by Brett Waring
“G’night, Doc,” Nash said and returned to his hotel room where Jim Hume was waiting for him.
Hume was a blocky man, balding, with the remainder of his hair cropped short and close to his bullet head. He wore a heavy, though neatly trimmed moustache and tended to favor starched collars, black string ribbon ties and Prince Albert suits. He had his coat off now, but a vest was buttoned across his thickish midriff. He was smoking a cigar when Nash entered and tossed his hat onto a table.
“Any change?”
Nash shook his head. “Doc reckons we’re lucky he knows his own name.”
“What d’you think, Clay?”
Nash considered before replying. “It’s kind of—convenient, I guess, Jim. But, at the same time, if he’d been plannin’ to ‘lose’ his memory, he didn’t have to go into all the details he did when we first picked him up. He could’ve just said there’d been a hold-up or nothin’ at all. We’d’ve backtracked him and found the stagecoach and so on ...”
Hume nodded slowly. “Sounds reasonable. But a smart man up to shenanigans could’ve figured on that ahead of time. We dunno just how long he had alone at that wreck. He could’ve had plenty of time to stash the satchels of money and then figure out how he was gonna play it.”
Nash dropped into a chair and began to build a cigarette.
“I’ve got to go along with you there, Jim.”
“What’s your own opinion, Clay? You think Matt Cassidy found that fifty thousand and kept it for himself?”
Clay Nash completed his cigarette and lit it before replying to Hume’s question.
“I think he could’ve, Jim. He had the best opportunity. I’m tolerably sure Moss Dooley couldn’t’ve gotten away with it, not with his men crawling all over the place, looking for loot. I think if he’d found it, he’d’ve yelled and they’d’ve shared in it. We looked through the ashes at that cabin and there were a few charred bills, some melted coins, not amounting to more than a few dollars, less than twenty. I’m inclined to believe Poley Schreck and Munsden, Jim.” He paused and exhaled a long plume of smoke. “About Cassidy, I’m not sure. What’s his background?”
Jim Hume went to his leather satchel, opened it and drew out a manila folder. He gave it to Nash.
“Company records there. Briefly, he’s married, wife lives in Phoenix, so I guess he does, too. Claims to be a Canadian and that’s the way it shows on our books. Had some experience up there with a freight line, came south after gold but never had much luck. Still does a little prospectin’ on his time off, I believe ...”
Nash snapped his head up. “So he’s still looking for his el dorado ...”
Hume smiled faintly. “Ye—es, Clay. But I guess we all are, in one way or another. I don’t figure we can put too much stock in the fact he still searches for a gold bonanza ... But, in the light of him falling under suspicion right now, I’m checking more thoroughly into this ‘Canadian’ background he claims. His wife’s from ’Frisco, so I’m looking into that, too. But, generally, Clay, Cassidy seems all right. Far as Company service is concerned, he’s good. Top reports. Applies himself well, shows initiative ... which is something worth remembering right now, I guess ... got guts, too. He’s foiled a couple of hold-up attempts previously.”
“See he’s only worked for us for six months.” Nash flicked over a page and looked up, frowning. “What came before that?”
Hume smiled thinly. “Yeah, sort of blank, ain’t it? That’s what bothers me. He says he was out prospectin’ for gold, scratchin’ a living. His wife had a job in a Phoenix store. Which checks out, by the way. But his last three years are blank. No way of checking he was out in the wilds prospecting.”
“And before that?”
“Canada. He says.”
Nash sighed as he closed the folder. “Vague, but in the light of things, his past is worth checking into, I reckon. Kind of a mystery man, and that can only make things look worse for him right now.”
“He doesn’t seem to know we suspect he might’ve taken that money.”
“I wonder ...?”
Hume nodded silently. Then there was a loud knock on the door and Nash stood up, hand dropping to his gun butt.
“Yeah?” he called.
“Mr. Hume?” a man’s voice called back.
“Who wants him?” Nash asked, frowning at Hume who shook his head, indicating he wasn’t expecting anyone.
