California Crackdown tt-324 Page 3

“I believe in bettering your lot. That’s why people came west. To improve their lot. And you don’t do that by pitching horseshoes all day.”

  “Yeah.” Peck laughed. “We should be fritterin’ our time away in whorehouses. That’d be better now, wouldn’t it, Mr. Brant?”

  Daniel was surprised at how openly sarcastic the gunnies were around Brant. He might be their boss in the short term but their guns made them more powerful and more dangerous than he could ever be no matter how much money he had. For Brant it had to be like keeping panthers on a leash. He just had to hope they never slipped that leash and attacked him.

  “You probably had a halfway decent reason for comin’ up here, Brant,” Hughes said. He winked at Peck. “Maybe you’d like to share it with us.”

  Brant shook his head in disgust. Locally he was a man who brooked no insolence. Townspeople feared him financially and his mine guards physically. But these drifters, these lowborn killers, they had no respect for who Brant was—or at least who he planned to be after he took things over around here.

  “I want to have a meeting down at the mine. And I want you down there.”

  “I hope it doesn’t run as long as that last meeting,” Peck said. “I damned near went to sleep.”

  Brant’s face flushed deep red. He looked out of place up here in his city suit. Out of place and at the moment completely at the mercy of the mocking men he badly needed right now. “I’ll expect you along in ten minutes. And not one minute later.”

  He turned and tromped back down the hill.

  Hughes and Peck ridiculed Brant, of course. Daniel made a good audience. His laughter was deep and genuine.

  But as the jokes kept coming, he thought how strange his life had become. A man hires you and you make fun of him. And he hires you to kill other people.

  Yes, indeed. How strange Daniel Parker’s life had become.

  2

  You don’t just bring dead bodies into a town without there being some questions asked. The next morning, the inquest with the marshal in front of a magistrate took less than a half hour, with Cain and one of his men giving their side of the story after Fargo gave his. They were all cleared and the judge actually thanked them for taking care of the problem.

  Fargo had no doubt that this gang of thieves wasn’t the main problem. More than likely, by getting rid of them, he was going to force Brant into hiring more experienced and dangerous men to go after Cain’s gold.

  After dinner the night before, Fargo had asked around and it seemed that no one recognized the men lying in coffins in the morgue, and no one had inquired about their horses or their gear. He hadn’t expected anyone to, but it never hurt to ask.

  Outside the stone courthouse, on the edge of the dusty street, Marshal Davis stopped Cain and Fargo. He stood about the same height as Fargo, slightly taller than Cain, and looked like he would be a formidable foe in a fight, even though gray was touching his hair on the sides. He had on a black suit jacket and a wide-brimmed hat. The matching Colts that the marshal carried comfortably in leather on his hips told Fargo the man could shoot with both hands, probably with deadly accuracy. And from what Fargo had heard about Marshal Davis, the man was harsh but fair, and kept the streets of Sacramento pretty much under control.

  “Fargo,” the marshal said, staring directly into Fargo’s eyes. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. You mind? I got a question for you.”

  “Fire away, Marshal. Not sure I have an answer, but I’ll do my darnedest.”

  Marshal Davis smiled. “Are you working the Placerville road for Mr. Parker?”

  “I am,” Fargo said.

  Cain laughed. “Thank all the heavens that he is. It would be me and my men lying in that morgue without him helping me out.”

  Marshal Davis nodded. “Glad you’re on the job. I need all the help I can get on that road with all the robberies going on and the amount of gold being transported into town. And from the looks of them, I doubt these men are the main problem.”

  “I have the same hunch,” Fargo said.

  Cain laughed again and slapped Fargo on the back. “I trust your hunches, Skye. You’re the only one who can get my shipments through. They’re the ones that seem to be getting attacked the most.”

  “I’ve noticed that as well,” Marshal Davis said. “That’s why I’m glad Fargo is with you. That alone should cut down on some of the problems on that road. Your reputation precedes you, sir.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” Fargo said. “Kind of like a bad smell.”

