The Wildes of the West #1: The Daughters of Half Breed Haven: Old west fiction of action adventure, romance & western family drama (The Wildes of the West/Half Breed Haven)
Page 7
Johnson nodded as he stepped towards the cattle, doing so well not to arouse the animals or make them nervous before he played out what he had in mind. The small metal can in his hand buzzed with sound, reminding him of the small adventure he had that morning, obtaining the hive. The bees had given him so much trouble, the plan had better work.
“Do it, Johnson,” Everett whispered nervously behind him again.
Johnson removed the lid of the can immediately and quickly tossed the whole canister into the middle of the herd, hurriedly stepping back out of harm’s way. As soon as the container dropped to the green turf and the bees swarmed out angrily, attacking every animal in their way, the entire meadow shook with the heavy weight of the herd as they ran everywhere.
“Oh great. It is working. Now, run!” Everett said with a chuckle, disappearing down the edge of the meadow with Johnson before they became part of the casualties of the stampede they had started.
*****
The cold breeze blew across Blue River’s face as he dismounted his horse. The poor animal had been grunting uneasily ever since they left Cedar Ledge, sometimes limping whenever he was told to run. They had just ridden over the last hill, placing them at the upper region of the south cattle pasture close to the bridge to the north pasture.
“Just as I thought by the way she was riding, Judge,” Blue River hissed after he knelt beside the animal and inspected its hooves. “She’s thrown a shoe.”
Whip held the rein of his horse, inhaling the cold breeze. “If that don’t beat all. That’s the second horse this week that’s happened to. I’m going to have to give Cedar Ledge’s blacksmith a talking to …”
“… and son, are you ever going to call me father?” Whip asked.
Blue River glanced up at him with a smile and was about to say something, but the words died in his throat as the sudden roar of bellowing steers blasted their eardrums. Whip whirled his horse around and came face to face with the bedlam that erupted across the bridge. Coming over a small rise that hid the expanse of the north pasture were stampeding cattle and their numbers were legion.
“Thunderation!” Whip yelled, whirling his horse around once more. “The cattle in the north field are stampeding—could be a bob cat or something over there. Come on, Blue River!”
Whip charged off instantly as Blue River mounted his horse behind him. He was onto the bridge in no time and would have noticed the abnormal slight shift of the bridge, had he not been concerned about the animals. Midway across the bridge, amid a frightening cracking noise, the planking and supports gave way, sending him and his horse tumbling into the abyss accompanied by the debris.
“Jud-FATHER!!!” Blue River yelled behind him.
The half-Indian rode to the edge of the gorge and perfectly leapt off to the grass before the animal stopped. He quickly scrambled down into the ravine, peering into the dust and darkness until he spied his bleeding father lying atop his dead horse, its neck broken. His heart leapt into his throat … his father was still … so very still.
CHAPTER 3
* * *
Philadelphia Waterfront
May 1868
The industrial neighborhood lit up with dim gas street lamps as the sun gradually left the sky. As usual, the old building down the lane came to life with merrymaking as the moon slowly dispersed its grey beam all over the evening sky. One of the rooms on the fourth floor especially sprung to life with voices of men drinking and playing cards.
Three men sat around one of the tables in the room, passionately attending to their poker game. Two of the men looked respectable with their similarly trimmed hair and smoothly shaved chins. The third man looked entirely different from the two with his chubby cheeks, worn out jacket and a body too big for the wooden chair he was sitting on.
Cassandra Wilde wriggled her supple body around the table, making sure that each man noticed the way her barely hidden breasts jiggled together in her dress. When she was certain that she had finally taken their eyes off their game, she stopped beside one of the men, placed her palm on his shoulder and leaned over, giving him a full view of her cleavage.
“Can I get you another scotch, Mr. Wilkes?” she asked him.
Despite his short-trimmed hair, Mr. Wilkes looked the Scottish that he was, especially when his lips curved sideways to look at her.
“I am fine, my lassie. Thank you,” he said.
