Bogus Bondsman

by Paul Colt

  The masked woman wheeled her horse and raced away, followed by her partner.

  Longstreet crawled out from under the stage and watched her go. Interesting. He holstered his gun.

  The Wells Fargo man recovered his shotgun as Cane came around the front of the coach. “Much obliged to you two. You saved the company bacon this trip.”

  “The company can send its appreciation in care of the Great Western Detective League, Denver office.”

  “Detectives, I had no idea you boys was aboard. Good thing you were.”

  Cane retrieved his Colt and shoved the Bull Dog in the backup holster at his back. “It ain’t that we don’t appreciate the gratitude, but we’re in kind of a hurry and this stage is late.”

  “Hop in,” the driver said. “We’re on our way.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Santa Fe

  The Denver and Santa Fe stage wheeled into Santa Fe five hours late, too late to make a Butterfield connection to El Paso. That would have to wait until morning. They took rooms at the Palace Hotel over Cane’s “high falutin” objection. Longstreet insisted that after three days of stage fare and two more to come they were due a real bed and a decent meal. The next morning dawned bright, hot, and dry. They made the four-block walk to the Butterfield Stage office. Cane purchased two tickets to El Paso from a clerk wearing garters to hold up his sleeves.

  “We’re holding a telegram for you, Mr. Cane.” He handed the envelope across the counter.

  Cane tore it open.

  Denver

  Second passed in Yuma. Proceed to Tucson.

  —Crook

  He handed it to Longstreet. “Three days, think we can get there in time?”

  “Depends on how fast they’re movin’. It’ll be close, I reckon.”

  They rolled out of Santa Fe an hour later.

  Denver

  The freckle-faced lad on the velocipede rolled up to the Pinkerton office and parked the cycle against a hitch rack. Regular riders wouldn’t appreciate misappropriation of the rack, but the lad reckoned a short stop could do no harm. He wiped sweat from his forehead on a tattered sleeve and bounded up the boardwalk past the window sign proclaiming “The Eye That Never Sleeps.”

  “Telegram for Mr. Kingsley.”

  Kingsley glanced up. “Over here, boy.”

  The lad crossed the office to his desk, squinting into the bright sun streaming through the window behind the big desk.

  Kingsley took the envelope, tossed the lad a quarter, and tore it open without noticing the messenger or his cycle disappear the way they’d come.

  Chicago

  California Harbor Bank of San Diego presented bond for collection.

  —McPharlan

  “Samantha.”

  She left her desk at the summons. Reggie handed her the telegram. She read. “That explains El Paso. They’re going to run the Texas & Pacific.”

  “Rather like double jeopardy, don’t you think?”

  “Double jeopardy?”

  “Yes, using the railroad’s assets to defraud itself. Not terribly sporting I should say.”

  Sporting. Leave it to the English.

  “San Diego is old news, likely Yuma as well. Your next best chance might be Tucson.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Samantha hurried through the front door at midmorning. Maddie set aside the bread dough, wiped her hands on her apron, and stepped into the dining room.

  “What brings you home so early?”

  “I need to pack,” she said over her shoulder as she started up the stairs.

  El Paso. Maddie followed her up the stairs to her room.

  “Will you be gone long?”

  “That’s hard to say. Three weeks, a month, perhaps longer.” She folded a fresh change of undergarments and stuffed them in a worn valise.

  “Where are you going?”

  “El Paso, then on to Tucson.” She added another simple traveling dress and a small matching hat with a veil.

  El Paso, I knew it. “My, my but you people do get around in this business.”

  “Can’t be helped, bad people do bad things wherever they can.” She closed the case, laid a finger aside her chin, and twirled around the room in thought. “Can’t think of anything else at the moment. This will have to do.” She picked up the case and started for the door.

  “Would you like me to pack you a lunch?”

  “That’s very kind of you, Maddie, but I can’t spare the time.”

  She followed her down the stairs to the door.

