Novel 1971 - Tucker (v5.0) Page 4

  The town never amounted to much until a prospector took on a partner who told him that reddish sand he’d been throwing out was carbonate of lead, with a silver content so high it scared him. Business picked up, and the town boomed.

  Presently the man brought a fresh pot of coffee to the table and sat down with us.

  “We’re ten thousand feet up,” he said, “and she gets awful cold. Folks around here say we get ten months of winter, and two months mighty late in the fall.”

  Mountains reared up all around the town, with the trees playing out at timberline. The mountains were scarred with prospect holes; everybody was mining, everybody dreaming about making the big strike. Those who weren’t actually digging had grubstaked men who were. The idea of getting rich was in the air.

  There’d been only a scattering of folks along the creeks at first, but now there was somewhere between thirty and sixty thousand people, depending on who you talked to and how sober he was. The men who were making money spent it; they drank champagne like water. Men who didn’t even care for champagne drank it because a man who had money spent it, and champagne was the mark of riches.

  Con told me that a good deal of what passed for champagne was made in a building off an alley down the street. They had some youngsters running around picking up the empty bottles and refilling them.

  One Irish laborer struck it rich and went down the street buying suits for everybody he knew. He didn’t know me and I was kind of slow getting acquainted. By the time I could call him by name his pocket had played out and he was putting the bum on me for a meal. My luck ran that way…and well out in front of me.

  I wasn’t likely to be one of the nabobs who ate at the Tontine. I was lucky to get a plate of oxtail soup at Smoothey’s, which sold for five cents and was in my class of income.

  Con and me, hunting them, ran into Doc Sites and Kid Reese at the Bon Ton. We were pushing through the crowd and came face to face with them.

  “Hello, Kid,” I said. “You and Doc getting ready to return my money?”

  Several people stopped to listen, smelling excitement, and the Kid’s face kind of thinned down. He threw a quick look at Doc, but Doc was looking at me.

  “What’re you talkin’ about?” the Kid blustered.

  “You took pa’s horse with our money on it, and money that belonged to a lot of poor folks down in Texas. You knew that horse was ours. I’d loaned it to you a time or two.”

  The Kid started to push by, because more people were stopping to listen. “That ain’t so!” he said roughly.

  Then I opened my big mouth and said the one thing I shouldn’t have, “You callin’ me a liar, Kid?”

  All of a sudden we weren’t crowded any more. There was space all around us.

  The Kid stood stock-still, his face white and stiff, and Doc was off to one side, as if he had no part in it.

  I’d had no idea of throwing a challenge at him like that. It just sort of came out.

  “I ain’t called you nothin’,” he said, and shoved by me. I let him go.

  Doc started to leave too. “Doc,” I said, “I want my money. You and the Kid bring it to the Jolly Cork eatin’ house, and have it there by noontime.”

  Doc never said a word. He just pushed by and went out, and folks started talking again. One man offered to buy us a drink. “What was that all about?” he asked.

  So I told him.

  “He may come a-shootin’,” he said when I’d finished.

  “Yes, sir. I reckoned on that, but I can’t see my way clear to gettin’ my money unless I carry trouble to them.”

  The man thrust out a hand. “I’m Bill Bush. I like the way you stand, so if you need a friend, call on me.”

  “Yes, sir. If you know where a man could get a few days of work, I’d be obliged. Chasing these men has run me short.”

  Con Judy stepped up then, and Bush saw him for the first time. “Howdy, Con. I didn’t recognize you there at first. Do you know this man?”

  “We’re riding together.”

  I’d heard tell of Bill Bush. He was partners with Silver Dollar Tabor, one of the most prominent men in town, and occasionally his rival.

  “I didn’t know you were in this part of the country, Con.”

  “Tried my hand at buffalo hunting. When Shell Tucker came along, I threw in with him.”

  “You’ve got some old friends in town, Con. Dave May2 has opened a department store here—I think you knew him. Meyer Guggenheim3 has a share in some mining properties, and there’s talk of building a smelter.”

