The Stagecoach War

by Wesley Ellis

  With that comforting thought, Ki lay down on his bunk and laced his hands behind his head. He would try to sleep.

  “Hey, Mr. Ling?”

  Ki sat up. “Yes?”

  “I got a sick wife at the house. I’m going to go look in on her for a while. I’ll lock the front door so you won’t be bothered. If the wife is still real sick I may be pretty late, but don’t worry. I’ll have your breakfast long before Judge Heath arrives to set you free.”

  “Thanks. I hope your wife is feeling better.”

  Sheriff Colton nodded. “I think she will be. Fever was down late this afternoon. Sure too bad about old Dan Bonaday. We lost one of a kind with that man.”

  Ki nodded and lay down again. He heard the door shut and the sheriff tromp off into the darkness. Ki thought about Jessie and wondered if she was asleep yet. The fact that she owned Dan Bonaday and not his offspring a favor would mean nothing to Jessie. A debt to the former was a debt to the latter. Jessie was a Starbuck, and they were the best sort of friends in this world, or the worst kind of enemies. It would be good to see her again.

  Jessie waited until well after dark before she left her hotel room and headed for the offices of the Sierra Stage Line. She had considered waiting until after midnight but had rejected the idea. A woman out alone on the streets that late would invite advances and a considerable amount of interest. No, it was far better to act as if she were going out to meet an escort for a late dinner somewhere. Then, if the Sierra Stage Line offices were closed and darkened, she could enter using the key she had taken. The other obvious advantage of going now was that she would have almost the entire night to search for the names she hoped to find. Orin Grayson had said they were names of prominent men from Sacramento. That helped a great deal. She would need to know their identities, because men who invested heavily in a business were not likely to sit still and let their investments fail. This, Jessie thought, was the primary reason why she had to know who and how many were the men she was dealing with.

  With a list of names, she would be able to defend herself or the Bonaday Stage Line against retaliation. When you killed a rattlesnake you didn’t just chop off the rattles —you severed the head too, and you buried the damn thing.

  She was fortunate enough to engage a surrey that carried her up Virginia Street and over the flowing Truckee River. When she was just a short block away, she ordered the driver to pull over in front of a nice restaurant and paid him a modest tip because she was not supposed to have much money.

  “Much obliged. You need a ride back, miss?”

  “I’m not sure,” she hedged.

  The driver was an older man with silver hair and a round, sun-beaten but jovial face. “If there’s young bachelors with eyeballs in that eatin’ place then I’ll wager you won’t need my services again tonight, miss!”

  Jessie smiled and left. When the driver disappeared around a corner, she changed directions and headed for the Sierra Stage Line offices, praying that they would be dark and deserted. If they were not, she would have to find some respectable establishment to wait in until the stage-line offices were empty.

  They were deserted when she reached them and Jessie was thankful. She knew the place well and also knew that there was a hostler who had a dog. The hostler and his watchdog guarded the horses, harness, and wagons out in the back lot. Jessie knew that she might be spotted by the dog if she tried to go around and enter the back door. There being no other choice, she walked straight up to the front door as if she owned the place.

  The key slipped in easily and she turned the lock and quickly stepped into total darkness. Jessie was familiar with the lay of the office and had no trouble moving through the outer room and into the smaller office used by Orin Grayson. She would start there and, if she found nothing in the big wooden file cabinets, she would move into Lee Ford’s office and search there. The office also had a safe, but Jessie did not believe that what she sought would be locked up. No, unless they thought someone was specifically seeking the names of important Sacramento financiers, they would have no reason to put that kind of information in the safe.

  Jessie lit a lamp and turned the wick down very low. She set the lamp on the floor and opened the bottom file. It was bulging with papers. She sighed, hoping that it was not going to be a long evening. Then she began to read.

  It took her almost an hour to finish going through Grayson’s office, and she learned quite a bit about the man and the company. Grayson, it seemed, had once been worth a considerable amount of money, which had been tied up in land and real estate. He had mortgaged everything and invested heavily in Comstock Lode gold and silver futures. Those futures had proved very costly when the mines had finally begun to play out, and Grayson had nearly been ruined. But he had somehow gotten back on his feet with a series of large loans a few months ago. Unfortunately, the source of those loans was not revealed by the documents she studied.

  Jessie moved into Lee Ford’s office and found that his file cabinets were locked. She drew a small penknife out of her purse along with a thin wire probe about the length and diameter of an ice pick. Within fifteen seconds she had the bottom file open and started going over the papers. It took her another hour and two files before she found the names of the men she was searching for. There were just three and, as she memorized them, she realized that their presence on a written document was probably an oversight.

  Jessie sighed with gratitude. She could telegraph a very good detective agency she had previously used in San Francisco and have men on the way to investigate the three Sacramento financiers at once. Within a few days, a week at the most, she would know if they were just businessmen in the habit of financing highly speculative out-of-state ventures, or if they were actually participants in the dangerous game of sabotage and destruction of the Bonaday Stage Line. She was sitting on the floor debating whether or not to continue through the files in hopes of finding out the exact extent of the outside financing when the sound of a cocking gun froze her blood.

