Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale)

by James D. Best

  We rode directly to the livery. Liberty had taken the four-day ride with ease. I cut him loose a few times, and he ran fast and with enormous enthusiasm. Even though I had owned this horse only a couple of months, we were getting used to each other, and I enjoyed riding him.

  The liveryman recognized us but gave only a curt nod as he led the horses away for grooming and feed.

  “The town doesn’t feel friendly,” I said.

  “Yer trouble. They wanna stay clear.” Sharp looked around. “What first?”

  “Find Jeremiah. We’ll start at his store. Why don’t you let your men get a beer? It’s been a long, dusty ride.”

  “Hell, they only rode from Belleville. I’m the one could use a cold beer. That is, if Jeremiah still operates his icehouse.”

  “Let’s find out if he operates anything.”

  Sharp nodded permission to his men to visit the saloon, and the two of us walked the fifty yards to the general store. Sharp carried his Winchester like always.

  As soon as I stepped through the door, I knew Jeremiah wasn’t running the shop. He kept things fastidiously neat, but the place had an unkempt look about it.

  The shopkeeper saw us and then pretended to be busy with something on a lower shelf. I rapped hard on the counter to get his attention. I never saw a man rise more slowly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you run this establishment?”

  “I do.”

  “Where can I find Jeremiah?”

  “Don’t rightly know. Ain’t been around in weeks.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Steve Dancy … and Jeff Sharp.”

  I made a point of looking around the empty store. “Then tell me where he is while I’m still calm.”

  Last summer, I had killed two gunmen in this town, and my reputation evidently still held sway. The shopkeeper’s right cheek flinched twice before he glanced toward the door for help.

  Deciding no one would come to his rescue, he said simply, “He’s got a shelter on the north side.” I didn’t say anything, so he added, “That’s all I know.”

  “It’s not, but that’ll do for now.” I slipped a ten-cent piece onto the counter. “Give me a bag of gingersnaps.”

  After he handed me a waxed-paper bag of the cookies, I nodded and we left.

  We both looked across the street to the north side. Sharp asked, “How do ya ’xpect to find him? Those rock hovels don’t have addresses.”

  “If we have to, we’ll yell. Let’s go.”

  Behind the single row of buildings, a ratty collection of rock structures crowded the relatively flat area. There must have been fifty of them. They were small and windowless, probably just big enough for a bedroll and a few personal belongings. Empty bean tins, cigar butts, and other trash had been tossed from inside to litter the front of each shelter. As we walked through them, I noticed burrows cut in the loose sand by piss. The foul smell led me to believe that these miners didn’t bother to venture far to take care of other business.

  A dirty, bearded man ducked out of a shelter, looking warily at us. His hand rested on the butt of a Civil War-era revolver tucked into his belt.

  “What ya fellas doin’?”

  “Looking for Jeremiah. He used to run the general store.”

  “Up thataway.” He pointed up a scarred slope.

  “Much obliged,” Sharp answered.

  “I guess we should tread lightly here,” I said after we moved away.

  “Noisily. Quiet men mean trouble.”

  Sharp knew miners, so I started whistling. Badly.

  Laughing, Sharp said, “Steve, please stop before someone throws a blind shot out his hovel to shut that awful noise.”

  I dutifully quit. As we climbed up the easy slope, we saw no one else. It was eerily quiet. The men who slept in these rock enclosures were underground, swinging pickaxes. The bearded man was probably protecting their meager possessions. I glanced back, and sure enough, the unkempt ruffian was watching our every move.

  “Jeremiah!” Sharp’s voice was loud but not a yell.

  We stopped and finally heard a muffled, “Here.”

  We marched toward his hail, but no one emerged from a shelter, so Sharp repeated, “Jeremiah.”

  “Is that you, Jeff?”

  “And Steve. Come out.”

