Shadow of Legends (8 page)

Todd laid down the tack hammer. “What hunting trip?”

“Over in the Bighorns.” She stood on her tiptoes and sucked in her stomach.

“The Bighorns? That's a hundred-and-eighty miles. When did they decide on that?”

“This morning. Didn't Daddy tell you?” Dacee June threw her shoulders back and her chest forward as she continued to look in the mirror.

“It must have slipped his mind,” Todd mumbled. “When are they leaving?”

Dacee June made a face at the image in the mirror. “After lunch.”

“Today?” Todd rolled down his sleeves and refastened them. “Did he talk to Rebekah about you staying with us?”

“No, but I did. Daddy said I could go with them, but I think he needs to get along without me once in a while. After all, one of these days he'll be on his own, you know, when I have my own family to tend to, and then . . .”

“You going to have that family soon?” Todd chided.

“No, not soon!” she snapped. “Frankly, I think those old men just want an excuse to check out the gold discovery over in Devil's Canyon.”

“That's Crow land. No one's allowed to prospect in there,” Todd cautioned.

“That didn't keep them out of the Black Hills, either. They said it sounded like the early days of Deadwood. But they don't intend to prospect. They just want to hunt and look around.”

“Where's Daddy now?”

“He went to the livery to rent a pack string.”

“Is he coming back to the store?”

“I don't think so. I think he's just going to gather his gear and leave. I already told him good-bye.”

Todd pulled out his pocket watch. “It's almost noon. Think I'll take a break and find him. Would you have Carty pack this crate of glass over to the International?”

“I could take it.”

“It's too heavy.”

“I could go over to the International and have one of their clerks come pick it up.”

“The one with the fetching smile?”

“Oh!” she beamed. “I never thought of that!”

“Have Carty do it.”

“Perhaps you could write down your instructions for him.”

“Why?”

“Because I have no intention of talking to him until he gives me a compliment about how I look.”

“Does he know that?”

Nebraska Livery stretched along Whitewood Creek, between Sherman Street and the east side of the gulch. Brazos Fortune reclined on the split rail corral fence when Todd ambled up and ­rested his elbows on the top rail. “There's a rumor flying around Deadwood that you're pulling up stakes and drifting west.”

Brazos's eyes were aimed at the animals in the corral, but his gaze seemed to drift across some memories. “Figured I was due for a huntin' trip with the boys.”

Todd stared down at the corral dirt. “Who are you talking to? Is there anyone within shouting distance that believes that line? You aren't tracking a couple hundred miles just to go hunting.”

“Them Bighorn Mountains is full of game.”

“What do you intend to hunt with a gold pan, shovel, pick, and a jar of mercury?” Todd challenged.

“Yapper Jim thought we ought to pack those along. But I'm not a prospector, you know that.” Brazos shot a quick glare at Todd, then returned to his scrutiny of the animals. “Never have been.”

“You claim you aren't a businessman, either. But you own a few buildings and a store.”

“You can run the store without me a few days. Shoot, you can run the whole thing without me for a year. Ever'one knows you're the businessman of the family.”

Todd noticed his father was wearing his revolver under his suit coat. “It just seems strange for you to make plans about leaving without checking with me first.”

“I'm checking with you now. Do I have your permission to leave town for a couple weeks, Son?”

“You don't need my permission.”

“Then what's this conversation about?”

“Dad, look . . . I'd just like to know what your plans are ahead of time, so I can make arrangements.”

“Shoot, Son . . . I don't even know what my plans are ahead of time. That's the joy of havin' you here in Deadwood with me. It's mighty comfortin' to have a partner in the store and know I don't even have to show up. Say, can lil' sis board up with you and Rebekah? She doesn't want to travel with me like she did when she was young.”

“We'll take care of Dacee June.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Brazos nodded. “Think I'll take these two brown jacks.” He pointed out at the corral. “What do you think?”

“Depends on whether you plan on carrying meat or gold dust.”

“I told you I'm not interested in startin' back into prospectin', if that's what you aimin' at.”

