Chapter 11
A brief respite from falling snow in January gave Jane the opportunity to visit Bitter Springs.
She was confident enough of her riding skills by then to suggest that she take Sophie and go alone, at which point Morgan looked at her as if she’d sprouted a third eye.
He did not argue about the trip, but he insisted on using the buckboard and accompanying her.
She thanked him, acknowledging his superior judgment in these matters, and immediately returned to working on her list. Morgan knew he had been had.
Oddly enough, he wasn’t so sure that he minded it.
Morgan hung back at the entrance of the Cattlemen’s Trust and let Jane go up to the teller’s cage on her own.
He stood with his hands behind his back, occasionally rocking forward on the balls of his feet as he looked around.
He was an infrequent visitor to the bank, conducting most of his business when he and his men drove cattle to town to be taken up by the railroad.
Nothing had changed at the bank since his last visit.
There were two teller cages, but as usual, only one of them was occupied.
Morgan did not recall the man’s name. Hall?
Hollis? He was a quiet sort and kept transactions brief.
He did not allow people to linger at his station, which Morgan thought was wise on his part.
Familiarity and chitchat were proven ways to lower a man’s guard. Morgan knew precisely how that worked.
The door to the manager’s office was open wide enough for Morgan to see Mr. Webb hunched over his desk.
To his right, the safe’s door was also ajar.
Morgan had been in the bank often enough to know it was a practice, not an oversight.
Sometime during his long tenure as the manager of the Cattlemen’s Trust Bank, Mr. Webb had become complacent.
The safe was a black 1884 Barkley and Benjamin pin and tumbler model with a four-inch steel door and two-inch steel lining.
It was impressively large, standing four feet tall and thirty-two inches deep and wide.
Empty, it weighed 536 pounds. It was sold with the Barkley and Benjamin name painted in gold leaf on the door.
Most banks added their name. That was true of Cattlemen’s Trust, although Mr. Webb had turned away from the elaborate flourishes used by Barkley and Benjamin, and had chosen plain block letters instead.
He did, however, elect to use gold leaf.
Morgan’s gaze moved on as Mr. Webb straightened and sat back in his chair. There was no eye contact, which was the way Morgan wanted it.
The lobby was wide and uncluttered. The hardwood floors were polished.
There was a table close to the large window that was mostly used by customers as a place to set their parcels.
Sometimes people sat there to read and sign papers or study their savings books, but no one was using it today.
On the opposite side of the bank, Evelyn Stillwell, the barber’s wife, was engaged in animated conversation with Heather Collins, grandmother to Rabbit and Finn.
Morgan made it a point not to eavesdrop.
He had never known anything good to come of it.
“Mornin’,” Cobb Bridger said, tipping his hat to the women as he came through the door.
They stopped speaking long enough to acknowledge him then immediately reengaged in their discussion.
Instead of heading for the teller’s cage, he stepped sideways and joined Morgan.
“It must be important, whatever they’re talking about.
I think it’s the first time they haven’t asked after Tru.
Her condition generally provokes a ten-minute interrogation. ”
“Umeh.”
“Yeah, that’s so.” He lifted his chin in Jane’s direction. “Your wife hasn’t been to town for a while.”
“That’s right.”
“Tru was asking after her, wondering if she shouldn’t invite both of you to Sunday dinner sometime.”
“You discouraged her, I hope.”
Cobb’s smile hinted at his amusement. “You don’t really know my wife, do you?” When Morgan said nothing, Cobb did not press. “I understand you never did run those rustlers to ground.”
“No. Never did.”
“Last time Jessop was in, he told me there hasn’t been any trouble for a while.”
“You can trust what Jessop says.”
“I do. I’m wondering what you think about it. Is it over, or is it a lull?”
“I couldn’t rightly say.” Morgan’s gaze bored holes into the back of Jane’s poppy-trimmed velvet hat, willing to her to turn around. Thus far, it had not worked.
“So you’re sticking to your story that they’re just rustlers.”
“It’s like this, Marshal. I know they’re rustlers. Whether they’re something else is still a question, and we’ve been over it before. Let it be.”
Cobb exhaled softly. There was a hint of impatience in the sound. “You damn well know you’re not making it easy to do that. You’ve never come by to look at the sketches I made of those three men.”
“No, I never did. It’s hard for me to imagine that any of those three would be Jack or Gideon. They’d stay behind, send others to do the scouting.”
