by Hall, Billy
‘Yes. You do know him.’
Dwight frowned. ‘That’s another guy that came to me to ask about findin’ work, oh, maybe a week ago. Jarvis McCrae, I think his name is.’
It was her eyes’ turn to widen. ‘You don’t suppose there’s some connection between his talking to you and his talking to me, do you?’
He said nothing for a long moment. She could not figure out the direction of his thoughts. She frowned. ‘Is there something happening in town that you’re not telling me about?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Nothin’ that I can talk about.’
She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again. Abruptly he said, ‘Let’s go over to Ling’s and see if he’s got any lutefisk.’
Belinda giggled. ‘Ugh. I tasted that stuff once. Once is enough.’
‘I never got past the smell, myself.’
Arm in arm they left the marshal’s office and headed for the café. The niggling little worry that kept turning over in the back of Dwight’s mind had Lester Goode on one side of it and Jarvis McCrae on the other side of it. Part of the worry was wondering why either man worried him. He had a strong hunch he would know before long.
CHAPTER 4
Hammers and saws produced a constant cacophony of busy sounds. Customers at Headland Land & Mineral Bank had to virtually shout at the tellers to make themselves heard. The tellers, in turn, leaned forward almost against the bars of their ‘cages’ to hear. It was a difficult environment in which to do business.
Bank president Hiram Birdwell kept a throw rug against the bottom of his office door, where there was a gap between door and floor. It not only kept out some of the sawdust and dirt of the ongoing construction, it helped to muffle the sound.
He and Oliver Standish, President of High Country Mining Enterprises, struggled to keep their voices low enough to avoid being overheard, yet loud enough to clearly understand one another.
‘Can you assure me the shipments from here to Cheyenne will be completely safe?’ Standish demanded.
Birdwell leaned back in his leather chair, folded his hands across his ample stomach, and nodded effusively enough to make his mutton-chop whiskers bounce on his rotund face. ‘Oh, absolutely, Mr Standish. Absolutely.’
He leaned forward, lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘In fact, as of three weeks from today, we will have the most safe and secure conveyance of valuables ever to be seen in this country.’
Standish’s eyebrows rose inquisitively. ‘And what, may I ask, is that?’
Because Birdwell’s voice dropped even further, the mining executive had to lean forward, until their heads almost touched, to hear. ‘Have you heard of the armored stagecoach that has just recently been put into use over at Deadwood and Lead?’
Standish only nodded.
‘That same company – Concord Stages – has made more than one of those conveyances. Our own Wells Fargo company, that services this community, has purchased a second one just like it, for use in transporting our assets to Cheyenne.’
Standish pursed his lips. ‘How safe is it?’
‘It is strictly state of the art,’ Birdwell assured him. ‘There is a large strongbox anchored to the top of the coach itself. It is made of hardened steel. It is secured with not one, not two, but three heavy, hardened steel hasps, and padlocked with locks that cannot be jimmied, pried opened, or cut. In fact, a bullet from a thirty-thirty or forty-four-forty, either one, fired from a distance of only fifty feet, either bounces off or just flattens into a mass of lead, without damaging the lock in any way.’
‘Can’t they just take the whole strongbox and work on it someplace at leisure?’
Birdwell shook his head. ‘Not a chance. The box itself is firmly anchored to a sheet of steel, just as impervious to any tool, that covers the entire top of the stagecoach. All in all it weighs more than half a ton. Even if someone could remove it from the rest of the stagecoach, it is so large and cumbersome, as well as heavy, as to be impossible to convey.’
Standish pursed his lips in concentration again. ‘Well, it sounds pretty secure.’
Birdwell bobbed his head enthusiastically. ‘It is that, but just to make it even more secure, every shipment includes the usual armed driver and shotgun guard, plus two armed guards inside the coach, plus four outriders, maintaining a distance of two hundred yards before and behind the stage itself at all times. It would take a crack military unit even to approach it, and if anyone did manage to do so, they would find themselves helpless to avail themselves of any of the valuables entrusted to it.’
