The Lawman

by G. Michael Hopf

  He exited the bedroom but found the hallway and beyond empty. He made his way to the parlor to find it also void of anyone. He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time; it was five twenty-eight.

  The parlor was ornately decorated. If he hadn’t ridden into town, he could be mistaken that he was in a house in New York. The windows were adorned with thick burgundy curtains; golden tassels dangled from the edges. Built-in bookcases spanned the far walls, the shelves full from end to end with books. Opposite that was a fireplace; above on the mantel sat a clock, and above that a portrait of someone he didn’t know. Two wing-back chairs sat facing the fire with a small round table in between; on that a pipe and tobacco box sat waiting for their user to enjoy. In the center of the room two tufted couches faced each other; only an oval coffee table separated them.

  Curious as to the expansive book collection, Isaac made his way to the bookcases and began to examine the spines. He spotted Moby-Dick by Herman Melville. He pulled it out and opened the hardbound cover. Inside was an inscription on the title page made out to Mortimer by Melville himself.

  “I so enjoyed that book,” Mortimer said, entering the room.

  Startled, Isaac quickly closed the book and placed it back on the shelf.

  “If you haven’t read it, I encourage you to,” Mortimer said, removing the book and offering it to Isaac.

  “It’s fine, I’ve read it before,” Isaac said. “I was merely looking at it. The book brings me back to the war.”

  “This book?” Mortimer asked, curious as to the meaning of what he just said.

  “I read it during the war,” Isaac answered.

  Placing the book back on the shelf, Mortimer said, “I can imagine losing the war was tough on you.”

  “Losing?” Isaac asked, confused by the comment.

  Making his way to a liquor cart, Mortimer pulled out a bottle of brandy and said, “I didn’t get the opportunity to fight, but I do remember quite clearly the Confederacy lost.”

  Jolted back to his false identity, Isaac replied, “I was meaning that in the heart of us rebels, we never truly lost, and there are some who say the South will rise again.”

  “Brandy?” Mortimer asked.

  Feeling he needed to stay in character, Isaac said, “Brandy is fine, but us Texans prefer whiskey.”

  “I have that as well,” Mortimer said, taking a decanter of whiskey and pouring a glass half full. He handed it to Isaac and said, “Let’s sit and talk.”

  The two men sat in the wing-back chairs.

  Mortimer stared at the crackling fire and composed his thoughts while Isaac ran through all the information he’d gleamed from Travis in the short time he’d known him.

  “For a Texan, you don’t have much of an accent,” Mortimer said.

  “I suppose my time in Pennsylvania rubbed off on me,” Isaac replied.

  “If you’re hiding it for fear of how I’d respond, it’s fine. I can imagine when you worked in Pennsylvania, some didn’t take too kindly to a rebel being their head law enforcement officer.”

  “I found the Yankee hospitality quite warm, actually,” Isaac said.

  “Good, we’re not as bad as old Jefferson Davis made us out to be,” Mortimer joked, referencing the old Confederate president.

  “Sheriff, do you mind if I just jump right into the business at hand?” Mortimer asked.

  “Please do.”

  Mortimer shifted in his chair so he could face Isaac. “Mining towns are known to be rowdy places, but what I’m dealing with now has the potential to ruin me. As I stipulated in my letter to you, there is someone here trying to sabotage what I’ve built here. They have caused great harm by attempting to get the miners to organize, causing delays; but the most egregious thing has just occurred. A shipment of silver was hijacked and stolen; then a day later our smelting operation was destroyed. I can deal with the rowdiness in town, but the other attacks and the disruption of our mining operations could cost me the much-needed financing I need to expand. You see, I have an investor coming soon, and I’ll put it this way, he has become a man who is very risk averse. If he discovers I have a problem here that makes this mining operation vulnerable, he won’t invest.”

  “What happened to the last sheriff?”

  Mortimer cocked his head and gave Isaac an odd look. “He was murdered. Do you not recall that from my letter?”

  “I apologize, I must have forgotten that small detail,” Isaac said.

