Bear Claws

by Robert Lee Murphy

  “I . . .” Will could think of nothing to say. Elspeth’s closeness mesmerized him. Her perfume accosted his nostrils with a flowery scent he couldn’t identify. Her allure hypnotized him. He shook his head. What would Jenny think if she saw him standing tongue-tied before Elspeth?

  “Will, Mort Kavanagh convinced Count von Schroeder I should accompany him as his traveling companion.” Elspeth kept her voice low. “I offer the count a greater challenge playing chess than can Rupert or Conrad.”

  Will’s eyes remained fixed on Elspeth’s lips while she spoke. “Chess?”

  “Yes, I play quite well. Papa taught me.”

  “And you’re going alone? With all these men?”

  “Mort told the count I was his niece and if anything happened to me he would pay dearly.”

  “You’re going with us to play chess?”

  “I’ll entertain everybody in the evenings with my singing, also.”

  “Jenny told me she couldn’t get you to leave the Lucky Dollar Saloon, why would Mort agree to let you leave?”

  “Mort plans to have Paddy O’Hannigan rob the count while we are on the hunt. The count carries a large amount of cash in a money belt that Mort claims exceeds fifty thousand dollars. Mort wants that money and his real reason for positioning me with the count is so I can help Paddy with the robbery from inside. I will not do it, though. I’ll explain more later, when we have some privacy. But, please don’t indicate you know who I really am. And, please don’t object to me going along, Will. Promise me! Please, Will.”

  Will nodded. Elspeth sighed and squeezed his hands.

  The count cleared his throat behind her. “So, I see you are on intimate terms already.”

  “Oh, Wolfgang, I was just admiring Herr Braddock’s strong hands.” Elspeth lifted Will’s hands for the count to see. “He will truly be a capable horse wrangler with such strong, callused hands, don’t you think?”

  “Ja. Sure.”

  Elspeth dropped Will’s hands and stepped back beside the count, linking her arm through his. She winked at Will.

  “So,” the count said. “Rupert and you can decide how many horses and mules we need. I was hoping perhaps we could take a wagon?”

  “I don’t think so, sir. Pack mules and horses will be better where we’re going.”

  “I bow to your judgment, Herr Braddock.” The count clicked his heels, offering a quick, short bow.

  “When can we expect this cook of yours to join us?”

  “Homer can be ready tomorrow, I’m sure.”

  “Goot. If he is acceptable to Rupert, we can commence the hunting trip the next day.”

  A few minutes later, Will and Rupert walked toward the livery stable. Lone Eagle trailed behind them on his pony. When they passed the Lucky Dollar, Will caught a glimpse of movement behind the saloon’s single window. A curtain dropped across the glass before he could see if it might be Mort Kavanagh.

  Elspeth said Kavanagh planned to have Paddy O’Hannigan rob Count von Schroeder. Even if she didn’t help Paddy, Will would have to keep alert. That conniving O’Hannigan could turn up anywhere, anytime. Will clenched his fists. He was tempted to dash across the street and confront the so-called mayor of Hell on Wheels right now and put an end to this. But, he had to help Rupert select the horses and mules, check on Buck, and alert Homer to the possibility of a new job.

  CHAPTER 40

  Paddy O’Hannigan held aside the drape and peered out the window of Mort Kavanagh’s office. Across the street, in the corral of the livery stable, he observed the assembly of Count Wolfgang von Schroeder’s hunting party.

  “Sure, and that be Will Braddock loading them horses,” Paddy said. “And that no account nigger Homer’s packing up that mule of his. And over yonder, leaning against the rail beside that spotted pony, is that half-breed Lone Eagle. Sure, and I’m gonna get them all!”

  “Forget that,” Kavanagh said. “I’ve got more important things for you to do right now.”

  “Someday I’ll get them. Sure, and I will, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Fine. Someday you can do that. Right now, pay attention to what I’m telling you. This job will mean a big paycheck for you . . . and me, of course.” Mort flipped opened the lid of a humidor on his desk and pulled out a long, black cigar. He bit the end off of it and spit the chunk into the spittoon beside his desk.

