by Paul Colt
The room exploded in muzzle flashes, powder charge and smoke as Cross’s men made their plays. Cane hit the first one twice before he cleared leather. Longstreet shot the second over Cross’s shoulder, returning the pistol to the gunny’s temple while Cane finished the second man. The Rusty Spike fell silent.
Longstreet grasped Cross by the shirt collar and returned his pistol to its shoulder holster. He doubled Cross over in a rush of breath with a gut punch to rival a mule kick. A vicious uppercut snapped the gunny’s head back. Longstreet squared off with a left-right-cross combination that sent gouts of blood flying from his shattered nose and mouth. Cross sprawled on his back, disarmed and beaten. Longstreet yanked the gunfighter to his feet by his shirt collar and gun belt. He propelled the man to the bat wings and threw him into the street. “Now get your sorry ass on your horse and get out of town before I lose my temper.”
Longstreet strode back into the saloon and crossed the room to the table. He nodded his appreciation to Cane. “Nice shooting.” He took his seat. “I do believe I’ll have that drink now.” Sadie poured, her hand trembling noticeably. “I apologize for that unfortunate display Miss Sadie. I hope you will forgive me.”
She dropped her hands to her lap and lowered her eyes. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Longstreet filled her glass. She glanced up, favoring him with a small smile. “Forgive you?” She shook her head. “No. Thank you. He’s…” Her voice trailed off. “He’s a vicious man, that one. He likes to hurt women. Last time he was here I thought he might kill me.”
“I don’t expect he’ll be back anytime soon.”
Her eyes lifted to his. The fear drained way, softened at the sight of him.
Cane decided he’d become about as useful here as a third handle on a plow.
Longstreet continued gently. “If you are up to it, I still have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”
NINE
September 23
Cane mulled the problem, saddling Smoke the following morning. He didn’t have much to go on. The smith said they rode out following the rail bed. Heat waves shimmered along the rails, disappearing in the distance to the southeast. That wouldn’t leave much of a trail. It also doubled back through Big Springs which struck Cane as bold and smart. The law would be long past looking for them at the scene of the holdup. One thing he did know, the Big Springs holdup raised the stakes for the pair he was after. Pinkerton was offering a thousand-dollar reward for information. No telling what their contract with Union Pacific was worth. It seemed like a fine time to see just how much this Colonel Crook and his Great Western Detective League might really be worth.
Finished with his cinch he dropped the stirrup fender and stepped into the saddle. He squeezed up a jog up the road to the depot. As he stepped down, Longstreet came out to the platform.
“Mornin’ Briscoe.”
“Mornin’ Beau.” He ground tied Smoke and clumped the platform step.
“I telegraphed our agents as far east as Dodge to be on the lookout for Collins and Heffridge. I haven’t received word that anyone’s seen them.”
“Probably a little soon for that. They got a telegrapher in there?”
“Sure do. Need to send a wire?”
“Yup.”
He left the Pinkerton to wonder what that might be about. Dusty brown light filtered through the depot windows, spilling in rusty puddles across the stained plank floor. Lean and lanky the telegrapher glanced up from his key peering at Cane through a green eyeshade.
“What can I do for you stranger?”
“I need to send a wire.”
“Paper and pencil is on the counter.”
Longstreet lounged against the depot wall when Cane returned to the platform.
“Get your wire sent?”
“I did.”
“Now what?”
Cane tossed his head southeasterly. “Lacking the reach of the Eye that Never Sleeps, I reckon followin’ Collins and Heffridge is the best lead I got.”
Longstreet chuckled at Cane’s mocking reference to Pinkerton’s well-known motto.
“If they stick to the line, they’ll skirt Big Springs. They’re well supplied according to the clerk at the general store. I expect I’ll catch up with them.”
“I hope you do. Collins might be the best way to get a line on Bass.”
Cane nodded. “You did a nice job on Cross last night. Did you know who you was up against?”
“Not really. I found out later.”
“That’s one dangerous son of a bitch. You whipped him and sent him packin’ but I’d watch my back if I was you.”
“Thanks for the advice. The other two would have gotten me if it hadn’t been for you. I’m much obliged.”
“No trouble, though the next time you go takin’ on the likes of a Braylin Cross, it might be best to know you had competent backup before the shooting starts.”
Longstreet laughed. “Never doubted it for a minute. Thanks again for the advice though.”
“All’s well that ends well, I guess. And besides, you got yourself one grateful whore there.”
“Not my style.”
“I didn’t say she was your style. I just said she was grateful. There’s a difference that just might be fun.”
“Too bad you’re not stickin’ around Cane. I think we might make a good team.”
“I generally work alone, but maybe someday, Beau. If you take my advice and don’t get yourself killed that is.” He gathered Smoke’s reins and stepped up. He touched the brim of his hat. “Get up there.” He squeezed up a lope with a wave.
Shady Grove
It was my turn to stretch. I had writer’s cramp. Fading light seeping through the parlor windows foretold the end to another session. As if on cue Penny appeared.
“Time for supper, Colonel. I’ll see you later, Robert.”
“Later? What romantic rendezvous have you planned for a Saturday night?”
