by Zina Abbott
“Naw, that’s not how it happened. Callahan drew a gun on George and hit him across the nose first. I saw it happen.” The man who spoke looked around at the skeptical expressions on the faces of the surrounding men. He threw his hands in the air. “Just saying what I seen.”
“So, George Lee got shot, too?”
“Yeah. Got it in the hand after he shot Callahan. That’s him in there hollering about it.”
“Well, it don’t matter who drew first. Sounds like George was resisting arrest to me.” The speaker looked up and spotted another. “Jack Murray, you still deputized from being on that posse? What do you say we do about this?”
The man straightened and puffed out his chest. “I say we go find those handcuffs Bill planned to use and get them on George. We’ll lock him up at the jail. I’ll call down to Sheriff McKinney and tell him he needs to get up here and sort things out.”
“Whoo-hoo, the sheriff’s not going to like getting a phone call this time of night. His wife, especially, isn’t going to like it.”
“Sheriff and his wife are just going to have to get over it. This is why the county pays him his wage. We still got Doctor Walker coming up in the morning? Sounds like he’s going to have more than Steves and Jardine to tend to.”
“Yeah, the doc’s coming up at first light. George’s hand probably hurts like the devil, but he’s not that bad off. It’s Callahan that got the worst of it.”
“What happened to Callahan, anyway? He doing okay?”
“Don’t look good.”
A look of concern clouded Jack Murray’s face. “Where is he?”
“Inside.”
Luke followed the group of men into the saloon. Bill Callahan writhed in agony where he was laid out on one of the tables, his hip bone a bloody mess. Through grunts of pain, Callahan told the men surrounding him what happened. From what Luke could tell, it was a version of what he already heard. However, it was not his affair. He needed to get upstairs.
Luke watched Murray walk towards the bar where he picked up the handcuffs. He hurried behind the bar where one man busily wrapped the bloodied hand of a now-subdued George Lee. To Luke, the bartender appeared to have sobered enough to realize he had gone too far and was now in serious trouble with the law.
Luke edged away from the men surrounding Bill Callahan. He jerked his head when the man next to him offered a quiet opinion to anyone who would listen. “Solid shot to the hip. If Doc Walker has to take his leg off…” he paused and cocked his head, a grimace full of doubt on his face. “…I don’t think he’ll make it.”
Luke turned and studied the lawman. It was the first time he had seen Bill Callahan this close. He certainly had nothing against him. If anything, he appreciated the way the man treated Loi the night she returned to Lundy. He knew Callahan had threatened Ah Chin in an attempted to protect Loi from abuse, even though Luke realized he did it more to protect a witness he needed to bind Tex over for trial than out of genuine concern for Loi. Still, Callahan did more than most white men would have done for a Chinese prostitute.
As several men pried the door to the Magnolia’s storeroom off its hinges to use as a litter to carry Bill Callahan to his room, they ignored George Lee’s complaint that people would come in and steal his liquor. Men hoisted a screaming Callahan onto the board and eight of them lifted the door and carried him out. Jack Murray gathered up the money in George Lee’s till and took his handcuffed prisoner by his upper arm to escort him out the door. As he turned west towards the jail where he would lock George and the money up for the night, he shouted out to no one in particular to put out the lights. The last one out was to close the door behind them.
Luke stood halfway up the stairs when he heard someone ask about Charley. He kept his voice low and muffled. “I’ll check on him.” Luke hoped no one recognized him.
Luke stood silently on the top landing and waited until darkness filled the inside of the saloon and the door slammed shut. Several minutes of silence told him all the men had left. Since he possessed no skill for picking locks, he heaved a silent sigh of relief when the knob on the door to Charley’s room turned beneath his fingers. Once the latch released, Luke slowly opened the door in an attempt to guard against squeaks. He pulled his neck scarf up over his face and silently stepped into the darkened room. Either the kerosene lamp had run out of fuel, or the last person to visit Charley had shut the flame down when they departed.
