by John Hansen
“Mr. Morrow,” said Lisa. “Can’t your business wait until after supper?”
“Probably,” said Josh, “but I don’t want to intrude on the judge at a late hour.”
Lisa smiled. “I doubt the judge would take offense if you went over later in the evening.”
Josh sighed. “I reckon ya’ll’s right but I pretty much steered that supper conversation in there in the wrong direction with the reverend, and I figure if I stay there’d be no gettin’ around banterin’ with Perkins and that could just end up chunkin’ another log on the fire.”
Lisa could see that Josh’s mind was made up. “How about if I fix you a plate and put it in the oven to keep warm. You can eat when you get back.”
“Much obliged,” said Josh. “I’ll see you in an hour or so.” And with that he turned and walked away, wondering if there was any other meaning intended in Lisa’s act of kindness.
After some asking around, Josh got directions to the judge’s house. What should have been a simple matter of informing the judge as to his intentions concerning the marshal and Stevenson turned into a two-hour social call drinking whiskey on the judge’s back porch. As the whiskey flowed so did the army stories. They were of different eras, but the bond of having risked their lives in service to the country was unmistakable. It was just getting dark when Josh left the judge’s house, a little tipsy but with a profound respect for the man. He’d not intended to be gone so long and certainly had no expectations of having supper at the boardinghouse, but as he quietly opened the door, there sat Lisa in one of the big padded chairs reading by the light of a coal oil chimney lantern.
“Had I known you were going to be a night owl,” she said in mock anger, “I would’ve told you to eat down the street before coming home.” And then she smiled.
“I’m sorry,” said Josh. “The judge is a hard man to break away from.”
Lisa got up from the chair. She could see that Josh had been drinking. “Are you hungry?” she asked in a tone of uncertainty.
“Some,” said Josh, “but I don’t expect you to feed me.”
“Well, your food is still in the oven. It might be kind of dry by now but it’s up to you.”
“Lead the way,” said Josh. And then as if it had been a reflex, there was an instantaneous pang of guilt that flashed in his mind. He knew that his only motive was not just eating, and truth be told he was fairly certain that Lisa didn’t go to these lengths for all her guests. But here he was following her and conjuring up indecent images of her in his mind. He could blame it on the judge’s whiskey, but he knew that wasn’t totally true either. His mind was awash with the images of first Lisa and then Sarah and then the big Swede and the blood pooled beneath his head on the floor of the Gold Strike Saloon. Damn them all, thought Josh, and then Lisa said: “Have a chair. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Josh took a seat at the big dining-room table. He was alone there. It felt good to be free of the incessant babble of the reverend or Perkins.
Momentarily, Lisa returned with Josh’s food and a cup of hot coffee. She set it on the table before him. “Thank you, ma’am,” said Josh. “I sure do appreciate this.”
“You can call me Lisa. ‘Ma’am’ sounds like I’m an old lady.”
“OK, Lisa,” said Josh with a respectful emphasis on her name, “but that will mean that ya’ll will have to call me Josh.” They both smiled.
“Fair enough,” replied Lisa as she sat down at the table two chairs away from Josh.
Josh felt awkward eating in front of Lisa, but shortly she initiated small talk to take the edge from this feeling.
“So where’s home for you?” she asked.
Josh swallowed. “These days, I reckon it’s wherever I happen to be, but originally it was Texas.”
Lisa laughed softly. “I kinda figured the Texas part out,” she said playfully.
Josh blushed. “So how long have ya’ll lived in Boise?”
“Almost five years now,” replied Lisa. “We came as a family but my older brother took sick and died and road agents robbed and killed my father. It’s just been me and my mother running this place for the past year.”
Josh paused from eating. “Sorry to hear that,” he said. “This is a hard country. It don’t seem to allow quarter to nobody.”
Lisa nodded. “My mother and I are finding that out.” And then she added with sarcasm, “You’d be amazed at how many good upstanding people will sneak out and not pay.”
