The Fire of Greed, page 17
“Where’s he from?”
“I’ve heard Colorado . . . but somebody said something about him coming from down Silver City way.”
* * *
“WHAT CAN I HELP YOU WITH?”
“Come to see the sheriff,” Muriday told the deputy.
In Muriday’s mind, the idea of recapturing the elusive esteem associated with bringing the thieves to justice had moved to the forefront of his list of objectives.
There was no better way to achieve this, he decided, than to include himself as a member of the posse that brought Stanton and Gardner to Santa Fe. It was not that this, in itself, would provide the desired renown, but his being part of the posse would provide him with the opportunity to distinguish himself for all to notice.
“What business do you have with the sheriff?” the deputy asked.
“Wanna be on that posse what’s gonna bring in the train robbers,” Muriday said proudly.
“I see,” the man said with a tone that explained that Muriday was far from being the first man to volunteer for this duty.
The man finished what he was doing, then stood and walked toward a door that led to an inner office.
“Wait here,” he said.
Muriday waited, listening to the monotonous click-clunk of the wall clock and watching several other people transacting other business.
Finally, the deputy returned with a tall man wearing a five-pointed silver star.
“Sheriff Reuben Sandoval,” the man said extending his hand.
“Muriday . . Ben Muriday. I wanna be on that posse they say you’re raising to fetch them fellas up from down at Lamy.”
“You from around here?” Sandoval asked.
“Nope. Just passin’ through.”
“Where you from?”
“All around.”
“Where mostly?”
“Been down in Lincoln County for the past year,” Muriday said. “Before that in Grant County for a while and over around Parker County, Texas.”
“You get around some, then,” the sheriff observed.
“That I do.”
“What sort of work do you do?”
“Cowboying mainly,” Muriday said. “Whatever needs doin.’”
“What interests you in being on this posse?” Sandoval asked.
“Reckon I wanna be a part of being on the side of bringing these bad men to justice.”
“That’s very commendable, Mr. Muriday,” the sheriff said. “But I already got as many men as I am going to need for the posse. If you could leave your name and how to get hold of you with the deputy here, I’ll get in touch with you if there’s anyone who can’t make it. Thanks a lot for takin’ the interest though.”
“Thank you for takin’ the time, sir,” Muriday said, disappointment in his voice as he took the sheriff’s extended hand.
* * *
“MR. MURIDAY,” CAME A VOICE BEHIND HIM AS HE CROSSED the street from the sheriff’s office. He turned to see one of the men he had seen inside.
“Mr. Muriday, my name is Nathaniel Siward,” he said, extending his hand. “Couldn’t help overhearing you generously volunteering to join the posse.”
“Was you aiming to get on the posse yourself?”
“No. I just happened to hear you.”
“Good thing you ain’t lookin’ to get on the posse,” Muriday said. “Seems like he’s got all the men he needs for the job. Ain’t hirin’ nobody else.”
“How’d you like to be on the posse?”
“Like to be, but if he ain’t hirin’, he ain’t hirin’.”
“He’s not the only one getting up a posse,” Siward said.
“How’s that?”
“I work for the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe, and as you can imagine, we’ve also got us an interest in seeing these men brought to justice.”
“So?”
“We need a man of our own to ride along to support the sheriff’s posse and make sure that nothing happens,” Siward explained. “I’d like to hire you to ride as part of the railroad posse.”
“That’s an idea, all right,” Muriday said.
“Pay you in gold,” Siward said with a smile. “The sheriff’s volunteers are just getting expense money. We’re paying a gold eagle for a day’s work.”
“Well, I reckon that suits me fine,” Muriday said. “I’m your man.”
“Welcome to the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe,” Siward said, shaking Muriday’s hand again. “You just get yourself down to Lamy by dawn the day after tomorrow, and you’re riding with us. If you wanna get down tomorrow night, look for me and we’ll feed you supper and breakfast and give you a place to bunk, so you’re fresh-faced when we ride out.”
Ben Muriday could not believe his good fortune. Luck was obviously riding with him to put him in the sheriff’s office at the right time to be overhead by Nathaniel Siward. Being hired on by the railroad was better that riding with the sheriff. There was the gold, certainly, but it was with the railroad, not the law, where the bounty hunter had gotten his reward and his recognition.
If he was lucky, Muriday thought, he might even get some information from the railroad men as to where he could go to find that damned Bladen Cole.
Chapter 30
“OH NO,” NICOLETTE DE LA GRAVIÈRE SAID AS SHE READ the Santa Fe New Mexican. “This is terrible.”
She was supposed to be helping to sort the fresh produce, but the headline caught her eye.
“What’s terrible?” Dolores Herrera asked.
“It’s the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe. Their shares on the stock market back in New York have fallen.”
“Don’t those things go up and down all the time?”
“But they fell a lot. According to the paper, they have lost a third of their value.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s the robbery,” Nicolette said, reading intently. “It says here that ‘investor confidence collapsed,’ when the news of the robbery reached New York.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that the financial people are pulling their money out of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe and putting it somewhere else.”
