“Si, I know.”
“She was nice enough. About what you’d expect from a fine young lady like that. After all, that was a long time ago. I never even held her hand.”
“Maybe that was the trouble, amigo. You did not try, even?”
“Tell you the truth, I was kind of scared of her. She was eastern, looked eastern, anyway, and here I was just a cowhand-”
Pablo was amused. “A cowhand, si. But you madre owns one of the finest ranches anywhere around. You are far from a simple cowboy, amigo.”
Lazing by the fire, drinking coffee, I told him all that happened down below, and as I repeated it to him I began to be bothered by it. I sat up and added sticks to the fire, worrying with it a little and thinking. The fire blazed up and I added some sticks. Come to think of it they had been mighty anxious to get rid of me, and when something fell in that other room, they all jumped as if they were shot. What was going on, anyway? Well, it was none of my business. I had troubles enough.
“You get some sleep,” I said to Pablo, “and I’ll do the same.”
Tomorrow, with luck, I could get him down to town. I stretched out on the leaves, a saddle-blanket around my shoulders and my head on the saddle. Looking up through the trees I could see St. Charles Peak looming above us. Nearly twelve thousand feet, somebody had said.
Odd, a girl like Anne living in Fisher’s Hole. Last place on earth you’d expect to find a girl like that. Mr. Eyebrows now, I didn’t like him very much. He’d have shot me for a plugged two-bit piece.
What was wrong down there, anyway?
In the middle of the night I awakened and added some fuel to the fire, then lay back and listened into the night. There was nothing, nothing at all. Yet something was worrying me beyond the usual.
Shaking it off, I went over what I knew and what I had to do.
There were bright stars overhead and wind talking softly through the pines; higher on the slopes of the peak were the ragged battalions of spruce, harried by wind.
Mentally I roamed through those dark forests trying to find a solution to my problems.
Perhaps I was attempting too much. Possibly it was beyond my skills to find such a girl through such a maze of detail. Somewhere I fell asleep and awakened in the morning resolved to continue. After all, I did not have to build a case, all I had to do was find one girl and I’d be finished, and girls were not that many in that country at the time.
Stop worrying about details and simply find the girl, that was what I told myself.
What difference did it make that the motives of Henry, Topp, the men who killed Tut, and all the rest were obscure?
“We’re riding into town, Pablo,” I said. “I’ve got to get you where you can rest and recuperate. Then I’m going to find that girl and wind this thing up.”
We hit the trail before daybreak and came down off the mountain at a good speed, then turned east toward town. We switched horses several times but rode into town and pulled up at Maggie’s.
German came out as I was helping Pablo from the saddle. “Got word for you, boy,” he said. “Come on in.”
“All right, but I’ve got to find a place to let Pablo bed down.”
“I have friends,” the Mexican said. “They will come for me and care for me.”
How they got the word I do not know, but within minutes several Mexican friends were there to get Pablo back in the saddle and off to the Mexican shacks at the end of town.
“That railroad man Kibble,” German said, “he brought this for you.”
Taking the letter, I dropped into a chair. German waited, wanting to talk. “Something else,” he said, “I’ve got to talk to you.”
There were half a dozen people in the restaurant, and one of them was Topp. “All right,” I said, “in a minute.”
He hesitated, then walked off to the kitchen and after a minute brought me some coffee.
“It’s mighty important!” he whispered.
“I’ve been riding for hours, German,” I said. “Let me catch my wind, at least.”
Reluctantly he went away to the kitchen. Glancing around, I wondered what had become of the Arkansawyer and was tempted to ask John Topp, but he remained his silent, inscrutable self. For a large man he ate piddling amounts, and I had never seen him speak to anyone except to order, nor read a newspaper. Of course, he might do all of those things when I was not around, and probably did.
German brought coffee and I opened the letter. As seemed obvious, it was from Portis.
There was a date but no salutation. He began writing without wasting time.
If you have persisted, as I suspect, in this dangerous project, the following items may be pertinent, The first was a newspaper clipping, but no date indicated.
THE DEATH OF A DREAM
With the death this week of Nathan Albro we see the end of the dream for a Pacific Treasure Express R. R. from Kansas City to Topolobampo, Mexico, from the Mississippi-Missouri to the Gulf of California.
Nathan Albro was the last of the three who planned for this to be the first railway to reach the Pacific, not only to provide an easy trans-continental route but to open the mines of northwestern Mexico to development.
A mystery remains: what became of the five million in gold Albro was rumored to have ready to pay for the survey and to begin construction?
The second item was also a very old newspaper clipping:
BIRTHS
A daughter, 6 Ibs. 9 oz., to Mrs. Stacy Hallett. Mrs. Hallett is the widow of Wade Hallett, well-known sporting man, of this city and points west.
For a moment I simply stared. Nancy was not Nathan Albro’s daughter but his stepdaughter!
Stacy had been married before her marriage to Nathan!
Of the projected railroad to the Gulf of California, I knew nothing. Vaguely I recalled some newspaper comment on the subject from several years back, but the westward march of the Union Pacific had relegated it to the category of unfulfilled projects.
