Lincoln, New Mexico July 10, 1881
Nathan and Kate were having breakfast when they heard the news. Pat Garrett was on his way to Fort Sumner, having learned from an informant that Billy the Kid had a girl there.
“Where’s Fort Sumner?” Nathan asked one of the cafe’s cooks.
“Over east of here,” said the cook. “It’s an abandoned military post that’s been took over by a gent name of Pete Maxwell. That’s where he houses his ranch workers, and he’s got a roadhouse there.”
Fort Sumner, New Mexico July 14, 1881
The Kid had been hiding near Fort Sumner, and after dark slipped into the old post to see Celsa Gutierrez. Feeling safe in the girl’s bedroom, the kid relaxed until midnight. When he got hungry, he took his pistol and made his way to Maxwell’s for something to eat. He reached Maxwell’s porch, not knowing that Sheriff Pat Garrett was inside questioning Peter Maxwell as to the Kid’s whereabouts. Deputies McKinney and Poe waited outside, and Billy saw their shadowy forms.
“Who is it?” the Kid asked softly.
McKinney and Poe said nothing. Drawing his gun, Billy stepped into the house. He entered one of Maxwell’s un-lighted bedrooms, where he could see Garrett’s dim form on a bed.
“Who is it?” the Kid asked again.
It was the last he ever spoke. As he backed out the door, Garrett fired twice. One went wild, but the other struck Billy in the chest, killing him instantly. Two men built a wooden coffin, and the following day at noon the Kid was buried in the old post cemetery. He was barely twenty-one years old, laid to rest in a borrowed white shirt that was several sizes too large for his skinny frame.28
Lincoln, New Mexico July 20, 1881
As rapidly as he could, Cash Seaborn began working the counterfeit eagles into the funds of the Silver Dollar. Every fourth night, he was in control until closing, and all the genuine gold coins reaching his hands were quickly exchanged for the counterfeit eagles. He had no doubt that the scheme would be discovered, but when it was, he was determined none of the evidence would be in his hands. As he paid Nathan and Kate their percentages, he gave them only the counterfeit eagles. Nathan became more and more suspicious, at a loss as to why Cash Seaborn hadn’t made some move against them.
“Perhaps he hasn’t thought of a way, without making a fool of himself,” Kate said.
“He’s too damn sneaky and devious to suit me,” said Nathan. “I’m used to men who’ll grab a gun and come looking for me, not some weasel that tries to get at me in a way I can’t get my hands on him.”
“We don’t have to stay here,” Kate replied. “We could just move on.”
“We could,” said Nathan, “but it purely rubs me the wrong way to run out on some varmint that’s out to get me. He always shows up at the wrong time, and I have to face him on his terms. That’s how it was with Slack Tarno. Let’s stick around a while until this rattler decides to strike.”
It became a decision Nathan would regret. Just a week after Cash Seaborne had disposed of the last counterfeit eagles. Horton Goodner, president of the local bank, called on Jess Delaney, ranking partner in the Silver Dollar.
“Mr. Delaney,” said Goodner, “we find ourselves in an ... ah ... delicate situation, and it involves the Silver Dollar.”
“Then speak up,” Delaney said. “What is it?”
“I’d prefer that you see for yourself,” said Goodner, producing a gold eagle. Part of the surface had been scraped away, revealing the copper underneath.
“Why, that’s copper,” Delaney said. “It’s counterfeit.”
“Precisely,” said Goodner, “and we have more than eighteen thousand dollars’ worth on our hands. The Silver Dollar is our largest depositor, and only your deposits can justify such an accumulation so quickly.”
“Have you spoken to Sheriff Garrett about this?” Delaney asked.
“No,” said Goodner.
“Then don’t,” Delaney said. “We’ll stand good for the loss, if there is one. I’ll want to talk to my house dealers and possibly question your tellers.”
“Very well,” said Goodner. “I’ll allow you one week.”
CHAPTER 20
Lampasas, Texas January 2, 1881
Before leaving, Wes had some questions about south Texas that Sheriff Tidwell tried to answer.
