The Railroad War

by Wesley Ellis

  “Scaring people, mostly. A man named Karl Prosser showed up here about a month ago with a big roll of cash. He said he was buying farms and houses for some land company in the East, but I smelled the railroad behind him the minute he opened his mouth.”

  “And it smells to me like the cartel behind the railroad,” Jessie said thoughtfully. “The cartel’s like an octopus, Captain. And if you cut off one of its arms, two grow in its place. But I guess you learned that from my father.”

  “I did, Jessie, when Alex first crossed swords with them, a long time ago.”

  “They’ve gotten bigger since then, and even more vicious. But has this Prosser been able to find many people who are willing to sell?”

  “Not so far. But when his money didn’t get him anywhere, he started talking mean. Now he’s telling everybody that if they don’t sell out, he’s going to bring in lawyers and take their farms and houses away from them.”

  Ki asked, “Surely nobody believes such an unlikely story?”

  “Some of them don’t think it’s all that unlikely, Ki.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s sort of my fault, I guess,” Tinker frowned.

  “We need to know everything you can tell us,” Jessie said. “What does Prosser say he’ll do to make good on his threats?”

  “That goes back quite a ways,” the Captain began, his voice showing his reluctance. “I wasn’t in very good shape when your father gave me this valley, Jessie. My leg was giving me hell. It’s gotten better over the years—”

  Jessie interrupted to say, “I know about your wound, and how you got it, Captain. I have all of father’s diaries. I read about the fight, and in a later diary there was an entry that Father had given you the land here.”

  “Did it say anything about a deed?”

  After she’d thought for a moment, Jessie replied, “Yes, I’m sure the diary mentioned a deed. Why?”

  “Because there’s not any record of it at the courthouse, and unless I can prove the land was mine to sell or give away, the folks I sold it to can’t lawfully claim it.”

  “Why, that’s nonsense!” Jessie exclaimed.

  “Maybe.” The Captain’s tone of voice showed he was not convinced. “Prosser says different. He’s telling everybody that any deed I gave them is worthless unless I can prove I had the right to give it to them.”

  “But when land changes hands, the deed has to be recorded at the courthouse,” Jessie said. “The county clerk has to check the title, to make sure it’s clear. Didn’t you and the people who bought land from you do that?”

  “I told all of them what to do, but I didn’t go to the courthouse with them and make sure they did it. I gave away a lot of land, too. There were some kinfolks who wanted to settle where we could sort of be a family again, and I had a lot more than I’d ever need, so I gave them enough for a house or farm.”

  “And your relatives recorded those deeds too?”

  “I suppose they did. I told them to. But it’s been a lot of years since I got rid of the last of the land Alex gave me, and the new county clerk says he can’t find any records that the deeds were ever filed.”

  Ki said, “It smells to me like the cartel began buying the county officials even before they broke the news about the railroad being built.”

  “You may be right, Ki,” the Captain agreed. “It’s been my experience that people will do almost anything if they get paid enough to make it worth their while.”

  “But you can give them another deed now,” Jessie suggested. “I’m sure there’s no law against that.”

  “Except that I’ve got to prove I owned the land to begin with,” Tinker reminded her.

  “Well, that’s not going to be hard to do,” Jessie told him cheerfully. “Somewhere there’s certainly an official record that my father owned this land, and if your original deed was lost, I can give you one, as his heir.”

  “Jessie, I’ve learned something about these folks here in Hidden Valley,” Tinker said. “Most of them never owned any land before, and there’s not many of them ever had anything to do with the law. Well, take me. I know sea law, but it’s simple and easy to understand, because there’s not any lawyers on a ship to mix folks up with fancy language that nobody but another lawyer can figure out.”

  “Perhaps I can help you make the Hidden Valley people understand things like land deeds and transfers,” Jessie suggested.

  “I imagine you can,” the old man told her. “Like I just told you, they’re tired of listening to me. Even some of my kinfolks think I’m just a bossy old codger. But a minute ago you said something about the cartel being like an octopus. Their other arms have been busy too. They’re not depending on using just the law in this fight.”

