A week later, I found myself standing on the stage of Minnehaha’s Medicine Show, listening to hearty applause.
It was Sunday May 10th and we were all at the Willows Amusement Park celebrating the capture of the criminals & the recovery of the money & our reward. Minnie had invited me to help her with the final part of her act. It was her last day in the city as she was bound for Sac City and parts beyond.
She was wearing her tight buckskin top and her puffy skirt with the stripes & zigzags on it. Her hair was wavy & glossy & black & fell down to her shoulders. She was not wearing war paint so you could see her freckles and pale skin.
I was wearing my fringed buckskin trowsers & beaded moccasins & beaded buckskin gloves & my red, blue and yellow zigzag jacket. I was also wearing the wig of straight black hair. (I had bought it from Minnie.) I was using my bogus pa’s Smith & Wesson No. 2 with its 6in barrel and rosewood grip. I like it because it fits my hand real good and also because it takes the same .32 rimfire cartridges as my 4-shooter Deringer. That means I do not need to bother with cap & ball & powder.
Minnie and I had been shooting tin cans.
My ears were still ringing with the sound of gunfire and my nose was full of the pungent smell of gun smoke. We had hit every can!
I had also been using my fine new Henry Rifle which takes fourteen .44 caliber cartridges and makes a bang like a shout. It was engraved thus: To P.K. Pinkerton, with thanks from the Overland Stage Co.
Mr. V.V. Bletchley had come all the way from Virginia City to present it to me, along with a generous reward of $2000. I had given $500 to Martha & Zoe & $500 to Ping & $500 to Minnehaha. (That was when she had invited me to be part of her show for just one afternoon.)
As the cloud of white gun smoke cleared on that fine May afternoon, I could see the people looking up at us and clapping.
I saw Ping & Affie & Martha & Zoe. Mr. Sam Clemens AKA Mark Twain, was there, too, with his friend The Unreliable and also Mrs. John D Winters who was smiling and not looking down her nose. I saw my new colleague Mr. Detective Rose & half a dozen of San Francisco’s finest. They were clapping as hard as anybody else.
Mr. Icy Blue was there, too, all in black. And Dizzy, with his leg in plaster! He was making a good recovery. He had verified my side of the story & was now ‘Yee-Hawing’ on account of he could not clap as he had to use both his hands for his crutches.
Best of all, Ping had got an indebted Virginia City client of his to ride Cheeya to Frisco in easy stages. So I was now reunited with my beloved pony.
I was about to jump down off the stage to join them when a man with oval spectacles ran up. He pointed to me. ‘You! Stay up there!’ he commanded. ‘I am Mr. H. W. Corbyn. I am going to make photographic cards of you. I will sell them and make a fortune. It will only take a moment or two and I will give you half the proceeds,’ he added.
So while Minnehaha was going round and collecting tips in her quiver, I remained on the stage.
Mr. H. W. Corbyn heaved his big black camera up onto the stage & drew the red velvet curtains so that the people in the audience would not disturb us. The sun was right overhead and it was shining for all it was worth. Mr. Corbyn made me stand with one foot up on Minnie’s ammunition box, like when a hunter stands over the prey he has just killed.
While Mr. Corbyn was making adjustments, a dark figure stooped to enter through the tee-pee door at the back of the stage & then stood tall.
It was Poker Face Jace.
I could not move because Mr. Corbyn was making adjustments.
Jace stopped about two paces away from me. He had his hands behind his back.
‘Go away,’ I said. ‘I am quit of you.’
‘Hear me out,’ said he.
I said nothing.
He said, ‘Remember when you came to Steamboat Springs end of last month and I said how in the whole world, only you and I knew the secret of your initials?s’
I gave a curt nod.
He sighed. ‘Well, after you left, I got to thinking. I remembered when I was with Violetta in Carson.’ He paused & took a breath. ‘She was interrogating me about you and we had been drinking and I might have mentioned something to her. About you not knowing what the P and the K stood for, that is.’
He still had his hands behind his back & suddenly his pale cheeks were pinkish. I had to look at him to make sure I was really seeing this. It was the first time I had ever seen Jace discombobulated. He even remained cool & collected under fire. But danged if he wasn’t blushing or flushing or something.
‘Keep your head still,’ Mr. H. W. Corbyn told me. ‘I am almost ready.’
‘That was why I came here to Frisco,’ said Jace. He spoke quickly & without his usual drawl, like he wanted to get it out fast. ‘I wondered if Violetta might be scheming against you. I had just got into her hotel room and was about to search it when you showed up.’
‘A likely story,’ said I.
But part of me wanted him to convince me I was wrong.
‘P.K.?’ he said. His voice was kind of thick and he had to clear his throat and start again. ‘You are kind of like a daughter to me. Or a son. Or – I don’t know – maybe both of those combined. As you know, I lost my own… And I just wanted to say… I am sorry. I would like you to have this.’
From behind his back he brought out a straw hat of the kind they call ‘sombrero’. Only it was not as big as most sombreros.
The photographer was fiddling with his camera again, and had his back to us, so I reached out my hand & took it.
It was made of pale-gold straw and had a red hat-band and on that hat-band was a buckskin butterfly all embroidered with beads.
It was like the hat in my dream.
Had I told him about my dream? I could not recollect.
I looked at him and he looked at me.
I looked back down at the hat. I said, ‘It is a bully hat.’
‘Ain’t it?’ said Jace. ‘I saw it in on a Mexican gal near Sacramento on my way here and I thought it might suit you. She made me pay five dollars for it,’ he added.
‘Put it on!’ cried Mr. H. W. Corbyn from his device.
I put it on.
‘Yes!’ Mr. H. W. Corbyn called out to me. ‘But further back on your head, so it don’t shade your face.’
