Final Justice for the Fallen (Preview)

Chapter One

Territory of Wyoming, 1874

When Wade Travers left Chicago, he intended to return as a wealthy man. He had saved as much money as possible, living under his father’s thumb. Wade understood the value of a dollar earned and how it could be saved. His father had believed that to earn that dollar, someone else should do all the hard work while he kept the profits.

“What does your father do for a living?” the wife asked politely.

Her husband was ten to twenty years her senior, despondent, and indifferent to discussions. Wade had shared the bench space on the train for a few hours with the newly married couple. The grumbling man occupied the window side of the bench, leaning his bulk against the swaying train car wall, dozing and snoring. He wore an immaculate pressed suit and shined shoes.

“He owns a textile shipping company on Lake Michigan,” Wade said. It used to bring him pride. His father was a prominent part of the community. He was business-minded and tenacious—traits he had passed on to Wade.

“How exciting,” the wife said. She had a sweet round face and doe-like eyes. Her pointy-toed black boots had worn soles and scuffed leather, and her dress hem had been mended several times with threads subtly different from the original. She played with the wedding band often during their trip. “You must be very wealthy.”

Her husband snorted, lifting the hat brim from his eyes to glare at Wade. He drew a thick finger under his nose several times, scratching the mustache. They stopped talking. The wife remained upright in the upholstered seat, back flat against the padded wood seat. They faced the front of the train; Wade faced the rear, giving him a better angle of the people behind them.

“My father is wealthy, I’m not,” Wade said. “He says I must earn my fortune just as he did if I am to prove my worth in society.”

“That’s good advice,” the husband said.

Wade watched a young man wandering in and out of the train car. Every time the door opened, a rush of fresh air washed out the tobacco and body odor stench. Dust stirred and swirled. The young man wore a hat that was too big for his head and a suit that hung from his wiry frame. The young man made several passes in and out of the car from both ends. Each time, he avoided the train conductor or stewards. On the next pass, the young man made eye contact with Wade.

“Please excuse me,” the wife said, smoothing her dress before standing.

Wade immediately took his notebook off his lap to politely stand for the lady. She had plenty of space in the booth to leave without bumping her feet. It was a reflex, and the husband only crossed his legs, lacing his fingers across the gold chain on his vest. When the wife was headed down the aisle toward the water closet, Wade sat down again.

“Why don’t you gather your things and find another place to sit.” The voice seeped out through gritted teeth under the hat brim.

“Excuse me?” Wade asked.

A large finger poked at the brim, and red-rimmed eyes peered at him from across the booth. Under the bushy mustache, a lip curled.

“You’re going to get up, gather your luggage, and find another place to sit.”

“I will do no such thing. I—”

Wade stopped talking as the man unfolded, pressing large shoes on the floorboards before using the entire bench to square up directly across from him. His hands were bigger than Wade’s face—hands that could easily fit around his neck with room to spare if he didn’t squeeze.

The groom leaned forward, pinning Wade to his bench. He glanced around for witnesses, a steward, someone to see how the man trapped him. Conveniently, everyone had turned away, watching anywhere but in their direction.

“It’s very simple,” the man said coolly. “If you don’t get up and leave this car before my bride gets back, I’ll help you off the train.”

“Excuse me—”

With unanticipated speed and calculated accuracy, the man’s viselike hand clamped on Wade’s knee and squeezed. Even at the angle, the excruciating force made him wince.

“Unhand me—”

The grip tightened, taking Wade’s breath away.

The man’s meaty bulk shifted forward, applying more force against Wade’s kneecap. Wade’s hands hovered above his knee, wavered by the crippling pressure of the warning not to touch. The man leaned closer to Wade and breathed fetid breath over him. He saw the pistol grip in the holster under the man’s log-sized arm.

“I want you to stop talking to my wife. I want you to get out of this train car,” he said. “You are an upstart and a charlatan. If you speak to my bride again, I will—”

The young man in the ill-fitting suit somehow tripped in the aisle, falling against the burly man. The clamp released Wade’s knee, and he jolted upright. The young man repeatedly apologized, dusting the man’s shoulder and arm, straightening his lapels, and righting his crooked hat as Wade slipped from the booth and shuffled out of the car.

