Paint the Wind

by Cathy Cash Spellman

  "My consortium is prepared to open negotiations with you, as regards the future of our operation here."

  Jason raised an eyebrow and put on his best stern-but-interested face. "The earl was never an admirer of mine. Why on earth would he want to do business with me?"

  "He doesn't," Jarvis replied, tersely. "In fact, he can't abide you personally, Mr. Madigan. But you see, the stakes here are rather monumental and the earl is a practical man. The longer it takes us to get into operation, the more money we lose. You own the best flume and smelters, and you control quite a number of enterprises that could make our job easier and swifter. And you are quite ruthless—you see, Mr. Madigan, the earl does remember you from other days. Ruthlessness can be such a useful tool in the right hands, such a time-saver." Jarvis smiled again; he thought he made quite a chilling job of it. Jason did not reply.

  "My purpose here is twofold, Mr. Madigan. First, to lay claim to the right properties, and second, to consolidate our position in Leadville. Once silver crashes, and I assure you it will do so momentarily, we must know there is sufficient wealth here in gold to make this place worth our while." He waited for that to sink in.

  "When the crash comes, we will buy up every silver property we can, and using our considerable resources, we will dredge out of those useless silver mines enough iron and molybdenum to make them a sensible investment for us. Meantime, we will be mining gold... and, of course, silver won't stay dead forever, just long enough to bury Leadville, if we don't step in to resuscitate her."

  "You still haven't told me why you're taking me into your confidence."

  Jarvis smiled to acknowledge Jason's shrewdness in noticing the oversight.

  "My dear fellow, you have just the credentials we're seeking. You own a flume and a smelter which will be worthless to you when silver goes down the drain, but immeasurably useful to us for getting into business with all possible haste. You know the ins and outs of Leadville, and you are heartless enough to foreclose on your desperate neighbors." He made these sound like most agreeable traits. "With our money and technology, we can convert your operation to gold processing in a month. Without us, it will take you six months to begin operation, and then only on the assumption that you, too, know the location of gold, as we now do. In those six months, you and we could take a lot of gold out of this otherwise tawdry little mountain."

  "You're far from home, Mr. St. John," Madigan began his counterassault. "I own the timbering you'll need to work your claims, the flume you'll need to move the timber, the equipment you'll use to process, and a goodly portion of the railroad on which you'll ship. I can make life infinitely easier, and less costly, or... I can make life tough and expensive. It appears to me there are bargaining chips on both sides of the table."

  "There are ways to circumvent any obstacles you could throw into our path..." Jarvis parried.

  "True enough. But they take time and time costs money."

  "Let's not be petty, Mr. Madigan. Let's take the broader view, shall we? When silver falls, we can be of great benefit to each other... our interests and yours will be identical. The Sherman Silver Purchase Act will be repealed momentarily, Mr. Madigan. I suppose I needn't tell you that the earl has highly placed friends in Washington, who will know what the congressional vote will be on the silver question, somewhat before the rest of the world does." He paused just long enough to be sure Jason knew what bait was being dangled... if any man knew the outcome of the vote before the stock exchange did, he could make a fortune shorting silver.

  "When the bottom falls out of silver, Leadville will vanish from the financial face of the earth, unless there's enough gold here to keep the town and all its more lucrative businesses thriving."

  "I have more than a passing interest in what you propose," Jason said carefully, and Jarvis nodded.

  "I expect you do, Mr. Madigan. Your silver mines will soon be worthless, but the rest of your little empire could save us time and trouble."

  Jarvis left Madigan's office and Jason prepared a telegram to New York to ask the Pinkertons to check out Jarvis St. John's credentials in London.

  "I thought you'd laid down your guns for good, Ford," Hart said, watching the man tie down the rawhide thong on his thigh with a practiced precision.

  Ford straightened, pulled the six-shooter from the holster, and opened the action to fill the cylinder with cartridges.

  "Julia needs me," he said simply. "Dakota would understand." He spun the cylinder, clicked it into place and holstered the gun, then raised his unrelenting eyes to Hart's. "Anyone harms either one of our women answers to me."