‘Let me,’ said Jace. He stepped forward & set the small sombrero a bit further back on my head & then he folded the front brim up a mite.
‘There,’ said Jace in a low voice. ‘That looks fine.’ For a moment he lingered to brush a strand of wig hair away from my face.
Then he stepped back.
‘Perfect!’ cried Mr. Corbyn once more. ‘That is the finishing touch we needed. Now put your left hand on top of the rifle barrel and put your right hand back so I can see your pistol and gun-belt.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jace moving away.
‘Don’t go,’ I said.
He stopped moving away.
‘Freeze!’ cried Mr. Corbyn. Then he took away the cover of the lens & I stood as still as a jackass rabbit even though I could see Jace out of the corner of my eye. I could see him taking a cigar out of his coat pocket & he had some trouble lighting it as his hands were shaky.
In front of me, Mr. H. W. Corbyn replaced the cover on the lens and cried ‘Got it! These are going to sell like glasses of iced lemonade in Hell!’ he exclaimed. Then he added, ‘Pardon my French.’
Mr. H. W. Corbyn took the photographic plate and hurried out the back exit, leaving us alone on the curtained stage.
I turned to Jace. ‘We are all going to have a picnic down by the duck-pond,’ I said. ‘The one by the emeu cage. Ping and Affie and Martha. Miz Zoe, too. Will you join us?’
‘I would be honored,’ he said. He puffed his cigar and blew smoke up. ‘Can Stonewall come, too?’
‘Sure.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Jace?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You know you said I was a bit like your son or your daughter or both?’
He nodded.
I took a deep breath. ‘Would you maybe give me a bear hug like a pa gives his kid sometimes?’
Jace opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he tossed the cigar away & stepped forward & put his arms around me in a safe bear hug.
I usually do not like being touched but sometimes a bear hug is necessary.
This one felt good.
It felt safe.
I thought, ‘I do not need to find out who my real pa is. No pa could be as good as Jace. He is true. And he likes me just as I am.’
My eyes filled up with tears & I felt a sob wanting to come up. Dang my changing body!
Just in time, my new hat fell off & we laughed & I bent down to pick it up & put it on & when I looked at Jace danged if his eyes weren’t damp too!
‘Bit dusty today,’ he remarked, taking out a pristine handkerchief and dabbing his eyes.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I noticed that, too.’
‘Dang,’ he said, putting the handkerchief back in his coat pocket. ‘You look mighty fine in that getup. How does it feel?’
‘It feels good,’ I said. ‘It feels like me.’
Then I took out my pistol & cocked it & fired it into the blue San Francisco sky & shouted, ‘Yee-haw!’
The End
[Don't have a clue what's going on? Start with chapter one.]
Mr. Lick’s office was not plush like the other rooms in the Lick House Hotel, but simple. It had leather chairs & a workbench at the back with woodworking tools & sawdust on the floor.
Two policeman helped Mr. Ray G. Tempest AKA Jonas Blezzard into one of the leather chairs. Detective Rose let me come in, and also Martha, Zoe, Affie & Ping. The five of us stood with our backs to the workbench.
Two more policemen came in, along with Mr. Isaac ‘Icy’ Blue. They held some familiar-looking leather mailbags.
A distinct smell of horse manure pervaded the room.
‘The stolen silver ingots and gold coins,’ I cried. ‘You found them!’
‘Where were they?’ asked Detective Rose.
‘In two big travelling trunks,’ said one of the policemen. ‘Just like he said.’
‘There were tags on the trunks,’ said the other. ‘It appears the two of them had tickets on a cruise to the Sandwich Islands departing this very evening.’
No wonder everything had been done in such a rush. They were going to take that gold and silver with them, you bet!
‘I will get you for this!’ gasped Blezzard. He was looking at me.
‘If you confess now,’ said Detective Rose to Blezzard. ‘In will go easier for you. You might not swing.’
‘Swing?’ said Blezzard, his face blanching. ‘Do you mean at the end of a rope?’
I fished in my medicine bag for my silk butterfly but Mr. Jonas Blezzard was already co-operating.
The double threat of death by hanging and butterflies made him Spill the Beans, as they say.
Right there in that sawdust-scented workroom he told us how he had come up with the plan.
‘It all started with that half-Injun,’ he said, glaring at me. ‘She riled Violetta who became intent on revenge.’
‘Start from the beginning,’ said Detective Rose.
‘Just after Christmas last year,’ said Blezzard. ‘Chance and I were playing poker in the Bella Union saloon here in Frisco. There was a new lady in town, a shapely widow named Violetta De Baskerville. We got ourselves places on her table. She was drinking Pousse Lamour cocktails and by the end of the night it was only the three of us. We got to talking about how much gold and silver was pouring out of those Comstock mines. She was tipsy, and told us about a scheme she had once devised. She and a lawman friend of hers in Virginia City had planned to hire a couple of roughs to rob the stages. He would “capture and arrest” the desperados and split the takings with them, allowing them to “escape” on the way to custody. The traitorous lawman would then tell the authorities that the robbers got away without revealing the location of the stash.
‘Deputy Marshal Jack Williams,’ I said to Affie under my breath. ‘Violetta shot and killed him.’
Blezzard continued, ‘Violetta told us her lawman pard had been killed in a shooting affray. She did not know anyone stupid enough to play the dangerous parts of Reb Road Agents. I told her we knew a couple of bit-part actors who would pretend to be brigands for a spell. I said me and Chauncy could play lawmen. You got any whiskey?’ He asked Detective Rose.
‘When you finish telling us.’