Available seating was nearly impossible to find farther from the luxury class section of the train, so Wade decided not to involve the conductor. He still had many miles and many days to go until he reached his destination. It would now be a long, hard ride without access to his purchased accommodations and amenities.

A small family of three made room for Wade on a bench without cushions. They offered to share their stale bread, but he declined.

Sometime during the night, with passengers swayed to sleep by the gentle rocking and the rhythmic thump-thump of the rails, Wade woke to see the young man in the ill-fitting suit settling on the floor in the aisle. Tucking his feet under his legs, he removed the hat and yawned.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, eyes closed.

The family of three dozed in the dark.

“What do you mean?” Wade asked.

“He would have murdered you.”

The idea had crossed Wade’s mind, making it impossible for him to sleep like everyone else.

“Do you know him? Maybe I could have you speak to the conductor,” Wade said.

“I don’t know him. But I know he wanted you to stop talking to his wife.” He opened one eye to look at Wade. “You honestly didn’t see a problem?”

“I was being friendly.”

“You were a fool,” he said. They were close together; Wade saw he was barely old enough to grow whiskers.

“So, you decided to help?” Wade smirked.

“You needed a little help,” he said, offering his hand. “Percival Billings. My friends call me Percy.”

“Wade Travers.”

“Mr. Travers, I’ve worked my way west of the Mississippi for the last few weeks, and I have to say you are one of the most gullible men I’ve ever seen.”

Someone lit a pipe from a nearby booth. The match light allowed Wade to study the boy’s features. Somehow, Percy was worldly but a handful of years younger than Wade.

“Why do you think I’m so gullible?” Wade took offense to the comment but kept his voice low so as not to disturb the others inside the overcrowded passenger car.

“You let that tinhorn walk all over you,” Percy said.

“He had a gun.”

“So do I.” He grinned.

“What?”

“See? Gullible,” Percy said. “You can’t let anyone push you around. I can tell by your hands that you don’t know what it means to live hand-to-mouth. You ain’t never had to step up and dish out when someone pushes you around.”

Wade took a long time to consider the observation. The pipe tobacco lingered, and Percy’s stomach rumbled like a feral animal under his shirt.

“Can I buy you supper?” Wade asked. Given the circumstances, it was the least he could do for the young man.

“No, I’ll be alright,” Percy said, reaching into his threadbare coat. He removed a black billfold and kept it hidden from view. He pulled out a few banknotes, showing them to Wade in the limited light.

“Why do I get the impression that wallet doesn’t belong to you?”

“Who says? I ain’t a thief.” Percy tucked it away again. “But I do expect payment for my services.”

“What services?”

“I might have saved your life, or at least your neck.”

“That’s fair,” Wade said. “But tell me something, Percy. If that’s not your wallet, whose is it?”

“You already know.”

Wade said nothing, considering Percy’s words. Here was a young man willing to stick his neck out for a stranger without a second thought. “You jumped this train without a ticket, didn’t you?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. Not to me, anyway. But why did you risk getting caught helping me out?”

Percy laughed lightly, leaning against the bench and stretching out his legs. Holes in the soles of his shoes revealed his dirty bare feet. He pulled down his hat to cover his face before crossing his arms.

“I wasn’t going to get caught,” he said, voice muffled through the fabric. “But I saw you were in trouble.” He shrugged.

“Why are you heading west?” Wade asked.

“Why not? I ain’t got no one back East. And I hear there’s gold out there for the taking,” he said. “I can put in a little hard work and win big.”

“Do you own land? Do you have any ground rights?” As Wade spoke, the hat rose from Percy’s face, showing a scowl. “Do you know anything about the Mining Law of ’72? Do you have any patent mining claims? Do you know anything about mineral claims?”

Percy remained speechless, sighing lightly. Wade allowed a smile to play before he continued.

“Mr. Billings, you think me a man from the city, a man of high society who doesn’t understand how other men use the lawlessness around them to get what they want.” He pushed his fingers against his chest. “I know the laws. And I even have the land. You can go West and work in someone else’s mine if they’re willing to let you. But they’ll take your hard work and make it their own.”

