by Jake Logan
Fingers curling around an exposed beam allowed him to drag himself up to the roof. Flat on his belly, he swung around and looked back down at the ground, expecting the outlaws to come from either side of the house. When neither showed up, he knew he had done the right thing not going into the house. He carefully made his way to the front of the house and saw both men, guns ready, at the front door.
They exchanged looks, one shrugged, then the one with the shotgun kicked in the door and fired. If Slocum had tried to escape by going through the window and the house, he would have been cut in half by the double-barreled blast.
“Where the hell did he go? He’s not in here!”
The one he had shot through the leg was smarter than his partner. He stepped back and looked up to the roof. Slocum squeezed off a single shot that took the man’s life.
“What happened?” the man inside shouted and came running out, looking down at his dead partner. His mind worked more slowly, but finally he came up with the right answer. Before he could swing around, Slocum called down to him.
“Move a muscle and you’ll go into the grave next to him.”
“You’re not gonna shoot me in the back, are you? You don’t have the guts.” He tossed his shotgun to the ground. Slocum cocked his six-shooter and waited for what he knew was inevitable.
The outlaw went for his six-gun, drawing, spinning, and trying to locate Slocum on the roof. He was too slow by half. Slocum got off another shot that caused the man simply to sit down on the ground.
“Y-You shot me,” he said numbly.
Slocum dropped to the ground, experienced a flash of pain in his wounded side, then batted the outlaw’s gun from his nerveless hand.
“Where’s the palace?”
“Wha’? I’m dyin’.”
“Where’s your rendezvous? Where’s the palace? Is it someplace you agreed on? Is that a code word?”
“Sh-Shot me.” The outlaw tumbled to his side, dead.
Slocum stood and knew he had been too hasty—and too accurate. He should have left one of them alive to find out where the other two had taken the coins.
12
Slocum didn’t want to go into the restaurant. It was too ritzy for the way he was dressed—and that didn’t even take into account how he was caked with mud from wrestling around on the creek bank. He saw Elena and Pullman in the front window, obviously arguing. Figuring out their relationship proved harder for him than he had thought.
Josiah Pullman was prickly, dressed funny, and had no sense of humor that Slocum could find. He would be better suited to working as an accountant than as a field agent for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. That he was Elena’s superior didn’t surprise Slocum unduly since he thought she was on her first big case. From the hints she’d dropped, a lot of promises had been made so she could come to Denver to hunt down the counterfeiters. A woman working as a detective was something new to him, but he had come across a bounty hunter once who’d been tougher than nails but cleaned up mighty fine and even proved gracious. Slocum grinned crookedly, thinking of that bounty hunter and how she had been about as determined as Elena.
Elena Warburton would make a fine detective, but this mission wasn’t going to be what she expected. Pullman would take credit for success and blame her for failure. The fly in the ointment for the man was John Slocum. All Slocum wanted was a reward, not credit with Robert Pinkerton or his father.
Slocum brushed off as much of the mud as he could, then went to the window and tapped lightly. The two were arguing so vehemently they didn’t hear him at first. When Pullman noticed him, the man shot to his feet, knocking over his chair. He reached for the pistol in his poorly disguised shoulder rig, then settled down when he became the center of attention inside the restaurant.
Elena put her linen napkin over her lips to hide the broad grin. Whatever she said to Pullman made the man even more furious. He grabbed his chair and set it upright, then stormed away. Slocum went to the restaurant’s front door and waited.
“What do you mean, frightening me like that? Look at you, man! You’re filthy! I’ve seen street beggars with better hygiene.”
“I shot three of them, but two others got away with the real coins,” Slocum said.
“That’s terrible, John,” Elena said, pushing past Pullman. “Are you all right?”
“They’re dead, I’m not,” he said. “I don’t know any way to track down the two with the gold.”
“If you hadn’t been so kill crazy, you could have captured one of the other miscreants and questioned him. I am quite expert and could have extracted what we need to know.”
“Mr. Pullman’s speciality is interrogation,” Elena piped up.
“I don’t care if you cut off their eyelids so they’d go blind staring at the sun, staked them out on an anthill, and then started torturing them Apache-style, you wouldn’t have gotten anything out of these owlhoots.” Slocum saw Pullman recoil.
“You are truly a barbarian.”
“You’ve never come across an Apache with a grudge.” Slocum glared at Pullman, then knew he had only two paths open to him. He could simply walk away, get on his horse, and ride hard to put distance between him and the two Pinkertons, or he could find the counterfeiters.
“Did they say anything that might have hinted where they were headed?” Elena pushed past Pullman and stepped into the street to stand beside Slocum. “Anything. It might be important.”
“Sir, you must pay,” a waiter said, putting a strong hand on Pullman’s shoulder so he couldn’t bolt.
“In a moment. I have business.”
“Pay up or I’ll call the police.”
Slocum saw Pullman wince as the waiter squeezed harder, finding a nerve to press.
“Oh, do as he says, Josiah,” Elena said. “It’ll be all right.”
The waiter dragged Pullman back into the restaurant, leaving Slocum and Elena alone.
