No Less Than the Journey (20 page)

Besides, Pat Rafferty had unstrapped his shotgun from his bag and neither of the Denver policemen doubted that he would use it to good effect if they made a move against his companions.

CHAPTER 5

For the next few days Aaron was kept busy in his role as US Marshal for The Territories, meeting officials of the various areas and settling in to the office allocated to him by the Colorado Territorial governor.

He learned there was great dissatisfaction in Denver with Police Chief Jack Kelly and considerable disquiet about some of the men he had appointed as officers in his police force. McAvoy, in particular, was known as a blustering bully, inclined to use his fists too readily on men who were too drunk to retaliate.

Because he did not trust Kelly, Aaron swore in two recently retired army sergeants as temporary deputy marshals and despatched Archie Leveridge in their custody to Jefferson City, Missouri. They carried with them a note from Aaron, explaining that the wanted man had been shot by Anabelita and claiming on her behalf the posted reward for his capture.

Aaron quickly became aware there was great potential in Denver for making money – either honestly or otherwise. When thousands of miners had flocked to the Rocky Mountain goldfields seeking their fortune, dubious brothels and
gambling saloons followed in their wake to cater for their masculine needs and relieve them of their hard-won gold. Denver grew up around them.

Brothels and gambling houses still existed in present-day Denver, but the town’s authorities had succeeded in containing them inside an area that was studiously avoided by Denver’s more recent ‘respectable’ residents.

Gaming houses and saloons did exist outside this section of the town, but they were run along more acceptable lines, tolerating neither rowdiness nor vice and frowning upon discernible dishonesty.

Although he was kept busy on government business, Aaron still found time to pursue his intention to open a gambling saloon. For a while it seemed unlikely he would succeed, but when Anabelita and Lola were becoming restless, and Pat Rafferty despondent about his own prospects, Aaron was told of a building that had been built as a theatre but had functioned as such for only a brief period of time.

It seemed that the owner-builder had left Denver in a great hurry when the husband of the woman he had run off with from somewhere in the East, came to town seeking them both.

The property had been left in the hands of a lawyer with instructions to sell the theatre for whatever he could obtain and send a banker’s draft for the amount to a secret address.

Aaron took Anabelita, Lola and Pat along with him to inspect what was on offer and each of them was impressed with the theatre’s potential. A certain amount of work would need to be done before it became fully operational, but it was less than Aaron had anticipated and the gilt and chandeliers inside the building excited both women, who went around pointing out each new feature as it was found.

Pat Rafferty was impressed too, declaring the stage to be an
ideal place from which chips and money could be safely issued and from where he would be able to oversee most of what would be going on in the gaming-room.

The matter was clinched when the lawyer showing them around mentioned that he knew an excellent carpenter who could construct all the furniture Aaron would need in order to transform the theatre into a superior gambling emporium.

Aaron decided his new venture would be called the ‘Thespian Club’ and the lawyer told him it was likely to become the second largest such establishment in Denver. The number one gaming-house in Denver was owned by a man named Vic Walsh, who had arrived from the East with a great deal of money to invest in his own gambling venture.

The lawyer knew little about Walsh’s background, but told Aaron he had earned a reputation for himself as running a respectable business, even though he was credited with forcing a number of less scrupulous establishments to close their doors, the owners leaving town in an unexplained hurry.

As Walsh had let it be known he intended Denver should gain a reputation as the West’s centre for honest gambling, he was given credit for their hasty departures.

It seemed he neither denied nor admitted responsibility for ridding Denver of such establishments, but the more cynical of the town’s residents pointed out that business at Walsh’s Palace was booming as a result of the demise of his rivals.

A couple of days before the advertised opening of the Thespian Club, Aaron was in the Marshal’s office, catching up on paperwork, when a man was shown in by one of the deputies who occupied the outer office. Dark-haired and of stocky build, the man introduced himself as Vic Walsh in a dialect that Aaron recognized as being the same as that spoken by Wes. It seemed Walsh was a Cornishman.

Extending a hand to Aaron, Walsh said, ‘I’m pleased to
make your acquaintance, Marshal, I’m the owner of the Palace.’

‘I know who you are, Mr Walsh – I also recognize your accent. Unless I am mistaken your early life was spent in Cornwall, in England.’

Temporarily taken aback, Walsh recovered quickly, ‘That’s very astute of you, Marshal, but you’ve no doubt met many Cornishmen since you arrived in Denver, we form the backbone of a great many American mining communities.’

‘I met up with a Cornishman before my arrival in Denver, Mr Walsh. Wesley Curnow and I travelled together from New York to New Orleans on the ship that brought him from England. He is a miner, but on the steamboat coming upriver to St Louis he handled himself so well when we were attacked by river pirates that I had hoped to make him a Deputy Marshal and bring him out here with me.’