Luke waited several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness as he searched his memory to recall the layout of Charley’s room. He reached out with his left hand to feel for the chest of drawers next to the dressing table with its enamel bowl and pitcher. As soon as his fingers identified the corner, he carefully stepped forward, reaching with his right hand for the metal footboard on the bed frame. He froze, as on his third step, the floorboard squeaked beneath his feet. He gritted his teeth in frustration at the sound of bedsprings protesting under Charley’s weight as he shifted to reposition himself.
Charley groaned, his voice weak. “Jamie, that you, lad?”
Hoping Charley remained unconscious enough to not recognize him, Luke offered a grunt in response.
“I’m hurting, Jamie. Help your brother out. Fix another shot of whiskey with some of that laudanum. If it’s all gone, I need you to go to Ah Chin and get some of that Chinese dope.”
Luke stepped farther into the room. He turned his back to Charley and struck a match long enough to survey the bureau. His gaze gravitated to the bottle of whiskey, the smaller one of laudanum, and a shot glass. He shook away the flame, and wet his gloved finger and thumb to press against the match head to be sure the tip was out. Next, he shoved the used stick in his pocket. He picked up the whiskey to pour some into the shot glass. The neck of the bottle clicked against the rim.
“Aye, a large shot of whiskey will do me good. And don’t plan to burn up my insides by pouring more where I got shot. Once was enough.”
Luke set the whiskey bottle down and felt around until he found the bottle of laudanum. Keeping his back to Charley as much as possible, he stepped towards the window, and cracked the curtains to make use of what little light came from the sliver of moon. He counted out the drops of the opiate. He had helped his mother with laudanum one time after a serious accident. Taking into account Charley’s larger size, he counted out three more drops than what he had given her. He dared not give Charley more, especially since he didn’t know how the medicine would mix with alcohol. As much as he hated Charley and resented the way the man had pulled him into his illegal schemes, Luke felt no satisfaction at seeing the man get shot. Likewise, he did not relish the prospect of accidentally killing Charley by giving him too much laudanum.
Luke stepped towards the head of the bed so he could offer the shot glass. Charley had fallen asleep again. Luke lifted Charley’s head and nudged him awake long enough to down the laced whiskey. Luke realized his plans would proceed more smoothly if the man stayed comatose. Luke definitely did not want Charley to wake up and realize what Luke had in mind by moving the bed away from the wall. Once Luke disappeared with his rightful share of the money would be soon enough for Charley to figure out what had happened.
Luke returned the glass to the chest of drawers and silently stepped to the far corner of the room. He dropped on his haunches to wait for the concoction he had fed to Charley to take effect. After Charley’s breathing had become that of a man deep enough into sleep that he no longer felt the pain of the gunshot wound to his side, Luke crossed to the footboard and began the process of lifting and walking the bed away from the section of wall where Charley kept his stash.
The bed, with its iron frame, and iron headboard and footboard, would have been heavy enough by itself. Charley’s dead weight added to the difficulty of moving it clear of the wall. Luke struggled to lift the legs to avoid adding fresh scrape marks on the floor since that would signal to both Charley and any of his friends that the bed had been moved. With a bit of luck, he could finish his t
ask, get the supplies he needed, come back to Lundy to collect Loi, and ride far away from the county before anyone found out someone had meddled with Charley’s money.
Once the bed stood away from the wall, Luke crouched and worked his lithe body behind the headboard to where he recalled seeing Charley pry the wall loose. He struck a lucifer and located the board with scratches. An inebriated Charley had occasionally missed with his blade and gouged the wood. He shook the flame dark, wet it, and put it in his pocket with the other match. Feeling with his fingers, he found the edge of the board and began pulling it away from the wall with his own knife blade. Soon the nails holding it in place gave, and Luke quietly placed the board on the floor, nails up.
