Wanted: Sam Bass Read online

  “Sadie saw him and warned me. She got in the way of a bullet meant for me. I got to cover and soon enough killed the son of a bitch.”

  “That what brings you here?”

  He shook his head, his thoughts still in Julesburg. “Recalled by the Denver office. Since you’re here, I expect that means the Big Springs robbery case is headed this way.”

  “I got two of ’em last night. The others is still on the loose.”

  “Any idea who they are or where they’re headed?”

  “Some. But if we’re talkin’ information, we’re talkin’ trade.”

  “All I know is I was told to report here. I’m to report in with Kingsley.”

  “Kingsley?”

  “Reginald Kingsley heads the Denver Office.”

  “Reginald?”

  “English fella.”

  “Bowler hat and a tweed jacket?”

  “That’s him.”

  “He’s in there.” He tossed his head at the depot.

  “Let me see if we’ve got any information worth a trade.”

  “I’m staying at the hotel in town.”

  Longstreet stepped into the depot lobby amid the bustle of last-minute ticket purchasers, heading out to the train. The measured tones of an English accent colored the soft murmur of conversation coming from across the room.

  Reginald Kingsley was unmistakable, though he lacked the look of a Pinkerton operative, much less a master detective and managing director of the Denver Office. He had the pinched appearance of a librarian or college professor with alert blue eyes, delicate features and a full mustache tinged in the barest hint of gray. He favored wool jackets in subdued hues of herringbone and tweed. When called for, he topped himself off in a stylish bowler, properly square to his head. He carried a silver-tipped cane that might be taken for a foppish affectation were it not for the fact that he could wield it as a baton or break it into a rapier-like blade. In the field, he carried a short-barreled .44 Colt pocket pistol cradled in a shoulder holster. He could disappear in a crowd, or turn himself out in a chameleon array of disguises to suit his purposes. He dripped comfortable British charm that easily insinuated itself into the trust of the unsuspecting criminal or better still, criminal informant. Footsteps on the plank floor behind him drew his attention.

  “Longstreet old boy, good you’re here. Agent Reed here has just been filling me in on the most recent developments in the case.”

  “I heard we got two of them last night.”

  “Yes, well I’m afraid it’s not quite we. We did recover most of a third of the client’s loss. Unfortunately the credit and I’m afraid the reward, goes to a bounty hunter who represents himself to be part of the Great Western Detective League.”

  “Briscoe Cane.”

  “Why yes. How did you know?”

  “Met him in Julesburg. He helped me out of a little scrape with Braylin Cross.”

  “You mean to tell me Cross was involved in the Big Springs affair?”

  “No. Just a disagreement over… over the favor of a lady.” She was a lady.

  “A woman, what pray tell did she have to do with the case?”

  “She had information on Heffridge and Collins. She’d have claimed the reward on that, as things turned out. Unfortunately they were long gone by the time we got the information.”

  Kingsley shook his head. “So on top of not bringing that pair to justice, you’re telling me we have to pay an informant’s reward for information we couldn’t use?”

  “No need to get yourself in a knot, Mr. Kingsley. I’m not saying that.”

  “What are you saying then man? Out with it.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “I see.”

  “No sir, your thousand-dollar reward is quite safe. She died saving my life. Now unless you’ve got specific instructions for me, I’d like to get some rest. I’ve had a tough couple of days.”

  Kingsley knit his brow, sensing there was more to the young man’s story. More that might be best left to himself for the moment. “No, Beau, nothing just now. Get yourself a room at the hotel. You can report here in the morning.”

  The livery stable was a block down from the depot. It didn’t amount to much. A dusty corral and rough-cut barn with a few stalls, a loft and tack room. A ramshackle porch-like attached roof served as a blacksmith shop with its forge, bellows and cross ties. Cane stabled Smoke there the night before. He should have thought of the possibility then, but he didn’t. Now he couldn’t get the notion out of his head. It wasn’t exactly on the way back to the hotel, but it made more sense than waiting around for a westbound train to Cheyenne in the hope Crook’s Great Western Detective League would pick up Bass’s trail. He found the heavyset figure of the liveryman bent over the hoof of a sturdy buckskin. He let the hoof down and straightened in greeting as Cane approached.

  “Come for your horse Mr. Cane?”

  “Not yet. More like a curiosity. You haven’t by any chance looked after a blue roan in the last week or so?”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “I’m interested in the man who owns him.”

  “So am I. He snuck the roan out of here last night without payin’ his board.”

  “What time was that?”

  The stableman shrugged. “No tellin’. I turned in sometime after nine o’clock. The horse was here then. He was gone this morning.”

  Damn it! What the hell had he been thinking last night? “What can you tell me about the owner?”

  “Said his name was Bass when he brought the horse in. Said he’d be stayin’ at the hotel.”

  “Any idea where he might have gone?”

  He shook dark soot-stained beard stubble. “Wish I knew. I got an unsettled account with him.”

  “Much obliged.” He’d been here as recently as yesterday. Somebody must know where he went.

