Colorado Sam (12 page)

   To his surprise, Laura Payne didn't resist immediately. Then she stiffened, gathered herself, and jerked free of his grasp. More truthfully, Nathan, not desiring to abuse her, dropped his arms. He knew it was coming, but didn't bother to dodge the slap she planted on his cheek. 

   Laura Payne was shaking all over. “Well, Mr. Tanner, you've insulted my father and taken advantage of his daughter. Are you through? Or must I get my revolver?” 

   Stealing kisses from an unarmed girl was one thing, taking a bullet for a successful theft quite another. Nathan backpedaled for the door. He couldn't resist smiling in triumph. “Miss Payne, I suggest you remember that kiss and pray it isn't our last.”

   He turned and ducked outside as a carved female head, complete with straw hat, smashed into the jamb of the door. The straw hat sailed past Nathan into the street. The carved head ricocheted into the display area of the front window and overturned the carved heads lined up behind the glass one after the other. It was the finest strike Nathan, an avid lawn bowler, had ever witnessed.

   He burst out laughing. 

   It may have been short in duration, but Lord, what a wonderful kiss. 

 
   An angry, strident voice curtailed Nathan's laughter. “If you believe he's right, you're not welcome in my shop either, Mrs. Tanner!”

   Alana Birdsong whistled for Sam, marched from the millinery, caught Nathan by the elbow, and steered him toward Hunt Street. “I apologize. I'd no idea Laura could stay mad at anyone for more than an hour or two. Don't fret. She's in love with you.”

   Nathan eyed his aunt as if she'd lost her mind. “In love with me? Why she practically threatened to shoot me!”

   “Think about it, Nephew. If she didn't truly care for you, she'd have been calm and indifferent,” Alana Birdsong assured him. 

   Nathan remained dubious. “If it's all the same to you I'm not going near her again anytime soon.”

   Alana Birdsong laughed. “I'll admit I was as happy as you that she didn't have that pistol within reach.”

   Sam paused, bristled, and growled in the direction of Buckman Groceries and Drugs. Instead of the old gaffer Lyle Terry, a wedge-shaped individual whose bulging biceps strained the sleeves of his white shirt occupied the store's porch. If you missed the man's bulging muscles, his spectacular handlebar moustache, gleaming, clean-shaven skull, and blood-stained apron commanded your attention. His posture was equally striking. He stood ramrod stiff with fists balled on his hips, and glared at Sam, his hostility evident from the opposite sidewalk. 

   “Quiet, Sam,” Alana Birdsong ordered without missing a step. 

   “Who's that?” queried Nathan.  

   “That's Calvin Buckman. He's a year younger than Roan.”

   “He mean as he looks?”

   “Meaner, and he's hates anyone named Tanner. First, your uncle shot his father, and then he beat Calvin to his knees in broad daylight with half of Alamosa watching.”

   Nathan studied Cal Buckman's chunky frame and muscular limbs. “Uncle must have been something. Was he afraid of anything?”

   “Not hardly,” Alana Birdsong said. “He brooked insult from no man, or woman for that matter. It's unfortunate that he and Cole Buckman both settled in the San Luis Valley. Cole had to be the top dog in the kennel, bar none, and Seth was the thorn in the side Cole couldn't tolerate. The shame of it is, this valley was big enough for the both of them.” 

   Alana Birdsong sighed. “Sad, isn't it, that none of Cole's sons can own up to that and bury the hatchet.” 

   They waited at the intersection of Fifth and Hunt for a freight wagon and two buggies to pass, then crossed over and continued west on Fifth. “One last call before dinner, Nephew, and you needn't worry. Heads won't fly this time,” Alana Birdsong promised with a laugh.

   Their destination was a small house nestled between two low wooden structures, one of which displayed a red and white barber's pole, the other a painted portrait of boots and saddles. The gilded letters on the door glass of the small house read, J. Franklin Abbott, Attorney at Law. “You'll like Franklin,” Alana Birdsong said.   “He's older than dirt, and crusty as year-old bread. Your uncle thought the world of him.” 

   A heavily wrinkled, hunched-over gentleman with thick glasses, a heavy growth of whiskers, and rumpled clothing answered his aunt's knock. “Well, horse whip me, the woman of my dreams hasn't forsaken me for another,” J. Franklin Abbott said, his welcoming grin punctuated by a broken tooth. “Come in, my dear, come in, and bring Sam and your guest with you.”

   Lawyer Abbott, limping on his left leg, led them into what had once been a formal parlor, but was now most assuredly a law office. Rows of leather bound volumes covered three walls and additional tomes rose in plies atop an oaken desk. The array of magnifying glasses resting on the desk's blotter exposed their owner's steadily failing eyesight. 