Through it all, Charley remained motionless, not even flinching at the grating noise of the nails being pulled from the wall. Luke listened and noted his breathing stayed shallow, but steady. He decided to take the chance a low level of light would not disturb the sleeping man. He silently made his way around the bed, lit the kerosene lamp, and turned the flame as low as he could. He returned to Charley’s cache. His hand reached for the long, narrow metal box inside the wall. He brought it next to the light to open it and view its contents.
Luke’s sucked in his breath and his heart raced. Mentally, he started a rough count of the money inside. For all his poor-mouthing to both Luke and Tex, Charley had lived high for eight days off a large portion of the money he stole from Ling Loi. Luke and Tex had ended up with most of the rest. However, the money stashed in the metal box amounted to far more than what Charley could have earned from selling the rustled cattle. Luke loosely stacked golden double eagles and half eagles amounting to several hundred dollars on the bare wood floor. He riffled through the pile of greenbacks, mostly twenty-dollar bills. Luke guessed Charley easily had several hundred over two thousand dollars stashed away. It was far more than a miner could have accumulated on a working man’s wage. Nothing he had heard convinced Luke that Charley consistently won at high-stakes card games.
Anger surged through Luke at the realization Charley had collected on the ransom for Loi’s return to Ah Chin. Instead of paying Luke what was owed and splitting the take with Tex, he schemed to keep it for himself. No wonder he had insisted Tex take Loi back to Lundy and leave her close enough she could walk back to town.
Gritting his teeth as he fought back his fury, Luke counted out enough money in gold eagles, half eagles and paper money to cover the amount Charley owed him plus what the miscreant had stolen from Loi. Luke found Loi’s reticule he still carried and put the money inside before he tied it to his belt and tucked it inside his waistband. He fought back the temptation to take it all. He reminded himself he was no thief. He only wanted what he and Loi had coming to them.
Luke hoped there had been enough occasions Charley had come for money while under the influence that he had not thought clearly enough to remember exactly how much money remained in the box. It served Luke’s purposes best if Charley had no idea anyone else took a portion.
Luke settled the balance of Charley’s money back in the box, closed the lid, and tucked it back inside its hidey-hole. He worked the board in place with his palm as far as he could before he returned the lamp to the dressing table and snuffed it. After letting his eyes adjust to the dark, Luke pushed open the curtain and the window, returned to the loose board and pounded it in tight with his fist, all the while prepared to jump through the window if Charley awoke. Charley failed to stir out of his opiate-induced sleep. Confident Charley would stay that way for hours, Luke walked the bed back to its original position.
Luke leaned out the window. The ladder he had set up against the wall before the first shooting scrape that night remained a little over a foot away from the side of the casement. He swung his leg out and hooked the closest rung. Perched precariously with his feet on the ladder and his hands on the window sill, Luke pulled the curtains closed and lowered the window casement before he pushed off and grabbed for the top of the ladder.
Luke climbed down and moved the ladder back to its usual resting place. It had been a long night. He kept to the shadows as he wended his way out of town to his hidden camp. He planned to grab a few hours of sleep before he left to get the rest of the supplies he needed for his journey. As he stumbled through the darkness, he consoled himself that, if anyone else in Lundy was still awake, they also could see very little. He hoped no one had spotted him.
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Chapter 44
~o0o~
Robinson Creek, California ~ Late October, 1884
L uke slept only until first light before he saddled his mare and rode out of Lundy. He figured the well-used canyon road would hide his tracks better than if he cut off on the muddy soil and left the distinct hoof prints of a lone rider. At the end of the day, he stopped in Bridgeport to pick up a few more things he needed to help Loi travel more comfortably, including a saddle blanket and a new mess kit.
