“I served with both of them.”
“I guess that’s why she gave me your names, then. You got a horse?”
“A broke-down saddle mount one in the back.”
“Why don’t you pack what you’ve got, saddle that horse, and we’ll get out of here.”
“And go where?”
“Anywhere, just so long as I keep you alive.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Yes, I am. After this I’m going to see Hampstead and Templeton.”
“I ain’t seen them boys in years,” Wilkins said. “Okay, I’ll do it. I ain’t got much, it’ll all fit in some saddlebags.”
“Get them packed, then,” Roper said. “I’ll watch your back while you saddle up.”
“That stuff you said about Westover true? They want his medal?”
“They’re recalling many medals,” Roper said. “His is one of them.”
“For sure?”
“No, not for sure,” Roper said. “Pack up and I’ll tell you about it while you saddle up.”
“Okay.”
Behind the house, Wilkins saddled his horse, which would probably barely carry him to Sedona. When they got there, they’d have to get him a better mount. The rest of the horses he released, so they wouldn’t starve to death.
“Where we goin”?” Wilkins asked.
“We’ll start with Sedona,” Roper said. “I’m expecting a couple of telegrams.”
Roper made sure Wilkins didn’t get shot while he saddled his horse, and then they both mounted up. The only gun Wilkins had was his rifle.
“You want a handgun? I’ve got an extra.”
“I see that, sewed onto your saddle. That’s pretty handy. But no, I ain’t much use with a handgun. My rifle will do.”
“All right, then,” Roper said. “We better get moving. After I get my telegrams, I’m going to want to ride fast.”
“What about me?”
“I got a piece of paper I want to show you,” Roper said, “but that’ll hold until we get to Sedona.”
They rode to the front of the house. Wilkins reined in and looked around.
“Sorry you’ve got to leave your place,” Roper said. “But you can come back in the future.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Wilkins said. “It was never much of a ranch anyway.”
“Then we’d better get moving.”
Roper kept alert as they rode away from the ranch, on the watch for a bushwhacker or backshooter.
About a half an hour after they left, Kilkenny rode up to the Wilkins ranch. He dismounted, drew his gun, and entered the house. It was empty. He came out and looked around. There were horses in the corral, but no saddle in the barn. And on the ground he saw the tracks of two horses.
Talbot Roper had beat him here, and now he was on the run with Wilkins. But where would they go? Most likely Sedona, but at some point Roper was going to head for Hampstead and Templeton.
Unless Kilkenny beat him there.
39
When Roper and Wilkins rode into Sedona, they stopped at the telegraph office first. Roper made Wilkins come inside with him so he wouldn’t catch a bullet.
“My telegrams come in?” he asked the clerk.
“Right soon after you left, mister,” the man said. “Here ya go.”
Roper accepted the telegrams and read them both, then smiled, folded them, and put them in his pocket.
“What do they say?”
“That some plans I’ve made are in motion,” Roper said. “Now all I need is for you to sign an affidavit and I’ll be on my way.”
“Nothin’ doin’,” Wilkins said.
“What?”
“I ain’t signin’ no paper until I see Hampstead and Templeton.”
“You want to come with me?”
“You got the idea,” Wilkins said.
“Well,” Roper said, “that ought to keep you one step ahead of a bullet. Okay, let’s get outfitted and get moving.”
“In the dark?”
“We can’t wait,” Roper said. “There’s a killer after you.”
“Ain’t he after you, too?”
Roper looked at him and said, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you.”
It puzzled Roper. If the killer was the one who had taken a shot at him in Washington, why hadn’t he tried out on the trail? He was sure he’d been in the man’s crosshairs at least once.
They outfitted themselves from the general store with just enough supplies for them each to carry some. Then they went to the livery, where Roper used a portion of his expense money to buy Wilkins a fresh horse.
“Ain’t had an animal this sound under me in a while,” he said as they moved his saddle onto it.
“What about the ones you had in your corral?”
“Second-rate,” Wilkins said. “Ever since the war, I been nothin’ but second-rate.”
Roper didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t very well tell a man he just met that he was wrong.
They walked their horses outside, Roper checking the corners and rooftops.
“You really are worried about a shooter, aren’t you?” Wilkins said.
“I am.”
They mounted up and rode out.
Kilkenny was angry.
He rode into Sedona behind the tracks left by Roper and Wilkins, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to follow them out. Not tonight. He wouldn’t be able to track them in the dark.
He put his horse up at the livery, got himself a room at the smallest, cheapest hotel in town. Then he had a hot meal, wondering why he’d taken this job in the first place. It was a lot of time on the trail for not much of a payoff. He knew the payoff would come in the end, but getting to the end was taking longer than he liked.
There was no doubt in his mind that Roper was going to head north—but to where? The logical place would be Montana, and David Hampstead. He was next in line—but what if Roper didn’t stick to the list?