  “You mean they’re planning to force the passes?” Ki asked.

  “They might be, Ki. I can’t say for sure,” Tinker replied. “It’s the town I’ve got in mind. I could tell from the way you hushed up Bobby at the table that he didn’t tell all there was to know about that fracas you had at the saloon on the way here.”

  “That was just a brush with a couple of drunken rowdies,” Jessie said. “There were more pleasant things to talk about during dinner.”

  “I’ll grant you that. But I’m concerned about what’s been going on at that saloon.”

  “Why? It’s not any different from any other saloon, is it?”

  “It was better than most until a few weeks ago,” the Captain said. “Old John Litzman owned it before that. Everybody called him Dutch John. He was one of the first ones to come to the valley, and he was a good man, ran a nice, clean, orderly saloon where you could go in for a drink or two and meet your friends and talk.” Tinker shook his head sadly. “It’s not like that anymore.”

  “You mean Litzman’s changed?” Jessie asked.

  “He sold out. Didn’t say a word to anybody, just up anchor and left, overnight.”

  “Didn’t he tell anyone he was selling out?”

  “Not even me, and I sold him the land he built the place on, when the town was just a pup.”

  “Are you sure the cartel bought it?”

  “Look at it from their side, Jessie,” Tinker said. “They’d need a headquarters in town here. Where could they find one that suited them better?”

  “But you’re not sure?”

  “If I was still a gambling man, like I was when I was young, I’d lay you any amount you’d care to put up that they either offered Dutch John so much money that he couldn’t turn it down, or they threatened to kill him if he didn’t sell to them.”

  Jessie said, “And all the changes have taken place since the new owners took the place over?”

  “They sure have,” Tinker said emphatically. He tugged at his beard thoughtfully, then went on, “You know, Jessie, I used to to be a pretty good rounder when I was a young fellow, just going to sea. I’ve been in all kinds of waterfront dives in most any port you’d care to name, and I can smell a bad one and a crooked one the minute I push through the batwings.”

  “Yes. I’d imagine you’ve seen just about all kinds,” Jessie agreed. “And Dutch John’s is a bad one now?”

  “It’s got the smell, just in the short time since he left. Dutch never allowed a woman through his door, never had a card game going, and he’d close down about ten o‘clock at night. But as soon as the woman took charge of the place, all that changed.”

  “A woman’s running the saloon?” Ki asked.

  “She sure is.” The Captain snorted, a mixture of anger and disgust. “I guess her name’s Cherry, only she’s French ified it and calls herself Cheri.” He exaggerated the pronunciation, stressing the accent on the second syllable.

  “I get the idea that the changes she’s made weren’t for the better,” Ki went on.

  Tinker snorted again. “Better! The place is full of the kind of riffraff that gave you trouble. Most of them are plug uglies from God knows where. And that Cherry’s brought in floozies and gambling layouts and she keeps th
e place open around the clock.”

  “Well, Jessie,” Ki said, “it looks like we’ve each got a job to do. You can work with the Captain and try to find out what’s going on at the courthouse, and I’ll spend my time at the saloon and see what I can learn there.”

  “That could be dangerous, Ki,” Tinker said. “Those two men you had that run-in with are sure to recognize you.”

  “I can look after myself, Captain. Don’t worry.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind walking into a lion’s cage, it’ll keep you busy while Jessie’s helping me get the mess about the land titles unraveled,” Tinker said thoughtfully. He looked at Jessie. “You’ve had a long, hard trip, all the way from Texas. I imagine you’ll want to rest up a few days?”

  Jessie and Ki exchanged smiles, and Jessie said, “Ki and I are used to traveling, Captain. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll overcome the lead the cartel seems to have on us. If it’s all right with you, let’s begin tomorrow.”

  Chapter 6

  Jessie had not expected to have a red carpet rolled out by the county officials when she and Captain Tinker told them what they’d come to do, but she hadn’t expected the almost open hostility they encountered.

  Zeke Carter, the wizened little county clerk, stared at them with almost colorless blue eyes when he heard their request to examine the land deeds.

