Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Bonedale had changed. The foul-smelling tent city that had been strung along the muddy banks of the Roaring River was gone.
The last time Caleb rode through here, it had been little more than prospectors chasing rumors of gold and silver and the gamblers, swindlers, and merchants eager to separate them from their money.
Now, as he followed the valley toward town, he saw farms and cattle ranches where none had existed before. Fresh-plowed fields stretched across the lowlands. New barns stood among groves of cottonwood and pine. The place was beginning to look permanent.
The railroad had seen to that.
Caleb had watched the same transformation happen all across the West. Once the iron horse arrived, towns either grew or died. Bonedale appeared determined to grow.
He thought of Sing Lee and his fellow travelers. Before long, folks like them would be able to buy a ticket in San Francisco and step off a train in Denver without crossing half the wilderness between.
Sheila would have approved of that. The woman never met a new invention she wasn't curious about. He could practically hear the questions she'd ask about locomotives and telegraph lines. And then she'd probably lecture the railroad men about something they'd overlooked.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The smile faded as he reached the edge of town.
The business of building the railroad was not about making the lives of folks easier.
It was about money and profit. And there was a crowd of greedy, brutal men—suitably referred to as ‘robber barons’—who were no longer scouring the marshes for smaller prey to devour.
They were out in the open now, looking to take their share. And they had come to Bonedale.
Caleb’s stomach was telling him that it was getting late in the day as he entered the town.
He thought briefly of how things were going in Elkhorn. Whether Gabe and Paddy had finished their chores. Whether Sheila had ridden out to the ranch with them.
There was no telling the time by looking at the sun, however, because it had been crowded and then smothered by thick gray clouds not long past midday. Now, the sky was dark and heavy with rain, and it seemed low enough to touch.
Approaching from the southeast, he’d been following a string of high, round-shouldered hills that, from this point, continued on north of the town.
Ripples and folds ran up the sides of the hills from valley floor to the crest. It was as if some giant had haphazardly draped a heavy pine-green blanket over them.
The town itself was a single line of wooden structures that stood with their backs to the river.
The railroad tracks following the riverbank from the south ran between the buildings and the water.
One street was all they could muster, thus far, but it was crowded with laborers, miners, horses, mules, and wagons of all sizes.
At both ends of the muddy thoroughfare, he saw some shacks and lean-tos that he guessed were meant to house the rail crews.
Caleb rode past three gray saloons chock full of drinkers and gamblers, two gray brothels also doing a land office business, a hotel, a restaurant, and a general store that broke up the monotony with a large blue-and-white striped awning.
Near the far end of the street, a small building had been squeezed between the butcher and the barber. It featured one barred window facing the street and an open front door. Caleb figured this had to be the jail.
Not exactly caught up in the wonder that was Bonedale, he nevertheless rode on, passed a livery stable, and turned back when he reached the last building in town, where a line of fellas in various stages of undress were waiting their turn in front of the bath house. They all turned and stared at him.
Caleb rode back to the livery and boarded Pirate.
He asked the stable man where he might find Elijah Starr, but got only a shrug and a guarded look in reply.
He started along the street toward the jail, but as he walked, it occurred to him that he was glad he and Henry had decided on Elkhorn, rather than a place like this.
The air seemed grittier here, and even the carousing had a feeling of grimness to it.
Wherever Elijah Starr had situated himself, Caleb figured the town lawman would know. If news of the trouble in Elkhorn had already gotten back here, his only hope was that his father was still around.
He knocked on the open door and went in.
The sheriff’s office was barely more than shack.
The building was not over twenty feet square, and no attention had been given to making it anything more than functional.
The walls were bare studs, and no one had even bothered to nail down the warped, mud-covered floorboards.
Both the front and back doors stood open, and the only window faced the street.
A bench ran the length of one wall, with three iron rings bolted about shoulder height.
Shackles dangled from the rings. The place had no cell.
The rest of the furnishings consisted of a stove in one corner, a small crate with scraps of wood, a battered spittoon, four chairs, some shelves, and a rough wooden table that served as a desk.
One of the chairs was behind the desk and empty.
In another chair next to the desk, a tall, burly, pock-faced fellow in a bright green coat, black vest, and gray pants sat staring at Caleb.