  “It’s not a small detail. Having the sheriff murdered is no small detail,” Mortimer said. “Then as you’ll recall in my letter, the other sheriff was bribed, by whom I still don’t know. You see, Sheriff Travis, I need a tough lawman like yourself to come in here and straighten things out. I’ve been made aware that your tactics could possibly backfire as it pertains to some of the townspeople, but right now I can live with that. I need you to find this saboteur and shut them down using any means necessary.”

  “You mean kill them?” Isaac asked before taking a sip of whiskey.

  Leaning in close to Isaac, Mortimer said, “Sheriff, I hired you because of your reputation. I think you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Isaac said, his mind now contemplating the greater problem at hand for him. “Do you have anyone that you suspect?”

  “I do. There’s a small-time bar owner and businessman here named Quincy Wilkes. I’ve heard rumors he’s behind it, but I don’t have enough to move against him.”

  “You own this town, don’t you?” Isaac asked rhetorically.

  “Yes.”

  “Then revoke his leases or raise his fees. There must be something you can do to leverage him,” Isaac said.

  “I’ve thought about that, believe me; but if I were to do so without evidence of any kind, it could make for a very bad situation with the other business owners who have come here. You see, Sheriff, I plan on expanding my operations. If I have a reputation for spiteful acts with nothing solid to back it up, I could suffer. While I own this town, I don’t own everything in it, and I don’t run it like a dictator. I want the people to come and go as they please; however…” Mortimer said, pausing.

  “However?” Isaac asked.

  “I want you to be on that man and investigate. If you find it’s him, I want him and whoever is working with him dealt with harshly.”

  “You’ve got the right man,” Isaac said, playing the role again with his bravado talk.

  “I also need you to work fast. My investor is to arrive in a week’s time; he’s just boarded a train in New York. I need this trouble finalized before he arrives.”

  “I’ll get it done, I can assure you,” Isaac said in a confident tone though he had no idea just how he’d do it.

  Mortimer tossed his brandy back in one gulp, stood and headed for the liquor cart. “I knew I got the right man. Enjoy tonight; then start first thing in the morning. Your men will be waiting for you at the sheriff’s office. As far as your accommodations, I think it’s best you stay here until this trouble is past. I don’t need you murdered in your sleep like the one sheriff was.”

  “How many men do I have?” Isaac asked.

  “As many as you need. If you want an army, then hire one. I’ll spare no expense,” Mortimer said, pouring himself another glass of brandy.

  “Good.”

  Mortimer drank some brandy and said, “I know the compensation I’m paying you is generous, but I’m a believer in truly motivating people. We all work for money, and the more money available to be made will make a man work harder. If you get this handled before Mr. Wagner arrives, I’ll give you a bonus of one thousand dollars.”

  Hearing the name Mr. Wagner sent a shiver down Isaac’s spine.

  Seeing Isaac’s peculiar look, Mortimer said, “Is that too low? How about fifteen hundred?”

  “That’s fine, fifteen hundred is perfectly fine, thank you,” Isaac said, wondering if the Mr. Wagner he mentioned was Lucy’s father.

  “This Mr. Wagner you have coming to town, we s
hould provide safe passage for him. I’ll send a team to meet him in Elko upon his arrival. What day will that be?”

  “He arrives in Elko on November 2, early. I want to have him here by the third,” Mortimer replied. “As far as the security escort, you think that’s wise? Won’t that signal that we have troubles here?” Mortimer asked.

  “I think you should send your own coach instead of having him take a commercial one. That way you can have my men guarding him.”

  “I see your approach, let’s not stick him with the general public on the coach,” Mortimer said.

  “Correct,” Isaac said. “Is this Mr. Wagner the well-known businessman from New York?”

  “It is, and he’s also my father-in-law,” Mortimer replied.

  Isaac gulped upon hearing the confirmation of who was coming. He so far had convinced Lucy not to divulge his true identity, but he knew without a doubt he wouldn’t be so lucky with Everett.

  Phyllis entered the room and said, “Mr. Corrigan, dinner is now ready.”

