Chapter 14
Patrick Shaw’s Solution

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Those next days waiting for Zack and Almeda to get back were dreadful, wondering all the time what was going to come of it.

How wonderful it would be if there was a railroad to Sacramento! They were laying down track for new train lines between the big cities, and the talk of a train connecting the two oceans was enough to make your head swim. I could hardly imagine it! Wagon trains took months to cross the country. Overland stagecoaches, along the southern route where there wasn’t as much snow, usually took between thirty and forty days. And stories were told of madcap horsemen who rode their horses to their deaths to make it from St. Louis to San Francisco in fifteen to twenty days. I’d thought about trying to find such a man to interview for an article sometime, to find out if the stories were true about dashing across the plains at a hundred miles a day. But I could barely imagine going across the country in a comfortable train car in only eight or ten days.

Well, they didn’t have a train to ride on. But they had good horses, and Zack and Almeda returned faster than Pa had expected. They left on Saturday, and about midday of the following Wednesday Zack and Almeda rode in.

It was obvious from the lather on the horses that they’d been riding hard. Their clothes and faces were covered with dust, and they both looked exhausted. But the instant Almeda saw Pa, she flashed a big smile.

“I got it!” she said excitedly, patting the saddlebags next to her on the buggy seat. “Go get Pat and we’ll tell him the news!”

Pa helped her down from the buggy, then gave her a big hug and kiss. “You’re a mess, woman!” he laughed, standing back to look over her dirty face.

“Don’t push your luck, Drummond Hollister,” she replied. “You know how a woman can get riled when she’s tired!”

“Well, you heard your ma,” said Pa, turning around to the rest of us. “Who wants to ride over the hill and fetch Mr. Shaw here?”

“I will, Pa,” I said. “Come on, Tad. Wanna go with me?”

But he was already scampering toward the barn to start saddling his pony. One thing about Tad—he never had to be asked twice!

We took the quickest way to Shaws, the back trail around the mountain. All the way back Mr. Shaw kept quizzing us about what was up, and I said I didn’t know all the details, which I didn’t, but that Pa and Almeda had some exciting news for him and they’d tell him everything as soon as we got back to our place.

By the time we arrived back at the house, Almeda had gotten herself cleaned up and had changed clothes. Her eyes looked tired, but the smile still shone from her face.

“Come in . . . come in, Pat,” said Pa, shaking Mr. Shaw’s hand. “Sit down. Want a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks, Drum,” he replied. “But what’s this about anyway?”

“We’ll tell you everything, Pat. Just have a seat, and I’ll get you that coffee.”

Bewildered, Mr. Shaw obeyed.

Pa returned in a minute, handed Mr. Shaw a steaming blue tin cup, then sat down himself. Almeda joined him.

“This has been Almeda’s idea from the start,” Pa said, “so I reckon I’ll let her tell you about the scheme she hatched to try to foil ol’ Royce.” He cast her a glance, then sat back and took a sip from his own cup.

“It all began last week,” Almeda began, “when we were praying about what to do about the election. We were asking the Lord whether to quit and give in, or whether to fight on somehow, even though it seemed, as you men would say, that Franklin held all the right cards. Your note had been called due, we’d just received word that the title to our land was being questioned, and word was going around town that a vote against Franklin Royce would result in the same kinds of things happening to others. We just didn’t see what could be done. But then I had an idea! And I think it was God speaking providentially to us. I certainly pray it was, but I suppose time will tell. I have no idea if it will work. And if it goes against us, it could mean doom for everybody.”

“I don’t understand a word of what you’re talking about,” said Mr. Shaw. “From where I sit, it don’t appear there’s nobody in any danger except you folks and us.”

“Just hear her out, Pat,” said Pa. “Go on, Almeda, quit beating around the bush. Pat’s dying of curiosity!”

Almeda smiled. “I just returned from Sacramento,” she said. “I rode down there with Zack, and on Monday morning I went to see a man I’ve known for several years, Carl Denver. He is one of three vice-presidents of the banking and investment firm Finchwood Ltd. I think they’re connected somehow to a bank in London, but I don’t know for sure. My late husband knew Carl, and when we first came west, Carl helped my husband secure a small loan to open our business in Miracle Springs. That loan was paid off long ago, but Carl and I have kept in touch through the years and I’ve borrowed from them a time or two, and have done some freight business with his firm as well. And now Carl’s risen to a fairly prominent position.