   “Please sit, the both of you,” lawyer Abbott said, pointing to two decrepit leather chairs with worn, shiny seats.

   Once his guests were comfortable, J. Franklin Abbott settled into a wheeled chair and lifted a cigar from a tin ashtray. Instead of lighting the stogie, he began to gnaw on it. “Can't smoke them any more without coughing, so I mostly chew them. Ain't pretty, but it satisfies my craving. Lord, how Emmaline hated the stink of tobacco. You'll learn young people that old habits tend to go to the grave with you.” 

   Lawyer Abbott squinted from behind his thick glasses and inquired, “And what, may I ask, brings a beautiful woman to my door?”

   “Franklin, this is Nathan, Seth's nephew from St. Louis,” Alana Birdsong said. “We're in need of advice and counsel.”

   Lawyer Abbott jerked the cigar from his mouth. ”Wouldn't have anything to do with the attempt on this lad's life, would it?”

   “Yes, but that's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to explaining the mess we're in.”

   “Yes, I imagine it is. Laura Payne told me of the murder of your parents, Nathan. She also told me you're an only child like her. It must be quite a burden to suffer that great loss and try to assume control of your father's vast financial holdings at the same time.”

    Nathan nodded. “More than I ever dreamed, Mr. Abbott. I've discovered Father wore mighty big shoes.”

   “Well said, lad. He was sitting in that very chair the evening we created the ST partnership that included him and Alana as co-owners with your Uncle Seth. The next evening, Eldon Payne joined us and we wrote the charter for the Payne Company. What a grand occasion that was. We had a round of sherry in Emmaline's stemmed glasses after the signing.”

   “That's one reason we're here, Franklin,” Alana Birdsong said. “I'm afraid the cooperative spirit of that evening has gone a-glimmering. Eldon suddenly wants to sell out to the Buckmans.”

   “I've heard rumors to that effect,” lawyer Abbott allowed, “and at first, I was mystified. But you know how we old lawyers are, we have our sources, and not just at the courthouse or around the public beer taps. Before my leg quit on me I frequented the Alamosa Club for a jolt or two after dinner. Now, the Club's poker games don't appeal to me, but Eldon can't resist the pasteboards. He sits in a game every Wednesday with Roan and Calvin Buckman, among others. Sometimes the games last half the night.” 

   Lawyer Abbott licked his unlit stogie. “It didn't mean much at the time until the month before we lost Seth. Press Norwood stopped by. Press owns the flour mill on Alhambra, and he's been a regular in the Wednesday poker game from the beginning. He told me Eldon was losing substantial amounts of money to Roan and Calvin. When Press expressed his concern, Eldon said he was just having a run of bad luck and wasn't quitting until he won back what he'd lost. Press got so disgusted watching Eldon dig himself a deeper hole every week he dropped out altogether.”

   Alana Birdsong slid to the edge of her chair. Nathan was no less alert. “You're thinking what I'm thinking, aren't you, Franklin?” Alana said. “Eldon's so far in debt to the Buckmans he's got to sell out to pay what he owes them.”

   “And maybe steal from his own company to boot,” Nathan put in.

   Lawyer Abbott spat brown tobacco juice into his tin ashtray. “Apparently, you two have information I don't. Should I be aware of it?”

   “Yes,” Alana Birdsong said. “If you're to be of help, you have to be aware of everything we suspect.”

   It was by now a lengthy story of murder, attempted murder, robbery, and fraud, and Alana spared none of the details. Lawyer Abbott chewed, licked, and listened without interrupting. When she finished, he pulled a wooden match from a desk drawer, struck it on his thigh, and lighted what remained of his stogie. “Wildest yarn I've ever heard. You realize, don't you, that without some kind of documented evidence or a confession from one of the participants, a judge would throw us out of court.”

   “What if we can prove Eldon Payne has stolen funds owed Tanner Supply?” Alana suggested.

   Lawyer Abbott puffed his stogie and steepled his fingers on his chest. “It might enable you to unravel the whole scheme,” he surmised. “Maybe force Eldon to rat on the others to save his own hide. How do you plan to prove Eldon's a thief?” 

   “Nathan and I are taking the train to Creede. We'll locate Josiah Pedigrew and show him the telegram from Devlin Kellerman. If he paid Payne Merchandise, he'll have either written receipts or copies of bank drafts. You don't hand over fifty thousand dollars to anyone without demanding proof of payment in return.”