  “Great, thank you, Phyllis,” Mortimer said.

  Phyllis exited as quickly as she had appeared.

  Turning to Isaac, Mortimer said, “I hope you brought your appetite. Phyllis makes wonderful food.”

  “I’m very hungry, I look forward to it and, Mr. Corrigan…”

  Interrupting Isaac, Mortimer said, “Call me Mortimer.”

  “Mortimer, thank you for the opportunity and thank you for the hospitality.”

  “You’re quite welcome. And, Sheriff,” Mortimer said.

  Now standing with his empty glass in his hand, Isaac said, “Yes.”

  “If anyone approaches you, wants to pay you off, please know that I’ll match it and then some. Know that I’ll do what’s necessary for your financial well-being so that you don’t have to go anywhere else.”

  “You want me to tell you if someone’s trying to buy me off,” Isaac said.

  “Yes.”

  “I work exclusively for you, no one else, and if someone does approach me, you’ll be the next to know about it.”

  “Good man. Come, let’s dine,” Mortimer said, patting Isaac on the shoulder.

  The two exited the room and stepped across the hallway and into the dining room. Two large candelabras helped illuminate the space, along with four wall-mounted candle sconces. The bright orange glow provided more than adequate light.

  Mortimer took a seat at the head of the table and motioned with his hand to a chair to his right. “Please, sit.”

  Isaac did as he said. Curious as to where Lucy was, he asked, “Will your wife be joining us for dinner?”

  “I’m afraid not. She’s not feeling well. She’s been getting these bad migraines since we arrived in Bane. Poor thing struggles to be well. She’s never been the healthiest; even when I first met her, she struggled.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that she won’t be joining us and that she has a chronic condition. Has a doctor seen her?” Isaac asked, genuinely concerned for Lucy.

  “Yes, I had a doctor brought in from Carson City. He thinks it’s anxiety, so he prescribed her laudanum.”

  Knowing the addictive traits of that drug, Isaac said, “I’ve heard some negative things about laudanum. I’d reconsider if I were you.”

  Phyllis came into the room and served a slice of roast to each of their plates then generously covered it with gravy.

  Both men thanked her.

  She nodded and departed the room.

  “Please, enjoy,” Mortimer said, a knife and fork in his hands.

  Isaac leaned ever so closer to the plate and took in the rich aroma of the food. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a meal like this.

  “Tell me about your time in the war,” Mortimer said.

  Chewing his food, Isaac waited to reply.

  “I’d also enjoy hearing about your exploits as a Texas Ranger,” Mortimer said with a broad smile.

  Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Isaac said, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss my times in the war or my days as a Ranger.”

  “Oh,” Mortimer said, a somber and disappointed look on his face.

  “I’m not trying to be difficult, it was just a tough time for me,” Isaac said, answering the question honestly. He found he disliked talking about his own time in the war to those who hadn’t fought. They’d usually nod and pat him on the back, then offer congratulations for winning as if he alone had brought the Confederacy to its knees. Of course, there was the rarer response, like that of Everett, who looked upon him as a killer or warmonger. Either way, if his time ever was brought up, he’d acknowledge he’d served then keep it at that.

  The two men continued their meal, both exchanging pleasantries and idle chat. It was something that Mortimer found disappointing, but for Isaac he was quite content to keep it that way.

  With dinner over, Isaac stood and said, “I’m going to retire. I’ve had a long trip, and I have a big day tomorrow.”

  “You sure you won’t join me in the parlor for another drink?” Mortimer asked.

  “I’m sure,” Isaac said.

  “Goodnight then, Sheriff,” Mortimer said.

  “Goodnight,” Isaac replied.

  Before Isaac could depart, Mortimer said, “One more thing, Deputy Wallace seems to be a good and decent man, trustworthy.”

  “And the others?” Isaac asked.

  “The others are all new hires,” Mortimer said.

  “What happened to the others?” Isaac asked.

  “All killed.”

