Chapter 10
10
Dakota remembered Sebastian from the wagon train. A quiet man.
He had barely exchanged a dozen words with Sebastian, and Dakota had made it a point to get to know the pioneers on each train. Instead, the man had kept to himself mostly, even when others were around.
Now it looked like they were teaming up to stand guard.
“Been a long time, Sebastian.”
“Dakota. I’m glad you came along. Beth had written us that you were ranching near Hidden Canyon, but I didn’t know they’d pressed you into riding here with them.”
They shook hands, but neither of them did much relaxing considering the danger that might surround Ginny.
Dakota, leading his horse, strolled along with the others—rifle slung over one shoulder, six-gun in his holster, eyes scanning the crowd constantly. “Did you know they were coming?”
Sebastian nodded. “Kat’s done a lot to prepare for this. She’s hunted up a good lawyer, an honorable man who will know how to talk to a judge and jury. I knew they were coming, but I wasn’t sure when. I thought they might put it off another year. Beth said they were urging Ginny to put it off forever.”
“I can’t say as I blame the woman for not wanting to have to hide for the rest of her life.”
Sebastian shuddered. “We got snowed in the first year we came west. I about lost my mind, being stuck in that canyon, and I don’t say that lightly considering Ginny and Kat spent time in an asylum.”
Kat came up beside them, her arm linked with Ginny’s. “Seb and I have hotel rooms for you. And once we got your telegram that you were coming, I contacted Ginny’s lawyer. He’s talking to Cheyenne’s justice of the peace to arrange a trial as soon as possible.”
It sounded good to Dakota. They could get in and out of Cheyenne fast, and Ginny could get back to Hidden Canyon. Of course, the whole point of all this was to not have to go back into hiding.
Dakota had a hard time believing a judge’s ruling would do much to discourage Ginny’s cruel husband. “We stayed in Alton for over a week, waiting for a train to come through. It’s made us all a little edgy.”
Ginny nodded. “There was plenty of time for word to get out that I had emerged from hiding. Thaddeus could be on his way here even now. But would he know to come to Cheyenne?”
“Sure he would,” Dakota said. He was a watchful man at all times, but right now he was even more alert than usual. “Jake sent a telegraph to Sebastian. The telegraph operator in Alton and the one here in Cheyenne both knew we were coming. Besides that, someone in Alton could have followed us here. Or someone could be here waiting for us. Once they saw us step off the train, one of Rutledge’s investigators would waste no time wiring your husband your location. No doubt Rutledge will be on his way to Cheyenne by the end of the day.”
Beth came up, holding her daughter, and slid a protective arm around her ma’s waist. Jake and Oscar followed close behind Ginny, there as a human shield. Dakota and Sebastian moved in front of her to protect her from that direction. Kat and Beth remained on either side of her.
And still she wasn’t safe. She wouldn’t be either—not until they had a judge’s ruling about Ginny’s soundness of mind. Which seemed about as dumb as anything Dakota had ever heard. Just one look at her, or better yet, one conversation with her, would tell anyone with half a brain how clearly sane Ginny was, and that all of this was nothing but a fool’s errand.
Yet somehow her husband had managed to get the asylum to lock her up.
They reached the hotel just as Lydia stirred in Maeve’s arms and began to whimper. They stepped into an empty lobby. Once Dakota judged the place to be safe, he plucked Lydia out of Maeve’s hands. Sure, he wanted to help with the care of the little ones, but mostly he just loved babies.
It’d been a long time since he’d been around them much. Once in a while there’d been an infant on a wagon train; there’d even been a few born during his many journeys. But it was a busy job being wagon master, and he got very little chance to spend time with a baby. Of course, this chubby little thing was hardly an infant anymore. She’d be walking and talking soon. He hoped he’d get to see her take that first step.
The rest of their group entered the hotel just as the sun was setting.
Gasping, Maeve said, “Look at that!”
Dakota turned to her, then followed her line of vision to gaze out the hotel’s grand picture window. A colorful sunset painted the western horizon, the kind that would soften the hardest of hearts. The sky was cast in a vivid red, and thin clouds shone blue and purple across the red. It was a stunning sight.
“Surely this is a sign,” Ginny whispered, as if they were standing in a holy place. “It’s God’s way of greeting us and telling us we’ve come to the right place.”
A tall, brown-haired man stepped out of the hotel’s dining room. “Welcome, folks. I’m Bill Whitmer, and I own this hotel. We get a telegraph letting us know if a train is coming so we can keep the dining room open. Mr. Jones has already arranged rooms for all of you. We can offer you a meal if you want one.”
