Rooney frowned. ‘You think someone from the stage company tipped them off?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jonah admitted. ‘I’m going to look into that.’ He didn’t feel the time was right to admit to a newspaperman being involved in the case. ‘But there’s a chance it could have been someone from this company.’
‘I keep the schedule of payroll deliveries in my safe,’ Rooney said. He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘No one could get it out of the safe without I knew about it, but it’s possible someone could have seen it when it was out.’
‘One of your clerks?’ Jonah suggested.
Rooney snorted. ‘Not one of the clerks, they ain’t got the gumption. Wouldn’t be clerks if they did.’
Jonah chose not to comment on that. He thought for a moment. ‘If someone did tip the robbers off, they did it for a reason. Most likely for a share of the money but it could have been someone with a grudge against the mine, or you personally. Has there been any bad blood between you and someone recently? Or anyone gotten themselves fired?’
Rooney stared piercingly at Jonah, as if wondering whether to take offence. After a few moments, he relaxed. ‘Bert Wood,’ he said abruptly. ‘A waggoner. I told him to skin out of here last week. I warned him about not looking after his horses properly, but he didn’t listen.’
‘Any idea where he might have gone?’
‘Don’t know and don’t rightly care.’
Jonah nodded. ‘I’ll speak to some of the other wagoners, if I may. Might get some idea about where he’d go, from them.’
‘Just don’t get in their way.’ Rooney hauled out his pocket watch and glanced at the face. ‘I got to get on,’ he said abruptly.
Jonah stood gracefully. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr. Rooney.’ He nodded to the manager, who was already reaching for a folder, and left. Jonah spoke to a couple of the Red Horse Mine wagoners, and quickly found out that Bert Wood had not been a popular person. The first man flatly stated that he didn’t know where Wood had gone, and didn’t damn well care. The second one gave a rough description of Wood and summed him up briefly.
‘You’ll smell him afore you see him. Neglects hisself like he done his horses. He’d rather drink and gamble than do an ounce of work, and I swear to God, he’d piss on a fire to put it out, rather’n fetch water.’
Jonah wrinkled his nose at the imagined smell, thanked his informant, and went to fetch his own, well cared-for horse.
The simplest thing was to look in the saloons and gambling dens of the nearest town, so Jonah headed to Animas Forks. It was a small place, dominated by the two mills on the nearby slopes. Two stores, three saloons, a laundry, a stable, a post office and a hotel made up the centre of the town, surrounded by upwards of thirty rough, lumber shacks and a half dozen more that were still half canvas. The mills rumbled as they processed ore, and mules brayed in counterpoint to the banging of hammers as building work went on. The town smelt of manure, smoke and fresh-cut pine. They were the sounds and smells of the frontier being developed, and new lives being made out in the new territories. It was all so raw and vibrant in contrast to the neat and calm ways back east where Jonah had grown up. As the newspapers said, this was the land of opportunity, and Jonah felt himself to be part of it.
Halting outside the first saloon he reached, Jonah dismounted and hitched his horse to the rail in front. There were no sidewalks here, but the earth at the sides of the street was packed hard after the summer. Jonah entered the saloon slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dim light as he looked around. This was the newest saloon of the three, and the simplest. Although it was noon, lamps were lit at the far end of the narrow room. When the golden pine of the walls darkened with age and smoke, it would be a gloomy place to spend the evening. Jonah strolled to the bar and asked for a quality brand of whiskey. As he’d expected, the saloon didn’t stock it. He shook his head at the offer of some dubious, brown spirit that claimed to be whiskey, and strolled out again, taking the time to unobtrusively study the few patrons. None of them looked or smelt like Bert Wood.
Two doors along was the fanciest saloon of the three in town. Jonah decided to leave it until last. Wood probably preferred someplace where the liquor and women were cheaper, and it didn’t sound as though he’d be too fussy about the overall standards of either. The saloon a little way down on the other side of the street had dust-freckled windows and the paint on its frontage was already weathered and faded.