The dream of building such a railroad had evidently been discarded when the Union Pacific was completed, but what of the five million?
No doubt in time the idea of the railroad would be revived, for the idea was a good one even though the completion of the U. P. had taken the edge from the project.
Had the survey been made? Had preliminary work been done and the five million spent? What property, if any, had the, Pacific Treasure Express owned?
It was high’ time I examined that notebook and the other letters. So much had been happening that I had almost forgotten them.’
Topp suddenly arose and, leaving a silver dollar on his table, went outside. He stopped when he closed the door, evidently scanning the street. Why had he left so quickly? Was something happening that I missed? It was the first abrupt movement I’d seen him make.
From where I sat I could see nothing of the street. Almost: involuntarily, I glanced up at the window where I had seen the movement. The curtain hung still, although the window was now open a crack at the bottom.
German Schafer came in, drying his hands on his apron. “Talon, you’ve got to listen!
Molly’s gone!” It took me a moment to grasp what he was saying. My mind had been so intent on what might be happening in the street. I glanced again at the window. It was closed.
Because Topp had left? Why?
“What do you mean? She’s gone where?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know. You know how she is, conscientious and hard-working.
Well, she never showed up for work yesterday afternoon. I figured she might be ailing, but when she didn’t come in this morning-
“Talon, I’m worried. She’s been scared, we both know that, but something’s happened.”
“I’ll check her room, German. You hold the fort and listen. You might overhear something.
People do talk, you know.”
I thought about it. “Any strangers in town?”
“None as I know of. Yes, come to think of it, there was a yo
ung woman came in here.
A mighty pretty one. She seemed to know Molly and they talked a bit, but Molly was saying no to something. I heard that much.”
“That was yesterday?”
“Yesterday morning, early. Then Molly never came back for dinner.”
Glancing again at the window, I slipped the thong from my six-shooter. “All right, I’ll have a look.”
Stepping to the door, I glanced up and down the street, then went back to the hotel and went up the stairs three at a time. Walking along the hall, I stopped at her door and knocked. There was no reply. I turned the knob and stepped in, closing the door behind me.
The bed had not been slept in although it appeared that somebody had sat on it briefly.
There was no sign of disturbance of any kind. I looked around and then noticed that the smaller bag she’d owned, which I’d once seen, was missing.
A moment later, I glanced into the hall. It was empty. Slipping out, I closed her door behind me and went on to my room. Stepping in, I closed the door behind me and propped the chair under the knob.
Quickly, I glanced around. Crossing the room, I opened the wardrobe and glanced in.
My few clothes hung as they had been … no, not quite.
A coat had been rehung and in the wrong place. It was a heavier coat I kept for colder weather and I always hung it in back in the corner because I rarely wore it and wanted it out of the way. It was now hung right in front. It was also hung in such a way as to face the opening wardrobe door.
Carelessness? Or an attempt to catch my attention?
Taking down the coat, I went through the pockets. In the second pocket I found the note, hastily scrawled.
… Please! Help me! They are in my room now. I shall try to get past them but I doubt if I can. If I can, I’ll go to^
Maggie’s. I saw them, on the street this morning and came to my room to get something before they found it. I am’* hiding it here, now. If I can get to Mr. Schafer I will be safe.
Molly.
But she did not make it. Probably she wanted to tiptoe past| them and they would have heard her and looked out.
Why had she not stayed right here? She could have put a chair under the knob and stayed right here. She may not have thought of the chair, and she may not have wanted to let them know there was another place to search. Now she was a prisoner, or dead. But a prisoner of whom? If killed, killed by whom?”
Suddenly I thought of the something that dropped in the room at Anne’s house. But that was nonsense. Anne knew nothing about this and had no hand in it. I doubted if she even knew such people as Albro, Henry, and their kind even existed.
Baggott? An unlikely kidnapper. Topp? Just maybe. But more likely those others, Bolter and his lot, who had wounded Pablo and come after me. But why? Who were they working for?
Chapter Fifteen.
She had been taken away, but taken where? And by whom? In a town of this size somebody must have seen her go. She had to be taken on horseback or in a rig of some kind.
The railroad? Unlikely, although possible, and certainly easy to check.
The clerk was at the desk when I came into the lobby. “Miss Fletcher? Ain’t seen her today. She went out yesterday morning.
“Odd, too, because she never even said goodbye and she usually speaks. Mighty pleasant young woman since she went to work down at Maggie’s. Before that, well, she looked scared.”
“She bought a piece of Maggie’s,” I told him, “a one-third interest.”
“You don’t say!” I had known he would be impressed and probably more helpful. “Well, don’t that beat all!”
“Who did she leave with? Or was she alone?”
“Alone? No, she went out with some folks who came lookin’ for her. Two men came in to ask for her, but I seen a woman in the rig. Looked like a young woman.
“Those fellers, they went upstairs to meet her, said they was expected. I offered to call her for them but they said they’d get her, that she’d probably have an overnight bag or something.
“I asked if she’d be checkin’ out but they said no, that she’d just be out overnight.”
“You saw them go out?”
