The Fire of Greed (14 page)

Chapter 24

“LET'S JUST SPLIT IT TWO WAYS,” JASPER GARDNER PROMISED, OFFERING
the same arrangement he had unsuccessfully proposed to ben muriday and the late Simon Lynch. “Don't even have to be
three
ways. You can have
half
.”

As with the previous negotiation, this idea fell on deaf ears. After a night of wrathful bickering between the two, mainly concerning Gardner's failure to include Gabe Stanton in his escape attempt, Bladen Cole had just turned to ignoring them.

After a week and a half on the trail, Cole finally had his prisoners in tow, with less than a day's ride ahead of him. As he neared the conclusion of this affair, however, the only thought that seemed to have staying power in his mind was the nightmare image of the face of the rat-faced man who had shot his brother.

Even as the sun rose into the day, and the heat of the New Mexico summer made its presence felt, the cold chill of the night before remained. Seeing that face, that unmistakable face, in the mixture of firelight and moonlight made it seem in his mind's memory like a ghostly apparition, like that of the inhuman ghoul, which he had always imagined the rat-faced man to be.

Bladen Cole had seen his worst recurring nightmare—and it was real.

In the distance, Cole could see a group of men and horses. They had a wagon and were removing a number of medium-sized crates. Strange, it seemed, that they should be unloading a wagon way out here.

As he and his caravan of fugitives approached, he watched the men start to set up a tripod. By the time that he approached close enough to read the words
ATCHISON, TOPEKA & SANTA FE RAILROAD
written across side of the wagon, they were installing a surveyor's transit on the tripod.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Cole said as he approached them.

“Good morning to you, sir,” one of the men replied.

“I can tell by your cargo that there's a railroad coming,” Cole commented, making conversation. His tone carried a tinge of dry irony, given that nearly everyone in the territory was aware of the arrival of the rails.

“That would be an accurate assessment, sir,” the man said with a sense of pride of accomplishment in the tone of his voice. “We'll have the route into Bernalillo surveyed by month's end. After that, it's up to the work gangs.”

“That'll be a big change to this country,” Cole said, thinking back to the vast open spaces through which he had ridden over the past week.

“Folks'll be able to ride as far in an hour as a man on horseback can ride in a day,” the man said proudly.

“I guess that'll make gettin' around a lot faster,” Cole said. “Hope folks can figure out what to do with all that extra time.”

“Looks like you got yourself some cargo of your own,” the man said.

“These fellows have a rendezvous with the law, and I'm helping them in that direction.”

“They look a little worse for wear,” the man said, looking at the purplish-pink hue of Gardner's face and the bandage on Stanton's sleeveless arm.

“They lived a hard life over the past few days before they came into my care this morning,” Cole said and smiled.

“You wouldn't have got your pretty face all busted up if you ain't got yourself on the losing end of a fight with that
woman
,” Stanton interjected, unable to ignore a chance to get in a verbal jab against his estranged partner.

“Shut your damned mouth,” Gardner shouted, indignant at being constantly reminded that he had come to a draw in a fight with a member of the female species. “If I weren't all tied up, I'd kill you with my bare hands.”

“Like to see you try!”

“They're a lively pair,” the surveyor said with a smile.

“That's why I'm real anxious to be done with 'em,” Cole replied.

* * *

“MR. WALDRON,” THE MAN SAID, COMING INTO THE RAILROAD OFFICES IN SANTA FE. “I'VE GOT SOME NEWS YOU'RE
gonna want to hear.”

“What's that?” Waldron said, looking up at Nathaniel Siward, who functioned as his courier, aide, and all-around right-hand man.

“We just got word from out where the survey crew is working,” Siward explained. “There's a stranger riding this way with a couple of pack mules that have packs marked
ATCHISON, TOPEKA & SANTA
FE
. He's also got a couple of men all tied up and he says he's taking them to the law in Santa Fe.”