“How do you know all this?” Dolores asked quizzically.
“Because Ezra . . . Mr. Waldron . . . explained it to me.”
“He is now ‘Ezra’?” Dolores laughed. “I didn’t think you were courting yet.”
“We’re not,” Nicolette said, blushing. “He’s just . . .”
“I thought your corazón was throbbing for the handsome vaquero?” Dolores said teasingly. “And now Señor Waldron is ‘Ezra’?”
“I like Mr. Waldron,” Nicolette admitted. “He is a gentleman . . . Mother likes him. She approves because he is a gentleman.”
Dolores smiled knowingly, reading between the lines as she carefully arranged a group of tomatoes which the cooks would use later to prepare the fresh salsa that afternoon.
“I feel so bad for Mr. Waldron,” Nicolette said as she organized the pots and pans on the grill. “His job is in the financing of the railroad. This will reflect badly on him.”
“I’m sure that he knows what he’s doing,” Dolores said sympathetically, putting her hand on Nicolette’s shoulder. “He is a smart man. He knows more about these things than we do.”
Nicolette nodded.
* * *
AS SOON AS THE MORNING PREP WORK WAS DONE AND THE boys had come to fill the fireboxes with mesquite, Nicolette pulled off her apron and made her way down the street to the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe offices.
Ezra Waldron was at his desk, as were several of the clerks. Joseph Ames, with his overbearing nature and his soft, fleshy hands, was not there.
“Mr. Waldron,” she began, unsure of how one expressed commiseration in circumstances such as this. She noticed a copy of the Santa Fe New Mexican on his desk and nodded to it. “I see you’ve read the news today . . . I was so sad to see this. You must be absolutely devastated.”
“Miss de la Gravière,” he said, looking up, surprised to see her. “What are you doing here . . . I mean that I am very glad to see you . . . but I am surprised.”
“When I read this . . . I just had to come to see you and offer a word of . . . empathy.”
“You are so kind, Miss de la Gravière,” Waldron said softly, taking her hand in his. “I certainly appreciate your kindness.”
Nicolette was both startled and soothed to feel her hand in his, and him continuing to hold it, both gently and firmly. It was as though, for a moment, he was consoling her, and she felt comforted by his warmth.
“Mr. Waldron,” Nathaniel Siward said, bursting through the door.
“Oh . . . I’m sorry if I’m interrupting . . .” he said when he saw his boss with Nicolette de la Gravière.
Seeing Siward, Nicolette quickly pulled her hand from Waldron’s tender grasp.
“No, it’s . . . no interruption,” Waldron said, grasping for words as her hand slipped from his. “Miss de la Gravière was just expressing her sympathy for us in the current financial downturn. I was about to explain that these things happen . . . that we hope for a timely reversal of bad fortune.”
“I see . . .” Siward said nervously.
“What were you about to tell me?”
“The prisoners, sir,” he said. “The sheriff is going to Lamy to get them on the day after tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” Waldron said, speaking as much to Nicolette as to his employee. “We won’t be sorry to see them leave our custody . . . will we?”
“No, sir.”
“Will we have our men involved as we planned?” Waldron asked.
“Yes sir, I’ll be riding along myself . . . and I’ve just hired another man.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Muriday, sir,” Siward explained. “He seems to be just the sort of man we’re looking for.”
“That’s good to know,” Waldron said, his voice relaxing somewhat.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” Nicolette said, stepping back. “It sounds as though you have much to discuss, and I must get back to prepare the Refugio del Viajero for opening.”
She had seen Joseph Ames coming up the street, and he made her nervous.
He reached the door before she did, and his immense bulk seemed to explode through it.
“Ezra, I assume you have read the news?”
“That I have, Joseph.”
“Our worst fears have been realized,” Ames insisted emphatically. “Your foolish decision, a decision which you will recall that I called foolish when I learned that you had made it, has destroyed us.”
“I would not characterize this as having destroyed us,” Waldron replied.
“Ezra, you did a damned fool thing by trumpeting to the press that we’d had so serious a theft . . . especially after we had agreed that it should be kept quiet,” Ames said. “Once again, as I have before, I see the young lady on the premises, and I do apologize to the young lady for the strong language . . . but, ma’am, if you insist on frequenting these offices where men speak freely . . .”
“I was just leaving,” she said, ducking through the door.
“I’ll be going as well,” Siward said, following her out the door. “I need to get back to Lamy by nightfall.”
* * *
“THAT WAS RUDE, SIR,” WALDRON TOLD AMES WHEN THE others had left.
“If you are going to be keeping company with her, you should not be doing so under the pretext that you are not a fool, sir,” Ames retorted.
“Stock prices go down, and stock prices go up,” Waldron said.
“Correction,” Ames shouted, thrusting the yellow paper of a telegram across Waldron’s desk. “Stock prices go down, and stock prices plummet. This just arrived from New York. This will not appear in the Santa Fe New Mexican until tomorrow, so the young lady will be spared the embarrassment of being associated with you for that length of time.”