“It’s mostly cow country,” said Tidwell, “unless you’re interested in freighting. There is a mighty lot of goods comin’ in by sailing ship, with landings at Galveston, Port Lavaca, and Corpus Christi. Now that the Comanches has been took care of, it’s likely the safest thing a man can do.”
“What about ranching?”
“Learnin’ cow is just day-in and day-out hard work,” Tidwell said. “Horses, now, it’s a mite more interesting. Frank Bell’s got a horse ranch on the Medina River, a few miles east of San Antone. His breakers are Lipan Apache Indians, and they gentle their horses without ridin’ ’em down. Frank’s horses are winning races all over Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Lord knows where else. As you’d expect, they’re prime targets for rustlers. If you’ll tell Frank I’m vouchin’ for you, he might take you on to protect his stock.”
“That does sound interesting,” said Wes. “I reckon we’ll ride down there and talk to him.”
Medina, Texas January 5, 1881
Wes and Rebecca, following Sheriff Tidwell’s directions, reached what they believed was the Medina River. To their surprise, as they rode downstream, they came upon what seemed the beginning of a small town. Already there was a mercantile, a saloon, and a pair of other buildings whose log foundations had been laid. A crudely lettered sign across the front of the store read “Medina Mercantile.”29
“Might as well stop at the store,” Wes said.
Entering the mercantile, they found its merchandise limited. The owner was probably in his fifties, slightly bald, and over a boiled shirt and dark trousers, wore a white apron.
“Gib Watts, at your service,” he said.
“I’m Wes Tremayne, and this is Rebecca,” said Wes. “We’re on our way to the Frank Bell ranch. We’re headed the right way, I reckon.”
“Indeed you are,” Watts said. “Fact is, Mr. Bell’s place is what give rise to the town. Without the business from him and the Lipans, wouldn’t be no need for a store. We got more goods comin’. Another month or so, and they won’t have nothin’ in San Antone you can’t find here.”
“We’ll take a couple of tins of peaches, for now,” said Wes, “and we’ll likely see you again before long.”
“Do that,” Watts said, collecting a dollar for the peaches.
“His prices seem a little high,” said Rebecca after they’d left the store.
“Not from what I’ve heard,” Wes replied. “There are parts of the frontier where these tins are a dollar each and more. From the maps I’ve seen, we can’t be more than a hundred and fifty miles from Corpus Christi, and trade goods should be plentiful.”
The Frank Bell ranch had a look of prosperity. Besides the ranch house, there proved to be numerous outbuildings. There were two long, low barns, each surrounded with six-pole-high corrals. There were horses in some of the corrals. The grounds were shaded by enormous oaks, and a line of cottonwoods bordered the Medina River. As they neared the house, a man stepped out on the porch. Wes and Rebecca reined up, and Wes spoke.
“I’m Wes Tremayne, and this is Rebecca. We’d like to talk to Mr. Frank Bell.”
“You’re lookin’ at him,” said the man on the porch. “You and the missus step down.”
He was tall—over six feet—and his high-crowned Stetson made him seem taller. His dress consisted of dark trousers, a pale yellow shirt, and polished black riding boots. On his right hip was a thonged-down Colt.
“Sheriff Tidwell, at Lampasas, thought you might have a place for me here,” Wes said.
“I know Tidwell,” said the rancher. “Why would he be sendin’ you to me?”
“I like horses,” Wes said, “and Sheriff Tidwell thought maybe
you could use a gent that’s handy with a gun. That is, if you have rustlers interested in your horses.”
“Entirely too many rustlers,” said Bell. “How handy are you with that pistol?”
“Handy enough,” Wes said.
Bell took a two-bit piece from his pocket and flung it into the air. With a swiftness the eye could scarcely follow, Wes drew and fired, plugging the coin.
“You’ll do,” said Bell. “See the house over yonder, to the left of that horse barn? It will be quarters for you and your missus. There’s extra stalls in the barn for your horses. Come over to the house after you’re settled, and we’ll talk. Supper’s at five o’clock.”