  "Madigan's mine," Hart said steadily. Ford did not reply.

  The street was windswept as Hart McAllister strode toward the saloon where Madigan's boys said their employer had gone. Puffs of ghostwood rolled down Harrison, pushed by the stiff breeze, but Hart, single-minded in his purpose, never saw them at all. The rage tightening his belly was cold and purposeful; there wasn't time now for the revenge he intended, and he sure as hell couldn't find Fancy if he had a posse on his trail; but that didn't mean he couldn't put Madigan on notice that his days were numbered.

  Jason, impeccably tailored and smelling of lavender from the barber shop, had a whiskey halfway to his mouth when Hart's shadow darkened the doorway of the saloon. He looked up questioningly, a smile of welcome dying on his lips at the sight of the huge man's face.

  "What have you done with Fancy, you cowardly son of a bitch?" Hart demanded, his voice deep and clear; all other voices in the bar ceased.

  Madigan's eyes narrowed. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about, McAllister. But whatever it is you'd best do it in a different tone of voice, and you'd best reconsider your choice of words."

  "You've got her stashed somewhere, Madigan," Hart said in the sudden quiet of the saloon. "I'm going to find her and you'd better pray that I find her alive. Then I'm coming back for you."

  "See here..." Madigan began indignantly, but Hart's words' sliced through them viciously.

  "You killed my brother and Bandana McBain. You kidnapped Fancy. I'm here to tell you, Madigan, there's no place far enough in God's world but I'll be waiting for you."

  It took a moment for Madigan to recover his poise; by the time he did, Hart's back was already to him on its way through the swinging doors.

  "You heard him... that was a threat, by God! Everyone here heard that!" Jason called to the unmoving men around him. But even the sycophants averted their eyes to their drinks or boots, for they'd seen the truth in Hart McAllister's face and no man had a right to interfere with vengeance.

  Ford Jameson sat his restive horse just outside the saloon, holding the reins of Hart's mount. He hadn't tried to stop Hart from throwing down the gauntlet to Madigan, a man had to do what he had to do in these matters, but just in case Jason thought of plugging him in the back on his way out the swinging doors, Ford was there.

  "Shee-it!" the old-timer who decorated the saloon's steps called up to the shootist, as Hart pushed back the doors and made for the street. "Hope that big feller knows what he's got hisself into. That Madigan's a damned fine shot."

  "Don't lose sleep, old man," Ford said as Hart mounted. "I taught the boy myself, and Geronimo finished his education." He wasn't given to loose talk, but it wouldn't hurt to put Jason on the defensive end of nervous.

  The two men turned their horses' heads toward the north at a determined pace; they had a long ride ahead of them.

  Jason checked his trail gear and pulled the cinch tighter on the dapple gray. Things were getting out of hand. With McAllister back and Ford Jameson with him, they'd be relentless in their search for Fancy, and if they found her, the game was up.

  He loaded rifle shells into the pocket of his parka. Much as he regretted it, Fancy would have to die. He'd been a fool to keep her alive once she knew, but love makes a man do incomprehensible things. He regretted the day he'd ever laid eyes on her.

  Jason had already dispatched two men to bring her
back from Brookehaven; they were not bright men and not woodsmen. He would trail them without their knowledge, and catch them unprepared; one shot from a high-powered rifle would put an end to Fancy and all the torment she'd caused him, and no one would be any the wiser about how she'd met her end. It was regrettable, but absolutely essential now that she die before Hart get to her; the two men he'd sent to fetch her would come back to report the accident, not track her unknown assailant.

  Jason checked the sight on the Winchester, slipped it into the saddle scabbard, and pulled the scarf up over his ears. The trail in front of him looked as bleak and hard as his mood.

  "They're coming for the Deverell woman," Jeb said over dinner. The help ate together at long wooden tables in the kitchen, and Jewel had used mealtime to make friends, a relatively easy task in the isolated environment. Everyone welcomed news from the outside and Jewel had spent a lifetime winning people over with entertaining anecdotes. Her heart lurched at Jeb's words, but she stayed calm enough to ask, "How come?"