Percy considered Wade’s words and answered with another shrug.

“I assure you, if you pull the same tricks on a miner’s claim, not only could it be dangerous for you, it’s also illegal,” Wade said. “You can’t just dig a hole or pan for gold anywhere you want.” He smiled. “I know you’re no stranger to breaking the law, so maybe getting hanged for stealing a claim doesn’t sound so dangerous to you.”

Percy’s expression changed as the hat dropped into his lap.

“How old are you?” Wade asked.

“I’m eighteen or so.”

Wade frowned. “You don’t know?”

“There about,” he said.

“Do you have a destination? Or are you going to ride until they throw you off the train, or that man finds you and shoots you for thievery?”

Percy’s face pinched painfully. “Are you going to tell?”

“No, but it would be a good idea to return that wallet before he learns it’s gone because he seems like the kind of man who might put things together and realize when you came to help me, you pilfered his billfold.”

“I… I—”

“Percy, relax. I have a proposition for you,” Wade said. “But first, you need to show me I can trust you. If they catch you stealing on the train, they might do things you don’t want to think about, but if you take that wallet back, no one needs to know you took it.”

His fingers played with the hat brim. “I don’t have money for a ticket.”

“I’ll buy your ticket,” Wade said. “And I’ll buy you some food so your belly doesn’t keep these folks awake all night.”

Percy blinked several times at Wade. His eyes looked shiny in the dark. “Why would you do that?”

“I figure I owe you,” he said. “And I might need a partner where I’m going. If you’re running by the seat of your pants, maybe you’d consider putting in with me and seeing what happens. At the very least, you’ll have some food in your belly, a clear conscience, and you’ll be on the right side of the law. You might even have some money in your pocket when everything is done.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“First, you got to take that wallet back before he finds out.” Wade offered a handshake again. “And if you’re willing to stop breaking the law to get by, I’ll hire you.”

Percy shook hands with Wade. The boy scrambled to his feet and tiptoed out of the passenger car to return the groom’s billfold. Wade had found an ally to help him on an adventure of a lifetime. And they had a long ride to get to know each other a little better.

Chapter Two

Sadie Winslow hadn’t done anything wrong, but some women saw her as a threat. She maintained her composure, showing a brave face. All the while, the mother continued to berate Sadie inside the empty schoolhouse.

It didn’t happen every day. Sometimes, the children behaved, keeping quiet about the underprivileged students Sadie welcomed to the school. Other times, townie kids bullied the camp children, and told their parents about outsiders sitting in the cramped classroom.

“You cannot keep allowing these urchins into the classroom,” Mrs. Johnson said. She was rotund and in need of another catalog dress to fit her ever-expanding middle.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Sadie told her. “If we give these children something more by teaching them reading and arithmetic, they can better themselves. We can keep them out of the mine.”

“I don’t care,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I won’t subject my children to the filth and stink.”

Sadie did her best to contain her frustration. Over Mrs. Johnson’s shoulder, Annie McLeod waved her hands frantically, making a sour face that only Sadie could see. Sadie swallowed, crossing her arms, allowing Mrs. Johnson to continue scolding her until the lady ran out of breath.

Some artisans had muses that inspired them to do great things. Sadie had Annie—the daughter of the saloon owner. Her ambitions went beyond working for her father. She was Sadie’s monitor, better than a muse. If Sadie had to turn her back on the students, Annie always kept a close eye.

While Mrs. Johnson shook a plump, angry finger at Sadie, Annie positioned herself outside the classroom, peering through the window. It was a system that worked, keeping Sadie grounded.

“And another thing,” Mrs. Johnson said. But Sadie had already ignored most of the woman’s rant. She began considering the next lesson plans, focusing on important things instead of arrogant parents.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Johnson. I saw your husband last night,” Annie said, finally making an appearance. She was nonchalant, avoiding the woman’s ranting. “Did I interrupt something?”

She went about the classroom, collecting blackboard tablets from the bench desks. She carried a modest stack to the front of the classroom and continued with the next row.

“Is everything alright, Mrs. Johnson?” Sadie asked when the woman continued watching Annie.