  Paddy watched Will continue with the saddling of six horses, including the black Morgan, and the loading of a dozen pack horses. Some of the pack horses were loaded with tents, folding tables, and collapsible chairs. Homer stowed boxes and sacks of food, crates of cooking utensils, and cases of wine and champagne, in the packsaddles. A tall, slender man dressed in green European hunting clothes loaded an armful of rifles and boxes of ammunition onto one pack horse.

  “Who’d be that fancy dude in the green outfit?” Paddy asked.

  Kavanagh swung his swivel chair around, pulled the drapes farther apart, and looked to where Paddy pointed. “He’s the count’s Austrian gunsmith.”

  “The whole bunch looks more like a carnival sideshow, than a hunting party, if you ask me,” Paddy said. He shook his head from side to side. “And what’s Braddock doing, anyway?”

  Kavanagh turned his chair back, struck a match across the top of the desk, and held the flame to the end of his cigar. He puffed vigorously for a moment, checked the growing white ash on the cigar’s end, and tossed the match into the spittoon. “Well.” He paused to draw deeply on the cigar. “Will Braddock’s the count’s guide.”

  “Guide? Sure, and what’s he knowing about being a guide?”

  “General Dodge thinks he knows enough. He recommended him to the count. Seems Braddock’s a pretty good shot, and we know he’s good with horses.”

  “Humph!” Paddy grunted.

  “But the count’s going to be in for a surprise.” Kavanagh blew out a lazy smoke ring. “And that’s where you come in, O’Hannigan.”

  Kavanagh pushed his swivel chair back and stepped to the window beside Paddy. The two of them stood there watching as preparations for the departure of the count’s hunting party neared its conclusion.

  “The count wears a money belt stuffed with hundred dollar bills,” Kavanagh said. “He’s done a considerable amount of gambling in the Lucky Dollar and he always settles his account with crisp, new paper bills. A maid, that I conveniently provided to take care of the count’s quarters, has seen him hide the money belt in the bottom of a leather traveling trunk he keeps under his bed. Apparently the only two persons allowed access to it are the valet and the count himself.”

  “Cash, huh? And a lot of it, you think, Mort?”

  “I do. And I intend to make the count’s money, my money. You are going to steal that money belt.”

  A sly grin crossed Paddy’s face. Stealing. Now that was something he really enjoyed doing. He’d never failed to steal whatever he wanted, when he put his mind to it. Of course, there’d been that delay in stealing the Morgan horse last year, but he’d eventually pulled off the job.

  “Hire yourself a good riding horse,” Kavanagh said. “Get enough grub to take along for a week or two. I want you to follow the count’s party. And do it alone. No companions. I don’t want to share that cash with anybody else. Understand?”

  “Sure, and I can be doing that.”

  “Wait until they’re far enough away from Benton so they can’t easily send for help. Find a way to distract the count and his entourage.”

  “Entourage?” Paddy asked.

  “Yeah. It’s a big word, I know, Paddy. Entourage means the group of people traveling in the count’s hunting party.”

  “Humph.”

  “You can’t go busting into the count’s camp shooting up the place. There’s too many of them. They’d gun you down. That Bowie knife of yours should make short work of cutting through the straps of the count’s leather traveling trunk. But you’ll need to distract all of them long enough for you to get into the traveling trunk an
d find the money belt.”

  Paddy nodded. Yeah, he had an idea how to distract them. He’d been fooling around with rattlesnakes. Teasing them until they’d strike. He was quick enough to jump aside without getting struck. But that was because he watched the snake’s every move. If there were a whole lot of snakes he could create a real distraction, all right.

  “But, how am I gonna know for sure where this traveling trunk is kept?” Paddy asked. “I won’t have much time to open it and grab the money belt.”

  “I’ve got a secret weapon for that, and here it comes.” Kavanagh pointed out the window.

  Count Wolfgang von Schroeder and a woman strolled arm in arm, up the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street, heading toward the stable. The brim of a large hat concealed the woman’s face. Both were dressed in riding clothes.