“Name’s Tallon. I have two of my business associates with me. Mr. Breck and Mr. Parsons. I’m sure Mr. Hume will know our names.”
Hume’s mouth was drawn into a tight line. He looked at Nash and his broad, beefy shoulders seemed to slump as he said with a sigh:
“The heads of the Cattlemen’s Association who arranged for that money to come down on one of our stages.”
Nash whistled softly. “I guess they’ve heard about the hold-up. You want to see ’em?”
“No, I don’t. But I don’t see how I can avoid it. Show ’em in, Clay.”
They were three rugged men with the unmistakable stamp of the open range on them. Tallon wore a frock coat, vest and trousers, but Breck and Parsons seemed to prefer neat range garb, both wearing black string ties with their shirts. They were all gun-hung, leather-faced and hard-eyed. They barely acknowledged the introduction of Nash, although Breck looked at him closely even while Tallon was speaking to Hume.
“We heard about that, stagecoach hold-up, Hume, and we’ve been waitin’ for you to arrive,” the cattleman said grimly. He didn’t say any more, but it was obvious he was expecting Hume to either confirm or deny the hold-up.
Hume sighed, “Gents, I won’t beat about the bush. Yeah, the stage from Sesame Ridge was held-up and it crashed. As far as we can make out, the road agents were after a cattle-agent name of Case Ritchie who did his business by cash transactions and was given to carrying around a well-stuffed money belt.”
“As far as you can gather,” Tallon said with a trace of sarcasm, “that’s what the bandits were after. Okay, Hume, that’s simple enough to savvy. But you know what we want to know.”
Hume nodded, grimfaced. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the fifty thousand’s gone.” He met and held their chill gazes. “I’ll be honest with you and say that right now we aren’t sure what’s happened to it...”
“What!” exclaimed Breck. “Not sure!” He looked around at his companions. “What the hell kinda outfit’s this we’re dealin’ with?”
Hume held up a placating hand. “Give me a chance, gents. The stage crashed during the chase. Only one man survived, the shotgun guard, and he’s banged-up some. His recollection of events isn’t too clear right now. But, during the crash, the compartment where the money was carried burst open. We think someone found it and made off with it.”
“You think!” Parsons said heavily.
“Yeah, because we don’t know what really happened,” Hume said and he went on to give as many details of the robbery as had been pieced together. The range men heard him out in silence. Hume made a helpless gesture. “All we do know is that the money’s gone. It’s possible it might have been thrown clear out of the compartment during the crash. I have some men out there searching the area with a fine tooth comb right now.”
“Moss Dooley still on the loose?” Tallon asked, addressing the question to Nash.
Nash nodded. “We’ve got our ears open. We figure he’ll have to show for help. He was bleeding pretty bad and we’ve got men alert for any sign of him.”
“How about this missin’ man?” the quieter Breck asked. “Ralls, ain’t it? His body’s never been found?”
Hume shook his head. “Sheriff McGinnis has men searching the downstream banks of the river. So far, no luck. He could be wedged underwater or he may’ve been carried away a lot faster than we figured …”
“Who the hell cares?” growled Parsons. “He’s dead, either way, so he couldn’t’ve taken the money ...”
Tallon turned on him sharply. “Point that Breck’s makin’
, Parsons, is that we don’t know he’s dead. With that much money missin’, I for one would like to make damn sure he is dead before we scratch his name off the list of suspects.”
Parsons frowned. “Hell, it ain’t likely he survived a fall from a runaway stage into the river, got ashore again, climbed out and came racing back to the wreck and spotted the cash, then took it and disappeared! That’s what you’re sayin’ could’ve happened, right?”
“It’s only a possibility,” Hume pointed out. “We’re trying to look at every angle ...”
“That guard’s the one for my money,” Tallon said grimly. “He had the best opportunity. Dooley’s scum would’ve smelled that money if he’d found it and tried to keep it from ’em.”
“I’m inclined to agree with that,” Breck said slowly. “Yeah. I think your guard’s the best bet, Hume.”
Hume held up a hand. “Look, gents, we’re investigating. I don’t want any pressure over this. If we find enough evidence to implicate the guard, then he’ll be charged and locked up ...”