The house, while small, was roomy enough. It had once been white, but the elements had taken their toll, and it, along with its shake roof, had weathered gray. The furnishings were modest but adequate.
“I like it,” Rebecca said. “Hotels are nice, but there’s nothing like having a house.”
“Let’s stable our horses and get back to Bell’s place,” said Wes. “I’d like to know more about his problems, and about those horses.”
Lincoln, New Mexico July 21, 1881
Jess Delaney said nothing to his partners about the distressing visit from the bank’s president, Horton Goodner. Instead, he waited until the following day, when it would be his turn to remain at the Silver Dollar until closing. Business was always slow until after supper, and when Nathan and Kate reached the saloon, Delaney herded them to a table. He didn’t beat around the bush, but told them exactly what Horton Goodner had told him. He still had the counterfeit eagle from which the gold plate had been scraped away, and this he placed on the table. Nathan took an eagle from his pocket, and with his knife started to scrape the surface. Seeing what he had in mind, Kate presented an eagle of her own. When Nathan had scraped away the thin gold plate from his coin, he took Kate’s eagle and performed a similar operation. Only then did he speak to Delaney.
“Somebody’s been workin’ these counterfeit eagles into the saloon’s take, and I reckon we’re among the suspects. But there’s somethin’ I want you to consider. Once every four days, Katrina and me have been paid our percentage in eagles, and I think I can promise you that every one of those coins is counterfeit. Do you reckon we’d be settin’ on a pile of these phony coins if we’d been slipping them into the Silver Dollar’s daily take?”
“No,” Delaney said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you and Katrina before going to the law. Or for that matter, even to my partners.”
“I don’t aim to accuse anybody without proof,” said Nathan, “and if you’ll go along with me, I can get that proof.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Have the bank’s president question his tellers as to the day or days of the week most of these eagles have been deposited,” Nathan said. “Then tally up the nights you, Kilgore, Guthrie, and Seaborn have closed. Get the idea?”
“Yes,” Delaney said. “You’re looking to link one of us to specific days when most of these counterfeit eagles were taken to the bank.”
“I am,” said Nathan. “Can you think of a better way? It has to be one of you, me, or Katrina. I believe we’ve been here long enough to have proven ourselves.”
“I’ll do as you suggest,” Delaney said, “because we must do something. But even if it all points to one of us, it’ll still be only circumstantial evidence.”
“Just do as I’ve suggested,” said Nathan, “and if it works out as I believe it will, I’ll get you the evidence you need. These counterfeit coins are so near perfect, I’d never have known unless some of the plating had worn off. That means somebody, somewhere, is a master craftsman, and such perfection suggests he’s done this before. If he has a record, I believe we can find him and learn how these counterfeit eagles ended up here at the Silver Dollar.”
“You—or somebody—would have to telegraph every sheriff in the country to get information such as that,” Delaney said. “We only have a week before Goodner turns this over to the law.”
“Information on known counterfeiters should be on file with the Treasury in Washington,” said Nathan.
“Probably,” Delaney agreed, “but I doubt they’d release such information to us.”
“I can find out with one telegram,” said Nathan. “I’ll send it in the morning.”
“Good,” Delaney said. “By then, I’ll have written down our closing schedule for the past few weeks. Tomorrow, Goodner should have spoken to his tellers.”
That ended the conversation. Delaney went about his business while Nathan and Kate took their places for the night’s dealing. They didn’t get a chance to discuss the situation until after closing.
“It’s Seaborn,” said Kate. “He’s framing us.”
“He’s trying to,” Nathan said, “but we’re going to beat him at his own game.”
When Jess Delaney reached the bank the following day, Horton Goodner, was waiting for him. Goodner had some papers spread out on his desk.
“There is some kind of pattern emerging here,” said Goodner. “According to my tellers, virtually all these counterfeit eagles have been deposited on specific days. Every fourth deposit has been heavy with eagles, light on everything else. Is this information going to help you reach some conclusion?”