  “You tell me what deed you wanta look at,” he said. “I’ll get it for you.”

  “You don’t seem to understand, Zeke,” the Captain told the man. “We want to look at all the deeds you’ve got on file.”

  “I never heard of such a thing! I can’t have outsiders messing up my files and books!” Carter protested.

  “I guess I better go see Judge Halstead, then,” Tinker told the clerk. “He’ll read the law to you.”

  “You can‘t,” Zeke smirked. “The judge is in San Francisco. He won’t be back for another week or two.”

  A chair scraped in the room across the hall, and a pudgy man with a sheriff’s badge pinned on his blue shirt appeared in the doorway. He looked at Jessie and Tinker, and asked the clerk, “You having trouble, Zeke?”

  “Oh, Cap’n Bob and this lady wanta look at some deeds, and I been trying to tell ‘em why they can’t,” Carter whined.

  “You say the word,” the sheriff began, “and I‘ll—”

  “You’ll do nothing, Ed Kinsell!” Tinker snapped. “You know the law about public records, and we do too! They’re open to any taxpayer who wants to look at them!”

  Kinsell hesitated a moment, then told Carter, “I guess you got to let ‘em look, Zeke. Cap’n Bob’s right.”

  Carter nodded slowly. “All right,” he told the Captain. “You can look at the books up here. We ain’t got room to keep everything in the little office, though. The deeds are stored down in the basement.”

  Ki saw Captain Tinker’s buggy in front of the courthouse as he crossed the square. He thought of Jessie, who must now be digging into dusty records in some storage room and felt a touch of sympathy for her. Then, as he walked on and saw the saloon ahead, Ki wondered if his sympathy might not be better saved for himself.

  Today there were no loungers in front of the saloon, and when Ki pushed through the batwings he was surprised to see that the place was empty. Except for an aproned barkeep who stood with his back to the cavernous room, polishing glasses at the backbar, Ki was the saloon’s only occupant.

  For a moment the barkeep watched Ki in the backbar mirror, and a puzzled frown formed on his face, growing deeper as the man’s eyes studied Ki’s loose blouse, worn black leather vest, unpressed trousers, and black cotton slippers with rope soles. Ki suppressed the smile that twitched his lips. The barkeep was not the first to be baffled by Ki’s unorthodox clothing.

  Unhurriedly, the man finished wiping the glass, placed it on the backbar shelf, and stepped up to the bar. When he turned to face Ki directly for the first time, his eyes grew wide.

  Before the barkeep could speak, Ki put a cartwheel on the bar and said, “Beer, please. And draw one for yourself.”

  “Thanks just the same. I got a long night ahead, but if you’re in a treating mood, I’ll have a cigar.”

  Ki nodded, and watched the barkeep inspecting him in the backbar mirror while he filled a big-footed glass stein at the beer taps. He took a cigar from one of the boxes above the till and held it for Ki to see, then tucked it in his vest pocket.

  “I’ll smoke it later, I just finished one,” the barkeep said, wiping the bottom of the heavy stein on his apron before putting it on the bar in front of Ki.

  Ki nodded again. He knew “later” meant that the cigar would be returned to the box and its price taken from the till and put in the man’s pocket. The barkeep took the silver dollar to the till, returned, and put on the bar in front of Ki a half-dollar, a twenty-five-cent piece, a dime, and a nickel. When Ki did not pick up either the beer or the change, the man could restrain his curiosity no longer.

  “Say, ain’t you the one that wiped up on Jug and Slip when they tried to get fresh with your wife yesterday?” he asked.

  “I punished a hooligan. But the lady is not my wife. I work for her.”

  “That right? Well, all anybody talked about in here last night was the Chinese fellow that put Jug down.”

  “I happen to be Japanese,” Ki said quietly.

  “Sorry, I was just telling you what they said.”

  “I’m not offended. Many people make the same mistake.”

  “Everybody was wondering how in hell you could handle Jug.”

  Ki shrugged and said, “It was not hard.” Then, looking for information as well as changing the subject, he asked, “Did you work here when Dutch John owned the saloon?”

