Sipping Whiskey in a Shallow Grave (46 page)

There was still the issue of the hundred thousand dollars Bill had rightfully stolen. And Bill, being flat broke, was keen on finding it. Charley had not left him alone since Bill arrived for dinner that first night. He was starting to worry Charley might suspect something. But surely he couldn't possibly know Bill was there the night Granger and Vincent died. Bill hadn't told a soul.

“Ready?” Charley asked him.

Setting down his coffee cup, Bill nodded his thanks to Mary and the two of them headed out the front door. Outside, they could still hear Minnie's scream as she rushed around the table.

“Mexican Joe still sacked out?” Bill asked.

“Naw, they both rode out before the sun came up.”

The dewy grass filled the air with a crisp moisture. It smelled good.

“Let's ride down to Pablo Spring and chat with Elizabeth Bassett,” Charley said. “Herb's wife. She's in charge, you know.”

“What about Herb?” Bill asked.

“Herb ain't got no sand. Besides, he's religious. Elizabeth runs the whole thing. They run the Z-K brand, mostly Durham cattle. Rustled to get by at first, but now it's her thing. She can get you started.”

“What about the Hoys?”

“Naw, they're fairly up and up. Elizabeth and the Hoys got a feud going, too. I ain't too keen on the Hoys. I back the Bassetts.”

Falling backwards, Bill felt like he'd been kicked by a horse. He landed on his back pretty hard in the wet grass and slid a few feet, right there in front of Charley's porch. His ears were ringing. Charley himself hunched over and covered his head with his arms, and ran back into the house without another word.

The strange thing was that there
was
no horse. Not anywhere near, at least. They were grazing off near the small barn. Charley fed them grain every morning and told Bill grain was a good guarantee none of them would wander off too far overnight. Fences cost money, and that's half the reason Charley had settled on Pot Creek. It was a nice enclosed glen with the stream running through it, but far enough from Brown's Park itself that the
horses could roam free and he wouldn't worry about them being stolen.
 

Bill could not breathe very well. He was gasping. He wondered why he was gasping. Had Charley hit him, knocked the wind out? Bill tried to sit up but couldn't. He could barely lift his head and when he did he saw his shirt was bloody. What worried him more was the big hole in his chest.

Leaning back in the grass, Bill gave up trying to move. He could not feel his legs. He couldn't feel much at all, actually. The sky above him was still clear. The sun's first rays were just starting to color the top of Diamond Mountain. It was a rich, vibrant yellow. Bill always liked sunup.

The last time Bill was lying on his back watching the sky like this, Granger and Vincent had just been shot, and he was hiding by the Arkansas River sipping whiskey in a shallow grave.

Then Bill noticed clouds had covered over the top of Diamond Mountain. He was surprised how quickly the clouds came in! He hadn't even blinked and there they were.

Suddenly, the whole backside of the mountain was gone.

It must be an early morning fog but it was moving lightning fast.

The fog was white and floated over Bill — it was all he could see.

It was chilly, too.

He wondered if Charley could bring him a blanket or a coat. A cigar would be nice.

“Charley…get my coat, would you.”

There were cigars in his coat.

 
 

Epilogue

Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Colorado

 

Chapter 1

Leadville

 

The sign hung fairly straight. Casey was glad, since he spent so much time painting the letters. He stepped back and put his hands on his hips. Julianna smiled broadly and clapped her hands.

“
Pruitt's Practical Horse Shoes
,” Julianna read out loud. “That has a shine to it!”
 

Casey decided to lease out the store he had his eye on — the one on Third Street. He was worried it wouldn't last long, with all the businesses starting up and dying down in a busy city like Leadville. Someone else could have gotten it before he did. So he made the leap and scraped up the lease money. Plus, he was finished building their log home and needed to put his hand to something new.

It took a couple weeks to get things ready. He ordered supplies from New York and had it shipped in by rail: a hot forge, an anvil, hammers, tongs, rasps, nails, standard shoes, straight steel.

Horace Tabor helped out by giving him a line of credit. Casey had been cowboying for the last twelve years of his life and only managed to scrape together enough savings to buy the land they were living on. Julianna had some family money, enough to cover the lease but not enough to invest in shoeing supplies. It was her suggestion they ask the Tabors. Julianna still worked at the Opera House and saw Mrs. Tabor frequently. Julianna waited until Baby Doe was in her Baby Doe mood, and things came together quickly at that point.

“Are you happy, Casey?” she asked him.

He couldn't help but smile. Julianna had that effect on him. Her enthusiasm was like a light, shining bright every time he saw it.

“You bet,” he replied and gave her a hug.

“Stay here, I'm going to walk up to the Post Office,” Julianna told him.