“Come on, Dad, you and the boys are getting restless. I can hear it in your conversations every morning. It's crowded, almost civilized in Deadwood. Movin' on is in your blood. You know that.”

Brazos pointed up toward White Rocks. “No more. Beneath that Dakota Cross . . . this is home. I've got friends up on Mount Moriah. More and more ever' year. This is where I dropped anchor, and this is where I'll stay. I'm not movin'. Not to the Bighorns. Not back to Texas. Not up to western Montana, though the Lord knows it's a wonderful country up there. But jist because a man don't dance is no reason he can't enjoy the music. I'm goin' out there to listen to a new tune. That's all.” Brazos's eyes sparkled.

“Well, take care of yourself, Old Man. You've got a daughter you're not through raising and a prodigal that still needs to come home.”

Brazos's shoulders slumped. He suddenly looked ten years older. “You and Rebekah haven't heard from Samuel, have you?”

“Not since Christmas. I wouldn't hold that back.”

“I know, Son . . . I know.” Brazos rubbed both corners of his eyes with the same hand. “He'll be back. I know he will.”

“And you'd better be here waiting for him,” Todd insisted.

Brazos climbed down off the corral fence. “Two weeks. We'll be back in two weeks.”

“Who's going with you? Dacee June said the Jims might tag along, although I can't imagine you running off with Grass Edwards out of town.”

“I'd like to have Grass, but he's tied up a lecturin'. But, it's boiled down to just me and Yapper Jim. Quiet Jim . . . well, he's got to help Columbia with the children, her bein' infirm and all.”

“You leavin' this afternoon?”

“As soon as we get gathered up, I reckon,” Brazos said.

“You going to say good-bye to Mrs. Speaker?”

“Why don't you tell her for me.”

“Daddy . . . she's looked after us . . . including you . . . since she got to the hills. Stop and tell her good-bye. As you would say, it will satisfy her bones.”

“You're right.” Brazos punched his hat back with the thumb of his right hand. “Thelma's a fine lady. She'd be an even finer lady if her husband wouldn't have died.”

In his office on the second floor of Fortune & Son Hardware, Todd closed the ledger. In front of him were two pages of concise, neatly written inventory to be ordered. The afternoon sun reflected through the window and revealed tiny dust particles that seemed permanently imbedded in the stuffy air. He walked over and opened a window facing Main Street. To the northeast he spied the double freight wagons of an ox team plodding up the street.

I hope it's not one of ours. That's not true. We need the inventory. It's just . . . I'm tired. I want to go home, kick off my boots, and relax. Just me and Rebekah . . . and Dacee June!

Lord, I'm almost thirty. I've got a fine wife. A business to run. Good standing in the community. When Dad's around, I whine to You about standing in his shadow. Then as soon as he leaves, I miss him. It's easier to take the center stage when I know he's in the wings. I should be over that by now.

Could I even run a business by myself?

Or a bank.

If your daddy dies young, you surely find what you're made of a lot sooner. But then, you miss all those great years together. Robert's made his mark in the cavalry. None of the boys in blue, down on the border with General Crook, call him Brazos Fortune's baby boy. And Sam . . . well . . . along that owlhoot trail in the Indian Territory, it's a cinch they don't know about his daddy.

That leaves the oldest boy, the one who is supposed to follow the old man's footsteps.

He watched the stagecoach rumble in from Cheyenne. The stage stopped at the Merchant's Hotel owned by Professor and Mrs. Grass Edwards. The cloud of dust it generated scurried down the street. Three men rode up top with the driver. At least eight passengers climbed out of the coach.

I think I'd be a whole lot more content if Rebekah was satisfied. She misses her daddy. She misses her Chicago. She misses her friends.

Get to work, Fortune. Melancholy doesn't become you. Your mother, bless her soul, told you that.

He rebuttoned his sleeves, straightened his tie, and slipped on his jacket before he descended the stairs at the back of the store. The assistant store manager, Dub Montgomery, met him at the counter, twisting his rakishly curled waxed mustache.

