TAKEN AT HIS own estimation, H. R. Eggers was a trouble-shooter, a term conveniently broad enough to cover a multitude of sins, or affairs of dubious character. That many of his enterprises came within such a classification he blamed not on himself but on well-intentioned, although misguided, parents. He had cooed happily at his christening, with realization of slow growth. His name, Hamilton Roland Eggers, rolled on the tongue or inscribed across a page, had appeared impressive.
Blithely innocent of its potentialities, he had fallen into the trap his first day at school, proclaiming his name proudly and in full. But by mid-morning recess he had become wiser and sadder. He was Ham and Rotten Eggs; the name had haunted him all through his scholastic career. That it had soured him on life and on his fellow-men he conceded, with a sort of dour pride.
Probing now with a toothpick below a horsetail clump mustache, he rubbed absently with the thumb of his free hand at a badge, inscribed deputy sheriff. Since this was less an official adjunct than a trophy of his travels, for the most part he wore it discreetly concealed.
He looked about with eyes as protuberant as those of a frog, in which seemed to dwell a perpetual surprise. This morning, having breakfasted well, he was in a complacent mood. True, he had been relegated to second table, in the wake of the new governor and his cohorts, but that had happened to many others. His luck, he felt, was good, the winds of chance blowing favorably.
Ashley and those who rode with him, including the welcoming party from Helena, were disappearing in the distance, hoofs and wheeled vehicles making a distant rumble across the bridge which spanned the river. By comparison with the volume which the Missouri would gather to itself on its way to a junction with its brother Mississippi, it was still small, though of respectable proportions. Not nearly so big as below Benton, where the misfortunate Meagher had been received to its watery bosom.
The point of the toothpick, unconsciously prodding, probed a nerve in an exposed tooth. Ham Eggers winced. Then he turned at a hail, couched low, but frowning at its style.
“Eggy! Hey, Eggers. Over here.”
Scowling, between acceptance and reproof, he moved back to the concealment of a line of willows, joining Lefty Hoag in this seclusion. Though he was increasingly pleased that certain plans and instructions had miscarried somewhere along the way, his manner remained frosty.
“You bungled,” he charged.
“‘Twant no fault of mine,” Hoag protested. “I worked hard to do the job. Got myself to a good spot above the road, back in the canyon, and had Ashley all lined up in my sights and was ready to pull trigger, when one of them damn Yankees snuck up on me from behind. Jumped me before I ever suspected.”
“Only a fool would be caught napping that way,” Eggers reproved severely. “In that case, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”
Hoag’s mood was sullen. He had counted heavily on the hundred dollars which was to have been his fee for the job. Having failed, it of course, had gone a-glimmering.
“I can look after myself,” he said sullenly. Eggers relented slightly. From Hoag’s account, it had been a near thing, still luck had run his way. That it had also favored the new governor was secondary.
“Way things are working, it don’t matter too much,” he conceded. “It could have been worse.” That was the way with luck, and he had never understood its workings. Having acquired a reputation in certain circles as a trouble shooter, he had neither been surprised nor outraged when a select committee, a group who ordinarily would disdain to associate with him, had sought him out. They wanted a job done, as simple in essence as it was grim.
How, or by what agency he operated, was left to his discretion. What they required was that the new governor should not long survive his predecessor, who had died while acting governor. Eggers had named his fee, and they had accepted without haggling.
A not-too-oblique reference to Tom Meagher’s demise had reminded him of Lefty Hoag, and his not-too-discreet boastings in regard to that episode. While doubting that the ill-tempered gunman had really had any part in the affairs, Eggers had enlisted him for the current job, promising him a hundred dollars once the matter was accomplished, and handing over a quart of whiskey as down payment.
The previous evening, disgruntled, Eggers had watched from the background the arrival of Mr. Ashley, unharmed, and with no report of any untoward incident. Carefully, Eggers had avoided being seen by the spokesman for the committee. Brazenly, the gentleman had been prominent among those gathering to welcome the Governor and escort him on to Helena.
Other men, Ham Eggers had reflected, were as two-faced and devious as himself. His chief regret had been the loss of the thousand dollars which was to have been his fee.
This new day had brought changes. After spending an evening with Ashley’s party, the spokesman had approached Eggers with seeming casualness, to voice appreciation rather than criticism.
“I’m glad you waited,” he said. “We’ve come up with a new idea. This Ashley’s just pig-headed enough that maybe we can work with him, by not working with him. Which might pay off best in the long run.”
Not bothering to explain his meaning, but making it clear that they now preferred to have the Governor alive, the potentially difficult situation had turned cordial.
“I don’t rush things,” Eggers assured him. “I work to be sure there’s no bungling. So if that’s the way you gentlemen want it, of course I’m pleased.”
He had been doubly pleased to be paid half of the agreed-upon sum, as compensation for such work as he had already done. With the money comfortably in his pocket, he generously disbursed a tenth of the amount to Hoag, to Lefty’s gratified surprise.
“That’s all right,” Eggers assured him. “I may have other jobs for you, later.”
Certainly his luck was running high. That chance remark had given him an idea of his own. His scheme would be a long-range project, requiring time. But if others could maneuver politically, why not himself? If stubbornness was a virtue, it might be turned to account.
The germ of the notion had come to him days before, as he had laboriously spied out the ground for another venture, which might provide a quick and satisfactory return. One in which he could employ the talents of Lefty Hoag.
His mind was working, planning, questing for problems and their solutions, all to be accomplished with himself well back from the danger zone. For the moment, he would also go on to Helena, dropping a hint or so in properly receptive ears. With the new governor on the scene, and an election coming up, politics seemed suddenly a broad and profitable field of endeavor.
No less pleased, Lefty Hoag made two necessary purchases, in order of importance: A quart of whiskey, and a box of rifle cartridges. He too, had long-range plans.