  Bush finished his drink. “Why don’t you fellows join me for dinner at the Tontine? I’d appreciate it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I—”

  “We’ll come,” Con interrupted. “About seven?”

  Outside, I said, “Con, you know I ain’t fixed to go such a place. My clothes aren’t fit, and besides, pa always said a man should have the money to carry his share of the load, and I ain’t got it.”

  “Don’t worry. I want you to come. As for the clothes, we can buy you an outfit. When you get some money you can pay me back.”

  “You got it to spare? Con, I wouldn’t want to put you in a bind.”

  “My credit is good.”

  With Con to advise, I bought a black suit, some shirts, underwear, ties, and what-all. It was more clothes than I’d ever had at one time in my life. He suggested I also buy some new riding clothes, so I did.

  Leaving May’s store, we walked around to the Clarendon Hotel, completed only a short time before. That and the Grand, operated by Thomas Walsh1 were the places to stay. I’d never been inside such a place before, but when Con Judy walked up to the desk you’d have thought he owned the place.

  Nothing was said about money, and if anybody thought we were dressed rough for the hotel they made no comment. Leadville was used to men in digging clothes who turned into millionaires overnight.

  Upstairs in our room, Con motioned toward the bath. “You first,” he said. “I’ve got to see some people.”

  Well, that bath was mighty fine. When I’d finished and I’d shaved, I dolled up in that black suit, and looked to be worth as much as any man in the place.

  Con came back, glanced at me, and nodded. “You’ll do, Shell. Better stay in the room—I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

  I didn’t have any plans for going out. I wasn’t anxious to get shot up in my new suit, but I was wishing I could get the crease out of my store-bought suit before I went where folks could see me. That crease was a sure sign my suit had come off the shelf, and wasn’t tailored. Nobody had creases in their pants if they could help it.

  When Con came back into the room he was dressed and ready. He’d left an outfit at the hotel some months earlier.

  When we entered the Tontine half an hour later anybody would have taken us for a couple of swells. Nobody would have guessed I was a poor boy off the cap rock of Texas. But in my waistband I was packing a gun.

  I was ready. I was real ready.

  Chapter 5

  *

  THE TONTINE WAS the most elegant place I’d ever been in, and as I sat quiet at the table listening to the talk between Bill Bush, who owned the Clarendon, and Con Judy, I began to see that those outlaws I’d thought so important were really a mighty small catch.

  Con smoked a long black Cuban cigar and talked about railroads, hotels, and banking until I couldn’t believe he was the same man I’d met in a buffalo camp.

  The thing that surprised me was how everybody listened to what he had to say. I mean, you felt he was somebody important. During supper half a dozen men stopped by to speak to him, and to ask his opinion on this or that.

  Of course, as pa had told me and as I’d learned of my ownself, you never knew who you were meeting around a campfire, in a bunkhouse or a saloon. Men took on the color of the country they were in, assumed its ways of speaking, its dress and manners.

  From what was said I gathered that Con was an engineer, that he’d speculated
in mines, railroads, and steamboats, and had made half a dozen fortunes.

  He was respected. Bill Bush and David May, who everybody said was an up-and-coming man, listened with attention to what Con said.

  “You should go into road-building, Con,” Bush said. “Colorado has the ore, but we need roads to get it out. The best mines are in the high country, and to many of the mines there are only trails.”

  Bush left us to talk to some friends, and Con talked to me about some of the men we’d met. He pointed out a man across the room. “He’s got a nice business now, and he’s going to make it big.” Con brushed the ash from his cigar. “When he came into town he was broke. He found out they were refilling champagne bottles, so he began collecting them. They say he collected over nine thousand, saved his money, and started trading.”

  Several of the men who stopped by the table had heard that somebody had taken a shot at Con, and he corrected them and told them it was me who had been shot at. Shooting was no unusual thing in Leadville, but it didn’t happen every day, either, and nobody likes a dry-gulcher who’ll shoot out of the dark at a man.