Mrs. Johnson’s face reddened. “Where did you see my husband?” she asked, attempting some delicate reform following her pointed anger.

“He was at my father’s place for a few hours,” Annie said in the same glib tone she used to disarm anyone who thought they were better than her.

Mrs. Johnson’s mouth gaped, her eyes darting, searching Annie and Sadie’s faces before she shuffled out of the schoolhouse. Sadie immediately slumped in her desk chair.

“She’s so fussy,” Annie said, stacking more chalk tablets on the shelf. “I don’t understand why she’s upset with the camp children attending class. Her little Jimmy don’t know nothing of hygiene or how to wipe when he leave the outhouse.”

“Ugh, Annie, please.” Sadie rubbed her face, trying not to smile. “If it’s not her, it’s one of the other mothers from town.”

When her hands came away from her face, she found Annie smiling. Jimmy Johnson sometimes teased the other children, but Sadie managed to keep him corralled. The other children never teased Jimmy about his hygiene, or lack thereof.

“You didn’t see Mr. Johnson at the saloon, did you?”

“No, but if I didn’t give her something else to think about, she’d still be harassing you.” Annie leaned against the front bench facing the teacher’s desk. “You could separate the children,” she suggested. “Maybe teach the townies on Mondays and Thursdays, and the camp children on Tuesdays.”

“I barely get time with them as it is,” Sadie said. “If I separate them more, they’ll be well behind the others.”

“I could help—”

“I don’t have money to pay you, Annie. I can’t expect you to volunteer. You already spend every evening helping your father.”

Sadie never stepped inside the Rusty Nail Saloon. It wasn’t disdain that kept her from the place; Sadie didn’t think the schoolteacher needed to fraternize there. She was one of a handful of unmarried women in Moville and wouldn’t jeopardize her livelihood on frivolity.

Moville had sporting ladies who lived together in a large place near the cattle yard, and most of those women consorted with saloon patrons. Annie was a conduit for most of the women in town. Her father had respect, and she was a good friend who never looked away from someone in need.

“Helping you is better than trying to combat the men coming into the saloon and asking for my hand in marriage instead of another drink,” Annie said. “It’s exhausting. At least when I come here, most men know to stay clear.” She winced. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No—no, of course not,” Sadie said. “I knew teaching in the frontier came with the schoolmarm branding. I don’t mind the label. And once I step outside this place, I’m as much a target as you.”

Annie stood, making fists. “I think sometimes men only think about one thing, if they’re not scheming to get rich overnight.”

Sadie giggled. “Only sometimes?”

“Come to the drugstore with me,” Annie asked, pulling on Sadie’s hand. “Mr. Slater got a new cask of ginger ale yesterday. We can get some hard candy, too.”

“You know there’s more to life than fizzy water and candy, Annie,” Sadie said. But leaving the schoolhouse for a few hours was much more appealing than she wanted to admit.

⁂

The Moville community had established a stagecoach stop, telegraph office, and a thriving blacksmith market before the War Between the States began. It wasn’t until ’70, when someone kicked over a stone in the Sweetwater River and discovered gold, that the place began to thrive. The township had rapidly developed following the first claim, adding houses and a hotel to the four existing log cabins around the livery stables.

Sadie had accepted the teacher posting from a newspaper advertisement in Kansas City. She’d had a steamer trunk, a few dreams, and a good pair of boots when she arrived two years into the boomtown craze. Most of the miners kept to their claims along the riverbanks five miles outside town, but Annie was quick to welcome her. Annie advocated more money for learning supplies, and never made Sadie feel like a lonely schoolmarm.

In the last two years, if it wasn’t for Annie’s resilient optimism, Sadie might have abandoned her post even at the expense of the children’s education.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Luther Parsons said, tipping his hat as they walked by the assayer’s office. He sat in the shade of the awning outside the building while two shifty-eyed gunmen leaned against the wall, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes.

“Hello, Mr. Parsons,” Annie said, twirling as she passed.

“You’re as pretty as a pasque, Miss McLeod.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They were farther away from the two-story building before Sadie nudged Annie. “Why do you encourage him?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If Mrs. Johnson heard that, she’d think you were philandering with him. If any of the mothers heard you talking to their husbands like that, they’d consider it a scandal.”