Blezzard took a deep breath. ‘Violetta said she would fund us if we promised to exact revenge upon a brat in Virginia City. Violetta told us the kid was training to be a detective in order to join her pa’s agency. Well, I have a friend in Chicago, owns a jewelry store near the Pinkerton Agency. I asked him to tell me everything he could about them. He sent me a letter full of useful information about Robert and Allan Pinkerton. Chauncy was good with accents so he decided to play the kid’s pa.’
Jonas Blezzard shot me a glare. ‘We had briefed Johnny and Jimmy to stop a stage with a little girl riding on top. That was how they would know the one with the silver.’
‘How?’ said Detective Rose. ‘You could not telegraph a couple of Reb Road Agents hiding out in the high Sierras.’
‘It was our plan from the beginning,’ said Blezzard. ‘Violetta thought if we could get her to admit she was a girl it would serve three purposes; it would hurt her friends and help mark out that stagecoach.’
‘And the third purpose?’
Blezzard shrugged. ‘It would be easy to shoot her dead.’
I thought, Dang! that Violetta is a clever one.
‘What happened to Chauncy?’ said Detective Rose.
‘He threw down on me,’ said Jonas. ‘I shot back in self-defense. It was justified.’
‘That is a bald-faced lie!’ I cried. ‘You killed him in cold blood and with no warning. You tried to shoot me, too.’
Detective Rose turned to me. ‘Where is Chauncy Pridhaume now?’ he asked.
I said, ‘You will find the body of my bogus pa in a shallow grave near a cave in a place called Grizzly Gulch a few miles west of Friday’s Station. ‘I had my account all written out,’ I added. ‘But it was in the pocket of my greatcoat and I lost that.’
Detective Rose smiled. ‘We got your greatcoat,’ he said. ‘With all the incriminating documents and also a ledger book and a fine pair of buckskin gauntlets.’
At that moment the door opened and in came Violetta de Baskerville AKA Mrs. von Vingschplint AKA Mrs. Jonas Blezzard.
Her bosom was heaving and her violet eyes were flashing sparks. She looked mighty pretty. I heard all the men in the room exhale & even Ping & Affie were staring with their mouths open. Violetta was in the custody of another uniformed policeman. Jace was behind them.
It was now fairly crowded in that room.
All eyes were on Violetta. She looked around at us all & her gaze fell on me.
‘I wish I had let you die up in the mountains last year,’ she snarled.
I said, ‘If you had not sought revenge you would now be living in peace and prosperity. I hope you have learned your lesson.’
‘Why, you sanctimonious little blank!’ she spat out. (Only she did not say ‘blank’.)
‘Ladies, ladies! That is enough,’ said Detective Rose. ‘I believe I see the way of it.’ To the policemen he said, ‘Take Mr. Blezzard and his wife and lock them up. In separate cells,’ he added.
‘Jacey, help me!’ pleaded Violetta. Once again she swooned.
However, this time he made no move to catch her & she fell to the floor with a thud. One of the policemen helped her up and escorted her – now writhing and cursing – from the premises.
Detective Rose turned to me. ‘Thanks to your resourcefulness and bravery we have apprehended two possible murderers and nearly half a million in stolen gold and silver. Ever thought of setting up a branch of your detective agency here in San Francisco? I could use some operatives like you and your friends. That is, resourceful kids with a knack for disguise.’
‘Ping, too?’ I said.
‘Of course,’ said he. ‘We have a big Celestial population and not enough good men to help us there.’
‘Martha and Zoe, too?’ I said. ‘And Affable?’
‘You bet. You are all good detectives.’
I nodded happily. It looked like I was going to remain a Private Eye after all.
Read on...
Bang!
Just as the second shot rang out, a black-clad arm knocked Violetta’s wrist from below, causing her ball to fly up into the rarefied air of that big ballroom.
If you should ever dine in the Lick House Hotel, look up at the fancy ceiling square they call a ‘coffer’ between two other coffers with chandeliers in them. If you have eyes as sharp as mine, or a pair of Opera Glasses, you might perceive a tiny hole in the gilded wood. That hole was meant for me, but Poker Face Jace saved my life.
‘Jacey!’ cried Violetta when she saw who had thwarted her shot. Then she swooned into his arms.
I reckoned she was play-acting for I know that nothing short of being sawed in half would make that lady faint.
Jace caught Violetta in his arms. Then he took the empty Deringer pistol from her limp hand and slipped it into his pocket.
‘You all right, P.K.?’ he asked me.
‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, and then looked away. He was probably going to be Violetta’s next husband, but at least he had not wanted me dead. That was some consolation.
From beside the big target, Affie cried, ‘Mr. Jonas Blezzard is all right, too! The bullet only creased his shoulder.’
The ball-goers applauded.
(Later, Affie told me it was their clapping that gave him a Brilliant Idea.)
Affie stepped forward. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we hope you have enjoyed our presentation. Of course it was all “staged”. Nobody was ever in any real danger.’ He turned & helped Mr. Jonas Blezzard off the wheel & I saw him say something under his breath.
Jonas Blezzard was white as chalk, but he bowed and so did Affie.
Martha & Ping came out and they bowed, too.
I did not realize what they were doing. Affie slid me a sideways glance.
‘Bow!’ he hissed.
I bowed, too, just as the curtains closed.
Beyond the curtains, loud applause rose up and was lost in the cavernous ceiling.
I wondered if Violetta had been apprehended. But before I could go to the curtain and peep out, a man with a black beard like a big bib appeared through that tee-pee door at the back of the stage.
He went to Affie & shook his hand.
‘That was inspired, young man! You have turned a disaster into a triumph. I cannot thank you enough. This is Detective Rose. He is the best detective in this city.’
Behind him emerged the man in the rose-pink stovepipe hat and droopy gray mustache who had chased me from the Rev. Starr King’s Unitarian Church.
Two uniformed policemen came through the low door after him.