Cassandra turned from him to attend to the other man, but everyone was suddenly distracted by loud calliope music emanating from beyond the building.
“Great Scott, Mr. Colburn!” Mr. Wilkes bit his lip. “Does that infernal racket ever stop? Every few minutes, we have to sit and hear that thing blasting away!”
“I’m afraid not,” Colburn snorted with a laugh, shifting his fat weight on the small chair. “Being next door to a calliope manufacturing business was why I am able to rent my offices here so cheap. They go day and night, testing out those steam pipe demons. Honestly, though, I don’t even hear them anymore. I am so used to it.”
Mr. Colburn beckoned for Cassandra, looking at her leeringly as she approached him. A secretly repulsed Cassie stepped close to him, managing to muster forth a smile.
“I, my dear, am quite ready for some more fine bourbon. Please, do the honors, Tessa,” he said.
“Right away, Mr. Colburn!”
Cassandra quickly stepped away from him, gaining control of the irritation she had for him before fixing him a glass. The music next door came to a halt as soon as she handed him his drink.
“Thank you, Tessa,” he leered, tapping her ass wickedly as she turned away from him.
Cassandra froze, her eyes going wide with anger, but she held her breath instead and approached the third man.
“A refresher, Mr. Van Rennselaer?” she asked him.
“No, I am fine. Thank you, ma’am,” he replied almost instantly, seeming distracted.
Cassandra carefully glanced at the cards in his hands, smiling inwardly as she noticed that all his cards were right. This was what she had been waiting for in the past six weeks of her assignment in the damn room.
Time to signal an end to this charade, she thought to herself as she stepped away towards the window behind Mr. Wilkes. She had plucked a cigar and a lighter from a box on the table before she left and she was carefully lighting the cigar now. Cassandra flicked the flame to life three times before actually lighting the cigar. Certain that the men had not been paying attention to her actions, she flickered the lighter to flame one last time and left the window, sure that the signal had been sent.
“Are you ready for another cigar too, Mr. Colburn?” she asked, acting as the hostess that she should be.
“Absolutely.” Colburn laughed as he took the cigar from her. “Can you see why I hired this strapping young woman? She has been a fantastic find. Even lights my cigars for me! Came to me on the very day my other hostess up and quit.”
Cassandra feigned a cheerful look for him as the calliope music came on again and the men grumbled in unison. She noticed Wilkes looking at her appraisingly.
“I think we can all see why you hired her, Mr. Colburn,” Mr. Wilkes brought up the topic again.
“Gentleman, can we please, get back to the game?” Mr. Van Rennselaer apparently wasn’t the least interested in anything but poker.
“Of course, we can,” Colburn rolled his eyes at him. “Time to show you my cards.”
He flipped his cards to the table and proudly grinned at everyone. “It appears my lucky streak knows no end,” he chuckled.
“Perhaps … and perhaps not,” Mr. Van Rennselaer flipped his cards on the table too, his eyes gleaming with pride. He quickly moved to sweep the enormous stack up chips towards him without glancing at the other men.
“That’s impossible!” Colburn yelled.
Mr. Van Rennselaer looked up sharply and asked, “And why would that be?”
Cassandra calculated that it was time for her to step in. Her demeanor became icy as she interru
pted. “Indeed so,” she said coolly. “Why would that be, Mr. Colburn?”
“Excuse me?” Colburn was flustered.
“Why would it be impossible for Mr. Van Rennselaer to win? Could it be that the calliope from the building next door has not been under the control of one of your associates, but has actually for the entirety of this last hand been under the control of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency? The very calliope that has been giving you signals as to what cards these two fine gentlemen have been holding.”
Mr. Van Rennselaer and Mr. Wilkes leapt to their feet immediately, looking as discombobulated as would be expected.
“What is the meaning of this?! What is she talking about?” Mr. Van Rennselaer asked.
“What is this about Pinkertons?” Mr. Wilkes asked too.