Josh shook his head. “Ain’t much surprises me about people anymore.”
There was a lull between them. The silence was accentuated by the stove in the kitchen popping periodically, having likely burned into some pine pitch. But the need for a fire on this warm summer night spoke volumes to Josh as he took a sip of his hot coffee and ate his still warm supper. And he felt even guiltier when he considered how difficult or expensive it had been for two women to get firewood from the distant hills.
“I take it you’re leaving tomorrow,” said Lisa solemnly.
“Yeah, I aim to get an early start,” replied Josh.
“Are you going back to Bear Creek?”
Josh laughed derisively. “Not right away but eventually I got to.”
A sudden knowing look of concern came over Lisa’s face. “Have you got a girl there?”
Josh was uncertain how to answer. He didn’t consider Sarah his girl, but on the other hand there was no denying that she meant more to him than just a casual acquaintance. Deep down he still didn’t know if he could accept her past. And so he said: “No, not really.”
Lisa forced a nervous laugh, and then looking Josh in the eye she asked: “What does ‘not really’ mean?”
Josh was temporarily speechless. “It means that I’ve been helpin’ a girl out who was down on her luck and she has become my friend.”
There was a look of disappointment in Lisa’s face. “So your friend is waiting for you in Bear Creek.”
The conversation was beginning to make Josh uncomfortable—or it could be the judge’s whiskey was beginning to wear off. “Close to there,” he said cryptically.
The probing continued. “So how did you come to meet your friend?” asked Lisa.
And there it was. It was as if Lisa had been a mischievous little kid throwing rocks at a hornet’s nest and had finally gauged her throw correctly. Josh’s response would obviously dictate how many and how mad the hornets that emerged from the nest would be. Lying was certainly an option, but it seemed to Josh this usually created more problems than it solved, and so he said: “She was a saloon girl in Bear Creek.”
The look on Lisa’s face was mild shock. It was as if she was stunned, but then she said with some hesitation and somewhat disbelievingly, “A prostitute?” The words rolled off her lips like she needed to purge something nasty from her mouth.
Josh nodded. “Yup, for a while she did what she needed to do to survive.”
Lisa shook her head. “I could never do that. I’d rather be dead.”
Josh looked up from his plate as he finished his food. There was defiance in Lisa’s eyes and perhaps resentment too of a girl she’d never met. “Ya’ll need to be careful ‘bout drawin’ a line in the sand,” said Josh calmly. “When it gets right down to it, lettin’ go a life, it ain’t all that easy.”
Lisa’s demeanor had become one of anger and embarrassment. The silence was growing and then she said without looking at Josh: “We got apple pie for dessert.”
Josh pushed his chair back and stood. “I reckon I’ll pass on the pie and just turn in. Thanks for supper. It was mighty good.”
“You’re welcome,” said Lisa as she glanced at Josh and then turned quickly away to the task of clearing the table.
Josh left the dining room in silence and went upstairs to his room. He opened the window that overlooked the street below. He could hear music and raucous laughter from a saloon down the street, but he wasn’t tempted by it. A dog was barking in the distance. The room was warm. He stri
pped down to his underwear and lay on top of the bedcovers. He had his hands clasped behind his head, which was turned slightly so he could see out the window and up at the stars in the night sky. An hour or so had passed and Josh was still awake, processing the day’s events. He could hear the rhythmic snoring of a man in the next room. Nighttime was well underway when he heard faint footsteps in the hall outside his door. And then there was silence, save for the snoring man next door. It was close to a minute before the light knock on the door came. Josh’s heart rate quickened. He was tempted to open the door but he reasoned, hadn’t he already done that in Bear Creek? Again the knock came, but Josh turned over and tried to go to sleep. Soon the footsteps could be heard going away and down the stairs.
It was a long night and not particularly restful for Josh, but he was on time for breakfast. Lisa, however, was under the weather, said Annabel, and would not be helping to serve. After breakfast Josh paid his bill, giving Annabel, in spite of her objections, twice what he owed, saying that he wanted to make amends for Lisa having to get him a late supper. And he told her that he hoped Lisa was feeling better soon.
