“I will go with the women. You know my prints. Wonder how they’ll take on sidewalks?”
“Not well. First thing we’ll do when I break out of here and meet you is go to the stable and you can look over Caesar. I’ve been gone and he needs some attention,” Pope said.
“John, tell me the short version. Did the parents confirm our man is actually Randolph?” Sarah asked.
“Almost definitely. And, I have an identifier if we catch or kill him.”
He got an idea from Sarah where she planned on taking Millie and started on his formal report. The detailed one took an hour to write out in longhand. The six-line telegram summary confirmed new information proving the Wells Fargo robber was Randolph.
Pope donned his suit and heavy coat and headed out in search of his family.
He found them at a large mercantile store. It reminded him of Goldwater’s in Prescott, but smaller.
The men went past a grocers and Pope picked up a carrot for Caesar. Israel Pope was an equine expert, though much of his early travel through the West had been by foot. He appreciated the horse’s characteristics but whispered to his grandson “He shore ain’t pretty though.”
Pope took him to a tobacconist and bought him a large tin of his choice of pipe tobacco. He bought a matched pair of .38 Smith & Wesson Double Action Perfected revolvers and two boxes of ammunition. One was for his grandfather as a backup to his long barrel Colt, the other was for Millie. Both were nickel plated and had stag grips. He had also gotten a small, six-inch blade Bowie for Millie earlier. He knew his grandfather’s affinity for Bowies and reckoned his new wife ought to have one.
Pope stopped by their rooms and picked up one of the rings Sarah wore on her left ring finger and took it with them. With help from his grandfather, he chose an emerald ring for her for Christmas. The ring was carefully checked by the jeweler to make sure it was the same size as her original ring. Israel got Millie a cameo and a winter scarf, primarily for wear while they were in colder Wyoming.
They met at the Western Hotel and went to Ramsey’s Restaurant for Christmas Eve dinner. Dinner was followed by the Christmas show at the Opera House.
The day proved to be a family Christmas Eve unlike any the two Pope men had ever experienced. They found the hotel restaurant would be open for limited hours during Christmas to feed guests and reserved a late breakfast. They returned to the suite reserved for the senior Popes to exchange gifts.
Israel and Millie left for California on the train the next afternoon.
“This is the best Christmas I ever had,” Pope told Sarah.
“I love my ring. John, what does it signify? You were a little vague about it when you gave it to me a few hours ago.”
“It signifies as much as you wish it to, Sarah. From Christmas gift to engagement to wedding band.”
“If we let it be engagement, can we leave the date open? We still don’t know what our employment outlook is. I am half expecting the superintendent to ask me to take over the Cheyenne office on a permanent basis. I don’t know what I’ll say. Even if the chief detective says you can work out of here. I don’t see why not. Cheyenne has good transportation and you can get more places quicker than from San Francisco. We could even get married. If you want to, of course.”
“Silly, you know you have a standing offer on marriage. All you have to do is say ‘when,’” Pope said.
“Perhaps the bigger question is, are you ready to take a management job and stop detecting. You missed being a detective when you were in Prescott.”
“I did. I also like covering your back on the trail. It scares me to think of you out there facing people like this killer, Randolph, alone.”
“I did it before I met you.”
“Before you met me doesn’t count. Not for a damn thing, John Pope!” she said.
“You still have not answered my question,” he reminded her.
“Because I don’t know the answer. I have argued it both ways in my mind. I am fifty-fifty, John.”
“Well, let’s call the ring an engagement ring to ourselves. Something tells me circumstances will provide an answer before we can,” he said.
She looked at him with a skeptical and almost accusatory look.
“You haven’t seen your eagle recently have you?”
He grinned at her.
“The eagle on this one may be Kid Taos. Or Kid Hume. Or, maybe, Kid Pridham.”
“Well. I surely hope one of them flies in soon. I really wouldn’t mind being married to you.”
“A ‘yes?’ I presume?” he asked.
“Of course. There has never been any question about if I wanted to marry you. I decided on it the day we met in the tax office. There was no question in my mind. It’s always been about when we could. When we can depends on some things we cannot determine for ourselves unless one or both of us gives up Wells Fargo.”
“Or, has a title change.”
“Like me becoming a manager?” she asked.
“Or me.”
“John Pope. I am a good detective. As are you. I am a pretty good gunsel. Didn’t you know you are known around the headquarters as the gun for Wells Fargo? Your fame has spread beyond our massive company, too. There was some truth in the joshing about being a Ned Buntline character in dime novels.”
“Those dime novel are all crazy stuff. I don’t put any stock in it at all,” he said.
She had made her point but decided not to press it more than she had already. Her partner was a lot of things. “Stubborn” was high on the list.
“It’s a good thing I’m not stubborn,” she thought to herself and dropped the subject.
The period between Christmas and mid-spring proved relatively uneventful for crime against Wells Fargo interests.
The vault door and safe arrived and Sarah opened the new office with virtually no fanfare. Pridham left her as interim agent in charge without offering her the position formally.
“John, I’m relieved I have not heard anything from the superintendent about making this my permanent assignment. I still have not decided whether I want it.