“If you must know, Penny is accompanying me to a dance at the Grange Hall this evening.”
“A dance. Lost our taste for ice cream have we?”
“That’s for Sunday.”
“Robert, you’ve only to turn her head on the weekend. I on the other hand must deal with the aftereffects of all this courting the whole of the next week. I’m beginning to question my own better judgment in setting this whole affair in motion.”
“We all have our lapses in judgment don’t we, Colonel.” I eyed his lap.
A smile puffed his mustache and creased the corners of his eyes. He patted his lap robe. “Yes we do. Until next week then Robert.”
The following Saturday I arrived at Shady Grove Rest Home and Convalescent Center at my usual hour with a bottle of fine Kentucky bourbon bundled in my coat. Penny and I enjoyed the previous weekend, growing evermore comfortable in our time spent together. Between that and my excitement over our progress with the book, I found myself looking forward to these sessions with the irascible Colonel Crook. She wheeled him down the hall to the visitor’s parlor. Our eyes met. The colonel coughed.
“Good afternoon, Robert.”
“Good afternoon, Colonel. You’re looking well.”
“Humpf. Better than my circumstances if you must know.”
I favored Penny with a wink. “Has he been behaving himself this week?”
“After a fashion.” She dispensed a Mona Lisa. “He’s yours until supper. I’ll be back to claim him then.”
I watched her depart.
“We can begin whenever you’ve had your fill.”
“I believe you instigated this romance.” I took my seat.
“You were the one drooling like a moon-eyed pup.”
“Well, congratulations. Things seem to be working out quite nicely.” I drew my notebook and pencil from a coat pocket.
“Before we begin, have you anything else in there for me?”
I smiled and glanced over his shoulder conspiratorially before handing him the bottle. He tucked it under his
blanket and handed me last week’s empty.
“What’s this?”
“What does it look like?”
“So I’m also to take out the trash as part of this grand bargain.”
“How else would you have me dispose of the contraband?”
“I should think a man of your vast criminal experience would have no trouble at all dealing with so trivial a problem.”
“As you can plainly see, I have no problem dealing with it. I have you. Now where were we?”
I consulted my notes. “Cane sent a wire from Julesburg and bid his good-bye to Longstreet.”
“Ah, yes.” His eyes twinkled. “That’s when I began to appreciate how well suited Mr. Cane was to the work of the Great Western Detective League. The wire was sent to our Denver offices. The Western Union messenger delivered it to me personally. Cane reported that the perpetrators responsible for the Wells Fargo holdup were one Sam Bass and his partner Joel Collins. They had, he informed me, subsequently joined forces with a hitherto-unknown band of miscreants named Nixon, Berry and Heffridge. But then he came to the truly important part of his report. Bass, Collins and their newfound friends were none other than those responsible for the Big Springs train robbery. He noted that the Union Pacific had the Pinkerton agency engaged in investigating the case, though having ascertained the information available to the local agent on the scene, he believed himself to be in the better position to apprehend the thieves. He then reasoned, rightly as it turned out, that the railroad might offer a suitable addition to our reward for the recovery of its stolen shipment. Forthwith I instructed him by return wire to continue his pursuit of the perpetrators whilst I sought Union Pacific recompense for the capture of those responsible and the recovery, if possible, of the stolen gold.”
“So Cane saw the prospect for something of a competition between the Great Western Detective League and Pinkerton?”
“Precisely, and as subsequent events would unfold, this was the first of many cases where justice was served by the rivalry between agencies contending for notoriety and reward.”
Big Springs
Collins drew a halt. The silvery ribbon of track stretched to the east, growing narrow before it disappeared in the heat.
“Close enough.”
Heffridge spit a stream of tobacco juice into the dust at his horse’s hock. “Close enough to what?”
“Close enough to Big Springs. We’re turnin’ south.”
“I thought we was headed for Kansas.”
“We are. In case you forgot, somebody robbed a train up yonder a few days ago. I expect the UP ain’t forgot. The place will be crawlin’ with Pinkerton men. It ain’t big enough to hide a horsefly. We’d get noticed for sure. We’re gonna give Big Springs a wide berth. We’ll circle east some. We can head back north when we’re clear. Maybe catch an eastbound train at Buffalo Station. We’ll travel faster that way and in some improved comfort.”
“We’re gonna ride the train?”
“Yup. Last place they’d look for us I reckon.”
“How far east you figurin’ to go?”
“Dodge, maybe Kansas City. They got some fine women in Kansas City.”
“Speakin’ of women, how ’bout takin’ this lead rope for a spell. You talk about ridin’ in comfort. Hell, I’d settle for not draggin’ this pack mule.”
“I ain’t partial to mules.”
“So you said. Then again fair’s fair.” He held out the halter lead. “Come on now, she’s real sweet. You’ll see.”
He shook his head and took the rope. He dallied it to his saddle horn and wheeled south.
Buffalo Station
Bass crested a rise northwest of town. The commercial center of Buffalo Station sprawled along the tracks north of the depot that gave it its name. Stores and saloons were visible along with a livery and a hotel. Fancy that. Clean sheets and maybe something soft and tart to slip between them. He was about ready for a break from his travels. Texas could wait a few days while he enjoyed some of the gold burning a hole in his pocket. He eased the roan down the slope toward the west end of town.
