Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Eric Goulden.
Caleb knew the name well. Goulden was one of the most powerful money men in the country.
Seen by some as a pioneer in transportation, buying and building railroads all over the West, he was seen by others as a ruthless robber baron who crushed anyone and anything that stood between him and a dollar.
Over the past few years, the newspapers had been full of stories about him, and even the editors who respected the man didn’t like him much. He was a man to be feared.
“Eric Goulden is the one behind this attempt to kill me,” Patterson repeated as he once again resumed his pacing. “He’s made it clear he wants me dead.”
Zeke scratched his head. “This fella got a bone to pick with you, Judge?”
Caleb had personally seen Goulden’s way of doing things. It was during the time he’d been wearing the tin star up in Greeley. Surveyors were working the area, laying out lines for the Colorado Central to put in their rails.
Goulden was trying to gain control of every rail route and spur between St. Louis and San Francisco. Because a local family owned the Colorado Central, Goulden had been paying men to delay the railroad line from going in until he wrested away ownership of the company.
His methods were well-known to the men working with the surveyors, as well.
Several of them had worked for him before, and they had plenty of stories about how Goulden’s minions abused their underpaid employees.
Anyone who complained or tried to organize for decent wages was dealt with swiftly.
Those rail lines, they told Caleb, were paved with the bodies of men shot or beaten to death and buried along the route.
The robber baron’s agents were everywhere, and they were merciless. Tents and equipment burned. Shots fired in the night. Horses poisoned. Provisions stolen.
Those hired men were tough, efficient, and slippery as river snakes.
In the end, it had taken a contingent of armed guards to safeguard the lives of the surveying team.
“Goulden controls four major railroads in the west. He wants them all, large or small,” Patterson said to the sheriff before turning to Caleb. “Do you know who he is?”
“I know he ain’t a fella to be trifled with.”
“Trifled with?” The judge snorted. “Goulden lives on the blood of his victims. He started from nothing, but he’s made a fortune for himself through shrewd speculations, fraudulent stock issues, and outrageous financial manipulations.
He and his partners were directly responsible for the Black Friday financial collapse back in ’69.
They care about nothing but putting more gold in their pockets. ”
A glance at Zeke told Caleb that the sheriff was foundering. As far as Caleb knew, the man standing beside him didn’t know a thing about land speculations or financial crises. He didn’t give a fiddler’s damn about the affairs of the rich and powerful.
Caleb liked Zeke. Doc had introduced them at the bar in the Belle Saloon not long after he arrived in Elkhorn.
Like so many others out here, Zeke had fought and watched friends die during the war between the North and South.
After the fighting was over, he came west, hoping to leave those memories behind.
He had a silver claim up in the hills and had been at it for years.
But he was getting tired of digging and was never going to strike it rich.
“Goulden is as corrupt a man as ever lived. He buys the law,” Patterson continued. “Politicians eat out of his hand like lapdogs. He does anything he wants. He gets away with murder.”
“So, what’s this fella have against you, Judge?” Zeke asked again.
“I wouldn’t play into his hand.”
Caleb stood and listened, waiting for Patterson to finish laying out all the chess pieces. Between the sheriff asking questions and the judge talking, almost everything he needed to know was being answered. Almost.
But Bat Davis’s words kept echoing in his head. Never mind what this damn judge wants to know. Brother, I’d think you would wanna know who sent me.
Caleb wondered if Patterson was mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t this railroad magnate, at all. After all, how would a kid from Indiana end up working as a hired gun for someone like Goulden? And Bat said that Caleb would want to know. Why?
“I’m surely missing something, Judge, cuz I still don’t see why he’s coming after you,” Zeke pressed. “He sent four gunhawks to shoot you dead in your own town. What did you say no to?”
Patterson waved a hand impatiently at the window. “I said no to selling Elkhorn to him. He wants the town. And he wants every piece of land suitable for a rail line.”
The judge stalked back and stood in front of Caleb, as if he were the only one who’d be interested in hearing this news.
“He wants to run his railroad right through us. Take down everything in its way. And to run his rail south toward Santa Fe, he’ll take your ranch too.”
“What happens if folks don’t want to sell?” Zeke asked.
Patterson turned to the sheriff. “He’ll send his hired guns to take care of you, like he tried to do to me today.”