“Yes,” Delaney said with a sigh. “It already has.”
Carefully, Nathan prepared a telegram to be sent to Byron Silver in Washington.
Need name and whereabouts of counterfeiter capable of creating flawless gold coins.
“I’ll be back for the answer,” Nathan told the telegrapher.
From there, he went to the Silver Dollar, where Jess Delaney was waiting.
“Here’s the report from Horton Goodner at the bank,” said Delaney, “and here’s what I came up with, based on individual closings over the past couple of months.”
It stacked up almost exactly as Nathan had expected. On days when large numbers of eagles had been deposited, Cash Seaborn had been in charge of the till until closing the night before.
“Looks bad, doesn’t it?” Delaney said.
“It all depends on who you want to believe,” said Nathan. “You have every right to suspect Katrina or me—or both of us—unless there’s evidence pointing to someone else. Whoever’s responsible had to get the counterfeit coins somewhere, and I’m hoping the telegram I’m expecting will answer that question.”
The answer to Nathan’s telegram was brief and unsigned. It said:Master counterfeiter Saul Yeager released from territorial prison April this year stop. Contact authorities in Santa Fe.
“This is where we’ll have to let Sheriff Garrett in on the secret,” said Nathan. “He’ll be in a position to request information from the sheriff in Santa Fe.”
Nathan and Delaney explained the purpose of their investigation to Sheriff Garrett, and he telegraphed the sheriff in Santa Fe. The answer, when it came, was shocking.
Saul Yeager murdered stop. Investigation incomplete stop. Suggest you come here.
“Now you’ve got my curiosity fired up,” said Garrett. “Delaney, let’s you and me ride up there and see what’s behind all this. Stone, you want to come with us?”
“I’d like to,” Nathan said, “but I’ll be needed at the Silver Dollar. We’re trying to keep the lid on this until we learn more about it. This wouldn’t be a good time for me to disappear, for several reasons.”
“That’s sound thinking,” said Delaney. “I promise you, we won’t come back without some answers.”
Medina, Texas January 12, 1881
“Indian-gentled horses sell for as much as five hundred dollars,” said Frank Bell.
Wes and Rebecca had spent a week at the ranch, and were having supper with Bell and his wife, Martha.
“I can appreciate that,” Wes said, “after watching Tameka and Wovoka work. They’ve been talkin’ to the same horses for a week. How long does that go on before they’re tame enough for a saddle?”
“As fa
r as Tameka and Wovoka are concerned,” said Bell, “that day never comes. The horses are never introduced to a saddle. They’re expensive for saddle horses, and most of them are bought for the track. Unless a rider is mighty small, he can’t afford the luxury of a saddle. Barnabas McQueen, a gent from New Orleans, bought two horses from me. He has a lady rider who rides them bareback, and they’ve never lost a race.”
“Where do these two horses go when they’ve been gentled?” Rebecca asked.
“You’ll be meeting McQueen in Beaumont,” said Bell. “As long as the buyer is in Texas, I think we’ll deliver the horses. Several buyers had their horses stolen. It’ll be up to you to get this pair to Beaumont.”
“I’m going, too,” Rebecca said. “I can lead one of them.”
“There may be some danger,” said Bell. “Outlaws from Indian Territory often drift into Arkansas and Louisiana, steal whatever they can get their hands on, and then hightail it back into the territory.”
“There’s a track at Beaumont?” Wes asked.
“Yes,” said Bell, “and it draws horses and gamblers from everywhere.”
“And outlaws, I reckon,” Wes said.
“Yes,” said Bell. “Sometimes there’s as much as half a million dollars in that town. It depends on the race, and the horses in competition. I keep expecting a bunch of outlaws to ride in and take it all.”
Bound for Beaumont February 1, 1881
“This is exciting,” said Rebecca as they made camp near a spring. “After we deliver the horses, why don’t we stay for the race on Saturday? I’ve never been to a horse race before.”
Autumn of the Gun Page 29