by John Legg
Rhodes felt as if he had been slapped in the face. As he reached for a piece of paper and an ink pen, he managed to cover up the despair he felt. He dipped the nib of the pen into a bottle of ink and, with the pen poised over the paper, asked, “And who do you want to make a complaint against Hal…Miss St. John?”
“Ham Macmillan,” Hallie said so quietly that Rhodes had trouble hearing her.
“What’s he done?” Rhodes was struggling to maintain a rigid officiousness. He felt sure he was succeeding to some extent.
“Well,” Hallie said haltingly, “he’s not done anything really, except to always be around where I am. He walks back and forth in front of the house, when I’m there. He never comes on our property. He follows me when I go to one of the stores or to church of a Sunday.” She paused.
“Is there more?” Rhodes asked, mouth dry.
Hallie nodded glumly. It took a few more seconds before she spoke again. In the interim, Rhodes could hear the wall clock he had brought in ticking away like a metronome.
“He’s become more bold the past few days,” Hallie finally said. “Not that’s he’s really bothered me.” She felt a fool for having come here. Macmillan scared her with all his spying on her, but it sounded silly when she spoke of it like this, as if she were some little girl scared by the wind.
“Go on,” Rhodes said, still trying to keep his composure.
“Well, he’s had some little gifts delivered to the house, with notes. All proper, of course, but still, I’m afraid of him, and I’ve told him so.” She hesitated a moment. “And, since you...I...we…parted company, he’s become more bold in followin’ me. He’s even taken to talking to me almost like he was speaking to himself when I walk down the street or somethin’. He’s usually only a few feet behind me. Close enough I can hear him, but not so close as to arise suspicions.”
Rhodes waited for more, but there was only silence. He looked up, and knew right away it was the wrong thing to do. He had never felt such hurt inside as he did now sitting there looking at Hallie St. John. For a man who was utterly fearless in battle, the feeling was eerie.
“Is. there anything more, Miss St. John?” he asked. Despite himself, hope sprouted in his chest.
Hallie hesitated, then said, “No. No, I don’t think so.” She rose.
“I’ll need you to sign here,” Rhodes said, pointing his pen at the paper. “That means you agree that what you’ve said is here on the paper. Sort of makes it official.”
“Of course.” Hallie took the pen and quickly scrawled her name. She handed Rhodes the pen back. “Thank you for any help you can give me, Marshal.” She was stiff, proper, prim. No one seeing her now would think that a spark of love lingered inside her.
Rhodes also rose. “I’ll do what I can, Miss St. John,” he said, every bit as formal as she. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to it, though. With only Deputy Bonner and me, we’re hard pressed to keep up with things.” He tried to smile but could only bring forth a pale imitation of the real thing.
“I understand, Marshal.” Hallie left, leaving Rhodes to his heartache.
For quite some time, Rhodes sat there, eyes fixed on the paper before him. He was still sitting there when Bonner came in sporting the coat he had paid to have made for him. It was of finely tanned buckskin and reached almost to his knees. It had fringes down each sleeve and along the yoke, had a pocket on each side at waist level and sported buttons made of elk antler. Bonner wore it open, allowing him access to his pistol, and Rhodes could see the pocket inside over the left breast and two others at waist level.
“She come to take you back?” Bonner asked lightly. Then Rhodes looked up, and Bonner almost cringed at the look on Rhodes’s face. Silently, he went to the stove, grabbed a mug from one of the hooks on the wall and poured himself some coffee. He sat in the chair which was so recently used by Hallie St. John, and he put his feet up on Rhodes’s desk.
Bonner sipped for a few minutes, then said rather harshly, “You best get over that gal, unless you’re aimin’ to get yourself kilt in a hurry.”
“I’ve tried, Joe. Damn if I haven’t, but...”
“I know how you feel, boy, but you keep moonin’ over that gal, and you’re not gonna keep your mind on business. That’s sure to be fatal.”
Rhodes nodded. After a while he managed to shake himself out of his lethargy somewhat. He folded Hallie’s complaint neatly and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Hefting his shotgun, he said, “Keep a lookout on the office for a while, Joe, will you.”