Detective Rose looked down at me. ‘You have played a dangerous hand, Miss Pinkerton,’ he said, ‘but it appears you got four aces.’
He nodded to his policemen and they each gripped an arm of Mr. Jonas Blezzard. Detective Rose turned to the man with a bib-like beard, ‘Mr. Lick, is there a private chamber where I might interview this man?’
‘My office,’ said the owner and proprietor of the Lick House Hotel.
As the band struck up again, we all repaired to a back room of the hotel to get the final pieces of the puzzle.
Read on...
I looked around desperately for a place to hide.
Could I crouch unseen behind that mirror leaning against the wall?
No, it was not big enough.
There was a pair of camp cots but you could easily see the wood plank floor beneath them.
There were three wooden chairs & a stool & a sugar crate with a calico tablecloth over it & that expensive sewing machine in the center of the room.
Then I spotted Zoe’s old travelling trunk near the dimmest corner of the room. On it were two hair-brushes & a comb & some folded towels & a pitcher & basin. It was her Toilette Trunk. Quick as a streak of chalk I nipped behind it, nearly kicking over a half-full chamber pot as I did so!
My Injun ma once told me about the Bush Trick: if you crouch behind a bush and imagine real hard that you are that bush, you become invisible to your pursuers. I tried the Toilette Trunk Trick. I crouched behind that toilette trunk and imagined I was part of it. But I knew that being dressed like a giant daffodil in a pink poke bonnet would not help my ruse.
My eyes were squinched shut but I heard Miz Zoe lift the latch and open the door.
A man’s voice said, ‘You been hiding from me, Miss Zoe?’
‘Of course not,’ stammered Miz Zoe. ‘I always keep the bolt down against intruders.’
‘You got visitors? I told you I would not tolerate no gentlemen callers.’
‘I have not entertained a single gentleman caller since I arrived in this city,’ said Zoe.
‘What about me?’ he said.
‘You are my landlord.'
That was when I realized the man was after her, not me.
I opened my eyes and peeped over the edge of the trunk.
‘Who is that in the corner?’ asked the fat & bald man standing in the doorway.
‘It is just my friend Pinky from Virginia City. Come out, Pinky,’ she added. ‘This is my landlord, Mr. Nasby. He will not hurt you.’
I stood up. Mr. Nasby was a fat man with a cigar stub in his mouth. He was not wearing a hat nor coat nor jacket and I could see sweat stains on the armpits of his shirt. His head was as bald & shiny as a billiard ball.
Mr. Nasby pushed past Zoe & came over to me & looked me up and down. He licked his lips. They were kind of blubbery.
‘Your name Pinky?’ he said. ‘It should be Buttercup: you dressed all in yellow like that.’ He turned back to Zoe. ‘You still have not paid me the last six weeks’ rent. Five dollars.’
‘I can pay you tomorrow,’ said Zoe, her hand covering the base of her throat.
‘You will pay me today, one way or the other.’ He gave her Expression No. 2 – a fake smile.
I stepped forward & said, ‘I got five dollars,’ I pulled out my medicine pouch & fished around in it. My fingers froze as they touched my four-shot Deringer. For a moment I was sorely tempted to pull it out & draw down on him & tell him to vamoose, but that would accomplish nothing so I resisted that wicked impulse. I dug deeper and brought out fifteen paper dollars.
‘I don’t much like them greenbacks.’ Mr. Nasby wrinkled the side of his nose to make Expression No. 3 - disgust. He looked me up & down in a way that made my skin prickle like when my pet tarantula Mouse perambulates on my arm.
Then he said, ‘But I will make an exception for you.’
He took the fifteen ‘greenbacks’ & licked his fingers & carefully counted them.
Then he took them over to the window and held each one up against the light.
Finally he stuffed them in his trowser pocket & wiped his nose with his forefinger.
He did not thank me but turned to look at Zoe with heavy-lidded eyes. He said, ‘Next time, make sure your rent is on time or I will have to take my payment in other ways.’
When he had gone, Zoe kind of slumped down on one of the wooden chairs. She was a bit trembly.
‘Oh, P.K.,’ she said. ‘I feel so bad that you had to pay our rent.’
I tipped the remaining coins in my medicine bag out onto into my hand. There were 3 silver dollars and 25cts. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Take it. It is not much but it is enough for food and coffee.’
‘Oh, P.K.!’ she cried. ‘Only give me a dollar.’ She handed back the quarter & two of the silver dollars & kissed the coin in her hand. ‘This is enough for a feast. We will celebrate. You wait here. I will be right back.’
But Martha was back first. I thought it was an old woman coming to visit by the sound of her slow stumping up the stairs but then she appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a long black shift with a white pinafore, collar and cuffs, she looked tired & thin. But there was no mistaking her.
She recognized me, too, and her dark face lit up with Expression No. 1 - a genuine smile. ‘P.K.!’ she cried. ‘You have come to see us at last!’
She ran to me & then stopped. I reckon she remembered I do not like to be touched. Instead of hugging me, she looked me up & down. ‘What on earth is you wearing?’
‘I know,’ I said ruefully. ‘I got some buckskin trowsers in there.’ I pointed at the parcel Minnehaha had given me. ‘But I need to get a shirt to wear with them. I don’t suppose you have any spare shirts around here?’
‘We sometimes mend men’s’ shirts,’ said she. ‘But today we only got dresses.’
‘Oh,’ I said. And then, ‘Is that your uniform?’
She nodded. ‘I am a chamber maid at the finest hotel in Frisco.’
I said, ‘The Occidental Hotel?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The Lick House Hotel.’
When she said that, I thought of a giant leaning down out of the sky and licking a house. (My mind is peculiar like that sometimes.)