“That occurred to me,” Cobb said. “I noticed you and Mrs. Longstreet came alone. You weren’t moving any cattle today.”
“My wife is only learning to ride. She’s not up to herding cows.”
“Funny.”
Morgan shrugged.
“I mention it because your visits to the bank generally coincide with a cattle drive. I figure you make a deposit and take care of your payroll.”
“You have to find something else to do with your time, Bridger.”
“Did I tell you I was studying law?”
“Something else.”
Cobb’s grin appeared, but it was faint and fleeting. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“Finally,” said Morgan. “Never thought you’d get done beating around that bush. Trade places with me.”
“What?”
Morgan crooked his finger at Cobb and then pointed to the space he was occupying. “Trade places.” He stepped aside, waited for Cobb to slide sideways, then stepped into Cobb’s footprints. “Look around.”
Cobb did. “And?”
“Well, from where you’re standing now, you should be able to see that Mr. Webb’s sitting next to an open Barkley and Benjamin safe.
That makes the pin and tumbler lock, the four-inch steel door, the two-inch steel lining, and all five hundred thirty-six pounds pretty much just for show.
So what I’m doing here besides waiting for my wife to open her own account with this fine institution is resisting the powerful temptation to stuff Mr. Webb in his Barkley and Benjamin and tell my wife she’s better off keeping her money in a trunk. ”
“Huh. Maybe I should have a talk with Mr. Webb.”
“Maybe you should. And while you’re at it, keep an eye on Mrs. Stillwell and Mrs. Collins. I think they’ve seen the open safe. They didn’t have the time of day for you because they’re plotting.”
“Are you done?”
Morgan pretended to give the question full consideration. “Yeah. Guess I am.”
“All right. Here it is: I’ve got no problem with you yanking my chain as long as that’s all it is. If this business with your rustlers turns out to be something more, then I expect you to get real serious, real fast.”
“Sure, Marshal.”
“I mean it, Longstreet. If you were here, say, because someone was putting you up to it, then I’d want to know.”
Morgan turned to look at the marshal. “I suppose I should be grateful that you’re acquitting me of planning a robbery on my own.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Morgan glanced in Jane’s direction. She was beginning to gather her things at the cage.
“Look, Bridger, if it’ll ease your mind some and keep you from following me around like a calf after his mama’s teat every time I come to town, then I promise that I’ll let you know if something’s happened that concerns you and Bitter Springs. ”
Cobb thought about that. “I have your word?”
“You do.”
“Good.” He put out his hand.
Morgan hesitated, then he also extended his hand, and they shook.
Cobb said, “Just so you know, I didn’t care much for the calf and his mama’s teat analogy.”
Morgan grinned. “Puts a picture in your head, doesn’t it?”
Jane came upon them. “Hello, Marshal.” Then to Morgan, “Do I want to know about this picture?”
“Probably not.”
She smiled and held up her savings book. “All done. Mr. Hollerman was very helpful.”
Hollerman. Morgan held up his index finger as he made a mental note of the name. Not Hall. Not Hollis. “I never knew a bank teller who wasn’t happy to take your money. It’s when you try to get it out of the bank that they’re mean as snakes.”
Cobb looked sideways at Morgan. “Your husband’s right, Mrs. Longstreet.” He tipped his hat. “I have some business with Mr. Webb. Good to see you both again.”
Jane opened her reticule and put her savings book inside. “Is everything all right?”
Morgan held out an elbow for her to take. “Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?”
“I suppose because he’s the marshal, and you told me once that he was not your friend.”
Morgan looked back over his shoulder as he held the door open for Jane. Cobb was walking into Webb’s office. Morgan did not envy the banker for the earful he was going to get. “He’s not so bad.”
“He’s not so bad,” Jane repeated. “High praise indeed.”
Morgan shrugged. “I figure it’s what he says to his wife about me.”
* * *
Ida Mae Sterling placed a plate of almond cookies in front of Jane and invited her to eat.
“I’ve had two more than my fill,” she said, sitting down at the table.
“And if you don’t mind my saying so, you could eat the cookies and the plate and none of it would show on your waistline. How tight are you pulling your corset?”
Self-conscious, Jane pressed her palms against her midriff. Even though she was alone with Mrs. Sterling in the hotel’s dining room, she only whispered her response. “I am not wearing a corset. I haven’t for weeks and weeks.”