Bonner looked at him through squinted eyes. “You ain’t gonna do nothin’ foolish now, are you, boy?” he asked.
Rhodes almost smiled. “No.” He paused. “Not yet anyway.” He left the office and strolled down the street, peeking into every one of the better saloons, looking for Hamilton Macmillan. He was not to be found on the one side of the street, so Rhodes crossed and headed back up the other side. He thought for a moment to stop in to talk with Logan Macmillan, but then decided that could wait. He wanted to talk to Hamilton Macmillan first.
Hamilton was supposed to be at work up at the mines at this time of day, but Rhodes knew that the man seldom was there. He preferred spending his time in saloons, brothels, and gambling halls.
Almost halfway back to his office, Rhodes found Hamilton in the Mountain Belle saloon. It was one of the three very fancy saloons in Intolerance, and its prices correspondingly high. Rhodes had been in the place only a couple of times, all since he had become marshal and all related to his official duties. The Mountain Belle was not for working stiffs. It was for men like Hamilton Macmillan, and his uncle, Logan. And it was for people like Lucky Pete Corrales, who had hit it rich. Corrales had spent the bulk of his time—and money—in the Mountain Belle, until he was broke again and left to find his fortune one more time.
The Mountain Belle had real doors, with real stained glass in them, instead of cheap wooden bat-wing doors. Rhodes turned the knob and went in. As usual, it was like entering another world. Where most of the saloons in Intolerance were raucous and rowdy, the Mountain Belle more often than not was sedate and quiet. It was disconcerting to some.
He spotted Hamilton right off, sitting at a table near the back, surrounded by three of the high-class soiled doves employed there. Rhodes nodded at the bartender and to the shotgun-toting guard sitting in a chair at the top of the stairs. Both returned the salutation.
Rhodes started across the saloon, feeling self-conscious as he always did when he came in here. For one thing, it was so quiet as to be unnerving. But part of it was the figure he presented. He sort of felt like he was not supposed to be in here. Since becoming marshal, he had tried to keep neat and clean. He now had several pairs of trousers and shirts, so he didn’t have to wear the same thing every day, except for his coat. But still, he could see in the mirror that he looked out of place in his nice outfit as well in the saloon. A man five-foot-eight and weighing close to two hundred twenty pounds was not going to cut a svelte figure no matter how well dressed.
He stopped at Hamilton’s table. He waited precisely two seconds for acknowledgment. When it did not come, he said, “Take a walk, girls.”
They looked from Rhodes to Hamilton, who mouthed the word “stay.”
“Now, girls, or I’ll haul you all in for having expired licenses.”
They left, but in no great hurry. Rhodes reached into his pocket and produced the piece of paper. He dropped it on the table in front of Hamilton. “Read it,” he ordered.
“No,” Hamilton said flatly.
Rhodes had the shotgun in his right hand. With his left, he scratched at his newly shaven neck. Then he shrugged. “Suits me. Get up.”
“Why?” Hamilton looked surprised, and a little afraid.
“Takin’ you to jail.”
“What the hell for?”
“Disobeying the marshal in pursuit of his duties.”
Hamilton snorted. “You can’t take me to jail.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, yes I can,” Rhodes said, not angrily. “I had planned for you to be there one day, but you’ve just gotten yourself two days now. Would you like to try for three?”
Hamilton glared. “I ain’t going willingly,” he said with a sneer.
“That don’t bother me neither.” He paused. “You do remember what happened the last time you gave me a hard time, don’t you?”
Hamilton could feel the pain in his shoulder joint at the remembrance. “Yes,” he said tightly, anger flaring.
“Then get your fat ass up and headed on to the jail,” Rhodes said evenly. “You give me any shit on the way and I’ll clean your plow for you.”
Hamilton stood and began walking across the saloon. His face was beet red from anger and humiliation. He turned and headed stiffly up the street toward the jail.
“You’re gonna regret this, goddamn you,” Hamilton sputtered angrily when Rhodes had placed him in a cell. “You can’t do this to me. I’ll have my uncle fire your ass and then get some of his mine workers to kick the shit out of you. Goddamn it, you just wait and see.”
