Power in the Blood (87 page)

“Have you decided what to do about this?” Price asked.

“Not yet.”

“If you were of a mind to divorce Zoe because of … recent developments, you could have the marriage declared null and void on the basis of her bigamy.”

“The problem does not lie with my love or lack of it for Zoe, Rowland. The problem has to do with the nature of property rights. Ownership, Rowland, is the problem. I have been engaged in research of my own in your absence, and the results may startle you.”

“Should I pour myself a drink and be seated?”

“Pour for us both. What I have to tell you has gone no further than Jenks and my attorney. They have plowed through documents and lawbooks by the cartload, and they have found no way around the predicament.”

“What predicament?”

“I am not the owner of Brannan Mining. She is.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake.… It’s impossible! Brannan Mining not owned by Leo Brannan?”

“Believe it, Rowland. The mining claim regulations are a Gordian knot only a lawyer could disentangle, and it has been done. Ownership of the company is in this instance directly linked to ownership of the original claim. The Deer Lick was the rock upon which everything else was built, and the Deer Lick is Zoe’s, even though she registered her claim under the name of Zoe Dugan. It is allowable under Colorado law for a deserted woman to assume her maiden name if she so chooses. If I were her legally wedded spouse, half of what she owns would be mine by law, but she is not my wife, and so I have nothing. My life and work, Rowland, have been a house of cards, because of Zoe’s lie.”

“But it was the sale of your claim along the creek, the one you dug with your partners, that enabled you to begin the work of buying up other claims.”

“I netted ninety thousand for it from the Rocky Mountain Mining Corporation, which you may not have heard of, since the company has been defunct for a number of years. The cash was used to develop the Deer Lick, and it was the Deer Lick that earned enough to buy almost the entire valley. Zoe salted that claim by the creek, incidentally.”

“She salted it?”

“With gold taken from the Deer Lick. She was a brazen minx, I have to admit. That story, Rowland, is between ourselves.”

“You’re sure there are no unexplored avenues to press your case for ownership?”

“None that my attorney has found, and the man is an expert. He chided me for negligence in matters pertaining to these very questions, but I said to him, as I say to you, that my business is mining, not legalities. My former attorney died less than a year ago, you may recall. He clearly was not so astute as my current expert. In any case, neither man knew the all-important fact upon which everything else hinges—Zoe was never my wife, and I have never been her husband. All that I worked for is hers, and do you know, Rowland, I believe the woman has no actual notion of it. I swear she has never shown the least interest in the company, never asked a single question with regard to ownership of Brannan Mining, never made any attempt to impose herself on the running of things. She doesn’t know what she has, I’m sure of it.”

“Then you’d best not even mention the word divorce when she returns. Leo, Imogen Starr must go. You risk everything by upsetting Zoe further with this … dalliance. Give her up, for the sake of the business and your stake in what the Praetorians have in mind for you. Chances are, Zoe will never learn what we now know.… I have it! In Denver recently a man and his wife married again after forty years of marriage, just to reaffirm their love, for sentiment’s sake, I suppose. When Zoe comes back you must humble yourself and apologize for straying with another woman, then propose marriage all over again. This second ceremony will be legal.…” Price’s face fell. “Oh … we still have Mr. Aspinall to contend with. Pardon my enthusiasm for a useless suggestion.”

“Drink up, friend, and let us place our heads together. If there exists no legal process to wrest back what I created, then we must consider an alternate route, no?”

“By all means. I intend no offense to the lady, but she is not responsible for Brannan Mining having become what it is, whatever her role in the early days.”

“I agree, but Mr. Aspinall may not agree. It was Zoe he wanted to talk to, not myself. When she returns he may well approach her again, and tell all.”

“Then he must be prevented.”

“And how is that to be accomplished, pray tell?”

“He must be … taken away from here before Zoe returns, or before he gets drunk and opens his mouth to interested parties. This is not a stable person, Leo. What kind of man would carve his own tombstone, for heaven’s sake? He has to be silenced as soon as possible.”

“A hefty bribe, you mean?”