  “Good to know,” Isaac said. He promptly departed the dining room and hurried down the hall. As he passed the stairwell, he glanced up with hopes of spotting Lucy, but she wasn’t there. He was troubled by her illness and questioned what the source of her ailment was. Could it be that she was suffering from heartache? Could she be telling him the truth that she never stopped loving him? Was her marriage to Mortimer one born of convenience? If it was, their relationship was still salvageable. A smile broke out across his face as that thought sank deeper, giving him hope that they could still have a future together.

  CHAPTER SIX

  OCTOBER 30, 1869

  SHERIFF’S OFFICE, BANE, NEVADA

  Isaac woke early. He had a big day today, as it was his first day on the job as a sheriff. Never having been a lawman, he had some uneasiness about having the ability to do the job and not look as if he wasn’t who he said he was.

  He made his way to the sheriff’s office under Edwin’s guidance. Inside, he found the office occupied with longing faces, no doubt his deputies. One man jumped up and came towards him.

  “I’m Deputy Wallace. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Wallace said, his arm extended, a jovial look upon his stubbled face.

  Isaac took his hand and shook. “Nice meeting you too.”

  “Let me be the first to welcome you to the Bane Sheriff’s office. Oh, I should introduce you to your deputies,” Wallace said.

  “Very well,” Isaac said.

  “From the left you have Jess—that’s short for Jessie—Ernie, Bill, Porter and Wesley.”

  The men all gave him their own unique salutations.

  “Nice to make your acquaintance. As you know, we have a big job ahead of us. Wallace, I heard you’re the most senior man here. Can you fill me in on what I should know?”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff,” Wallace replied happily.

  Wallace detailed the information they knew regarding the fire at the smelter and the silver shipment being hijacked, though he offered no relevant details of who might be behind either.

  The door of the office opened.

  All turned their heads to see Marcus walk in.

  “I’m looking for the new sheriff,” Marcus said.

  Isaac sized him up and said, “That’ll be me. Who’s asking?”

  Marcus stepped up to Isaac and said, “Mr. Wilkes wishes to convey an invitation for you to join him at his residence tonight for a reception in your honor.”

 
Recalling the name, Isaac asked, “Mr. Wilkes is having a reception for me? Why?”

  Ignoring any of Isaac’s questions, Marcus continued. “The reception begins at six. He insists on you coming.”

  “He insists?” Isaac asked, finding a bit of humor in Marcus’ tough-man approach.

  “I’ll relay to him to expect you,” Marcus said.

  “Hold on, I didn’t say I was going,” Isaac said.

  “Mr. Wilkes insists,” Marcus said.

  “That’s well and good, but I don’t know who Mr. Wilkes is, nor do I just do what someone tells me to do.”

  Knowing if he returned without having confirmation from Isaac, Marcus said, “It would behoove you to attend this reception in your honor.”

  “And why’s that?” Isaac asked, his arms folded in front of him.

  “Mr. Wilkes is a rich and influential man; you don’t want to be on his bad side,” Marcus said.

  Isaac thought about the situation and came to the conclusion that attending the reception could be beneficial. It would allow him to possibly identify if Quincy was the saboteur.

  “What’s your answer?” Marcus asked.

  “Tell Mr. Wilkes I’ll be there, though I may be late,” Isaac said.

  Marcus didn’t utter another word; he pivoted as if on a dime and exited the office.

  Wallace stepped up to Isaac and whispered, “Some say Mr. Wilkes is the man behind everything. Some say he was even the man who bribed the last sheriff.”

  “Deputy, my intention on going to this event is to gather information. I’m not attending to receive a bribe. I can assure you I’m here to catch whoever has taken that silver shipment and whoever destroyed that smelting operation.”

  “Good,” Wallace said.

  “I almost forgot, Mr. Corrigan has an important guest arriving on the train in Elko on November 2. Send a private coach with a team to provide security all the way back to town,” Isaac ordered.

  “How many men?” Wallace asked.

  “Two should be sufficient, and make sure they are presentable, and tell them not to discuss the troubles in town with him,” Isaac said.