Chapter 8 #2
The long, rectangular room was as fancy as the lobby, but more brightly lit from the tall windows facing Main Street.
Four tables across and eight rows of tables in length, two unlit fireplaces had been built into the wall on the left, and a set of stairs along the end wall led upstairs.
Wood paneling about shoulder height ran around the outside walls with flowered paper above.
The ceiling was covered with ornate tin sheeting.
Unlike most establishments in Elkhorn, there didn’t appear to be any bullet holes in the walls. With its rule about firearms, the management was obviously planning to keep it that way.
The judge glanced up, spotting him standing by the door. He looked startled at first, then smiled and stood to greet Caleb as if he were expecting him all along.
The man was of medium height, at least half a head shorter than Caleb.
He had a solid build and longish, graying hair that gave him a refined air of respectability.
He was clean-shaven, but sported long, thick side whiskers.
A watch chain draped from the buttonhole of the pocket on the silver-gray waistcoat he wore beneath his charcoal suit.
Even standing still, the judge seemed to be about to burst with some tautly held energy.
Caleb had seen the same thing in wild stallions out on the range.
Patterson motioned him over and gestured to a chair. “Marlowe, how well you look. Have you eaten?”
“I ain’t eating.”
“How is your partner?”
Reminding him of the favor he thought Caleb owed him. “Henry is fine.”
“The ranch?”
“I ain’t here to chitchat.”
“Very well. Good to know. What brings you to town?”
Caleb held his gaze but didn’t sit. “I got some business with a man I heard has become an employee of yours.”
The judge laughed, a short exhalation of air, and motioned to a waiter to bring another drink for himself and one for Caleb.
“Sit, Marlowe. I can see we need to talk.”
“Was he here?”
“He was. He’s coming back.” Patterson again motioned to the chair.
Caleb sat down, putting his back to the window. He wasn’t about to let Elijah Starr get behind him.
“Why hire a man that tried to kill you?”
Patterson frowned and drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. On the back of his hand, a scar was plainly visible, jagged and red on the judge’s pale skin. It was the mark where Starr’s knife cut through his flesh and pinned him to a table on Caleb’s porch.
“It took me a while to sort it out, but Starr is much more valuable to me alive than dead.”
Zeke told Caleb about all the back and forth talk between Patterson and the prisoner. He was sure the letters his father had been sending judge had something to do with this change of heart.
“It’s a good thing, having him work for me. A very good thing.”
Caleb gestured toward the hand. “I never figured you for a man to forget things.”
“It’s business.” Patterson waved toward the window. “Our world is growing quickly. It’s changing. A man like me can’t hold on to slights from the past. I have to think of the future that I want. And not just for me. For this town.”
“You own this town. Everything in it. Everyone in it.”
“That’s true, in many ways. I’ve staked my life and future on it. It’s my town, and I don’t plan to give it up to anyone, least of all someone like Eric Goulden.”
The waiter returned with the drinks and placed them on the table. Neither man reached for his glass.
“I thought you settled that back in the summer when all Goulden’s men were killed or arrested. You had the leader of his band of killers in jail, ready for trial and hanging.”
“True. But I know he’ll be coming at me again.”
Patterson sat forward in his chair and smoothed the cloth with one hand. As he talked, he used his index finger to emphasize his points.
“Marlowe, no one knows how much silver is in those hills. Maybe we’re sitting on another Comstock Lode, maybe we’re not.”
Caleb knew that the mines around Elkhorn were continuing to produce vast amounts of precious ore, but he also knew of men like Zeke, whose efforts to dig silver out of the mountain were showing less and less return.
“One way or another, the future of the West lies in its railroads. And the men who build and control them will be the titans of our time.”
As the judge continued, Caleb kept his eyes on the stairway at one end of the room. He noticed that the lobby doors stood open a crack. No doubt Patterson’s bodyguards were keeping a close eye on him.
He wasn’t concerned about them, however. But he had no doubt his father would kill him without a blink of his one eye.
“There are great riches to be gained from gold and silver, I grant you. But what will happen to those men who fail to find it? Those men who left their farms and trades to chase the fevered dreams of gold?” He spread his hand over the table.
“I’ll tell you what will become of them.
They will look around them and say, ‘This is land I can farm. Land that’s better than what I left behind.
’ They’ll say, ‘These are towns that need a cooper and a blacksmith and a cobbler and a tailor.’ And they’ll stay. ”
Patterson pounded his fist once on the table like a gavel.
“And what will provide the lifeblood for the thousand towns that will spring up?”
“Railroads.”
“You’re a smart man, Marlowe. You know the answer. Yes, railroads. Railroads are the future of the frontier. The future of the nation. And that’s why I say Goulden will be back, unless I do something about it first. I’m getting into the rail business myself.”
“You aim to be one of them titans.”
The judge lowered his voice. “You’re damn right.
Think about the opportunity that we have if we’re smart enough to grasp it.
” He took a deep breath. “You helped me beat Eric Goulden at his own game…but only for the moment. This is war. I outsmarted him on paper, but you outgunned him in the field. If we move now, we can run a rail line from Denver to Elkhorn. And we won’t stop there.
We’ll extend that railroad south, past your ranch, all the way to Santa Fe. Think of it, Marlowe.”
Caleb thought of something else entirely.
A porch. A finished barn. Winter evenings at Doc Burnett's table. Sheila laughing at one of Henry's foolish stories while Bear slept beside the stove.
Patterson saw an empire. Caleb wanted something smaller.
Something more valuable.
The judge looked out at the street again for a moment, and Caleb could see him envisioning an Elkhorn that would rival the great cities of the East. With himself presiding over it all.
“But to do this,” Patterson concluded, “we need to act now. We need men who know rail construction. Men who aren’t afraid to do what is necessary to complete this great enterprise.”
“Men who are ruthless.” Back in Bonedale, Caleb had spoken to a woman who’d been widowed and left with three young children. Starr had killed her husband in cold blood to take their farm. It stood in the path of his rail line. And no doubt there were hundreds like Widow Caswell.
“Yes. Whatever it takes. I don’t need morality. I need commitment. And no one is more suited to the task than Elijah Starr. He’s already proven himself to me.”
As if he’d been conjured from some boiling cauldron, Caleb’s father appeared on the stairs at the end of the dining room. He was holding some papers in his hand. He paused halfway down, stared at Caleb for a moment, and then continued his descent.
Caleb stood.
For an instant he felt the old fires surge upward. The same inferno that had nearly consumed him on the ranch in July. Then he remembered Sheila’s hand in his. Remembered her asking him to think.
The anger remained. But he carried it with him instead of letting it carry him.
Then he crossed the room to meet Elijah Starr.