Dakota thought it was about the friendliest welcome he’d ever heard, and he reached out to the stranger to shake his hand. “A meal would be welcome, Mr. Whitmer, and a bed for the night. Thank you.”
“Come on in. I’ve got stew simmering. It’s left over from the evening meal, but it gets better with each passing hour so you’re in luck.”
Dakota saw a Cheyenne newspaper lying on a table in the dining room. He couldn’t help but notice a headline in huge print: Jay Cooke Declares Bankruptcy . He read the words but didn’t pay it much mind.
Ginny saw it too and snatched up the paper. “Jay Cooke?”
Hearing the word cook turned Dakota’s attention to the stew cooking in the kitchen. It smelled so good his mouth watered, and his stomach growled.
Ginny stood reading the article, her eyes growing big.
Mr. Whitmer rushed into the kitchen and was out with three plates in seconds. The plates were covered with chicken stew with biscuits on the side.
The group took their seats, Dakota somehow ending up next to Maeve again.
Beth took the newspaper from Ginny to take a look for herself. “Jay Cooke is one of the richest men in America. Or at least he was before this. My father used to talk about him with absolute envy. Cooke’s bank going under is going to harm a lot of people.”
“It says there,” Ginny said, referring to the article, “that he gave out loans for hundreds of millions of dollars to fund the building of a northern line for the Union Pacific. It was supposed to span the Territory of Dakota.” She glanced at Dakota. “Aren’t you from there? Have you heard of this, a railway track going across that part of the country?”
Dakota shook his head. “I’m from there, but I haven’t been home in an age. I heard there was a southern route planned across Texas and Arizona. Following the Santa Fe Trail. I can’t imagine they’d need another one, let alone two.”
Ginny gestured toward the paper, still in Beth’s hands. “The whole of the eastern half of the United States is crisscrossed with train tracks. Thousands of miles of them connecting nearly every city. It stands to reason they’d want to lay a lot of tracks in the West, too. But now with Cooke going bankrupt, it’ll crash the entire financial market.”
Dakota wasn’t sure what it was she was talking about so he didn’t comment, but one look at Ginny, one moment listening to her somber tone, and he could tell it was bad. Just how rich was this Cooke anyway?
“It’ll cause a recession,” Ginny added.
Another word Dakota didn’t recognize. As long as it didn’t bother the wild mustangs on his land, he couldn’t see how it could hurt him. “What’s a recession exactly?” he wanted to know.
“Jobs will dry up,” she answered, “in New York and all along the railroads. And if New York has a recession, it will damage every big city in this country, and plenty of little ones. Lots of banks will fail. Very likely including the banks here in Cheyenne. When jobs are lost, the people who had those jobs aren’t earning money anymore, which means they aren’t spending money. That hurts everybody.” Ginny shuddered, looking more and more grim. “Before long, it’ll affect every town in the country.”
Mr. Whitmer returned carrying three more plates of food. “I’ve got more, so all of you have as much as you want. And there’s milk for the little ones, fresh-brewed coffee for the grown-ups. Go on and eat. I’ll fetch your drinks, another bowl of stew, and more biscuits. There’s custard pie, too. Enough for everyone to have a slice.” He smiled, then hurried back toward the kitchen.
After Whitmer had left, Oscar said, “You know, there was talk that Rutledge was overextended, even before we left to come west.”
Ginny blinked. “There was?”
“Yep, and that was before the fire. I didn’t see how it affected him, but it must have.”
“I heard the rumors, too,” Kat said. “Nearly every building he owned burned to the ground. Of course, he’d have them insured, and he started building again immediately. But if this news”—her expression said she didn’t know who Cooke was either—“stirs things up badly enough, Thaddeus Rutledge could be wiped out entirely.”
Oscar growled, “Might make him even more desperate to get ahold of you, Ginny, and your money.”
“Or if this thing hits your husband hard enough,” Dakota said, “maybe he’ll finally have to quit hunting for you. He won’t be able to afford to pay all his agents.”
“No, he’ll be more determined than ever.” Ginny frowned as she chewed. Then she looked at what she was eating and brightened. “This coq au vin is perfectly cooked.”
Dakota nodded, a bit confused. “If your husband is so overextended, how could he find the money to be ‘more determined’?” Dakota wanted to hear all the details of Ginny’s troubles, but right now he wished he could concentrate on this stew. It was nothing like any chicken stew he had before. And the sauce was about the most flavorful concoction he’d ever tasted.