He found the winter wigwam of a Paiute family with items for sale. He bartered with a middle-aged woman for a pair of fur-lined mukluk-style moccasins he thought would fit Loi. He also bought her a small coat, fur-lined leggings and a hat. The woman convinced him to buy a pair of tightly-woven baskets. Just before he prepared to leave, Luke spotted a well-used pack saddle and persuaded the woman to sell that to him, too. He hoped, because she was Paiute, she would be less inclined to be questioned or offer information should local law enforcement, in the aftermath of what Luke intended to do, start asking questions. Although he could not speak the Paiute language, and he, as an Ojibwa, descended from a different tribal group than her people, he could tell while dealing with the woman she saw the native blood in him that most white Americans did not notice as long as he dressed like a white man.
Still tired from the short amount of sleep the night before, Luke eagerly sought to finish his last task before he made camp for the night. He skirted the east side of town and crossed the Walker River, making a point to avoid the Caldwell spread. He soon found the Big Meadows foothills to the north. He traveled inside the tree cover until he was north of his destination, the Robinson Creek homestead of the widowed woman who raised chickens and eggs and kept a large supply of rice on hand. He had bought tea and rice in Bridgeport, but to avoid notice, not much. The less he did to attract attention his direction for when Ling Loi disappeared a second time, the better.
The next morning, Luke woke with a splitting headache. He chanced a small fire for as long as it took to boil water for coffee, but ate dried bear meat rather than take the time to fry up a hot breakfast. Next he positioned himself several feet inside the trees that bordered the flat grassland of the woman’s small homestead. He noted no smoke rising from the chimney. The horse he sought was nowhere in sight. He guessed it had been put inside the small barn. The chickens had not been let out in their pen yet. Considering that the sun was fully over the horizon, he wondered if the woman had made arrangements for them to be released out to peck, or if whoever had agreed to care for them only came at night. Supposedly, the owner had traveled to Lundy with her fiancé to help her former boss and family move. To be on the safe side, he waited the better part of the hour to feel certain the place was deserted.
Deciding no one was about the homestead, Luke almost nudged his horse toward the house when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement coming from the south. In order to see who approached, he turned his horse farther back in the trees to wait. He dismounted and put his hands over his horse’s nose to keep it from whinnying to the new arrival.
A young man wearing a heavy brown jacket and wide-brimmed Stetson road into the yard and dismounted. He unsaddled his mount and turned it loose into a small, fenced-in pasture. Luke watched as the man stooped to enter the chicken coop, turn the fowls loose, and toss some grain in their enclosed yard. After, he hurriedly entered the barn and brought out the horse Luke recalled from his last visit. He put a feedbag over its head while he hitc
hed the horse to a small wagon. He returned for what looked like hay and more feed for the horse. After making sure he secured everything, the man climbed onto the wagon seat and flicked the leads. He steered the horse and wagon towards Bridgeport.
Luke waited several minutes after the wagon and its driver disappeared before he slowly made his way towards the house, careful to lead his horse where it would not leave obvious hoof prints. He entered the yard and tied his mount inside the small barn before he walked out in the pasture to take a closer look at the horse the man left behind. The gelding watched him warily, but let him approach. Luke reached out and patted the animal’s neck as he studied the horse. It wore the Caldwell brand.
Luke shook his head. The horse he had come for, the one that would have been more suited for a pack horse, was the one that had been hitched to the wagon and driven in the direction of town. From listening to the talk around the bunkhouse the night he had stayed with the Caldwell hands, Luke knew about the horse the widow’s fiancé had loaned her. He had already decided the fifty dollars he allotted for the widow’s loaner horse was more than fair compensation. However, the horse before him, the only one he had access to at this time, was worth far more than fifty dollars.
Luke reached for the gelding’s halter and walked him to the barn. He found the bridal for the horse, and put it on. He brushed the horse down to prepare him to take the saddle. He had a pretty good idea the horse would not do well as a pack animal. He would ask his mare to take on that role. He only hoped the gelding was not a one-man horse.
Once Luke readied both animals for travel, he entered the chicken coop and gathered six eggs. He would have liked to have found more, but knew he must settle for what was available. He picked out a plump hen and twisted her neck. Loi would probably be forced to eat bear jerky before their journey was over, but at least he could start her out with meat she liked.