   Lawyer Abbott rubbed the hot end of his stogie against his bare palm and dropped the dead cigar into a wire wastebasket. “You get your evidence, you bring it straight here. We'll hunt up Judge Harlan Dodge and have the court order an immediate audit of Payne Merchandise. If Eldon fights such an order, he'll prove his own guilt.”

   “Thank you, Franklin,” Alana said as she prepared to stand. “I hope my little scheme works. I want the Buckmans to pay for Seth's murder, if not in court, then by some other means. And I won't quit until that happens.” 

   Hitching to his feet, lawyer Abbott stomped his game leg to restore circulation. “My dear, I admire your spunk. I've known two generations of Buckmans. They're a vicious lot, and they get so much as a sniff of what you're about, they'll kill you, the lad, and Eldon to cover their tracks. I wouldn't even let them see you board the train.”

   “Don't worry, I won't,” Alana said. “Will you join us for dinner, Franklin?”

   “No, my dear, I'm afraid not,” lawyer Franklin said, kissing Alana's cheek. “Much as I hate my own cooking, this damnable leg is aching like a toothache. You don't mind, please show yourselves to the door.”

   Out on the street, Alana Birdsong didn't linger in front of lawyer Abbott's house. Sam again at her knee, they retraced their steps to the intersection of Fifth and Hunt. Nathan was hoping he might at least get a peek at the L.P. Millinery, but his aunt swung north on Hunt Street. 

   Though it was late afternoon, traffic, whether wheeled or afoot, was still heavy. Buildings were beginning to cast shadows and it was turning downright chilly under porch roofs. Had they walked a second block Nathan would have slipped into his newly purchased mackinaw. 

   Alana Birdsong cut diagonally across Hunt Street and beelined for Girty's Eats, a large, rough-boarded dining hall whose sign was a mere twelve inches square and barely legible. Ignoring the freshly painted sign of equal size that read, No Dogs, Alana held the door for Sam. The huge dog's habit of walking with his fangs bared, coupled with the sight of his female mistress, silenced Girty's male diners. Men craned their necks and gawked at the beautiful woman in corduroy trousers bold enough to venture amongst them. Silence hung like a smothering blanket until Nathan and Alana reached an empty table near the kitchen. With the thump of Alana's rifle on the table, bodies relaxed and talk resumed.

    Intrigued by his aunt's choice of restaurants, Nathan scanned the crowded eatery and quipped, “Doesn't appear to be a popular choice with the ladies of Alamosa.” 

   “Why, Nephew, I believe you're questioning my character,” Alana Birdsong said, laughing. She lifted a grease-smeared menu from the checkered tablecloth. “Actually, the food is excellent, and your Mr. Dawes would be uncomfortable at Costaine's, where I normally dine.”

   Their waiter, dour, red of skin, and looking undernourished given his place of employment, listened to their choice from the menu—the daily special, consisting of fried beefsteak garnished with onion and scrambled eggs, fried spuds, hard bread, and black coffee—and delivered their plates piping hot. It was workingman's fare, which, Nathan noted, brought his aunt's appetite to the fore, so much so that a number of men watching her eat nodded to each other.

   They were well into their meal when chinless Burt Dawes wended through the crowd. He doffed his bowler hat and pulled a chair up to the table. Alana Birdsong signed for the waiter to fetch another plate of the special, and Ira Westfall's messenger spoke while eating. “Went to the D&RG station master and told him who you are and what you need, Mrs. Tanner. Bull Haines was most cooperative. He cut our train tickets himself and said he'd talk with the conductor.”

   “What about the buggy, the horse for you, and the other gear?” 

   “The livery has the buggy and the exact horses you requested harnessed and waiting and they've saddled a nag for me. The riding gear from the Payne stable is in the buggy like you wanted.” 

   “Excellent, Mr. Dawes, your fine efforts will be amply rewarded. When you've finished dinner please fetch the buggy and your saddle horse to the Imperial House. We want to give Roan Buckman's spies a proper eye full, don't we?”

   A beaming Burt Dawes dove in and food disappeared from his plate with great rapidity. He slurped his coffee and literally jumped from his chair. “I'll be in front of the hotel, Mrs. Tanner.” 

    Alana Birdsong rose, dropped an assortment of silver coins on the table, and laid hold of her rifle. Her abrupt ending of their meal precluded any questions from an increasingly frustrated Nathan. “Bear with me, Nephew. You'll understand everything very shortly.”

   Nathan didn't like it, but he knew any protest would simply delay the inevitable. Sam cleared a path to the door and Nathan followed on Alana's heels. Their departure generated as much silence as their entry, for diners arriving during their meal had yet to view the beautiful woman in long pants every man present was yapping about. A few whistles as they went through the door hinted how much Alana Birdsong had turned her doubters into believers.