Waldron studied the telegram. The Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe share price had continued to fall, and the Denver & Rio Grande Western moneymen were reaping the fruits of a tide of shifting capital.
“It is not enough that we are falling like a stone,” Ames said in disgust, “but at the same time, our worst rival is surging. What, pray tell, were you saying about your damned fool decision having not destroyed us?”
* * *
NICOLETTE DE LA GRAVIÈRE GLANCED AT THE CLOCK. There was less than a half hour until closing time, but it had already been a very long and exhausting day.
In the beginning of their acquaintance, Ezra Waldron had carried himself with an air of superiority about his being in the lofty heights of high finance, while her own Refugio del Viajero was minuscule by comparison. Now, having watched the fortunes of his mighty railroad tumble, she was thankful for the proceeds that she saw in the cashbox tonight.
Noticing someone enter the front door, she put on her hostess’s smile and glanced in that direction.
“Mr. Waldron,” she said, startled to see him. “Please come in. Please, let me get you a table. Right this way. I hope you are feeling better . . .”
“I’ve not come to dine, Miss de la Gravière,” he said, returning her smile with one of his own. “I have come to offer you this rose, and to ask that you join me once again at the theater two nights from now . . . they’re presenting Macbeth.”
“I would be most pleased to accompany you to the theater, Mr. Waldron,” Nicolette told him, although in light of the tumult of the day, which was likely to continue, she questioned whether so gloomy a play as Macbeth would do much for their respective moods.
However, she remembered his gentle touch, and the empathy which she felt toward him.
She bade him good night, and as he departed, she paused for a moment to admire and to contemplate the single, long-stemmed rose which he had presented to her.
As she turned, Nicolette noticed her mother across the room, watching her with a smile. Therese was pleased with what she was seeing.
As Nicolette put the rose aside and returned to her work, and to a table that was wishing to settle up its tab, she wondered whether she and Ezra Waldron might actually be meant for each other after all.
Chapter 31
BLADEN COLE HAD COME FULL CIRCLE. HE HAD RIDDEN out of Santa Fe into the mountains and deserts in his search for the trail of the rat-faced man.
Now he was riding back into Santa Fe on a fresh trail of a man with a .45 and four dozen rounds who was hell-bent on “setting things right” with a bounty hunter he expected to be lingering in Santa Fe, spending reward money and living it up.
Cole chuckled when he pictured Muriday imagining himself as the hunter, gunning for Cole, not knowing that Cole had been hunting him for years. Cole knew that he was the hunter. He knew that at last, he was closing in on the final resolution of his most persistent nightmare. The rat-faced man was within his grasp, and this time he would not get away—because this time, he was looking for Bladen Cole.
As he had ridden that full circle that now brought him back to Santa Fe, Cole had tried to picture where Muriday would look for the man who’d cheated him out of the reward money he felt was his due.
Reaching Santa Fe as the sun stood high in the sky, Cole’s first stop was the Chinese laundry. The proprietor nodded his recognition as Cole entered. The man remembered him.
“Saw your man,” he said. “Ugly with no chin.”
“That’s good news,” Cole said, reaching into his pocket. “When was he here?”
“This morning,” the man said as he heard coins clinking in Cole’s pocket.
“How long ago?” Cole asked, placing two gold eagles on the well-worn counter.
“Three hour,” the man said, looking at his clock. “He left here and went to saloon . . . there.”
“Thank you much,” Cole said, gently and almost formally placing another coin on the table.
* * *
BACK OUTSIDE, HE CAST HIS GAZE DOWN THE STREET, where he could see the Refugio del Viajero. The sign on the front door read CERRADO. They would not be open for several hours. He wondered where he would be then, and how long it would be before he glimpsed those dark eyes and those lips the color of chilies.
As he stepped across the street, Cole instinctively fingered his holster. Muriday might still be at the bar. If so, the showdown he had imagined in his mind for a decade could come within a matter of moments.
After seeing that his quarry was not inside, the second thing that captured Cole’s gaze upon entering the saloon was the eerie line of kachina dolls presiding over the room from above the mirror behind the bar.
“How can I brighten your day, sir?” the man behind the bar called out in an usually cheerful tone.
“You’re in a good mood,” Cole observed, returning the man’s grin.
“No reason not to be. ’Tis a sunny day and I’m going to spend it under a cool adobe roof.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll stay for a while and let you brighten my day with a cold beer.”
“Good choice,” the man said, maneuvering a glass mug beneath a spigot.
“Good beer,” Cole said and nodded after he’d taken a long, satisfying drink.
“Brewed right over yonder by Probst and Kirchner’s,” the man said. “Reckon they make the best beer in town.”
“You got quite a collection there,” Cole said, pointing at the figurines.
“Yep. They serve as a wonderful conversation piece . . . or pieces . . . I reckon that not one person in five who comes in here fails to make mention.”
“Never seen so many in one place before,” Cole said as he savored the frothy refreshment.
“Feller got ’em out at one of them pueblos . . . or maybe at a couple of pueblos. They say they got magic in ’em.”