At the same time, I am somewhat irritated. It’s like he is either taking me for granted or saving the company money. This new office ranks in the large office category. I am sure the salary for the manager is higher than the one for a detective.”
“I understand how you feel at both extremes,” Pope said.
“You have done a wonderful job taking over, staffing, and moving to this beautiful new location. I would have thought a letter of appreciation or a visit to your grand opening by Pridham or someone high up in the company was in order. But I guess not,” he said.
“It’s not as if we need the money on an immediate basis. We are still on travel here, so our bills for hotel and meals are able to be expensed. But we should be building a nest egg for a small ranch wherever we land.”
“Don’t forget, we have a small ranch on some pretty prime real estate across the Bay from San Francisco,” Pope said.
“Yes, but your grandfather is younger than I had envisioned. I agree with you. Millie will add years to his life.”
“He told me privately the ranch was getting to be too much to handle without a cowboy. Since he just had a few horses and was not raising any sort of livestock, he could not afford a ranch hand. He said he and Millie like the cabin up in Marin County more. They are just waiting for us, he said.
“John, isn’t the ranch ‘way too far to commute to the office in San Francisco from?” Sarah asked.
“It is for sure. Moving there would mean resigning from Wells Fargo.”
“You could run for sheriff,” she suggested.
“I know and like the sheriff there. So, does everybody in the county. There’s no way I could win at this time. He does not have an undersheriff and I believe would take me on. But it would be a serious cut in income. Especially with you being a ranch wife.”
“Reality is not always a good thing, is it?” she said, not really expecting
an answer.
“On another subject, it is March 10, 1883.”
“I know. Your point is?”
“We have heard nothing in almost five months from or about Kid Taos.”
“You are right! I have almost forgotten about him!” Sarah said.
“Sarah, I believe either he is dead or has just hunkered down for the winter. He’s a crazy one. He kills spontaneously. If we don’t hear from him in the next month or so, as it warms up, I am going to be convinced his bones are beside a trail somewhere.”
“Makes sense.”
“In the meantime, I have composed a telegram to Hume to get one of our junior detectives to study the Western newspapers the firm gets and archives.
I want him to search for any mention of Randolph or someone operating like him but not identified.
Then, I will take a map and number the sightings, starting with Cheyenne being number one. I’d like to create a map of his travels and see if we can predict where he may be headed. And I can wait there for him.”
“Have you sent the telegram?” Sarah asked.
“Not yet, I have been holding off for a sighting.”
“Perhaps send it. Randolph, maybe unnamed, could have been shooting or robbing somewhere and nobody has picked up on it at headquarters. Have them start looking, John.”
“I am glad you agree. I will send it right now.” Since she was in the new detectives office with a secure door, she reached over and kissed him on the lips. Sarah then returned to the customer area and sat at her temporary desk and began paperwork.
“JHume Stop Request junior detective study Western papers November until now Stop Look for anyone who could be Randolph and send to me Stop JPope”
He received a telegram back from Jim Hume an hour later.
“JPope Stop Assigned Stop JHume.” It was laconic Hume at his best.
It was new detective Jake Bell who caught the Kid Taos assignment. Things had even been slow over the winter in San Francisco. He was glad to take on something new, especially with the detective who was known as “the gun for Wells Fargo,” or “the gunfighter.” He would be surprised to learn Pope was barely five years older than he was.
Bell went down into the archives to gather papers from as many Western states as he could find. The archivist primarily filed case files, legal records, contracts and construction documents, such as building plans. He checked his national file of the newspapers the firm received daily or weekly and came up with thirty fitting search parameters.
Detective Bell set a date range from the first of September, 1882 to the current day in 1883. He sought mention of John Henry Randolph, Kid Taos, or any unnamed robber or gunsel in his early twenties. He eliminated known entities such as William Bonny AKA Billy the Kid.
The archivist recommended looking only at the first three pages on his initial pass.
Seven months of the dailies and weeklies of thirty newspapers gave Bell a stack of two hundred ten newspapers. The light was not good in the archives. He took roughly twenty-five papers at a time up to the detectives bull pen.
Without the chief detective giving specific instructions, Bell suspected Pope would want to track the outlaw geographically by date. He laid out his notes with date, state, town, incident type columns and delved in.
Bell’s very nature was detailed. It was his attention to detail as a very young Los Angeles detective which attracted Hume’s attention to him on a case.
He did not attempt to set a pony express speed record and read the papers as if he was preparing for a test at school.
By five days, he had his report. Each of the forty entries on his sheet where a specific or different name was mentioned instead of Randolph’s had a footnote.
Jake Bell went to his boss’ secretary and asked for an appointment.
He was bidden to sit, albeit nervously, at the chief detective’s desk while the older man carefully studied his work.
“A very nice piece of work, Detective Bell,” Hume said.
He took two draft approvals from his desk and a MacKinnon & Cross Stylographic ink pen and began to scribble furiously on them.
“Here’s a draft voucher for some travel money and one for travel. This is a big case for us. The man killed a Wells Fargo manager. Pope is a top detective but has hit a dead end. His partner, Detective Sarah Watson, is busy managing the new, large Cheyenne office. I want you to go out to Cheyenne as soon as you can and give them a hand.”
