Slocum #385

“Even using you as a pillow all night, I’ve got a kink in my neck.” Elena Warburton stretched delightfully as Slocum watched. The morning sun topped the far rim of the valley and turned her into a vision of loveliness. Then he tried to move and found the same aches and pains she already had.

“I can hardly move,” he said. He stood and straightened his legs, then picked up his gun belt and fastened it around his middle again. He practiced drawing his Colt a few times. His fingers almost refused to curl about the butt, but as he walked around and got the blood flowing, his fingers limbered up and he felt as if he could fight his weight in wildcats.

“There’s jerky in my saddlebags,” he said. “That’s about it. I’ll fetch some water from the stream.” He pointed in the direction of a small creek running nearby. Neither of them had noticed it the night before, nor had there been any reason to since they’d been occupied with other pursuits. He filled his coffeepot with the crisp, cold water and returned. The short trip had given him time to think.

“This was only a rendezvous,” he said. “I doubt the counterfeiters have their operation set up in the valley.”

“Once they have the blank disks with the milling, it might only take a few minutes for each coin. The stamping is an exacting art, though. It requires a skilled counterfeiter or the planchet is ruined. You’d be surprised how quickly someone can detect a fake coin if it isn’t properly stamped.”

Slocum knew how easy it was. A single glance was all it took to know whether he had been given a phony coin. That was why he had been shocked at having the bogus double eagles passed off to him by the boy. The fakes were so good they had to be cut open to expose the base metal innards since a glance—even studying the face—wasn’t good enough to betray their dubious origin.

“The dies and anvil are mighty heavy, right?” She nodded agreement and he went on. “They haven’t been in Leadville long enough to haul their equipment down that hill, even if they unloaded directly from the train. And if they set up a spot to work, why lug the equipment all the way down the valley when all they need is to be out of sight?”

“They need a forge to melt the gold,” she said. “That wouldn’t have to be much different from a blacksmith’s forge. A kiln would suffice also.”

Slocum paused, then said, “There’s that, but who would spy on them passing around lead slugs? I suspect the boss wanted the lead slugs brought here out of town so he could kill whoever brought them.”

“Eliminating some locals on the payroll is my guess. Were the Eakin brothers local or had they come to town recently?”

“They might have been useful for hauling the milled slugs, and the boy was certainly good at exchanging the fakes for real coins.” Slocum touched his vest pocket where the legitimate twenty-dollar gold pieces still rode. “Getting rid of the local hired hands might mean they’re ready to move on.”

“They don’t stay anywhere long, but I thought I could catch them here,” Elena said. “I left my partner back in Denver and came here on the train, thinking I’d see someone I knew from a wanted poster.” She shook her head in defeat.

“We can explore deeper into the valley, but I’ll lay you a real double eagle for a fake one that they took the planchets and went back to Leadville. This shootout will have spooked them so much they might already be on the road to somewhere else. Central City, maybe, or Cripple Creek.”

“So? North or south?” Elena pursed her lips as she thought. “They could be anywhere, but I have this gut feeling they haven’t left. Something big is on tap here, and they aren’t leaving until they finish whatever they came here to do.”

“What? Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “Part of the agency went into the Secret Service. I’m with the part not working directly for the government or Department of the Treasury.”

“You have risked your life, John, and certainly have saved mine. There must be a reward you can receive, if you chose to apply for one. When we get back to Leadville, I’ll send a telegram to the home office in Chicago and see.”

“How much?” His question irked her, but he didn’t much care. He’d had been shot at—and she had stabbed him—so there ought to be a few dollars coming his way to pay for his pain and suffering, not to mention the counterfeiters he’d left dead along his trail.

“It will be adequate, sir,” she said stiffly. She turned and smoothed her skirts. Not looking at him, she asked, “Should we ride down the valley to be sure they aren’t working their nefarious trade here, or do you wish to return immediately to Leadville?”

“You’re a good enough shot if we run into trouble, you can shoot it out with them and save us both,” Slocum said. He tried to josh her into a better mood but asking for a reward had soured her disposition as surely as milk left out in the summer sun.

In silence, Slocum saddled his mare and stepped up, waiting for her. Elena took her sweet time and then rode past him without so much as a glance in his direction. A snap of the reins got his horse trotting, but he cut sharply southward, across the wide-open grassy area, while she doggedly rode straight for the center of the valley. Slocum looked hard at the ground, alert for any hoofprint or sign that riders had come this way. He found the main road down the center of the valley and crisscrossed it for a quarter mile before stopping and taking a gander at the land all around.

“Nothing. Nobody’s come this way in a day or more, at least not since the last rain. The only tracks I see are from marmots and an occasional coyote.”

“I was right,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. Elena was a bit touchy yet. “The counterfeiters took their milled slugs and went back to town.”

