The Fire of Greed (8 page)

Chapter 12

TETHERING THEIR HORSES ON A RIDGE SOME DISTANCE
away, Bladen Cole and Otto Geier closed in on the encampment of the four who dreamed of riches beyond their imagining.

Their plan was quite straightforward. They would wait until three were snoring and the sentry nodded. They would then wake them up, tie them up, and saddle them up. In this simplicity, there were expansive margins for errors, and untold opportunities for the unexpected, but two Winchesters held by two men were deemed sufficient to equalize any threat presented by four groggy men groping for their weapons in the half-light of the fire.

The thunderheads of afternoon had long since faded away, leaving a clear sky studded with stars and the sliver of a moon. Crickets provided a monotone of background noise, as a succession of sentries began taking turns cocking their heads and straining their ears for sounds of Apache warriors coming to exact revenge for the taking of the two scalps.

One man took the first turn, and he woke another around midnight.

Soon the first man was snoring. The second man relaxed, started to nod off, caught himself, shook his head, and walked a short distance away to take a leak.

Cole and the Dutchman watched as he returned to the fireside, sat down on his saddle, with his rifle across his knees, and yawned. Somewhere high above, an owl moaned, but the man did not seem to notice. He was fading.

Cole looked at the Dutchman, and the Dutchman nodded. It would not be long.

Suddenly, a long-haired man rolled out of his bedroll and stood up holding his rifle.

“Okay, you two,” he shouted, kicking rifles and gunbelts away from the two men who were still asleep. “Time to rise and shine. I been having me some thinking.”

The two men who had been still asleep now rose to their hands and knees, reaching for weapons that had been kicked away.

“What the hell?”

“I been having some thinking,” the long-haired man in the red and white striped shirt, now standing with his back to Cole and the Dutchman, repeated. “You boys done got away from Santa Fe with thousands of somebody else's dollars. I seen the railroad company markings on those bags. I figure those boys had gotta be pretty mad. Right? Mad enough to put a pretty good price on your heads?”

There was some grumbling from the two men, but no audible answer.

“The way I figure it, we could just shoot you right here and take this dough and get the hell out of this wilderness and run off. Me and Lynch, we been looking for a nest egg and a new start, and if we was to take off we'd have the nest egg, but still be lookin' over our shoulders. But if we take you boys
in
, hand you over to the law with all this loot, then we gets us a reward
and
a new start. We'd be heroes and get ourselves reward money, free drinks, and
women
. We'd be heroes. I ain't
never
been a hero. Always wanted to be one.”

“How do you know things are gonna work out like that?” one of the other men growled angrily.

“I ain't as dumb as I look,” the long-haired man said. “Right, Lynch?”

“No, you ain't,” the man called Lynch replied.

“No, I
ain't
,” the long-haired man said firmly. “Now, get some rope, Lynch, and tie up these two. We're goin' back to Santa Fe for payday.”

“What about the Dearing Diggings?” asked one of the other men awkwardly, as Lynch pushed him facedown to tie his hands. “I thought we had a deal that we was goin' in there so we'd
all
get rich. There's more money there than any of us can use. You're just throwing that all away.”

“Change of plans,” the long-haired man replied. “I've been doin' me some thinking.”

“If you ain't dumb, and I ain't sure you ain't, you're sure as hell crazy as hell,” the other man shouted as Lynch began to bind his hands behind his back. “You're out of your goddamn mind, Muriday. You're out of your goddamn mind for givin' up on the Diggings just as we're almost on top of it. You're out of your mind for plannin' on takin' us back through Indian country with two of us tied to our saddles. You gotta remember that it was Stanton's rifle shot that got the first one of those red savages that we got, and I got the other one.”

“It's you who is the crazy one, Gardner,” asserted the long-haired man, whom Cole and Geier now knew was called Muriday. “It was you that scalped them two up there.”

“If we go riding back through there with two of us tied up, it's gonna be four white man scalps on some Apache saddle by sundown,” Gardner replied, with a fearful undertone to his angry observation.

