Killer Take All Read online

  “Ten dollars,” he said as Kay walked and Jake hobbled toward him, speaking before either of them had said anything.

  “What?” Kay asked.

  “I reckon you’re a-comin’ here to get them things offen your ankles, ain’t you?”

  “Indeed, I am,” Jake replied.

  “That’ll be ten dollars,” the blacksmith repeated.

  “Isn’t that a little steep?” Kay asked.

  The blacksmith shook head. “No, it ain’t cheap at all. Lookin’ at his ankles there, I reckon it ought to be worth five dollars to have them leg irons took off. ’N I’m goin’ to have to be just real careful so’s I don’t hurt ’im none. ’N the other five dollars is for not never tellin’ nobody about it.”

  “Why should I be concerned if you tell anyone about taking off my leg irons?” Jake asked.

  The blacksmith pointed to the leg irons. “Them things you got on your ankles there is what they put on prisoners to keep ’em from runnin’ away whenever they are transferrin’ ’em from one jail to another. I figure that’s what you are, but somehow your lady friend here helped you to escape.” He chuckled. “I have to hand it to you, lady, comin’ up with the idea of takin’ a sidesaddle with you so’s he could ride with them things. Ten dollars,” he repeated.

  Kay took the money from her dress pocket and handed him a ten-dollar bill. “All right. We’re paying for your labor and your silence.”

  The blacksmith took the money. “Come back here. I’ve got a place for you to sit on a stool where you can put your feet up so’s I can get at them things.”

  After the blacksmith made quick work of removing the ankle cuffs, their next stop was the apothecary.

  “You say you got some chafed skin? Well sir, there ain’t nothin’ no better than Vaseline to use on that,” the druggist said. “’N it just so happens I got some, right here.” He held up a small blue jar.

  “We’ll take two jars,” Jake said.

  “Now, before you use this, you need to make certain that the affected area is very clean.”

  “We’ll rent a hotel room and get a bath,” Kay said. “I must say I’m looking forward to it, and I don’t have any chafing at all.”

  “What good will it do to take a bath if we have to put these same dirty clothes back on?” Jake asked after they left the apothecary.

  “We can take care of that, too,” Kay replied as, with a smile, she pointed toward a mercantile.

  * * *

  Jake and Kay stood at the front desk of the only hotel in town. They were clutching in paper bags the change of clothes they had just bought.

  “You folks is mighty lucky on account of we only have one room left,” the clerk said as he turned the registration book toward Jake.

  Jake looked at Kay and, with a smile, she gave him a little nod. He signed the register Mr. and Mrs. J. Poindexter.

  “Do you have provisions for a bath?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, sir, we have a bathing room at the end of the hall on the first floor. There is a tub and a pump to provide water. Should you wish the water to be warm, there is a stove and a bucket for your convenience. And, I am proud to say that the stove uses coal oil instead of wood, so it’ll heat up just real quick.”

  “Thank you,” Jake said as he took the key. “Ladies first.” He pointed toward the end of the hall as he unlocked the door to their room on the first floor—convenient to the bathing room.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  An hour later both were bathed and wearing clean clothes—Kay a matronly dress, and Jake denims and a red shirt.

  “Well now, don’t the two of us look like we just came in off the ranch?” Kay teased.

  “I’ll fit right in,” Jake said.

  Kay chuckled. “I’m sure you will,” she said sarcastically. “I need you to take off your pants and lie on the bed,” Kay said.

  “What?” Jake replied, surprised by the request.

  Kay held up one of the little jars of Vaseline. “I’m going to rub some of this on your ankles.”

  “Yes, yes, thank you.”

  For the next half hour Jake lay on the bed under a cooling breeze that came in through the window. Kay’s hands worked magic, and as she applied the petroleum jelly he felt some relief from the chafing for the first time in several weeks.

  “You aren’t going to go to sleep on me, are you?” Kay asked.

  Jake opened his eyes and smiled. “You don’t know what a miracle you have just worked. You have hands of magic.”

  “Well, I had a little help,” she said, holding up the Vaseline jar.

