A Dream to Call My Own (14 page)

“I’ve tried to. I think he’s doubting my words because my actions aren’t what they used to be.”

“Maybe you should do something with him. Just you and Justin. Lacy and I can watch the baby. Take him fishing and tell him how much you love him—that you miss doing these things with him.”

Max began to fuss from the front room, where he and Julianne had been napping. “I suppose I could,” Beth said as she moved to retrieve her son.

Still, the idea gave her little comfort. Why couldn’t Justin simply understand that people were capable of loving many folks at once? Why couldn’t he see that her heart for him was unchanged?

Beth rounded the corner to find Justin bent over Max’s basket. “What are you doing?” she asked a little more harshly than she’d intended.

Justin straightened and jumped back as if he’d just touched a hot stove. “He was crying and I didn’t like it.”

Beth frowned and moved to pick Max up from the basket. “He’s just hungry. You make plenty of noise when you’re hungry.” She soothed the baby even as she studied Justin’s expression.

“I don’t caterwaul like that,” Justin said, starting to leave.

“Wait.” Beth watched as the boy turned around hesitantly. “I just wondered if you’d like to go fishing with me sometime.”

He narrowed his gaze. “With him?”

Beth cradled Max closer at the look of disapproval in Justin’s eyes. “No. Just you and me. Aunt Gwen would take care of Max.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, but he held his expression in check. “I suppose we could.”

“Maybe tomorrow, then. There won’t be a stage until evening. We could try to catch a mess of fish for supper.”

Suspicion crept into Justin’s expression. “And it would just be me and you?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, hoping to alleviate his fears. “Just you and me like we used to do.”

He considered this for a moment, then nodded. “I guess that would be all right.”

Beth watched him go. She took hold of Max’s hand playfully, but then frowned when she noted a red mark on the baby’s arm. Max had calmed now, but there were still tears in his eyes.

“What happened to you, darling?” She gently touched the welt and glanced back in the direction Justin had gone. Had he pinched the baby? She let out a heavy sigh. Stealing Max’s things was bad enough, but if Justin had actually resorted to harming the child, she would have an entirely different problem with which to deal.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I’m afraid there’s little I can do about it,” Hank declared to the people of the Denver wagon train. Despite a night of rest, the entire group looked trail weary and worn from their experience. And now Hank had only more bad news to convey.

“The fact is, my land has already been promised to a local rancher, and the hotel and store properties are being sold to the saloon owner, Rafe Reynolds.” He pointed in Rafe’s direction. “That’s him over there.”

Rafe stood and nodded to the people. “That’s right. I’m buying these businesses to expand my own.”

The men and women murmured comments to one another, but Hank hushed them quickly. He’d called this meeting at Gallatin House not only to show the newcomers that he sympathized with their situation but to suggest they might want to join him and some of the others in considering a fresh start elsewhere. He had hopes of telling them about the property available up north, where even now he had arranged to have the new Gallatin Hotel built.

Jefferson Mulholland was also in attendance, and Hank frowned as he whispered something to Rafe. Those two always seemed to be planning something. Ignoring them, however, Hank began again.

“I think you should know that the railroad has no intention of building a line through this area. I spoke personally with the men in charge. It was in our best interests to know if the railroad would come to Gallatin Crossing, after all.”

“But gold’s been found in the area,” one of the men asserted. “That will make the railroad take another look.”

“Only if a very large find can be had. So far, there has been only a trickle of color,” Hank countered. “Nothing at all to constitute a rush.”

“But you do have a rush,” the same man replied. “We’ve seen the men lined up panning the river.”

“Yes, but what you haven’t seen are any large claims to prove the gold speculation is valid,” Hank told him. “However, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. The fact is that the railroad is going in to the north. I have worked out an arrangement to purchase land from the railroad to start a new town. I want to suggest that you folks consider doing the same. I can take you there tomorrow, if you like, and you can see exactly how the situation is set up. Those of you who want to start new businesses could easily do so there.”

“But we already bought land here,” a tall man said as he stood. He rubbed a scraggly beard. “We sold our acreage and business in Denver and used all the money to buy the land and get up here. I can’t be buying another piece of property to start over.”

“Me either” came the cry of most of the men in the room.

“We were assured that the land was ready for us, mister,” a tall bearded man announced. “We have lots designated, and the town has already been plotted out. We’ve come a long, hard way. My Esther, here, is plumb worn to the bone.”

Hank saw a woman about six months pregnant. Her eyes were sunken and lined with dark shadows. She looked at him with such hope, almost as if she were willing him to offer them good news. But Hank had nothing good to give. His money was tied up in the hotel and the livery. He had already made arrangements for Jerry Shepard to pay him over time. There was simply very little ready capital that he could invest to help anyone at this point.