  “Have a safe journey then and say hello to Beau if you see him.”

  Samantha smiled. I should think more than hello when I see him.

  She was gone.

  Maddie closed the door.

  El Paso, Beau and Samantha gone off to El Paso. Why should I mind? He is what he is. I’ve known from the start. “Miss me while I’m gone,” he says. Fool girl. Might he miss the fool girl? Not bloody likely. “I make him comfortable,” he says. What’s to be made of Samantha’s charms? What sort of comfort comes of that? Why should I mind? He makes me uncomfortable. I do mind. Damn it!

  Santa Fe Trail

  Samantha held a handkerchief to her nose. Two days of eating dust in the company of a drummer and a miner both in desperate need of a washtub and a bath found her desperate for solid ground, fresh air, and a bath of her own. To make matters worse the drummer had a fondness for ogling her with undisguised interest. It almost matched his fondness for the flask he carried in the recesses of his coat. Ordinarily she brushed such things aside, but in the confined discomfort of the coach she had few opportunities to deflect his clumsy attempts to engage her. The window being for all intents and purposes her only avenue of escape, her eyes had grown red-rimmed and irritated by the incessant dust clouds.

  “Whoa there!”

  The stage lurched as the traces slacked and the brake engaged. The driver’s call to the team carried an urgency unfamiliar to a routine rest stop. The miner leaned out his window.

  “Shit! Road agents.” He tried to stuff his poke under the seat.

  The drummer grasped his midsection, undoubtedly the location of his money belt.

  “Everybody out! Throw down your guns.”

  Interesting, that sounds like a woman.

  The miner tossed out an old cap and ball army that might have done its shooter more harm than any intended target. He followed it out the door. The drummer followed him, hands in the air.

  Samantha hesitated, hefted her purse, and opted to play the hand. She went so far as to allow the drummer to help her down, playing the role of her helpless gentle sex. Two masked bandits held the stage, one a rather nondescript man on a bay horse, the other a shapely female with long dark hair and dark eyes to match. She held her gun on the driver.

  “See what them passengers has got to offer.”

  The masked gunman stepped down and wrapped a rein around the right front wheel. He started with the drummer.

  “Hand over the money belt.”

  “What money belt?”

  “You’re a drummer. You deal in cash. Now hand over the money belt before I decide to take it off your corpse.”

  He dropped his hands to his shirt buttons with trembling fingers. He unbuckled the fat purse and slid it around his girth.

  “Drop it and step away.” He gathered the belt and threw it over his shoulder.

  “Now, your poke.” He leveled his .44 at the miner.

  “Ain’t got no poke.”

  The bandit shook his head. “I’m gonna look in that coach. If I find gold, that lie gets you a case of lead poison.” He cocked the gun.

  “I’ll get it.”

  The gun muzzle tracked the miner back to the coach.

  With both bandits occupied, Samantha saw her chance. She drew her pearl-handled .32 pocket pistol from her purse and shot the man in his gun-hand shoulder, effectively disarming him. The shot caused the masked woman’s horse to shy, shaking her gun hand offline. Sam
antha spun into an instant crouch and fired a second shot at the front hooves of the woman’s horse. The horse reared, directing the bandit’s return shot harmlessly into the air. The horse bolted, pitching the woman to the ground with a stunning blow. Samantha stood over her, gun cocked, by the time she could gather her senses.

  “Drop the gun.”

  She did. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Your worst luck, now on your feet.”

  The wounded bandit bent to pick up his dropped gun with his good hand. The miner stepped on the gun with one boot and mule kicked the bandit in the head with the other, sending him reeling over backward.

  The driver recovered his gun and trained it on the woman.

  “Cover her,” Samantha said. She drew handcuffs out of her purse and cuffed the woman’s hands behind her back. “Now, over there beside your partner. C’mon down, driver, and keep an eye on these two while I get my spare cuffs out of my valise.”

  The driver scrambled down from the box, gun in hand, still not believing what had just taken place.

