wait until we get this business cleared up.” They had left the Rocker H and were riding back toward town.
“Right. But it’s something to look forward to. What next?”
“Well,” Jim sighed, “I think we’d better talk with White again—only not let him know everything we found out from Harkness and the sheriff.”
“His assistant saw us, so I’m sure he knows we talked to Lyon, and that Lyon would have steered us right where Harkness is concerned.”
‘Yeah. Well, we’ll play it close to the vest. After all, we can’t divulge all our information.”
“Yeah.” Artie shook his head. “Jim, this is crazy. White has to know we’d learn the truth. What’s this all about?”
“I have a very bad feeling that somehow our good friend P.T. is involved.”
“I do agree that his presence here is too much of a fluke. But how and why?”
“Good question. Maybe the bureau will have some information on whether and how White and Ordway are acquainted.”
“If Ordway is involved, it has to be entirely about wanting you to join his show, Jim.”
“Yeah. Well, the answer is going to be the same.”
“What beats me is that if Ordway is involved, how does he expect to convince you to sign on with him? What’s his connection with White?”
Jim shook his head. “I don't know, Artie. Presumably, we’ll find out.”
Upon returning to Arapaho Creek, they went to the office of Wallace White. The secretary greeted them much more cordially this time and escorted them directly into the inner office. White jumped to his feet.
“Mr. Gordon! Mr. West! What did you find out?”
“Not a lot,” Artie said soberly. “We think that Mr. Harkness somehow received warning of our visit and put on a great act.”
“A warning? From whom?”
Jim shook his head. “Hard to say. I’m sure that even a man like Harkness has friends. Or perhaps he has spies in town. In any case, we’ll continue to investigate.”
“He can’t continue the subterfuge forever,” Artemus spoke with firmness. “We have to be certain, Mr. White. Our job is to protect the president.”
White beamed. “Of course it is, and you do a fine job of it.”
“Mr. White,” Jim said, pausing as they started to turn back toward the door, “I don’t suppose you can tell us what Ordway wanted here.”
White shrugged. “It’s no secret. He’s looking for investors in his show and wanted my advice. It’s an excellent exhibition. I’m considering an investment myself. Have you seen it?”
“No,” Artie said, shaking his head. “But we’ve certainly heard of it. Good day, Mr. White. We’ll be in touch.”
Their visit with the sheriff was almost as brief, filling him in on what they had just told White so he would not be alarmed when they appeared to be continuing to “investigate” Harkness, not to mention siding with White. Lyon could offer no help as to why White would have come up with such a cock-and-bull story, though he suspected a possible motive: White wanted the Rocker H ranch.
As they left the sheriff’s office and started to walk back toward their horses, hitched again in front of the lawyer’s office, Jim glanced at the door of the business they were passing. “Artie, here’s the mercantile. I’m just about out of smokes. I think I’ll go in there and see what they have in stock.”
Artie nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll wait out here. Nothing I need.” He paused on the store’s porch, leaning against a post, as his partner went inside.
Jim made his way through the stacks of seed and flour bags, the tables filled with piles of shirts and bolts of fabric, to the main counter, where he found a very comely young lady with strawberry blonde curls and many freckles. He flirted with her while he made his selection of cigarillos, and had just paid for the purchase when he heard the gunshots from outside.
Dropping the box on the counter, Jim raced back toward the door, pulling his pistol as he did so. Bursting out onto the porch, the first thing he saw was his partner face down in the dust of the street. He leapt off the porch, and as he knelt down, Artie raised his head slightly.
“I’m all right, Jim. He missed. Shots came from that alley next to the restaurant.”
Coming to his feet again, Jim sprinted toward that alley, aware of voices and movement around him as startled and curious people were emerging to find out what was going on. Upon reaching the mouth of the alley, he first halted outside of it, cautiously peering around the corner of the building.
Seeing nothing but the usual litter one finds in an alley like this, he ran to the rear and again flattened himself against the alley wall before peering around and again saw no movement, only outhouses, a couple of what were probably storage sheds, and again the usual detritus of civilization: empty and broken crates, bottles, and tin cans.
Having no idea of which way to look and seeing no possible witnesses even peering out backdoors or windows, he holstered his gun and returned to the street. Artie was on his feet, brushing himself off. Floyd Lyon was standing beside him, gun in hand, which he holstered when Jim appeared.
“Nothing?” Artie called.
“Nothing,” Jim confirmed. “Did you see anything?”
Artie shook his head in the negative. “I must remember to thank Mrs. Harkness again for the recipe. While I was waiting for you, I decided to pull it out to read it over, and it slipped from my hand. Just as I bent over to retrieve it, the shots were fired.” He glanced back toward the mercantile, where the bullet holes in the wall were evident. “I just hit the ground.”
“That’s crazy,” Lyon shook his own head in wonderment. “Right in the middle of town!”
“Must have been Harkness, or one of his men.”
The three lawmen turned to face Wallace White, who had come up to join them after apparently hearing the commotion. “That would be pretty stupid on his part,” Artemus replied mildly, “considering we were just out there talking to him.”
The lawyer was unfazed. “I’m sure you’re quite aware that criminals are not always extra intelligent, regardless that they think so themselves.”
Jim nodded. “We have noticed that, Senator.”
P.T. Ordway had joined the group now. “You are in a dangerous business, gentlemen. You ought to consider more peaceful pursuits. And more lucrative.”
Artie eyed him. “And miss all this fun? Jim, we’d better get moving.”
Jim concurred, turning to go back into the store to retrieve his purchase, but found the pretty clerk on the porch with the package. He thanked her warmly and her cheeks grew rosy, blue eyes sparkling. “Charming young lady,” Artemus commented as they mounted their horses and headed out of town.
