SIXTY-SIX MILES EAST OF ELKO, NEVADA
Isaac stared out the window. He admired the picturesque topography that unfolded before him. Having never traveled outside of the east coast, seeing a great part of the country via the train had been enlightening. What he most marveled over was the desert. From Utah and now into Nevada, the rolling desert hills with the sagebrush was beautiful and mysterious to a man so accustomed to the thick lush green of the eastern states. Soon he’d be ending his train ride once he arrived in Elko. From there he planned on acquiring a horse and riding the additional sixty plus miles to Bane, which was near Tipton Point in the Ruby Mountains.
The door of the railcar opened, bringing in a burst of cold air.
Isaac looked up and saw a tall lean man step in. He was adorned with a large brimmed hat and a thick long trench coat. When the man turned, Isaac spotted a pistol holstered alongside several pouches, which appeared to be holding additional cylinders. He tossed a large leather satchel onto the seat next to a window and plopped down next to it. The man removed his hat, smoothed out his thick tightly cropped black hair, and placed the hat on the satchel.
“Don’t stare so much,” a man whispered to Isaac in a thick Scottish accent.
Isaac looked back and saw a red-haired man smiling from ear to ear. “How about minding your own business?”
“I was making sure you don’t end up with a bullet in your arse,” the man joked.
Isaac shook his head and turned to face the man. “Now why would you say that?”
“On account that I met that bloke a couple of days ago, not a big talker but talked enough. He’s a real tough guy, a warrior turned gunman turned lawman.”
“Is he now?” Isaac asked, turning his attention back to the man. A fear grew inside him at the mention of him being a lawman.
“Yeah.”
“And why would he offer that information up to a complete stranger?” Isaac asked.
“As you can see, I’m not a shy person. I often engage strangers in conversation. It helps break up the monotony of a long trip such as this.”
“I suppose it does,” Isaac said.
“It’s amazing what information people will surrender if you just ask simple questions,” the man said.
“And what else did he offer up that’s so interesting?” Isaac asked.
“That he’s headed to the same place I am,” the man answered.
“And where’s that?” Isaac asked.
“Bane, Nevada; sort of ironic, isn’t it?” the man replied.
“You’re headed to Bane?” Isaac asked, shocked to hear the name of the town.
The man cocked his head and, with a twinkle in his deep green eyes, said, “Don’t tell me you’re headed there too?”
“I am.”
“Now that’s ironic!” The man laughed.
Isaac offered his hand and said, “I’m Isaac.” He instantly regretted using his real first name.
“Connor. Nice to meet you, Isaac,” Connor said, taking Isaac’s hand and shaking it with vigor. “So what takes you to Bane?”
“I hear there’s opportunity,” Isaac answered. He wanted to keep any reply as vague as possible.
“It’s not working the mines, that’s for sure.” Connor laughed.
“Why would you say that?” Isaac asked, furrowing his brow.
“On account your hands feel dainty, like you haven’t worked a shovel in your life. Not a callus on them,” Connor said, holding up his hands to show thick hard calluses. “These are the hands of a hard worker.”
Annoyed by Connor’s disparaging comment, Isaac turned around and faced the front of the railcar.
“I didn’t mean to offend; I was merely making an observation,” Connor said.
“I’ve worked very hard my entire life and spent the last four years…” Isaac said before cutting himself off.
Leaning in, Connor asked, “Last four years doing what?”
Ignoring Connor’s question, Isaac asked with a lower tone, “So you traveled all the way from wherever you came from to work in a silver mine?”
“All the way from Scotland, the Highlands up north, to be exact,” Connor replied.
Isaac turned back around and asked, “All the way from the Highlands in Scotland to work in a dark silver mine in Nevada?”
“Actually I’m going to Bane to help my older brother, Duncan. He’s been there for six months now. He’s running a livery. I’m going there to help in the new family business.”
“Are Scots known to be horse people?” Isaac asked.
