by Mark Mitten
Elizabeth Tabor was barely into her early 40s but had at least fifteen years on Julianna. The age and class difference gave Julianna the awkward sense that she was out of her element. And to complicate matters, Elizabeth “Baby Doe” Tabor had a duality about her — in some moments she was proper, well-spoken and demonstrably grand. Then in a heartbeat she would slip into personable colloquialisms and joviality as if she were talking to a sister. Julianna was never quite sure which version she would be talking to each day. The lofty aristocrat or the uncouth girl.
“Mrs. Tabor,” Julianna said courteously, “My husband and I would like that very much. Many thanks.”
“Just call me Baby Doe, remember? I don’t care to be called his Mrs.” she insisted, quite down to earth. “I ain’t ancient nor am I matronly. Nor am I Haw’s previous marital attachment — Mrs. reminds me of that intolerable hag. And I hope you don’t think me unapproachable. I like you Julianna. You’re not like these Leadvillites, all prim and proper and capable of speaking about nothing but tea and the Sherman Silver Purchase Act. Now what was your lesser half’s name again?”
“Casey.”
“Why don’t you and Casey come up to the house, then! It will be fun,” Baby Doe said with a quick wink. “I need fun. We’ll open up some wine. Haw just had a case of French wine imported, straight from the vineyards of Libournais in France. Merlot — yuck. But I’ve still got a few bottles of the Argentinian stuff in the pantry. Malbec! It’s worth sharing. Say you’ll come. Say it.”
Julianna was struck by how familiar Mrs. Tabor was acting with her. It was actually quite nice. Imagine, Julianna wondered — to have a friendly and genuine conversation with someone of her own gender. Indeed, the city was overrun with males. The allure of bonanzas and lode veins brought an unending stream of fortune seekers.
And what of the women that did populate the town? They were just a small fraction of its inhabitants. The list of potential friends grew smaller the more she thought about it. Ruling out the “soiled doves” roving State Street, and the preening ladies on the prowl for rich husbands, the list dwindled quite quickly.
Although, Julianna had seen a few women around that might fit the profile. Over the past few weeks, she had been making a mental checklist. There were female teachers working at Central School up on Spruce Street. Possibilities there. A female doctor had a clinic up the road on Harrison. Then there was a printer across the street and a woman clerking at the Delaware. Julianna even noticed a couple lady-prospectors heading in and out of the assayer’s. They must have spunk, she thought. But stranger than all, Baby Doe Tabor was befriending her. And the more she found out about Baby Doe, the stranger it became.
“I’ll come! And so will Casey!”
“Splendid, splendid,” Baby Doe exclaimed. She strolled to the window and looked out. “Haw is in a tiff. He’ll need to blow off steam. His ex is coming to town next week, a tightly wound blemish of a wench.”
Slipping back down into her chair, Julianna wasn’t sure how to react to that one. Hag? Wench? She was starting to notice that conversations with the Silver King’s wife might take unexpected turns at any moment. Baby Doe’s eyes were scouring the streets, especially the collection of stagecoaches spewing their weary passengers into the misty street.
“Did I say that?” Baby Doe asked, clearly a rhetorical question, and spun around on a tall heel. “Perhaps wench is too kind. She already leeched my poor husband in the divorce. What more does that paunchy sow think she can get?”
Chapter 16
Arkansas River Valley
West of Cañon City
“Well, damnity damn — can’t believe all this cash!”
That had become Granger’s mantra for the last twenty miles. He was too excited to even sit still on his horse for any length of time. The animal was getting tired of his antsy movements and had taken to crow-hopping every mile or so. He immediately obliged with another series of crow-hops but was unable to unseat the filthy bandito.
“Shut up with the damnities, will you?” Vincent scolded him.
Vincent’s chest pains were so bad now he could barely turn to cast the man a dour look. In fact, he could barely turn his head one inch to either side, and that was the full range of motion.
“It’s painful enough just sitting my saddle,” Vincent continued, his jaw clenched. “Listening to you say the same thing over and over for the past twenty miles? I won’t tolerate it no more.”