He was wearing a black bowler big enough to hide a small child in.
He had a large nose that pointed west when he was facing north, small suspicious mud-colored eyes, and a hard slash of a mouth mostly concealed under a drooping, tobacco-stained moustache.
He was sitting forward, his long legs pulled in next to the chair, giving him the appearance of a giant grasshopper ready to take off into the wind. He had his right hand resting on his holstered iron. A small knife sat on the corner of the table with a sharpening stone beside it.
“You the sheriff?”
The fat hopper continued to stare without offering a response. Finally, he spat a long stream of tobacco juice into the spittoon without removing his gaze from Caleb. “Who wants to know?”
“I do. You him or not.”
“Wearing a badge, ain’t I?” he returned shortly, his voice a belligerent growl.
Caleb had dealt with enough sheriffs and deputies. He knew not to trust any of them right off.
In front of the empty chair, a polished black stone held down a few sheets of paper, and a pen and inkpot were positioned on the left side of the stack of papers. This fella wore his pistol on the right. Whoever sat behind the desk wrote with his left hand and probably shot with it too.
Caleb opened his coat and flashed the tin star on his vest. “I’m coming from Elkhorn. I need to see the sheriff. And you ain’t him.”
The deputy shrugged. “He’s rode out west of the river with some of the boys, chasing after some rustlers.”
“When will he be back?”
“Who knows?” The big grasshopper sat back in the chair. He kept his hand on his pistol. “You need the law here? I’m the man. So, you need my help or not?”
Caleb nodded, already knowing this fellow would be about as helpful as a three-legged mule. “I’m here to arrest someone.”
“Hold on a dang minute!” the deputy barked. “Let’s do this thing right. You got a name, Elkhorn?”
He hit the spittoon again, eyeing Caleb with a look of contempt in his muddy eyes.
“My name is Marlowe. Judge Patterson sent me.” He held the other man’s gaze and patted the pocket that held the papers. “I got a signed warrant to show to the sheriff if he needs it. Only stopped in here to be courteous-like. And to see if you’d be a help.”
The deputy ran his hand across his moustache, thinking it over. He didn’t ask to see the warrant, and Caleb figured he probably couldn’t read.
“You say your name’s Marlowe. You seem awful dang familiar to me. Do I know you?”
“Don’t know.” The day was fading fast. “Where do I find Elijah Starr?”
The deputy’s eyes opened wider and then the fat lids dropped. His gaze slid away from Caleb. “What’s he wanted for?”
He almost said ‘murder’ but caught himself. For all he knew, the law in this town could be under the thumb of the railroad company. Hell, that was more than likely. And he wasn’t going to give his father a running start.
“I didn’t say he was wanted. But I need to talk to him about some of his men. Outlaws. That’s what the warrant’s for.”
The hopper scoffed. “So, you come all this way for that? I coulda saved you the ride. Mr. Starr don’t hire no outlaws.”
The deputy was going to be less than helpful.
Caleb felt his temper tightening. He'd spent days riding through the mountains, been stabbed, bitten by a rattlesnake, and nearly died twice over. Meanwhile, back in Elkhorn, there were people waiting for him to come home.
He had no intention of wasting another minute on this fool.
“I’ll pass on your good word about him. Where can I find him?”
“Don’t know that I’d tell you if I knew.”
Caleb came a step closer, crowding the deputy a little. “You get in my way, and I’ll drag you back to Elkhorn. The judge will be very happy to put another fella behind bars.”
His lips lifted in a sneer. “For what?”
“For aiding and abetting.”
“Fancy words, Marlowe.” His right hand tightened on his six-gun. “But maybe you oughta be thinking hard afore threatening me in my own town.”
Caleb’s voice was cold and even. “I ain’t got time for no pissing contest.”
Before the deputy could move, he cleared leather and pointed his Colt at the man’s heart.
“Get your hand off that rod. It’d be a shame to ruin that handsome green coat.
” He waited as the man raised his hands.
“I been trying to go at this easy, but you’re interfering with the law.
We’ve had some killings in Elkhorn, thanks to the fella I’m looking for.
And Judge Patterson is mighty eager to put a rope around someone’s neck. I think you’ll do just fine.”