  The count’s waxed mustaches bounced with each step. His dark brown hunting jacket sported leather inserts at the shoulders, to provide a cushion for the recoil of a rifle. Beneath the jacket he wore a red waistcoat over a white shirt. His fawn-colored breeches were tucked into calf-length brown leather boots sporting black turned-down tops. He swished a riding crop against his boot as he walked. When he passed others on the boardwalk he tapped the crop against the wide brim of a jaunty hat that covered long, curly brown hair.

  Paddy thought the count made a striking figure as he strode confidently along with the woman on his arm. As the couple drew abreast of the Lucky Dollar Saloon, the woman raised her head from beneath her wide-brimmed hat and looked directly at Paddy. A long feather in the band of her hunter green hat shook as she laughed at something the count had said to her.

  Paddy gasped. “That’s Elspeth McNabb!”

  “That’s the secret weapon.” Kavanagh blew a cloud of smoke into Paddy’s face.

  Paddy looked back at Elspeth, but she’d dropped her head. Her blond locks flowed in ringlets beneath the big hat. Her riding costume was the same dark green as her hat. The formfitting jacket enhanced rather than concealed her figure. The ground-length skirt brushed along the boards of the walk.

  “Elspeth attracted his attention when she frequently beat him at chess.”

  “Chess?”

  “Yes, when the count came into the Lucky Dollar on his first night in Benton looking for someone to play chess Elspeth said she knew how. The count immediately challenged her to a game. When I heard the count exclaim after one of their games that none of his entourage played as well as Elspeth, I suggested she go along on the count’s hunt. He liked that idea immediately.”

  “Sure, and how’s the secret weapon going to be helping me?”

  “Elspeth will locate the traveling trunk for you and assist in whatever you decide for a diversion.”

  CHAPTER 41

  “Whoa.” Paddy pulled up on the reins and brought the mare to a halt on the west bank of the North Platte, directly across the river from Lone Eagle’s cabin. He raised up in the saddle, the leather creaking softly when he stood in the stirrups, and surveyed the clearing to ensure no one was around.

  He smiled to himself when he spotted the reason for visiting the cabin. He patted the horse’s neck and settled back onto the saddle. “Aye. Sure, and the travois is still there. That’ll make it easier for ye, and for me, too. I was pretty sure this one would be here for the taking.”

  An hour earlier he’d selected the roan mare from an assortment of horses available at Benton’s livery stable. Ezekiel Thomas, the stable owner, had told him the mare was strong, not easily spooked, and capable of running for long distances. She fit Paddy’s requirements exactly.

  Bullfrog Charlie’s old raft rested against the far bank. Lone Eagle had ferried Paddy across the river on the raft a few weeks ago when he was on his way to California. He would return to use the ferry again later this same day—if he had good luck. He’d need it to haul his intended cargo back across the river.

  Paddy dismounted and grasped the tow rope that was tied to either end of the raft. The rope passed overhead through hand-carved wooden pulleys fastened to the trunks of sturdy cotton-wood trees on opposite banks. Without the old mountain man’s ingenious towing system, the river’s current would simply sweep the raft downstream.

  By the time Paddy had hauled the raft across the river by pulling on the rope and beaching it against the west bank where he stood, sweat drenched his shirt and dripped off his nose. He sank to his knees, gasping for breath. That was hard work just to keep from getting his feet wet.

  He led the horse down to the river’s edge and coaxed her into the water. He tied her bridle to the rear of the raft, then he clambered aboard the log deck. “Now, girl. Let’s see how good ye are at swimming. Sure, and it’ll be hard enough dragging meself across without having to pull ye along, too.”

  Paddy grasped the rope above his head and heaved on it, edging the raft into the stream. The mare didn’t hesitate, swimming easily beside the small craft. The current swept them swiftly to the middle of the river, then Paddy had to haul more vigorously on the rope to drag the weight of the raft against the current to complete the traverse to the far side.

  It only took a few minutes to cross over to the east bank. Paddy led the mare up to the cabin’s door and looped the reins around the protruding end of one of the logs that formed the walls of the hut.

  “Good girl.” He patted the horse and stepped over to where the travois leaned against the wall. “Aye, sure and this’ll do. Just need to tighten her bindings a wee bit.”