  “What do you say we go to a restaurant? And please don’t think I’m casting aspersions against the prairie chicken and the rabbit you cooked for us. But, I would like to eat a meal at a table, with my feet free of any encumbrances.”

  “I would love to have lunch at a restaurant. I’ll buy. As a matter of fact, you buy. Here’s the money.” She held the rest of the money out toward him.

  “No, I don’t want to take your money,” Jake said, holding up his hand in refusal.

  “Don’t be silly. It isn’t my money. It’s Butrum’s money, but he won’t be needing it anymore.”

  “No, I don’t suppose he will. You know what, we should have gone through the pockets of Hawken and the man who was with him, too,” Jake said.

  “We couldn’t take the chance that there might have been some others who would have heard the shooting,” Kay said.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go eat.”

  The Palace Café had a more grandiose name than the café itself delivered, but it was clean and, though the menu was limited, the food was good. The proprietor was a woman named Alma Shannon, and her somewhat obese frame was the best advertisement for her cooking.

  “Have you a bill of fare?” Jake asked.

  “A what?”

  “A menu, a listing of what is available.”

  “You ain’t from around these parts, are you?” Alma asked.

  “No, I’m from back East,” Jake said without being more specific.

  “Ha! I thought so! I could tell by the way you was a-talkin’, all dignified ’n such. Anyhow we ain’t got nothin’ like that. We only cook one thing for dinner, ’n most o’ the times that’s what we serve for supper, too. But seein’ as it’s dinnertime, you’ll get it while it’s still fresh.”

  “That sounds good enough to me,” Jake said.

  Alma walked back to the kitchen and a moment later returned with two steaming plates.

  Jake stared in confusion at the plate that was put before him.

  “What is this?” he asked after Alma walked away.

  “Why, Jake Poindexter, do you mean to tell me you’ve never eaten chicken and dumplin’s before?” Kay asked. “I doubt this will be as good as my mama’s, but all chicken and dumplin’s are good.”

  Jake took a hesitant bite, then smiled. “You’re right. They are good.”

  Chugwater

  The P R and M account was in the New York Bank for Savings, and upon learning that an additional one hundred thousand dollars was in the process of being transferred, Preston Poindexter sent a telegram to the bank.

  RESCIND TRANSFER OF ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS TO FIRST BANK AND TRUST OF CHEYENNE STOP MAKE NO FURTHER TRANSACTIONS OF ANY KIND WITHOUT MY PERSONAL AUTHORITY STOP PRESTON POINDEXTER

  Within an hour of sending the telegram, Pete, who was in Fiddler’s Green at the time, got a response from the bank.

  “They are going to call back the money they sent to Cheyenne?” Duff asked.

  “Not yet.” Pete showed the telegram to Duff.

  REQUIRE AUTHENTICATION IDENTITY OF SENDER THIS TELEGRAM BEFORE ACTING UPON DIRECTIONS

  “Och, and how will you be for provin’ you are who say you are?”

  “Biff, do you have paper and a pencil?” Pete asked.

  “Sure thing,” Biff said, going into his office. He returned a moment later.

  Taking the pencil and paper, Pete began to w
rite. When he was finished, he chuckled.

  “Sure ’n ’tis quite a man who can laugh in the face of such adversity,” Duff said.

  “Or perhaps a man with just a touch of insanity,” Pete said. “But this should be all the authentication I need.” He showed it to Biff, Duff, and Elmer.

  Cooper

  “Cooper?” Biff asked after he read the note. “That’s all it’ll take to tell him who you are?”

  “I’m sure this will be as confusing to the bank as it is to you, so it will be taken to the president for further instructions, and he will approve it.”

  “That’s all it’ll take?” Elmer asked.

  “The president of the bank is Keith Dunaway, and at a party given by Cooper Investments, Keith got drunk and started getting a little forward with one of the serving girls. He’s a decent man and wouldn’t have done such a thing if he hadn’t been drunk. He is married and an important businessman and it would have been very embarrassing if it had gone on any further. I got him away from there before he made a bigger fool of himself, and even though the young girl didn’t know who he was, I gave her one hundred dollars never to mention it. As a result of that, Keith experienced no embarrassment.”

