“I’ve never heard of it.” Charley didn’t stop working. He knew the moment he did, Leeds would stop talking.
“Not many have. Let me see. It happened about ’66. Or was it ’65? A bunch of buffalo hunters were jumped by a Blackfoot war party. Two were killed outright, and the rest ran for their lives. The Blackfeet chased them clear to the bluffs overlooking the Missouri. With their backs to the chalk cliffs, the buffalo hunters used their Sharps rifles to keep the Blackfeet at bay. Howard was hailed as a hero because he picked off a Blackfoot chief at a range of three-quarters of a mile, and the rest took that as a sign of bad medicine and rode off.”
“Three-quarters of a mile?”
“I keep forgetting that although you’re a country boy, you’re green as grass when it comes to life on the frontier. And while I’m a city dweller myself, I’ve learned a few things over the years. Among them, that a skilled marksman with a Sharps can hit a man-sized target from a mile away or more.”
To Charley, it bordered on the preposterous. He had done a lot of hunting in Kentucky and could drop a buck at two hundred yards. But a mile? That had to be another of those outlandish tall tales frontiersmen were so fond of spreading. “What else do you know about Enos Howard?”
“Let’s see. There was an item in the newspaper about the time he tried to break Buffalo Bill Cody’s record for killing the most buffalo in a certain span of time, but Howard fell short, as I recall. Then he was involved in a shooting match with Jesse Comstock. It had something to do with seeing which of them could shoot the most bull’s-eyes. Howard lost, I believe, and nothing much was heard about him again until he showed up in Denver a year or so ago. He’s been here ever since, generally making a nuisance of himself.” To demonstrate, Leeds raised an imaginary glass or bottle to his mouth and mimicked drinking.
To Charley, it didn’t sound promising. A drunk would be of no use on a manhunt.
“Now, is there anything else you would like to know?” Leeds asked. “The history of Denver, perhaps? Or maybe I should recite the Declaration of Independence?”
“You’re pullin’ my leg,” Charley said. “But there is one more thing you can do for me. You can let me go early tonight. Say, about five thirty?”
Mr. Leeds did a marvelous imitation of someone who had swallowed a chicken egg, shell and all. “Is there no limit to your gall, young man? Give me one reason why I should agree.”
Charley was about to lead the team to their stalls. “The credit is all yours.”
“Honestly, there are moments when I can’t decide if you are sincere or, as you just so quaintly phrased it, pulling my leg.”
“Weren’t you the one who told me I should set my sights on something I desire more than anything else, then go after it, heart and soul?” Charley quoted. “Well, it so happens I’ve found something, and I’m takin’ your advice.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Leeds was flattered. “In that case, I’ll gladly give you the evening off. But I expect you to make up the extra time on your day off. That is, if you want a full week’s pay.”
The hours crawled by. Charley was so preoccupied, he didn’t hear four men enter the stable. He was in the tack room repairing a bridle when one coughed. He rose to go see what they wanted, but the bridle slipped off his lap to the ground, and in the time it took for him to bend and retrieve it, Mr. Leeds came out of his office to greet them.
“May I help you gentlemen? I’m the proprietor. Artemis Leeds, at your service. My livery has some of the finest horses, buggies, and carriages for rent anywhere in Denver. By the hour or the day, at affordable rates.”
The quartet wore suits and bowlers. At first glance they looked like businessmen, but something about them reminded Charley of Loritz and Arch. Maybe it was how they carried themselves, like coiled springs. Or maybe it was their hard features. One wore a vest with mother-of-pearl buttons and a gold watch chain dangling from one of its pockets. He had blond hair and blue eyes and carried a polished cane with an ivory knob at the top. The others were slabs of muscle with thick necks and knuckles as big as walnuts.
“My associates and I are not here to rent anything, Mr. Leeds,” said the fancy dresser with the gold watch chain. “We are searching for someone. The word on the street is that you have a farm boy working for you. Pickett. Charles Pickett. We would very much like a word with him, if you don’t mind.”
Charley’s mouth went dry. He thought for sure Mr. Leeds would point to where he was, but his employer responded, “Haven’t you any manners, sir? Or don’t people introduce themselves where you come from?”
The man with the cane raised it. For a moment Charley thought he was going to strike Leeds, but instead he rested the knob on his right shoulder and smiled an oily smile. “I am Ubel Gunther. My friends and I work for Walter Radtke. Perhaps you have heard this name?”
“Who hasn’t? He’s very rich and very powerful.”
Ubel’s smile widened, but Mr. Leeds wasn’t finished.
“It’s well known that your Mr. Radtke has his dirty fingers in every illegal and illicit enterprise in Denver. Were I to make a list of the ten most detestable men in the city, he would be at the top.”
A lantern-jawed husky with shoulders as wide as Charley’s took a step toward Leeds but stopped when Ubel motioned with the cane. “Watch that temper of yours, Hans. Remember our instructions.” Ubel pushed his bowler back on his head using the knob of his cane, then said softly, “Where is the farm boy, stableman?”
“How should I know? I sent him on an errand, and he never came back. Young people today have no sense of responsibility. Why, when I was his age, I would have been grateful for a job like this.”
“Spare me your life’s story.” Ubel regarded Leeds a few moments. “I trust you wouldn’t lie to us. We wouldn’t like that. Not one bit.” Ubel glanced around the stable.
Instinctively, Charley crouched down, although it was unlikely Gunther would spot him there in the shadows.
“Since the farm boy isn’t here, we won’t take up any more of your time. But we’ll be back.” Ubel turned to go. “It is in your best interest to keep our visit to yourself.”
Mr. Leeds did not move until they were out of sight, then he uttered the first swear words Charley had ever heard him say. Charley went out.
“I trust you heard everything? How on earth did you make an enemy of a man like Walter Radtke?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Charley said.
“This is serious. Radtke is not anyone to trifle with.” Mr. Leeds looked at him, and Leeds was worried. “Take some more of my advice, and make yourself scarce. Otherwise, as surely as the sun rises every morning, your days are numbered.”
Chapter Four
Nebraska Panhandle
The rider was tall, and any woman who saw him would say he was uncommonly striking. He rode well, but not as one born to the saddle. From a distance he could easily be mistaken for a cowboy since he wore cowboy garb, from the Stetson atop his neatly combed black hair to the spurs attached to his boots. But up close, an observer would notice everything was new and showed none of the wear and tear of a true cowhand’s work clothes.
He had piercing green eyes, this rider, and he constantly scoured the countryside, searching. Several times that day he took a map from his saddlebags, spread it out across his saddle, and reassured himself he was where he wanted to be.