Waldron knew immediately that his bounty hunter was finally returning. He wondered how three or four fugitives had become two, but he imagined there had been some gunplay involved.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Waldron said, standing up and reaching for his jacket. “Now hightail it back down yonder and find this man. Tell him that Ezra Waldron wants to meet him and his cargo at my office down by Lamy. Use my name. I know this man. His name is Bladen Cole.”

Waldron was amazed that the bounty hunter had prevailed. With the passage of a week and then some, the railroad man had assumed that he would never see Cole again. If it had been him, Waldron mused, he would have been strongly tempted to take the cash and keep going, rather than to return it for a lesser amount. As Waldron had once observed, honorable men were a rarity in the West. Of course, they were rarer still in the financial circles in the East.

With a quick glance at the wall clock, he made a beeline for the offices of the
Santa Fe New Mexican
.

“Is Tobias in today?” Waldron asked.

“You're in luck, he just came in,” reported the man at the front desk. “I'll go fetch him.”

Waldron found himself pacing and listening to the clip-clop of the wall clock pendulum as he waited for the columnist. Three minutes passed, and then five.

“Mr. Waldron,” Gough said in a jovial tone as he emerged from an inner office. “Pleasure to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure? It's still a trifle early for you to take me to lunch.”

“I have something that you'll find to satisfy your appetite more happily than a steak at Delmonico's,” Waldron said. “I have a news item for you, a ‘scoop' as they say nowadays.”

“My ears are all yours,” Gough said, stifling an overt display of eagerness.

“I'd like you to join me in taking a little ride down to Lamy,” Waldron insisted.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Now? I have a—”

“You'll
want
this story.”

“What is it?”

“I'll fill you in on the details,” Waldron promised. “But we must go at once.”

* * *

THE FARTHER COLE RODE WITH HIS DISHEVELED CARAVAN
of outlaws and gold, the more he saw of the work crews of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe. There were men with teams of horses grading the roadbed, and wagons loaded with rock and gravel to level the ground ahead of those who were grading. At one place, they were constructing a wooden bridge across a small arroyo.

There were so many men and horses coming and going that he almost did not notice a rider coming in his direction at a gallop. Nor did he notice, until the man was but a short distance away, that he was coming to meet him.

“Mr. Cole? Bladen Cole?” asked the stranger.

“Who's asking?”

“My name is Nathaniel Siward,” he replied. “Mr. Waldron . . . Ezra Waldron . . . sent me to meet you.”

“That was nice of him,” Cole said.

“Mr. Waldron asked me to come out here to take you to meet him at the construction headquarters over by Lamy. He has an office there.”

“How far is that?”

“Less than an hour. It's closer than Santa Fe.”

Cole nodded that he would follow Siward. His suspicions had initially been aroused, but the man looked like someone who carried messages for a man like Waldron—
and
he was not carrying a gun.

“How'd he know I was out this way?” Cole asked as they rode.

“One of the crews reported that they had seen you,” Siward said. “With two men tied to their saddle horns and pack saddles carrying railroad markings, you gotta admit that you stand out.”

“Reckon we do,” Cole said with a smile and a glance back at his tattered prisoners. “He say anything else?”

“Just that he seemed pretty sure that you were Bladen Cole and that he wanted to meet you at Lamy. He did seem surprised . . .
and
pleased to hear about you coming.”

Chapter 25

“MR. COLE, I PRESUME,” EZRA WALDRON HAPPILY SAID AS
Bladen Cole rode up to the large canvas-topped structure that served as his office.

Tobias Gough scribbled earnestly. Waldron had just paraphrased a celebrated quote from the pages of the
New York Herald
just six years earlier when their correspondent, Henry Stanley, had located the long-missing Dr. David Livingstone in the heart of darkest Africa.

Waldron had just handed Gough a wonderfully usable line.

“Didn't expect such a welcoming committee,” Cole said skeptically as about a dozen Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe employees gathered around to gawk at his ragtag crew.

“This is Mr. Gough of the
Santa Fe New Mexican
,” Waldron said, introducing the journalist. “He's here to chronicle your success . . . and to write that the forces of law and order are taming the uncivilized West.”