‘But couldn’t those guards be shot by, say, some men in the cover of the timber where the road passes through such places?’
Birdwell grinned as he responded. ‘Not likely. Remember the outriders. They’d be sure to spot anyone positioned to do that. Besides, I hadn’t mentioned that the sides of the coach also have iron plates on both sides of the coach. They have cross shaped openings through which the inside guards can shoot, but bullets from outside won’t penetrate the sides of the coach.’
Standish whistled. ‘That thing has to be prohibitively heavy.’
‘It is heavy. It takes an eight-horse team, instead of the usual four or six, and it doesn’t travel as fast as a normal stagecoach, but it is certainly secure.’
A long period of silence ensued, as each man leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. Finally Birdwell said, ‘What are you thinking, Oliver?’
Standish smiled. ‘Actually I was trying to think like a highwayman. What would I do, if I really wanted the cargo that was being shipped in that manner?’
‘And what would you do?’
‘I don’t know. That’s what delights me. Once the gold is placed in that strongbox and locked down, and the guards are in place, I can’t think of a way to get at it.’
‘I believe that’s a fair assessment.’
‘When did you say that coach is arriving?’
‘It won’t be here until just about three weeks from now.’
Oliver pondered that information with a contemplative frown. ‘We haven’t shipped out any gold for well over a week. If we wait three more weeks, we’ll be putting five or six weeks’ worth of production from the mine in one shipment. The gold alone will weigh close to a thousand pounds.’
‘It will, indeed, be an awfully large shipment. But worth the wait to know it will be secure.’
Seemingly satisfied, Standish rose to leave. Birdwell hurried to the office door and removed the rug from the bottom. He failed to notice that something had been slid under the door, and that the rug had been pushed to one side, leaving an opening through which sound could travel. Neither was he able to see Les Goode leave the piece of wood trim he seemed to be working on, just beside the door on its other side, and move to a different task.
CHAPTER 5
‘Howdy, Walt. I didn’t expect to see you out an’ about today. Ain’t this the day you’re usually elbow deep in ink?’
Walt Newsome flashed Dwight an unaccustomed grin. ‘Good afternoon, Marshal. Yes, as a matter of fact, I usually am. Not today, however.’
‘No newspaper this week?’
‘Oh my, yes. Yes indeed. The Headland Courier will be issued promptly on time, as always.’
Dwight cocked his head to one side, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘What’d you do – write this week’s news last week?’
Walt chuckled. ‘Not hardly. It would be convenient to be that prescient, to be sure, but I’m afraid I’m not. No, I finally had a circumstance of great fortune. I hired a pressman who actually knows what he’s doing.’
‘Is that so? How’d you happen to find him?’
Walt shrugged. ‘Just one of those random vagaries of fortune, I presume. He simply came strolling into the newspaper office one day and asked if I had any need for an experienced typesetter. I was, as you said, elbow deep in ink at the time and pushing like the devil to get things done on time, so I hired him. He jumped right in, as if he had be
en on the payroll a long while. He set type faster than anybody I have ever seen. Excepting myself, of course. Then he went right about setting up the press as if he had been doing it for years.’
‘Wow! I’d guess that doesn’t happen very often in your line of work.’
‘You have most certainly gotten that right! It has never, ever happened to me before. But please understand I am not complaining.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Mac. Well, his name is Jarvis McCrae, but he just goes by Mac.’
Dwight’s expression became markedly more serious. ‘When did all this happen?’
‘Oh, nigh on to three weeks ago.’
‘Hmm.’
‘What do you mean, “Hmm?” That sounds like something ominous, the way you said it.’
Dwight shook his head. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve already heard about this guy. He stopped Belinda on the sidewalk the other day. Wrangled himself an introduction that made her plumb uncomfortable.’
‘Did he offend her?’
Dwight shook his head. ‘Naw, not really. Just seemed pretty forward. Backed off when she told him she was promised.’
‘Well, then, I don’t see what the problem is.’