Martha had a drawstring calico bag and she put it on the table. ‘I got some fruit and cold bacon. A rich lady left them on her breakfast tray. She hardly touched them at all. Where is Miz Zoe?’
‘She has gone shopping,’ I said. ‘I paid your rent and gave her a dollar for food.’
‘Oh, P.K.,’ she cried, and this time she did throw her skinny arms around me. ‘You always been so good to us.’
I stood still & endured her embrace & after a spell she let me go. She went smiling to the little camp stove & commenced to brewing the pot of tea. She poured me some and dropped in a slice of lemon. It looked like a little yellow wagon wheel floating on top of a brackish pond. She also gave me a cinnamon roll on a saucer.
‘Ain’t you having one?’ I said.
‘I ain’t hungry,’ said Martha brightly. ‘This lemon tea is enough for me.’ I looked carefully at her face. I was almost certain it was Expression No. 2 – a fake smile.
Then I noticed there was only one roll left on the plate.
Some detective I am. I had not even realized they were so poor they could only afford one day-old cinnamon roll apiece!
‘Shall we split this one?’ I said.
‘No need!’ cried Mrs. Zoe Brown, coming through the door with a brown paper bag. ‘I got fresh ones! And a whole chocolate layer cake because I know it is your favorite, Pinky. And a nice plump lemon for you, Martha! It is her passion,’ she said to me.
‘Did P.K. really pay our rent?’ Martha asked Zoe.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Zoe. She was cutting the chocolate layer cake. ‘So we are safe for another month or two. Anyways, I expect Mrs. Prendergast will pay me soon for that fine ball gown I made her.’ Zoe pointed to a pale blue ball gown hanging on the flour-sack-covered wall of the room.
Martha shook her head. ‘She should have paid you by now. What if she wears it and then returns it for alterations like she did last time?’
‘Hush, Martha,’ said Zoe. ‘We do not want to burden P.K. with our troubles.’
As I sipped my lemon tea, I realized I would have to come clean with Miz Zoe and Martha and tell them I was a gal. Would they be mad when they discovered I had been pranking them? Would they tell me to skedaddle?
I did not know how to begin, so I tried to make Small Talk.
‘This lemon tea is mighty fine,’ I said. ‘My friend Stonewall likes lemons. Have you met him?’
‘No,’ said Martha. ‘I don’t believe I have.’
But Miz Zoe flushed prettily. ‘Is he a friend of your handsome gambler friend, Mr. Jason Francis Montgomery?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that is the one,’ I said. ‘He calls himself Stonewall on account of he idolizes General Stonewall Jackson. Jace does not gamble so much these days,’ I added. ‘He and Stonewall bought themselves a little ranch in Steamboat Springs. They raise mustang horses and have some beef cattle, too.’
‘It sounds lovely,’ said Mrs. Zoe Brown. She gave a sigh and a smile.
The talk of mustang ponies made me think of Cheeya, my own mustang. I felt my throat go tight. Would I ever see my beloved pony again?
Miz Zoe handed me a plate of chocolate layer cake and a fork. ‘You said you were in trouble and needed a place to lay low?’
I said, ‘Yes. I am in trouble and need a place to lay low. I was lured into a scheme to help stagecoach robbers and now I am on the run. I have got to get proof of my innocence before the authorities get me.’
‘Will you tell us all about it?’ said Martha. ‘Maybe we can help.’
‘I will tell you everything,’ I said, ‘but first I have a confession to make. It might make you angry at me.’
‘Confession?’ Martha cried. ‘Like folk do after they commit a crime?’
I nodded.
Miz Zoe said, ‘You are a dear friend and nothing you can say will change that.’
I could not face them, so I stared at the piece of cake on my lap. I took a deep breath and said, ‘Here is my confession. I am not a boy. I am a girl.’
There was an awful moment of silence.
Then Miz Zoe and Martha burst out laughing.
I was outnumbered and outgunned. There were two Reb Road Agents & only one me. They each had a big revolver and at least one rifle. I only had a Muff Deringer.
But I had the advantage of not being dead like they probably thought I was.
And I had my Indian skills. Using these skills, I scanned the camp and spotted the Henry rifle leaning against the trunk of a pine tree not too far from the fire. Dizzy’s double-barrelled shotgun was there, too. Ray must have left it inside the coach when he climbed up to help me.
I put my little four-shooter back in the inner pocket of my sacque & made my way carefully back into the darkness of the pine forest & circled round real stealthy & slow, so as not to alarm the horses.
When I came up behind the leaning gun pine, I reached my hand around kind of groping-like & took first the Henry & then the double-barrelled shotgun. Tucking both guns under my arm, I melted back into the darkness of the forest and returned to my first vantage point.
By now the Rebs were tipping letters out of the leather sacks and filling the empty bags with silver ingots. There were letters scattered everywhere but at least they had stopped burning them.
I was about to step forward & throw down on them, when I remembered I was wearing a velvet sacque and a wig of swinging ringlets beneath a lighthouse bonnet. I would not make a very imposing figure thus attired. At least I could take of the danged wig & silly bonnet.
I took off the danged wig & silly bonnet.
As I was about to toss away those two hated objects, I saw something that made my blood run cold as snowmelt.
There was a bullet hole in the sticking-up part of the bonnet! A hole made by a .44 caliber ball, I reckoned. I remembered how something had knocked my bonnet forward when they had been shooting at us.
‘Dang!’ I said to myself. ‘They were shooting to kill.’
They were pretty drunk by now. I could tell because they were weaving around as they lugged leathern sacks full of silver bricks over to the horses. I reckoned I might as well wait until they finished loading the silver on the horses. Otherwise I would have to do a lot of heavy lifting myself.