“I’ve noticed a few in this town,” Jim agreed, grinning, then sobered. “Artie…”
“I know. It makes no sense again. Unless it’s someone I’ve offended in the past who just leapt at an opportunity.”
“Well, that would narrow it down to a few hundred. But that’s part of what doesn’t make sense. We were pretty exposed riding to and from the Rocker H, and I noticed a number of decent ambush spots. The two of us were together in town, in the middle of the street. Yet the shooter waited until you were alone.”
Artie pondered a moment then shrugged. “So perhaps I am the target. Or lessening the odds?”
“Maybe.” Jim did not say anything further, unsure if he could explain this sense he had, that Artie was indeed the target. Why? Could it be someone with a particular grudge against him? I can think of very few instances where only one of us was responsible for capturing a criminal. It’s usually a joint effort, and when the convicted swears revenge, it’s against both of us.
W*W*W*W*W
When the agents returned to town the following morning, they were armed with some information received over the telegraph in response to messages they had sent. They found Sheriff Lyon in his office and proceeded to fill him in.
“I’m not surprised,” the lawman responded, shaking his head. “White never really says he was a big war hero. Maybe too smart for that, knowing there are men in this area who had actually been in just about every big fracas that happened during the war and might be able to call him on it. But he sure did suggest he was more than just a clerk at headquarters.”
“That’s apparently what he was,” Jim said, “though his records are still being searched. Not only that, his enlistment lasted for a very short time before he received a medical release, with no specific health problem listed. The physician who signed his release was later ousted for taking bribes in similar cases.”
“Why the devil did he ask for government help with this… this lie about Harkness? Wouldn’t he figure you’d do some investigating?”
“That is puzzling to us,” Artie concurred. “We’ve decided to play along a little further with him to see if we can figure it out. We also have a sense that P.T. Ordway is involved, but we are unsure how—other than the fact he is obsessed with getting Jim to sign up with his show.”
“Ordway has never been in this town before,” the sheriff stated. “I never heard of him or his show until he came by that day to ask about setting one up here. This is a small town, and the valley isn’t very big either. I doubt he’d get more than a hundred or so customers all together to pay admission, if that many. ‘Course, I don't know how these things work, but that doesn’t seem like a very big profit.”
“I don't know much about Ordway’s show,” Artie put in, “but I do know that similar shows want a larger audience than that to make ends meet. We have information that Ordway is in deep financial trouble—perhaps because he cannot attract larger audiences. That is why, of course, he would like to sign someone like my partner to perform.”
Lyon smiled, nodding. “I haven’t seen you in action, Mr. West, but I’ve certainly heard about you. I expect I’d pay to see you.”
Jim chuckled. “You don’t have to pay, sheriff. But I can’t promise I’ll be putting on a show, either. It’s just part of the job.”
After a few more minutes with the sheriff, they crossed the street to enter Wallace White’s office. The secretary beamed and told them to go right in. Senator White was expecting them. White came to his feet from behind his desk as they entered.
“Gentlemen! Please sit down. Anything new?” He resumed his chair as they settled on the visitors’ chairs.
“Not really,” Artemus replied casually. “We’ve sent some inquiries out about Harkness… among other things… but haven’t received anything of significance back yet.” He saw the shadows flit through White’s eyes with the mention of “among other things.”
“Well, I imagine that unless he was a major criminal or someone else of importance, not much information would be available, would it? I can only tell you what I know of him here. One thing I did not warn you about is that he has pulled the wool over the eyes of a number of people here. Generous with his money, you know. People don’t want to think ill of a man who builds a schoolhouse.”
Jim nodded somberly. “That’s very true.”
White cleared his throat. “Mr. West, may I ask you something?” When Jim merely looked at him, he continued. “Mr. Ordway tells me you’ve turned down a lucrative contract to perform in his show. Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I’m not a performer, Mr. White.”
“Hmm. I thought perhaps you felt he was not offering adequate compensation. I would like to offer you my legal expertise in such matters. If you bring the contract to me, I would be delighted…”
“No, thank you. I’m not a performer.”
The iciness in Jim’s expression and the repeated phrase caused White to clear his throat again. “Very well. But if I can be of service…” He cleared his throat a third time. “Oh, before I forget, my wife asked me to invite the two of you to dinner tonight.”
Artemus smiled. “That would be very nice. We’d like to meet Mrs. White.”
“She’s a lovely woman,” White beamed. “And I assure you I’m not merely prejudiced. We also have a fine cook. The house is just west of town. Two story, white… you can’t miss it. Would seven be all right?”
“Why did you say that?” Jim asked as they again crossed the dusty street toward their horses.
“Say what?”
“That we’d like to meet Mrs. White.”
“Well, we would, wouldn’t we? Sometimes one can tell a great deal about a man by the woman he chooses. Look at me. My fiancée is beautiful, intelligent, famous… what does that say about me?”
Jim put a foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle. “That you’re one hell of a lucky man.”
His partner made a snorting noise as they turned their horses down the street. They had previously decided to pay another call on Harkness, and then visit some of his neighbors. At this point they did not feel it prudent to openly visit town residents to question them about either Harkness or White. Not until they were more certain as to what was going on.
“What interests me,” Artie said then, “is that from what the sheriff told us, the current Mrs. White arrived on the scene quite soon after White dropped his suit for the widow who owned the property next the current Harkness property. Was she waiting in the wings all along?”
“What, you think he would have married the widow, perhaps murdered her for the property, and then brought in a new wife?”
“Stranger things have happened, James. I’m being philosophical, perhaps, but it does seem to me that learning about the kind of woman she is might reveal a great deal about Wallace White.”