“Allow me to properly introduce myself,” Cassandra confidently commanded, throwing both men a glare. “The name is Cassandra Wilde, detective with the Philadelphia branch of the Pinkertons. I have got other men from the branch watching the room through the windows and surrounding the building as we speak. You two gentleman have just escaped becoming the latest victims of a very clever—if I may say so—fraud concocted by our Mr. Colburn here.”
Colburn eyes glanced around wildly. “Lies!” he proclaimed.
“Truth.” Cassandra countered. “Seven weeks ago, R. Price Bailey came to our agency. He had lost a lot of money at one of Mr. Colburn’s games. We’re talking a lot of money. He was sure there was some sort of cheating going on, as no one could be as lucky as Mr. Colburn, so he hired us to look into it.”
She gave Colburn a mocking smile, remembering what he had said about his hostess that quit. “Your former hostess didn’t quit on her own. We bribed her and set her up with another job out in Buck’s County. She wanted to get out of the city, anyway. All I had to do was conveniently show up the same day, saying she referred me, and wear this dress with these,” she said, pointing to her breasts.
“I knew the job was as good as mine. Your entire operation was as shrewd as hell. Hiring me was your one bit of carelessness.”
Mr. Van Rennselaer and Mr. Wilkes were extremely curious now. They exchanged blank expression and glanced at Cassandra.
“How … how did he do it, Miss Wilde?” Mr. Wilkes asked.
“Ingenious, really,” Cassandra reluctantly admitted. It had really taken half of her entire wits to figure everything out. “What he needed was this room. It was perfect for his set up because of those windows. I can only imagine how long he had to scout to find just the right place as this, but find it, he did. He would hold these weekly games. It wasn’t until the third week I was here that I figured out what he was doing.”
“Which was?”
Cassandra pointed to Colburn’s chair to reply Mr. Wilkes. “His special chair was always in the same spot. He would only have two people to play with. From where each of you were sitting, a perfect view was afforded to two of his associates on nearby roof tops with the finest telescopes money can buy. He knew exactly what his opponents’ cards were at all times.”
Both men still stared at her, puzzled, unable to see how that really worked and if it were true, how Colburn got to know of the cards that his supposed associates had seen.
“It was the calliope music,” Cassandra revealed, reading the expressions on their faces, “It was driving me crazy, but then I suddenly made the connection. The songs I would hear them supposedly playing to test the machines weren’t random. There almost seemed like a pattern to them and sure enough, by the fourth game I worked on, I saw the pattern. His confederates on the nearby roof would spy on which cards his opponents held and then instruct the calliope player to signal him through a selection of songs. If the player played a certain song, Mr. Colburn here would know exactly what his opponents had and he could tailor his game play accordingly. We let one more game play out to be sure, on the fifth week, and then we planned to wrap it up here tonight. By the way, gentleman, he would always bring people from the genteel parts of the city down here for the games because he was relying on the fact they would not know there is no calliope factory.”
It was a long speech, but Cassandra had given the men all the explanations they needed. She watched as their jaws dropped a little at the ingenuity before one of them turned to Colburn. The chubby man looked about apprehensively.
“That was a lie too? The calliope factory?” Mr. Van Rennselaer asked.
“While it’s true there is a calliope manufacturer in Philadelphia that some MAY have heard of in passing, would they really know where it is located?” Cassandra replied. “Mr. Colburn here put his own calliope on the empty top floor of that building next to us. As I said … ingenious. Unfortunately, the jig is up. Mr. Colburn, the only ace you have to play is some type of plea bargain. I’m taking you into custody.”
No one would have expected the swift movement because of Colburn’s size. He leapt to his feet instantly and backed in to the corner to draw a revolver.
“Never!” He lamented. “Theodore J. Colburn is not going to the penitentiary at the hands of some big-titted trollop!”
“Don’t do anything foolish or you’ll find out this Wilde isn’t a joker.”
The other men watched as Cassandra calmly spoke to Colburn as if she was unafraid of the gun in his hands. Her eyes burned with fire as she took a step forward.
“I’m not going to let you ruin everything!” The gun was shaking in Colburn’s hands.