“Sure. Walked right by me. First time she ever went out without speakin’, too. Surprised me, that did. Wasn’t like her. But she was excited, seem’ her friends like that.”
“That rig now, was it a buckboard?”
“No, a small covered wagon. Not like they crossed the plains with, but covered. She got into the back of it.”
“Did you happen to notice the brands on the stock?”
“No, I surely didn’t. Not that I recall. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”
He seemed to like Molly Fletcher and he might be a help. “Yes,” I said, “I am afraid there is. Molly had no plans to leave, and they were expecting her at Maggie’s. I think something is very wrong.”
The clerk raised his eyebrows. “Kidnappin? Somethin’ like that?”
“Something like that,” I agreed. “If you see her again, let me know. Or if you ever see any of those men who were with her.” I turned around as I started to leave. “Did you know either of them?”
“Strangers. Never saw them before. That wagon, though. I’ve seen it. Just can’t remember when, but I’ve seen it.”
“You try to recall, will you? I’m going to talk to German.”
Topp had left in a hurry. Had he seen something? But that was today, and Molly had been taken early yesterday.
Gone … what did Molly know that they needed to know? Or were they afraid of her telling something she knew? I remembered her shocked reaction to the pictures and felt at the time she must have known the people in them. Was it shock of recognition?
Or fear? When she had come here was it them she was running away from?
German came from his kitchen the minute I walked in. “Talon? Have you found her?
Is she sick?”
Briefly, I explained. As I explained he dished up some food. “You never et before when you was in. You better have a bite.” He sat down opposite me. “Son, I set store by that girl. She was a mighty fine youngster and I’ve seen a good many here and there. Worked hard, neat as a pin, and a good cook her own self.”
Slowly, partly for my own thinking, I told him about my job, about the girl I was looking for, and about all that had happened since. And at the end I showed him her note.
“She must have seen them out the window or heard them talking,” I said, “and she ducked out of her room and into mine. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there. I think she knew I wasn’t but it was a place to hide. She wrote that note for me and put it in a pocket where she was sure I’d find it but if they came in they would probably take a quick look around and leave. She deliberately hung that coat so I’d see something was amiss.”
“What do they want her for?”
“You got me, but you can bet it’s because she knows something.”
“This here’s serious, Talon. Western folks don’t cotton to those who make trouble for women-folks. If they don’t find what they want they might kill her. You’ve said yourself they killed those folks back in St. Louis and that Tuttle feller.”
“I didn’t say it was them. Only that somebody in this mess-up did it. The fact remains that somebody feels mean enough to kill, so maybe everybody connected with it does.”
Eating gave me time to think, and I was hungry. I took my time because there was no sense in rushing out of here until I had some idea of where to rush to.
Topp … maybe Topp knew something.
So far as I knew, “Jefferson Henry was nowhere around, so that possibility was out of the question. Nor did I know where to find any of the others who were or seemed to be involved.
That wagon! Suppose it was the same wagon that I’d seen over at Larkin’s? The one waiting by the depot? I thought then and still believed they had intended to grab me or the suitcase I was carrying or both. I finished my meal.
“German, p
ut together about three days of grub for me. I’m going to look around a mite and I’ll be back.”
Arkansaw Tom Baggott. No, he would not be in this. Baggott would kill any man he was paid to kill but I didn’t think he would shoot a woman, nor would he be involved in anything of the kind.
Baggott thought no more of killing a man than a buffalo, but he had his own sense of what was decent and what was not. He would kill neither a woman nor a child.
Topp? Topp was associated with Henry and they would have known Molly was here all along. Topp ate in here every day, had a chance to speak to her every day, and had ordered meals from her a dozen times perhaps.
Somebody else, but who?
Bolter? Bolter was merely a gun-hand, riding for somebody who gave the orders. The same was true of Shorty.
Suddenly I remembered the Mexican who had so unexpectedly helped me because I was a friend to Pablo.
He might know something. Anyway, the Mexican end of town knew a great deal that never reached this side of the tracks. It was worth a chance.
The cheap little cantina where I had my trouble with Shorty was open, but the saloon was empty with only the bartender leaning his sweaty, hairy forearms on the bar.
When I came through the door he drew a beer. “On the house,” he said. “I like the way you handle yourself.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You know that Mexican who helped me? I need to talk to him.”
“Felipe? He talks to no one. Leave him alone, amigo, and consider yourself lucky it was you he liked and not those others. Felipe is a bad one, amigo, a very bad one.”
“He is a friend to Pablo.”
“Ah! Who is not? Pablo is another bad one but a good bad one. Very dangerous, that Pablo. Felipe is his friend but he is a friend to no one else.”
For a moment I sipped my beer and then I said, “I think you are a good one.” I smiled.
“Maybe a good bad one.”
He mopped the bar. “A man is what he is.”
“A girl is gone. A good girl, a decent girl. The one who bought part of Maggie’s place.”
“Gone?”
“A wagon came, a sort of covered wagon. There were at least two men and a woman in it, and they took the girl away. She did not wish to go but she knew they would take her.” Taking the note she had left from my pocket, I placed it on the bar. “She found time to leave this for me.”
Milo Talon (1981) Page 11