  From the next row of hovels emerged a man I barely recognized as my friend. The Jeremiah I knew was pudgy and neat. This man looked emaciated and as bedraggled as any of his neighbors. He wore a patch over his left eye, and his face had some ugly scars that would never disappear. This had been more than a beating.

  We were stunned into silence, so Jeremiah said, “Glad to see you boys. Either of you got any food? Water?”

  I stepped forward. “Damn. You look a mess.” I held up the wax bag. “All I brought were gingersnaps. Let’s go to the café.”

  Jeremiah took the bag, giving me a forlorn look. “They won’t serve me. Do you have water?”

  “They’ll serve you with us. Remember, I’m a deadly gunfighter.” I smiled to show I wasn’t serious.

  He looked at the small bag, and tears welled up. “Thanks for remembering that I love gingersnaps. Thoughtful, Steve.” He sighed. “I haven’t had a gingersnap since they took the store away from me, but I can’t eat these without something to drink.” He looked up from the bag. “They took all my money too. Not a penny for water, food, or a stage ticket out of here. They sent me here to die. Just punishment for my sins, in their eyes. More than that, I’m an example to anyone else that might be thinking about bucking town authority.”

  I put my arm on his thin shoulder. “Come on. You can tell us about it at Mary’s.”

  He started down the hill on wobbly legs. “She’s still there, but it ain’t her café no more. They took her place too.”

  I looked at Sharp. “Is this why you’re selling out?”

  Sharp nodded. “They put a heavy use tax on the stamp mill. Ain’t gonna work my butt off to make some politicians rich.”

  “Jeff, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Only guns can fix this. No need for ya to get in another fight not yer doin’.”

  “Peter scares easy,” I offered.

  “Madison doesn’t,” Sharp said.

  “Who’s Madison?”

  Jeremiah stopped me with a hand on my forearm. “The new sheriff. A tough man, and he’s got two capable gun hands for deputies. Clive’s still around too, but he’s the town marshal.” His voice was raspy.

  “How long since you had water?” I asked.

  “Last night … after dark. One of the miners I grubstaked a while back sneaks me a canteen.”

  “Let’s get you watered and fed before you talk anymore.”

  We proceeded in silence down the slope and into town. When we emerged from between the buildings, I looked around but didn’t spot anyone that looked dangerous. As we entered Mary’s, I noticed that the new owners hadn’t done anything to improve the dowdy café.

  Mary spotted us immediately and approached with a worried expression. “Mr. Dancy, pleased to see you again.” She gave Sharp a sly look. “You too, Jeffery.”

  “Mary, ya know … oh never mind. What’ve ya got in the kitchen?”

  She wiped her hands on her apron, looking nervous. “You know I can’t serve Jeremiah.”

  “Who owns this place?” I asked.

  “The county got it for back taxes.” Looking around, she said in a small voice, “I’m leaving as soon as I save enough for coach fare.”

  “Is Peter at the bank?”

  She shrugged. “Probably.”

  “I’ll go see him. In the meantime, get Jeremiah water and a meal.”

  “Will you save me from a beating?’

  “I will.”

  “Then hurry. I want to see you back here before I serve food.”

  “Fair enough, but give him water now.”

  Sharp hoisted his rifle across his chest. “I’ll stay with you.
”

  She looked uneasy but nodded assent.

  As I started to leave, Sharp grabbed my arm. “Be careful. People know we’re in town.”

  Chapter 3

  The foyer looked familiar from my days running this bank, but back then I had been on the other side of the cage. It being midday, the miners were underground, so the bank was empty. In fact, when I peered through the iron bars, I couldn’t see Peter. I rapped hard to get his attention. Banging my knuckles on counters was becoming a habit.

  Peter emerged from around the corner with a how can I serve you smile that faded when he recognized me.

  “Hello, Peter.” I kept my tone neutral.

  “You may call me Mr. Humphrey.”

  “Got uppity since you made bank manager?”

  “No, sir.” There was a sarcastic note to his voice. “That happened when they put me on the board of Commerce Bank.” He put his banker’s smile back in place. “Thank you for giving me my first banking position. How can I help you?”