“You're the one done the scalping,” Muriday reminded him. “You're the one got Apache blood on your saddle where those god-awful things been swinging' all afternoon. If we see any damned Apaches, we'll just show 'em that and let 'em have you.”

“You're out of your goddamn mind, Muriday,” Gardner said in disgust. “What makes you think . . . after yesterday when we done got ambushed . . . what makes you think them savages are gonna come down all nice and ask which one of us to kill? Look . . . I'll make you a deal. We'll split this cash and you can ride off. Me and Stanton will go on our way to California, and you and Lynch can go on up to the Dearing Diggings and get yourself filthy rich and there's no hard feelings. You can go an awful long way on this gold and all
that
gold.”

“Yeah, sure, and I got your
word
that you wouldn't double-cross us if we let loose of you?” Muriday said with a laugh.

“My solemn word,” Gardner assured him.

“What's it worth . . . the word of a crazy man who scalps some damned Indians right here in the middle of Indian country?”

“I tell you, let us go and you can have half our haul, and you'll
never
see us again.”

“Shut your damned mouth,” Muriday said as he pulled a knife, hacked the drying scalps from Gardner's saddle, and threw them into the embers of the fire.

Lynch just shook his head nervously at the sight—and the
smell
—of this.

* * *

WITH THE SOUND OF THEIR MOVEMENTS CONCEALED BY
the ruckus in the camp, Cole and Geier slipped away and returned to their previous perch on the ridge above.

“It seems that circumstances ist changed,” the Dutchman said.

“So it seems,” Cole said.

“Your prey has been taken by another predator,” Geier observed. “What will you do? Will you kill them and take your prisoners?”

“That's not a line that I want to cross,” Cole said. “At least not at the moment. They aren't
my
prisoners. I never caught up to 'em. What these men named Lynch and Muriday don't know is that I was hired, not by the law, but by the
railroad
. I'll have to keep following . . . and hope to think of something before they arrive in Santa Fe.”

“Because if these men go to the law to collect a reward, they will behold blank stares?”

“Something like that,” Cole said and nodded. “
Unless
the railroad men have alerted the law, which they insisted they did not plan to do.”

“They might have had a change of mind.”

“Anything's possible,” Cole said with a nod.

* * *

NOBODY SLEPT WELL DURING WHAT WAS LEFT OF THE
night.

The sun was not yet up, and a number of stars still hung in the purple sky as the Dutchman woke Cole out of his doze. He nodded to the camp below. The foursome were stirring, and the captors were already saddling horses.

Geier handed Cole a cup of cold coffee, and the two sat quietly, unwrapping hardtack while watching the preparations below.

“I suppose we better saddle up,” Cole said at last. “Guess we might as well ride together back as far as Luera.”

“I have been thinking,” the Dutchman said. “Just as our friend last night had an epiphanous moment of thought, I too have experienced a change of my mind. I don't think I'll go home. I won't go back to Luera . . . for now.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Cole said with a smile.

The Dutchman pointed into the distance. Far to the south, just a few miles away, the first rays of the morning sun had fallen upon the vivid red sandstone cliffs of a canyon wall.

“You're welcome to join me,” Geier said.

“Thanks,” Cole said in a tone that said the offer was tempting. “Good luck up there.”

“Safe travels,
mein herr
,” the gray-haired man said with a wink as he reined his horse away.

Chapter 13

“TWICE IN ONE WEEK.” AMOS RICHARDSON SMILED AS EZRA
Waldron stepped into the candlelit interior of the Refugio del Viajero. “You must have developed a taste for the
carne asada
.”

“Oh . . . hello, doctor,” Waldron replied, surprised to see the coroner. “Yes . . . the
carne asada
, it is a memorable dish. I must thank you for introducing me. I had not previously favored the native fare out here in the West. I normally dine at Delmonico's, but old dogs can certainly learn new tricks.”

“Would you care to join me?” Richardson asked. “I've ordered, but I could ask Therese to put mine on the back burner.”

“Yes, thank you,” Waldron said.