Heading inside, Jonah strolled to the bar, taking his time as there was no bartender in sight. A few of the tables were occupied, and a burly man in a plaid shirt was playing a waltz on a piano in the corner. As Jonah hitched his elbow on the bar, a saloon girl in a yellow, satin dress approached him.
‘Hello, handsome,’ she drawled. Jonah turned to look at her, and as she saw him clearly, her eyes widened. ‘Oh, my!’ Her voice shot up by an octave or so.
Jonah smiled in good humour, making her flutter her hand to her generously exposed bosom. ‘Can I help you?’ he enquired politely.
‘Oh . . . I . . . um.’ She swallowed and took a deep breath.
It took a little effort for Jonah to keep a straight face; she looked like someone who had picked up a dollar in the street and found it was actually a hundred-dollar bill. Jonah let the saloon girl flounder for a minute, then smiled kindly. ‘I’m not stopping long, so I’m not looking for company right now.’ He dug a couple of dollars from his pocket and tucked them into the front of her cheap dress. With a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder, he turned her and propelled her away.
As there was still no one at the bar, Jonah strolled casually across the room towards the piano player. He carefully wandered close to a table where a man sat by himself, nurturing a beer bottle and trying to make a roll up stub last as long as possible. The other people in the bar smelt no worse than labourers usually did. This man not only reeked of stale sweat and smoke, Jonah picked up a tang of urine that made his nose wrinkle. His hair was lank and scurfy, his vast beard held fragments of food and cigarette ash and his clothes were stiff with dirt.
‘Bert Wood?’
The burly man blinked and glowered at Jonah. ‘Whaddya want?’
‘Just a couple of questions. I’ll get you . . .’ Jonah’s offer of beer was interrupted.
‘I ain’t talking,’ Wood growled. ‘I ain’t done nothing.’
‘I’ll . . .’ Jonah reached for his billfold to get a few dollars.
‘No!’ Wood erupted out of his chair, sending it flying, and lashed out with a punch.
Jonah had been expecting trouble, but not quite so soon. Even so, he easily stepped aside, deflecting the blow to his right. As Wood came level with him, Jonah spun and delivered a sharp jab to the ribs with his left hand, bringing a grunt from the big man.
Wood spun with surprising speed and lashed out with two quick punches. Jonah dodged one but caught the other on his shoulder. Wood gave a yell of triumph at his success, and closed in with a sharp jab to Jonah’s face. Jonah knew how fast the big man could move now, and was ready. He dodged again, the solid fist barely missing his cheek, and threw his weight into smashing the heel of his hand into the wagoner’s nose. He felt it break, and Wood cried out as he retreated, but the big man still flailed a blow that caught Jonah painfully on his upper arm.
They separated for a moment, blood tricking down Wood’s face. Jonah caught his breath, holding his fists up defensively as he considered things. He’d underestimated how fast Wood could move. The wagoner was nearly as tall as Jonah, and much more powerful and heavy. Getting beaten up by him would be a painful experience, and leave Jonah vulnerable to anyone else who fancied proving himself against a manhunter. As he thought, Jonah moved, taking the opportunity for a quick glance at his surroundings. He met Wood’s gaze again, and smiled confidently.
‘I guess I’ve broken your nose,’ he remarked. ‘Still, no need to worry. You ain’t got any good looks to lose anyhow.’
Wood cursed, and
yelled, ‘I’m gonna knock you sky west and crooked!’ As others watching yelled encouragement, he rushed towards Jonah.
As Jonah had intended, Wood aimed for his face. Jonah sidestepped slightly, ducked the blows and drove a punch into Wood’s belly. As the big man grunted explosively, Jonah spun around him and punched him in the kidneys. Wood yelled and lashed out backwards as he turned. A brawny arm caught Jonah as he was moving and slightly off-balance. He staggered backwards and fell, but kept rolling. Wood yelled again as the watchers cheered encouragement, and closed in. Jonah got his feet under himself and started to rise.
He didn’t straighten fully though. Wood’s fist went over his head as Jonah lunged forward, headbutting Wood hard in the stomach. Wood gasped out beery breath and staggered away, flailing at his opponent. He hit Jonah hard enough to stagger him slightly as they separated. Jonah got clear and straightened fully as he turned. He took a few moments to recover himself as Wood also caught his balance. The wagoner was red in the face and had no breath to spare for insults, but the aggression in his eyes had changed to fury.
