Milky Trail to Death

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Quince was in his study, poring over a collection of papers strewn over the top of his large desk. He did not look up as someone rapped gently on the door before putting their head around and saying, “Excuse the interruption, Mr Quince.”

“Come in Henry. Take a seat. Take some coffee if you wish.”

Henry stepped inside. He stood still, eyed the coffee pot holding down some of the papers, and declined.

Eventually, after studying a large map for some time, Quince looked up. “Well, what is it?”

“A stranger, Mr Quince. Frank saw him coming out of the livery late last evening. Frank said he was wearing a Remington Army and looked as mean as a rattler. We confronted him at Miss Bessy’s.”

Quince, leaning forward across the desk, considered Henry for a while. Henry grew uncomfortable under his employer’s gaze and shifted his weight from one foot to the next. He had settled his hat in front of his ample belly, gripping it with both hands. He now ran the brim through his fingers. Quince continued to stare. Henry coughed, ran a trembling hand through his hair, and got away from those damned eyes by looking at a large painting on the wall beside him.

“Who was he?”

Henry turned, drew in a breath. “He struck me as being—”

“A lawman?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly say for sure, Mr Quince. He was covered in dust and looked as though he’d been riding for days, if not weeks. I didn’t notice any—”

“Badge? He didn’t wear a badge?”

“No, sir.”

“And his clothes? Dusty you say, but a suit? Dark grey, formal?”

“No, sir. Range clothes. Shirt, rough pants, leather gloves in his belt. Gun belt that is. Like I said, Remington Army. Cavalryman’s gun. Federal cavalry, sir.”

“There’ll be plenty of them moving through right enough. From both sides. We need to be watchful, Henry. And marshals. Pinkertons maybe. I don’t want no lawman poking his nose in, you understand?”

“Indeed, I do, sir, which is why I followed him to Miss Bessy’s. Confronted him.”

“And what were your impressions?”

“I did not take him to be with the law, Mr Quince. He seemed too … I don’t know, just a feeling I got.”

“You fought in the War, Henry. You witnessed a lot of bad things. You must have some idea of who he might be.”

“A man not easily spooked, Mr Quince. As if he were used to it. Threats, I mean.”

“You threatened him? Henry, that’s not the best course to take with men like that. If he is ex-army, he could be as tough as Hell.”

“So is we, Mr Quince.”

“I know that Henry, but Frank is a hothead, miffed that he didn’t get a chance to fight before Appomattox put an end to it.”

“As are a lot of the boys, sir.”

“That’s as maybe but we have to maintain a modicum of control, Henry. I don’t want my plans compromised by any gunplay. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir, indeed I do, sir.”

“Good.” Quince pulled himself up straight. “You think this stranger is gonna be trouble?”

“Not sure, sir. He certainly did not take kindly to being asked questions.”

“Well, that’s his right, I reckon. No need to push, Henry.”

“No, sir.”

“But if he pushes back perhaps you could put him straight.”

A tiny frown creased Henry’s forehead. “Run him out of town, you mean?”

“With a fly in his ear, yes. But if he’s a lawman …” He turned, stood up, and crossed the room to the large bay window that looked out across his manicured lawn. He watched Radcliffe, one of his servants, trimming the grass. He liked that. It gave him a sense of comfort knowing that life continued unabated despite the uncertainties that peace had brought to his land, his business. “We have to be careful, Henry. If he is the law, he may only be a vanguard. We have to make sure he doesn’t stumble upon anything. Suspicions must not be raised.”

“But how would he know anything, Mr Quince?”

“Easily. A misplaced word in a crowded saloon, a drunken lout’s revelations about what we are doing here … Keep an eye on him, Henry. But from a distance.” He turned. “Be wary, Henry. Cautious. Patient. And tell Frank to keep that waggling tongue of his in his head.”

“Yes, sir, Mr Quince.”

“Now go get yourself something to eat. Me, I still have to work out if there’s another way into those old mines.”

Henry gave a slight bow, turned, and left.

Quince stared at the closed door. He hoped, no, prayed that the stranger, whoever he was, proved not to be anything more than a passer-by. Anything else would need to be met with consequences. If the War had taught Quince anything it was that violence always paid.