Cole could tell by Gough's expression that this line, fraught with hyperbole, would probably get a rewrite. He was surprised, and more than a small bit mystified, to find Waldron greeting him in the company of a newspaperman—after he had explicitly told Cole that he wanted no one to know about the robbery. Apparently a lot had changed in the ten days that Cole had been on the trail.

“Two mules packed with bags carrying railroad markings,” Siward said, pointing out the animals carrying the bags of gold.

“Bring those packs into my office,” Waldron ordered the gawkers standing nearby. “Siward, see to it that those two characters are locked up.”

As Cole looked at Stanton and Gardner for what he hoped would be the last time, he noticed a peculiar expression on Gardner's face. He was staring directly at Waldron with a sort of directed rage that suggested strongly that they were acquainted.

“Come into my office, Mr. Cole,” Waldron suggested congenially, turning his back to Gardner. “Let us get you a cold cup of water . . . and perhaps something a bit stronger?”

“Much obliged,” Cole said as one of Waldron's minions immediately handed him a tin cup of water. He savored it and handed it back for a refill as he removed his hat and wiped his brow with his bandanna. It was only slightly cooler to be out of the direct sun and under the canvas.

“Please have a seat,” Waldron invited, as he and Gough sat down.

“Thanks, but I think I'd rather stand,” Cole said. “Been doin' a lot of sittin' last few days.”

The pack saddles were brought in and dumped with a series of clanks on the wooden floor.

“Should be close to all of it still there,” Cole said. “They were dipping into it to buy whiskey and provisions before I caught up to 'em, but there won't be
much
missing.”

“How much did the thieves take?” Gough asked, taking notes.

“Round nine grand,” Waldron said.

“Do you have an exact number?”

Waldron looked at a man with a string tie, who pulled his spectacles down from his forehead, consulted some papers. and said, “The total that we have is $9,094.80.”

Siward knelt and untied one of the bags.

A river of uncirculated gold eagles flowed out onto Waldron's floor. Siward opened another, found bundles of currency, and nodded when he examined the bank markings on the wrappers.

“Looks good,” Waldron said and smiled. “While Siward here counts out your reward money, could I offer you a shot of Kentucky's finest?”

“I'd be obliged,” Cole said with a nod.

“Tell me of your manhunt, Mr. Cole,” the journalist asked. “Do you have names for these two?”

“The skinny one goes by Stanton, Gabe Stanton. The big one with the plum-colored nose is called Jasper Gardner.”

“Where and when did you catch them?” Gough asked

“Followed 'em as far as the Mogollons before I caught up to 'em. They were movin' pretty fast. Reckon they planned to hide out down there.”

Cole deliberately held back the interlude in the narrative that was inhabited by Muriday and Lynch, considering this information superfluous to the circumstances of the manhunt's conclusion.

He also withheld mention of the Dutchman's gold. If he had survived this quest, Otto Geier should be left in peace.

“Mr. Waldron said that there were three men involved in the robbery . . . and possibly four,” Gough continued. “You rode in with two. Where . . . ?”

“You'll find them, or more rightly, you'll find their bones, about a day's ride south,” Cole explained. “The buzzards had already been workin 'em, and I figure the coyotes have gotten under the rocks I piled on 'em by now.”

“What happened? Did you . . . ?”

“Greed's a funny thing,” Cole began. “It's a peculiar thing. It'll drive a man to most anything. On the other hand, maybe it's a simple, straightforward thing that'll drive a man to do arithmetic. The two that you're locking up over yonder decided on the
first day out
that half of nine grand was worth more than nine grand split four ways.”

“What about Indians?” Gough asked. “The Mogollons are Apache country. Readers are interested in Indian stories.”

Cole shook his head and finally acquiesced to take the chair that Waldron had offered earlier.

“Well, there
were
a couple of scalps lifted,” the bounty hunter said as Waldron refilled his shot glass. All eyes were on Cole in anticipation of the continuation of the story as he took a sip of the bourbon whiskey.