Jonah danced lightly from foot to foot for a moment, then came in fast, his eyes on Wood’s face. The big man braced in place to meet him, fists up, ready to meet Jonah’s. A fraction before he got within reach, Jonah stopped dead and swung his right foot up in a precise kick. The toe of his boot caught Wood right in the testicles. Wood flushed darker red, then went white, dropping his guard to clutch at his groin as he made a high, wailing sound. Jonah acted quickly, landing a heavy punch on Wood’s ear, then mashing his nose again with his other fist. Wood staggered back and collapsed, whimpering and gasping.
Jonah took a few moments to get his breath back, smooth his hair and straighten his clothing. Seeing that the fight was over, the other patrons lost interest and sat down again. Jonah stood over the groaning wagoner.
‘Now, let’s start again. How about you answer some questions and iffen I reckon I got enough truth, I’ll fix up that broken nose for you?’
Taking a moan as an answer, Jonah started to question Wood about what he’d been doing since leaving the Red Horse Mine.
CHAPTER FIVE
There was a fragrant smell of cooking when Millard arrived home that evening. As he closed the front door behind himself, his wife, Mary glided from the parlour. She was wearing a stylish, glossy dress of deep green, and he noticed she’d chosen the gold necklace, earrings and bracelet with little diamond and emerald flowers to enhance her clothes. The yellow lamplight disguised the traces of grey among her carefully-styled dark-blonde hair, and to Millard, she still looked far too young and trim to be the mother of four daughters, the oldest now eighteen.
‘Hello, my dear.’ Millard’s usual greeting was warm.
Mary presented her cheek to be kissed. ‘You’re a little late,’ she said. ‘Susan is almost ready to serve dinner.’
‘I was interrupted this morning,’ Millard excused himself as he took his coat off and handed it to his wife. ‘There’s a newspaperman in town, who writes for the New-York Tribune. He came to interview me about running a stagecoach company.’
‘Really? Would anyone be interested in that?’ Mary hung up the coat as Millard eased off his boots.
Millard frowned slightly. ‘Robinson seemed to think so. He said I was a good example of what grit and enterprise can achieve, and talked about how valuable the stage lines are. It will be terrific publicity, Mary,’ he added.
‘Well, it won’t cost anything, and I guess it can’t hurt,’ Mary said, leading the way into the parlour.
The curtains were already drawn and the warm light from two oil lamps bathed the room, reflected back from a pair of large mirrors. The light sparkled from the jewelry worn by his four daughters. Opal and Pearl rose and walked with studied grace towards their father. Ruby looked up from the schoolbook she was studying, rolled her eyes, and put her nose in her book again. Amethyst leapt from her chair, scattering the house of cards she’d been building, and raced across the room, greeting her father with a squeal and a hug. Millard laughed and squeezed her in return.
‘Amethyst, how many times must I tell you to be more ladylike?’ Mary chastised her daughter. ‘You’re nearly ten now; you don’t want to draw attention to yourself by behaving like a boy.’
Amethyst flushed, for she was shy and hated attention from anyone outside her family. She released her hold on her father and was swept aside by the arrival of the two oldest girls.
‘Oh, Papa, there’s going to be a dance!’ Opal exclaimed breathlessly. ‘A dance at last: it’s just too, too exciting! I’ll need a new dress, I simply can’t wear that old green organdie again.’
‘That’s because you’ve got fatter again,’ Pearl said tartly. ‘You need to pull your corset tighter.’
Opal was statuesque and looked well in the fashionable bustle dresses: Pearl was willowy and wore an exaggerated bustle with layers of flounces to compensate. Ignoring her sister, Opal opened her green eyes wider as she beseeched her father. ‘There’s a lovely, green, silk muslin in the draper’s store. It would make such an utterly charming dress and it would go so nicely with this lovely ring,’ she added shrewdly, holding up her right hand to show off the ring with the green opal, set with emeralds either side.