“Yes sir. Is tomorrow morning soon enough?” Bell asked.
“Absolutely. If you don’t have a long gun, check a shotgun or a carbine out from the armory today. Be sure to get a scabbard for it.”
“Yessir, I will.”
“Have you taken a train trip before?”
“Only up here from Los Angeles when you hired me, sir,” he said.
“This will be a lot longer. You can eat on the dining car of the train, but I would advise taking some water and things to nibble on also.”
“Yessir.”
As he was wont to do, Hume stood and proffered his hand to the young detective. They shook.
“Be safe, Detective Bell. This Kid person is a wild murderer and apparently good with his revolver. Pope will take the lead. Just cover his back.” Bell nodded and left, trying to hide the big grin on his face.
Hume withdrew his cipher book and composed a message to Pope. He did not put in the stops. His telegrapher could worry about such things.
“Pope. Det. Jake Bell on way with your requested info. Keep him as long as you need him. Things quiet here. Show him the ropes. Hume”
An hour later, Pope walked out to the manager’s desk.
“News from Hume. He has my historical sightings of Randolph done and is sending them by a Detective Jake Bell. Said to keep Bell as long as we need him.”
“I wonder if Hume knows something about my assignment? Maybe Bell is your new partner. He’s a nice kid. I met him at the office while you were recovering. Los Angeles detective, I think,” Sarah said.
“I doubt it. We don’t have partners. You and I kind of evolved into partners. We are the exception, not the rule. I think the boss is taking advantage of a slow period to get him out of the office and get a little field training. Nothing more. Hume must think he is worth the effort.”
“You are probably right. He seemed bright. Nice kid, but with an underlying toughness. Kind of like you five years ago, I bet.”
“I’m a tough kid?” Pope asked.
“Honey, you haven’t been a kid since you were ten. Tough ... yes. Tough as hell. Kid? Nope.”
She punched him in the shoulder. He did not grimace with pain this time. All of his recent bullet wounds were healed.
The telegrapher, new cashier and new messenger did not bat an eye at this. She had punched them, too. Hard, but never in anger and always smiling. All three would take a bunch of punches for her smile. They figured Pope would too. Gunfighter or not. They also knew she had killed at least two men. All three were convinced the decedents had deserved it. They had no idea how right they were.
Detective Jake Bell boarded the northeast bound Santa Fe train. He carried his bag and a scabbard with a short-barreled Colt model 1878 twelve-gauge shotgun inside. He carried two boxes of double-ought buckshot and his personal S&W model 1 double action revolver like Sarah carried. It was a favorite of detectives because of its 44 Russian caliber power and its concealability.
He had risen quickly at the Los Angeles Police Department because of both aptitude and education. Bell was a bit above average height and of muscular, wiry build. He had boxed and won many matches during his two years in college.
Bell found his seat and settled in for a long trip, including the Rockies and crossing the Continental Divide. He searched his bag, pushing his cipher book and US maps book aside in favor of Sir Walter Scott’s Rob Roy and The Heart of Midlothian, told in one volume. He picked up a coffee and began to read.
He got into Cheyenne around nine the next morning, fill
ed with Scottish history and ready to investigate.
He got off the train with his book under his arm and the shotgun cased. It would be a short wait for his checked bag and investigative kit.
Three thugs approached him.
“Well, a dandy! You come from New York City of somewhere in the bowler hat and pretty little suit.” At twenty-two years old, Jake looked sixteen.
“I don’t want any trouble, so just back off,” he said in a well-cultivated copper voice.
The three were listening with their eyes, not their ears and missed the authoritative tone.
“I think I want your hat. I bet you got a gold watch, too.” The smallest of the men said. The speaker was about Jake Bell’s size. Taller than average for a grown man in the 1880’s.
He stepped forward and reached. The former college boxer struck out and connected with the point of his chin. He hit the platform unconscious as the large man, over six feet and two hundred pounds moved forward. A left-right combination put him down.
The third man drew a wicked looking blade. Jake thought it might be an Arkansas toothpick. If so, it was the competitor to the Bowie knife and just as long.
The man never knew what hit him as Pope’s black-jack slammed down on his head. He, too, collapsed in the growing heap. Pope kicked the knife away as he heard the whistle of a town constable. The policeman was running towards them and summoning his partner.
Pope flipped his gold badge outside so the policeman could see it. He turned to Bell.
“Welcome to Cheyenne, Detective Bell. Hope you had a nice train ride,” Pope said and grinned at the young detective. Bell grinned back. This was fun already and he had just arrived.
Bell’s bags arrived. The constables used both handcuffs. Two were handcuffed together and the third, still not fully conscious, was cuffed behind the back.
Pope knew he hit him hard but was not worried.
“He pulled a big knife on someone. Deadly force was justified. There were plenty of witnesses,” Pope explained to Bell. The two town constables nodded. Nothing more would come of it before trial unless the third man died. The two constables left. The two handcuffed prisoners were made to drag their semi-conscious friend along like a drunk, toes dragging.
Wyoming Shootout (Gun For Wells Fargo Book 2) Page 17