Walsh appeared impressed, ‘I heard about the way you dealt with the river pirates, Marshal and was very impressed, but I wasn’t aware a Cornishman had been involved with you.’

‘Well, you know now,’ Aaron said, ‘but take a seat, I don’t suppose you’ve come here to chat about your countrymen, or to welcome me to Denver. You’ll no doubt have something to say about me opening up the Thespian Club in opposition to your Palace.’

‘I sincerely hope we’re not going to be in opposition, Marshal, I’m rather hoping the Thespian Club and the Palace will complement each other and that, together, you and I will be able to shut down the sleazy gaming-rooms that give gambling such a bad name….’

Correctly interpreting Aaron’s sceptical expression, Vic Walsh said, ‘I don’t know what you might have heard about me, Marshal, but I’d like to tell you myself exactly where I
stand, so there can be no misunderstanding between us. I am an ambitious man and will move heaven and earth to further that ambition, but I am also an
honest
man, something that can on occasion prove a weakness as well as a strength. You know yourself that you’ll never be able to prevent men from gambling and, like me, you’ve decided to make money from their requirements – and why not? If we don’t there are many others who will and most in this part of the world are dishonest. They are out to make quick money and get out when their honesty is questioned. I am not such a man – and I don’t believe you are, either. If you were, you wouldn’t be such a well-respected United States Marshal and I wouldn’t be here talking to you as I am. I think we both know that a man who runs an honest house can make more money in the long-term than a crooked gambler will ever see. I am in Denver to stay, Marshal. I have made it my home and I have my sights set on becoming Mayor. One day, when Colorado is a State and Denver its capital I might even look to Congress and the Senate.’

Aaron’s gut reaction was that Walsh was trying too hard to portray himself as an honest man, but he said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with a man having ambition, Mr Walsh, but you’re counting on a great many things that haven’t yet happened. If Colorado is to be admitted as a State and Denver made its capital, both need to prove they’re fit to be given what they want. Quite frankly, where law and order are concerned I, for one, am going to need some convincing!’

Leaning forward in his chair, Walsh said, ‘I wouldn’t argue with you about that, Marshal – but with me as Mayor – and with your backing – everything could change. There are a great many honest folk in Denver who are aware that things are not going to change while brothel keepers and crooked gamblers are pouring money into the pockets of the present
mayor and too many of the city councillors. We had an election last year that should have got rid of the Council’s rotten core, but gamblers and prostitutes went to the polls by the cartload. I swear there were more of them than there are registered residents in the town. The result was we finished up with the same Corporation – and the same problems. I am determined it won’t happen again. It’s not going to be easy, but I’m going to do my damnedest to make Denver a place to be proud of.’

Reserving judgement on his visitor, Aaron remained cautious. ‘I’m glad you came to see me today, Mr Walsh and if you run the Palace as I intend running the Thespian Club we’ll have the foundation for the gambling Mecca you hope to have in Denver. As for the rest, if you can provide me with records of the last election and they’re as false as you claim, you might make it to Mayor sooner than you think – and if Wesley Curnow ever makes it to Denver, as I hope he will, you could do worse than have him – a fellow Cornishman – as your next police chief.’

CHAPTER 1

‘If we’d shot that damn mule of yours when she went berserk and upset the conductor on the Kansas Pacific, we might have arrived and found them still here.’

Wes was more than half-serious. He and Old Charlie had reached Abilene only to learn that Aaron, Anabelita and Lola had left for Denver days before with Pat Rafferty. Irritably, he placed the blame for missing them squarely upon the old mountain-man’s mule.

Old Charlie understood Wes’s disappointment, but he was hurt by his comments about his mule. ‘That ain’t no way to talk about Nellie, Wes. She just didn’t like the company she had on the train. Come to think of it, I didn’t care none for it myself. Besides, according to the deputy they only stayed in Abilene for one night. They’d left before we even stepped onboard the train.’

Aware that Old Charlie was right and that he had upset him unnecessarily, Wes said grudgingly, ‘All right, so it wasn’t Nellie’s fault and we’d have missed them anyway, at least we can take the next train to Denver and catch up with them in a couple of days….’

‘Catch another train…? No, sir!’ Shaking his head vigorously, Old Charlie declared, ‘Me and Nellie have had enough of trains to last us both our lifetimes – and you still need more practise with that pretty six-shooter of yours before you meet up with the men you’re going to come up against in Colorado Territory.’

Wes looked at the old man with an expression of disbelief. ‘You’re not suggesting we ride all the way to Colorado?’