  “No. Cheri hired me.”

  “Did Cheri buy the place from Dutch John?”

  “No, she just manages it. Funny, I was keeping the bar at the New Ophir in Virginia City, and Cheri was dealing faro. We knew each other, sure, but not all that good, and I was the most surprised man in the world when she got the job of running this place here. She just came up to me and said, ‘Mort, I need somebody I can trust. I’ll give you ten a week more than you get here if you’ll come along with me.’ So I did.”

  “Then you’re not acquainted with the new owner?”

  “I wouldn’t know him if I saw him, don’t know his name or anything about him. Why?” Mort looked pointedly at Ki’s loose blouse and went on, “You ain’t dressed like it, but if you’re a whiskey drummer or some other kind of peddler, Cheri’s the one you need to talk to. When I said she runs the place, I meant it. She might not own it, but she’s the boss.”

  “What time does she usually get in?”

  “She oughta be showing up pretty soon now. The bank closes in another hour or so, and she’s got to carry last night’s take down there and get the change we need for tonight.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait for her. But don’t let me keep you from your work. I’ll call you when I want more beer.”

  “You do that. Cheri’ll be here pretty soon.”

  Mort moved down to the other end of the bar and opened the door of a closet. He loaded one of his arms with unopened bottles of whiskey and began replenishing the backbar stock. He’d worked his way well along the length of the bar, and Ki had half-emptied his glass when the back door opened and a woman came in.

  She glanced only casually at Ki. From the businesslike way she moved, and the air of authority she carried, Ki was as certain as though he’d been introduced that she was Cheri. He had not gotten a clear view of her face when she first came in, for she’d passed him too quickly as she went to the bar. When she turned to face the backbar mirror, and Ki could see her face, he almost gaped with surprise. Cheri’s eyes were almost as almond-shaped as his own.

  Ki lifted his stein to make his stare less obvious while he studied Cheri’s face. The Oriental cast of her features was not as pronounced as his, and he guessed that she was either of the same mixt
ure of Oriental and Caucasian blood as himself, or of old-line Hawaiian ancestry.

  Cheri was a big woman, not fat, but generously and symmetrically proportioned. Her coloring was vivid, her features bold. She stood taller than Ki, her height emphasized by the pouf of raven-black hair that arced above her high forehead. Thin black eyebrows ran in almost straight lines above her large brown eyes. Her cheekbones were high-boned, and Ki’s keen eyes could tell that their ruddiness was not from a cosmetic jar, but was natural. Her nose was out of character with her face; it was aquiline, thin, and looked a trifle overlong, tapering boldly above full, pouting lips and a firm, rounded chin.

  Cheri wore a shawl, and as she stood talking with the barkeep, she shrugged to let it drape loosely down her back and show the smooth skin of her shoulders. The dress that was revealed when the shawl fell away was cut fashionably low, its neckline swooping in a semicircle to display the twin swells of bulging breasts and the rosy vee between them. Ki tried to guess how old she was, but could not; with her tautly smooth skin, she could have been any age from her mid-twenties to her late thirties.

  Cheri’s talk with Mort was brief, and Ki was sure the barkeep had told her of his questions, for several times her eyes flicked quickly over him in the mirror. After a few moments, Cheri nodded briskly and started toward Ki’s end of the bar, Mort following her on the other side of the mahogany.

  Ki had used his beer glass as a shield for his observation, holding it tilted to his mouth while he kept his eyes on the mirror, and it was empty except for a film of clinging suds. He set it down. Both the barkeep and Cheri stopped just before they reached Ki. Mort opened the drawer of the till, took out a canvas sack, and handed it to her. She turned to face Ki.

  “I’m Cheri,” she said. Her voice gave Ki no clue to her origin. It was full and deep, a rich contralto.

  “My name is Ki.”

  “Mort says you want to talk to me.”

  “If you can spare the time,” Ki replied.

  “I can’t right now, I’ve got to get to the bank. If you’d like to wait for me, I’ll be back in about five minutes.”