The Case of the Deadly Desperados (21 page)

Ledger Sheet 48

THE NEXT AFTERNOON
I finally made it to the Recorder's Office across the street from the Territorial Enterprise. I was dressed in a mixture of Indian, miner & tony boy getup. To replace my bloody buckskin shirt, Isaiah Coffin had given me a soft & faded flannel shirt that had once been red, plus a dark blue jacket with brass buttons. I wore my own fringed buckskin pants & my soft buckskin moccasins & the black slouch hat with the hawk feather that Jace had given me. And of course I had my medicine bag, tucked out of sight.

I had been to the Notary Public on B Street. They had stamped something for me & I had brought it over to the Recorder's Office on A Street. Word must have got around because by the time I got to the Recorder's Office I was trailing a group of interested spectators & friends, including Dan De Quille, just back from Carson City & mighty relieved to be in one piece.

There were already two dozen men in the Recorder's Office, bushy & bearded, dusty & lousy, all clamoring to record their claims, but when they saw me with my left arm in a sling they parted like the Red Sea before Moses.

“There he is!” said one in a thick Cornish accent. “The boy who kilt Whittlin Walt.”

“Heard he shot him between the eyes with a Smith and Wesson's seven-shooter,” said another.

“I heard he rassled him down to the ground, then tossed him into a bottomless pit full of boiling water.”

“Whittlin Walt is probably still falling,” said a third beard, rubbing the palms of his hands together.

“How can a pit be bottomless and have boiling water in it, too?” asked the first miner.

“Good morning, young man,” said the man behind the counter. He had bushy ginger eyebrows & a mustache like two foxes' tails hanging down either side of his nose. A sign on the desk told me that he was:
MR. RUFUS E. ARICK, RECORDER.
“Do you have a claim to register?”

“Not exactly, sir,” I said. I handed him the piece of paper in my hand. “But I have this.”

Mr. Rufus E. Arick frowned at it. “This is a wanted poster,” he said. “For Walt Darmitage—alias Whittlin Walt—wanted in four states and territories for murder, theft and torture. It says
REWARD TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS.
” He looked at me. “To collect your reward you must go to see the Marshal. Who's next?”

“Wait,” I said. “Turn it over.”

“What?”

“Look on the back of the wanted poster.”

Mr. Rufus E. Arick turned the piece of paper over. There on the back I had glued together all the little scraps of the Letter I had tore up. I had found all the pieces but one and that one was near the top, in an unimportant part of the document. There were some blood spots on them but you could still read the writing.

He looked at the glued-together Letter. Then he looked at me. Then he looked back at the glued-together Letter.

“Son, is this what you have to give me? I am not certain this is a legal document.”

“Look right there,” I said. “It is signed and witnessed. Signed by Ethan Allen Grosh and witnessed by Robert Pinkerton in November 1857.”

Rufus E. Arick shook his head slowly. “Even if it
is
legal, so much time has elapsed: nearly five years. You'd certainly have to take it to court. Legal battle like this could last months. They will fight you to the bitter end.”

I said, “Who is ‘they'?”

“Why, half the mine owners in Virginia City. This letter threatens them all. The only people who will get rich off this are the Lawyers.”

I felt my heart sink down to my moccasins. Had I risked my life for nothing?

“Never mind, little pard,” said one of the bushy miners. “That's life on the Comstock. Bonanza one day and borrasca the next.”

“I will buy that Letter,” said a voice from the doorway.

Ledger Sheet 49

EVERYBODY IN THE RECORDER''S OFFICE TURNED.

The man in the doorway wore a black frock coat & gray trousers. He was blond & clean-shaven, apart from fluffy side whiskers. “My name is Billy Chollar,” he said, “and I own the Chollar Mine.”

“The Chollar Mine,” said Dan De Quille under his breath, “is a hundred feet of the Comstock Ledge a little south of here, not far from the Divide.”

Billy Chollar said, “My attorney is Mr. William Morris Stewart. He advised me to buy that Letter of yours. He is currently representing me in a big case and says I don't need another. Therefore I propose giving you a couple of feet of my mine. It will pay out a dividend of at least one hundred dollars a month. Even in Virginia that is enough to live well.”

I said, “My dead pa says all Lawyers are the Devil's Own.”

Billy Chollar took a step forward & removed his hat. He had little pouches under his eyes that made him look tired. “You would have to overcome your prejudice and hire a Lawyer,” he said, “if you wanted to win that claim. And he'd have to be a good one, too. You'd have to take me and the other Mine Owners to court. You might end up the richest soul on the Comstock, in ten or twelve years. Or you might end up in debt.” Billy sighed & stared at the floor. “I wish now I had settled with the Potosi Mining Company. The way things are going, my own case against them will take years.” He raised his tired blue eyes and gave me a direct look. “I am making you a generous offer.”

I studied his feet. They were pointed towards me. His shoulders were relaxed & his hands were holding his hat. He showed no signs of bluffing. I glanced over at Jace. He blew some smoke up & gave me a small nod.

