Fuming and more than a little shaken, McLendon trudged away from the livery, carrying his valise. His immediate concern was where he would sleep that night. He walked toward the hotel. As he passed the Owaysis, he saw that most of the customers were leaving. There was enough light from the kerosene lamps inside for him to check his pocket watch: the time was just after ten. Then, looking through Major Mulkins’s prized glass window into the lobby of the Elite, he saw that the place was jammed with men curled up on the floor. Sleeping space was at a premium in Glorious. Maybe he would have to spend the night on the ground. There were still some campfires flickering among the prospectors’ tents. Perhaps he could sleep there. Preacher Sheridan would probably be willing to share his tent. For the time being, he leaned against the wall of the Chinese laundry and thought about the ways Collin MacPherson might find to kill him if he remained in Glorious.
When he felt enough time had passed, McLendon walked to the dry goods store. The town was dark. A coyote howled somewhere out in the valley. McLendon stumbled over a rock and nearly dropped his valise. He regained his balance and tapped on the shop door.
Gabrielle opened the door and whispered, “Come in.” It was dark in the store and he bumped into the counter. “We’ve got candles in the back room,” Gabrielle said, and held aside a blanket in the doorway separating the shop from the living quarters. There was enough light there to see Mulkins, Crazy George, Mayor Rogers, and Salvatore Tirrito sitting in chairs by a table. Mary Somebody sat on the edge of a bed. Gabrielle pulled out another chair and gestured for McLendon to sit down. Then she joined Mary on the bed.
“Joe should be here any moment,” Gabrielle said.
McLendon blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. “All right,” he said. “Something’s just happened.”
“Let’s wait for Joe,” Gabrielle said. “We don’t want you having to say everything twice.” Everyone sat silently until there was soft knocking on the front door and Gabrielle let in the sheriff.
Saint stood by the table rather than sitting down. “We needed everyone together because Cash McLendon and I need to tell you what we believe is happening. I realize that they’re only suspicions, but they’re well grounded in fact. When you hear what we have to say, I think you’ll agree.”
“Can you get on with it, Sheriff?” Rogers asked. “What with Bob Pugh’s death and burial, we’ve all had a terrible day, and I dislike leaving Rosie alone. She’s prone to bad imagining and nightmares.”
“I believe that we’ve got our own real-life nightmare, Charlie,” Saint said. “As McLendon and I see things, here’s the way of it. I’m going to let him speak first.”
McLendon told about his belief that Turner had discovered a salted claim, his meeting with Collin MacPherson and MacPherson’s frank description of his intentions, and how, when Bob Pugh left for his own visit to Culloden, he swore that he had no intention of selling his livery. Saint explained how he and Doc Chau were puzzled by Pugh’s wounds, and that the two dead Apaches brought into town earlier by Culloden vaqueros were missing the bows and arrows that they should have had.
“As McLendon pointed out to me, it’s certainly possible that MacPherson’s men tried to make it appear that not only was Bob killed by Apaches, but Tommy Gaumer also,” Saint said. “There’s a pattern to it.”
McLendon recounted Ike Clanton’s appearance at the livery and the bill of sale that Ike claimed proved Pugh had sold the livery to MacPherson prior to his death. When he described the new sign nailed up over the livery door by Culloden ranch hands, Mulkins cursed under his breath.
“Taken together, all this indicates that Collin MacPherson intends to take your businesses whether you wish to sell to him or not,” Saint said. “He’s killed to get to this point and will kill again if anyone doesn’t let him have his way. By my count, because of his greed, at least four people are dead, maybe five.”
Mayor Rogers cleared his throat. “Come now, four? Who are they?”
“Tommy Gaumer, Bob Pugh, and the two Apaches. Possibly a fifth—that vaquero killed in what Lemmy Duke claimed was an Apache attack.”
“Then really only two. Apaches don’t count, nor a Mexican. And besides, Joe, you admit that this is just something you think and not anything that you can prove. Up to now we’ve all had ample cause to feel grateful to Mr. MacPherson. He’s protected our town—you can’t deny that.”
“We don’t know that he actually protected us. He wanted us to believe that he did.”
“Everyone knows that there are Apaches all through this region. Are you telling me that there aren’t?”
“Yes, there are Apaches,” Saint said. “No one knows how many. But MacPherson has used that fact as the basis for his plan to trick us.”
“That’s your opinion, Sheriff.”
“Yes.”
McLendon said, “It’s my opinion too. I’ve worked for a rich man like Collin MacPherson. They think that because they have wealth and power, whatever they do is all right, no matter who else suffers in the process.”
“It’s true,” said Gabrielle. “I can personally attest Mr. McLendon knows all about that.”
“He wants the hotel, and the Owaysis, and the dry goods store and the farrier shop,” McLendon said. “He’ll do whatever he must to get them.”
“Come now, it may not be as dramatic as that,” Rogers said. “You make it sound as if we don’t sell, then he’ll murder us.”
“He murdered Bob Pugh,” Mulkins said. “The son of a bitch killed our friend. I believe the sheriff and C.M.”