  Paddy pushed open the door and entered the dim interior. The only light came from the open door, but he didn’t plan to stay long enough to light a fire to enhance the illumination in the one-room structure.

  “Ah, sure and that’s convenient.” He picked up an axe he found leaning against the fireplace and went back outside. “This will make an easier job of it than using my knife.”

  He stepped into the grove of cottonwoods. The scaffold bearing the remains of the mountain man hung prominently in the center of the grove. He steered clear of it, finding what he needed on the fringe of the small growth of trees. He chopped down a straight sapling and trimmed the branches away with a few swings of the axe, then cut the ends off to create a slender pole, six feet long.

  Returning to the cabin, he removed an iron cooking pot from where it hung suspended over the center of the stone fireplace. He used the axe to break away the mud chinking that held an iron bar in place where it stretched across the width of the fireplace, pried the end of the bar away from the stone, and slid the pot hook off.

  Next, he dumped the husk-filled mattress off the single cot and hacked away at the rawhide support thongs with his Bowie knife. He sat on one of the three-legged stools and lashed the pot hook to one end of the pole with several turns of a leather thong. He extended the pole and rapped it sharply on the hard-packed dirt floor. The hook didn’t twist or turn. He smiled to himself. His newly crafted tool would do the job nicely.

  He went back outside with the remaining lengths of rawhide and wove them back and forth across the body of the travois, strengthening its center. He would use the travois to transport his surprise to the count’s hunting camp. He felt pleased that he’d remembered seeing the travois earlier. So far, his plan was going well.

  He untied four burlap sacks from behind his saddle. He’d stolen them from the rear of the Chinaman’s café last night, dumping the rice they contained into the alley. He lashed the bags and his new tool to the travois, then dragged the lightweight sled up behind the mare. The travois still had the strapping necessary to fasten it behind his saddle, so he didn’t have to make any modifications before slipping the ends in place over the rump of the horse and attaching the two poles.

  Paddy mounted and rode the horse away from the cabin. He headed north, up the east bank of the river in the direction of the railroad tracks. He looked back at the cabin just before he left the clearing and saw he hadn’t closed the door. He shrugged. Too bad. Custom dictated that someone using an empty cabin shou
ld have the courtesy to leave it as they’d found it. Since he’d trashed the interior, it wouldn’t make much difference. “Sorry, Lone Eagle.” He laughed.

  A quarter of an hour later, he turned the old mare to the east, and rode alongside the tracks heading toward the Rattlesnake Hills. This took him away from his ultimate destination, that of following the count’s hunting party up the west bank of the North Platte. But he needed to get the snakes first. He might have found some along the North Platte, but he knew for certain he’d find them in the Rattlesnake Hills.

  In the distance he could see the entrance to the railroad tunnel. It was near this spot where he’d found that four-foot rattlesnake he’d placed on the tunnel entrance’s timber bracing when he’d planted the bottles of nitroglycerin. That big rattler undoubtedly came from a den in this vicinity. Now all he had to do was find the den.

  The mare whinnied and pranced—more anxiousness than she’d displayed previously. Maybe she sensed the snakes. Nothing else seemed to have upset her easy disposition since he’d ridden her out of Benton.

  A whistle signaled a train approaching the far entrance to the tunnel. He didn’t want to be spotted, so he turned the horse off the roadbed he’d been following and rode down into a small stand of brushy trees along the dry creek bed that paralleled the railroad tracks. A couple of minutes later, a 4-4-0 locomotive pulled a string of freight cars past at a modest clip. The engineer and fireman looked straight ahead, up the tracks toward the west. They didn’t see him.

  While waiting for the train to disappear, he surveyed the cliff that rose on the opposite side of the tracks from where he sat concealed in the brush. He decided the snake den must be in that rocky slope. Right here was a good place to conceal his horse while he conducted his search.

  He tied the mare to a scrawny tree and unpacked his sacks and the new tool. He climbed back up the embankment and walked along the rails, studying the sandy soil until he spotted a wriggly track left by a snake. The snake’s path disappeared into the rocks at the base of the cliff that rose a hundred feet above him.