Chapter Eighteen
The sun had not yet totally exposed itself over the eastern horizon when Josh headed out of town on the road towards Idaho City. In its heyday Idaho City had been the most populous town in the area, but now the gold that had fueled its growth had been mostly extracted from the ground—at least the easy stuff had. Much of the town’s dwindling population was now comprised of Chinese immigrants that applied the necessary labor and ingenuity to make the played-out claims pay. The town was also known for its Chinese prostitutes, and so it undoubtedly had other vices such as liquor and gambling available to separate men from their money. Since it was the first decent-sized town that a person came to after leaving Sheep Springs, Josh reasoned that the Stevenson party’s killers might just come here to celebrate.
Idaho City was a good day’s ride from Boise. It was located in the beginning of the mountains with ponderosa pine, but many of the trees around the town had been cut down to provide lumber to build the town. All of the mining activity had left the land scarred and tired looking.
It was late afternoon when Josh reined Thunder in at the livery on the edge of town. A fat man with black greasy hair and beard to match emerged from the stable. He was humming something nondescript much in the way a cat purrs due to being content with life as it is at that moment. “Afternoon,” said the fat man as he shuffled towards Josh in no particular hurry.
Josh nodded his head. “Howdy,” he said, purposely trying to keep his eyes from the enormity of the fat man’s belly. But it was near impossible as its size begged for a peek. It covered the fat man’s belt buckle—assuming he was wearing one—and all but one of the buttons in the fly of his pants.
“Ya lookin’ to board your horse?” wheezed the fat man.
“Yes sir, I am,” said Josh as he stepped down from Thunder.
It was only then that the fat man noticed Josh’s badge. It was obvious by the big-eyed double take that he gave Josh. “You partners with that other marshal that was through here a week or so ago?”
“I reckon so,” said Josh. “Ain’t that many lawmen in these parts.” Josh paused briefly. “Speakin’ of the marshal, ya’ll ain’t seen him in the last day or two, have ya?”
“Can’t say as I have,” replied the fat man.
“Any strangers come to town in the last day or two, maybe wantin’ to sell some mules or horses?” asked Josh.
The fat man smiled. “There’s always strangers coming to town, not like the boom days but we still get some folks most days. But as far as trying to sell me some stock, it’s been a good while since I had any propositions to do that.”
Josh frowned. “Nobody suspicious-lookin’?” he prodded.
The fat man ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair and then he scratched his scalp in apparent contemplation. “Ya know,” he began slowly, “there was a coupla fellas in here late yesterday, kinda full of themselves. You know the type—pretty proud of the fact that they was wearin’ six-shooters.”
“What’d they look like?” asked Josh somewhat eagerly.
“Well, lemmee see,” said the fat man as he tried to recall the men’s images. “They had short brown hair, the both of ‘em, and one had a full beard but the other only had a moustache. Not a thick moustache either. It was the kind that if ya poured some cream on it and turned your cat loose, he’d probably lick the whole thing right off.”
“These guys tall or short?” asked Josh.
“I’d say average build, maybe five eight. They both had fairly new Stetsons that was crowned to a peak like ya see some folks do,” replied the fat man.
“Anything else about them that stands out?” asked Josh.
The fat man shook his head. “No, like I said, they was kinda smart-alecky. Just being ‘round’em ya got the feeling that ya better not look at ‘em the wrong way or you’d be lookin’ down the barrel of a gun.”
“That’s good to know,” said Josh. “I appreciate your help.”
“Ya know, Deputy, there was one other thing,” said the fat man, extending the index finger on his right hand and poking the air in front of him. “I just remembered, they was talkin’ ‘bout going to the assay office. It kinda struck me funny ‘cause these two hooligans didn’t look like miners.”
The fat man’s words were like a bugler had sounded off in Josh’s mind. Maybe the marshal’s plan was working after all. “So where is the assay office?” asked Josh.