“He may still talk. He should be silenced permanently, Leo; it’s the only way to ensure none of this gets loose to ruin you. With Aspinall dead, you could proceed with the remarriage, and Zoe would be none the wiser for what happened behind her back.”

“Are you a student of Machiavelli, Rowland?”

“You know as well as I that only death will make Aspinall hold his peace. Even if Zoe someday finds out how powerful her position really is, and for some reason wanted a divorce, at least you’ll retain half the company, as her legal husband.”

“You’re suggesting we murder the man?”

“Not us; someone more suited to such work. There are such professionals, Leo.”

“An assassin? This is too absurd.”

“Is it? Do you want to lose it all? Do you? Zoe need never learn this husband of hers returned from the shadows. What is he but a wastrel who deserted a woman and child he accepted legal responsibility for by way of marriage? This is no heroic figure, no one to be admired or even pitied. The man is a wretch, Leo, a tramp begging for a handout from the very woman he wronged! What loss to humanity is there in his removal?”

“You’re serious.”

“As you should be. You know the plans we have for you. They hinge upon your fame. Do you wish to become even more renowned as the man who lost everything because he never knew his wife was a bigamist, and when he finally learned of it took no steps to protect his interests? Excuse my strong words, but listen to me, Leo—we have no use for a man who has become a joke among the common people. You stand to lose far more than Brannan Mining by allowing Aspinall to live. Are you listening to me?”

Leo set down his drink. “Yes,” he said. “Nothing you have said has not already occurred to me. Perhaps I’m a coward, Rowland, but I wanted to hear the selfsame plan from your lips before I could admit to forming it myself. I’ve thought of nothing else for the last twenty-four hours. What kind of man does that make me, do you think?”

“A man who has fought hard for what he wanted, too hard to allow it all to slide away from under him now. Posterity will never judge you by the disappearance of a fellow nobody knew. Greater things are at stake here than your own pride, your own conscience. Have these thoughts made themselves known to you also?”

“They have.”

“And what was their resolution, may I ask?”

Leo pushed his glass forward. “Kindly pour me another.”

“There is a man,” said Price, on his way to the liquor cabinet.

“A man? Yes?”

“A man who is not unknown to me, although I am unknown to him.”

“Please, no riddles.”

“He works for Big Circle, and has performed certain services on demand, without blinking an eye. I believe I could lure him away for work unconnected with his masters.”

“A killer.”

“Oh, yes, quite the best there is. I’m sure I could hire his expertise without anyone else being in the know. I like the idea of using Big Circle’s own man to protect you, their eventual nemesis.”

“Rowland, your love of irony is beside the point. Do nothing to compromise the secrecy of the Praetorians, I beg you.”

“This will be a transaction of a purely commercial nature. The fellow likes to live well, and Big Circle simply doesn’t ask him to dispose of enough enemies to keep him in the style he prefers. He’ll be our man for the right price, and keep his mouth shut too, in case we ever need him again.”

“Then perhaps you should travel some more, Rowland, and engage his services on our behalf. But tell me nothing of it, do you understand?”

“Aspinall is still at the Great Divide?”

“He is. I have sent him enough cash anonymously to cover his bills for several weeks.”

“It shouldn’t take that long.”

Tatum had seldom paused to admire the natural beauty of the mountains, but even he could not help but be impressed by the sheer scale of the landscape he passed through on his way to Glory Hole. The precipitous ledges hugging their steel rails close were a wondrous platform from which to view a world of vastness. Rivers plunging beneath trestle bridges were like spools of silver thread unwinding, and the sky spread alongside his window beckoned like a siren, urging him to plunge into it and fly. Everything was too big, too far away. He saw eagles soaring at impossible heights; he saw waterfalls so tall and slender half their volume blew away on the breeze before reaching the rocks below. For Tatum, mountains were a pleasant backdrop to his life in Denver, not something to be ventured among for pleasure. Business, of course, was another matter.

The money had arrived in an envelope addressed to him care of the hotel. Bryce counted it and was pleased at Leo Brannan’s generosity. He had no idea if the three hundred dollars was Brannan’s idea of a monthly stipend or had been offered as a temporary stopgap, while a regular payment was organized. Bryce had not mentioned actual amounts of cash in Brannan’s presence, trusting that a gentleman of his caliber would judge what was fair, and make the necessary arrangements. In the meantime, Bryce could buy new clothing and eat better than an unemployed stonemason had a right to expect.