  Abby Stone was miffed, not surprised, but miffed. Men like Sam Bass were the ones who could fool you. Fool is right, disappeared in the night like a bad dream after complaining of a headache. Something didn’t feel right about that at the time. She should have been more suspicious. Cattle sales seldom concluded in mint-new double eagles. Then there was this sudden illness that afflicted him right after they heard about the shoot-out south of town. Capturing two of the men involved in the Big Springs robbery right here in Buffalo Station might make a man uncomfortable if those men could possibly identify him. No chance of that happening. Both of them were dead, but nobody knew that when the news broke at Delmonico’s. If that possibility made a man nervous the only safe bet was to run. That would explain his disappearance. Too bad, he’d been entertaining while it lasted. Then again it would have come to an end sooner or later. It always did. The lobby door swung open. Now what do we have here?

  “May I help you?”

  “I need a room.”

  She opened the register. Big strapping specimen, handsome too, he looked tired for all that. She read his entry. “Welcome to Buffalo Station Mr. Longstreet. Now there’s a name with a famous ring to it. Confederate general as I recall.”

  “My cousin, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am? Please.” She flashed a bright white smile and extended her hand. “Abby Stone.”

  “Beau Longstreet, pleased to meet you, Mrs. Stone.”

  “I didn’t think you looked old enough to be a general.”

  “No ma’am, never made more than captain.”

  “There’s that stuffy old ‘ma’am’ again. Please call me Abby.”

  He gave her a sloe-eyed grin. “Then you must call me Beau.”

  “There that’s better.” Beau, hope springs eternal. “Room three, top of the stairs.” She slid the key across the counter. “Let me know if you need anything. Buffalo Station has a lot to offer.”

  “Much obliged, Abby.”

  She watched him climb the stairs with undisguised interest. Sam who? Easy come, easy go.

  Cane left the livery and headed up the street toward the hotel. He couldn
’t believe he’d let Bass slip through his fingers like that. Had he planned to meet up with Collins and Heffridge? If he had, the shoot-out tipped him off for sure. That left the same old question. Where did he go? He paused on the corner across from the depot. If he was Bass, what would he do? Easy enough, he’d put as much distance between himself and the law as he could and do it as fast as possible. He crossed the street to the depot. He found the stationmaster behind the ticket counter.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Did you take on a passenger last night shipping a blue roan?” He shrugged. “You’d have to ask my night man. He’s gone home to bed.”

  “What time does he come back?”

  “Six o’clock. You might ask the stockman. He might know.”

  “Where do I find him?”

  “Stock pens, east of the depot.”

  Cane touched his hat brim. “Much obliged.”

  The stockman was more like a stock boy, not quite grown into a gangly rawboned frame. He pushed a battered slouch hat off a shock of unruly brown hair matted with sweat. He wiped his brow on a sleeve.

  “Howdy, mister. You shippin’ or receivin’?”

  “Receivin’ a little information I hope. Do you know if a passenger shipped a blue roan last night?”

  “Sure, loaded him myself, I did.”

  “You don’t happen to know where he was headed?”

  The lad shook his head. “All I know is that he boarded the 10:10 eastbound.”

  “Well that’s more than I knew when I got here. Thanks, son.”

  Cane had enough to pass on to Colonel Crook. He headed for the depot telegraph office. Time to see what the colonel’s league could do.

  FOURTEEN

  Longstreet couldn’t say if it was late-afternoon sun or the rumble in his gut that woke him. Likely some of both. No, more likely it was hunger. He hadn’t eaten anything since leaving Julesburg. He made his way downstairs. Abby Stone was still at the counter conversing with a thin older gentleman with garters gathered at his shirtsleeves. She brightened at the sight of him.

  “You look a bit more rested than when you checked in.”

  “I am. Now I’m mindful of the need of a meal. Any suggestions?”

  “I was just about to head on over to Delmonico’s for some supper. Care to join me?”

  It was Longstreet’s turn to smile. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”

  “Probably the only offer you’ve had all day.”

  “Might be, I don’t rightly recollect.”

  “Well at least I didn’t come in second best.” She stepped out from behind the counter and led the way to the door.

  “I hope you don’t think it forward of me inviting you to supper.”

  “I’m never put off by the invitation of a beautiful woman.”

  “Now that’s much better than coming in second best.” She took his arm as they crossed the street.

  The table service and linen told Longstreet Delmonico’s was a step up from the usual frontier café. A waiter in a starched white apron smiled in greeting. “Your usual table Mrs. Stone?”

  “Thank you, Alanzo.”

  He showed them to a quiet corner table and held her chair.

  “We’ve a shepherd’s pie on special this evening. May I get you something to drink or would you prefer a bottle of Bordeaux?”

  “Beau?”

  “I take it the wine is your usual.”

  She nodded with her eyelashes.

  “That will be fine.”

  “Very good, sir.” He went off to fetch their wine.

  “Come here often?”

  “How did you guess?”

  They both laughed.

  “How’s the shepherd’s pie?”

  “One of my favorites. The steaks are also excellent for a hungry man.”

  “I am that.”

  The waiter returned with a bottle and glasses. He poured a small splash for her.

  “That will do nicely, Alanzo.”