“We are, as well as other things, some I don’t dare repeat in respectable company,” Connor joked.
The man with the gun shifted in his seat enough to easily look at both Isaac and Connor.
Connor caught his eyes and nodded. “Sheriff.”
Isaac looked and said, “Hello, sir.”
“You’re headed to Bane?” the man asked.
“I am,” Isaac replied.
“What do you know about it?” the man asked.
“Not much, it’s a mining town owned by a man named Mortimer—”
“Corrigan, yeah, I know who he is. He’s the man who hired me to be the new sheriff,” the man said.
Isaac leaned across the aisle with his hand extended and said, “My name is Isaac.”
The man took his hand and said, “Sheriff Travis. Nice to meet you, Isaac…”
Not wanting to give his real name, Isaac replied, “Isaac Lee.”
“Lee like Robert E. Lee?” Travis asked.
“The same, yes, though no relation,” Isaac answered, taking his hand back.
“The general is a good man, a great leader,” Travis said. “I fought with the Army of Northern Virginia until that sad day in 1865.”
“A rebel, huh?” Isaac said.
“Yes, sir. Can I guess you weren’t?” Travis asked.
“Union, I was a captain in the Sixty-Seventh New York Volunteer Regiment,” Isaac said proudly and unafraid to offer a bit of truth. He couldn’t imagine what little information he was sharing could get him caught.
“An officer, impressive. So you’re one of those Yanks that comes from an upstanding family?” Travis asked.
When Isaac thought of his family, the word upstanding didn’t come to mind as a way to describe them. “I just happened to go to college.”
“I fought for over three years, entered as a private and left as one. I served with the Fifth Texas Infantry.”
“Hood’s Brigade! I’m familiar with that. I’ve heard a lot about you Texans,” Isaac exclaimed.
“You know, all of us weren’t Texans. Our brigade also had a regiment from Arkansas for a while, some South Carolinians, as well as a Georgia regiment too,” Travis said.
“I didn’t know that,” Isaac said. “I heard many things about the valor of your brigade at Gettysburg.”
Travis smiled and looked away.
“The talk about how you Texans fought at Little Round Top is the stuff of legend,” Isaac said with respect.
“We fought hard that day, but came up short,” Travis said. “Were you there?”
“Yes, but not at Little Round Top. We were positioned in the Bloody Wheatfield that day,” Isaac replied, he too now looking off in deep thought.
“You two have stories to tell, don’t you?” Connor blurted out.
Travis smiled and gave Isaac a glance. “It appears we covered much of the same ground.”
“It does,” Isaac said.
“Did you fight until the end?” Travis asked.
“No, I was wounded outside Spotsylvania, was sent to Washington to recover, then back to New York for further recovery,” Isaac replied. “You?”
“I was there when General Lee surrendered at Appomattox. It was a sad day, but I’ll admit, I was tired and happy it was over.”
“This sounds odd to say, but I haven’t met a rebel since the war ended. Of course, I’ve met sympathizers, many of whom were chicken hawks…” Isaac said.
“What’s a chicken hawk?” Connor asked.
“That’s a person who talks about going to war but hasn’t or won’t—all talk and no action,” Isaac answered.
Connor nodded.
“So I was saying that I haven’t met an actual rebel, one who fought, and I want to say you fought with courage and honor,” Isaac said, putting his hand out again to Travis.
Travis looked at Isaac’s hand then at him and said, “You haven’t traveled much, have you?” Travis then took Isaac’s hand and shook.
“This is the furthest I’ve ever traveled,” Isaac said.
Travis pulled his hand back and said, “I’ll admit you Yanks were a tough lot, we gave it our all, but you had us beat. I’ll admit it took me a year to get over the loss, but I did. When I worked in Pennsylvania as a town marshal, I kept my personal history close to the vest; I didn’t want the locals to tar and feather me.”
“We Yankees aren’t vindictive,” Isaac joked.
“Let’s not take this conversation there. I’ve got stories about some carpetbaggers I could share,” Travis said.