I seemed to hear the voice of my dead foster pa Emmet and I said out loud, “The love of money is the root of all evil.”

Behind me I heard the familiar drawl of Sam Clemens. “The
lack
of money is the root of all evil.”

Then a wild-eyed prospector put his bushy face close to mine. “That Billy Chollar must want it bad, little pard. Go for the riches! Hire a good Lawyer and fight for what's yours.”

That decided me.

“Thank you, Mr. Chollar,” I said. “I accept your kind offer.”

Some people groaned & others applauded. A few hats went up into the air.

Billy Chollar stepped forward & extended his right hand. “A wise decision,” he said. “It is hard to resist Greed in this place. Let us shake on it.”

We shook hands. His grip was firm & dry. He was giving me a Genuine Smile.

“What about the wanted notice on the back?” said Dan De Quille. “P.K. should get two thousand dollars for that.”

Billy Chollar replaced his hat on his head. “I would be happy to take you to the Marshal's office right now. Once you have collected the reward you can give me the wanted poster with the deed stuck to the back. Then afterwards you can come over to my Mine Office and we will discuss your ‘feet' over a cup of coffee. I have a buggy waiting outside.”

I stared at him.

“As a gesture of goodwill,” he said, “here is two hundred dollars in gold.” He reached into his frock coat & pulled out a leather pouch & counted out 10 gold coins.

He held them out to me.

I hesitated.

Dan De Quille said, “I think you can trust him, P.K. Besides, you have nearly fifty witnesses here, including some influential reporters.”

I took the coins & slipped them into my medicine bag. Two hundred dollars felt heavy. It felt good.

“Oh, P.K.!” cried a female voice. “Now you will have enough to go to Chicago and be a Pinkerton Detective and live in Style.”

I turned to see a pretty lady in blue on the arm of Isaiah Coffin, who was pushing through the crowd of beards.

I could not believe my eyes.

It was Belle Donne.

Ledger Sheet 50

I PULLED MY SMITH & WESSON
from my pocket and cocked it and drew down on her.

“Oh, P.K.,” she said with a laugh. “Don't be foolish. Isaiah and I are going to be married. And we have you to thank! If you hadn't tied us together . . .”

Without lowering my gun I looked at Isaiah Coffin. “Don't trust her,” I said.

“Too late,” he replied. “I am smitten.”

“And I,” said Titus Jepson, “am bereft.” He was nursing a heavily bandaged left hand.

Belle kissed Titus on the cheek. “I am sorry, Dear Titus,” she said. “But I am going to become an Actress at that new Melodeon when it opens. Isaiah knows the owner and has promised to introduce me. One day I might even perform in San Francisco or Boston or even Chicago.” She looked at me. “Maybe I will see you there.”

I released the hammer on my pistol and stuck it back in my pocket. “I am not going to Chicago,” I said.

“London?” said Isaiah Coffin. “You can afford it now.”

“I reckon not.”

“San Francisco?” said Grafton T. Brown. He had his sketching pad under his left arm.

“Nope.”

“If you stay here in Virginia,” said Titus Jepson, “I will give you discounted meals till the end of time. You can have cake for breakfast every day,” he said. And then he added, “As long as you have a square meal for dinner.”

I glanced over at Jace. He winked at me.

I said, “I have already decided to stay here a few more years.”

I did not tell them my reasoning, but it was this: If I could show my pa Robert Pinkerton that I was a good detective, maybe he would be proud of me. Maybe he would even let me come and work with him at the Pinkerton Detective Agency in Chicago.

But in the meantime, I figured the best place for me to learn the craft of being a Detective was right here in Virginia.

“Yes,” I repeated, half to myself. “I believe I will stay right here.”

“Give him three cheers and tiger!” cried Titus Jepson.

Everybody said, “Hi! Hi! Hi! Hurraaaah!”

“Will you start speculating like the rest of us?” said Dan De Quille, when the roar died down.

“No,” I said. “I am going to set up my own business.”

“I am Miss Prudence Feather, from the First Ward School,” said a woman's voice. “And I think you should be in school.”

It was the woman in black from the Colombo Restaurant.

“I tried school once,” I said. “It was down in Dayton and the bullies impeded me. I can read and write and do math. As far as the rest is concerned, I believe I can educate myself.”

“Quite right,” said Sam Clemens, puffing his rancid pipe. “I never let school interfere with my education. I started working at the age of thirteen.”

“And I was only twelve,” said Dan De Quille.

“I will teach you ancient Chinese art of fighting,” said an accented voice. I turned to see Ping pushing his way through the crowd. “After you pay me what you owe me: five hundred dollar,” he added.

I nodded at him. I meant to keep my promise.

“The Martial Arts are always useful,” said Isaiah Coffin. “But if you wish to broaden your understanding of human nature and great literature, you should borrow some of my Shakespeare plays. I have them all.”

