Chapter 2

If you fail to plan, you are planning to fail!

—Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790), American writer, a philosopher, a scientist, a politician, a patriot, a Founding Father, an inventor, and publisher

Because all the other tenants of the second floor over the saloon had been up late, they slept late. The extra time allowed the two agents to secure more slumber as well after a long restless period; Jim had more difficulty than his partner falling back to sleep. The sun was halfway to midday when they dressed and went downstairs.

Only the bartender was present, apparently taking stock of his supplies. When they asked, he first responded a restaurant was located down the street, and to a second query that the telegraph office was next door to the mercantile. They had decided to be safe and ask that question openly about the telegraph, partly to let people know they were going to use the service, and as well to make sure no one suspected they had learned about its location otherwise. Last night's darkness might have precluded spotting it.

The restaurant was clean and half filled with patrons at this late hour, which indicated to Artie that the food must be decent. A pleasant middle-aged woman took their order and brought coffee. "We can use the Jake Niemand trick."

"That should work." Jim sipped at the hot, dark brew in his cup. "Sounds good to me. You write it up."

Artie grinned briefly. "I'm glad you appreciate my literary talents."

"Artie, I thought a lot about this last night. I need to make myself known to Fanny Burgess."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a feeling she's going to recognize me almost immediately, to begin with."

Artie nodded. "You do look a great deal like your father—as does Matthew. You have Nevin's eyes especially."

"Of course, I won't just go up and introduce myself as Nevin's son."

Artemus had to chuckle. "Not a good idea."

"It is also hardly likely that she's going to take a look at me and say, 'oh, you're Nevin's son!' But if we watch her closely enough, we will recognize when that revelation hits her."

"Then what?"

"Then I will be perfectly ignorant regarding who she is and make friends while we search for the nonexistent counterfeiter."

"Are you that good of an actor?"

"What do you think?"

Artie could not respond immediately as the waitress brought their steaming, loaded plates, and then refilled their coffee cups. "This looks marvelous," he crowed. "And I am starved." He picked up a light-as-a-feather biscuit and began buttering it. "As to whether you are an actor, it pains me to admit it, but I believe you are. I have witnessed too many instances when you had to be someone else, or tell a flat-out falsehood and get away with it. Not as talented as me, of course. But more than sufficient."

"Thank you. I couldn't wish for a higher compliment." Jim grinned for a moment. He cut off a chunk of ham and chewed it thoughtfully, swallowing before speaking. "I think I'll need to take Fanny in as my confidante."

"Meaning?"

"Tell her my life story."

"Ah. What better way to put her off her guard? Good thinking, James. What will I be doing in the meanwhile?"

Jim cocked his head. "Do I have to do all the thinking?"

Artie rolled his eyes. "Well, to begin with, if at all possible, we both have to strike up a friendship with 'Nestor,' as mentioned last night… or early this morning… whenever it was; that goes without saying. That might be somewhat difficult, seeing that the persona he's invented seems to be a loner.

"At this moment, I am at a loss as to what comes next. I suspect we should improvise and see how your friendship with dear Fanny goes. I am sure you don't expect her to immediately exchange confidences. 'Oh, by the way, Jim, thirty years ago I killed my husband and another man and had it blamed on your dear old dad.'"

"She could let something slip nevertheless. I'll deliberately leave out details."

"Good thinking. She has been getting away with this for so long, she may get careless. You know, if by chance we do manage to wrest a confession from her, having another, impartial witness would be a good idea."

"I thought of that. I have no idea how to work that out. Again, as you say, we play it by ear and see what happens."

As they exited the restaurant a short while later, Artie shook his head and sighed happily. "Now that was a breakfast! I can't remember the last time I couldn't clean my plate like that. And I was hungry!"

"Don't forget, pal. They are usually serving miners and lumberjacks. Big eaters."

"Hmph! Maybe."