He wondered if Roper had sent any telegrams while he was in town. That was something he would be able to check in the morning, when the office opened. Might even send a telegram of his own. At the moment there was nothing he could do but have a few beers and then turn in. Get started back on the job in the morning. Because that was all it was to him, a job.
Like any other job.
Roper and Wilkins got away from Sedona, headed north, and then camped.
“We could’ve spent a night in a hotel,” Wilkins said, sitting across the fire from Roper.
“I wanted to get out of town,” Roper said. “A killer could have tracked us that far. But he can’t track us at night.”
“Unless he’s part Injun.”
Wilkins made a good point. Roper wondered just what kind of killer was on his trail—or to be more precise, Wilkins’s trail.
Half Indian.
That wouldn’t be so good. Any man with Indian blood would be able to track them no matter what he did. Roper was a great detective, but to his mind just an adequate cowboy. Even if the shooter was a professional bounty hunter, his trail knowledge would be better than Roper’s. The detective was a man who knew his limitations.
“Let’s just figure he’s not part Injun,” Roper said, “and act accordingly.”
40
Roper decided not to go north, but northeast. When they got to Albuquerque, they caught the train, took it toward Denver. He wasn’t interested in going back to Denver, but since they had to change trains there, he decided to spend one night and catch a train in the morning. He also decided to turn Nickel over to Wilkins, and pick up his own horse.
He stashed Wilkins in a small hotel he used for hiding people. Then he went to his office. He unlocked the front door and entered, was glad to find the reception desk empty. He figured Mrs. Batchelder kept sending Lola over, but apparently today wasn’t one of those days. He went into his office and sat behind his desk. He ran his hand over his face, felt the two-day stubble there. He also felt fatigue in his bones.
Later he’d go home, have a hot bath and a shave, and be ready to kick off again the next day.
He looked on his desk and found two messages, one each from the men he’d sent telegrams to.
First Sally Bando. His real name was Salvatore Bandini. He’d come to the United States twenty years earlier from Italy, made his way to Denver, working mostly as a strike breaker for disreputable private detective agencies. There he met Roper, who put him to work from time to time on more honest matters.
Sally left a message that said he was on his way to Montana as Roper had instructed. He left the message just in case Roper stopped in there. He also said if he had anything to report, he’d send a telegram to Mrs. Batchelder. Roper also paid her to be a go-between when he was on the trail.
The other message was left by Tommy Dexter, who did the same kind of work for him as Sally Bando. His message said he was on his way to South Dakota, and that Roper was going to owe him if he lost any toes to frostbite. He made the same comment about sending further messages to Mrs. Batchelder.
He put the notes back on the desk, rubbed both hands over his face. Being in Denver wasn’t smart. If the killer knew anything about him, he knew he was from Denver. He might have come here to wait for him. The good thing was Roper knew every inch of Denver, and had contacts and, at least, a few friends.
He decided to go on home and have that bath and get started early the next morning.
The next morning, before picking up Wilkins, Roper stopped in at Mrs. Batchelder’s.
“Well, hello, handsome,” she said from behind her desk. “Didn’t know you were back.”
“Back and gone again, Lily,” he said. She was a handsome woman in her late forties. She had set up her business ten years earlier, and Roper still didn’t know what she was doing before that.
“Are you checking for messages, telegrams?”
“I am.”
“Well, nothing’s come in yet,” she said. “Where are you off to this time?”
“Can’t say,” he said, “but I’ll send you a telegram from time to time. I’ll wait an hour for an answer, and then move on.”
“Are you in trouble, Tal?” she asked.
“Might be,” he said. “But don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”
“If you say so,” she said.
“I’m going to go out the back way, Lily,” he said. “I’ll lock it behind me.”
As he left her office, she remembered the last time he’d gone out the back door. He’d been in real trouble that time. But he’d gotten out of it. She was sure he’d get out of it now.
Roper went to the hotel and picked up Wilkins.
“Sure did sleep good last night,” Wilkins said as they left. “Can’t remember the last time I slept so good. Real nice bed.”
“It’s not even one of the best hotels in town, Wilkins,” Roper said. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Better than any hotel I ever stayed in before,” Wilkins said. “It was fine, Roper, just fine.”
“Come on,” Roper said. “We’ve got to catch a train.”
They picked up their horses—Nickel, and Roper’s palomino—took them to the station, and put them on the stock car. Then they got on the train and took their seats.
“Where are we headed now?” Wilkins asked.
“We’re going someplace nobody will expect us to go,” Roper sad. “At least, so I hope.”
41
Edward Harwick looked up as Victoria Westover entered his office. He was surprised to see her. She came to town very infrequently. She was dressed for business, in a severe suit and hat.
“Victoria,” he said, standing.
“Sit down, Edward,” she said. “I just came to talk to you. I haven’t heard from you in some time about Mr. Roper’s progress.”
Harwick sat back down, and Victoria sat across from him.
“I’m afraid that’s because I haven’t heard from him in a while,” the lawyer said.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “What’s he doing, staying out of contact this long?”