The moon was high now and I judged it to be around 10 pm. My stomach was growling but my last few pieces of jerky were in my yellow velvet purse which I had left hanging on the front rail of the stagecoach. I peered at the ruined coach and thought I saw something yellow in the moonlight.
While they were busy loading the last of the silver onto the stage horses, I snuck over to the wrecked body of the stagecoach & got my yellow velvet bag and fished out a piece of jerky. Then I looked inside the coach. I saw Ray’s flat brimmed gray hat lying on top of a letter-sack that was half spilling out its letters. There were also some lengths of whang leather that had bound the mouths of the mail sacks.
I lowered myself down through the open window of the door & I put on Ray’s hat. It was a mite too big so I stuffed a few loose letters in the crown to make it fit. But what to do about my puffy sacque with its bell-like outline?
Then I had another idea. I took one of those strips of whang leather & tied it around my waist over the sacque. In the darkness they might take me for a short man in a belted coat. I also tied my yellow velvet purse to the belt of whang leather, but I made sure it was hanging down behind me.
Quiet as a bug on burlap, I climbed out of the ruined stagecoach & lowered myself onto the moon-dappled ground & melted back into the inky shadows of the pines.
Over by the horses, Kepi stretched & yawned. ‘Toting those silver ingots has tuckered me out,’ he said to his pard. ‘Can’t we take a little kip?’
‘Nope,’ said Slouch. ‘We gotta put some distance between us and the wreck while the moon is still up. If Chauncy or Jonas find us slacking there will be h-ll to pay.’
‘They ain’t the boss of us,’ said Kepi.
‘No, but they promised us a good piece of the pie for our help,’ said Slouch.
‘H-ll,’ said Kepi. ‘We got about seventy-five pieces of silver pie right here on these horses. We ought to keep the booty and skedaddle to Frisco. Or we could lay low in Angel’s Camp.’
‘Better not,’ said Slouch. ‘They would hunt us down and kill us dead if we betrayed ’em.’
‘Aw,’ said Kepi. ‘I could take ’em easy.’
‘You could maybe take Chauncy,’ said Slouch. ‘But not Jonas. He is as cold-blooded as a rattler.’
‘He is most likely dead of a busted neck,’ said Kepi.
‘Maybe,’ said Slouch. ‘Maybe not. You willing to take that chance?’
‘Nah,’ said Kepi, ‘I reckon not. Where was we supposed to meet em?’
‘Grizzly Gulch,’ said Slouch. ‘Where we stashed the booty. We can make it back to our shebang easy before the moon sets. I reckon it is less than a mile.’
‘Better mount up, then,’ said Kepi, starting towards their horses.
My heart was pounding in my chest. It was now or never. I could not show any fear or they might throw down on me.
I picked up the double-barrelled shotgun & checked it was capped & loaded.
It was.
I took a deep breath & stepped out into the firelight.
‘You ain’t going nowhere,’ I said, making my voice as deep as I could. ‘Throw down your sidearms and reach for the sky.’
Read on...
I must have passed out because everything went black for a time.
When I came to, I found myself still falling through the night.
Yes! I was still falling.
But I did not splat.
This confused me.
Then I had a notion of what was happening.
I was suspended between Glory and the Fiery Place!
I had tried to be a Good Methodist but now all my sins came rushing back into my memory, viz: I had killed a man & told lies & played poker & tried whiskey once & a Pousse Lamour cocktail another time & ignored every single one of my foster ma’s dying wishes. Also I had pranked the people of Virginia City for over nine months, making them believe I was a boy not a gal.
That might have been the worst sin of all, for they were my friends.
I reckon I was in a place called Limbo.
Methodists do not believe in that place, but Mr. Hazard O’Toole at the Shamrock Saloon across from my office is Catholic. He told me all about it.
He told me that Limbo is where you go to wait while the angels plead your case and the imps of the Fiery Place accuse you.
Gradually, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I perceived that I was not in Limbo. I was still in the high Sierras, surrounded by the looming black shapes of whispering pines. Why had I not splatted onto the ground?
Was I dreaming?
My arms were hanging limp. I moved my right hand over to pinch my left.
I pinched hard.
It hurt.
That meant I was not dreaming.
Then I realized that I was kind of tipped forward. I could feel something tugging my underarms & the seams of my coat sleeves straining tight. Someone was holding me up.
Someone… or something!
I knew there were bears in these mountains. Was it a man-eating grizzly bear holding me aloft?
If a prey animal is in trouble, he does one of three things.
No. 1 – He fights
No. 2 – He runs away
No. 3 – He freezes, so that he will not be seen or so that his enemy will think he is dead.
I could not fight. And I could not run away. So decided to use method No. 3 and ‘play possum’. Maybe the grizzly bear holding me up thought I was dead. Maybe he was not hungry enough to devour me in my velvet sacque & yellow-straw lighthouse bonnet with its silk flowers & ribbon & ruffles.
I must have been dazed with terror to imagine such a foolish thing. By and by I realized it could not be a grizzly bear holding me so still. Or even a person.
It was one of them whispering pines.
Yes, I was caught by tree.
My velvet and fur-trimmed sacque must have puffed out as I fell through the air and got caught on a branch.
There was no sound except the wind in the pines and further off the jingling and snorting of horses.
The horses! Had they survived? What about Ray, who had been up on the driver’s box with me?
If only I could see!
I reached my arms up over my head and after some groping I clasped on to the branch holding me. I could feel it through the satin-lined velvet fabric of the sacque which was straining under my weight.
It felt brittle and prickly, like an old branch. A dead branch.
Crack!
That was the sound I heard as I found myself tipped forward a little more. My efforts to free myself had caused the branch that was holding me to bounce up and down a little. It was going to break and send me hurtling to the rocky gorge three thousand feet below!