  Placerville had expanded down a valley and spread out like an ugly weed over the hillsides. Tents, shacks, and lean-tos surrounded the two-story buildings that formed the town’s core. Mine tailings dotted the hills like scars in all directions and there wasn’t a tree in sight left standing.

  By the time Fargo left Cain at his mine and rode into town, it was getting close to dark. The heat of the day still hovered over the buildings, keeping everything feeling dusty and tight.

  Cain had been hoping that Fargo would stay with him in his big, empty house, but Fargo had declined, saying it just wasn’t his style. Cain had laughed and said he knew that, but had to offer. Then Cain had suggested that Fargo stay in the nicest hotel in town and put it on his tab. Fargo intended to take him up on his offer. While he preferred sleeping on the trail, he wasn’t about to turn down an occasional hotel and well-cooked food.

  The Wallace Hotel filled a corner and part of one block of the boomtown. It had been built with rough stone and painted wood, with large windows and a covered wooden porch and sidewalk area that wrapped around the big building. On one street was the entrance to the saloon; around the corner on the other street was the entrance to the hotel.

  Fargo went in the hotel entrance and looked around. The hotel had a lobby that was separate from the saloon, and like the hotel in Sacramento, there was a grand staircase made out of marble and polished wood that soared upward in a wide curve over the stuffed chairs and couches of the lobby.

  There was a separate dining area off of the lobby and a door that marked the entrance into the saloon and kept the noise in the lobby down. The smells coming from the dining area were inviting and Fargo set his mind on a good dinner, then maybe a little poker and a drink to round off the evening.

  He arranged for a bath to be drawn in his room as he checked in. Before going upstairs, Fargo poked his head in to the saloon to take a look around. The place had a number of what looked like high-stakes poker games going and a stage for dancers later in the evening. It smelled of cigar smoke and whiskey and felt inviting. A brass spittoon sat near every table and behind the long wooden bar. The wall was full of bottles arranged around a huge ornate mirror. Fargo had no doubt he could spend many a comfortable evening in the place.

  He was about to head to his room when a woman in a dark dress with pink trim stepped into the saloon from a back room. She had long brown hair, beautiful white skin, and green eyes that could hold a man firmly in place no matter what the occasion. Fargo knew that for a fact, since he had spent many a pleasurable night staring into those eyes in Colorado a few years before.

  Her name was Anne Dowling, and she was the widow of Wallace Dowling. Wallace had been a rancher and had been killed by rustlers. Anne had run the ranch for years before Fargo met her. They had become lovers and he had helped her out with two of her ranch hands who were threatening her and trying to take over her ranch.

  Her bubbling personality made her one of those people whom it was almost impossible to say no to. And she had been a lover like none he had known since.

  Fargo stared, taking in her beauty and flowing movements as she headed behind the bar like she owned the place. Then it dawned on him that likely she did. This was the Wallace Hotel. Her husband had been named Wallace.

  He moved through the saloon, watching her work on something on the back counter. He finally reached the bar and stood staring at the white skin of her neck above the collar of her dress. He had loved the feel of her ski
n. The memory was as if they had made love yesterday, not four years before.

  The bartender approached him. “What will it be, sir?”

  “A simple hello from a beautiful woman would be a nice start.”

  The bartender frowned and started to say something when Anne spun around, all smiles. “Skye!”

  She moved to the bar, took Fargo’s hands, and squeezed them, then almost climbed up on the bar to kiss his cheek.

  Her green eyes sparkled with excitement at seeing him. He had to admit, he was excited in more ways than one at seeing her again as well.

  “What are you doing in Placerville?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” Fargo said, laughing.

  “Long story.” She squeezed his hands again, her smile beaming just as he remembered it. “Have you had dinner?”

  “Just going up to my room to drop off my gear, get cleaned up, and do exactly that.”

  “Wonderful,” she said, laughing. “Mind if a woman invites herself to your table?”