  Samantha found her valise in the boot and retrieved her cuffs. The wounded man staggered to his feet. She fitted him with the cuffs.

  “Easy with them things, I’m shot.”

  “You might have thought about that before you tried holding up this stage. Now, let’s have a look at you.” She pulled the bandana down, exposing a sallow-eyed scowl with a rough shave. She turned to the woman. “Now you.” She unmasked the woman. “Belle Spice, unless I miss my guess. Wells Fargo will be pleased to hear your road agent days are over. Him too if he rides with you.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the woman demanded again.

  “Samantha Maples, Pinkerton Agent.”

  “Well I’ll be.” The driver shook his head.

  “Put these two in the coach.” She turned to the miner. “You up to ridin’ shotgun watch of these two with me?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What about me?” the drummer asked. “With them two inside, there won’t be room for me.”

  Samantha smiled to herself. “Looks like that leaves two choices. Ride one of those horses or up top with the driver.” Either way, I don’t have to look at you the rest of the way to Santa Fe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Santa Fe

  The stage from Denver rolled into town a couple hours late. The stationmaster sent for the sheriff and a doctor at Samantha’s request. She and the old miner waited in the coach with their prisoners until Sheriff Davis Hominy arrived with Deputy Bob Laury.

  “Look what we have here, Belle Spice,” the sheriff said. “We’ve been saving a cell for you for too long now. And it seems they’ve got you trussed up good as a Christmas goose. Attempted robbery, I’d guess.” He glanced at the miner. “You responsible for this?”

  He tossed a nod at Samantha.

  The sheriff registered surprise.

  “Samantha Maples, Pinkerton Agency. I trust you can hold these two while we figure out who has the most pressing claim on them.”

  Hominy recovered his manners and tipped his hat. “Only too happy to oblige, ma’am. Let’s get them out of Wiley’s coach and up to the jail. Wiley, I’ll need a statement from you.”

  The driver nodded.

  The sheriff and his deputy stepped back from the coach. Samantha motioned her prisoners to climb out. She followed the prisoners with a word to the miner.

  “Thanks for your help, Everette.”

  “No trouble a’tall, Miss Maples. I figure we’re all mighty grateful we had you along.”

  The driver nodded. Even the drummer agreed, though he still seemed a bit sour for having to eat dust on the way into Santa Fe.

  “Jail’s just up the street.” The sheriff led the way. Deputy Laury swung in beside Samantha.

  “How’d you manage to subdue these two?”

  “They didn’t pay enough attention to what a woman might do.” She lifted her chin at the back of Belle Spice. “You’d think a woman in her line of work might have more sense than that.”

  “A woman in her line of work ain’t sayin’ much for sense.”

  “Shut up, Maples,” Belle said over her shoulder.

  “Oh, I’ll have my say all right Belle, in court.”

  The sheriff’s office and jail didn’t amount to much. A two-room adobe with three cells in back. Deputy Laury locked Belle in one cell and her accomplice, one Hank Toller, in another.

  “What do I do about privacy in here?” Belle demanded.

  “Use your blanket,” Laury said.

  “How do I stay warm?”

  “Use your blanket.” He closed the office door.

  “Coffee?” The sheriff poured himself a cup at the corner stove.

  “Please.” Samantha smiled.

  “What do you want me to do with them two?”

  “Charge them with attempted stage robbery and hold them. I’m on my way to El Paso on another case. I’ll wire Denver before I catch the Butterfield stage. They should figure out what to do with them by the time I get back.”

  “How long do you figure to be gone?”

  “Hard to say. It depends on the case. A couple weeks to a month if I had to guess.”

  “They’ll be waitin’ when you come back.”