I considered yelling for help but then I reasoned that the only other people for miles around were two Road Agents and one Pinkerton detective, viz: Mr. Ray G. Tempest. The road agents might be nearby. And the Pinkerton detective was probably dead.
So instead of yelling, I sent up an arrow prayer to the Lord.
‘Dear Lord,’ I prayed, ‘please forgive me for pranking my friends and help me to be a good girly-girl, if that is your desire. Only save me in my moment of need! Amen.’
As if in answer to my prayer, some pearly white rays poked up through the inky black branches of a pine tree below me. Those rays were like the halo of a saint, all fanned out. A moment later a light shone in my face. It was the moon, rising in the east and shining up through the gulch.
That blessed moonlight showed me that it was indeed the branch of a fir tree holding me.
I looked down.
Hallelujah! I was only about six feet off the ground.
(But I still might have broke my neck if that branch had not caught me.)
The next question was: how to get down?
Crack!
I could use the weakness of the branch.
I flapped my arms to make the branch bob up and down.
CRACK!
My plan worked. I fell the six feet but landed awkwardly on account of I was wearing those button-up boots and not my usual moccasins. The ground was padded with pine needles, which cushioned my fall, but it also sloped gently down so I rolled a few times. The prickly savior branch dug into my back but thankfully it did not pierce the daffodil-yellow frock nor break my skin.
I got up on my hands & knees and straightened my wig & bonnet & pulled the branch out from under my sacque.
Hallelujah! My little 4-shot Muff Deringer was still firmly in the hidden pocket. I took it out & cocked it & crept down towards the sound I had heard earlier, viz: the sound of horses snorting & voices in the pines.
I am used to sneaking in the dark & when I put my mind to it I can go over crispy leaves & crunchy pine needles without making a sound. I crept forward, as silent as a cat on a velvet cushion.
Presently I came to where I could see the flickering yellow light of a fire.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
Here is the picture the golden firelight & the silvery moonlight showed me:
One papier maché torso wearing a pink shawl & a flower-bedecked sunhat on her watermelon head & balanced on the ground as if sitting before the fire with her back to me.
Two Reb Road Agents sitting at the fire facing the dummy & also me & reading letters.
Three wheels scattered in various places around them.
Some pieces of a busted up old Concord Stage & a tangle of reins & a whippletree & some other tackle lying between me and the Reb Road Agents.
Seven letter-sacks sitting near them.
Eight horses standing whole and unharmed, loosely tethered a pine.
Seventy-eight gleaming bricks of silver piled up beside the fire.
This is what that picture told me:
The stagecoach had crashed but the whippletree had broke loose from the singletree & all the horses had survived. I could see the drop was not as steep as I had feared, though it was still enough to cause the coach to roll over a couple of times and break up, probably on account of the heavy silver bars inside. The Reb Road Agents had obviously come upon the site of the wreck as they pursued us. They had seized all the silver bars and were now relaxing.
I could see no sign of Ray.
I reckoned he was dead.
The decoy stage full of guards and also my pa riding behind were probably ten miles further along the road. Maybe more.
I was on my own.
I focused all my attention on the Reb Road Agents. The one with the slouch hat was older. He was smoking a pipe & reading a letter. The one with the kepi was younger. He was swigging from a bottle of champagne & reading a letter. I noticed they had an open letter-sack beside them.
I wormed forward to the trunk of the tree closest to their fire.
I was close enough to hear them talking.
‘Hey, darlin,’ said Kepi to the dressmaker’s dummy. ‘Listen to this: Dear Ma, It is Bonanza here on the Comstock. They struck it rich in the front ledge in Gold Hill the other day. Tell little Pete and Edward they must come and join me. I have got a job working for the Yellow Jacket mine. It is hot and tiring but I get four dollars a day and I have feet. Give Betty my love and tell her she will not have to wait much longer.’ He took a swig of champagne & then he tossed the letter into the flames.
‘Hey!’ I got a good one, said Slouch. ‘It is a love letter from a gal to her betrothed: Oh Roderick I count the hours until I see you again.’ He was making his voice all high like a lady’s. ‘I have not heard from you in three weeks and I fear you have stopped caring for your sweet Elspeth. Are the girls prettier in Frisco? Please write to me, dear one!’
He also tossed his letter in the fire.
I was outraged. They were burning letters from sons to their mothers & lonely gals to their sweethearts!
Silver could be replaced, but not letters.
I had to stop them!
But how?
Read on!
I had been looking over the edge but now I turned to look ahead. Sure enough, there in the gloaming were two men standing either side of the road.
‘Halt!’ they cried, and both put up their hands, palms forward, in the universal gesture that means stop. They wore butternut-colored uniforms which meant they were Confederate soldiers, AKA Rebs.
I swore under my breath, using language unfit for publication.
Pa’s Plan had failed.
‘Don’t cuss!’ said Dizzy out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Remember, you are supposed to be a helpless little girl. It is our only chance.’
He was right! If I played a convincing girly-girl, they might take pity on us & let us go & we could get the silver to safety. Then we could alert Pa and the guards in the other stage of their whereabouts.
The team slowed and stopped. I noticed Dizzy did not push the footbrake forward.
‘Good evening, y’all,’ drawled one of the men. He held a Henry rifle and wore a small, round, slope-top hat with a visor. I think folk call it a ‘kepi’.
Kepi said, ‘I am gonna have to ask you not to make any sudden-like moves.’ His rifle was pointing at Dizzy.
‘Heck, you don’t want to bother with us.’ Dizzy’s voice cracked a little. ‘It is only me and my little girl here and some children back from a picnic. You can see their sleeping schoolmarm there in the window. Surely you will let us pass?’
The reins in his left hand were trembling but I felt strangely calm. Maybe it was because I could not see the Road Agents clearly. Or maybe it was because they sounded so polite.