“You keep mouthing off to me, boy, and I’m going to put a dent in your head.” When Hamilton sat on the cot in the cell, still glaring at Rhodes, the marshal said, “You’re a damn fool, boy, you know that? You could’ve saved all this humiliation and embarrassment if you’d only done what you were told.”
“Piss off, goddamn stinking son of a bitch.”
“Trouble with you, boy,” Rhodes said easily, “is that you keep getting yourself in trouble and then try to blame it on others.” Rhodes sighed. “Well, I guess there’s no call to keep talking at you. You’re too damned stupid to listen.” He turned and hung the keys on a peg. “Keep an eye on that big bag of wind back there, will you, Joe?”
“Sure. Where’re you goin’?”
“Down to talk to Logan.”
Bonner nodded. “You want I should thump him a few times while you’re gone?” he asked, his cackling laugh erupting.
“Only if he asks for it.”
Logan Macmillan’s clerk nodded when Rhodes entered the office and quickly went to inform Mr. Macmillan that the marshal was here, then waved Rhodes in.
“Morning, Marshal,” Logan said with a smile. They shook hands, and Rhodes sat. “Now, Marshal, what brings you here? Not trouble, I hope?”
“Afraid so, Logan. Not real bad, though.”
“My nephew?” he asked.
Rhodes nodded. “He’s been bothering Miss Hallie again. She and I...Her and...Well, there’s been a failin’ out between us.” Rhodes was acutely embarrassed. “Anyway, Ham thinks that now he can move in on her, though she’s still rejecting his attentions.”
“So where do things stand now?”
“Miss Hallie signed out a complaint against him this morning. I went over to serve it on him just a little bit ago, and he gave me sort of a hard time and...Well, he’s locked up now.”
“For how long?” Macmillan was not very surprised.
Rhodes shrugged. “I told him two days for disobeying my orders. I ain’t figured out yet what to do about Hallie’s complaint.”
“Can I bail him out?”
“I suppose you can get one of the lawyers to write you up a paper to do that, but I’d not recommend it.” He paused, wondering if he should proceed. Then he decided he should. He was not afraid of Logan Macmillan or Hamilton Macmillan or anyone else for that matter. “His kind won’t learn anything if they always get bought out of trouble. A couple days in jail might just open his eyes.”
Logan laughed. “I doubt that, son.”
Rhodes smiled in response. “Yeah, me, too. But it’s better than him—or you—buying his way out.”
“I agree.” Macmillan tapped his fingers on the desk a few moments, then asked, “Why’d you come here to tell me this?”
“First, I figured you ought to know. But also to warn you.” Rhodes still felt uncomfortable among the privileged classes, but he was not afraid.
“And?”
“And...if he continues to be a pain in my ass, I’m going to thump him good and hard. Especially if he keeps pestering Hallie.”
“But if you and she are no longer... courting?” Rhodes shrugged. “It hurts like hellfire to not be courting her no more,” Rhodes said frankly. “I don’t know as if that hurt’ll ever go away, but that’s something I’ll have to deal with on my own. She wants some other man, she can have him, much as that might hurt me. But if she don’t want someone and he keeps pestering...”
“I understand,” Logan said. “You mind my asking why you and Miss Hallie have gone asunder?”
“I don’t mind,” Rhodes said. He tapped the gold star on his chest.
Logan nodded. “You could give it up.”
“That’s what she wanted me to do.”
“Why didn’t you? I would’ve understood.”
“I gave my word to take this job. I can’t go back on my word.”
“Life can get hard for a man with such principles.”
“I expect.” Rhodes stood. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Macmillan. I just wanted you to know what was going on with Ham.”
“I’m obliged for that.” He was about to rise to shake hands with Rhodes, when he snapped his fingers. “Wait, son. Sit again. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Confused, Rhodes did so, twirling his hat in his hands.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“You know that we’re stockpiling gold bullion in the First Mining and Mercantile Bank?” Mr. Macmillan asked.
“I’d heard that, but nothing official. What’s that all about, and what’s it have to do with me?”
“Our last two shipments were fairly small, comparatively speaking, and both were hit by thieves. It’s been difficult to get men to ride along with gold shipments because of that, so we ended up storing it in the bank.”
“And?” Rhodes asked suspiciously.