Earlier that afternoon they passed through Cañon City. Granger was so jittery about the one hundred thousand dollars cash that Bill thought it unwise to stop, even for a meal. He simply did not trust Granger to maintain his composure in public. Not only did they have to get through the town itself without some Granger-sized gaffe…in order to start up the pass they had to ride right under the walls of the Colorado State Penitentiary!
Somehow Granger kept it together, but Bill never let him have an ounce of talk time with any passerby as they progressed through. All afternoon since, Bill had been watching their backtrail for law. The tension was finally easing off, and with it the heat of the day.
They were heading west, following the Arkansas upriver. After leaving town they passed the deep canyon for which Cañon City got its name. The Royal Gorge, Bill thought bitterly, and its train wars. He had actually been rustling cattle in Beulah in those days. The Denver & Rio Grande was fighting the Santa Fe. He hired on with the D&RG as a gunfighter just to have an excuse to shoot at people. Boy, that was ten years ago, Bill thought.
Even in the foothills, this was still the high desert of southern Colorado. The short grass in the vicinity was mainly brown, even though it was a wet summer everywhere else. They were passing a lot of cholla and prickly pear, piñon and cedar. It was all spread out and they had a fairly unobstructed view in both directions. Bill was glad, so could keep a watchful eye on the trail and terrain around them. Traveling with saddle bags brimming with paper cash made him watchful.
Bill’s eyes were never restful when he had so much money on him. In fact, he really didn’t like to be so flush when horseback. At first he was tempted to find a mining shaft and bury it — like he did up near Grand Lake. But that had been gold, a substance that was not prone to decay. Cash on the other hand was prone to decay. It might become rotten if wet. Or burn. Or get eaten by varmints.
Sitting upright, stiff as a board, Vincent was the picture of discomfort. Bill knew the man would not be able to travel far or quickly. He was sure the man had more than just busted ribs. It had been weeks now, well over a month, since his horse went down and took him with it. If it was just ribs, he would be riding fine by now. Also, Bill had seen Vincent’s chest. It did not look right. In fact his whole torso was black and blue — and a little bulby around the gut region.
At least they were alone. Many people took the train into South Park, so it could have been worse. They passed some freighters a few miles back, moving slower than they were. Up ahead Bill could make out a dozen riders moving west, in the same direction they were. There were a lot of birds in the trees, singing. Finches, he guessed. A crow kept cawing somewhere.
Ten years since those train wars, Bill thought again. That was a long time. Ten years of marauding. Well, professional marauding anyhow. He squinted up at the sun. It was arcing down in front of them. It had been blistering hot down in Pueblo yesterday and just as bad through Cañon today. The further they got into the foothills, and the higher the trail rose, Bill knew the general temperature would eventually get cooler.
Wouldn’t it be pleasant to just drift off into obscurity? Get a little hacienda somewhere it was cool. On a river maybe…with some horses. Retire from the trail life. He had the money now.
Weeks on the move with just Vincent and Granger had worn thin. Vince he had befriended many years ago. He hated to say it, but the man was on his way out, with that bulby black and blue gut and whatever else was broken inside. And then there was Granger — both a fool and a liability. It was good to have someone
like that to throw in with, of course. If something undesirable needed to be accomplished, the fool could do the errand. If a gunfight ensued, the fool could be sent in as a decoy or target, to draw out a shooter’s whereabouts. Yet his inability to maintain posture when traveling with substantial amounts of money set the man squarely as a liability again.
“Bill. Might need me a doctor after all,” Vincent said severely. “Prob’ly should have done it in Denver, got it over with.”
“Aw, you heard Bill…we had to piss in an’ piss out of Denver,” Granger interjected. “No time to piddle around.”
“I swear — I’ll pull that blotchy little tongue right out.”
“O, I’m all puckered.”
Looking over at his old friend, Bill nodded thoughtfully. Healing would not come naturally now. True to what Granger said, Bill would never have stopped for doctoring in Denver. After all, they had just emptied out that PO Box. They had to get out of there. Then there was Colorado Springs and Pueblo — but with a potential pursuant in Soapy Smith and a hundred grand weighing on the mind, a sore test of Granger’s ability to portray nonchalance, Bill was keen to pass on through the big cities as quick as could be.
