Caleb read what the banker had written and found an address.
“That’s where I was supposed to send any inquiries or papers regarding the space upstairs. Do you think he’ll be completing the process?”
“Of renting that space?” Caleb asked. “Of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if he put down a bigger deposit after he gets the money I’m delivering.”
If the banker seemed at all concerned about the information he’d given, that went away once he heard those words spoken in Caleb’s confident tone. “Splendid! I’ll start getting the final contracts drawn up.”
Tapping the slip to his temple in a quick salute, Caleb said, “I’ll tell him the good news. Good day to you, sir.”
“And to you.”
[14]
The Seegar home was easy enough to find. Unfortunately, when Caleb knocked on the door, nobody answered. After knocking a few more times, he peeked into the closest window and swore under his breath at the utter stillness inside the well-maintained house. Just as he was about to give up, Caleb heard a shot crack through the air. His first instinct was to duck and look around for who’d fired at him. When he heard the next shot, he realized that nobody at all was firing at him. In fact, the shots were coming from somewhere behind the house.
Doing his best to step as lightly as possible. Caleb climbed down from the Seegars’ porch and worked his way around the house. Out back, there was a little patch of land containing a few trees and a small garden. One of the trees was big enough to hold a swing from a thick branch as well as the first traces of a tree house.
Standing amid the domestic trappings, Doc looked more than a little out of place with his sleeves rolled up and a smoking pistol in his hand. His arm hung at his side as though the weight of the pistol was enough to drag it down. His back was to the house, and he looked toward the end of the property, which was sectioned off by a sturdy fence.
Casually, Doc lifted the gun, extended his arm, and pivoted around to take aim at Caleb. When he saw who was approaching, he pointed the gun away from Caleb but didn’t lower his arm. “It’s not proper to sneak up on a man.”
“With all the gunshots going off lately,” Caleb said as he held his open hands in front of him. “I wasn’t too concerned with being proper.”
Doc chuckled once under his breath before lowering his arm and turning away from the house. There were several bottles lined up on the fence. When Doc squeezed his trigger, one of the bottles exploded into a shower of glass shards.
“Is there something you need?” Doc asked.
Caleb walked forward and stood next to Doc. The dentist was still impeccably groomed and had his blond hair neatly parted. He was even dressed in the imported clothes that had become one of his calling cards. But there was something odd about the shoulder holster strapped around his slender frame and under his gray silk vest. The diamond stickpin was in place as well, not too far from where the holster hung against his side.
“I had a word with Orville Deagle a few nights ago,” Caleb said.
“Really? I don’t suppose you were spared the nastiness of meeting his two dimwitted nephews as well?”
“They were along.”
In a flicker of motion, Doc’s arm snapped up, and he brought his pistol up to fire. The shot cracked through the air, but only a single chip was taken from the neck of one of the bottles.
“Better you than me,” Doc said.
“Actually, your name did come up in the conversation.”
“Ah.” Doc sighed as he lowered his arm, let it hang for a moment, and then snapped it up to take another shot. This time, the bottles remained completely untouched. “The plot thickens.”
“It sure does. They told me that you rounded up witnesses to lie for me when Ben Mays came around asking about the shooting.”
As Doc lowered his arm and rolled his head about to work a kink from his neck, he said, “Lie is such an ugly word. I prefer the term, organizing your defense.” His arm snapped up, and the gun spat its smoke and fire. The bottle that had been chipped before now lost its upper half and wobbled on the fence before coming to a stop.
“Will you stop that and listen?” Caleb snarled. “They threatened to change their story, and I’m pretty sure Mays wouldn’t mind seeing me hang once he gets a halfway decent excuse.”
Doc turned to face Caleb properly while opening the cylinder of his pistol. The gun was a Navy model Colt and appeared to be in fine condition. Emptying the spent shells, Doc let his hands do their work while his eyes remained fixed on Caleb. “Mays keeps some pretty unsavory company. He also can’t stand gambling and drunkards. That puts saloon owners pretty low on his list.”
“Great, Doc. That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
“Don’t fret too much about it,” Doc added with a wink. “I’m not too high on that list myself.”
Despite the worries filling Caleb’s mind, he couldn’t help but laugh at Doc’s easygoing wit. When spoken in his comforting Georgia drawl, matters just didn’t seem as grave as they had been a few moments before.
“One of those nephews came by my saloon with the town law,” Caleb said.
“Sheriff Hopper is in this? He doesn’t have as big a problem with gambling.”
“I know. He didn’t seem too concerned, but that doesn’t mean this is over. Somehow, that miner and those other two got it in their heads that I’m the one to solve their financial woes.”
Fishing out bullets from his vest pocket, Doc fit them into the pistol and snapped the cylinder shut. He then slipped the Colt back into his shoulder holster and positioned his feet so that he was standing sideways in relation to the fence. “If you had their financial woes, you might be getting a little desperate yourself.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Just what you think it means. Our mutual friend the prospector isn’t exactly on stable ground when it comes to his finances. Then again,” Doc added as he flexed his fingers and fixed his eyes upon the bottles, “not many in that profession are.”
“How do you know all this?”
“It’s my business to know.”
“Why? Do you fix Orville’s teeth?”
Doc glanced over to Caleb and then pulled in a breath. There wasn’t too much of a wheeze associated with that action today. “I’m referring to my other business.”
Caleb nodded and looked out to the bottles. “Ah, that’s right. You’re quite the gambler. I hear you’re becoming a man to keep an eye on when it comes to poker.”
“Orville’s new to poker. He’s more inclined to buck the tiger.”
“You mean faro?”
Doc nodded before drawing the pistol from his holster and taking a shot. Caleb had seen quicker draws, but Doc’s aim was on the money. The bottle that had already been blasted in half now shattered into a glittering mist. “The trick is to keep everything steady,” Doc recited. “Right down to the breath you take before and after you fire. Concentrating on the breath after is what pulls you through.”
“How bad is Orville’s debt?” Caleb asked, ignoring Doc’s free shooting lesson.
“At least seven hundred, and that just covers what he owes to Champagne Charlie.”
Caleb scowled when he heard that name. Champagne Charlie ran the St. Charles Saloon and was known to be one of the happiest fellows someone could meet. “I never knew Charlie was that hard on the folks who owed him money.”
“He’s not. It’s his partner that needs to be watched.”
“Partner?”
After placing the Colt back into its holster, Doc drew and fired in a motion that was slightly quicker than the time before. He took a piece from the next bottle in line and swore, even though that bottle teetered and eventually fell off the fence.