Shadow of Legends (28 page)

“Yep . . . I do. And I'm proud of you, son, for runnin' 'em down.” Brazos turned away from the stove and rubbed his beard, slipping a finger up to the corner of his eye. “It was my job to take care of, and I wasn't here. I was out runnin' around like some gold rush fool. Good thing I got a kid who's smarter than me.”

“Ain't nothin' you could have done that Todd didn't do,” Quiet Jim added. “Besides, I got another healthy baby and Columbia's doin' fine. Are you telling me I had a bad month?”

Brazos took a long slow look at everyone around the stove. “No,” he finally roared. “I'll tell you who's having a bad month. It's Professor Edwards here. Have you ever in your life seen a more horrible looking suit?”

Grass Edwards frowned. “It's quite the style in San Francisco.”

“It looks like curtains down at the Green Door,” Yapper Jim blurted out. “Not that I've ever been there, mind you.”

“You boys jist go ahead and vent your jealousy,” Grass said. “As I was telling the governor of California . . .”

“The governor?” Brazos whooped.

“He and his lovely wife attended several of my lectures.”

“Why? Is his life so boring that your lecture was more interesting?” Yapper Jim hooted.

Todd glanced at the four men, each one over fifty. “I know why Quiet Jim's sitting there with a big smile on his face. There are tall stories once again being told around the stove at the hardware. Things are back to normal in Deadwood.”

Quiet Jim's smile peeked cautiously out of his leather-tough face. “Even in a wheelchair, it seems good, real good.”

“I'll have to agree with you there, but I've got a store to run,” Todd announced. “Whenever you run out of stories, I'll tell you about Mrs. Gordon . . . and the man who wanted to buy the hardware.”

“I hear you cold-cocked old man Olene and now he's going to build a store and put us out of business?” Brazos said. “Quiet Jim filled me in some. I surely wish I could have been here to turn him down in person.”

“You didn't see the offer.”

Brazos glanced at the men drinking coffee. “There ain't enough gold in the Homestake to be worth the value sittin' around this stove.”

“That was my appraisal, too.” Todd had just reached the counter at the back of the building when a short man with a brown plaid suit, round hat, and crisp bow tie entered the store. He watched as the man marched up to Dub Montgomery. Todd strained to hear the conversation.

“Excuse me, I'm Hawthorne Miller, and I need to see . . .”

“
The
Hawthorne Miller, the writer of dime novels?” Dub quizzed.

The man pulled a long, almost black cigar from his vest pocket and bit off the end of it. “Yes, and I would like to speak to Mr. Fortune.”

“He's back at the woodstove.”

Todd's eyes followed the man toward the stove.

“One of you men Mr. Fortune?” Miller probed, looking each over.

“That's me,” Brazos offered.

“Nice suit,” Grass Edwards commented.

“Eh, yes . . . and the same to you,” Miller mumbled.

“Thank ya,” Grass beamed.

“You a drummer?” Brazos inquired.

“No, I'm a writer. Hawthorne Miller's the name. Perhaps you've heard of me.”

Brazos shook his head. “Can't say that I have. What can I do for you?”

Miller hesitated while he lit the cigar. “I might as well come right out. I didn't think Todd Fortune was quite as old as you are.”

“Todd's my oldest boy,” Brazos announced. “He's the one over at the counter runnin' the store.”

Miller glanced at Todd and tipped his hat, then turned to the men near the woodstove. “Nice meeting you, gents. I hope to write a book about Mr. Todd Fortune's recent exploits. It's certainly nice to meet his father.”

Miller strolled toward the counter at the back of the store.

Todd's eyes locked briefly onto his father's.

You heard him, Daddy Brazos. You are Todd Fortune's father. You thought you'd never see the day that you were defined by who your children are, did you?

To tell you the truth, neither did I.

Look for Samuel Fortune's story in

Book Three

Fortune of the Black Hills

The Long Trail Home