“Why, I never,” Annie said in mock shock. “I would never do any such thing.” She strolled the boardwalk to the drugstore with her hands tucked behind her back, smiling and nodding at anyone willing to look their way. “Besides, Mr. Parsons isn’t married.”

“Those men he hired for his personal security make me uncomfortable.”

“They’re mostly harmless,” Annie said. “They split their pay between Papa’s saloon and Mrs. Tandy’s Place.”

At the mention of the local brothel, Sadie glanced to the far end of the street, to the place that was a whisper and a distasteful click of the tongue for most married women. The closest she generally got to the sprawling former hotel was the telegraph office directly across the street from Mrs. Tandy’s house of ill-repute.

They waited a few steps before hurrying across the street after a wagon bustled by filled with dust-covered miners heading to the end of Main Street. The closer the wagon got to Mrs. Tandy’s Place, the louder the men inside it whistled and cheered.

“They must have some gold dust in their pockets,” Annie said, grinning.

Sadie only blushed, trying to ignore them.

“Don’t they have to trade their gold with Mr. Parsons?” she asked before they reached the drugstore.

“No, he doesn’t care where it comes from; sometimes the girls get more than they should when they get gold dust.”

“How do you know that?”

“Papa sells Mrs. Tandy the whiskey she serves,” Annie said. “I deliver it sometimes.”

Sadie tugged at Annie’s sleeve, halting before they went through the drugstore door. “You never told me that.”

Annie looked surprised. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Well, what if some of the mothers see you going in and out of there, and they see you in my classroom?” Sadie asked, trying to think of an excuse to tell a disgruntled mother if the issue ever came up.

“Tell them the truth,” Annie said, her face softened to seriousness. “You have to stop believing there’s something sinister happening over there. Mrs. Tandy runs a reputable business. Most of those women are widows because of the war. What would you have them do if they couldn’t find anywhere else to go? They look out for each other. I know a lot of them.”

Sadie appreciated Annie’s pragmatism. She reached for the door handle and someone brushed her hand.

“Here, please, allow me to get that for you,” he said, holding open the door, even adding a slight nod to Annie and Sadie as they went into the drugstore.

The gentleman followed them inside and removed his hat. Annie giggled.

“Stop that,” Sadie said. Under his hat, his forehead was pale and clean. The rest of his face was grubby with miner’s grime.

“Can I help you, sir?” Mr. Slater asked from behind the counter.

Slater wore a clean white apron over his pinstripe shirt and bowtie. He barely looked at Sadie and Annie, focusing on the miner instead. Sadie liked Mr. Slater because he was a kindly old man who was fair to everyone, even if they had to wait behind the gentleman for service. Slater had wispy white hair and the biggest wiry white eyebrows she had ever seen.

“Excuse me,” the man said, doing his best not to spill grit on the floorboards. “No, sir, it’s fine.” He acknowledged the women. “Please, allow these young ladies their turn before me.”

“What can I do for you, Miss McLeod, Miss Winslow?”

While Sadie picked through the coins from her dress pocket, Annie ordered sweet drinks and candy. The drugstore had three small tables at the front, allowing patrons a view of the busy street while they sipped ginger ale or tasted other sugary nibbles.

Sadie and Annie carried their drinks to one of the empty tables and pretended to ignore the newcomer’s business with Mr. Slater.

“He’s been here a few weeks,” Annie said.

“What?” Sadie reddened. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Well, the way you’re looking, I thought you wanted to know.”

“I’m not looking,” Sadie said.

“It’s alright; he’s not wearing a wedding band.”

“He’s a miner. I never saw a miner wearing a wedding band.”

Annie feigned shock again. “Why Sadie, I had no idea you were so righteous about miners.”

“Will you hush? He can hear you.”

“He’s talking to Mr. Slater.” Annie sat on the stool nearest the bay window. Passersby all nodded and tipped their hats at Sadie and Annie. Sadie had her back to the miner and Slater. “He’s handsome, in an unkempt sort of way.”