  “I wish to speak to the county supervisor.”

  “I’d switch hats, but I’m not wearing one.”

  “Show me the tax statements for the hotel, the general store, and Mary’s.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re not a lawful resident of Mineral County.”

  “I’m a property owner.”

  “No longer. The hotel was foreclosed. You have no standing.”

  I saw where this was going, and I didn’t like it. I tried to look mean, which didn’t work that well for me. “Back when I met you, I should’ve allowed my colleague to break your neck.”

  The previous summer in Carson City, Peter had been the assistant to a prominent lawyer. He had barred our access to his office, so I jokingly ordered Sharp to break his neck. Peter had jumped aside faster than a hare caught unawares by a coyote.

  Unperturbed, Peter asked, “Do you have banking business?”

  “No, but I want you to step over to Mary’s with me and tell her she can serve Jeremiah a meal.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s beyond my duties. Mary can serve anyone she likes. Unfortunately, she doesn’t like Jeremiah.”

  I suppressed my first impulse, which was to reach through the bars and yank his head until it banged against the steel rods. “I’ll be back shortly with a local citizen. Have the tax statements ready for us to review when I return.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “Local citizens can only see their own tax records. We can’t allow just anyone to rummage through the personal records of other people.”

  “Peter, do you remember who I am?”

  “A rich man who resorts to guns to solve business issues, but you can’t run roughshod over us. We have laws now, and deputies to make people like you behave properly.”

  Furious, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I want my buckboard and horse. Are they at the livery?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I loaned you a rig to drive from Carson City to Pickhandle. I said it was yours to use as long as you remained in my employ. Do you still work for me?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Then I want my property.” He looked confused, so I added, “I have the papers in my saddlebag if it comes to that.” It was a bluff.

  His expression changed to a smirk. “Not necessary. I’ll tell the liveryman to turn the rig and horse over to you.”

  Winning my small victory, I stomped out of the bank with far too heavy a footfall.

  Now what? My inclination was to throw Jeremiah onto my reacquired wagon and get the hell out of this sad encampment. My quarter share of the hotel wasn’t important to me. Damn. I realized there was something that was important to me—my friends. Our common ownership in the hotel meant we wouldn’t go our separate ways and forget about each other. Jeremiah had also lost his store, and as a shopkeeper in a prior life, I knew that store was worth more than the entire hotel. I wouldn’t call Mary a friend, but we liked each other, and she had been kind to me last summer when I had some trouble in this town. She didn’t deserve to have her café stolen by crooks that wielded ledgers instead of pistols.

  I was still thinking about how to handle the situation when I stepped into Mary’s café. The first person I saw was Clive, hovering over Sharp with what I thought was a menacing pose.

  I kept my gun hand hanging loose at my side. “Good morning, Marshal.”

  Clive stood full height and faced me with an expression that conveyed no threat. “Mr. Dancy, I don’t want trouble. Your beef is with the sheriff.”

  “Everybody in this town is pointing to someone else.”

  He shrugged. “Things ain’t the same. I’m only town marshal now, so I don’t got say anymore. Leastways, not where it’s important. County has the power now.”

  I was angry and intent on provoking an argument. “Being the town authority and all, are you going to stop Mary from serving Jeremiah?”

  He shrugged again. “No skin off my back.”

  “Clive ain’t the problem,” Sharp said.

  “Fine.” I sat down and waved Mary over. “Bring me steak, eggs, and lots of bread. I’m starving.”

  She looked hesitantly at Clive, and he actually winked at her.

  “Be seein’ you gents.” Clive gave us a little farewell wave and walked out the door.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I asked Sharp.

  “Clive’s been shut outta the town graft by the new boys.” Sharp chuckled. “He’s a bit put out, but he still won’t help us. Get anywhere with Peter?”