‘I’m not
suggesting
anything, I’m
telling
you that if you don’t get in more practice you’ll be shot dead by the first man who pulls a gun on you. I’m not saying you can’t handle a rifle well enough. I’ll go as far as to say you can use it as well as any man I’ve known. If you and I had met years ago we could have made a fortune hunting buffalo – but you need more work with a handgun, boy. I reckon another ten days should do it – if you work at it hard enough.’

‘Ten days! Is that how long it would take to ride to Denver?’

‘I reckon … give or take a day or two.’ Old Charlie was aware he was being dishonestly optimistic. Denver was some four hundred miles away across Great Plains country, where Indian bands still hunted buffalo – and white men – and where the weather was notoriously unpredictable. A horseman would be fortunate to complete such a journey in twice the time.

Unaware that a ten day estimate was likely to prove wildly inaccurate, Wes seriously considered what the old frontiersman had said. He was aware of his shortcomings when it came to using a handgun, but he learned fast and was quickly mastering what Old Charlie considered to be an essential skill.

Although he believed the ‘frontier’ Old Charlie had known in his young days probably no longer existed, Wes actually enjoyed mastering a gunman’s skills and the old frontiersman
was both interesting and knowledgeable about the vast continent over which they were travelling.

In addition, and despite Old Charlie’s eccentricity and occasional irascibility, Wes had grown fond of him. He decided that, as Anabelita was not expecting him, a few extra days would make little difference.

‘Are you sure you’ll be able to find your way to Denver, Charlie?’

The old man spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dust of the street in disgust. ‘Boy, I guided wagon trains along the Smoky Hill trail before anyone knew there was a trail there – and I’ve fought Kiowa, Comanche, Cheyenne and Arapaho for the right to do it. Not only that, I kept most of Colonel Butterfield’s relay stations in buffalo meat when he was running his stage line to Denver. Then, when the railroad was being laid I kept their gangs fed – though there’s many times now I wish I’d let ’em fend for themselves. It might have meant there’d have been no railroad and we’d all be the better for it.’

Ignoring Old Charlie’s views on the benefits, or otherwise, of progress, Wes said, ‘If you really
do
know the way to Denver and it’s only going to take ten days then I’ll go along with you – but if you’re telling me wrong I’ll take off for the nearest railroad station and leave you out there on your own.’

‘If that’s meant to be a threat you’re well wide of the mark, boy. I’ve spent more time on my own than I have being crowded by folk and I like it that way. The only reason I’m inviting you to come along with me is because I believe you have the makings of a frontiersman – although you’d never have survived as a mountain-man – and I’d like to make sure you stand a chance of staying alive before I turn you loose.’

Their cross-country trek began well enough. Old Charlie had Wes practising hard with his revolver and when they came
across a rattlesnake Wes drew the gun and shot the snake with an accuracy and speed that so delighted the old man he skinned the snake and made bands for his own battered headgear and for the wide-brimmed hat he had insisted Wes bought in the first store they came across after being thrown off the train in Missouri.

Nine days after leaving Abilene they arrived at Fort Hays. Declaring that he had ‘had a bellyful of army forts’ Old Charlie ensured they stopped only long enough to replenish their stores and buy more ammunition before setting off again.

Thirty-six hours later Wes expressed his increasing concern at the lack of signs of civilisation about them. If Denver was the bustling place they had been told it was, there should have been others heading for the town.

Instead, they had now reached country which appeared devoid of all human life, even though Wes thought it good farming land which should have appealed to settlers in close proximity to such a busy place.

When he questioned Charlie, the old man avoided giving him a direct answer, saying only that settlers would reach this part of the land ‘soon enough’.

It was not until the following day that Wes learned the truth.

They were following the course of the Smoky Mountain River, heading westward, when they heard the unmistakable sound of horses coming along the trail behind them.

This was uncertain country and, as a precaution, the two men took cover behind some bushes, a short way from the river. They remained in hiding until the riders came into view and proved to be a large troop of cavalry riding at a sharp canter.

When Charlie and Wes showed themselves, the captain leading the troop brought his men to a halt. To Wes’s surprise
the officer and Old Charlie appeared to know one another well.

Shaking hands with him, the Captain said, ‘I heard you had been to the fort, Charlie. I was sorry to have missed you then but I’m even happier to have met up with you today. You are just the man I need.’

‘When the army’s told me in the past that I’m needed it’s always spelled trouble. I don’t suppose that’s changed. What is it this time?’