  "Who knows. Doc Endicott just got word from her husband that he's sending people here Saturday, to move her somewhere else for her health." He was utterly disinterested in the movement of patients.

  This was only Thursday, Jewel thought with relief; she'd have to make her move before Saturday, with or without Ford's help. She'd had her eye on Jeb since day one as part of her contingency plan; he'd been there the longest of all the guards, held the keys to all wards, and never looked at her above the neck.

  "Kinda lonesome up here, ain't it?" She smiled up at him as they left the dining room. He was big as a prizefighter and she thought he might have been one, for his face was scarred and oddly puffy in places, as if from repeated beatings.

  Jeb smiled knowingly; the nurses always came around, once the isolation got to them. His bed had seldom lacked for company since he'd been at the asylum.

  "I could maybe do somethin' about that," he offered magnanimously. "Like maybe a little visit after hours."

  Jewel smiled seductively and groaned inwardly—she could tell this big cluck would be a real pain in the ass in bed. Not that there was very much choice, and it would hardly be the first bozo she'd bedded for a purpose, although it had been quite a while now since she'd slept with anyone she didn't want. Tonight she'd set the scene, tomorrow night she'd get Fancy out of this hellhole.

  Chapter 127

  Gitalis knocked at the door of Nellie's room in the parlour house on West State Street. Rufus had told him the name of the girl whose life Fancy had saved so many years before; she'd prospered since then, and had her own house now. She'd been sick for a while after Fancy helped her out of the fix she was in, but that had been years ago, and she was doing just fine these days and was possessed of a very loyal clientele.

  Nellie received her small visitor with curiosity; not that she'd reject a dwarf, but Gitalis was a surprising sight, all dandied up in a custom-made suit and boots that would have fit an eight-year-old. She was dressed in a night wrapper and had rags tied in her hair to curl it, for the hour was early and her trade was a late one. "Can I do something for you?" she asked, interested. "I have no doubt you could do a great deal for me, cara mia,"

  Gitalis said gallantly. "But what I require at this moment is merely conversation, and a favor for a mutual friend." Nellie, looking quizzical, ushered him in and closed the door; every guy had a different way of getting around to what he wanted, but this was the first time she'd ever had a customer request conversation.

  "Fancy McAllister Madigan is in trouble," Gitalis began as he seated himself in Nellie's parlor. "She needs a favor, and Rufus has told me you are in her debt. I've come here in hopes of securing your promise of a special kind of favor that requires the services of one in your particular profession."

  Nelly shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "What kind of trouble is she in? And why not ask Jewel? I can't get mixed up with the law, you know—a working girl has trouble enough steering clear of the sheriff."

  "The trouble Mrs. Madigan is in, dear girl, is the kind that could kill her. Just as your trouble could have killed you, if I understand the story correctly. And Jewel is unfortunately out of town, at the moment."

  "Okay, I'll listen, but I ain't promisin' nothin'."

  "If you hear me out and you don't wish to help me, all I ask is your word that you'll hold your tongue about what's been said here. You could kill her if you betray us, Nellie, and that would be poor payment indeed for one who saved your life. Will you agree to this stipulation?" Nellie nodded again.

  "If Jewel were here, she'd handle this end of things—as it stands, time is of the utmost importance and we seek to topple titans, so the stakes are very high. Mrs. Madigan is being held against her will by her husband, with Judge Krasky's complicity."

  Nellie's eyes grew wide. "Jason Madigan and Horace Krasky! Why the hell should I buck anybody that big? Either one of 'em could squash me like a bug. I've worked hard for what I got, and I ain't throwin' it away to even up an old debt."

  "If we squash them first, they cannot harm you, Nellie. If there's trouble with the law, Mrs. Madigan will pay your way out of it. She will also see to it that you are amply rewarded financially for your troubles. As to why you should extend yourself... I thought that was clear. It is a matter of conscience."

