DERAILED: CHAPTER 8
The WaKeeney Saloon looked like the best place in town, so Frank got his horse stabled and headed on in to wash down the dust.
"Lookin' for railroad work," he told the barkeep. "You know any of those guys?"
The barkeep looked him up and down.
"You don't look like you've hauled a lot of ties."
"I'm a guard, Mister, not a laborer. Lookin' for guard work. So do you know any of those guys?"
It was perfect. The barkeep had taken a long look and would be able to recognize him or describe him to anyone who asked. He even knew his profession. The more people who knew, the better.
"They got a wagon out on the line, but they keep movin' it. Follow the track west, you'll run into it. Big ol' schooner lookin' thing. Or you can hang out here, sooner or later most of 'em come through and get drunk."
"They got a boss man?"
"Yeah, but he's not around. One man's money is as good as the next in here."
"How about a place to sleep?"
"Robert's Rooms, south end of town. He rents by the night or the week, take your pick."
"Haven't been hired on, yet." Frank grinned. "A night at a time'll do."
Frank was so pleased with himself for making this much progress that he momentarily forgot his saloon skills. The barkeep just stood there staring at him until he snapped out of it.
"Uh, sorry mister. I'll have a whiskey. You can leave the bottle." Frank put a silver dollar down. There was plenty left for a tip, so the man smiled and got friendly again. "Glad to be of help. I'll point any of 'em out to you if they come in."
It sure wasn't a railroad guy, but Frank had his favorite kind of company in an instant. The floor girl who sidled up to him was no match for the ladies of the Long Branch, but she had a winsome smile, a pretty figure, and a real nice dress: too nice a dress for a hole of a town like WaKeeney. To be fair, Frank had two days of beard and trail dirt on him, which had always made him look even more appealing to women than if he'd been cleaned up like a city guy.
"Be glad to help you with that if you'd like company." She nodded toward the bottle.
Frank grinned and pointed to a table near the back. "Let's sit down."
"You're new here. You just ridin' through?"
"I heard the Pacific was hiring. You know the boss man?"
"I know all those guys. The big boss is a guy named Mister Duncan from Denver. All us girls know who he is. Comes in here when he's in town cause he's never out on the line. Real smooth lookin' guy. He's got plenty of money to spend. He hasn't been around since a long time before the murders though."
"The murders?"
"Yeah. About a month ago. One of his guys killed a couple of settlers. Some big, fancy marshal from out of town came in here and arrested him."
Frank felt more like a fly on the wall than a lawman in disguise. So far, so good. If Matt had ridden up here they'd have recognized him instantly. Still, it was hard to keep a straight face at her description of him.
It wasn't unusual for a barkeep to approach one of the girls at a table, so when he did, Frank didn't pay much attention.
"Mister: that guy I just served there at the end of the bar is one of those railroad guys."
"Get serious, Spence!" The girl was almost laughing out loud. "Ross can't hire anybody!"
"I'd better at least try." Frank volunteered. "Gonna be real tough buyin' you drinks and taking you to dinner if I don't have a job."
"Dinner?" She forgot Spence and brightened at Frank.
"Sure. What time you get off?"
"I can get off right now!"
It had always been that simple for Frank Reardon. He could have had a different woman every night if he wanted. There was something just magnetic about him. Maybe it was his rugged good looks, maybe it was his deep blue eyes or his engaging smile. It could have been his perfectly chiseled body. Likely it was all of those things, capped off by his unfailing confidence. And apparently even so soon after Jenny dumped him, he still had it. He put his hand on hers.
"Now just hold on. I got some things to do. How's nine?"
"I'll be right here waiting."
"Good. You probably ought to tell me your name. Wouldn't want to pick up the wrong woman." His smile was captivating, but she'd completely missed the humor of the situation.
"Elsie. Elsie MacGregor."
"Well Elsie, I'm Frank. Tell me who that Ross guy is."
"He's a gunman. George Powers owns him."
"Owns him?"
"He's a hired bodyguard, Frank. George is a dude. George handles all the money for the railroad. Make sense? When George isn't in Kansas, Ross just hangs out here, drinks a lot and eats high on the hog. When George is IN Kansas, Ross goes everywhere with him."
"Who takes care of George when he's NOT in Kansas?"
"What does that have to do with you gettin' a job?"
Frank smiled. He'd pressed Elsie just a little too far. She had her sights set on dinner and hopefully even a little entertainment with a handsome man afterwards, not on telling the story of the Kansas Pacific Railroad.
"Fair enough, sweetheart. I might need to see George about a job. Don't want to face any bodyguard in the process."
His charm had worked again. "You won't," she said. "If George likes you, he'll keep Ross off of you."
Frank couldn't get to the boarding house fast enough, so he could write down all the names and memorize them. Matt had told it true that day they rode back together from Ashland. Marshaling had sure changed, and there were plenty of high-class crooks. He took a second floor room: they were always safer and provided a good view of the street. Bath was at the end of the hall, but you had to haul your own hot water. Breakfast at seven was included in the board, but there were also two good restaurants in town for late sleepers or for takin' a lady out. Other than that, the clerk didn't have much more information to provide, nor did he seem willing. Frank unloaded all his gear and treated himself to the hot bath and a shave. After all, he had a date with his informant, and he owed her a good evening. Then he checked on his horse. He'd been well fed and rubbed down. He found the stable man and tipped him.