  “If anything changes, I’ll wire you.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  Tucson

  Hot as Hades and these people put Mexican chilies on everything. Cecile could feel perspiration being sucked out of her skin by the dry air even as she stood on a shaded boardwalk. She squinted through shimmering heat waves across Central Avenue to the gold-lettered sign, Tucson Citizens Bank. Desert heat served only to increase her desire to get this infernal operation over with as fast as possible. She had an unshakeable discomfort that the big handsome detective would be on her trail soon enough. By rights he shouldn’t be. Distance and time were on her side this time. They should have been in her favor up north too, but they weren’t. The thirteenth bond might explain it, but for some reason she couldn’t dismiss, she had a strong feeling he would come onto her sooner than expected. She squared her shoulders and crossed the street.

  She stepped up the covered boardwalk to the bank entrance. Inside, the lobby took on a muted glow in contrast to the brilliant white-hot light out on the street. She gave her eyes a moment to adjust as she found the banker at a desk near the vault. She summoned her most disarming charm and crossed the gleaming floor. He looked up and followed her approach.

  “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  She smiled. “I hope so. I’m in need of a letter of credit.”

  “I see. Russell Mason at your service. Please have a seat.”

  She made a show of arranging her dress properly.

  “And what amount are you seeking, Miss . . .”

  “Templar, Cecile Templar. One hundred thousand dollars.”

  He lifted a brow. “That’s a rather large sum. Collateral?”

  She handed a bond across the desk. He studied it.

  “Texas & Pacific, we’re quite familiar with the railroad. We do some of their business locally. This shouldn’t be a problem.”

  She flashed him a fetching smile. “Splendid, when might we conclude a transaction?”

  “I shall need the approval of the board for a transaction of this size. As it happens we are scheduled to meet day after tomorrow. I should think we could arrange the necessary documents in three days’ time.”

  She tried a small pout. “I was hoping for something rather sooner than that.”

  He shrugged. “Bank policy, I’m afraid the matter is out of my hands.”

  Damn. Now what? Take the bond and leave? We’ll never finish this business at this rate. “Then I seem to have no choice but to wait.”

  “I’ll need the bond to prepare the documents. Give me a moment to make out a receipt.”

  The banker hurried up the street to Sheriff Hardy’s office. He found him at his desk.

  “After
noon, Russell. What brings you out in the afternoon heat?”

  “This.” He drew the bond out of his folio and handed it to the sheriff.

  “You suppose this is one of the counterfeits I got the alert on?”

  “That’s hard for me to say. It’s a very good one if it is. If I had to venture a guess, I would say it is. We don’t see Texas & Pacific bearer bonds in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars every day, let alone presented by an attractive woman in need of a letter of credit.”

  “It all fits the pattern Colonel Crook warned us about.”

  “It does indeed.”

  “Where’s the woman now?”

  “I don’t really know. Most likely the hotel. I stalled for board approval. She’s to come back in three days.”

  “Good. I’ll wire Colonel Crook. I expect he’ll want her arrested on suspicion if nothing else.”

  “I hope we’re right. Banks don’t prosper having good customers arrested.”

  Shady Grove

  I arrived that Saturday morning with a renewed sense of purpose. I’d posted the manuscript for the first book on to a second publishing house in New York. As the colonel predicted, Penny was full of encouragement over the rejection and soon had me feeling my old self again. That self reminded me of the reason for my determination to succeed, for Penny’s affectionate encouragement left me breathless and desperate for somewhat more than a porch swing.

  The colonel sat in his chair on the veranda, dozing in the morning sun. I drew up a chair and cleared my throat. He snapped awake.

  “Ah, Robert. There you are. I was beginning to doubt you’d come today.”

  I checked my watch. On time as usual. “Sorry for being late.”

  “Very well then, just don’t make a habit of it.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. We consummated our weekly whiskey exchange.

  “There now, that’s settled. Where were we?”

  I ruffled the pages of my notebook. “The Tucson sheriff, Hardy, I believe, was the name, reported our bogus bondsman in town.”

  “Oh yes. I wired him to expect Longstreet and Cane. My telegram caught up with them in El Paso. They caught the next train west.”