“One called out to meet at the palace. That doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Elena pursed her lips as she thought hard.
“I don’t know what that might mean either. They must have fortified some spot but without any other clue . . .” She looked up as Pullman stormed out.
“He overcharged me! And the food wasn’t that good. See if I ever come here again!”
“Maybe you should eat at the palace,” Slocum said.
“You’re right, Slocum. For once, you are right. Perhaps I misjudged you and your tastes.”
“How’s that, Mr. Pullman?” Elena looked from Slocum to Pullman.
“The Brown Palace has a far better restaurant.”
“The Brown Palace is where the ranchers stay when they come to Denver,” Slocum said, mentally kicking himself for not realizing earlier this had to be what the counterfeiters meant. They had all the money in the world. Staying at a fancy hotel would be easy enough, and they could even get a porter to carry the twenty thousand dollars in gold coins for them to a suite.
“I’ve never heard of it,” Elena said apologetically.
“Oh, you’ll learn the lay of the land if you remain here long enough,” Pullman said, patting her arm. “But this begs the question. Where did the crooks get off to?”
“Elena says you’re a master of disguise,” Slocum said. The man puffed himself up with self-importance. “Why not make the rounds of the saloons posing as a gold miner? Let it be known you have a strike in the Front Range, but it’s not too big.”
“To what effect?”
“You don’t want a cutthroat killing you for the gold, but the counterfeiters need a source of gold to coat their fake coins. Where better to get the gold than a low-producing mine? The owner would be eager to sell, but nobody else would pay a plugged nickel since it’s not producing that much gold.”
“A splendid idea, Slocum. You have quite a head for the confidence game. I suppose that is only to be expected, considering your background. Yes, a disguise.” Pullman went off muttering to himself about how he would fashion his
disguise.
“He wants to be like Allan Pinkerton. Mr. Pinkerton caught a crook by donning a disguise. That’s what began our company.”
Slocum waited until Pullman was out of earshot, then said, “Where’s the Brown Palace? You’re dressed for a hotel that sounds that fancy.”
“And you’re definitely not,” Elena said, laughing. She looked from Slocum to the corner of the street where Pullman had vanished.
“You don’t need him,” Slocum said.
“If you weren’t able to deal with the two counterfeiters who escaped, I’m not sure I can.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Slocum said. “You tracked them to Leadville, didn’t you? You are a good shot.” He reached out and tugged at the purse she held. “And this is what you want to do for a job.”
“You really shot three of them?” Elena saw the answer in his grim expression. “I might have to shoot the other two since you won’t be there to assist.”
Slocum started walking and gave Elena subtle clues, shifting when they came to an intersection so she would instinctively follow, head where he looked, and respond when he tensed as they passed a restaurant and saw a five-story building with fancy stained glass windows.
“You knew the way here,” she said.
“More to the point, how do we find out if they are even here? They might have meant something else.” Slocum knew deep in his gut this was the “palace” the counterfeiters had named as their rendezvous. If it wasn’t, they had to depend on Josiah Pullman actually discovering something by listening to drunks in saloons around town.
“We wait. We stake it out.”
“To see if they go into the hotel?” Slocum shook his head. “I didn’t get a good enough look at the two.”
“You spoke of one having a distinctive scar on his face.”
“The one I saw in Leadville,” he said. “None of the men I shot at the house looked like him. It’s a long shot but worth taking.”
They stood pressed against the restaurant wall across the street for some time, but the number of guests entering or leaving was small.
“How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Elena asked.
“You’re the detective,” he said. Then it occurred to him why so few hotel guests came out. “I saw their horses. I can identify the horses they rode, even if I never got a good look at the men’s faces.”
His long strides took him across the street, but he didn’t enter the lobby. Instead, he followed the cobblestone walk to the rear of the hotel, where a livery stable had been built for the guests. A slow smile came to his lips. If the counterfeiters were in the hotel, they would have stabled their horses here and used the rear entrance. He and Elena would have waited till hell froze over to spot them.
Two dozen horses were stabled here. Slocum walked slowly down the stalls and stopped when he got to one holding a gray with distinctive black markings on its rump. He started to enter the stall to rummage through the tack stored at the front when a loud voice demanded to know what he was doing.
Slocum backed away and faced a well-dressed man.
“This is a fine-looking horse,” Slocum said. “I’ve an interest in buying it from the owner.”
“Looked like you was gonna steal the horse.” The stableman pulled back his coat and showed a six-shooter holstered at his hip. “Nobody steals a Brown Palace guest’s horse. Nobody.”
“He was telling the truth, sir,” Elena said, hurrying over. She smiled sweetly and looked just a little flustered. “It’s that, well, my father has a great interest in horses of this marking and my ranch hand here was kind enough to accompany me here to look for a remuda.”
“You want more than one gray?”
“My father owns a quarter-million-acre spread in Wyoming. He has this wild notion that raising such horses will further add to the family fortune.”
“I tried to argue him into raising Appaloosas, but he wouldn’t have any of it,” Slocum said.
“Arabians are good horses, too,” the stableman said.