“And, it’s not as big a secret as we’d like it to be.” Macmillan paused, drumming his fingers on the desk. “There’s plenty of men who’d kill for the haul of gold we have sitting over there right now. Including the ones who robbed our earlier shipments.”
“And?” Rhodes’s suspicions were increasing.
“We expect you to do your duty and make sure that gold stays safe until we can ship it out a week from tomorrow.”
“I thought you said I didn’t have to do any mining company business.”
“You should know better than that, Marshal. Granted, that gold belongs to Ludwig and Macmillan, but what would happen to Intolerance if that gold was stolen? That’d not only hurt Ludwig and Macmillan, but everyone—everyone—else in town.”
Rhodes nodded. “I expect you’re right on that.”
“In addition, we have hired plenty of men to guard the gold when we haul it out. They’ll start coming into town in the next couple of days. With those men—plus the fact that we’re moving it so close to winter, we’re hoping we can get the gold out to Denver, and do so without loss of men. You won’t have anything to do with that—unless you want to volunteer for it and make some extra money.”
“I’m busy enough,” Rhodes said with a little regret. “And, I expect I’m going to be even busier the next week. That’s all I need is a bunch of gunslingers riding into Intolerance with some cash in their pockets and a few days to blow off steam.”
“It should be interesting,” Logan Macmillan said dryly. He paused. “Anyway, I wanted you to know that the gold was there, and what would be happening with it. I also wanted to alert you to the expected arrival of men to guard the shipment.”
Rhodes twirled his hat a little more as he sat thinking. “What makes you think someone’d try robbing the bank if there’s that much gold in there?” he finally asked. “Hell, all that gold in bullion won’t be easy to transport.”
Mr. Macmillan nodded. “Right. But if you get a dozen men or so, and each grabbed two bars, they’d be set up for a long, long time.” He p
aused and sighed. “I don’t really expect the bank to get robbed—that’s never happened. But there’s a first time for damn near everything. I also wonder if maybe Dalton Turlow and his men—they’re the bastards who’ve hit us the past couple of times—might try hitting the bank this time, instead of the caravan, since the wagons will be so heavily guarded this time.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Rhodes admitted. “I saw a poster on this Turlow fellah. There’s a big price on him.”
Macmillan nodded. “I don’t know where he came from, nor do I give a damn. All I know is that he and his men—I’ve heard sometimes as many as two dozen, though usually some fewer—have hit us several times, and I’m getting damned sick of it.” He paused. “That poster on him is old, Travis, and after his most recent robberies, I’ll give ten thousand in gold to the man who brings him in. Or kills him.”
“That’s a fine passel of cash,” Rhodes said with a whistle. “Does anyone know about that reward?”
“Most folks in Intolerance. Hell, enough of ’em would’ve been happy with the fifteen hundred. More than a few tried to earn it. The boneyard down at the end of Ludwig Street is now the home for all who were foolish enough to try.”
Rhodes nodded. “How about these men you’ve hired to guard the shipment? You know anything about them?”
“Not much. I’ve had the Pinkerton people check them out as much as possible. I’m fairly certain they’re trustworthy.”
“Well, I expect your gold’s safe enough in the bank, Mr. Macmillan, but I’ll keep an eye out, especially after some of the gunmen you’ve hired start showing up.”
“I ask no more.” Logan rose and held out his hand. “Another couple of weeks, and we’ll be in the clear on this.”
That afternoon, Rhodes went out and deputized Phineas Hickman, as well as a townsman named Sean Malone. He also unofficially deputized Andy St. John, mostly so that he could have the young man watch over the office and the cells. That would free up Rhodes and his three deputies to handle the extra business they would have to handle.
As expected, strangers began arriving the next day. Most were conspicuously armed, but kept out of trouble. Few men in Intolerance—townsmen and miners for the most part—wanted to tangle with the hard-eyed newcomers. All of them made a stop at Logan Macmillan’s office soon after arriving, and then were on their own. Rhodes had had some papers printed up laying out some of the basic rules he expected to be followed. Things such as no gunplay, no hurrahing the town, no prodding of locals into gunfights, keeping away from townswomen. Macmillan was to hand out a paper to each man as he arrived.