‘There’s a deep-blue silk that would set off my pearl brooch so well, if I could have a dress made of it, please, Papa,’ Pearl weighed in, smiling sweetly as she always did for her father, though rarely for her older sister.
Millard patted both girls fondly on the shoulder. ‘Well, I had a little luck recently, so I think I could manage new dresses for my jewels.’ As Opal and Pearl exclaimed their thanks, he glanced over at Ruby. She was concentrating on her book, her mouth moving slightly as she memorized information. Millard smiled indulgently: she was only thirteen and there was still time for her to develop an interest in clothes and womanly things.
‘Oh, I hope there’ll be some nice, young men to dance with,’ Pearl said, clutching her hands together.
‘There won’t be anyone worth marrying.’ Opal pouted. ‘This is such a backwoods place, Papa. Can’t we please, please move to somewhere like Denver? It’s so hard to be in style, somewhere like this, and there’s no one worthwhile to see you anyway.’
‘You girls must be grateful for the things you already have,’ Mary said. ‘You’ve been promised new dresses for the dance and that’s enough for now. Dinner is ready,’ she added. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Ruby, put that book away before you ruin your eyes, and come and eat dinner.’
Millard smiled fondly as his daughters obediently filed out of the parlour after their mother. His family was a sight he never grew tired of.
Back at his hotel that evening, Jonah ordered a hot bath in his room. He was naturally fastidious, but the warm water also soothed his muscles after the fight earlier. Afterwards, he shaved and dressed with his usual care, spending a few happy minutes choosing his clothes for the evening. Giving his hair a last brush, Jonah studied himself in the mirror. Not a trace of the fight showed on his face; the only flaw was the small scar on his right cheek, where he’d been hit by a piece of flying glass earlier in the year while defending Miss Jenny’s place. Jonah didn’t mind the scar in the slightest, regarding it as a small price to pay for helping the women. He turned his head from side to side, looking at himself from different angles, then laughed at himself and left the room.
Jonah found Robinson in the hotel bar. The newspaperman was sprawled untidily on an upholstered bench seat, his notepad and pencil on the table in front of him. When he saw Jonah, Robinson waved and sat up, gathering his long limbs together and giving the impression of a bundle of sticks being straightened up and neatened. Jonah brought two beers from the bar and sat down with a conscious grace.
‘Did you learn anything interesting?’ Robinson asked eagerly.
‘I learned not to get into a fight with a feller that looks like a grizzly bear and smells like a month-dead buffalo,’ Jonah replied. As Robinson’s eyes w
idened, Jonah indicated the notepad and pencil on the table. The newspaperman snatched them up, and made notes as Jonah told his tale.
‘He got himself hurt for no good reason,’ Jonah concluded. ‘When he finally talked, he’d just been bumming around town since leaving the mine, earning a few dollars collecting trash and digging outhouse holes, then wasting them on cheap liquor and card games.’
‘So, the mine seems to be a dead-end then?’
Jonah nodded. ‘Did you learn anything about Millard this morning?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Robinson flipped back through the pages of his notebook. He told Jonah about the security arrangements between the stagecoach company and the mines.
‘Sounds pretty good,’ Jonah mused. ‘You’re sure the bandits knew about the payroll in advance?’
Robinson nodded. ‘They went straight for it.’
‘Then unless it was a really lucky guess, someone with inside information told them it was going to be on that exact coach. Which means Millard, Rooney at the mine, anyone who somehow managed to see a copy of the schedule, or someone at the bank.’ Jonah sipped his beer. ‘I’ll start taking a look for those bandits. After all, it was one of them who raped Louise, which bothers me more than a payroll. But it can wait for tomorrow. How are you at poker?’
‘Indifferent. But I play a mean game of cribbage.’ Robinson smiled.
‘Cribbage it is then.’
Jonah spent the next three days trying to find information on the outlaws. He returned to Animas Forks, then made two fruitless trips to Silverton. On the afternoon of the third day, he left the smoky, noisy saloons and took Jenny out for a buggy ride to relax and catch up properly since his last visit to Motherlode.
Sins of Motherlode Page 4