“So they had someone deliver the planchets, killed them, then hauled them back into town? That seems a bit of a stretch to me. Why not just deliver the milled disks to Leadville and not go through this charade of coming out here?” She made a sweeping theatrical gesture to show her disdain.

“Been thinking about that and there’s only one real answer, other than wanting to get rid of surplus gang members. Something spooked them. Something kept them from taking the planchets off the train in town.” He stared straight at her.

“Makes sense. They might not have known you were with the Pinkertons, but if they thought some detective had come from Denver, they’d be more cautious.”

“This is a mining town and there are plenty of gold coins in circulation, but not that many to make a big-time operation profitable.”

Slocum had no answer to that, but it made sense to him that gossip about a Pinkerton Detective Agency operative arriving in Leadville would have scared the gang. Elena had mentioned having a partner. The gang might have thought a man had been sent and would never expect the detective to be a woman.

“I’m saying that the gang might not. Or maybe they got bad information from whoever is their lookout in Denver.”

“It might be interesting to find out if any newcomer to town was gunned down,” Elena said, her brow furrowed in deep thought. “Let’s return to town immediately.”

Slocum had no argument over that. Before they reached the narrow trail winding up the side of the valley to the rim where the railroad tracks ran on into Leadville, he saw fresh tracks. From the way the mud was left after the horses had come this way, he guessed at a half-dozen riders. He started to point out the hoofprints in the mud, but Elena already began the long climb up, ignoring him entirely. Getting the cold shoulder didn’t bother him unduly since it gave him a chance to work through all the pieces.

No matter how he turned over the facts and looked at them from different angles, it always came down to one thing: Something about Leadville made this a target too valuable for the gang to pass up.

They reached the top of the road a little after noon, and Elena barely acknowledged his presence when she said, “I’ll send a telegram.” She put her heels to her horse’s flanks and galloped off, leaving him behind to follow at a more sedate pace. By the time he reached the bustling mining town, it was almost sundown and the shifts in the mines were changing. Miners poured down the main street, hunting for a watering hole that wouldn’t throw them out if they didn’t have money for more than a single beer.

He found the telegraph office and dismounted. His body ached, and he needed a drink to cut the trail dust on his lips and the pain in his side. But he wanted to talk to the telegrapher first.

“Be right with you, mister.” The telegrapher finished his message, pushed back his green eyeshade, and picked up a stub of a pencil, ready to write. “Who you wantin’ to send your message to?”

“I was looking for a young lady who would have sent a message about an hour back.” Slocum described Elena. From the man’s reaction, he remembered her. He would have been dead and buried not to have remembered such a lovely woman in a rough-and-tumble mining town like Leadville.

“She sent a telegram to Denver,” Slocum said. He watched the man’s reaction and wondered if the telegrapher played poker. The twenty-dollar gold coins in Slocum’s pocket would double or more if he got into a game with this man. Every emotion flowed over his face as if he were the greatest thespian in the world. The difference was one of intent. An actor wanted to convey his emotions to an audience. This man thought he was hiding everything.

“You make it sound like bullion. It’s coins. Lots of . . .” The telegrapher bit his lip and looked worried at what he’d just revealed. “Look, mister, you obviously know all about the shipment coming up in a couple days from Denver. Don’t go spreadin’ that around. The train company is mighty anxious about it, as is.”

“A lot of traffic?” Slocum made a gesture as if he worked the telegraph key. The man nodded. “Reckon it’s got the marshal all het up, what with the train coming in tomorrow.”

“Can’t say,” the telegrapher said. He turned as his bug began clicking. Spinning around, he dropped into his chair, wet the tip of the pencil, and started copying the message as it came in. Slocum stepped away and silently went out into the evening with its chilly wind whipping off the higher elevations. The air might chill his bones but he felt mighty warm inside having found what he needed to know.

There was a big shipment of gold coins coming into town in two days. He sauntered down to the train station, checked the posted schedule, and saw that only one train was slated to come in on that day—around noon. What he did with this information was something of a poser. The marshal would be willing to throw him in the calaboose at the slightest hint that Slocum was interested in the gold coming in on the train after the death of Ernie Eakin.

Slocum stopped in front of a saloon and took a deep whiff of the smoke and beer fumes billowing outward. His mouth watered for a taste of whiskey, but he kept walking toward the hotel.

His long stride shortened, and he stopped when he saw Elena standing just inside the lobby talking with Marshal Atkinson. He wasn’t sure what to do. Then it was too late for him to simply fade into the night. Both the woman and the lawman spotted him at the same time.

Slocum had two choices. He could fight or he could run. With a pair of deputies, even ones the caliber of Lem, along with the marshal getting him in their sights, he knew both trails were closed to him.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” Atkinson said, hurrying over to where Slocum stood in the middle of the muddy street. “I like a man who knows his place.”