“The man with the bowler is looking for you.” Montgomery, as tall as Todd, but weaker in the shoulders, pointed toward a man near the front door.

Todd glanced across the room at the gray haired man with hat in hand, the suit layered with a tinge of red road dust. “Is he a drummer?”

“Didn't say,” Montgomery added, finally releasing his mustache. “I've never seen him before, but if he's got boiler plating we'll take every section he can ship.”

Todd surveyed the busy store. “It's getting desperate for plating, isn't it?”

“The DeSmet and the Evergreen Mines will shut down if they don't get their steam engines repaired soon,” Dub announced.

“I'll go talk to him.”

The man was about four inches shorter than Todd and looked as old as his father. His bushy sideburns seemed to get wider and wider until they reached his chin . . . which was clean shaven. His hair reflected an equal mixture of black, gray, and red.

“Are you Mr. Fortune?” he asked.

“I'm Todd Fortune, the son in ‘Fortune & Son'.”

“I'd like to speak with your father, please.”

“He's gone. What can I do for you?”

“Probably nothing until your father returns.” He pulled a tiny ledger from his vest pocket and studied one of the pages. “May I set up an appointment with him for tomorrow?”

Todd could smell the man's shaving tonic. “He won't be around for a couple weeks . . . or more.”

“No! What a disappointment! I came all the way from Cleveland and he's gone for that long. Is it possible to telegraph him someplace?”

“He's on a . . . eh, hunting trip to the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming. I run the store. Perhaps I might be able to help you.”

“Well, it's certainly store business. But I have to talk to the owner.”

“I'm a co-owner. Are you a drummer? What's your product line?”

“I hardly look like a salesman. My name is Tobias Olene.”

“Olene Steel and Assembly of Cleveland, Cincinnati, and St. Louis?” Todd asked.

“Yes, that's us.”

“We really need all the boiler plating you can ship in here. We can pay extra shipping if you'll send it up the river to Fort Pierre, then down by mule train rather than ox. We need quarter-inch, three-eighths, and half-inch, plus . . .”

“Wait, wait, wait . . .” The man waved his hands. “I told you I'm not a salesman. I don't take orders from customers.”

“Well, what do you want?”

The man rocked back on the heels of his polished brown boots. “I want to make you an offer on buying the store.”

Todd tilted his head to the right and stared deep into the man's brown eyes. “Buy the hardware?”

“We are interested in owning a retail outlet in the Black Hills, and a friend I know in Chicago suggested I check into Fortune and Son.”

“Who's your friend in Chicago?”

“DeWitt Jacobson.”

“He's my father-in-law,” Todd said.

“Yes, and how is Rebekah?”

“You know my wife?”

“We've met on several occasions, but that was a few years ago.”

“She's fine, thank you. Mr. Olene, I'm sorry you traveled all this way to look into buying our store. It's just not for sale.”

“But you haven't heard my offer.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it does. There is one thing I know for sure.” Olene rubbed his sideburns. “Every business is for sale if the price is right.”

“Well, you just met the exception to the rule,” Todd insisted.

“If I remember right, Mr. Jacobson said you and Rebekah would be moving to Rapid City soon, and . . .”

Todd's shirt collar suddenly seemed extremely tight. “If Mr. Jacobson said that, he was wrong. We aren't moving.”

“Well . . . perhaps I did come out here foolishly,” Olene snapped.

“Perhaps you did.” Todd felt like shouting, but worked to keep his voice muted. “You should have written us ahead of time and we could have saved you the effort.”

“If you're not interested, I understand there are a couple of other hardware stores in the area. I'll be checking to see which would make the best buy. I aim to pay top dollar. Of course, I could always just build a store of my own, but I'd rather have good community relations by purchasing the good name of an existing store. When we eliminate the wholesalers, we'll be able to sell for much less. I thought, perhaps, this would be a good time for you to sell. You know, before our competition drives all the other stores out of business. It was strictly out of friendship with DeWitt Jacobson that I came to you first.”