  “No. I’m thinking the smart thing is to get the hell out of here. Take Jeremiah to Belleville until he’s well enough to travel to Carson City.” I glanced at Jeremiah to see how he took to the idea, but he looked resigned to whatever his fate might be.

  Sharp leaned across the table to emphasize his point. “That’s what I’m thinkin’. There ain’t nothin’ here for us ’cept trouble.”

  “Jeremiah?”

  He looked furtively toward the kitchen. “I’m just hungry.”

  Before I made a decision, I needed to ask a question. “Jeff, is there anything else you’re not telling me?”

  “Nothin’ that … oh hell, Steve, ya don’t want to know.”

  “I do.”

  Sharp gave me a hard stare before saying, “Jenny’s part of this.”

  “Jenny? How?”

  “This is her doin’.” Sharp leaned back and looked sad. “She might be tryin’ to hurt ya by destroyin’ yer friends, or she could just be takin’ over the state. Ain’t privy to her thinkin’.”

  Jenny Bolton had been an infatuation—one that had gotten me in real trouble. Escaping her charms had required me to see her for what she really was—a terribly disturbed woman who masked her emotional wounds with stunning good looks and girlish effervescence. I had broken it off last autumn and had seen her only from a distance during my long winter in Carson City.

  “I don’t understand. Why would she want to hurt me? She never cared about me.”

  “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but she sure as hell didn’t like ya dumpin’ her in front of her hands.”

  “Damn.”

  After a long silence, Sharp said, “Ya can’t fight her.”

  Sharp looked at me with sympathy. Before I became too embarrassed, Mary brought over a huge plate of food, snapping it down directly in front of me. I stood and shoved the plate aside. “Not hungry anymore. Jeremiah, don’t let my meal go to waste.”

  I bolted out of the café and raced after the marshal. I figured his heavy gut would have him breathing hard after a single flight of stairs, but I chased him all the way to his office before I caught up.

  “Marshal, I want to talk in private,” I said.

  Clive nodded toward his office and bounded up the three steps with surprising agility.

  Once inside, I decided not to waste time. “Clive, how would y
ou like to run this town again?”

  “Go on.” He tried to sound indifferent, but I saw a light come into his eyes.

  “This Sheriff Madison, he do anything wrong, anything you could arrest him for?”

  “Me?”

  “You, and a few friends.”

  I could see he liked the idea. “How many friends?”

  “Four. Me, Sharp, and two of his toughest guards.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Five against three ain’t bad, but they don’t fight fair. One of the deputies always comes up from behind with a shotgun.”

  “Then we know how they work. But I want to arrest them for a legitimate crime, one that would put them behind bars for years.”

  “You want to arrest them? Who put you in charge?”

  “You’re the marshal, and we’ll be your deputies, but if you ignore my counsel, we’ll ride out of town and leave you to deal with this mess.”

  Clive casually leaned back in his swivel chair and rocked a bit. “Agreed.” He didn’t hesitate. “With enough gun hands backin’ me, there won’t be any problem gettin’ witnesses to extortion, larceny, assault, and possibly murder.” He swung his chair up straight with a snap and leaned over his desk. “What do I get?”

  “Everything you had before, except for the hotel.”

  He thought a second. “I want clear title to Ruby’s.”

  “I thought you always had that.”

  “Nope. Washburn owned half. After you killed him, somehow that weasel banker got hold of his half. You want to set things right for your friends, then I want full ownership of that flea-infested whorehouse.”

  “How about Peter? Anything?”

  “Malfeasance. But once we get him locked up, we can search his books for embezzlement.”

  I wasn’t so sure about embezzlement, but malfeasance as county supervisor should keep him locked up for a couple of days, and it would certainly be sufficient to get him fired. Once he was dismissed, Commerce Bank would quickly sell their ownership in a whorehouse.

  “Agreed.” I held out my hand.

  Clive leaped to his feet and shook my hand. “Glad to be on the same side this time. Get your boys in here, and I’ll swear you all in as deputies.”