“Maybe up in Chaffee County somewhere,” he suggested. “Them hot springs in Poncha might do you some good.”
Chapter 17
“Swap them saddles.”
Bill’s voice was tense. He stood by Vincent’s bay, straining to hold the man’s weight as he slowly rolled off. The white stripe on the horse’s nose glowed softly in the starlight. Vincent was just a shadow — and just as talkative as one. He had been hunched over the saddle horn ever since the sun went down.
“Crimany! He’s all stoved up,” Granger whispered. He had just stolen three horses.
“I said swap them saddles.”
They were tucked up near the trail in a stand of cedar.
They had quietly passed several other camps in the darkness, and Bill wanted to keep on passing quietly. He hoped to make Poncha Springs by sunrise. But Vincent was fading. And their troubles were piling up. Not only was Vincent on the decline, his bay had come up lame. The footing was rough. Bill’s own appaloosa had lost a shoe a mile out of Cañon City, but he had no intention of turning back at the time. Granger’s horse was the only sound one among them.
Bill knew their horses were spent, as well, thanks to this desert heat. Add to that the fact they’d been riding for days on end. He kept an eye out for replacements and saw a convenient thing: a group of cowboys snoozing around a large campfire less than a mile back. Granger may be idiotic in his banter and mannerisms, but his craft at horse stealing was valuable at times. This was one of those times. He retrieved three of the cowboys’ horses without causing a stir. But Bill didn’t want to boost the man’s self-worth with too much praise. So he didn’t.
It only took five minutes to swap the saddles. But it took nearly twice as long to hoist Vincent up on one — since he was unconscious. Bill had pushed him into the saddle on the first try…but Vincent slowly tipped right on over the far side. Bill scurried around to catch him, but it was too late.
“Would you get over here and help out!” Bill spat. He was on edge.
Granger heard Vincent hit the ground and glanced over curiously. He frowned at Bill’s reproachful tone but came over dutifully. Together, they lifted Vincent back up and shoved him into place. Bill knelt down and picked up Vincent’s squashed hat. The crown was flattened evenly with the brim. Bill punched inside the crown and tried to reshape it, but it was mangled.
“Shoot. Vince won’t like that,” Bill said. As long as he had known him, Vincent always erred on the side of vanity in his dress. To the nines, he would always say whenever Bill made note of it. He wasn’t a dandy, but Bill liked to josh him as if he were. Now Vincent’s nice hat was crushed. But Bill supposed a crushed hat wasn’t on the man’s mind at the moment.
“Tie him on,” he instructed and stalked off.
The sky overhead was dark and the stars were sharp. Bill lit a cigar and took a swig from his canteen. The water was still warm even though the evening had cooled down dramatically. What was he going to do? His plan had been to ride into South Park. Maybe up to Leadville. Or Aspen. That gold from Kinsey City was still buried up on the Divide. He could go back for it, although it was a fair piece in the wrong direction. Between the gold and the hundred thousand he now had, why not settle down? Go respectable. The memories about the railroad war had started him thinking. Vincent he could leave at Poncha Springs to heal up. Granger he could leave in a gulch somewhere, with a hole in his head. Then Bill could retire. Go about the business of happifying.
Bill puffed on the cigar while he unhaltered their spent horses. Even without halters, the horses just stood there. Bill clicked his tongue and slapped the appaloosa. The tired animals took a few steps. Bill waved his arms at them, but they didn’t go anywhere.
“Wish we had some bacon,” Granger lamented. He was going through their saddle bags looking for extra rope. But of course they had emptied out almost everything to make room for wads of cash.
“The tie strings — just use those,” Bill said pointedly.
“Oh, yeah,” Granger muttered and drew his knife.