“There has to be some mistake,” another man declared. He was more portly than the others and held himself as something of an authority. “The paper work was gone over by a lawyer. We know it to be valid.”

Hank shook his head. “Then perhaps you should go into Bozeman and secure another lawyer to check it out. Maybe there is another area called Gallatin Crossing. Maybe your instructions and locator marks were misdirected.”

Patterson stood at this. “Ladies and gentlemen, we aren’t going to get anywhere like this. Mr. Bishop is right. We need to send a couple of men into Bozeman to further check out the land deeds.”

Any order that had been maintained quickly dissolved as the men hurried to surround Patterson. They all spoke at once, and Hank dismissed himself. He made his way to the kitchen, feeling as though he’d once again failed to accomplish what he’d set out to do.

Lacy stood by the stove watching him. He met her eyes as she shook her head. “They sure don’t like to listen as much as they like to talk.”

He forced a smile. “They aren’t even really talking. They’re rambling—complaining at such a pace that no one can understand a word they’re saying.”

She glanced beyond him toward the noise. “Well, it’s hard to see your dreams crumble. I suppose they are also very frightened.”

Hank reached for a coffee cup. “Yes, I’m sure they are. It can’t be easy to leave everything you know, sell all you own, and put the money into something that you now realize is nonexistent. They’ve clearly been robbed, but they cannot accept that at this point.”

Lacy poured coffee into Hank’s cup. “They have families, and here it is, already the middle of summer. They know their time is limited before the cold weather comes. They’ve lived around the mountains, so they know how harsh it can be.”

“I wish I could do something to help,” Hank said, shaking his head. “But I just don’t have any answers.”

“Well, now we make a new plan,” Jefferson Mulholland told Rafe that night after they’d closed the bar.

Rafe looked at his friend and scratched his chin. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Jefferson grinned. “The wagon train folks.”

“What about them?” Rafe went to work wiping out glasses that had recently been used by some of the miners. He seldom washed them, feeling it was unnecessary. He reasoned that the alcohol was as good a cleaner as water.

Jefferson looked smug as he leaned back in his chair. Rafe stopped what he was doing and looked hard at his friend. “You know something about this, don’t you?”

Mulholland laughed. “Of course I do. I don’t let anything happen by chance in my life. Every step is carefully calculated.”

Putting down the glass and towel, Rafe moved to the table where Jefferson sat. “So you want to fill me in on all of these carefully calculated plans?”

“Of course. Have a seat and I’ll explain. I didn’t want to say anything too soon. I wanted to make sure that the people actually arrived. I’d hoped there would have been more—twenty families would have been nice. But this is a good start.”

“A good start for what?” Rafe asked.

Jefferson fished out a piece of paper from his fine silk vest. “My brother lives in Denver. I received this letter from him back in April. At my suggestion, he enticed several families to purchase tracts of land that they presumed would be prime real estate for businesses along the railroad. He even convinced them that houses were already being built and would be available for their families once they got here.”

Rafe looked at the man and realized his friend was twenty times more cunning than he could ever hope to be. “You mean you had him send those folks up here? But why?”

“Why? Because, my friend, we are going to benefit and profit from their arrival. We are going to become their most sympathetic friends.”

“I don’t understand,” Rafe said. “How can we help them? How were they even convinced to come?”

“People believe what they want to believe. My brother rented an office and put up a fancy sign and called himself a lawyer. He dressed the part and then advertised that land transactions could be made through him for purchase of prime real estate in Montana.”

Rafe shook his head. “And folks believed him? Just like that?”

Mulholland laughed and snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Like I said, folks love to believe that a bargain is a bargain and good things can be had, just for the taking. They lined up to hear about the incredibly rich Gallatin River valley and all that it had to offer. If we’d had more time, he probably could have sold more tracts. In fact, he may have already done so, for all I know.”

“So he convinced the people to put money down for land that they couldn’t even lay eyes on. I can’t believe folks could be so gullible.”

“It happens all the time. I can’t tell you the number of swindles that have been made over land. It’s really easy. You run an ad in the newspaper, convince folks to commit to buying land at ridiculously cheap prices—or in this case, even tell them that businesses are readily available. My brother convinced three men in this wagon train that there was a livery, bakery, and blacksmith shop to be had, equipment included, for a very reasonable price.”

“How did he convince them of that?”

Mulholland yawned as if bored with the entire matter. He glanced at his watch, causing Rafe to do likewise. It was nearly four in the morning. “My brother is a smart man, and frankly, we’ve done this kind of thing on a few other occasions. He had handbills printed up with descriptions of equipment and their value. He made it look authentic, and people believed what they wanted to believe.”