  He poured. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Beau?”

  “I’ll have a steak.”

  “Very good sir. Mrs. Stone?”

  “I’ll have the special this evening, Alanzo.”

  He turned on a heel and floated away.

  He lifted his glass. “Here’s to pleasant company.”

  She touched the rim of her glass to his and smiled. She took a small sip.

  “So Beau Longstreet, what brings you to Buffalo Station?”

  “I’m with the Pinkerton agency. We’re investigating the Big Springs train robbery.”

  “And were you involved in that dreadful shooting last night?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. That was Briscoe Cane’s work.”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Cane, I believe we have him registered too. And does that finish your work on this case?”

  He shook his head. “That accounts for two of them. Three more are still on the loose with most of the money.”

  “Any idea who they are and where they are headed?”

  “We know who they are. If we knew where they were it’s likely I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  Her lashes fluttered. “That would be a pity.”

  “I’m pleased you think so.”

  “One of the men you’re after wouldn’t happen to be Sam Bass would he?”

  Longstreet’s jaw dropped. “Why yes. How did you know?”

  “Just a lucky guess. He sat in that very chair last night. He disappeared right after the shoot-out. I suspect he lit out like a puppy with his tail on fire.”

  The waiter arrived with their meals.

  Longstreet eyed his steak. “That looks good.”

  “It is. Buffalo Station has a great many good things to offer.”

  “I see that.”

  She held his eyes.

  “Just one more question?”

  “Just one?”

  “I mean one more about Sam Bass. You wouldn’t happen to know where he went would you?”

  “He said he was on his way to Texas.”

  “Texas is a big place.”

  “Best I can do.”

  “I’m sure there’s a great deal you do better than just that.”

  “If you don’t run straight off to Texas, I’m sure we can find something.”

  Her lashes fluttered again.

  Bass caught the 10:10 train east, that much Cane knew. How far he went and where it might lead were questions left unanswered. Cane couldn’t think them through on an empty stomach. He ran into Longstreet and the woman from the hotel returning from supper as he left the hotel for Delmonico’s. Longstreet didn’t let any grass grow under his feet, or so it seemed. He touched the brim of his hat as they passed.

  “Ma’am, Longstreet.”

  “Evenin’ Cane. May I present Abby Stone.”

  “Mrs. Stone, my pleasure.” He turned to Longstreet. “You come up with anything worth tradin’?”

  “Maybe so. Did you come up with anything?”

  “Maybe so. You want to have a drink and compare notes?”

  Longstreet glanced at Abby Stone. “I’m ah, busy at the moment.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’m to report to Mr. Kingsley in the morning. Why don’t you stop by the depot? I’ll introduce you to him and maybe we can do some business.”

  “Sure. See you then. Have a pleasant evening.”

  September 28

  Longstreet eased out of bed so as not to disturb her rhythmic breathing. Morning sun seeped through the curtains glazing the room in a tawny glow. He rummaged among the hastily discarded piles of clothing, piecing together those that were his. It had been quite a night. Abby Stone had the body of a goddess, the appetites of a whore and a sharp wit to top off the whole package. He tiptoed out the bedroom door to the small parlor at the front of her rooms. He pulled on his pants and sat on a velvet tufted chair to contemplate his boots. She’d suggested a drink after dinner. The crystal decanter sat innocently on the sideboard
where they’d left it. Two glasses stood abandoned on a table beside the settee. That’s where it all started. A drink, a little conversation and what began as a simple good-night kiss.

  He pulled on his boots and stood to tuck in his shirt. He had no idea what time they’d finally given in to sleep. Not long ago, judging the weight of the night’s exertions he carried. He picked his coat off the back of the chair.

  “You running off to Texas without saying good-bye?”

  She stood in the bedroom door, wrapped in a sheet. Soft light lit embers of warmth aglow in her beautifully disheveled hair.

  “Never without saying good-bye, but I must report to work.”

  Her lip turned out in a pretty pout. What man could resist that? Two steps and he had her in his arms. Her mouth welcomed his. Possibilities and promises exchanged unspoken.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’ll be back.” He crossed the small parlor to the door.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  He turned.

  The sheet slipped.

  FIFTEEN

  Longstreet strolled across the depot platform, squinting against early-morning sun bright and low in the east. He paused inside the depot allowing his eyes to adjust to shadows muted by window grime. Kingsley sat at Agent Reed’s cramped desk, nursing a steaming cup of tea.

  “Longstreet, I say you’re looking more like your old self this morning. Ready to take on the challenges of the day are we?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. Any new developments overnight?”

  “A couple of reports so far, you can read at your leisure. Nothing of substance I fear.”

  “I have something.”

  Kingsley lifted the monocle he wore on a velvet ribbon and fitted it to his eye, a gesture he reserved for confronting dubious information. “Have a dream did we?”

  “No sir. I had dinner with a lady who had information that may prove relevant.”

  “A lady, you do have a knack for that. How does one find female dinner companionship whilst sleeping off the rigors of a day’s travel?”

  “Just lucky I guess.”

  “Yes, quite I’m sure. And what morsel of information might she have had?”