I reckoned I should play the part of a little girly-girl.
‘Grandpa?’ I said in my high girly voice. ‘Are those men going to rob us?’
‘Not if you cow operate,’ said the other man. He wore a slouch hat & his voice was deeper than Kepi’s.
He cocked his piece and said, ‘My pard is just gonna have a little peek inside your coach while I cover you. Y’all seem to be riding pretty low, like you are maybe carrying a lot of silver.’
‘We ain’t got nothing of value,’ said Dizzy. ‘Just them kiddies, like I said.’
While they were talking, I had started to sneak my gloved right hand inside the secret pocket of my sacque to get at my Muff Deringer.
‘Hands where we can see them, Missy,’ said Kepi politely.
I froze. Then I took my (empty) hands out of my sacque.
‘Raise ’em high,’ said Slouch.
I could not believe this was happening. Did I not look girly enough?
I had to convince them! But how?
I reckoned a girly-girl would whimper.
‘Oh, grandpa,’ I quavered. ‘They are going to kill us!’
‘Cheese it, brat!’ growled Slouch Hat. He pointed his big revolver at me.
So much for the Reb Road Agents having a soft spot for little girls!
The one with the Kepi was about three paces from the stagecoach when Dizzy grabbed his black leather whip & yelled, ‘Hi-yi!’
Three things happened real quick.
No. 1 – With a report like that of a gun being fired, Dizzy’s whip knocked the Henry rifle right out of Kepi’s hands.
No. 2. – Our team of horses started moving.
No. 3. – The man wearing the Slouch Hat shot Dizzy with his big Army revolver.
BANG!
Dizzy did not make a noise. He only slumped against me. The reins started to slide through his gloved fingers.
Quick as a streak of chalk, I grabbed the reins. ‘Hi-yi!’ I cried, and gave them a flick. ‘G’lang! G’lang, you sons of blanks!’
By the side of the road, Kepi looked up from where he was scrabbling to recover his rifle. He rolled out of the way just in time to avoid getting trampled.
The horses had to strain to get the heavy coach moving. They seemed to be wading through winter molasses.
‘Come on, you sons of blanks!’ I bellowed again. I was leaning way over to the left on account of Dizzy was slumped against my right side.
We had just passed the road agents when something batted my bonnet forward & Dizzy jerked against me & at the same time I heard three more loud reports.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
They had shot him again!
I flicked the reins & yelled, ‘Git!’
I forgot to say ‘G’lang!’ and ‘Hi-yi!’ but the horses were moving faster now. I reckon the shots had spooked them as much as my hollering and cussing. We finally crested the hump in the road and were heading downhill. Now the six steeds were running at top speed. It was almost dark and the tall black pine trees either side blotted out the purple sky. I have eyes about as sharp as a telescope but even a telescope cannot see at night. I could hardly make out the road ahead.
I had to trust the horses, like Dizzy had told me.
I kept hold of the ribbons but let them go slack.
Yes, I gave those horses free rein.
The team curved left, following the road, and the curve made Dizzy slump against me even more.
I could hardly breath & I was in danger of being crushed by his bulk so I gave him a little shove. But I must have pushed too hard for now he was slumped way over to the right, leaning over the side and in danger of tumbling out!
I held the reins in my left hand and grabbed at Dizzy’s sleeve with my right.
I caught the cuff of his jacket sleeve just in time!
I knew if his jacket cuff slipped out of my grasp he would tumble over the side of the stage and off the mountain!
I needed help.
‘Ray!’ I cried. ‘Help!’
No answer.
I used all my lungs to holler, ‘RAY!’
‘Wha?’ came his slurred voice from down below. ‘Wha’s happening?’
‘The Reb Road Agents struck! They shot Dizzy. I think he might be dead.’
The horses were going fast now.
Too fast.
I reckon they were spooked.
There was a bend coming up with a three thousand foot drop on the right-hand side.
‘Help!’ I cried. ‘Ray! PA!’
(I do not know why I shouted for Pa as he was about an hour ahead of us.)
As we took the bend, the coach listed to the right. I reckon if we had not been carrying a ton of silver we would have been driving on two wheels.
Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw Dizzy twitch. Then his sleeve was jerked from my fingers.
He flew out of the driver’s box & went sailing into the thin air above that three thousand foot drop.
Then he was gone.
A moment later, Ray’s head appeared beside the coach! He was hatless and his red bandana was pulled down around his neck. He was clinging to the slender iron railing around the roof!
‘What happened to Dizzy?’ I cried.
‘Dead weight,’ he shouted back. ‘Thought it was better to ditch him.’
‘He might of still been alive!’
‘Whoa!’ cried Ray. ‘Slow her down!’
He was still hanging off the side of the coach. Even with all those silver bars as ballast I was pretty sure I felt the two left wheels lift off the ground for a moment!
‘Get up on top!’ I hollered. ‘You are throwing the stage off balance. It will fall over and we will be kilt!’
‘Stop the coach!’ he cried. ‘We cannot outrun them.’
He gave himself a heave & was suddenly up in the box beside me.
He tried to pull the reins from my hands but I held on tight.
‘Don’t!’ I cried. ‘They are spooked but they know this road.’
‘Let go, you d-mn blank!’ He called me a bad word and I was so astonished that I let him take the reins. But he was not expecting me to let go and he jerked them violently to the right.
Too violently.
I saw the horses thundering straight off the edge of the road towards a three thousand foot chasm.
It was my stagecoach-going-over-a-precipice nightmare coming true.
But this was no dream.
This was really happening.
Suddenly we were in the air & my stomach & lungs were all up in my throat & time slowed down & we were falling, falling, falling.
Then everything went darker than the inside of a black bear on a moonless night.
Read on...