‘Same as it was the last time you and I rode together, Charlie … Indians. A messenger from Fort Larred came riding in hell-for-leather late yesterday. Seems a whole mess of Cheyenne and Arapaho have got themselves het up over something and gone on the warpath. They’ve raided a few farms down Larred way and are heading north hoping to join up with Sioux and Northern Cheyenne who are giving the cavalry the runaround. Fort Larred doesn’t have enough troops to go chasing after them so they’ve asked for help from Fort Hays. I’ve been sent out to try and head the war party off. Trouble is, although we have enough men at Fort Hays, we took over garrison duty there only a month ago and there’s no one who knows the country, but if I remember right, you know the Plains country better than most.’

‘I wouldn’t argue with that,’ Old Charlie agreed. ‘Had an Indian woman when I first came this way … this was Cheyenne country in those days and I’d hunt buffalo for her people. Did the same for the army, as you know. Country ain’t the same nowadays though, too many settlers and not enough buffalo. It was better in the old days.’

‘I’ve heard a lot of old-timers say the same, Charlie, but none of us can turn back the clock – and right now we haven’t got time enough to discuss it. We need to head the Indians off before they get among the settlers farther north. Once there
they’d cause havoc.’

Listening to the cavalry captain, Wes had become increasingly concerned and now he queried, ‘These Indians … are there a lot of them? Enough to attack Denver?’

The captain looked at Wes with an expression of bewilderment and Old Charlie said hurriedly, ‘He’s a greenhorn, new from England. I’m showing him something of the country.’

‘Then I suggest you get him a map – and fast!’

Turning his attention to Wes, the captain replied to his question, ‘It’s certainly a large party. The largest we’ve had on the loose for some years, but if it’s Denver you’re heading for, then you’ll find the railroad no more than nine or ten miles north of here. I suggest you head in that direction and take a train to Denver. You’ll be safe there from … from these Indians, anyway. Like I said, they’re heading north and Denver is more than two hundred miles to the west.’

Wes looked at the captain in disbelief before rounding on Old Charlie. ‘Is he right? Is Denver still two hundred miles away?’

Old Charlie’s embarrassment was evident and he mumbled, ‘Could be … I’m not too good on distances.’

‘You told me we’d reach there in ten days,’ Wes pointed out, his anger fuelled by the amusement exhibited by the troopers within hearing of the exchange, ‘That was eleven days ago. Now I learn that there’s two hundred more miles to go. You lied to me, Charlie.’

‘It’s just taken longer than it should have,’ Old Charlie said, lamely, ‘Your horse losing a shoe set us back, you know that….’

He was evading the truth as Wes was fully aware … but the captain cut in on their altercation, ‘You’ll need to settle your difference some other time, there are lives at stake out there on
the Plains. You know this country better than any other white man, Charlie, and can follow a trail as well as an Indian. I need you – and those unsuspecting settlers with their women and kids need you even more.’

‘I can’t just leave Wes out here on his own, Captain. Like I told you, he’s a greenhorn.’

‘You won’t be leaving me, Charlie, I’m leaving you! Point me in the direction of the railroad, Captain, then you can take Charlie to go and find your Indians or to any other place you like. I’m catching the next train to Denver.’

‘Like I said, the railroad is due north of here, about eight or ten miles and you should come to the small town of Lauraville before you get there.’

Turning to a trooper with a number of yellow stripes on the sleeve of his uniform, the cavalry captain asked, ‘Do you have an issue compass on you, Casey?’

By way of reply the veteran trooper pulled on a piece of cord hanging from a breast pocket to reveal a compass attached to the end of it.

‘Good! Give it to this young man in case he forgets where north is.’

When it looked as though the veteran cavalryman might object, the captain added, ‘I’ll write you a chit to draw another when we get back to Fort Hays.’

The sergeant handed over the compass, but now it was Old Charlie who was not happy. ‘The boy’s new out here, captain. I feel responsible for him.’

The sharp edge of Wes’s anger had evaporated as quickly as it had erupted and now he said, ‘Don’t worry about me, Charlie. You heard what the captain said, there’s no one out here can help him more than you and I believe him. You take care of yourself and come and find me in Denver when you’ve sorted this out.’

‘I’ll surely do that,’ Old Charlie promised, but he still had misgivings and, as Wes turned away, he called out after him.

‘Don’t forget to keep that fancy six-shooter of yours hidden away when you reach Lauraville. You’re good enough now to hold your own against ninety-nine out of a hundred men you’re likely to meet up with – but the hundredth will always be waiting out there somewhere.’

‘Come on, Charlie, we’ve got some riding to do.’ The cavalry captain spoke impatiently. ‘Perhaps you should have given your mule to your pal and taken his horse….’

Old Charlie was still berating the cavalry officer for his suggestion when Wes rode off, heading northwards, while the cavalry troop cantered off along the Smoky Hill trail.