I apologize for the lengthy exposition (and I know the exposition is the most boring part!) but if things pan out as planned-although they rarely do-all this background info is necessary.
The Deaths-Part I
I was having a long-running feud with a certain Mr. Harry Baxter, a questionable partner of mine who bought out my original partner, the bank manager of the Virginia City Trust, Reese Murray. But wait—it's more convoluted than you can imagine.
Murray had approached me about a deal on buying shares in the mine—showed up one evening at my house. It seems papers had come through his office that a silver mine was being put up for auction for unpaid taxes; the original owner had died or abandoned it—no one knew. I investigated and it seemed a good business deal; there were many rich silver veins within but they were difficult to reach without the manpower and the money. Still, with all the innovations in mining, owning the property could turn out lucrative. So Murray and I picked it up for next to nothing and split shares in the silver mine near Carson City; I held 45% of the shares and supplied the lumber for new timbering, the machinery such as the pump, and moved some of the miners from the Ponderosa's three operating mines to our new mine; I paid them from my own accounts. Murray held 40% and an investor from San Francisco, an acquaintance of Murray's—or so he said-held 15%. Originally, as I said, it appeared a good investment as silver ore was now in high demand by the government for the treasury. We were making a profit, a large profit, but after a year, it didn't produce as much silver as originally predicted by the engineer Murray had hired. The engineer, Stanley Payton, came with letters; I had confirmed one of them from a vague acquaintance of mine, a man I had met in San Francisco a few years ago-a successful speculator—and so I took the engineer at his professional word—to a degree.
I had discussed it with Hoss. I had developed great respect for my younger brother's opinion on such things. He wasn't as cunning as I, it's not in his nature to be devious, and that's why I trusted him. He thought that the wealth that lay in the mine would be worth the money and manpower. You see, during my absence, Hoss had grown immensely—in both character and girth. Other than the books and payroll which my father had managed during my absence, Hoss had taken on most of the day to day activities, the mining and the timber mill although he was more than happy to return the responsibilities to me. He became very knowledgeable about such things but he still didn't enjoy handling contracts.
Joe had been in charge of the cattle, something he detested. I took it back on when I returned, but after I became a widower, he took over again; I think it was his way of relieving my burden. Joe was actually good at it- knew that round-ups and cattle drives still needed to be accomplished, although now that federal money was being poured into extending the railroad, he was eager for what was called cattle cars to move the beeves to San Francisco, Abilene, Chicago and St. Louis. And one night, as we sat at dinner, he told about the news he had read in The Sacramento Bee. I had read it as well but kept quiet, listening as if it actually was news.
"And, Adam," Joe, who was having dinner with us, said, "I read that in about another year or two, we won't have to make those long drives. Just think of it. No more eating dust and sleeping on the ground and smelling nothing but stinkin' cow sh..." Joe stopped himself, glancing at my son.
Asher was fiddling with his food, the polished, heavy silverware too big for his small hands—he basically stabbed at his food with his fork. He looked up at his uncle Joe whom he adored and asked, "What stinks?"
Joe just giggled and smiled at me. "Should I tell him?" Pa only looked down the length of the table at me.
I sighed. I hated when things like this came up. What do I tell a 5-year-old? Do I lie and have him later think that I was always less than honest with him? Or do I just teach him with brutal honesty that life is full of filth and hate and death and lust—and shame? Sometimes I thought it would be better if he knew what to expect but I couldn't tell him what Joe was saying. Knowing Asher, he'd go about the house using the word, "shit" just to get a reaction from me.
"The cows stink because they don't have baths. That's why you have to take baths, so you don't stink and smell like a cow."
"Oh," he said and went back to pushing the peas about on his plate.
My father subtly nodded his approval at my answer. I didn't need to know that I had given an acceptable answer—but it helped.
But back to the mine; it was a month before the measles epidemic struck that the silver vein had gone dry and Reese Murray had died in a cave-in. What he had been doing in the mine, I didn't know, but apparently, from what I had gathered, Reese was personally checking the silver veins and must have inadvertently caused the cave-in. I found it odd that a simple banker who seemed to know little about mining, would go alone into a mine—but from what came out afterwards, I can understand his desperation to have the mine again produce. But having no experience, it wasn't odd that he caused his own death, being half-buried under tons of rock. Nevertheless, the body couldn't be recovered and all we had to go on was the word of two men heading to Carson City; they said they had paused nearby to eat their noon meal and swore they saw him go in and then, after a time, heard the rumble of the collapsing rock walls and the belch of dust and dirt.
After Reese Murray was crushed to death, it came to light that Reese had embezzled the money to purchase his shares. The bank demanded Mrs. Murray repay the bank to avoid prosecution since she had benefited from the crime. She should, the bank's lawyers advised, sell her shares in the mine, and if not that, her home and all she owned. Mrs. Murray couldn't afford a lawyer to represent her and I refused—despite her coming to me and asking-to go to the bank and put up the money until she could raise it. It wasn't an easy decision. But it seemed luck was with her. A man by the name of Harry Baxter heard about the mine and wrote Murray's widow a check to buy the dead man's 40% shares and since the mine would now require all the rocks and rubble removed—hours of manpower-and new timbering, I couldn't understand how Baxter was able to find some questionable people in San Francisco as backers in the mine; after all, why would they want it? And the mine was a loss unless they paid for excavation and new shoring. The whole thing seemed odd to me so I had been writing letters and sending wires attempting to find out who the investors were and why they would want shares in an apparently worthless mine. But together with Baxter, they owned the majority of the shares and I was outvoted by proxy at every turn. No one touched the mine and if could have found someone to take the albatross from my neck, I would have sold.
At Reese Murray's memorial service, when I approached the widow to offer my condolences, Lorelei Murray raised her veil and I still remember her expression of loathing; she was a square-jawed, broad-bosomed, stern woman who had relished the importance of her husband's position in town and she must have blamed me for her loss of status as well as the loss of her husband since the collapsed shoring had been of Ponderosa timber. Without a word, she spat at me and then dropped the veil back over her face. Everyone else was shocked but I pulled out my handkerchief, wiped my chin where the spittle had landed and moved on. My father who was behind me passed by Mrs. Murray without a word.
Then two weeks later, the epidemic struck and the mine was put from my mind.
Up to that point, I had received nothing from any of my inquiries about the investors that told me anything and a friend in Utah suggested I hire a Pinkerton man to investigate. I began to think that I was getting into something that was better left alone. The first time, two weeks ago when I'd discussed it with my father, he advised I cut my losses and bow out of the partnership, just sign over my shares, but I couldn't. I hated to be taken as a fool and I knew I had behaved imprudently; I hadn't performed my due diligence—I had been too busy congratulating myself on my business acumen to do what I should have—investigated every aspect of the mine. I was slipping.
TBC