A sage ball tumbled down the street ahead of his passage. He took in the town up one side of the street and down the other. He composed a list as the possibilities presented themselves. He registered a shave, a bath, a room, a hot meal and a saloon to prowl. Whiskey, women and cards, the saloon beckoned. He wheeled his horse to the hotel hitch rack and stepped down. He tied off a rein and hoisted his heavily loaded saddlebags over his shoulder. He clumped up the boardwalk to the dimly lit lobby. He crossed the neatly appointed room with a polished floor to the deserted counter. He tapped the bell for service. An attractive woman appeared from a small office off the end of the counter.
“May I help you?”
She had a rose petal complexion, green eyes and auburn hair piled in a soft swell of curl. She wore a modest gray gown that turned out an ample bodice to breathtaking effect. He must have stared. He forgot to speak.
“May I help you?” She smiled, showing even white teeth.
“I, ah, I need a room.”
“That we have.” She spun the register. “Sign here, Mr….”
“Bass, Sam Bass.” He took the pen from the ink pot and signed.
“That will be a dollar a night, Mr. Bass. Will you be staying long?”
“I don’t know for certain.”
She held his eyes with that smile again. “Well let’s hope you stay long enough to take advantage of everything Buffalo Station has to offer.”
“Perhaps I should make a point of that, Mrs….”
“Stone, Abigail Stone, my friends call me Abby.” She offered her hand. “And it’s Miss, Mr. Bass.”
He accepted. “Please, call me Sam.”
“Then you must call me Abby.”
“Fair enough. Now for a start on the things Buffalo Station has to offer I need a barber, a bath and a hot meal.”
She tilted her chin with an arch in her brow as though amused by the request. “A bath and a barber, I’m impressed. Buffalo Station can take care of all of those things. The barbershop is two doors down the street. Silas, that’s the barber, maintains a bathhouse in his backroom. For a hot meal, I recommend Delmonico’s across the street.”
“Would you care to join me? You could fill me in on the rest of the things Buffalo Station has to offer.”
Her eyes turned smoky with a half smile. “My night man comes on at six o’clock.”
“Shall I meet you here then?”
“You may.” She slid a key across the counter. “Room four, top of the stairs.”
TEN
Julesburg
Boredom, it had to be boredom. Longstreet’s boots crunched the roadbed, crossing the tracks on the way into town. Long purple shadows crawled down First Street from the last rays of sunset turning the ragged western horizon crimson. He clumped up the boardwalk step. A hollow wooden drumbeat followed his reflection in the shop windows as he passed.
It had to be boredom. What else could it be? Beau Longstreet could have his pick of beautiful women from Charleston to Saint Louis, refined women, genteel women. So why did he find himself drawn to a soiled dove workin’ a dump like the Rusty Spike in a shit hole like Julesburg? It had to be boredom. He paused at the bat wings. His aristocratic Southern upbringing barred the entry. Time was he walked down to the slave quarters on the family plantation with fewer feelings of guilt than this. This was different. He was young then. He wasn’t a bundle of adolescent longings anymore. Hell he didn’t even feel much of an itch now. No, it was something else. Something he’d seen behind her eyes. Something he wanted to understand. He pushed his way inside.
He crossed the bar, instantly aware of her sitting at the back corner table. The smell of stale beer, tobacco smoke, sawdust and the oily scent of kerosene mingled in the dim light, a strong reminder of the shabby condition of the place. The portly bartender with the waxed mustache greeted him with a what’ll it be lift of an eyebrow, his soiled apr
on only more so since his last visit.
“Whiskey, two glasses.” He waited. The bottle and glasses arrived. He picked them up and headed for the front corner table with a glance in her direction. She didn’t seem to notice. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just have a quiet drink and go back to his cot in the depot. He poured a drink.
“Expecting someone?” the question invited, soft and husky.
He looked up and surprised himself with a smile. She smiled too. Small crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. Some might take them for age. He saw them for amusement that comes with a knowing for life. “I am if you’ll join me.”
She smiled again and drew back the chair beside him. A faint clean scent of lavender muted unpleasant saloon odors. A low-cut green gown suited the color of her hair. It brought out the golden fleck in her green eyes. Funny, for all the fascination he’d found in them the other night, the color had never registered with him.
She lifted her glass. He touched the rim to his. She held his eyes and took a swallow.
“More questions about Collins and Heffridge?” Her eye sparkled with a mischievous twinkle.
He shook his head.
“Why then whatever brings you back to a place like this?”
He thought, uncertain how to answer, feeling a little tonguetied.
“You don’t really need a reason. I’m glad you’re here.”
He knocked back his drink and poured another. The whiskey warmed his belly, bolstering his resolve. “Somethin’ I saw the other night made me curious, I guess. Course it’s none of my business.”
“What’s none of your business?”
“How a woman like you wound up here, in a place like this.”
“You mean how a woman like me wound up a whore?”
“I, well, no, I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“Course you wouldn’t.” She patted his cheek. “You’re too damn nice, but that’s what you mean.”