  “Anne, it would be my pleasure,” he said, bowing slightly.

  She released her grip on his hands and turned to the bartender. “Reg, this is the Trailsman. He doesn’t pay for a drink in here.”

  Reg smiled and nodded to Fargo, clearly recognizing the name. “Nice meeting you, sir. Anne has spoken of you often and I’ve heard many other stories. It is an honor and a pleasure.”

  “A bartender who serves me free drinks,” Fargo said, shaking the bartender’s solid hand and smiling. “I think the pleasure is all mine.”

  “Anything to keep you around a little longer,” Anne said, laughing.

  “Oh, I might be here awhile,” Fargo said. Then, before she could ask, he said, “Long story. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. Give me thirty minutes to clean off a week’s worth of trail dust for such wonderful company.”

  She half climbed up on the bar again and kissed his cheek for the second time. “I’ll be in the dining room. Don’t keep a girl waiting too long. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Then she winked and turned and headed for the back room.

  Fargo watched her go, his mind filled with memories of all their nights together.

  “She’s quite a woman,” Reg said.

  “You’ve known her for a while then?”

  “Tried to get her to marry me—that’s how well I’ve known her.” Then he smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. Those days are long behind me. Mostly just my daydreams more than anything else. To her I’ve never been more than a friend. Sort of like a big brother. But you”— he smiled—“all she does is talk about you. Skye this and Skye that. She has her own daydreams when it comes to you.”

  “Well, I’ve had a few about her too.”

  “You don’t strike me as the settling-down kind.”

  “No. I’m not. But once in a while she makes it very tempting. All these years go by and I still think of her. Then I run into her—”

  Reg had to move down the bar to serve a pair of new customers. He was a burly, quiet gent, one of those men whose presence had a calming effect on people. A real asset in the bartending business, especially given the nature of Western saloons, where fights were as common as beers. Fargo imagined that when a brawl broke out Reg had two weapons—the ball bat behind the bar and his own assertive presence.

  When Reg came back, he said, “You’ve probably noticed we’ve got a lot of crazy people running around these streets of ours.”

  “Gold?”

  Reg nodded. “Sort of ugly what gold does to people. You take a nice, decent feller everybody trusts— he gets a little gold and suddenly he sees everybody as his enemy. He’s got to protect the gold. I’ve seen it over and over. Works the same way from the other side too. You have two friends and one of them gets a strike and the other doesn’t. The one without the strike gets jealous. A lot of time—and I’ve seen this happen too—he gets so jealous that some night he’s all drunked up and he kills his old friend in cold blood. That’s the kind of effect gold has on people.”

  “And then you’ve got one mine owner trying to take over another mine owner.”

  “That’s what’s going on around here. Already been a lot of men killed. The more gold, the more killing.” He laughed. “That’s why I’m happy to stay behind the bar here and mind my own business.”

  Reg had to serve a few more customers. Fargo looked around the place. Lamps were lowered over poker tables. A man in a funny little hat and red sleeve garters was sitting down to play the piano. Three men at one table were rolling dice.

  Boomtown. You’d find men here from Europe, from Asia. All trying to get rich. Reg was right. Otherwise decent, reasonable, realistic men would leave their homes and families to come west to search for gold. And when they got out here, something happened to them. They changed, no longer decent, reasonable, or realistic. Too many of them changed into hungry wolves.

  Reg came back. “This probably sounds kind of crazy, giving advice to the Trailsman. But this is one of those towns where it’s hard to know who to trust. I want Anne to be happy. I doubt she’ll get you to the altar but she’s got a chance as long as nobody turns you into a corpse. So just watch yourself. I don’t want to see that little gal disappointed.”

  This time when Reg went down the bar, there was an air of sadness about him. Fargo figured that despite his earlier words, the man was still painfully in love with Anne. It must have been hard for him to talk to Fargo about the woman he loved—the woman who loved Fargo and not him.