He patted around in the dark until he found one of the tie strings on Vincent’s saddle. Granger cut it off and threaded it through the gullet, then tied it around Vincent’s wrists. The man was still out and made no noise, not even a groan. Granger tested his inertness by twisting Vincent’s fingers several times while Bill wasn’t looking. It was too dark to really see anyway, but he was worried Bill might notice. Granger heard the knuckles pop a bit, but Vincent did not react.
Since Bill was still trying to shoo their tired horses, Granger decided to wiggle off Vincent’s turquoise ring. He had always fancied it. It took some jimmying and another knuckle pop, but he got it off and put it in his pocket for later.
Chapter 18
Hay Ranch
South Park
Laura Blancett put on a thick black shawl. Her ears and nose were cold. She wore thick wool socks and did not make a sound as she shuffled down the hallway. Til was out with the horses, as were the McGonkin brothers. Walker was still sound asleep.
Til had built a small bedroom just for his son, and when Walker discovered he would have his own room he couldn’t believe it. Til kept ruffling his hair whenever he stood by his son. It pleased Laura to see her husband and son under the same roof again. Back in Muscatine, Iowa, surrounded by cornfields and low wooded hills, they had lived in a nice home. But it did not have separate rooms, just one big one. They did string curtains up for walls, but it only afforded a minor sense of privacy.
Laura decided the boy could use some extra rest after their long trip. Besides, there was no rush. Soon she would assign him chores to do every morning. Routines were important to Laura, especially as a mother. Children were apt to distraction and lazing about. She intended to instill a strong constitution in Walker. She wanted him to be responsible, considerate, and a strong leader like his father. But that could wait for another day or so. Today he would get to sleep in. In his own room.
On the trip out, Walker had been delighted by the trains. He loved the way the whole car rocked back and forth with the rails. More than once she woke up from a nap to see him inching up and down the aisleway…arms stretched out, like he was on a tightrope in a circus. When the train would throw him around, he would laugh like nothing was funnier. She tried not to scold him too much — boys needed to be boys. But several times he got tossed off balance and ran right into another passenger. It was not deliberate, she knew, but he always seemed to run right into the same white-haired old man who was constantly napping.
The man’s eyelids fluttered, and he would sit up sharply and glare. By then, Walker was right back on his tightrope, giggling. Now that she thought about it, it probably had been deliberate. There was a healthy measure of mischief in that little boy. She was interested to see how far he pressed th
at mischief now that he had a father in his life again.
“Ma’am.”
Emmanuel was sitting at the table sipping coffee in the shadows. He got to his feet when she came in the room. The sun was not above the horizon yet, although the sky was blue as a robin’s egg. Laura smiled at him and motioned for him to stay seated — but he got up any way.
“Get some hot tea fo’ ya?” he asked.
“Oh, coffee is perfect and I can fetch it myself, Emmanuel.”
She was feeling good and enjoying the peaceful morning.
“You’re a fine cook and a gentleman, but don’t you feel like you have to jump up for me.”
Not knowing what else to do, Emmanuel chuckled a little awkwardly and eased back into his chair. The large windows were open and let the morning air right in. The grass was green and waving and somewhere on the rooftop birds were whistling away. Laura went looking for coffee in the kitchen, then came back and sat down.
“Well there they go…hoss feedin’ time,” commented Emmanuel.
They could see the corral outside and all the horses circling and nipping at each other. Rufe came into sight with a burlap sack and a tin cup, reaching through the rails to dump scoops of grain into the feed troughs. The horses fought a bit, and the dominant ones were the first to eat. Rufe continued to dump scoops as he walked the fenceline.
“You was out east?”
“Muscatine. Right on the Mississippi,” Laura said. “Going to miss those sunsets. The sun reflects right off the water, and you can see every color imaginable.”
“If the clouds are thick up above, such as aft’uh a good rain, we get some real good sunsets. Like the Good Lo’d paint the sky with oranges.”
Emmanuel shifted in his chair and kept blowing across his coffee. He would clear his throat after every sip. Laura could tell he was still uncomfortable with her — and being a basic stranger was no help. She knew most of these cowboys weren’t used to company, but she felt a deep desire to make everyone there easy with her presence. This was her home now. And theirs, too, for as long as they would stay on.