“Lock up the whole of Wells Fargo! All of the State of Arizona, if you want,” growled Tallon. “But meantime, you get us that fifty thousand, Hume! Your company gives a guarantee that it’ll deliver the goods and, by hell, this time, it didn’t damn well deliver! Well, we’re callin’ you on that guarantee! You come up with fifty thousand, pronto! We’ve got business to do!”
Breck and Parsons united with Tallon on that and Hume glanced sharply—and helplessly—towards Nash before he sighed heavily.
“Gents, of course, Wells Fargo will come good, whatever happens, but you have to give us a chance to try to recover that money our way first...”
“The hell we do!” Parsons snapped. “You blamed-well lost it, you make good the loss!”
“I’m for that!” Tallon said grimly.
Breck nodded. “Count me in. Look, Hume, we have business commitments; they depended on that money arriving safely. On your stage line. It didn’t. It’s up to you to compensate us, and we mean right now. Our commitments won’t wait for you to carry out your investigations.”
“By hell they won’t!” growled Tallon aggressively.
“What d’you say, Hume?” Parsons demanded.
Hume nodded. “All right, gentlemen, all right. Wells Fargo honors it’s guarantees. I would have liked for you to have met us halfway on this, but since you won’t...?” He paused and swept his gaze around the three cattlemen, but was met only with cold, unrelenting stares in return. He nodded curtly. “Right. I’ll wire Head Office right away. I should have authorization to draw your money from a local bank by mid-morning. That soon enough?”
“It’ll do,” Tallon said shortly, turning for the door.
The others followed and Breck paused before going out.
“It’s a good idea to send that money down the way you did, just the same, Hume. Only I’d suggest you line the secret compartment with steel plate. Then, if there is a wreck—for any reason—there’s little danger of it bursting open and making its presence known.” He nodded curtly, touched a hand to his hat brim, and went out, closing the door after him.
Hume’s lips were compressed and he ripped out a curse, which was unusual for the Chief Detective: normally he didn’t waste time on such futile reaction.
“Puts us on a spot, Clay!” he said sourly. “Company funds are stretched to the limit just now, buying the Express Car concessions on the various railroads to forestall our competitors doing the same thing. Head Office isn’t going to like this request for fifty thousand cash.”
“Not much you can do about it, Jim.”
Hume, starting to draft his telegraph message to Wells Fargo Head Office in Denver, glanced up, face grim:
“I can charge Cassidy with robbery.”
Nash was surprised and showed it. “We don’t have enough evidence.”
Hume tapped his head lightly with a forefinger. “Hunch, Clay. I’ve a hunch our check into his background is going to show that Cassidy’s our man in this.”
Nash kept his face blank and Hume started to write again.
“How about the clerks who were in on it, Jim? You checking to see if anyone let it slip that the stage was gonna be carrying that kind of money?”
Hume paused, looked up, frowning. “Had Howie Shaw handling it in Sesame Ridge, but Howie’s not the greatest diplomat and he’s upset the manager of the depot there, Lang Jarvess. Amigo of yours ain’t he?”
“Lang? Yeah, we’ve known each other a long time. Not lately, though. He sure wouldn’t take kindly to someone like Howie Shaw bullin’ his way in, accusin’ him of lettin’ slip confidential company information.”
Hume nodded. “Yeah, well Howie was the closest man available, but he’s stirred up a hornets’ nest. Look, Clay, you better go up there. I was aimin’ to use you here, but looks like we’ve gone far as we can for now, till we get a sighting of Moss Dooley leastways. You take the morning stage to Sesame Ridge and try to calm Lang Jarvess down, see what you can find out from that end. We have to cover every possible angle.”
Nash didn’t seem too happy. “I’d rather nose around at this end, Jim. I think that money was taken on the spur of the moment; I don’t reckon there was any leak that affected it one way or another.”
“Head Office will want to know if we’ve checked,” Hume insisted. “I’m telling them in this wire that you’re checking on the clerks at the Sesame Ridge end right now, Clay. So you’d best go do that.”