“Well, I explained our situation to him. He said he’d read about the mayor’s race in the Alta, and I told him the article was written by my stepdaughter.”

She looked over in my direction. I couldn’t help but be pleased that somebody Almeda knew had seen it!

“When I told him some of the things that have happened, he became positively livid. ‘Anything I can do to help,’ he said. ‘Anything!’ But when I mentioned the sum of eighteen thousand dollars, his enthusiasm cooled. ‘That’s a great deal of money, Almeda,’ he said. I knew that only too well! I’d never borrowed more than five or six thousand from him before. I told him I’d secure it with my house and the business and what stock-in-trade I have, although that wouldn’t amount to more than ten or twelve thousand. I knew it would be going out on a limb for him, but I assured him that the other property involved—that’s yours, Mr. Shaw—was solid, and that we could add to the collateral amount later to more than cover the full amount of the loan. He said he’d have to discuss the matter with the higher-ups of Finchwood, but that he’d do everything he could on my behalf, and to come back about noon.”

“So Zack and I left and I showed him around some of Sacramento. We had a good time together, didn’t we, Zack?”

Zack nodded.

“We returned to Carl’s office just before twelve. From the big smile across his face, I could tell he had good news!

“‘You’ll never believe this!’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t believe it myself. But we hit Mr. Finch on just the right day!’

“‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

“‘He knows Royce,’ Carl answered. ‘And in plain English, Almeda—he hates him! Seems several years ago, when different companies were new to California and were trying to get firmly established, Jackson, Royce, Briggs, and Royce pulled some underhanded things against Finchwood. Nearly put them out of business, the way I understand it. And ever since, the rivalry between the two has been fierce . . . and bitter. Just last week, Mr. Finch told me, the old man of the outfit, Briggs, stole one of Finchwood’s largest clients away from them. And that’s why Finch is roaring mad. I told him that this Royce you’re dealing with isn’t with his father’s firm any longer, but Finch said he didn’t care. “A Royce is a Royce!” he said. “And besides, I still owe that young weasel of a Royce a thing or two from ’51!” Anyway, I went on to explain your whole predicament to him, and almost before I was done, he said, “Look, Carl, you bring that lady-friend of yours in to meet me. I want to shake hands with the woman with guts enough to square off in an election against that snake. And then you tell her we’ll back her up. We don’t need her collateral either. I trust her from what I know of her, and your word vouching for her is good enough for me. I’d love to see her put that pretentious imposter out of business, though I don’t suppose we could be that fortunate!”’”

Almeda took a breath and smiled.

“I still ain’t sure if I see how my property has anything to do with your banking friends,” said Mr. Shaw.

“I’m just about to get to that,” said Almeda. “Well, Carl took me right into Mr. Finch’s office. The president of the company treated me like royalty—got a chair for me, offered me something to drink, and then shook my hand and said what an honor it was for him to meet me! Can you imagine that! An honor for him to meet me!

“We talked for quite a while. He said he’d investigated the northlands up around here a time or two, and had even thought of expanding and investing in this direction but nothing had ever come of it. The more we talked, the more interested he became, he even scratched his head once and said he thought he’d heard of the new strike at Miracle Springs. ‘Had something to do with a kid getting caught in a mine and being pulled out by his brother, didn’t it?’ I said that indeed it did, and that those two boys were now fine young men and that I was privileged to call them my sons.”

Tad was beaming as she spoke.

“He said that if worse came to worst, and he wound up holding mortgages on half a dozen pieces of property, he’d consider it a good investment, and worth every penny to put a corrupt man like Royce out of business.”

Finally Almeda looked straight into Mr. Shaw’s face. “The long and short of it, Patrick,” she said, “is that I brought the solution to your problems with the Royce Miners’ Bank home with me from Sacramento right in these saddlebags!”

She picked up the leather pouches that had been sitting beside her, stood up, and turned them upside down. Bundles of paper money poured out onto Mr. Shaw’s lap.

