The Chase Part 18

"We need the time to make a count to verify the amount s.h.i.+pped from the bank in Denver."

"So the bandit has a limited window of opportunity."

Oxnard nodded. "If he's going to make his play, it will have to be tomorrow."

"Have you seen or had contact with any new depositors or people who simply walked into the bank and then walked out again?"

"A new superintendent for the Liberty Bell mine opened a checking account." He paused to gaze up at the ceiling in thought. "Then there was a very attractive woman who opened an account. A very small account. Very sad."

"Sad?"

"Her husband left her back in Iowa to strike it rich in Colorado. She never heard from him again, and the last thing she learned was from a friend, a conductor on the railroad. He told her that her husband left word he was going to Telluride to work in the mines. She came here in an attempt to find him. Poor soul. Chances are, he was one of the many men who died in the mines."

"I'd like the name of the mine superintendent," said Bell, "so I can check him out."

"I'll get it for you." Oxnard went into his office and returned in less than a minute. "His name is Oscar Reynolds."

"Thank you."

Oxnard stared at Bell. "Aren't you going to check out the woman?"

"The bandit has never worked with a woman-or any man, for that matter. He always commits his crimes alone."

"Just as well," Oxnard sighed. "Poor thing. She only opened an account for two dollars. In order to eat, she'll probably have to work in a bordello, since jobs for women are scarce in Telluride. And those jobs that do exist are filled by the wives of the miners."

"Just to play safe, I'd like her name, too."

"Rachel Jordan."

Bell laughed softly. "Her, you remembered."

Oxnard smiled. "It's easy to remember a name with a pretty face."

"Did she say where she was staying?"

"No, but I can only a.s.sume it's in a crib." He gave Bell a sly look. "You going to look her up?"

"No," said Bell thoughtfully. "I hardly think a woman is the Butcher Bandit."

25.

MARGARET WAS NOT ENDURING THE LIFE OF A PROSt.i.tUTE in a crib on Pacific Avenue. She was living in style in the New Sheridan Hotel. After opening a small account at the town bank to examine the floor plan, number of employees and where they were located, and the type of safe, she made the rounds of the mining companies to make inquiries about a long-lost husband who never existed. The effort gave her story substance, and soon she became the source of gossip around town.

She went so far as to call on Sheriff Pardee with her bogus story, to see what kind of man he was face-to-face. Mrs. Alice Pardee came into the office when Margaret was asking the sheriff for his cooperation in finding her husband. Alice immediately felt sorry for the woman in the cheap, well-faded cotton dress who poured out her sad tale of the abandoned wife desperately seeking the man who had deserted her. Alice a.s.sumed that this Rachel Jordan was half starved and invited her up to their house for dinner. Margaret accepted and arrived in the same cheap dress, which she had bought in San Francisco at a used-clothing store for the poor.

That evening, Margaret made a display of helping Alice Pardee in the kitchen, but it was obvious to the sheriff's wife that their guest was not at home over a hot stove. Alice served a homemade meal of mutton chops, boiled potatoes, and steamed vegetables, topped off by an apple pie for dessert. After dinner, tea was served and everyone settled in the parlor, where Alice played tunes on an old upright piano.

"Tell me, Mrs. Jordan," Alice asked, pausing to change the sheet music, "where are you staying?"

"A nice lady, Miss Billy Maguire, hired me as a waitress at her ladies' boardinghouse."

Pardee and his wife exchanged pained glances. Alice sucked in her breath. "Big Billy is the madam of the Silver Belle bordello," she said. "Didn't you know that?"

Margaret made a display of looking sheepish. "I had no idea."

Alice bought Margaret's lie, Pardee did not. He knew there was no way any woman could fail to recognize the difference between a boardinghouse and a bordello. The germ of suspicion began to grow in his mind, but his wife was swept by compa.s.sion.

"You poor thing," she said, putting her arm around Margaret. "You'll not stay at the Silver Belle another minute. You'll stay here with Henry and me until you find your husband."

"But he may not be in Telluride," Margaret said as if about to weep. "Then I would have to move on, and I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Nonsense," said Alice. "You march right back to Big Billy's and bring back your things. I'll make up the spare bed for you."

Margaret went into her act and shed a few tears. "How can I ever thank you? How can I ever repay you?"

"Don't give it a thought. Henry and I are only too glad to help a poor soul in distress. It's the Christian thing to do."