“And what are you going to do about it, to make sure that doesn’t happen?” Cassandra asked him.
“Leave no witnesses, for one thing!” Colburn groused angrily. He whirled nervously and fired at Mr. Wilkes, clipping him in the arm.
“You idiot!” Mr. Van Rennselaer yelled, pointing to the windows. “She said there are men watching this place! You are already caught! Killing us accomplishes nothing!”
Mr. Van Rennselaer rushed over to Mr. Wilkes catching him before his body fell to the floor in pain. At the same time, Colburn swung the gun towards him, but Cassandra was already making sure he never got to fire his revolver the second time. She grabbed the lid of the ice bucket on the cart and threw it at him. He instinctively used his free hand to knock it away and that was when Cassandra had the chance to draw out her own weapon she had concealed on the serving cart within the humidor. She flipped the lid open, hurriedly drew the pistol out, cigars flying everywhere and pulled the trigger before Colburn fired his.
A red circle appeared in the middle of his forehead, and instantly the back of his head exploded just as the rest of Colburn’s body became still and pitched forward to the table. A rain of poker chips splattered everywhere, as the table flipped over, sending his corpse to the floor. Cassandra stood stock still for a moment, almost disbelieving that she had really just killed a man.
Three men burst into the room almost immediately, just as Cassandra regained her composure. All three were dressed in suits and held identical agency issued pistols. Their hair was trimmed more neatly than the poker men and surely, they wouldn’t have to have been dandies to get women into their beds.
“Are you, all right?” one of them asked Cassandra, returning his gun to his hostler when he noticed that everything was clear.
“Just fine, Donovan,” Cassandra assured him optimistically and with good reason. “Can’t say the same thing about Mr. Colburn. He dealt himself a bad hand by trying to kill us all. We’ve got a wounded man over here,” She concluded, pointing to a writhing Mr. Wilkes on the floor.”
Donovan nodded to his partners to assist the two innocent poker players. Mr. Wilkes, still in pain, sadly glanced at the entire room and the chips strewn on the floor. Apparently, he was more concerned about the winnings than Mr. Van Rennselaer who had been the lucky one. Both of them obviously lost nothing that night, but Mr. Wilkes would have loved to go home with something better than a gunshot wound to the shoulder.
“How did it go over there?” Cassandra asked Donovan, dismissing Mr. Wilkes and the
rest of Donovan’s team.
“Smooth as glass. We had no problem getting the drop on the two men on each roof that were spying on the cards and on the calliope player.”
Donovan threw a happy look Cassandra’s way, commending her. “That was one hell of a plan you had, Cass, letting things play out until the start of the fourth hand of cards when we were forcing the player to feed Colburn all the wrong information. Worked like a charm. Old man Pinkerton out at the home office in Chicago is going to be pleased we wrapped this one up nicely, considering it was one of his old friends that got swindled and brought the case to him.”
“Anyway, Colburn’s confederates are tied up across the street and the Philadelphia police are on their way. Timmons and Evans here can give a statement to the authorities, so why don’t we get you out of here? I’m sure you are tired of playing the role of a flighty hostess.”
“You know it, Donovan. Yes, I do want to get out of here,” Cassandra asserted.
She batted her eyelashes playfully, stepping close to him. Astonishment blossomed on Donovan’s face as her words filled his ears “I want to get out of these clothes too.”
*****
The Present
State of Arizona
May 1913
“My opinion, Miss Catalina, what your sister writes about would be considered scandalous by many, and yet, I must confess to you that there is something oddly liberating about it at the same time.”
Cattie laughed, slowly adding more logs to the fire. She took her time, knowing full well how expectant to hear more Allie was behind her. By the time she turned, she flashed teeth at Allie and said:
“Trust me, dear, all we Wildes were liberated like that and there was a reason for it; the fact that all us girls’ mothers died before their time and never really got to live full lives. We swore that would never happen to us and we’d enjoy every moment we got on this earth with whoever we wanted to be with.”