"You know a railroad guy named Ross?" Stable men were often a good source of information.
"Nope, sure don't."
"How about George Powers?"
"Well now, hold on, Mister. You know George?"
"I asked you first."
"You got me there. Yeah, I know George Powers. He's some high-falutin' honcho with the railroad. Takes a buggy out every time he's in town. The guy don't know how to ride. Gets 'em all their money, the way I hear it. He's a Denver guy but he comes through here checkin' on the line. You a railroad guy?"
"Not yet. Just lookin' for a guard job. Heard they might be hiring."
"Don't know, but I'll sure bet they are. Especially since they're down a couple a' guys. One of 'em killed some nesters and got hauled off to Hays City. His buddy got scared and quit right after that. I think your chances are good."
"Thanks. I'll ride out on the line tomorrow and see what it takes."
"You really know Powers?"
"Yeah."
"Just between you and me, that fancy dude took Mister Duncan's buggy and a real nice mare off me last time he was up here. Never brought either one back. Mister Duncan is gonna' be mighty upset when he comes in here needin' it. And I'd sure like to have that mare back."
"Thanks. I'll remember that."
XOXOXO
"Matthew, ain't nobody claimed th' buggy. Bin' over a week. You wantin' me ta' still leave it out back?"
"Thanks, Festus. Leave it there till morning, then you can haul it over to my house and store it next to Kitty's. I've got Hank coming over later on to look at it."
"Fiddle dee, Matthew! Thet thar's jes' a plain ol' two place buggy. He don't know no more about 'em than you n' me."
Matt smiled at his deputy and turned back to his paperwork. It wasn't worth arguing over, but he had an idea. When Hank showed up late that afternoon, his instincts were once again proven correct.
"Waaal, Marshal," Hank scratched his head as he completed his meticulous inspection of the vehicle. "I can show you some real good clues here. Now first off, it you want to bend way down here you can see here on this hub it's etched 'Prime.' And that's on all the others, too, so these are all the original wheels. 'Prime' is a forger in Denver. Now then, come look at the inside of the left shaft. Right here this little engraving is 'MJB.' Waaal, 'MJB' is one of the finest buggy makers west of St. Louis and they're in Denver just like Prime is. The numbers '73' just below the 'MJB' means they made it just two years ago. That'd explain why it's in such good shape. The fancy striping on the box costs extra money so it's likely this didn't belong to no poor man."
"Hank, I never would have figured that out."
Hank was beaming, proud of his knowledge. "There's one other thing here, Marshal, you might find real interesting. This here harness that was brought in with it has got a guy's initials carved on the backside of the breast collar."
Matt looked at the "PJD" inscription Hank pointed at.
"Hank, this looks professional, just like the pinstriping."
"Probably just another reason why you're a lawman and I just feed horses. That's darn good detective work. It was engraved there by the harness maker, and that costs extra too."
Matt gave Hank a swat on the shoulder and grinned.
"Thanks, Hank. I owe you one. Now all I've got to do is find out who 'PJD' is."
He turned to his deputy.
"Festus, I changed my mind. Go get Kitty's mare and run this buggy and harness over to my house tonight. Tuck it in behind hers under the lean-to. Then take down those signs about how we're looking for the owner. I'm taking custody of this little gem for now. I'll be home as soon as I get a telegram off to somebody."
"Right you are, Matthew!" And he trotted out the door.
It had been nearly a year, and for the life of him Matt couldn't remember anything about Charlie's address other than that it was on Round Street. But Kitty would! He hurried over to the Long Branch. When he popped into the office, she smiled and greeted him.
"Hello, Cowboy! You here to walk me home already?"
"I was hoping you'd know Charlie and Martha's address in Denver."
Her smile broadened. "Of course I do! I married the man of my dreams there, remember? It's 46 Round Street."
"Just like that? You have it in your head?"
"Yep. Just like that. Do I get a reward, Marshal?"
He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. She never ceased to amaze him, and this was just one more example.
"A big one, ma'am. You can't collect till we get home though. I'll be back to pick you up."
Her typical curiosity was peaked. "What's this all about?"
"Have to get a wire off to him. It's lawman stuff."
"Charlie's retired, Matt."
He tapped her on the nose. "Once a lawman, always a lawman. Trust me, Mrs. Dillon." And with that he was out the door so he could get the telegram off before Barney went home.
Charles Cole
US Marshal RET
Forty Six Round Street
Denver Colorado
"Need full name of anyone with initials PJD who bought MJB buggy in last two years STOP"
Matthew Dillon
US Marshal
Dodge City Kansas
"Marshal, I'll get that off right now," Barney offered. "Where do you want me to deliver the response?"
"Don't wait around, Barney. It's almost five. I'll come in when you open tomorrow morning and see if something came back. Otherwise, my office whenever it comes in tomorrow would be fine. It's okay to leave it with Festus, too."