“Same here,” Crazy George said, and Salvatore Tirrito grunted in what seemed to be agreement, although McLendon guessed that, because of his very limited English, Gabrielle’s father hadn’t been able to completely follow the conversation.
Mary Somebody waved her hand for attention. “All right, let’s get down to it: What do we do now? I’ll tell you this, George and me ain’t selling the saloon. We’ve worked too long and hard. We dreamed of a successful place of our own and no rich man’s scaring us into giving it up. If he wants to try to kill us, let him come on. We’ve been in fights before.”
“Same goes for me, Mary,” Mulkins said. “I’ve got the hotel I always wanted, and it’s going to have glass windows in every room.”
“Let’s not forget the Chinese,” Gabrielle cautioned. “Are Sydney and her people also in danger from Mr. MacPherson?”
“Sydney is aware of the threat,” McLendon said. “Though I doubt MacPherson is concerned with the river camp and laundry now, eventually they’ll come to his attention. For now they should be safe.”
“What about you and Salvatore, Gabrielle?” Saint asked. “Would you consider selling out to Mr. MacPherson?”
Gabrielle spoke to her father in Italian. He replied vigorously and at length, shaking his finger for emphasis.
“Papa says that we’re here, this is our home now, and no rich bastard is going to take it away from us,” Gabrielle said. “He made some references to past incidents in St. Louis that I won’t repeat. But the gist is that, no, we’re not selling.”
“But what do you think?” Saint asked.
Gabrielle smiled at him. “This is where my heart is now.”
“Well,” Saint said, smiling back, “I’m gratified to hear it.”
“I feel obligated to mention something,” McLendon said. “Odd as it seems, men like Collin MacPherson believe themselves to be observing a code of honor. Prior to engaging in dubious acts to gain what they want, they make arguably fair financial offers—even, sometimes, generous ones. This allows them to feel that they’ve been reasonable and, if the offers are refused, then it is the other parties who are being unreasonable. Your lives are in jeopardy here. Each of you still has the option of calling on MacPherson and asking his terms for your business. There’s no doubt he’ll offer substantial sums, enough for any of you to leave Glorious and set up nicely somewhere else.”
Gabrielle said, “And that’s your recommendation? What a surprise.”
“I’m not recommending it. But it’s an option to be considered.”
“You might consider it,” Gabrielle said. “We won’t.” She turned to Joe Saint. “What’s to be done next?”
Saint lifted his glasses off the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “The immediate thing, I think, is to stay together or in sight of each other as much as we can. Bob Pugh went out to Culloden alone. Here in town, at least, there are always some prospectors about, the people from the mining company—enough potential witnesses to prevent MacPherson from arranging Indian attacks or accidents involving us. Perhaps that will be enough to discourage him.”
McLendon felt certain that MacPherson couldn’t be discouraged, but he knew there was nothing further to be accomplished that night. At least everyone had been warned.
“It’s very late,” he said. “Let’s all sleep on this.”
“Speaking of sleep, now that Ike’s evicted you from the livery, where will you bed down?” Mary Somebody asked. “We’ve got the floor of the saloon if you don’t mind some spit and spilled beer. We mop up in the mornings, not after we close for the night.”
“I could try to find someplace in the hotel, C.M.,” Mulkins offered. “Problem is, every inch is spoken for and everyone’s asleep by now.”
“Maybe I can find a place out among the prospectors in their tents,” McLendon said. “Or I might sneak back into the livery stalls with the mules. Ike’s not likely to be standing watch.”
Gabrielle whispered something to her father, who snarled an angry reply. She whispered again. Salvatore Tirrito, clearly unhappy, shrugged and glowered at McLendon.
“You can stay in the store for a few nights,” Gabrielle said. “Not back here with Papa and me, of course, but I’ll get you some blankets and you can sleep under the counter. It won’t be perfect, but at least it will be clean and dry.”
“I couldn’t,” McLendon said, thinking that of course he could. By far, it was preferable to sleeping on the slimy floor of the saloon or sharing a prospector’s tent. “Well, if you really don’t mind . . .”
“No,” Joe Saint said. “That won’t do.”
McLendon said, “I promise that nothing—” He was interrupted by Gabrielle, who said sharply to Saint, “It’s not your decision.”
Saint said, “But I have a better idea. McLendon can stay with me at the jail. If the cells are occupied, we’ll sleep on the floor. But tonight, at least, there are no prisoners, so there’s a bed available. All right?”
“I suppose,” McLendon said. “Thank you, Joe.”
Everyone stood up and pushed past the blanket into the dark outer room of the store.
“You go on ahead,” Saint said to McLendon. “There’s a basin by my desk if you want to wash up. I’m just going to take a moment with Gabrielle.”
McLendon, valise in hand, trudged away. As he did, he heard Gabrielle ask Saint incredulously, “Are you his friend now?” and the beginning of what seemed to be a protracted denial by the sheriff. Saint didn’t return to the jail for almost an hour, and when he did, McLendon pretended to be asleep on the bed in one of the cells.