Sadie had noticed. Even with the unwashed, unshaved face, he had attractive features. He had soft green-gray eyes, a pleasant smile, and broad shoulders. His thick mahogany hair needed a trim, though—like most miners, he had no time for barbers.

“His name’s Wade Travers,” Annie said.

“How do you know that?”

“Mrs. Tandy told me. He goes to her place three or four times a week.” Annie grinned as Sadie felt prickling climbing her back. “No, he has a partner who buys supplies from the blacksmith. Adam told me.”

“Adam’s a nice young man,” Sadie said, having the need to shift conversation. “He’s got a reputable job, too.”

“I can’t see myself the wife of a blacksmith, Sadie,” Annie said, sighing before she sipped her ginger ale.

Chapter Three

Wade had initially had some doubts about his bumpy partnership with Percival Billings. Percy was young, but focused. But Wade had decided to trust the young man, and eventually, their affiliation had turned into a friendship.

Unfortunately, what they had to work with at the dig site amounted to nothing more than dirt, rocks, and limited digging supplies. If there was gold in the hills, they would have to work hard to get it.

“Mr. Slater,” Wade said with a smile. He had forgotten about the grime on his face, the disheveled clothes, and the black under his fingernails. He realized this when he offered the drugstore owner a handshake. “Oh, I apologize for my appearance.” He attempted to wipe his dirty hands on his dirty jeans, but it had no effect.

“It’s fine, son; I appreciate hardworking people,” Slater said, offering his clean hand over the counter. They exchanged proper names. “What can I do for you? I’m fresh out of the cocaine toothache drops; I’ve been ordering a lot of that for the miners. I worry that a bad case of thrush is running wild at the camps.”

“No, sir, thank you. I have a proposition.” Wade glanced at the women sitting together by the front store window.

They were similar in age. The beautiful brunette with a long neck, generous mouth, and piercing hazel eyes looked his way several times. She sat with her back erect and shoulders back like a high-society woman from Chicago. Her table mate was pretty, a little younger, and looked comfortable in any situation. She glanced over her shoulder, flashing a smile at Wade.

“I don’t need anything from local peddlers, Mr. Travers.” Slater frowned. “I thought you were a miner.”

“I have a vested interest in mining, yes,” Wade said. Somehow, he heard his father’s words coming out of his mouth. “But I’m interested in doing business with you that is mutually beneficial.”

Slater frowned behind his spectacles. Wade removed a folded sheet of paper from inside his coat.

“I’m interested in strictly doing business with your company.” He smoothed the crinkly paper and turned it so the druggist could see it.

Slater picked up the advertisement and read the title aloud. “Sandycroft High Bank Battery?” He shook his head. “I don’t carry this, Mr. Travers, and I don’t know how I could find something like this.” He slid the paper back. “It looks like a monstrosity. It couldn’t possibly fit inside my business.”

Wade pressed his finger on the advertisement and used some of his father’s channeled charm to seal the deal. “Mr. Slater, you have a fine establishment here. You offer many necessary chemicals and compounds, and I know the miners are grateful for your generosity regarding extended credit when yields are lean. I’m not interested in a line of credit. I thought I should clarify that given your change in demeanor.”

“Well, now, Mr. Travers—”

“I would very much like to have a long-term business arrangement with you, Mr. Slater. You and I stand to make a considerable financial windfall.”

The druggist’s face twitched, glancing over Wade’s shoulder to the women. Wade had a polite smile for them but focused on Slater.

“I don’t have any savings, Mr. Travers,” Slater said after clearing his throat. “I appreciate the offer for a business opportunity, but—”

“Is there somewhere we could talk?”

“No, sir; it’s just me. And I must stay here if I want to do any business.” Slater flashed an uncomfortable smile.

Wade ignored the women at the table. If they overheard the conversation, would they know Wade had only good intentions with Slater? Would they spread gossip or keep quiet?

“I want to order this device,” Wade said, pointing at the stamp mill. “However, the company can only deliver to me through an established catalog holder in Moville.”

Slater brightened some, shifting his spectacles. “I have contracts with Montgomery Ward and A. J. Wilkinson.”

Wade nodded. “Yes, exactly. So, if I were to order this item through your drugstore, it would ship within the month,” he said.