  “Miss Wilson! It’s you!”

  Jessie swung around to see the accountant, Peter Bakemore, standing with a gun wobbling around in his bony fist. He started to lower the weapon, then he raised it back up again. “Miss Wilson, shame on you for stealing from the company files!”

  Jessie expelled a deep breath. She was furious at herself for being so absorbed by the files that she had allowed herself to be surprised. But she was also deeply relieved that this was Bakemore and not Grayson or Lee Ford. Especially Ford, whom her looks and charm had no sway over at all. Jessie had a hunch that Lee Ford would have shot her without asking for an explanation that she could not have conjured up anyhow.

  She made herself smile gaily. “Well, you caught me, Peter. We accountants just can’t stay away from our figures, can we?”

  It was a wasted act. “You’re not here on business. You have no right to be here at this hour.”

  Jessie stood up. By the way the gun in Bakemore’s fist was shaking, it was clear to her that she was in great danger of being accidentally shot to death. “Yes I do,” she said. “I am still working for this company. Mr. Grayson simply thought I would be of more value working for our competition.”

  “You mean as a spy?”

  Jessie nodded.

  “I don’t believe that. Mr. Grayson and Mr. Ford are very ... firm, yes, firm and tough businessmen, but they would not spy.”

  “Why not? They’ve done everything else but murder the Bonadays. They have sabotaged their coaches, run off their horses, cut their harness, and set up stage robberies so frequently that—”

  “That is not true!”

  “It is. That’s why I am here.”

  “Who are you really, Miss Wilson? Please don’t lie to me anymore. I trusted you. I gave you my sincerest recommendation and now ... I find you like this. You have betrayed the Sierra Stage Line and me as well!”

  Jessie saw the misery on this man’s face. She felt sorry for him, but also liked his surprising l
oyalty to a couple of crooks who treated him shabbily. “Peter, I need your help.”

  “No! You asked for it once, and what did it earn me but this? I must find and tell my employers at once and let them decide your punishment.”

  “Peter!” Jessie put some iron into her voice. “If you tell them what I was doing, my life will be in great danger. They will try to kill me.”

  “That’s ridiculous! You haven’t gotten anything of value. All our petty cash is in the vault and the real money is in the bank across the street.”

  “I wasn’t after the money.” Jessie looked at the gun. “Will you please put that down before it goes off and I am shot? You are a man. If I tried to escape, you could easily stop me.”

  “I’m not so sure of that, Miss Wilson. You look, well, strong, too.”

  She allowed herself to smile. “In addition to what?”

  “To being ... beautiful, Miss Wilson. But that won’t stop me from doing my duty!” he added quickly.

  Jessie sat back down on the floor and turned the wick of the lamp down until there was very little light in the room.

  “What are you doing that for?” he asked nervously.

  “I don’t want any more visitors. I want to talk to you for a few minutes. My real name is Jessica Starbuck. Does that mean anything to you, Peter?”

  He blinked. “Of course. Everyone has heard of the Starbuck empire. It is a huge conglomerate, with offices around the world.”

  “Exactly. And I own it.”

  “That’s preposterous!”

  “Is it?” Jessie slipped off a ring she wore. “Look at the design of this closely. At first, it means nothing, but examine it very carefully, then read the inscription engraved underneath the band.”

  “Turn the light up a little,” he said, trying to balance the gun and take the ring at the same time. To Jessie’s surprise he succeeded, and after a long time he handed the ring back to her and said, “All right, so it says ‘From Alex to Jessica with love.’ It could be anyone.”

  “With a circle star design? One that is known worldwide?”

  He swallowed. “Maybe you found it or ... or yes, damn it, you stole it, just like you were stealing something in here when I arrived. You’re a professional thief, that’s it!”

  Jessie frowned. “What if I am telling the truth about myself? That I really am Jessica Starbuck and the men you work for are violent criminals, men who have used every illegal, immoral, and unethical trick in the book to ruin Dan Bonaday and drive his operation under? What if that is true?”

  He stared at her for a long minute. He bit his knuckles nervously and then said, “Then I must resign or risk going to prison!”

  “You can help me and I will give you a better job than you ever dreamed of. One at twice the salary. One with your own staff.”

  His eyes were filled with wonder behind his glasses. “You mean it? You’re not just saying that to ... to get my gun and kill me?”

  “I mean it. No charity. You’ll earn every penny of your wages. I will send you to be trained in London, then—”

  “Oh, my God!” he giggled. “This is like a dream come true. Wait until I tell my wife!”

  “No!” Jessie lowered her voice. “You must tell no one until this is all finished. Do you understand me?”

  He nodded vigorously.

  “Good.” Jessie smiled. “Now, help me put away these files and let’s call it a night before someone else comes to visit this office.”

  “But I can‘t!”

  “Why not?”

  “I ... I came here because I’m behind on my work. I have to ...”

  Jessie shook her head. There was no use arguing with the man. But he was going to make her a star employee.