They went to the telegraph office across the street. Jim paused in the doorway to light a cigarillo, primarily in order to be quite visible entering the establishment. As he joined Artie at the counter, he looked at what his partner was writing on the pad. "While passing through, we think we saw Jake Niemand in Blue Falls, Idaho. We wish to stay a few days to check. Please authorize."

"Niemand" in German meant "nobody." The department had chosen it a long while ago to use as a code when an agent in the field needed a cover of some sort. Their superior would soon wire back authorizing extra time and ask if they needed assistance.

Nestor was busily emptying spittoons into a bucket when they reentered the Silver Dollar. Several boxes of empty bottles were on the bar top, and no doubt that would be the swamper's next task, to take those to a repository—probably a ditch—somewhere out back. Hattie and another woman were at a table near the door, nursing coffee. Fanny Burgess sat at the same table in the far corner as she had occupied last night. She had a cup of coffee, but her attention was on a ledger book open in front of her.

"Miss Fanny, excuse me," Artie said as they approached her.

She looked up, and neither man missed how her smile froze for an instant when she saw the man accompanying Artemus Gordon. The smile then blossomed as she fastened her eyes on Artie. "Mr. Gordon, isn't it? How are you today?"

"Quite well. We had a good night and an even better breakfast. I want to mention to you that chances are good we're going to stay longer than anticipated."

"Oh?"

"I should introduce you to my partner, Jim West. Jim, this is Miss Fanny Burgess, our hostess."

Jim had already removed his hat, and he hoped his smile did not look as forced as hers had for that moment. "How do you do, Miss Fanny. Thank you for your hospitality."

She just nodded as Artie continued. "I didn't mention before that we are government agents, and as such, we are always on the alert. When we went out for breakfast, we saw a man riding through town. Both of us thought he looked familiar, but we needed some time before we realized who he might have been: a known and wanted counterfeiter."

"Really?"

"We could be wrong," Jim took up, "but we have decided we need to spend some time in this area to see if we can spot him again and be sure. If he is the man in question, he has been wanted for several years and is a dangerous man. So we may need to remain a few days more."

"I see." She cleared her throat. "Well, of course, the room is yours as long as you need it. Five dollars a night."

"No problem," Artie smiled. "Thank you. We are going to go talk to Sheriff Beatty about it. We always like to keep in touch with the local law."

"Thank you, ma'am," Jim said as he turned to go. The old man at the bar hoisting a box of bottles ignored them completely as they walked by him.

"I guess after we visit with the sheriff, we had better take a ride out into the countryside in our search for good old Jake," Artie commented as they strode down the board walkway

"First we'd better come up with a description for Jake. Something nice and nondescript."

Sheriff Floyd Beatty was in his late forties, of average height and weight, sporting a luxurious handlebar mustache several shades lighter than his carrot red hair. Artie had met him the previous night, and he introduced Jim, again adding the previously omitted information regarding their profession. They then offered the same story they had given Fanny about the counterfeiter, this time adding a description of a man who, except for the hair color and mustache, fit the sheriff well. He seemed not to notice.

"Well, he could be any one of a few dozen men in these parts," Beatty pointed out.

"We realize that," Jim nodded. "That's one reason why he's been hard to spot over the years. We're going to take a ride to see what we can see, and ask anyone we come across."

"Good idea. Want me to come with you?"

"That's not necessary," Artie said with a warm smile. "I'm sure you have plenty to keep you busy. Chances are very good he was just passing through. But we have to check."

"Of course you do. Good luck."

The sky was a clear azure blue. The sun was warm but a breeze held a nip of autumn in it. Both men removed their heavier jackets to tie behind their saddles, as regular jackets were enough for now. They headed north out of town, and before long came to a mining camp. The several men they spoke to there shook their heads when "Jake" was described to them, with one or two commenting that it could be anybody.

"Which is exactly the response we want," Artie said with a grin as they rode away.