‘It just seems like a strange coincidence. That’d be just almost the same time another new guy in town came along lookin’ for a job. He hired on with Virgil. Virgil says he’s one o’ the best carpenters he’s ever hired. Then this guy hires on with you. Then there’s that new guy I heard about at Glendenning’s Hardware store. Another well-educated guy, it sounds like. I ain’t met him yet, though.’
‘You don’t say. A veritable outpouring of qualified laborers fortuitously descending upon our humble municipality, it would seem.’
Dwight ignored the sarcasm. ‘So it would seem,’ he muttered.
‘Well, perhaps that is the manifestation of one of the phenomena of being a boom town. The word does get around, you know. Those who have special aptitudes and are in need of employment just naturally gravitate to such places.’
‘So do a lot of other folks,’ Dwight countered. ‘I’d check out the fella’s background pretty careful, if’n I was you.’
‘Oh, come, now, Marshal!’ the newsman rejoined, his eyes dancing. ‘Don’t be such a pessimist. Surely you believe the Almighty to be capable of sending us special blessings in times of need.’
‘The Almighty can do as he pleases,’ Dwight conceded, ‘but I’ve noticed from time to time that he seems to allow some o’ the devil’s helpers a lot looser rein than I’d like.’
‘Indeed, that seems to be true. By the same token, that’s what keeps newspapermen such as myself in business, so it’s hard for me to complain. On the other hand, perhaps that’s why he has placed you in the position of protecting us vulnerable souls from those of such ilk,’ Newsome teased. ‘Why, Marshal, you may very well be the instrument of the Almighty himself, sent as a protecting angel for the humble hamlet of Headland!’
Dwight chuckled in spite of himself. ‘Well, now, an angel’s one thing I ain’t never been accused o’ bein’ afore.’
‘Then you must consider this a banner day, Marshal.’
‘Either that or a day when that there stuff on this street’s some deeper’n usual.’
Newsome laughed aloud. ‘Why, Marshal! Are you accusing me of unduly spreading fertilizer where no productive crops are likely to grow?’
‘That is your business, ain’t it?’
‘Oh, come now, Marshal! How can you say such a thing? Everything in the Headland Courier is always and foremost of a strictly verified and factual nature.’
‘Yeah, well, if you say so.’
‘You will be especially interested in the lead news item in this week’s edition.’
‘Is that so?’
‘I’m sure you will find it fascinating at the very least. It will be the first announcement the general public will have seen of the veritable rolling fortress that is about to emphasize the prosperity with which Headland has been endowed of late.’
Dwight frowned. ‘You’re puttin’ a story about that new stage in your newspaper?’
‘Why, of course I am, Marshal. The new Concord Armored Stagecoach that Wells Fargo has deemed us worthy of meriting in the transport of the considerable valuables from the mines and the return transport of the equally considerable payrolls of that same enterprise is news of the first magnitude.’
‘You’re runnin’ a news item about that new stage in your newspaper?’ Dwight asked again, sounding even to himself as if he were his own echo.
‘Precisely. Complete with dimensions, weight, and a full description of all the security that will accompany its circuit.’
Dwight’s expression as well as the sudden flush of his face made his displeasure abundantly clear. ‘Now why in the Sam Hill would you go and do that?’
‘Because it’s news, Marshal. It’s news. The Headland Courier is in the business of news. It is, after all, a newspaper.’ He said it again, heavily emphasizing the word ‘news.’ ‘News paper. That’s what I do.’
‘But that’s just invitin’ every highwayman and would-be outlaw to have a crack at it! You’re puttin’ the lives of everyone on that stage at risk.’
‘On the contrary,’ Newsome argued, ‘by detailing the invulnerability and the security precautions of that most remarkable conveyance, I am virtually guaranteeing that nobody will be foolish enough to make any attempt at robbery.’
‘I doubt that. Publishin’ all that information will just seem like an out-an’-out challenge to a lot o’ guys.’