“That’s just amazing.” Rafe said, looking at the letter Jefferson had laid on the table. “All I can say is, the next time you pull this, I want in. Seems to me you’re benefiting quite a bit from my little town.”

Jefferson eyed his friend with a raised brow. “Seems we’re both benefiting. But if it makes you feel better, you should know that you stand to make a profit from our new arrivals. These people are going to need our help.”

“What help can we possibly give them?”

“We’re going make them a magnanimous offer. We will take pity upon their situation and suggest they rent from us and work for us. We can even let them know that they will have the opportunity to purchase the land they rent.”

“But how are we going to do that? We have a tent city here, and short of the store and hotel, there isn’t that much to offer.”

“True, but they can labor to build it,” Mulholland suggested. He crossed his arms. “You have enough land around here that we can build on. They can cut the trees and glean the lumber for building. They can put their sweat into seeing their families housed before the cruel winter sets in. We can even generously tell them that if they will build houses for their families and stores for the community, we will allow them some months rent free.”

Rafe considered this for a few moments. Mulholland’s skill at manipulation astounded him. “What if they don’t agree?”

Jefferson shrugged. “What if they don’t? They can leave on the same road that brought them here. We won’t look any worse for offering so generously, and we certainly won’t be out any money. And if they agree, we get our town built for nothing. Oh, we might have to help with nails and such, but that will be nothing compared to having to do it ourselves.”

Rafe began to see the truth of it. It was really quite simple. Even if the group sent someone back to Denver, they wouldn’t find Jefferson’s brother. He would have already moved on to another town and started up another scheme. The wagon train folks were really limited in what they could do to resolve the situation. He smiled.

“Count me in,” he said. “I always did favor myself being a landlord.”

Dave looked at the man riding next to him. His name was Jonathan Webster, but he went by Big John. He had killed a man the night before in a fight behind Rafe’s Saloon. Dave knew Big John as a regular of Rafe’s, but little more. The man was at least six feet four and outweighed Dave by seventy pounds. His heavy beard partially hid several rather nasty scars, but it was his dark eyes that made the man look even more menacing.

“You know it was self-defense.”

“I know that’s your story,” Dave said.

“It’s the truth. That lowlife threatened to put a knife between my shoulder blades when I won my fifth hand of poker. When I went outside, he followed me and pulled a knife. If you ask around, you’ll find out that the knife that killed him was his own.”

“I have that information in my report,” Dave assured him.

“So do they have good grub at this Bozeman jail?”

Dave shrugged and readjusted his hat. The intensity of the sun made him squint. “I suppose as far as prison food goes, it’s decent enough. If you were overly worried about your meals, you should have stayed out of trouble.”

The man laughed heartily, as if Dave had told a great joke. They rode in silence for a time and had nearly reached the Bozeman city limits before Big John cleared his throat to speak.

“I’m wondering if we can make a deal.”

Dave looked at him and raised a brow. “What kind of deal?”

The sights and sounds of city life rose up to greet the stillness of rural Montana. There was the ever-present smell of pigs and the unbearable dust kicked up from the dirt roads. Dave and John had to ease far to the side of Main Street as a sixteen-mule train loaded to the hilt with supplies came firing down the street like a ball cut loose from a cannon. Bozeman had become quite the busy place in the last couple of years, and pedestrians and horseback riders were starting to fear for their lives. Big John appeared to take in the spectacle for a moment, then turned back to meet Dave’s fixed stare.

“Well, I’m wondering if a fella could get out of serving prison time if he had knowledge of crimes even worse than what he was accused of.”

“Are you telling me you have information about illegal doings and you want to trade that for a reduced sentence?”

“Or no sentence at all,” the man said with a grin. “What I know is worth it, I guarantee you.”

“I don’t make those decisions,” Dave answered. “That would be up to the judge.”

“But do you suppose it’s possible?”

“I honestly don’t know. I believe it would depend on the kind of knowledge you have. You know, whether it’s firsthand or hearsay.”

“Oh, it’s firsthand all right,” Big John said with a gruff laugh. “I can vouch for it personally, ’cause I got roped into some of it.”

They passed several wagonloads of freight and multiple pedestrians as they made their way to Third Street. Dave considered his next question carefully.

“Big John, how can you possibly expect to be helped by confessing additional crimes?”

“I suppose ’cause I weren’t the only one involved. I figure what I got to say will put away some half a dozen fellas. Surely it would be worth having six or seven hardened-criminal types off the street.”