Slocum and the man began discussing the finer points of raising horses. More than once the man looked at Elena as if judging the truth of what she said. He finally came to a conclusion.
“You know your horseflesh,” he decided, “but this is a guest’s horse and you’ll have to talk to him about selling. He might be willing, but I doubt it.”
“Why’s that?” Elena asked innocently.
“He’s riding the horse he wants to ride. The man’s rich, but then most who stay at the hotel are.” He fished in his pocket and held up a double eagle. “Gave me this to look after his horse and gear.”
“His partner’s, too?” Slocum asked.
“Yup. That’s his partner’s, but it’s not likely you’d be interested in it. Starting to go lame in the front right leg.”
Slocum and the stableman argued over the type of liniment best suited for such a limp. Slocum looked up and inclined his head slightly in the direction of the gray’s stall and the tack stored there. Elena separated herself from the merits of wrapping a leg and came back in a few minutes, smiling.
“The horse is in good hands,” Slocum said, slapping the stableman on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Good night to you both.”
Slocum was sure the man watched Elena as she sashayed out toward the rear door leading into the hotel proper.
“What did you find out?” Slocum asked.
“I took this from his saddlebags.” She held up an ornately carved pipe. “How do we use it to find him?”
“Something like that is special,” Slocum said, thinking. He opened the door into the hotel and immediately was beset by a uniformed employee, who reached out and pushed Slocum back.
“Sorry, sir, guests only.”
“Oh, please,” Elena said, batting her eyelashes at the porter. “I know he is such a sight, but it so very important we find the gentleman who lost this. He came in earlier.”
“What’s that?” the porter asked.
“I found it where he lost it. This young lady saw him come in, but we don’t know his name. He rode the gray back in the stables.”
“Mr. Timmins?”
“Or the man with him,” Elena said quickly. Slocum saw how she angled to get more information but it wasn’t forthcoming.
“I can give it to him.”
“That would be all right,” Elena said, “but this gentleman deserves a reward. You can see the lengths he has gone to retrieving the pipe.”
“I’ll pass it along,” the porter said.
“I want to talk to the manager,” Slocum demanded. The subtle change in the porter’s expression told him he had hit the target.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Slocum knew the manager would keep any reward and not pass anything along to the porter, just as the man sought to do Slocum out of his due. If Timmins gave the stableman a double eagle, the counterfeiter probably left a trail of coins in his wake. A reward for a family heirloom such as the pipe might be could amount to a hundred dollars—or more.
“I know the room where he and his partner are staying.”
“Look,” Slocum said. “Let me—let us—come with you. We’ll watch from the end of the hall as you return it, and we’ll split any reward.”
The porter still thought hard on a way to keep all the reward but half was better than none. Slocum wondered if the porter played poker and was adept at palming cards and dealing seconds. If so, whatever was passed over as a reward would vanish into a pocket, with only half reappearing to be divided later.
“The back stairs. Try not to drop too much mud along the way,” the porter said with obvious distaste. Most of his clients were well heeled and impeccably dressed. As they climbed to the top floor, Slocum guessed these stairs were used more for whores than hotel guests. A lingering scent of cheap perfume confirmed his guess.
The porter pushed Slocum back.
“Wait here. The room’s halfway down the corridor.”
>
Slocum and Elena watched as the porter knocked. Words were exchanged, then Timmins—or his partner—passed over a few gold coins. As Slocum expected, the porter turned and some of them disappeared into vest pockets. He walked briskly back and held out a single twenty-dollar gold piece.
“Your half.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said. “We’ll let you be.”
Elena tugged at his arm, but he motioned her to silence. They reached the bottom of the stairs, where the porter saw them out into the walkway to the stables. Barely had they stepped out when the room clerk rang for the porter.
Slocum and Elena slid back in and up the stairwell the instant the man’s attention was directed away from them.
“He was a thief! Why, he was given at least three gold eagles!”
“We’re still ahead twenty dollars,” Slocum said, drawing his pistol.
“Oh, no we are not! That coin belongs to the Leadville Bank!”
Slocum motioned her to silence again as he rapped on the door.
“Whosit?”
“Porter, sir,” Slocum said in a low voice. “I found part of the pipe that was broken off.”
“What? There was something broken off?” Timmins opened the door wide enough for Slocum to kick it open and bring the Colt swinging down on the top of his head. Timmins stumbled backward and crashed to the floor.
The other man in the room looked up, went for his pistol on a table. He froze when he realized Slocum had the drop on him.
“Where’re the gold coins?”
The man’s eyes darted toward a wardrobe. Elena caught the glance, too, and hurried to open the door.
“Two bags, John. We’ve recovered the gold.”
“Good,” he said, stepping forward, only to feel his foot yanked out from under him. Timmins had recovered and fought back. Slocum crashed to the ground, then wrestled with the counterfeiter, struggling to roll on top of him since his six-gun had been knocked from his hand.
A muffled shot sounded, startling both Slocum and Timmins. Slocum looked up and saw that Elena had shot the other counterfeiter when he’d tried to grab her. With her pistol shoved into the man’s leg, there had been only a dull fwap! report as the bullet tore through his flesh.