“Well sir, there is two, three places that’ll coin a fellar’s gold, but the assay office is two blocks thataway on the right,” said the fat man, pointing up the main street.
Josh turned and looked in the direction that the fat man was pointing. He couldn’t see the assay office but assumed it wouldn’t be a problem to find it.
“What’d these fellars do?” asked the fat man.
Josh paused before answering. Probably don’t need to be totally tipping my hand at this point, he thought, and so he said: “I’m not sure, maybe nothing but I need to talk to’em to figure that out.”
After personally tending to Thunder, Josh started up the street in search of the assay office. In its heyday there had been several hundred businesses in Idaho City, with the bulk of those being saloons. But now the town was struggling to survive, and it was clear by the number of empty buildings that it would never be its former self. It was going the same route that so many other gold-rush towns already had; in the end only the hardy would remain. The assay office was as the fat man said it would be. A sign in the window stated the high points of what they had to offer. A person could get his gold dust turned into coin within six to twelve hours or he could sell it and be paid by a bank draft drawn on a bank in San Francisco; either way it had to be assayed first to determine its purity. This would be a logical place for someone to convert gold dust into a more spendable form, thought Josh, but would anyone be so stupid as to rob and kill four people and then go directly to the closest big town to cash in their spoils? It was this thought that hung in Josh’s mind as he entered the assay office. Almost immediately inside the door was a wooden counter that extended across the room to within about two and a half feet of the walls on either side of the room. A desk and chair and several large wooden cabinets were behind the counter. A set of scales for weighing gold sat on the counter. The front part of the office was unoccupied, but Josh could hear voices through an open door leading to the rear of the building. “Hello,” said Josh in a voice louder than normal conversation. There was an instant pause in the voices beyond the open door. Soon a prematurely bald, middle-aged man appeared. His demeanor in the brief interval that it took him to spot Josh’s badge went from relaxed and friendly to serious and guarded. It was something that did not go unnoticed by Josh.
“What can I do for you, Deputy?” said the bald man haltingly as he read Josh’s badge.
“My name’s Josh Morrow. I’m
workin’ for Judge Higgins down in Boise. I was wonderin’ if ya’ll had anybody come in here within the last day or so wantin’ to sell or coin some gold dust except what they had turned out to be iron pyrite.”
Josh could see the fear in the bald man’s eyes as he placed both his hands on the countertop as if he were leaning there in a relaxed, cordial manner—or, Josh thought, maybe to steady his shaking hands. The bald man laughed nervously. “It’s been a while since I’ve had some greenhorn come in here and try to sell me fool’s gold.” He laughed again. “No sir, it’s been quite some time since I’ve had that happen.”
It was at this point that the second voice in the back room appeared briefly in the form of an old, gray-haired man. He stood about six or eight feet inside the back room but was clearly visible from the front counter. Josh could feel the man’s eyes upon him to the point that it caused him to glance away from the bald man and make eye contact with the old man through the doorway. However, no sooner had he done this than the bald man turned—not casually but quickly as if angry. “Get back to work, Ira. I’ll tend to this gentleman.” And with that the old man abruptly averted his eyes from Josh and walked away, further into the back room and out of sight. Turning to face Josh, the bald man asked: “So what’s this all about?”
Josh sensed that the bald man was lying, but getting at the truth might be difficult. Maybe he could smoke these guys out, thought Josh, if they thought they were in danger of being arrested, and so he said: “A merchant from Boise was robbed and killed along with his teamsters up at Sheep Springs a coupla days ago. He was carrying fool’s gold instead of the real thing, so if anybody should happen to show up here with any sizeable amount of it, I wanna talk to’em.” Josh paused and then added: “There’s likely to be a noose waitin’ for’em in Boise.”
The color was largely gone from the bald man’s face. “You can count on me, Deputy, I’ll sure let ya know if these two fellars show up here,” he said in a faltering voice.