“I imagine that you have dined at the original Delmonico's,” Richardson said, making conversation after Therese de la Gravière had swooped in to attend to them. While her daughter worked most of the tables, the proprietor always attended personally to her regular patrons, of whom Richardson was among the most loyal.

“But a short distance from my office in New York,” Waldron nodded. “And you sir, have you been to Delmonico's?”

“Not the one in New York. I have never, myself, been in the
North
.”

“Yes, I understand,” Waldron said, realizing from Richardson's accent that mention of the northern city was treading on the raw nerves of old rivalries. Aiming to alter the course of the conversation, he quickly added, “I had no idea until I came out that enterprising restaurateurs in every town of any size, and some with no size, seem to have appropriated that name for a dining establishment.”

“I hope that you've found them living up to the caliber of the original,” Richardson said and smiled.

“Most not, as one might expect, but the one here in Santa Fe has not been a disappointment. And now the Refugio. I had not anticipated myself developing a taste for the ‘chili pepper' cuisine.”

“One rarely sees chili peppers in Richmond either,” Richardson laughed, referencing the geographic divide in a lighthearted manner to set the Northerner at ease. “To chilies,” he said, holding up a glass.

“To chilies.” Waldron smiled, touching Richardson's proffered glass with his own. “To new discoveries and . . . to new friends.”

“To friends,” Richardson said, smiling.

When Therese had presented two sizzling plates of the house specialty, the two diners dived in, savoring the thinly sliced meat, the thinly sliced onions—and the chilies.

“There is something that I would like to speak with you about,” Waldron said as Richardson took a break and reached for his wineglass.

“Is it about the bounty hunter and the robbers? How is that progressing?”

“I have had no word, but it has been less than a week,” Waldron replied. “I hope that we will soon have word, and that no harm has come to your friend, the bounty hunter, Mr. Cole.”

“More an acquaintance than a friend,” Richardson clarified. “But he
is
a fellow Virginian.”

Waldron nodded.

“I would expect that you are due for some news soon,” Richardson said. “Even with two parties beginning a day apart, I would imagine that it should not take longer than a week for the bounty hunter to return, assuming he has been successful.”

“I was thinking the same,” Waldron said uncertainly. “Although, I do not know the nature of the wilderness into which they were riding, save the general knowledge that it
is
a wilderness untouched by the niceties with which gentlemen are accustomed.”

“A wilderness indeed,” Richardson agreed. “And the reputed lair of Geronimo and company if one travels farther south into the Mogollon Rim country.”

“A long way indeed from New York . . .
or
Richmond,” Waldron observed.

“Or Santa Fe, for that matter,” Richardson added.

“What was it that you wanted to ask me before we started talking of fugitives and bounty hunters?” Richardson said.

The table remained quiet for a number of minutes, as the two men savored their dinners.

“May I speak candidly?” Waldron asked at last.

“Of course.”

“And in confidence?”

“You have piqued my curiosity, sir.” Richardson smiled.

“Miss de la Gravière,” the New Yorker said, nodding toward Therese's daughter, who was swirling about a table across the room delivering plates of delicacies.

“Nicolette? Yes?”

“A lovely young lady,” Waldron said, blushing slightly.

“Her beauty is that which clearly attracts the eye,” Richardson confirmed with a nod. “Her smile can melt ice, and she has an agreeability of disposition which is so often lacking in women of such radiance.”

“Do you know whether she has a man who is . . . ?”

“I am unaware of such a man, although I cannot be counted as an authority on her private life. I take it that you harbor aspirations in that direction.”

“I do,” Waldron said and nodded sheepishly.

“I
do
know that she is only about twenty-three, and I take you for nearly twice that,” Richardson said protectively.

“Four years short of double that number, but this is not an
unusual
separation of ages,” Waldron insisted.

“That would be none of
my
business,” Richardson said. “It would be something for you to take up with her.”

“With that in mind, I'd like to ask you for an introduction to her mother so that I might clear the way for doing just that.”

“To ask Therese . . . ?”