“A man as ruthless as my husband will lie, cheat, and steal before he’ll pay what he owes and accept his newfound poverty. He’ll use slippery accounting practices, if need be, to hide his trouble. He can get the bank to extend him credit or mortgage any property he has to finance whatever plot he’s got going on. He’ll leave bills unpaid for purchases while he spreads his money around to various investigators. His creditors are used to waiting patiently when dealing with Thaddeus because he has always in the past paid up. Even if he’s broke, I can promise you, he’ll find the money to hunt me down. So let’s try to have the trial tomorrow, and then we can get back home.”
Mr. Whitmer approached with a coffeepot and several tin cups. He poured steaming hot coffee, left the pot on the table, then rushed away again. Soon he was back with three cups of milk.
“This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,” Dakota said.
Whitmer grinned. “I got the recipe from a man who owns a diner in Pine Valley. He calls it coq au vin. We’re having chicken parmesan for the noon meal tomorrow, along with crème br?lée.”
“Thank you,” said Ginny. “We certainly picked the right hotel.”
“Did I hear you say something about a trial?” the man asked.
“Yes. I’ve got some legal troubles I’d like to bring before a judge.”
“Something came up just today,” Whitmer said, “and our judge headed west and will be gone awhile. We have a justice of the peace here in town, but the cases stack up. You’ll have to wait your turn.”
“A town as big as Cheyenne only has one judge and one justice of the peace?” Kat sounded a little put out.
“We’re fast-growing, ma’am, but still mighty new. We sometimes have to wait awhile for cases to be heard.”
This was going to slow everything down. Even though Dakota didn’t know Thaddeus Rutledge and didn’t consider him much of a threat—not compared to the men hunting him—still, he sensed the hot breath of Rutledge like the steam from a locomotive.
Thaddeus directed his gaze out the window at the busy people on the street. He sat in the closest thing to a comfortable chair, his leg propped up, a constant ache in all his joints, and contemplated owning Omaha.
It wasn’t Chicago. Not a real city, but there was money to be made here, and idleness had never suited him. His head buzzed with ideas for buying up property. Renting out tenements. Chances are he had enough money to put a down payment on something. But first he’d need to find a banker who wasn’t well connected to the financial world outside of Omaha.
He’d use the first banker by telling a few tall tales, delivered with the cold confidence he’d always been able to summon when talking business. Soon the banks around town would know they were dealing with a man of consequence, and they’d fall over themselves loaning him enough money to finance properties all over Omaha.
Thaddeus would rebuild his wealth by leveraging his iron will and sharp skills. It tasted sweet to think of doing it on his own, without his fool wife’s money. He could then let her go, and good riddance. He’d make a life for himself right here in Omaha. In such a backward place they’d be grateful that a successful man with as much knowledge and experience as Thaddeus Rutledge would deign to settle in their midst and help them run the town right.
He could be among the most influential men in town before long. For he knew how to present himself as much richer than he truly was. No banker would look at him for more than a minute and not see he was dealing with a rich, powerful man.
At the thought of what kind of impression he’d make on a banker, Thaddeus glanced down at his suit. He’d brought it and one other when he’d left Chicago. Both were a bit stained and worn and sadly out of date. He hadn’t been to a tailor in a while. In Chicago, the one he preferred had become obstinate and downright rude about extending credit. And there hadn’t been time for such a thing as finding a good tailor here in Omaha.
Thaddeus knew he looked a bit ragged these days, which was another thing he blamed Ginny for. His hair had gone white as the years passed, and the burden of searching for her had curved his shoulders downward. Pain had carved lines into his face. His hair could use a trim, as he’d neglected barbering for some time now.
Maybe he should get himself a new suit and a haircut to project the right image. Then he’d just see about settling into this cow town. He could do it. Be a big man around here.
His eyes landed on a newspaper next to him. He’d been exhausted since arriving in Omaha—the trip had been a terrible strain—and he’d been paying little attention to the outside world. It wasn’t until today that he felt rested enough to contemplate such things as taking over this backwater of a city. His eyes scanned the front-page headlines:
Jay Cooke Bankruptcy Rocks Financial World
Wall Street Panic-Stricken
Jay Cooke! Thaddeus knew him ... that is, Thaddeus knew of him. Jay Cooke was one of the top men in New York. He’d borrowed millions to build a railroad and had been seeking additional millions from his European connections.