  When we were alone, Con said, “Shell, you’ll find times when you have to fight. The secret is never to hunt trouble.”

  “You mean I shouldn’t look for Reese and them?”

  “I did not say that. They brought trouble to you. The money is rightfully yours, and you must settle it as you see fit.

  “I brought you here tonight for several reasons. First, because you are my friend and I enjoy your company. Second, because I wanted some of the respectable citizens of the town to know you in case there is trouble later. Third, because it is time for you to realize there are other aspects of the world than those you have seen so far.”

  He paused, drank some coffee, and then went on, “We will always have Reeses and Heseltines, and they will always seem big and brave to growing boys. They swagger and make loud noises in their own little circle, but they are only the coyotes that yap around the heels of the herd.”

  “Remember this, Shell, the coyotes aren’t going anywhere, but the herd is, and so are the men who drive the herd.”

  There was sense in what he said, but it rankled a little bit. I didn’t like the feeling that I hadn’t known better, but it was true that in this place a man like Reese would have been pretty small potatoes.

  “Guns don’t count in this place,” Con continued. “Here it is intelligence, energy, the ability to begin and complete a job. Those are the things that matter.”

  He waved a hand around the room. “Some of them will make it big, some will fail, but all are trying. They are making money, but they are building a nation in the process. They will make mistakes…one always does when one moves fast, but they will accomplish a great deal, too. When a man opens a mine, builds a mill or a railroad, he has not only done something for himself but he has opened a way for others to make a living, many of whom he will never know or see; often they will live far from him or what he has done.

  “We won’t have a perfect country until we have perfect people, but we can try.”

  “That’s all well enough, Con, but I’ve got to get my money back. Will they help me?”

  He smiled. “No. Everybody rides his own broncs, Shell, and well you know it. They won’t help you because that’s your business, but they will be watching to see how you do it, and how you do it will be remembered. And there is something else. If you handle this in a straight-forward manner, you’ll have all their weight behind you when the shooting is over…and it can make a difference.

  “If a stranger, a drifting cowhand, comes into town and shoots somebody he may get pretty rough handling before anybody knows the why of it. Western men are inclined to be abrupt. So now they know about you. They know your story and what you’ll be doing.

  “There’s one other man I want you to meet,” Con added, “but he doesn’t often come here. Tonight he has. I heard he would be coming here tonight; once several years ago I helped him out of a tight corner.”

  A man loomed up over the table, and I looked up. He was a big man, with hard, red-rimmed eyes. He was unshaven and he was dressed roughly, with food stains on his coat and vest. He wore a gun and a badge.

  “Mart Duggan…Shell Tucker.”

  He stared at me, and I felt uncomfortable under those hot, rather cruel-looking eyes. “Howdy,” he said briefly. “Heard about you,” he added. “Round ’em up if you’re of a mind to—you’ll have no trouble from me.”

  He glanced over at Con and a slow smile warmed his face. “Good to see you, Judy. If this man is a friend of yours, he’s a friend of mine.”

  Turning abruptly, he walked across to the door and left.

  “Mart Duggan,” Con said, “is the law in Leadville at the moment. He’s about as friendly as a grizzly bear with a sore tooth. He’ll shoot a man as quick as look at him, and he doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything on earth.”

  “He won’t help me either?”

  “No. But now he will stay off your back while you’re settling your affairs.”

  I stood up. It began to look as if I had it to do. I was all jumpy inside, and my mouth was dry, but it was all laid out for me. In this country a man did what he had to do, and if he wasn’t big enough for the job, he could always figure on a nice funeral if he died game.

  “I’m going back to the Clarendon,” I said, “and change clothes. Then I’m going to hunt until I find them.”

  Con Judy got up, too. “We’ll both look,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to face all three of them alone.”

  State Street was where the gamblers and the shady ladies were. The Little Casino, the Odeon, the Bucket of Blood, the Bon Ton, and the Pioneer—we made them all.