Visits to another lumber camp, silver mine, and a farm produced almost identical results. At the farm, the teenage son of the owner commented that the description sounded just like Sheriff Beatty "without the red hair and mustache." The agents chuckled about this as they headed back to town just as the sun was heading in its downward slope toward evening.

All through the morning while riding from one site to another, they discussed the problem of Francine Woodrow and how to handle soliciting a confession from her. Artie pointed out the obvious, that she was a very clever woman. She had survived all these years apparently primarily on wit after the fortune she stole dwindled.

"She has evaded your father and seems to have been able to provide for herself—even managing to gain ownership of this saloon. Who knows how many other times that happened? We don't even know but what she has murdered others along the way to gain her ends."

"That would take a lot of research, unless she tells us," Jim concurred. "The way I see it, our best plan is the one I mentioned before, with me getting friendly with her and seeing if I can trick her into any kind of admission."

Artie sighed. "I know. However, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if that can be done in a few days. We may need your father to make an appearance."

"Yeah. I know. As a last resort. Every other time she's spotted him in the vicinity, she has fled."

"We don't know if, at those other times, she was the owner of property. She may be more reluctant to leave it all behind if this is the first time."

Jim looked across at his partner. "In that case, he might be in danger if she recognizes him."

Artie grimaced. "Yeah. I know. We can talk to him about it."

His partner laughed shortly. "You know what his answer would be."

"I know." Like father, like son. Stubborn!

W*W*W*W*W

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but

The truth in masquerade.

—Don Juan (canto XI, st. 37), Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824), English poet

Upon returning to town, Artie headed for the telegraph office while Jim went on to the saloon. It was open for the day, with a few men inside. Three were sitting at a table with their beers but did not appear to be playing any card game. Two more were leaning against the bar, in conversation. All glanced toward the agent as he entered but continued whatever they were doing without interruption.

Francine Woodrow was at her table, this time playing a game of solitaire. Jim spotted the yellow envelope on the table as well. He strolled over, removing his hat, noticing that "Nestor" was not present. "Good afternoon, Miss Fanny."

She looked up, obviously unaware of his approach. "Oh, Mr., er, West, isn't it?"

"Call me Jim," he smiled. "Sorry if I started you. Mind if I sit down?" Her blonde hair was probably lighter in shade than it had been thirty years ago, now laced liberally with silver. Her face, nonetheless, while aged, still had a youthful appearance. She could pass for eight or ten years younger, Jim decided. She was obviously a very beautiful woman, and is still attractive enough to interest men. Although she had put on a few pounds through the years, her figure was still good.

"No, please do. Here. Stan from the telegraph office brought this by a little while ago." She picked up the envelope and extended it to him.

Jim accepted it, glancing at it before putting it in an inside pocket without opening it. "Thank you." She needed to find out if we were actually telegraphing about her!

"You're not going to read it?"

"I know what it says. We asked permission to stay longer. Our boss rarely denies us that permission. My partner is going to be annoyed however. He detoured to the Western Union office to see if an answer came." Jim grinned.

"How long have you and Mr. Gordon worked together?"

"Since almost the beginning of the War. General Grant asked us to take on a specific mission together. We worked well so he gave us other assignments. I joined the Secret Service first, but Artemus came along soon after."

"I have occasionally read about you in the newspapers."

"Hazards of the job," he smiled. He wondered if she scanned the newspapers looking for information about her pursuer.

Fanny glanced down at her cards for a moment, moved a red queen to a black king. She brought her eyes up. "What about your family? Don't they worry about you in such a dangerous job?"

Jim shook his head and hoped the pleasure he experienced with the direction of the conversation was hidden. "I'm not married. I don't have any family to speak of. My mother died when I was ten, I haven't seen my brother in years, and my father is dead."

She could not disguise her surprise. "Dead? Your father, I mean? Are you sure?"

