The Shopkeeper (20 page)

I glanced behind me and saw something that jolted my senses, but I pushed it from my mind: A man dressed in Pinkerton black lay wounded or dead in the front door of the hotel. McAllen scrambled down the steps and shoved down on my shoulder. I resisted and fell only to a shooting position on one knee and aimed my pistol at the now-quiet building across the street.

“Are you hit?” he screamed.

“No.”

McAllen dropped to his knee and gave my face an odd look. Evidently satisfied, he leaped to his feet and raced to the right side of the building that hid the shooters. I noticed that another Pinkerton had already run to the left side. Once they had both arrived at the corners of the building, without hesitation they ran toward the door and swung inside with their guns at the ready.

I sensed movement behind me, and a quick glance confirmed that Sharp stood over my shoulder with a Winchester, a weapon I wished I held in my own hands. McAllen came back into the street, whipping his head left and right.

Sharp grabbed my elbow and tugged to indicate that I should stand. By the time I got to my feet, McAllen had reached my other side, and the three of us moved back toward the hotel. When I stepped back onto the porch, I saw that the Pinkerton crumpled in the doorway was Sam.

I heard another shot, and all three of us whirled and dropped closer to the boardwalk. In a second, the Pinkerton who had run into the building appeared from behind the structure and gave a hand signal to indicate that he had eliminated the danger.

The hotel was bedlam as dozens of people came out of hiding to find out what all the shooting had been about. Before we could get into the parlor, a room that stood off the central hall, nosy men surrounded us, making it difficult to move forward.

Sharp yelled, “We have an injured man here! Make room, goddamn it!” The sea of men parted enough for us to get Sam through the door, where we laid him on a couch.

The hotelkeeper raced over and exclaimed, “Move him into the back room! You’re going to ruin that settee!”

I jerked my gun on him. “Back off, dammit!” The man stopped in his tracks. I jabbed my gun into his ribs. “Get a doctor. Now!”

He scurried away, white as a freshly laundered sheet. When I turned back to Sam, Sharp was already applying pressure to the wound with a handkerchief.

Someone nudged me, and I twisted my head to see a hand offering a flask. I nodded thanks, uncorked the flask, and gently placed it above Sam’s lower lip. He opened his mouth slightly, and I let a tiny trickle flow between his lips. It heartened me to see him swallow the liquor.

The doctor looked at the immobile crowd, which included Sharp and me. “If you people don’t skedaddle, I’ll personally file accessory-to-murder charges against the lot of you. Now, git!”

Sharp stood, and I helped him herd the people out of the room. Soon the only people left in the parlor were Sam, the doctor, and his assistant. I stepped out and quietly closed the door.

“Looks bad,” I said, feeling frightened.

Instead of responding, Sharp grabbed the arm of a man in the crowded central hall. “George, keep people out of the parlor until a constable gets over here.”

“Sure thing, Jeff.” He took a position in front of the door, and Sharp led me out of the hotel.

After we got outside, Sharp turned to me and said, “Stand still.” My cheek stung as he pulled something out of my face. He held up a two-inch wood splinter that I must have picked up when I smashed into the boardwalk outside. I rubbed my cheek, and my hand came away bloody. Now I knew what had grabbed McAllen’s attention outside, and why he thought I might have been shot. I hadn’t felt a thing.

After he confirmed that my wound was minor, Sharp said, “Let’s find McAllen.”

Captain McAllen and his two Pinkertons stood across the street talking to two lawmen. We started to join them but kept our distance when McAllen held the flat of his hand toward us.

In a couple of minutes, McAllen stepped off the porch and signaled us to follow him a few paces into the street. People milled around everywhere, so McAllen led us up a residential lane until we were out of earshot.

“Doctor say anything?” McAllen asked.

“No.” Sharp answered. “Just shooed everyone out.”

McAllen looked to see if his other two men were on guard. Satisfied, he said, “Steve, we were ambushed by the two men we encountered at breakfast. They’re both dead.”

Captain McAllen looked angry, and when he spoke, I realized his anger was directed at me. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Why’d you charge out onto that porch?”

“Bookkeepers keep records. I wanted that book you said he keeps. It suddenly occurred to me that he might’ve made notations about his contracts … I’m sorry.”

The muscles in McAllen’s face relaxed only a bit. “Steve, that wasn’t such a bad idea, but I hope you see what happens when you charge off without telling me what you’re about to do.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I just muttered, “Captain, it won’t happen again.”

He waited just the right amount of time before saying, “See that it doesn’t.” His tone of voice scared me more than the Cutlers had.

Sharp put his hand on my shoulder. “If those two hadn’t been waiting in ambush, it might’ve worked.” He turned to McAllen. “If we run into Sprague again, we should search him.”