“Who was scalped?” Gough asked with a quizzical expression. “These men you brought in were in pretty rough shape, but as I saw, they both have their hair.”

“'Twas Jasper who done the scalping.”

“
Who?
” Gough asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Cole saw Waldron tense, and a concerned, almost fearful, expression came over his face.

“Two Mescalero boys who ambushed 'em. Trying to steal horses, I suspect.”

This revelation produced a pause in the conversation, which Nathaniel Siward used to step across the room and hand Cole a bag of gold eagles.

“Much obliged,” Cole said with a smile.

“You're welcome to count it,” Siward offered.

“Not necessary,” Cole replied. “It feels right . . . and besides, I was watching you over there . . . and I saw you count out nine piles of ten.”

“Good man,” Waldron laughed.

“Well, I reckon I've imposed on your hospitality long enough,” Cole said, standing again. “It's time for me to head on up to Santa Fe and spend some of this gold on a store-bought bath. Thank you much for the whiskey.”

* * *

HAD NICOLETTE DE LA GRAVIÈRE TAKEN A DIFFERENT
route as she drove the buckboard south from Santa Fe that day, she would have crossed paths with Bladen Cole as he was coming north, but she did not.

As previously arranged, she had accepted Ezra Waldron's invitation to visit the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe construction headquarters at Lamy, and she arrived less than hour after the bounty hunter had departed. Nicolette parked her vehicle near some other buckboards that were tethered by a centrally located canvas-roofed structure that appeared to be more important than the others.

“I'm here to see Mr. Waldron,” she said with a smile as she stepped inside. “He is expecting me.”

“He's not here right now,” a man with a string tie said as his expression said that he was startled to see a woman at the construction camp. “He's down at the cages. I expect him back shortly, if you'd care to wait?”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, glancing at a large clock and noting that she was exactly on time. “I don't mind going to where he is . . . if you might direct me.”

“This camp's not really . . . I mean . . . for a lady . . .”

“I'm sure that I'll be fine,” she said, continuing to smile.

Armed with directions, she made her way through the bustling camp, ignoring the occasional whistle and one catcall that was more absurd than obscene. She passed piles of rails and heavy, rough-hewn wooden ties. Men were loading these, as well as weighty barrels of railroad spikes and other commodities, onto small work trains which departed from sidings and chugged off into the distance where the actual laying of tracks was taking place.

Finally, she reached the place at which she had been told that “if you look left, you can't miss it.”

Indeed, she looked left and saw what looked like a series of cages set onto a flatcar. The railroad maintained its own jail, organized along the lines of a military brig, which was used mainly to lock up and cool off men involved in brawls. Today, it hosted the former captives of Ben Muriday and Bladen Cole.

Nicolette could see Ezra Waldron, standing on a platform, speaking to the men who were in two of these cages.

“Damn it, I don't want to argue about that!” Waldron shouted.

One of the other men shouted back, his words unclear, sounding to Nicolette as though something was wrong with his nasal passages.

“Mr. Waldron,” she said as she approached.

He turned, a look of surprise on his face.

Waldron seemed now to suddenly remembered that today was the day of her visit.

“Miss de la Gravière,” he said, the look of surprise melting into a red-faced embarrassment which he tried in vain to conceal. “I'm so glad that you could come.”

“I'm
so
glad that you could come,” mimicked one of the men in a cage, taunting Waldron.

“What's a lady doin' out here?” Gabe Stanton said teasingly. “Hey, sweetheart . . . did you come over here to see
me
? Come a little closer . . . let me touch that sweet satin . . .”

“
Shut up!
” Waldron demanded, leaping off the platform and rushing toward Nicolette.

“I apologize for this,” he said as he reached her. “You should
not
have to listen to this.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said without blushing. “Men with the loudest bark usually have a feeble bite.”

“You shouldn't be out here in this part of the camp without an escort,” he said, blushing. “This is no place for a lady.”

“So I've been told,” she laughed.

“Please let me show you around,” he said, regaining his composure.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “It is all very grand, and on such an enormous scale. I have never seen anything quite like it.”