He shrugged. "I received a letter from the Chicago police about ten years ago telling me they'd found a body in Lake Michigan, with my father's watch in the pocket, along with other identification. They sent me the watch. I recognized it from a description my mother had once given me."

"Ten years ago…" Again, Fanny Burgess looked down at her cards, but this time she did not make a play. Plainly, she was confused by this information. Jim knew that his father had seen her, and she had seen him, within that time span.

Finally, she seemed to shake herself mentally. "Well, that's sad. I'm… do I understand you had not seen him for a period prior to that?"

"I never knew my father. He ran off with another woman when I was very young, less than two years old. The two of them killed her husband and fled with company funds."

"Oh. Oh, that's terrible. It must have been horrible for you… and your mother." The uncertainty could not be erased from her blue eyes.

"It wasn't easy, that's for certain. Mother became ill and passed away, as I mentioned. But I survived due to the care of a kind aunt and others."

"That's nice. That… oh, here comes Mr. Gordon."

Jim did not smile, turning around to look toward the door. Her relief at the interruption was palpable. He got to his feet. "Thanks for the company, Miss Fanny. I expect Artie will want to take advantage of your spread on the bar. I'm a little hungry myself." With a nod, he strolled off to meet Artie near the bar.

"Let's get some food," he said in a conversational tone that he knew would carry back across the room.

"That's a good looking smorgasbord," Artie replied, gazing at the array of cold food on the bar: boiled eggs, ham, pickles, cheese, cold chicken, along with some hearty bread and thick mustard. "I doubt we could do better down at the restaurant."

After filling plates provided with their selections, and picking up a glass of beer each—which was the "cost" of the food—they carried them to a corner table near the front window, as far from Francine/Fanny as possible. Jim sat with his back to her.

"Don't give any indication of what I'm going to tell you," he said.

Artie threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "That's a good one, James!"

While Artie ate and made irrelevant comments accompanied by equally irrelevant facial expressions, Jim told him about receiving the telegram from her. "I haven't looked closely, but I'm pretty sure the envelope has been steamed open. She had to know what we sent in our telegram."

Artie chuckled, picking remaining meat off a drumstick. "I bet you did," he said aloud.

Jim went on to relate how she had opened the door for him to provide information about his father. "I deliberately left out mention of the bank clerk who was killed, as well as let her believe that I believe my father is dead. She was startled, to say the least."

The man disguised as Nestor the swamper entered the saloon through a back door, as if on cue, still attired in the oversize coat and hat that covered the upper half of his face. He shuffled along the bar to the food array to fill his own plate. The bartender handed him a glass of beer. No doubt part of his "salary," Artie decided. Nestor then moved to an empty table halfway between where the agents sat and the one Fanny still occupied.

Artie covered his mouth with his beer glass before murmuring. "I'm surprised she hasn't recognized him. I suppose it's the way he keeps his head down. If she spotted the West eyes, it might be all over." He put the glass back on the table. "Here comes Hattie."

Jim looked around to see the friendly woman descending the stairs. She smiled toward them and headed their direction. Jim had no doubt she had just gotten up. Her hair, while obviously brushed, was hanging down her back, secured at the nape by a ribbon. Later she would put it in an up-do for a more sophisticated appearance. She was also wearing a plain cotton dress.

"I'd say good morning," she quipped, pulling out a chair uninvited, "but I know that while it's morning for me, you gents have likely been at it for hours."

"We had a tour around the countryside," Artie smiled.

Hattie cocked her head. "I thought you would be long gone."

"Looks like you're going to have to put up with us for a few more days," Jim replied easily. "We didn't tell you we are federal officers. We think we saw a wanted felon in this area and we're going to spend some time looking for him."

"Well, unlucky for him, lucky for me. I like having handsome fellows around."

"For that, can I buy you a beer?" Artie asked.

She declined but swiped a chunk of cheese from his plate. "I haven't had breakfast—or lunch—yet."

"Do you usually eat the bar food?" Jim wanted to know.