  But Reg was one of those rare people—he put the wishes and needs of his friend Anne above his own wishes and needs.

  Anne was lucky to have a friend like Reg.

  Fargo hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in a long time. The steak cooked exactly the way he liked it, the potato soft and moist, the waiters around only when needed. But it was the company of Anne that made the meal memorable.

  After they had eaten, they talked far into the night over fine wine, far after the restaurant was closed to the regular guests.

  As he had guessed, she was the owner of the hotel. She had sold her ranch after one rough winter and headed west, ending up here with enough money and the right timing to build Placerville’s largest and nicest hotel and saloon. She hadn’t remarried and had no intention to.

  “You spoiled me, Fargo,” she said at one point, putting her hand on his and looking into his eyes. “Not only for other men, but you showed me that there was more to living than just a ranch and cattle.”

  “So, are you happy here?”

  “More than I ever thought possible,” she said. “Sure, I have my problems, but I also have far more good days than bad. And this place is a gold mine without having to lift a shovel.”

  “And what happens if the mines start to play out?” Fargo asked. He couldn’t begin to count the number of towns that had boomed and then vanished into dust over the years when the gold or silver ran out. Or the railway passed the town by. Or the water went bad.

  “I’ve been watching,” she said, her eyes and expression serious for the first time in the conversation. “If it starts to look like it’s going to dry up, I’ll sell out quickly and Reg and I and a dozen others who came with me from Colorado will move to another city, build another place, and start again.”

  “You’ve sure got a good friend in Reg.”

  “I sure do,” Anne said. “He took over as ranch foreman after you left. He’s now my hotel manager, the person I trust to run this place. He’s almost my business partner. He designed this place and helped build it. He gets a share of the profits as well.”

  “He still loves you, you know.”

  Anne looked directly into his eyes. “And I’m still in love with you.”

  Someday down the road, if he ever got too old for moving around, Anne might be the one he would come back to. But he wasn’t that old yet, and she knew that.

  “So,” Anne said, sipping her wine and sitting back, “what’s this long sto
ry that brought you to Placerville?”

  He told her everything, including what had happened on the Placerville road yesterday.

  She nodded, even though there was worry in her eyes. “Cain is a good man. Very well respected around here. He treats his men well and plays fair. It makes sense he would be your friend. But some of these other mine owners you want to stay clear of.”

  “I’d be grateful for any local knowledge I can get,” Fargo said.

  Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice just to make sure no one could hear, even though the dining area seemed clear and their table candles were the only ones still burning in the room. “What do you know of Henry Brant?”

  Anne looked disgusted at the very mention of the name. “The worst of the worst. And his daughter is as bad as they come as well. I won’t even allow his men to drink or eat in here. He’s known to play poker over at the Benson Saloon. I hear Cain’s son is mixed up with the daughter. Doesn’t seem right to me.”

  “I heard that too,” Fargo said.

  “So why the hushed tone and the question?” Anne asked.

  Fargo told her about his brief meeting with Sarah Brant, and then about the horses and gear that the robbers had been using. “It doesn’t add up completely, but it sure points a finger.”

  “And I wouldn’t put it past the Brants to be behind the robbery attempts on Cain’s shipments,” Anne said. Then she too lowered her voice to a whisper. “There are rumors that the Brants’ mine has mostly played out and they’re working underground toward Cain’s tunnels that are still hitting vein. But they’re only rumors and there’s no way of proving it until something happens underground and Brant breaks through into one of Cain’s tunnels.”

  Fargo nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time there’s been a war between mines underground.”

  After another half hour of talking business, Anne stood and stretched. “It’s getting late and a lady like me needs her beauty sleep.”

  Fargo could feel the disappointment hit his stomach as he stood. He had hoped for another ending to this evening.

  Anne smiled at Fargo and pulled him closer to her. He was a good foot taller than she was and she pressed in close and looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. She smelled great and he could feel her ample breasts pressing into him as a reminder of good times in the past.