“Steve Dancy!” The yell came from the hotel and caused us all to reach for guns, but it was only the doctor’s assistant. When we approached the St. Charles, she said, “Your friend wants to talk to you.”

I followed the assistant back into the hotel parlor and, as he stood, the doctor whispered, “Keep it quiet.”

Someone had torn Sam’s shirt off, and his skin looked pale from loss of blood. I knelt down beside the couch and leaned close to his face, and he whispered, “The bushwhackers?”

“Dead, both of them,” I said.

“Good. They beat me to hell, at least.” He grimaced in pain. “Steve, I need a favor.” Another twitch, before he choked out the words. “Kill Washburn.”

Chapter 35

To my memory, I had not cried since I broke my leg at age twelve, but this day, it took a long while for my tears to dry and for me to get control enough to face people. By the time I opened the parlor door, the only person in the hall was the Pinkerton assigned to keep people out.

“Sam’s dead,” I said quietly.

The Pinkerton nodded and said, “The undertaker’s outside on the porch. I’ll get ’im.”

I stepped across the hall into the restaurant and ordered a whiskey. After a few minutes, Jeff Sharp and Captain McAllen came in and sat at my table. I gulped the whiskey and gestured with my fingers for another drink. From the looks on their faces, I knew I didn’t need to tell them that Sam had died.

When the barkeep set another full shot glass in front of me, McAllen said, “Take it easy. I need you sober.”

“If you don’t mind, I plan to take a bottle to my room.”

“No. Time’s a-wastin’. Sprague rode out of town in a hurry, probably afraid we’d come after him because of the shooting. He could be on his way to Virginia City, but I’m betting he’s set out to pick a good ambush spot away from town. We need to leave now to catch him unawares.”

“Not that way. There’s a reason Pinkertons are supposed to remain nameless and faceless. I never should have let you get friendly with Sam. Bad for business.”

Sharp did not answer but called over to the barkeep for a beer. After he took a swallow, he said, “You’re lettin’ guilt cloud your thinkin’. I agree with the captain. We need to get on the road to the Bolton ranch before Sprague sets himself up for an ambush.”

McAllen answered. “Not before he bolted out of town, but the liveryman confirms the missing nail. We still need the bullet. Then we’ll go to the law.”

“Washburn?”

“He lit out for Virginia City with some other hired hands. Been gone since morning.” McAllen scanned the restaurant and then added, “We’ll not give chase. Have I made myself clear?”

“I want this to end,” I said. McAllen continued to look stone-faced, so I glanced at Sharp. “I made a promise to Sam.” Jeff gave no sign that he would join me in hunting down Washburn.

For a minute, I wondered if there were other men I could hire, but I gave up the idea. These were the men I had made my pact with. They were good men, and I knew them. I swallowed the remaining whiskey in my glass and stood to leave. “All right, but I need to see Bradshaw before we go.”

“Make it damn quick,” Captain McAllen said.

Bradshaw’s office was near the mint that converted Nevada silver into coins for the western United States. I guessed he wanted to be close to the power base in the state. It was a short walk, and when I asked to see him, his assistant did not hesitate to show me into his office. Instead of working at his rolltop desk, Bradshaw sat at a mahogany table he had situated in the center of the room.

We took seats on opposite sides of the table. “We’re leaving for Bolton’s ranch immediately. We’ll retrieve the bullet and be back in a couple of days. Hopefully, it will be enough to at least tie Sprague up in court proceedings.” I tried to get a measure on Bradshaw, but his face showed as little expression as when Washburn had taunted him. “This gunplay hasn’t given you pause, has it?”

“Pause, yes. Stopped me, no.” Bradshaw took out a cigar and played with it for a moment. “If you had been killed, I might have reconsidered running for governor. But … I guess I’m still in. You taking all your Pinkertons with you?”

“Yes. Sprague’s on the road, and we’ll need them. Are there other men you can hire?”

“Already working on it. I’ve stationed men on the trail to Virginia City, so I’ll have fair warning if Washburn or some of his ruffians return.”

“Good.” I pulled some papers from my pocket and pushed them across the table. “When the governor appoints a new judge, have these writs processed.”

Bradshaw made no attempt to pick them up. “What are they?”

“Foreclosure on some mortgages. Washburn wrote me what I bet are bad checks against a Denver bank. I sent someone to Denver, and I’ll wire him to get you word, one way or the other. Should be any day. The others are for the arrest of Sprague and Washburn. You might have to wait on them.”

“Disputed ownership. If you can get the charter pulled for Carson City First, his Virginia City mortgages may be in a questionable status. The judge might want to stop sale of all assets until he gets a handle on things.”