Newsome shrugged. ‘Well, then, should that be the case, they can’t say they were not well warned of the consequences of their ill-advised attempt to accomplish the impossible.’
‘And how many guards are gonna get shot in the process?’
‘That would certainly be an unfortunate eventuality,’ Newsome conceded, ‘but such considerations must not hamper the ethical obligation of a newspaper to publish all relevant and pertinent news.’
‘That sounds like nothin’ more than a highfalutin way o’ sayin’ you’re gonna publish every bit o’ gossip you can dig up.’
‘Merely a matter of semantics, Marshal. What one man may consider as gossip another considers to be news. I do carefully ascertain the factual nature of what I publish. You will be interested in knowing that I personally interviewed both Hiram Birdwell, the President of the Headland Land And Mineral Bank, and Clem Adkins, the General Manager of our local branch of Wells Fargo, and I will personally attest to the factual accuracy of everything in the aforesaid news article.’
Dwight sighed with a mixture of anger and resignation. ‘Ain’t gonna be any good come of it, mark my words,’ he warned.
He continued to scowl at the back of the newsman as Newsome walked down the street. He was not at all sure whether the knot in the middle of his stomach was anger at Walt, or a premonition of things to come. ‘Maybe both,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe both.’
CHAPTER 6
Ten-year-old Billy Humbolt thought his new game was just about the most fun he’d ever had. It had taken a while to get the hang of it, but once he did he honed his skill to a fare-thee-well.
It was a simple game. The blacksmith had given him the big iron hoop. It was actually a rim from a worn-out wagon wheel he’d rebanded. It was worn too thin to be used again, and the smith well knew the Humbolts could never afford toys for their ample brood of children. Delbert Andersen, or ‘Dane’ as he was known, had a soft spot for the boy. He showed him how to use a stick to propel the hoop forward, direct its path, and keep it upright. Once he caught on, Billy could – and constantly did – fly through town as fast as his bare feet would carry him, his hoop bouncing over rocks, sticks or road apples. He delighted in racing buggies whose drivers were game to race through town. He nearly always won those matches, because he could duck and dodge around horses and buggies much quicker than a buggy or a buckboard.
It was when he chose to use the sidewalk for
his personal racetrack that he encountered problems. He thought it was great sport to slalom around pedestrians and the merchandise a few of the merchants displayed on the board sidewalk in front of their stores. Inevitably, he failed to evade someone who moved in an unexpected direction, and a collision resulted.
Still, the good-natured grin that always graced his generously freckled face and his abject apology almost always dispelled the wrath of the casualties of his youthful exuberance and lack of caution.
After each such episode he confined his hoop-racing to the street again for a time, but it was always he who was on the defensive there. Besides, the hoop and his bare feet went faster on the smoother surface of the sidewalks. The clatter of its passage over the boards only increased the feeling of speed and freedom.
It was nothing unusual, then, when Billy collided with Jarvis McCrae just as he stepped out the front door of the Headland Courier. Neither was it entirely an accident. Billy’s constant path up and down the street infuriated Mac for some reason that nobody understood. As he stepped out the door he spotted Billy at once, approaching at his normal dead run. Instead of moving back out of the way, he stepped into the center of the sidewalk. Billy directed the hoop over to avoid him, but Mac reached out and grabbed it. With the back of his other hand he swatted the boy along the side of his head, sending the youngster sprawling into the street.
‘You little heathen!’ Mac shouted at him. ‘Take this infernal thing and keep it off this sidewalk or so help me I’ll wrap it around your head so tight you’ll never get it off.’
‘I’m sorry, mister,’ Billy stammered, scrambling to his feet. One hand held the side of his face where Mac’s hand had landed. ‘I didn’t mean to run into ya.’
‘You are constantly running into someone,’ Mac accused. ‘You just lost your hoop. When you grow up enough to use some judgment, maybe I’ll give it back.’
‘Don’t keep my hoop!’ Billy protested.
‘It is not your hoop any more,’ Mac declared. ‘It is mine now. Now begone, before I inflict a real whipping on you.’