“I can teach you a few useful Latin phrases,” said Joe Goodman.

Miss Feather harrumphed. “What about arithmetic?”

Poker Face Jace removed his cigar & examined it. “I do not mean to be rude, ma'am,” he said, “but P.K. is probably better at adding and subtracting and all those other things than anybody in this room, including you.” He sucked on his cigar & then blew the smoke up high. “P.K.?” he said. “Tell this lady how many cubic feet of space a mine would have if it has four miles of tunnel eight foot wide and eight foot high.”

“Let's see,” I said. “A mile is five thousand two hundred and eighty feet, so that would make one million, three hundred fifty-one thousand, six hundred and eighty cubic feet.”

Over at his desk Mr. Rufus E. Arick made a quick calculation on a sheet of paper. Then he looked up with a No. 4 Expression all over his face. “He's right.”

Most everybody cheered. Miss Feather snorted.

“Besides,” I said, “I want to learn what they do not teach you at school. I want to learn how to understand people.” I looked at Poker Face Jace. “Not all the best teachers are in school.”

Poker Face Jace winked at me but Miss Feather was not convinced by my argument.

She said, “Harrumph.” Then she turned on her heel & exited the room.

“You say you intend to set up a business?” said Dan De Quille. “Here in Virginia?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I am going to ask Mr. Sol Bloomfield if he will let me rent or buy his small shop space on B Street, the one between Mr. Isaiah Coffin's Ambrotype & Photographic Gallery & the Colombo Restaurant. I will make it my place of residence as well as my office.”

“Why, son,” said one of the prospectors. “With one hundred dollars a month you will never have to work in your life.”

“Hundred a month is as much as I earn,” said Sam Clemens, puffing on his pipe. “And you don't even have to lift a finger. Just waltz down to the mine office and collect your gold.”

“Yeah,” said another bearded prospector. “That's the dream of most of us: to retire & never work again.”

“But I want to work,” I said. “I want to go into business.”

“Quite right, too,” said Dan De Quille. “A person should not be idle. What kind of business are you considering?”

I took my Pinkerton RailRoad Detective Button from my pocket & looked at it.

Then I said, “I am going into the Detective Business. It is my Destiny.”

Almost everybody laughed, as if this was a fine joke.

“No RailRoad here yet,” said Dan De Quille.

“Will you work for one of the stagecoach companies?” asked Titus Jepson.

“Or the Marshal?” said Isaiah Coffin.

“No,” I said. “I am going to work for myself. I will help people by Solving Crimes. If they are happy with the result they can pay me.”

“That might work in Chicago,” said Isaiah Coffin, “but I doubt you'll make a success of it here. I suggest you open a Dry Goods Store.”

“Or a tobacconist,” said Dan De Quille with a glance at Sam Clemens. “We need more purveyors of good tobacco here in Virginia.”

“Just don't start a rival newspaper,” said Joe Goodman.

Jace said, “I still think you should come work for me.”

“I will be happy to help you some evenings,” I said to Jace. “But I am set on being a Detective and my own boss.”

“You know,” said Sam Clemens as he lit his pipe, “they say when Satan was panning for sinners they all ended up here.”

“Speak for yourself!” said a bearded miner & everybody laughed.

Sam Clemens ignored him. “I am just saying: if P.K. wants to go into the Detective business, he will never be short of work.”

“I think it is a good idea,” said Mr. Billy Chollar. “There are some people here I'd like to know more about.”

“And I think my pard is cheating me,” said a beard, “but I can't figure out how. I'd employ you to follow him and find out.”

“They call that ‘shadowing,' I believe,” said Belle Donne. “It sounds real exciting. You know,” she added, “I lost a ruby necklace a while back and I would hire you to find it.”

“And I need some good Scoops,” said Sam Clemens. “Ones I can publish. I'd pay a dollar or two for some promising leads.”

Dan De Quille shook his head. “I am still skeptical,” he said. “But I wish you good luck.”

Titus Jepson said, “Which of those cases will you take first?”

I said, “I will take them all. But first I will ask Mr. Grafton T. Brown here if he will paint me a shingle for my office.”

Grafton T. Brown gave a nod & said, “It will be a pleasure. What would you like your shingle to say?”

I pondered for a moment & then I said, “P.K. Pinkerton, Private Eye. We Hardly Ever Sleep.”

At that everybody cheered & some of them lifted me up on their shoulders & they carried me out into the bright September sunshine to Billy Chollar's buggy.

As a rule, I do not like to be touched.

But this time I did not mind.

The sky was blue & the sun was warm. Somewhere in a sage bush a quail called out, “Chicago! Chicago!”

I thought, “Not yet. I am staying here a little longer.”

The mine whistles were shrilling noon & the Washoe Canaries were braying & in a saloon a hurdy-gurdy was churning out “Camptown Races.”

And beneath it all I could hear the thump of the mountain, like the heartbeat of God.