“Regardless, we’re heading to Nevada, and there the memories of war are thousands of miles away,” Isaac said.
“Good point,” Travis said. “You know, Isaac, I can see us becoming friends.”
Connor stuck a flask out and yelped, “That deserves a drink. Who cares for some good Irish whiskey?”
The three all smiled and began to take sips from the flask.
WILKES’ OFFICE, BANE, NEVADA
Mortimer was nervous about meeting with Quincy. He’d heard so much about the man, specifically about his reputation. He didn’t know what to expect, so he chose to expect the worst.
As he waited in Quincy’s office, he took the chance to look around but found the space lacking décor. The walls were bare of any artwork, and the only furniture in the room was a large oak desk, a swivel chair, and two small armless chairs in front of it.
The door opened and in came a small and round man. He was bald save for a tuft of hair just at the base of his skull. “Mr. Corrigan, so nice to meet you.”
Mortimer stood and said, “Mr. Wilkes?”
“That’s me. Sorry about the wait. I was busy dealing with some issues,” Quincy said, sticking his hand out.
Mortimer took it and shook. He found Quincy’s grip to be lacking, it wasn’t firm; in fact, it was the opposite, odd for a man who held so much power. “It’s quite fine. Thank you for taking the time to meet.”
Quincy sat down in the swivel chair. He adjusted his belt to allow for his belly to relax. “I’m sure you’re like me, so I’ll skip the pleasantries and get to the meat of it all. What can I help you with?”
Mortimer cleared his throat and replied, “I wanted to talk to you about these raids and robberies of stages and supply shipments.”
“There’s been a lot, I hear. Boy, this town is rowdy. I feel sorry for whoever becomes sheriff. Anyway, how can I help?”
“I’d like to ask you if you know anything about them,” Mortimer said. He didn’t want to come out and declare Quincy guilty, as he had zero evidence.
Leaning back in his chair, Quincy set his hands on his protruding belly and said, “I’ve heard about them, hard not to. But I don’t know who’s doing them or who might be behind these awful things.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m quite sure, Mr. Corrigan, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground. I have a lot of people who work for me in this town; I’ll ask around for you.”
Unconvinced, Mortimer pressed, “Rumors are you’re behind them.”
Looking shocked, Quincy pointed at himself and blared, “Me!”
“Those are the rumors.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Corrigan, I have nothing to do with them or any criminal or unlawful acts in town. I’m a businessman like yourself. I’m here for the opportunity, and thank you for that too.”
“You’re welcome,” Mortimer said. “But as far as these rumors, they’re just that and not true, that’s what you’re telling me?”
“These rumors are false and vile. If I find out who’s spreading them, I’ll have a word with them,” Quincy said.
“Fair enough. I apologize if I’ve offended you,” Mortimer said, getting to his feet.
“Is that it? You wanted to question me about the robberies?” Quincy asked.
“Correct, and you’ve convincingly defended yourself. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let you get back to work.”
Jumping to his feet, Quincy said, “If I can help with anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” Mortimer said then headed for the door to leave.
“If I can provide security in the absence of your deputies, please call upon me,” Quincy said.
Mortimer stopped, turned back towards Quincy, and asked, “Who said I needed more deputies?”
Quincy didn’t reply right away. He thought for a second then answered, “I heard your deputy put a call out just a bit ago.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Mortimer replied.
“Is everything alright, Mr. Corrigan?”
“It’s fine. We’re just beefing up, adding to our ranks. Like you said, this is a rowdy town,” Mortimer said and quickly left the office.
As soon as the door closed, a second door near Quincy’s desk opened up, and a tall man stepped inside the room. His face was heavily scarred, with one long distinct scar running diagonally from above his right eye down across the bridge of his nose and left cheek, ending just above his upper lip. His name was Marcus Burner and he was Quincy’s muscle and right-hand man, who handled everything unsavory.