Now bankrupt.
Thaddeus wasn’t surprised to read that Wall Street was in a panic. He relished the thought of an arrogant man like Cooke having gone bankrupt. Thaddeus always enjoyed it when other people faced hard times.
The amusement didn’t last more than a few moments, though, because Thaddeus knew what was likely to happen next.
Jay Cooke was too big, too powerful. When someone like him went under, he dragged lots of others under with him. No doubt this news would kick up a recession that might very well set the whole country back. Banks all over the nation would struggle to remain open.
Thaddeus’s pulse sped up. He had to get to the bank here in Omaha before it failed. Get his money out. Once those doors locked, the money would be gone for good.
He’d go today. Get as much gold coins as he could back into his possession. He’d make it. It would take a bit of time for Cooke’s troubles to reach out this far, but it would get here. Omaha’s banks would soon close, and when they did, there would be no mortgages given. And that would put to death his plans to build his own wealth in Omaha.
His stomach twisted, for the way out of his financial malaise had just vanished, as if some magician had done a trick and made his future prospects disappear.
He remembered how Eugenia’s father had invested his money. It had been managed conservatively, and there was no debt he knew of to be called in. No mortgage held by a collapsing bank that would drag the Wyse fortune under with it. In fact, just as Eugenia had come out of the Great Chicago Fire richer than ever, she’d now possess one of the few solvent fortunes in America. Wyse hadn’t held debt, and he hadn’t held stock for any company that might go out of business.
All of his wife’s wealth would survive, probably double. He’d liked the idea of wheeling and dealing his way back to wealth on his own, but those plans had just gone down in flames along with Jay Cooke. Getting his hands on Eugenia’s money was now Thaddeus’s best chance to build a promising future for himself. A financial panic could drag on for years. He needed the money Eugenia had stolen from him. He had to find her.
His scheming cut off as he glimpsed a man striding down the street, who turned at the walkway leading to his rented house. The man wore a long leather coat that looked to have been made by hand. His hat was one of those Stetsons. He had a holster strapped low on his hips with a pistol riding by his right hand.
What could this stranger want? What business did he have here in Omaha?
Had Thaddeus’s Chicago creditors tracked him down? Had they sent one of their men to demand a reckoning? His heart started racing again.He eyed the pistol and considered the fact that he lived in a far more lawless town out here in the West than when living in Chicago. And he hadn’t made any arrangements, as he had in Chicago, to make a quick and quiet escape if the need arose for one.
A hard rap at the door jerked Thaddeus’s head around, and he braced himself to leap out of his chair and run. But he was a man who ran too slowly these days.
It was only seconds before Sykes emerged from the back of the house. He paused in the doorway to the sitting room where Thaddeus spent his days.
“Find out who it is,” Thaddeus said, “and what it is he wants. I don’t care what he says—I won’t see anyone.”
Sykes nodded and moved to the front door.
There was the low murmur of voices, for far too long. He heard Sykes speak only one word loud enough to understand: “Where?”
Thaddeus began to itch from the wait and considered rising from his chair to see what was going on. Before he could get up, the door closed and Sykes came back into the sitting room. Thaddeus watched their visitor walk away from the house, then disappear from sight around a corner. He turned to Sykes and knew what he was going to say just from the shine in his eyes.
“They found her. Mrs. Rutledge is in Cheyenne, Wyoming.”
Thaddeus felt a rush of excitement, quickly followed by irritation. “Cheyenne, Wyoming?”
Sykes walked over to a stack of papers they’d brought with them and tapped his finger on the map he’d pulled to the top. He looked at Thaddeus, the shine in his eyes even brighter. “Cheyenne is right on the railway line now. Only a day’s travel away. Two at the most.”
With great effort, Thaddeus got up and went to the map. He hurt. His arm, his leg, nearly every joint in his aging body. All that hurt turned to anger at his wife.
He grabbed a sheet of paper and jotted down a note. “Send this telegraph. Wait for a reply. Then hurry back here. Based on what answer you get, we’ll know when to leave. I’ve got one errand to run besides the telegraph. I’ll tend to that while you’re at the telegraph office. Summon a carriage for me before you leave to send the wire.”
He’d put the money in the bank quietly, without Sykes there. And he’d take it out the same way.
“Before the end of the day, we’ll buy train tickets and head west. I’ll soon be reunited with my troublesome wife. And it’s long past time.”