“I don’t know, Victoria.”
“Do you think he’s…”
“What? Dead?” he asked. “He’s a man who can take care of himself.”
“Maybe…” she said, and then stopped.
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe we should have told him the truth from the beginning.”
Harwick stood up, walked around the desk, and put his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s too late for that now, Victoria,” he said. “Come on, I’ll see you home. We’ll hear from Roper soon. I’m sure of it.”
He walked her out, wishing he were as confident as he sounded.
Donald White looked up as his office door opened. This was his real office, not the little empty room at Dupont Circle.
“Sir,” Corporal Prince said. Prince’s actual rank was lieutenant, but he was still undercover as a corporal. “You wanted to see me.”
“Any word on Roper?”
“No, sir,” Prince said. “He seems to have fallen off the face of the map.”
“Not good, Prince,” White said. “I wanted to keep an eye on him.”
“Yessir.”
“Well, all right, pack a bag.”
“Sir?”
“You’re going on a trip.”
“Corporal Prince can’t just leave, sir.”
“ ‘Corporal Prince’ just mustered out, soldier. You’re back to being Lieutenant Prince.”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” Prince said. “When am I leaving, sir?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“And where would I be going?”
White sat back in his chair and said, “I’ll let you know tomorrow morning. Be back here at eight, I’ll have a train ticket for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Prince said. “Would that be the time I’ll also be learning what I’ll be doing?”
“Yes, yes,” White said, waving the man off, “you’ll find out everything in the morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As the door closed behind the young lieutenant, Donald White wondered if he should have been more truthful with Talbot Roper. But he couldn’t let friendship interfere with his job. He had known that years ago, when he first accepted this position. And nothing had changed since then. Nothing at all.
Tom Prince left the building with a feeling of excitement in his belly. He’d been undercover as “Corporal Prince” for some time. He was happy to be going back to Lieutenant Prince. He was also very pleased that it seemed he was being sent west to assist Talbot Roper.
Roper was a legend, not only as a detective, but from his experiences during the war, when he worked under Allan Pinkerton. Lieutenant Prince had heard all the stories about Roper and had been very excited to meet him. To be getting a chance to work with him was beyond a dream for him.
When Roper had been in Washington, Prince had not liked deceiving him. He’d be very happy to introduce himself properly and offer his help. Working with Talbot Roper would teach him a lot.
The soldier at the front door recognized Prince as a man of authority even without bars, and saluted him. Prince happily returned the salute. As “Corporal” Prince, he was the one always offering the salutes to others.
This was a nice change.
42
Roper and Wilkins rode into Gilette, Wyoming. The detective expected Sally Bando and Tommy Dexter to be there with their charges, David Hampstead and Zack Templeton. They did not have as far to come as he did, but he’d made parts of the trip by rail. He told Bando and Dexter to stay off trains and away from train stations. They were instructed to make the trip on horseback, stay away from towns, use pack mules so they didn’t need to outfit more than once.
There were three hotels in Gilette, a medium-size town that was growing, just not as quickly as Cheyenne and Sheridan. He and Wilkins checked each hotel. The four men were not registered at any of them.
“Are there rooming houses i
n town?” Roper asked the clerk at the Gilette House (with three hotels in town, one of them had to have the word “House” in the name).
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “We got two. Both run by widows.”
“Okay, we’ll check them. Thanks.”
The clerk told Roper where the rooming houses were, and he and Wilkins checked them, too.
The first was run by a woman named Mrs. Hawkins. She was in her sixties, told them she had four rooms to let and they were all full, but not with the men he was describing.
“I don’t rent to anybody who looks like trouble,” she added. “And I’m afraid that includes you two.”
She closed the door in their faces.
The second rooming house was run by a younger woman. Mrs. Lawson was in her late forties, a widow who had turned her home into a rooming house in order to survive after her husband died.
“I ain’t never gonna find another man like my Ralph,” she told them, “so I got to do for myself.”
She also said her rooms were full, but not with the men they were describing. She closed the door on them more gently, but Roper could see she had the same opinion of them that Mrs. Hawkins had.
“Come on,” Roper said. “We’ll register at one of the hotels.”
“Which one?”
“Let’s try the Gilette House.”
They went back there and registered under assumed names. Roper got one room with two beds. He wanted to keep a close eye on Wilkins.
In the room, Wilkins sat on one of the beds.
“You don’t think anyone was able to follow us here, do you?” he asked.
“Follow, no,” Roper said. “Track, maybe.”
“What do we do?”
“We wait.”
“You said they’d be here waitin’.”
“I said they should be here waiting,” Roper said.
“So what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know,” Roper said. “Something must’ve held them up.”
“But they’re alive?”
“I sent good men to get them,” Roper said. “They should be alive.”
Wilkins thought a moment, then said, “Tell me again why we came to Gilette, Wyoming. I mean…what’s here for us?”
Bullets & Lies (Talbot Roper 01) Page 13