All of us gasped. Almeda laughed at everyone’s reaction as the fortune in greenbacks spilled onto the chair and floor.

“Thunderation, woman!” roared Pa. “You came all the way from the city with that in your bags? What if you’d been stuck up? Tarnation, that’s a pile of money!”

“I had your son to protect me,” Almeda replied. “How could I be afraid? And Zack and I prayed for the Lord’s presence to go beside us. We read Psalm 91 together, and we took our Father at his word.”

All this time poor Patrick Shaw just sat where he was, in speechless silence, gazing down at more money than he’d ever seen in his life.

“It’s to pay off your loan, Pat,” said Pa at length. “How many days you got left on the call?”

“’Bout nine. Chloe’s already started to pack up our things.”

“Well you tell her to unpack them,” said Almeda firmly, “and you ride straight into town and march into Royce’s bank and put this money down on his desk, and you say to him, ‘Mr. Royce, here’s your money, just like your notice-of-call said. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a receipt and the clear title to my property.’”

Still dumfounded and bewildered, Mr. Shaw managed to stammer out the words, “But I can’t take this . . . this ain’t my money.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Shaw,” said Almeda. “We’ll make everything legal and tidy and you don’t have to be concerned about us. We’re not giving you this money, we’re loaning it to you. I borrowed it from Mr. Finch at four-and-a-half percent interest. We will make you the loan at the same rate. You pay off the Royce bank, and next month begin making payments to us instead. We will then pay back Finchwood Ltd. as you pay us. And since the interest rate is less, your payments every month will be less than Franklin was charging you. You’ll be out from under his yoke, you’ll have your land back, and as long as you keep the payments up from now on, everything will be fine.”

“I—I don’t know how to thank you,” said Mr. Shaw.

“No thanks is needed, Pat,” said Pa. “You’d have done the same thing to help us if you were in a position to.”

“It’s an investment for all of us,” added Almeda. “For us and for Mr. Finch, for the future of Miracle Springs and its people, and against the scare tactics of Franklin Royce.”

“Well, I reckon I can understand that. But I can’t see how it’ll help anyone else around. They’re still gonna be too afraid to vote against him for mayor. And Royce is liable to be so mad he’ll start calling other folks’ loans due, and then we’ll just be making it worse for everybody.”

“You’ve put your finger right on the risky part of our plan,” said Almeda. “Before I left for the south I told Drummond it was going to be like a giant poker game. And here’s where we have to hope our bluff works.”

“How’s paying off my note gonna bluff him?”

“Because you’re gonna tell the other men around just what you’ve done,” said Pa. “You’re gonna tell them you paid Royce off with money you borrowed, and that there’s more where that came from.”

“But you can’t tell them where we came by it,” added Almeda. “Just say that you borrowed it. And then you tell them that we’ll back anybody else up whose loan gets called too.”

“You mean it?” exclaimed Mr. Shaw in disbelief.

“We mean to try,” answered Pa. “You just spread the word around town that nobody’s got to be afraid of voting for Almeda on account of what Royce might do with their loans. You tell ’em that you’re gonna vote for her—that is, you are gonna vote for Almeda, ain’t you, Pat?”

“You’re dang sure I am! After what you’ve done, how could I not? It’s not every man who’s got friends like you! You two are just the kind of mayoring this town needs, and I aim to tell everyone I can too!”

“Well, you tell ’em to vote for Almeda and that Royce’s not likely to do a thing to ’em. If he tries and starts threatening other folks like he did you, then you tell ’em to come see us.”

“I still don’t see how you can do such a thing.”

“What my husband has been trying to say is that we’ll back up our promise as far as we can,” said Almeda, “and we’re praying it’s far enough. Mr. Finch said he would support us up to fifty thousand dollars. That should enable us to protect three or four others from being evicted by Royce. If he persists beyond that, then we could be in trouble. That’s when we have to hope he won’t call our bluff.”

“Well, I’ll do what you say.”

“Just remember—you keep quiet about all this we talked about,” said Pa. “Pay off your loan and start talking up Hollister for Mayor. Then we’ll leave our friend Royce to stew over it.”