  We ran into Minnie Purdy, Frankie Page, and Sallie Purple, some of the town’s leading madams, and we saw Soapy Smith, Charlie Tanner, and Broken-Nose Scotty, all well known around town. But we saw neither hide nor hair of Reese, Sites, or Heseltine.

  At Madame Vestal’s place on State Street we took a table where we could watch the dancing. When the madame saw Con she walked over.

  “How are you, Con? Are you going to stay around long?”

  “That depends, Belle. Sit down, won’t you?”

  She sat down and looked over at me. “You’ll be Shell Tucker. I’ve heard about you.”

  “Me?”

  “By this time,” Con Judy replied, “everybody in town has. When you’re looking for a man or men the story doesn’t take long…especially on State Street.”

  “Bob Heseltine is a bad man, Tucker,” she said. “If I were you I’d forget it.”

  Well, I just looked at her for a moment, and then I said, “Thank you, ma’am, but I have it to do.”

  She studied me for a moment. “I like you, Tucker, and you have a good friend here in Con. I’ll tell you this: Ruby Shaw was always friendly to Minnie Purdy.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, and she moved on.

  Con watched her go, thoughtfully. “There’s a strange woman, Shell. Here they call her Madame Vestal, but once she was a mighty important woman, important in society, and even more important during the war.”

  “Her?”

  “She was Belle Siddons then, a noted spy, and a daring young woman.”

  Pa used to tell stories about her. I remembered them now, and looked after her, wondering. These last few days I’d met some people mighty different from any I’d ever met before, different in many ways. And Belle Siddons, or Madame Vestal or whatever her name was, had been helpful.

  Minnie Purdy might know where Ruby Shaw was—the woman with Bob Heseltine—and where Ruby would be, there’d be Bob Heseltine close by. I had my lead, my first good one.

  “She won’t be likely to tell you anything, Shell,” Con said.

  I shrugged. “Didn’t figure on it, but maybe if I keep my mouth shut and sort of scout around I can locate some sign.”

  So whilst Con Judy picked up with old acquaintances, I sat by and studied
about Heseltine and the others. First off, they knew I was in town, for they’d shot at me. Having tried once, they would surely try again. That I had to take into account. All the time I was hunting them, they’d be hunting me.

  Now you might think, in a town no bigger than Leadville, that it would be easy to find somebody, but as a matter of fact there were all those dives along State Street, and a lot of shacks and cabins around, and there were half a dozen clusters of buildings round about Leadville, each with its own name, and they might be holed up in any one of them.

  There was Tintown, Jacktown, Little Chicago, Malta, Finntown, and a dozen other places along the valley of the Arkansas, up Stray Horse Gulch or Evans Gulch. A man who wanted to stay hid could do it.

  Would they all hole up in the same place? It was likely.

  At the same time there’s gossip. With all the comers and goers in a boom town like Leadville, there’s talk, and Ruby Shaw was a pretty woman, by most accounts, and pretty women are hard to keep out of sight.

  It would be easier if it wasn’t for all those little communities around. There was no way a man could watch them all. But I had an idea that folks with money on their hands weren’t anxious to stay holed up. Nor did they worry much about me.

  What they were running from more than from me was simply the knowledge they’d done wrong, and not wanting to be faced with it. Con Judy had done me a favor, too, by introducing me to the big men around town…that was going to worry them some.

  Their horses…it was easier for a man to hide himself than to hide his horse. They’d have to keep their horses close to hand, and the horses would have to be fed.

  We went back to the Clarendon, and you can bet I kept an eye out for trouble, but there was none.

  And then I had one of those breaks that come to a man if he’s keeping his eyes and ears open.

  The lobby of the Clarendon had half a dozen people in it, and smelled of cigar smoke. Sitting on a leather settee was a man smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper.

  There were a couple of others talking and sharing a brass spitoon. Con Judy had gone upstairs to get some papers he wanted to discuss with a man in the lobby and I was just sort of idling about. All of a sudden a girl came out of the restaurant and crossed the lobby. She was a few years older than me, and blonde, maybe a little hard around the mouth and eyes, but a fine figure of a girl.