Caleb pondered that threat and decided he didn’t want to get involved. If it came down to blood being shed, the judge had the sheriff, the townspeople, and plenty of miners he could call on to stand up to the robber baron. Patterson had the law and his political clout in Denver to back him too.
Still, men like Goulden didn’t usually go into a fight they didn’t figure to win.
And even if the battle got nasty, they never got hurt personally.
They were too protected. Fighting them was like clearing a briar patch with a paring knife.
A man could cut away at the branches all day and never get near to the center. And the cost was always high.
Caleb could protect his own land, but it wasn’t up to just him. Once Henry got out of jail, the two of them could decide if fighting for a patch of dirt three miles south of Elkhorn was worth the trouble.
“Marlowe, I need you to help me here. To help the sheriff. To help the people of Elkhorn. We won’t be able to stop Goulden without you.”
The judge had played this tune before. A month ago, he’d used the same approach to convince Caleb to go after the Wells Fargo stagecoach robbers.
No one could do the job but him, he’d said.
There were no scouts as skillful as him.
And on he went. At the time, he’d also dangled the release of Caleb’s partner from the jail in Denver as more bait.
They were still waiting for Henry’s release.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Judge. I ain’t gonna wear the badge.”
“And I’m not giving up until I have the very best people on my side.”
“Zeke knows where to find me if—”
“That’s good enough…for now. As long as we can call on you,” the judge interrupted with a curt nod.
He looked a little too satisfied for Caleb’s liking.
“That gunman, the one taken to Doc Burnett’s house, we need him talking.
I want you two to go over there and question him.
Make him tell you the name of the person who sent him.
He has to come out and say he works for Goulden.
Then I can use his words as leverage in Denver. ”
“What if he don’t work for the man?” Caleb had to ask.
“He does. I’m certain of it.” Patterson stalked back to his desk. “Make him admit it.”
Zeke broke in and pointed out the biggest possible flaw in the judge’s plan. “That fella might already be dead by the time we get there.”
“He can’t be. Doc cannot allow that to happen. By God, Marlowe, I want him to stay alive long enough to confess before witnesses.”
Caleb knew it was pointless to remind him, but he wasn’t much of a churchgoing man.
What he had to offer, tracking and shooting, weren’t the most useful skills when it came to negotiating with the Almighty.
Hell, he’d have a better chance making a deal with the devil.
And he had a good idea the judge had a running account down there already.
It didn’t matter, though. Caleb wanted to get a look at the face of the wounded shooter, so he was going to Doc’s anyway.
Frissy ignored them when they left the judge’s office. That suited Caleb just fine. He was in no mood for a scrap with the bodyguard right now. His trip in to Elkhorn had already run much longer than he’d planned.
They descended the steps, crossed the huge lobby under the watchful gazes of the two vinegar-pussed clerks, and went out onto the busy street.
They turned in the direction of Doc’s. He didn’t live far. His house was on the last street before the edge of town.
As they passed the Belle Saloon, the sounds of men laughing and shouting over cards and drinks reached the street. The sheriff cast a hopeful look in the open door.
“Marlowe, think we got time for a quick one in here?”
Since leaving the judge’s office, the nervousness was quickly melting off of Zeke. He never used to be this way. But wearing the badge and reporting to Patterson had definitely been hard on the miner.
“No, I don’t. But I hear talk that you ain’t paid for a drink since coming back from Devil’s Claw.”
Zeke chuckled. “That’s a fact. Riding back into town with Doc Burnett and all that Wells Fargo loot made me sort of a local hero, thanks to you.”
“It ain’t cuz of that star on your chest that you’re getting free liquor?”
“Hell, no.” The sheriff’s bushy eyebrows bunched up and he tried to look offended, but he couldn’t hold back the grin.
“Truth is, between showing off that monster of a cougar skin and telling the tale of you taking him on with only one bare hand and your teeth, fellas are always offering to buy the drinks.”
“And that ain’t stretching the truth at all?” Caleb scoffed. “I believe there was a hunting knife involved.”
“That’s what we scholars call poetic license.”
“So it ain’t like regular lying, then?”
“Not at all,” Zeke retorted. “In fact, I think there’s something in the Bible about it.”
“You don’t say. We’ll have to ask Preacher next time we see him.”