Nash nodded slowly, knowing there was no arguing with Hume when he was in one these moods.
“I’d still be rather tracking down Dooley. Just to make sure he didn’t somehow get his hands on that money.” He held up his hands swiftly at the exasperated look Hume threw him. “Okay, okay, I’ll go.” He jammed his hat on his head. “Fact, I’ll go tell the depot to make sure there’s a seat for me on that mornin’ stage right now. And don’t wait up for me. I’ll be having a drink in the Palace. Quite a few drinks. I damn well need ’em.”
Hume grinned crookedly as his top agent went out, slamming the door after him.
Five – Riled Up
Clay Nash threw his warbag into the luggage boot of the stage at the depot in the early morning sunlight and stood back to wait for the driver who was rousting out the tardy passengers still lingering over coffee in the cafe attached to the depot.
The long-haul stage had just pulled in from Phoenix and the passengers were stumbling out, some still only half-awake after the long night journey. Clerks from the depot came out to check off names and luggage against their lists. A woman about twenty, small and neat in a gingham dress and with auburn curls showing beneath her well-worn stovepipe bonnet, touched one of the clerks on the arm.
“Excuse me ... Can you tell me where to find Dr. Simmonds’ house?” she asked in a quiet voice.
The clerk had glanced up irritably, but on seeing the young woman’s fresh beauty as she shook the dust of travel from her skirts, drew himself up and smiled, looking swiftly at his passenger list.
“Er—You’d be Mrs. Cassidy?” he asked.
“That’s right,” she replied. “My husband works for Wells Fargo and I believe he has been injured in a coach crash and can be found at Dr Simmonds’...?”
“Be happy to point out the house to you, ma’am,” Nash said, striding forward smiling, touching a hand to his hat brim. “I’m Clay Nash. A Wells Fargo man, too.” He glanced at the clerk. “Tell the driver to hold this stage till I get back, will you, Tom?”
“Yessir, Mr. Nash, but it’s Penn Larkin in the drivin’ seat an’ he gets a mite ornery at delays.”
“Just tell him I won’t be long.” Nash took Mrs. Cassidy’s elbow and picked up her carpetbag, helping her down the platform steps and leading her up the street.
“You seem to be a man of influence, Mr. Nash,” she opined.
“Not really. I’m an investigator.”
She stopped dead and spun to look at him and for the first time he saw her ful
l-face. She was beautiful and there was strength in that firm mouth and jaw. The clear, green eyes narrowed a little now and tiny crow’s feet showed at the corners.
“So, you’re one of the men hounding my husband,” she said crisply.
Nash was a mite taken aback. “Houndin’ him, ma’am? Heck, no. I’m just trying to find out what happened.”
“You’re accusing him of stealing fifty thousand dollars,” she told him flatly.
“How did you know about that money, Mrs. Cassidy?” Nash asked quietly, very sober now.
He thought she flushed a little, and then she turned and started down the street again. He strode alongside, waiting for her answer.
“I have my—contacts, within the company, Mr. Nash.”
“Call me Clay.”
“Mr. Nash will be fine,” she said, still unfriendly.
He shrugged. “When you find out all the facts, you’ll see we’re not being unreasonable, ma’am. It’s just that we have to eliminate all possibilities. Fifty thousand dollars is a great deal of money.”
She snapped her head around towards him. “Don’t treat me like a child! I can count. I know it’s a fortune. I also know my husband didn’t steal it.”
“Well, no one’s said he did up till now, Mrs. Cassidy.”
“And no one has said, unequivocally, that he hasn’t, up till now, Mr. Nash!”
She reached out and took her carpetbag from his hand.
“I can see the doctor’s shingle outside his house from here. Thank you for your trouble. There’s no need for you to accompany me any further.”
“Look, Mrs. Cassidy, I advise you to see Jim Hume, first, before visiting your husband. Hume’s the Chief of Detectives ...” His voice trailed off as she walked away, giving him a pitying look.
“D’you honestly think I would seek out some lawman before going to see my injured husband, Mr. Nash?”
She did not wait for his reply.
Which was just as well, because he didn’t really have one.