The pain in his hands was bothersome, especially at the altitude of Glory Hole. He kept them warm inside thick woolen mittens, and cursed the affliction that had brought an end to his career. Bryce had been proud of his ability, and after leaving Pueblo had begun a new business from scratch in Ohio. Memories of his dead son intruded less and less upon his thoughts, and his business prospered. He sometimes felt a guilty twinge over having left Zoe and Omie behind, but the girl was not his daughter, and he suspected Zoe had never truly loved him. Bryce was shy of women, and had never remarried. He worked hard and well, and was content to be what he was, until the rheumatism began twisting his fingers. His mother had suffered from the same condition, and he was not surprised to witness its increasing hold on his own body. He calculated he had maybe two more good years left as a stonecutter; his life beyond that was not something he cared to think about.

When he read in the newspapers a report on Leo Brannan’s reward for the capture of Slade, the Colorado Cannibal, Bryce saw included in the piece a short history of the man’s rise to prominence, included in which were the names of his wife and daughter. Bryce knew then that he need not worry about providing for himself again. He was pleased that Zoe had prospered, and doubly pleased to think that she might share a little of her wealth with him. The consequences for Zoe if she did not were too great for refusal. Bryce packed a bag and entrained for Glory Hole.

It had been a disappointment to learn that she was away on a sea voyage, but Bryce had come too far to be put off, and so he visited the office of Leo Brannan himself, knowing there was the risk of Brannan’s becoming so infuriated at Zoe’s duplicity he would have nothing further to do with her, but even there, Brannan might reward the fellow who brought him news of his own bogus marriage. Bryce had been well pleased with the results so far; it seemed that Brannan preferred to whitewash Zoe’s crime rather than throw her out. The gamble had proved worthwhile, and soon, he hoped, would begin paying off on a regular basis.

In the evening, after a generous meal, Bryce began what had become his ritual stroll along Brannan Boulevard. Glory Hole was a town that slept little, and although he was disinclined to take part in the revelry available in saloons and the company of low women, Bryce did like to observe the human traffic as he passed it by. On this night he was a little less cheerful than he had been since meeting with Brannan; that had been ten days ago, and there had been only the one envelope of cash so far. Ten days were time enough for a man like that to pass along the necessary orders for Bryce’s stipend. If nothing came for him tomorrow, he would go again to Brannan’s office and insist that the matter be taken care of forthwith. Bryce supposed that rich men liked to act according to their own agenda, but he would have none of that. His hands were hurting him rather more than usual, and he wanted to be able to leave Glory Hole before the end of the week, all arrangements in place.

A young woman in a simple hat and shawl tripped directly in front of Bryce and fell awkwardly to her knees. He stopped and assisted her to her feet, asking if she was all right, and when the young woman said she believed her ankle was sprained, Bryce did not know what to do.

“May I lean on your arm for a little way?” she asked.

“I suppose,” said Bryce, and stiffly held out his arm. The touch of female fingers, even through several layers of cloth, sent a jolt through his entire body. Bryce had not touched or been touched by a woman since leaving Zoe. A familiar warmth invaded his groin, and he tried to ignore it. The situation was ludicrous; a mere hand on his sleeve and he was close to swooning with physical desire.

“Thank you so much for being kind,” she said, hobbling daintily alongside him. “Some fellows would have walked right on and not cared if a girl was hurt.”

Her voice was sweetly husky, and it sent a shiver of delight across Bryce’s skin. Glancing sideways as they passed a street lamp, he saw that she was respectable in appearance, certainly not a whore. Her face was without any trace of makeup, and when she turned toward him at that same moment he noticed how brightly her eyes seemed to sparkle. She was an enchanting creature, and Bryce could barely credit his good fortune in having been the one she had stumbled in front of. Already his face was becoming flushed with his habitual shyness, but he would not surrender to it, not this time, when fate had delivered to him so appealing a bloom to smell.