“Whether I might approach her daughter with an offer to escort Miss de la Gravière to the theater.”

Richardson paused, mulling it over in his mind. At last, he raised his hand, signaling for Therese to approach their table.

* * *

“MAMA!” NICOLETTE DE LA GRAVIÈRE SAID IN EXASPERATION. “WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?”

“Only that he might, with my permission, speak to you on the matter,” Nicolette's mother explained.

It was early morning, and the two women had just taken the day's delivery from the man who sold them the vegetables for Refugio del Viajero.

“Mama, he is so
old
,” Nicolette insisted, as she sorted and washed a basket of greens.

“May I remind you, Nicolette, that you are not so young yourself. You are nearly twenty-four, an age when a woman should be seriously entertaining suitors. When I was your age . . .”

“Mama, I
know
that you had become engaged to Papa, but you did not wed for two more years.”

“At least I was, as the Anglos say, ‘spoken for.'”

“John was courting me when I was twenty,” Nicolette insisted.

“Where did
that
get you?”

Tears began welling up in Nicolette's eyes.

“I'm sorry,
ma chère fille
, I know that the pain of the wickedness in his breaking of your heart continues to tear at you . . . but, my child, you
must
move on.”

“I don't know, Mama,” Nicolette choked out. “I'm unsure . . . I'm afraid.”

“You must not allow this fear to prevent your happiness now . . .
and
in the future.”

“I know . . . My
mind
knows that you are right,” Nicolette admitted. “But my heart is stubborn.”

“I see the wall you have made between you and the world,” Therese continued. “I have seen you with customers . . .”

“I greet them cordially, as I should,” Nicolette insisted. “I am never discourteous, never impolite . . .”

“No, I did not mean that . . .”

“Would you have me flirt with customers?”

“No . . .”

“Then what?” Nicolette asked tersely.

“I see your eyes . . . a mother sees . . . I see your eyes when a man you like comes in. There was that cowboy a few days ago. I could tell . . .”

“And . . .”

“You might have allowed yourself a bit of conversation.”

“Well, he's gone now,” Nicolette said and shrugged. “They come. They go.”

“And what of Monsieur Waldron?” Therese asked.

“What
of
Monsieur Waldron?” Nicolette said, rolling her eyes.

“He is a gentleman. He asked me politely whether he could ask you to accompany him to the theater. You
enjoy
the theater.”

“I do,” Nicolette admitted.

“He is a gentleman, and he is a railway official,” Therese explained. “He has money.”

“Is it about the money? Is
that
what you want?”

“I want what's best for my daughter,” Therese said sternly. “Someday, you will want a man with a reliable income, and it would be nice to have a prominent man. Compare that to a cowboy or a drifter who comes and goes and is never heard from again.”

“Is it all . . . ?”

“No. It is
not
all about his money,” Therese said, almost scolding. “You deserve better than these cowboys . . .”

“Like John?” Nicolette asked pointedly.

“Like him . . . like that one last week who caused your cheeks to flush, but who was gone the next day, and who is probably in West Texas by now . . . and who has no intention of settling down and making a home. Another rough-edged drifter who could not afford to provide a proper home even if he were convinced that he should or must.”

“Not a proper gentleman who would provide a proper home,” Nicolette said with disdain and a toss of her head.

“You should allow someone, some
gentleman
, into your world, if not your heart,” Therese insisted. “Long enough to give the man a chance to win your heart . . . or at least
try . . .
long enough to give him a chance to put some color into your cheeks.”

“Monsieur Waldron?”

“He is a polite man who happens to have a good income. Is it a crime for a mother to want such a man to be interested in his daughter?”

“No, Mama.”

“I'm not asking you to
marry
Monsieur Waldron,” Therese pleaded. “Just to go to the theater and allow him to treat you as a lady should be treated . . . as a lady who happens to be my daughter should be treated.”

“But Mama, he is so old . . .”

“He is not so
old
,” Therese insisted. “When I was your age . . .”

“Yes, Mama, I
know
how old Papa was.”