"Depends on how late I sleep. Often I go down to the restaurant for a good meal, but their food is too good. A girl has to watch her figure, you know. I… uh-oh."

She had glanced toward the door when it opened to spot the man who just entered. He was a barrel-chested individual in his middle years, with gray streaking through his dark hair and beard. Nonetheless, he appeared to be a very strong man, with wide shoulders. His well-worn plaid wool shirt seemed to emphasize the strength in those shoulders and arms.

"Trouble?" Jim murmured.

"Maybe." She continued to watch the man as he strode across the room to where Fanny was seated. That woman had seen his entrance and was watching as well. She smiled as he approached, but even from the distance, Artie thought the smile faltered.

"Who is he?" Artie asked.

"Name is Lute MacCluskey. He's foreman up at the Blue Falls Lumber camp, the biggest company in the area. Also the furthest from town, which no doubt Fanny appreciates."

Artie had seen MacCluskey grab Fanny's hand to kiss it as he sat down across from her. "A suitor?"

"Yeah. All of us other gals are glad he aimed his attention on Fanny. He's a brute and a bully. You might have noticed none of the boys in here hollered a friendly welcome. They don't want him in their card games. Sheriff Beatty has asked the owner of the lumber company to do something about MacCluskey, but he thinks the owner is afraid of him too. Thank goodness that the camp is nearly half a day's horseback ride off. MacCluskey comes in town during the day about once a month, riding with the camp cook who comes in for supplies. Then he comes on a payday once a month too, mostly. He surprises us sometimes, like today. He was here just last week with the cook, and it ain't payday yet."

She spoke in a very low tone, as almost all conversation in the room ceased with MacCluskey's entrance. "Nestor" was still at the bar consuming his meal, and he apparently had paid no attention to the newcomer, although Artie thought he might be peeking glances under his hat brim. I need to get a hat like that for my wardrobe, he mused. It might come in handy whether I'm in disguise or not!

"Does he cause trouble here in the Silver Dollar?" Jim asked. "Or just for Miss Fanny."

"Both. She doesn't like his company, but she puts up with him to keep him from breaking up the place, as happened the first time he came in about two months ago. He had just been hired and thought that all the Blue Falls men who were here should buy him a drink. When a couple tried to decline, they soon regretted it. Beatty had to take him to jail at gunpoint! Judge Blackmore gave him a hefty fine, but after seeing what happened, no one ever refuses when he wants them to pay for his liquor."

"Sounds like a real peach," Jim said, picking up the last of the food on his plate, a piece of ham.

"Are you going to stick around this afternoon?" Hattie inquired.

"We are working men," Jim replied. "There is a wanted man out there." In some ways, this story is going to hamper us! They were going to have to spend at least some time out searching for the imaginary counterfeiter, which would keep them away from the saloon and Francine. Nonetheless, the cover was important. They would have the evenings to do their real work.

"Speaking of that," Artie said, taking the final swallows of his beer, "we'd better continue our search, James. Just because we saw Niemand riding north does not mean he continued to ride north."

"Niemand?" Hattie looked at Artie. "Is that his name? Did you know Niemand means 'nobody' in German?"

"And how do you know that?" Artie asked, totally surprised.

She smiled. "My last name is Holtz. My parents emigrated from Germany, and German was my first language!"

"Well, thank you for the German lesson, Miss Holtz," Jim grinned, getting to his feet. "When we find him, we can arrest Mr. 'Nobody.' Right, Artie?"

"Right."

They laughed about this while riding out of town. "That never happened before to my knowledge," Artie commented. "I suppose it was inevitable, considering the fact that many people in this country are first or second generation Americans."

"Hattie is turning out to be a font of knowledge. Artie, what concerns me is this cover of searching for Mr. Nobody requires us to be out of town a great deal. That doesn't give us a chance to work on Francine, or be around in case 'Nestor' needs us."

"Got a better idea?"

"At the moment, no."