  Nellie laughed out loud. "You know, you're a cute little feller— it ain't everybody thinks whores got consciences."

  Gitalis outlined the plot, no words wasted; by the time he left

  Nellie, he had extracted a promise of her help. He walked the distance back to the Crown thinking you never know in this life where a single favor might lead, you just never know at all.

  Chapter 128

  Jeb appeared at Jewel's door right on time, Friday evening at 10:00 p.m.; the sanitarium was still as death, all doors locked, inmates and keepers retired to their beds. Never in all his years of fornication had he spent a night like the previous one with the new nurse. Sweet Jesus, she knew tricks that could turn a man inside out—he felt the color rise with just the thought of what she'd done to him.

  He let himself into her room and enveloped Jewel in a bear hug that knocked the breath from her.

  "Slow down there, sugar," she admonished with an appropriately lascivious grin. "I got great plans for us tonight." She pulled out a fifth of forbidden whiskey, and poured two tumblerfuls; the bottle of laudanum she'd pilfered would assure her amorous friend of a good night's rest, once a few drops found their way into his drink, but she'd save that for later, after she'd exhausted him with a few of her more spectacular feats. Jewel couldn't afford to make her move until after midnight, when everyone was sleeping soundly. If there were to be pursuers, they had best be groggy ones. At least with Jeb out of the way, there would be no cohesive leadership, for he was the unquestioned head of Brookehaven's security force.

  Jewel saw the ring of keys attached to the belt Jeb was happily unhitching. She groaned at the sight of his risen organ, he was hung like a buffalo and judging from last night's exercise, she'd be sore for a week. She smiled seductively and went about her business with the cool competence of an inspired professional.

  Jeb snored a little; he'd consumed enough sedative to sleep through New Year's, Jewel thought with disgust, as she dressed in as many layers of clothing as she owned, packed all she'd need, tucked her pistols and throwing knife wherever she could fit them, and moved out stealthily into the corridor, the precious keys to' every door at Brookehaven in her pocket.

  The darkened house creaked beneath her tread; she cursed silently and held her breath, but no one appeared, so she continued on her way. It took precious seconds to find the right key for the ward that housed Fancy. Thank God no guard was set on the locked wards at night, the only security to be worried about was outside the building, and one lone nurse sat nodding sleepily at her desk inside the ward. Locked doors and the fact that Jeb's room was next to the front door had made Dr. Endicott confident no escape would go unthwarted. It was unlik
ely anyone would risk escape at this time of year anyway; there was snow on the mountain, and without provisions or warm clothing, survival would be nearly impossible.

  Jewel knocked on the window to attract the nurse's attention; the woman looked puzzled at why anyone should appear there past midnight, but opened the door to her colleague nonetheless. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she saw the .45 Jewel pointed at her stomach with one hand as she made the sign for silence with the other. Wordlessly the woman obeyed and Jewel motioned her back to the chair she'd just vacated. Jewel tied the woman into a straitjacket, feeling pleased by the justice of the act, and gagged her with bandages before making her way down the row of cots to Fancy.

  "We're gettin' out," Jewel whispered urgently, her hand on Fancy's bony shoulder. "Jason's comin' for you and we ain't got much time."

  Fancy nodded, her heart thudding in her chest; wordlessly she pulled on her clothes and the sweater Jewel handed her, and followed the woman stealthily out the door of the ward.

  The nurse thought of trying to attract the attention of one of the sleeping inmates, but some self-protective instinct stopped her. What if all the lunatics awoke to find her helpless? What if they decided to take their revenge on one helpless nurse, who represented all that they'd suffered at Brookehaven? Wisely, she held her peace and watched the clock on the wall that would mark the time until change of shift. This promised to be a very long night.

  Jewel unlocked the room where the yardworkers kept their heavy outer garments; boots, woolen sweaters, and animal-skin coats filled the narrow closet. Fancy threw her arms around Jewel, clinging for a moment. "We ain't got time for wastin' on sentiment, kid. Put on every stitch you can—I had to make my move without reinforcements. We're on our own from here on out, and it's damned cold out there."