"Now you're forgettin' we're here till nine these days, Marshal. Josh takes over for me at five. Dodge is quite the growing town these days with all the herds and all the new people, ya' know."
"I should have remembered that. Sure. Make it the Long Branch till seven, then my house till nine."
"Everybody's makin' good money with all this growth, me included. Well, I'll key this out right away."
Matt was out the door heading back to the Long Branch when he saw Mr. Bodkin flagging him down from the boardwalk in front of the bank.
"Marshal!" He had an envelope in his hand. "Marshal, take a look at this."
Not even waiting to greet Bodkin, Matt opened the envelope and read the contents. He looked up at the banker, then back down at the envelope again.
"It was mailed from right here. Ideas, Mr. Bodkin?"
"No. The bank is doing real well. I haven't had a complaint from any customer, borrower or depositor all season. Haven't turned anybody down for a loan, either. Who would write something like this?"
"How about somebody who worked here. Did you fire anybody?"
"No. Same six people here as always. John Wilson is a new hire with all the growth this summer, but he's a good worker and he likes his job."
"Frank is up in WaKeeney, so it's just Festus and me in town right now. Tell you what, we'll add your house to night rounds and check it each night. If somebody's serious about this, he'll think twice when he sees extra law around. Meanwhile, can I keep this?"
"Sure. And thanks, Marshal."
A whiskey at the Long Branch before supper was sounding mighty good, but Matt had an idea that just couldn't wait. He headed directly over to the Dodge House and found Mr. Dobie on duty.
"Dobie, that George Powers guy you checked out first thing this morning: Let me see where he registered when he checked in."
"Sure, Marshal. Just let me look here . . ." he flipped a few pages, and his finger fell on the entry: George Powers, Denver Colorado. He rotated the book so Matt could see it. Matt held Bodkin's letter next to the entry and compared the writing.
"Thanks. You've been real helpful." He folded the letter and put it in his vest pocket.
"He was a bad man, was he?" Next to Nathan Burke, Dobie was the official runner-up at prying into other people's business and in the spread of gossip.
"No, I wouldn't say that." Matt answered softly. "But thank you."
XOXOXO
Things got messy when Matt and Kitty got home. Tip Dooley greeted them in the yard and handed Kitty an envelope. Matt jumped right into the foray.
"Put that in your reticule till we get in the house, Kitty."
Sensing a problem, Dooley felt the need to explain.
"Some cowboy dropped it off, Mrs. Dillon. Never saw him before. Looked just like any cowboy."
"Tip, would you recognize him?" Tip's concern was well placed. Matt was in his face.
"Uhhh, wow, maybe. He rode a bay, I remember that. Had some white legs. Uhhh, real light brown hat and . . ."
"How about something like his hair or face, Tip. Hair color? Beard? Scars?"
"I'm sure sorry, Marshal. I think he had some kinda' brown hair but I didn't notice much else."
Matt was running out of patience. So far, Dooley's sketchy description fit about half the cowboys in Dodge that night.
"Quint was here. Did Quint see him?"
"No Sir. He was in the barn and see, I was just walkin' from your house to the bunkhouse. The guy just sat on his horse. All he ever said was to give this to the lady who lives here, and he rode off, just like that."
Kitty stepped up and took Matt's arm to distract him.
"Matt, please! Tip will tell you if he remembers anything more. Take a deep breath. He's working on the house, he's not a guard."
Matt took that deep breath and softened.
"Sorry, son. Got a little situation here with some threatening letters getting delivered around Dodge."
"I could go out with you and look in all the saloons. Maybe something would come to me."
It was so typical of Tip Dooley. He'd do absolutely anything for Matt and Kitty.
"Yeah. That's a good idea. You get your supper and I'll come and get you for rounds later. You can walk with me."
Kitty stayed on Matt's arm for the short walk to the back door. Something was up. First he'd needed Charlie Cole's address, then he needed to send a telegram, now this. It was best to be quiet and wait for him to explain. She put the envelope on the kitchen table and poured a whiskey for him, then sat down to wait. He was staring at it like it had a snake inside.
"Didn't even get off his horse, Dooley said. Not so much as a boot print in the dust."
"What?"
"Our shooter wore keen-toed boots. Powers didn't."
"Oh, Matt! You don't think George Powers had anything to do . . ."
"Mr. Bodkin got a letter threatening his life. And if I'm right, we'll be hearing from Doc real soon that he got one too. Maybe even Emmett Bowers."
Without asking for permission or caring that she didn't, Kitty slit the envelope open and read the short note before she slid it in front of Matt.
"Kathleen, you could die."
"My God!" Kitty was wide-eyed. "Who wrote this? You put Powers on the train Thursday at sunup. He's gone! Who wrote this?"
"That much I've got figured out. Powers wrote it. He wrote the one to Bodkin and this one, too. His handwriting on these is a match to his registration at the Dodge House. He had a partner deliver them after he left town. Festus was right, there was a second guy. Frank was pretty sure of that all along, too."
"Wow, you never should have put George Powers on that train. How could you ever find a guy like him in a town the size of Denver? Half the people there are sales and finance types."
Matt put his hand over hers and smiled confidently.
"I'll bet Charlie Cole can."
tbc