As she sipped her coffee, Margaret moved the conversation to Pardee's job as sheriff. "You have to live an exciting life," she said. "Telluride seems like an uninhibited town. You must be kept quite busy."

"The miners can get pretty rowdy at times," Pardee agreed, "but serious crimes like murder don't happen but once every six months or so. It's been peaceful since the union strikes by the miners two years ago, when the governor sent in the army to squelch the rioting."

Margaret was slow and deliberate in her answers to Pardee's questions about her missing husband. She in turn made general inquiries about the town and the mines. "A lot of money must pa.s.s through the bank to the mining companies," she said casually.

Pardee nodded. "The payrolls can add up to a considerable amount."

"And you never have a fear of robbers and thieves?" she asked innocently.

"The miners are a solid lot and rarely indulge in crime. Except for occasional fights in the saloons, or a killing when a confrontation gets out of hand, the town is pretty quiet."

"When I was in the bank, I saw that the safe looked very strong and secure."

"It's strong, all right," said Pardee, lighting his pipe. "Five sticks of dynamite couldn't blow it open."

"And the bank manager is the only one who knows the combination?"

Pardee thought it strange a question like that came from a woman, but he answered without hesitation. "Actually, the locking bolts are set to spring open at ten o'clock every morning. At three o'clock in the afternoon, the manager closes the door and sets the clock."

"Someone at the Silver Belle told me Butch Ca.s.sidy robbed the local bank."

Pardee laughed. "That was a long time ago. We've never had a bank robbery since."

Margaret was leery of pus.h.i.+ng too hard, but there was information she had to know if her brother was to carry out a successful robbery. "The miners' payroll. Is it taken directly to the mining companies when it arrives?"

Pardee shook his head and went along with Bell's story. "It came in today and went directly to the bank. Tomorrow, it will be counted and sent to the mines the next day."

"Are there extra guards in the bank to protect the money?"

"No need," said Pardee. "Anyone who tried to rob the bank wouldn't get far. With the telegraph lines running alongside the railroad tracks, peace officers around the county would be alerted and posses formed to wait for the robbers when they tried to escape."

"Then such a crime would be impossible to commit successfully."

"I guess you could say that," Pardee replied confidently. "There's no way it could succeed."

Margaret left the Pardee house and walked toward the Silver Belle. As soon as she was out of sight, she ran down an alley to the New Sheridan Hotel to pack her meager clothes. She felt pleased with herself and could not believe her luck. Staying with the sheriff and his wife would give her access to most of the town. When her brother arrived, she would have enough information for him to plan a foolproof crime.

Her only problem was the whereabouts of her brother. To her knowledge, he had not arrived in town, and tomorrow was the only day the payrolls could be robbed before they went to the mines for distribution to the miners. She began to feel extremely uneasy.

26.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, A BLACK-HAIRED WOMAN drove a smart-looking buggy pulled by a dappled gray horse on the road into Telluride. The road led from the ranching community of Montrose, a rail terminus for the Rio Grande Southern Railroad. She had arrived from Denver and rented the rig and horse at the local stable. She was dressed in a long buckskin skirt over a pair of pointed-toe leather boots. Her upper torso was covered by a nicely knit green sweater under a wolfskin fur coat. A lady's-style flat-topped cowboy hat was set squarely on her head. She was fas.h.i.+onably attired for the West, but not ostentatious.

She came onto Colorado Avenue, pa.s.sed the San Miguel County Courthouse, and pulled the horse to a stop in front of the town stable. She climbed down from the buggy and tied the horse to a hitching post. The stable owner came out and lifted his hat.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. Can I help you?"

"Yes, I wonder if you would please feed and water my horse. I have to be on the road back to Montrose this afternoon."

"Yes, ma'am," said the stable owner politely, slightly taken aback by a voice that had a gentle harshness about it. "I'll take care of it. While I'm at it, I'll tighten your front wheels. They look a mite loose."

"You're very kind, thank you. Oh, and by the way, my sister will come for the buggy and pay you."

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman left the stable and walked a block to the New Sheridan Hotel. She approached the desk clerk and asked, "Do you have a Miss Rachel Jordan registered here?"

The clerk shook his head, stared at what he saw as an attractive woman, and said, "No, ma'am, she checked out last night." He paused, turned, and pulled an envelope out of a mail-and-key slot. "But she said if someone asked for her to give them this."