Quincy looked up and said, “Where’s the silver?”
“On its way to Carson City to be sold and have the money deposited into your account at the bank,” Marcus answered with a throaty rasp.
“I assume you have it adequately guarded. I don’t want what happened to them to happen to us,” Quincy said.
“The shipment is safe,” Marcus replied.
“Listen, I want you to get some men and take them to the barn where Corrigan has his smelter,” Quincy said.
“And?” Marcus asked.
“Burn it down. I don’t want him able to smelt his ore here,” Quincy said.
“Very well.”
“And, Marcus, concerning that new sheriff coming, I don’t want him to arrive, do you understand?” Quincy said.
“I’ll take care of it personally,” Marcus said then sauntered out of the room, exiting out the very door he’d entered from.
Quincy leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands behind his head and smiled.
CHAPTER THREE
OCTOBER 21, 1869
CORRIGAN MINING COMPANY OFFICE, BANE, NEVADA
Mortimer jumped to his feet when one of the deputies burst through the door, blood streaming down his face. “Mr. Corrigan, Mr. Corrigan!” the deputy howled.
“Deputy Wallace, what’s the matter?” Mortimer asked, his face showing concern.
“Sir, they’re dead. They killed them…all,” Wallace blared.
“Killed them all? Who? What are you talking about?” Mortimer asked.
“Those bandits, they killed the other deputies. It was horrible,” Wallace replied.
“Where?”
“Outside town. We had gathered some credible information that they were planning to hijack a shipment of silver headed to Carson City. We’ve lost it all, everything, the silver, everything, and all the other deputies are dead.”
“They’ve taken the silver shipment?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Didn’t Deputy Mace hire some security for the shipment?” Mortimer asked. Mace had been the new deputy in charge until the new sheriff arrived.
“He did, sir. We had the deputies assist in riding out with the shipment, and we had another five men, all heavily armed, but they ambushed us and killed the deputies and all the hired security.”
“You’re telling me
these bandits killed eight well-armed men?” Mortimer asked, shocked by the news.
“That’s correct, sir,” Wallace replied.
Mortimer could feel the weight of despair and defeat hanging on him. He slowly sat back in the chair and looked at the papers lying there. “The silver, it equaled…” he said but paused before uttering the words of the true value of the loss he’d just experienced.
“Sir, I’m afraid that once some of the hooligans in town get wind that the entire sheriff’s office is dead, chaos will grip the streets,” Wallace said.
“I need you to go and recruit additional men. We can’t let the town be taken over and become lawless again. It’s too important; I have someone special coming out to visit soon. We can’t let news of the hijacked shipment to also get out. Do you understand?” Mortimer asked.
“How am I supposed to keep that quiet? We both know that it was all Wilkes’ men,” Wallace said, confirming to Mortimer that Wilkes was the number one suspect behind all the troubles.
“Just do as I ask. As it pertains to Quincy Wilkes, I’ll have a word with him concerning this. It’s about time I have a formal sit-down with him,” Mortimer said.
Wallace stood staring at Mortimer and waited for further instructions.
“Go, do as I said. Go find some additional men to hire, and make sure we keep the streets of my town safe,” Mortimer barked.
Wallace turned and rushed off.
When the door shut, Mortimer lowered his head and placed it in his hands. He was now faced with having to deal with the one man everyone believed was behind the bandits and all the robberies, a man by the name of Quincy Wilkes. Wilkes was the owner of several businesses in town, and his reputation as a hardnosed cutthroat preceded him. The troubles in and outside of town began after his arrival; however, no one could prove it, nor did anyone have evidence. With a major shipment of silver being stolen, this elevated Wilkes’ operation and now made him not just a nuisance but a real threat to the future of the town and Mortimer’s investment. It was one thing to have food or wares stolen, but silver—that was something that could destroy his enterprise there and prevent him from securing the additional funds from Mr. Wagner, who he had scheduled to come out in eight days’ time.
The Lawman Page 4