Casey looked up and down Third. Like all the main roads in downtown Leadville, it was a bee hive. Folks were coming and going — carriages and people on horseback kept flowing by. This was a prime location. Casey had cut out the people door and put in a big sliding barn door, so horses could be brought right in from the street. Plus, it just looked right.

He knew he better get started on this shoeing business anyhow. Julianna was with child, and raising a family would incur extra expenses. Plus he wanted to raise his boy with a skill. Shoeing was a good one to have, since everyone relied on horses and mules at some point in their day.

 

Chapter 2

Hay Ranch

 

It was late in the day when Davis rode up through the tall green grass. The wind was blowing strong and he held his hand on his hat to keep it from blowing off. Til and Emmanuel were on the porch sipping lemonade. Walker balanced on the corral fence and aimed a whittled branch at the approaching rider as if he were sighting a rifle.

“Ho, the house!” Davis called.

Til couldn't believe his eyes. He waved him in and called above the wind:

“Ho, the rider. Come on in!”

Davis slid off into the soft grass, loosened the cinch strap and took off the bridle. Til had sunk a hitching rail out front, but Davis just cut him loose to graze. The horse wouldn't go far.

“The prodigal has returned,” Emmanuel said and grinned.

Til welcomed him with a firm handshake.

“Dang, son. Where you been?” Til asked, and looked around. “Where's your pard?”

The wind swelled continually, causing the grass to whip and ripple in the gusts.

“Way down south,” Davis told him.

“Well, come on in out of the wind.”

He held the door open and let Davis and Emmanuel go in first. Til liked to make sure the door closed tight. It wasn't a perfect latch and had a tendency to come loose in strong winds like this.

“Where's those McGonkins?” Davis asked.

The house was dim inside, even with all the curtains pulled back. Clouds were streaming by, blocking out the sun, and the house creaked in the wind. There was a tall grandfather clock against one wall — it was as tall as Til. He had ordered it the previous month from Montgomery Ward, to make the place more homelike for Laura. He let her pick out anything she wanted. It was fun to watch her pore over the magazine for hours, dreaming about each item that caught her eye. It wasn't everyday they had enough money to special order something. The clock was what she settled on, so that's what they got. It ticked loudly.

“The brothers are down in Garo,” Emmanuel told Davis. “Shoot, you prob'ly rode right past them to get here.”

“There's a boy on that fence,” Davis said and pointed out the window at Walker — who still sat on the corral rail. His hair whipped around with the wind. Walker aimed the branch at a train puffing along in the distance.

“Don't get too close if you want to say
how do
… he couldn't keep his eggs down this morning,” Til explained. “Mrs. Blancett is here for good, too. She's down in Garo, herself. Teaching.”
 

“How was it down south?” Emmanuel asked.

Davis shrugged tiredly.

“It was a change of scenery. Thought I'd check and see if anyone down there knew how to cook beans proper.”

“Shoot,” Emmanuel said. “Muh beans is second t' none!”

“Shoot — they're downright inedible.”

Davis pointed out the window at Walker.

“Probably fed that kid right there 3-day Dutch oven beans, didn't you?”

“Got him out of school for the day,” Til mentioned dryly. “He ain't complaining.”

Emmanuel ducked into the kitchen long enough to come out with the lemonade pitcher and another cup. Til pointed Davis toward a chair but he had no desire to sit down just yet, although he accepted the lemonade gladly.

Davis was feeling sore. His stab wounds were almost healed, but his back still bothered him after a long day in the saddle. He had been on trail for several days. Sleeping out didn't help either. One of the first things he thought when he saw Til's new frame house, was how nice it would be to sleep in a real bed.

 “There's sugar in here,” he said after the first sip.

“We ain't on the trail no more,” Til said with a smile.

“Where's the rest of the boys?”

“Not too far off. Casey's up in Leadville…married now.”

“Casey got hitched?”

Til nodded.

“To that girl who helped pull him through,” Emmanuel said.

“Julianna,” Til reminded Davis.

“That's right, I ‘member her now. Boy, that was a mess of a day, wasn't it.”

The big grandfather clock struck a chime.

“LG is just a few miles south, bossing the Hartsel ranch,” Til went on.

“
He
ain't hitched,” Davis wondered. “Is he?”
 

Emmanuel brayed liked a donkey and shook his head, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. Til and Davis laughed, too, but more at Emmanuel's reaction than anything else. After their humor wore off, Davis did not ask about anyone else. They knew where Edwin and Ira were. There wasn't much to say about that now.

“Lemonade's surely good,” Davis commented.

The lemonade was good. Laura made it, and knew just how much sugar it took to sweeten it properly. Til glanced out the window, down toward the far end of the valley. The grass was still waving around like crazy. It was about time the school day was over. Laura would be heading home soon. Til hoped those two bickery drafts would walk fine for her in this strong wind.

 

 

 

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