  Chapter 10

  It was after midnight and Ki was still wide awake. He was thinking about his childhood again, and about his mother and father. Ki barely remembered how his American father had looked. Only that he had been tall and handsome, with a wide smile and strong arms. His mother had been high-born, a member of an aristocratic Japanese family. Ki had no pictures, but the image he retained from long ago was of a woman lovely and gracious. Long, shining black hair, a heart-shaped face with dignity that was the product of centuries of royal Nipponese blood. His mother’s single mistake and her great tragedy had been falling in love with the American sailor and marrying him. This had caused her family great anguish, for the Yankee barbarians were considered a vastly inferior race. Disgraced and abandoned by her own people, Ki’s mother had not shed a tear because her love for the Yankee consumed her every waking hour. Ki was born during their first year of marriage. Like many Eurasians, Ki was a beautiful child, the product and mix of the best of both races. Yet, for five long years Ki had suffered the mockery heaped on an outcast. Because he was of mixed blood, other children of his own age would have nothing to do with him. But Ki and his mother had steadied themselves against the cruel barbs of being ostracized because they knew that their lives would be fulfilled in America. America, where people of all races came in the hope of equality and opportunity. America the beautiful, where who your parents were did not matter so much as what you could do with your own will and strength and determination.

  Tragically, Ki’s father had died of a blood disease just one month before they were to sail for America. There had been no one willing to protect them. His mother was, for all her noble blood, helpless against rival businessmen who had stolen all her husband’s assets and money. She had tried to seek help, but her own family could not forgive her and her husband’s family wanted no part of a Japanese woman and a grandson whose eyes were slanted and whose other features also reflected his Oriental heritage.

  Abandoned, Ki’s mother had soon died of a broken heart, and the five-year-old boy was turned away from every source of comfort because of his “impure blood.” Ki remembered how, with his strength almost gone and his clothes in rags, he had found an old samurai without a master who was now forced to be called ronin. In Japanese, ronin meant a “wave man,” one blown aimlessly like the waves of the ocean. Owning nothing, belonging to nothing, being nothing—that was ronin. That was Hirata, the giant with muscles like rocks and a heart like a mountain of sandstone. Hirata had tested him by trying to drive him away, but Ki had sensed one even lonelier than himself and in even greater pain. The old ronin had taken the boy in, and had treated him hard, but fairly. Taught him the ways of a samurai, not just how to fight but how to live and die, if necessary, with honor and dignity.

  In their last years together, Ki and Hirata had grown to be closer than most fathers and sons. Hirata’s words echoed still from that last day they were together: “In you, I took the last true pupil. In you I have been able to turn the wheel of my life one complete cycle. Now that I have taught you all I know, you must go off to wherever your vow shall take you.”

  Ki had known that Hirata was ready to die and had known better than to argue when the ronin had sent him away for a short while. When he had returned, Hirata was dead, the blade of his short sword buried to the hilt in his abdomen. Hirata had committed a perfect seppuku, ritual suicide.

  Courage. Honor. Tradition. These were the things that a samurai held most sacred. These were the things Hirata had taught him. Jessica Starbuck was Ki’s master—not legally, but in spirit, for he had dedicated his life to protecting her. And without a high and noble purpose in life, a samurai was nothing.

  Ki must have dozed. It was sometime after midnight and the front door to the sheriff’s office was opening. Ki wondered if Sheriff Colton’s wife was over her fever. He should ask, but perhaps the man would prefer to be left alone to worry privately. Ki did not stir from his pallet.

  He listened to the door open and then the sound of footsteps. He heard a match strike, and then the footsteps retreated back toward the doorway. The sudden light seemed brighter than necessary and Ki reached up to shade his eyes. That was when he heard the crash of breaking glass and the sudden whoosh of kerosene igniting across the woo
den floor.

  Ki jumped up and, half blinded by the sudden brilliance of the fire, he saw a man wearing a mask. The fire danced up between them, already eating hungrily at the boards and following the trail of fuel to the wall, where it climbed with a ferocious intensity.

  The man stared through the smoke and flames at Ki and, over the roar of the fire, he began to laugh. His hands were on his hips and his hat was pulled low. Still, Ki could tell that the man was not Sheriff Colton. And when he turned to leave Ki to burn to death, the samurai reached inside his vest lining and pulled out a shuriken star blade. Ki hurled it with deadly force and it spun through the flames to lodge in the man’s back. The assassin had been about to open the door, but now he sagged against it and knocked it shut. He staggered around and managed to get his gun out of his holster. Ki had another shuriken ready, but it was not necessary. The man pitched forward, firing down at the burning floor. He got off one bullet cleanly, but his body muffled the sound of the second shot.

  Ki grabbed the cell door and shook it hard. He had a lock pick hidden in the lining of his vest like the one Jessie had used. But opening a simple hotel-room door was one thing; opening a locked jail cell was quite another. To complicate things, Ki would have to work from the back side of the lock. Ki glanced at the fire, knowing it was the poisonous smoke that would kill him long before the flames. One deep inhalation of the noxious fumes and he would be blinded and choking. A second and a third lung ful of smoke and he would be dead within moments. The smoke was billowing up and filling the room at ceiling level. It was coming down fast and Ki cursed himself for not waiting to throw his shuriken blade after the man had opened the door. Even though the open door would feed the fire, it would also allow an exit for the smoke and attract help.