The woman thanked the clerk, walked out onto the sidewalk, opened the envelope, and read the note. She stuffed it in her purse and began walking through town. After a short hike, she came to the Lone Tree Cemetery, on a hill north of the San Miguel River. She pa.s.sed through the gate and walked among the tombstones, noting that most of the deceased had died from mine accidents, snow slides, and miner's consumption.

A pretty blond woman was sitting on a bench beside a grave site, leaning back and sunning herself. Out of the corner of one eye, she caught the approach of another woman. She sat up and stared at the intruder, who stopped and looked down at her. Margaret began to laugh.

"My G.o.d, Jacob," she finally gasped. "That's the most ingenious disguise you've ever created."

Cromwell smiled. "I thought you'd approve."

"A good thing you're short, thin, and wiry."

"I don't know why I never thought of it before." He awkwardly bunched up his buckskin skirt and sat down on the bench next to Margaret. "Tell me, sister dear, what have you learned since you've been here?"

Margaret told him how she became friendly with the sheriff and his wife. She handed him a sketch she'd made of the Telluride First National Bank's interior and a description of the employees. Her report included the arrival of the payroll s.h.i.+pment from the bank in Denver and the counting today before it was sent to the mines tomorrow.

Cromwell looked at his watch. "We have one more hour before the bank closes. The best time to remove the currency and leave town."

"I spotted a man hanging around the railroad depot. I couldn't tell for sure, but I suspect he might have been a Van Dorn agent who was on the lookout for you."

Cromwell looked thoughtful. "Even if Van Dorn sends agents to watch train arrivals and departures during payroll s.h.i.+pments, they're only chasing a phantom. No way they could know where I'll strike next."

"If they're wise to your boxcar, it's a good thing you had it repainted." She looked at him quizzically. "Just how do you expect us to make a clean escape after you rob the bank?"

Cromwell grinned wolfishly. "Who would suspect a pair of clean-cut, attractive ladies riding slowly out of town in a horse and buggy?"

She placed her arm around his shoulders. "The simplest plan is the best plan. You are brilliant, brother. You never cease to amaze me."

"I appreciate the compliment," he said, rising to his feet. "We don't have much time. The payroll awaits."

"What would you like me to do?"

"Go to the stable and pick up my horse and buggy. I told the stable owner my sister would come by to get the rig. Then wait at the back door of the bank."

WHILE IRVINE watched the train station and town railyard, Bell and Curtis manned the Telluride Bank. Sitting in Murray Oxnard's office, Bell began to think he had bet on the wrong horse. There were only ten minutes left before closing time and no sign of the bandit. Playing the role of a teller, Irvine was getting ready to close out his cashbox in antic.i.p.ation of waiting on the last customer.

Bell glanced down at the .45 Colt automatic he'd kept in an open desk drawer and regretted that he would not get to use it on the Butcher Bandit. Blowing the sc.u.m's head off was too good for him, Bell mused. Not after he had murdered so many unsuspecting people. His death would save the taxpayers the expense of a trial. Now Bell was faced with admitting defeat and starting over again with the meager clues he and his agents had ferreted out.

Irvine walked over to the office door and leaned his shoulder against the frame. "I can't deny it was a good try," he said with a tightness in his voice.

"It looks as if the bandit failed to take the bait," Bell said slowly.

"Perhaps he didn't read the article in the paper because he doesn't live in San Francisco."

"It's beginning to look that way."

Just then the door opened and a woman wearing a buckskin skirt walked into the bank, her hat pulled low so it covered her eyes. Bell gazed past Irvine but relaxed at seeing what appeared to be a well-dressed woman. He nodded to Irvine, who walked back to his teller's cage and said, "How may I help you, ma'am?"

Cromwell lifted his head slightly so he could look into Irvine's face. Then with a pang of alarm he stiffened as he instantly remembered the Van Dorn agent as one of the men who were sitting with Bell and Bronson in the Bohemian Club dining room only days earlier. He did not answer Irvine for fear his voice would give him away to the agent. Cromwell became charged with tension as he realized this was a trap. There came a pause as he lowered his head, his mind racing with alternatives. His advantage was that the agent did not recognize him, not dressed as a woman, and was not alert to the fact that the bandit was less than four feet away on the other side of the counter.

He could shoot the agent and take what money was in the safe or he could simply turn around and walk out of the bank. He chose the latter option and was about to beat a hasty retreat when Bell stepped from the office. Cromwell immediately recognized Bell. For the first time in his criminal career, he felt the spur of panic.

"How may I help you, ma'am?" Irvine repeated, vaguely wondering why the woman did not answer him the first time.