  “Sure, ’n ’tis a good friend you are,” Duff said.

  About an hour later the Western Union boy returned to the saloon with a one word response.

  AUTHENTICATED

  Pete laughed. “It pays to have friends. Now, I must send another telegram.”

  * * *

  After Jake and Kay finished their meal, they located a telegraph office so that Jake could send a telegram back home. Jake told Kay. “It’ll be expensive because it’s going to be a long one, but I’ll arrange for my father to pay for it. He will be more than happy to do so, because I’m quite sure he has wondered why he hasn’t heard from me in all these weeks.”

  The Western Union office was in the bank.

  “My name is Jake Poindexter. I would like to send a telegram to my father, Preston Poindexter, at the P R and M Corporation on Fifth Avenue in New York. And please arrange for my father to pay the charges.”

  “The Preston Poindexter?” the telegrapher asked, impressed by the information.

  “Yes, the Preston Poindexter.”

  “Very good sir. Would you like to dictate the message, or would you prefer to write it out on a tablet?”

  “I’ll write it out for you.”

  With a yellow-lined tablet, and a pencil, Jake composed the message.

  Pa, for the last five weeks I have been held prisoner, betrayed by Ed Collins, a man I met on the train. Collins is in Chugwater passing himself off as me. No doubt he has made demands against the credit line that was established for the C&FL Railroad. Send no more money to the imposter.

  I am free now, thanks to the efforts of a very courageous and wonderful woman who I intend for you to meet.

  Love, your son,

  Jake

  P R and M Corporation, New York

  Norman Jamison read the telegram, his irritation growing. Not more than an hour earlier he had received a telegram from Ed Collins.

  RECEIVED WORD PRINCIPAL NOT IN CHICAGO AS THOUGHT BUT IS AT HAND STOP SUGGEST ONE FINAL TRANSFER OF FUNDS THEN TERMINATION OF PROGRAM

  Jamison had been the one who developed the C&FL program, specifically picking Chugwater because of its isolation. And though Jake didn’t realize it, it was a few hints and suggestions from Jamison that caused Jake to decide to go to Chugwater for his adventure. After that, it was easy to get the senior Poindexter to authorize building a railroad through the town.

  Jamison had plans that would not only transfer another million dollars from the P R and M but also transfer into another entity all of the land they had thus far confiscated under the guise of building a railroad.

  A change in circumstances meant there was going have to be a rapid change of plans. Somehow Jake Poindexter had escaped his confinement. Jamison had kept him alive intending to, through Collins, demand a ransom for his release. But with Jake free and sending telegrams, and with Preston in Chugwater, the project was going to have to come to an end.

  Collins was right. The situation called for one last major transfer of funds, and Jamison planned to do just that, but not the way Collins expected. Because of Jamison’s position as executive secretary, he knew that although Preston Poindexter was one of the wealthiest men in America, the P R and M had only a little over a million dollars remaining in liquid assets. The major wealth of the company was in its holdings—active railroad lines, rolling stock, ships, and real estate.

  Jamison decided to transfer one million dollars, but not to Chugwater or Cheyenne. He would transfer the money to the Merchants Bank of San Francisco, and he would make himself the only person with authority to access the account. He would also keep the existence of the San Francisco account secret from the others.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jamison, but I can’t honor this request,” the head teller said when he saw the draft requesting the transfer of one million dollars to the Merchants Bank of San Francisco.

  “What do you mean, you can’t honor this draft?” Jamison asked, sputtering in anger. “I am the executive secretary of P R and M, and I know perfectly well how much money is in our account. We have sufficient funds to cover this transaction, and I am authorized to draw from it. Mr. Poindexter has a business deal ongoing in San Francisco, and we must have operating funds locally available in order to comply with all the terms.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But I cannot honor this request,” the head teller repeated.

  “Then I demand to see the president of this bank, and I demand to see him at once!”

  “Yes, sir,” the teller replied. “If you’ll just wait here for a moment, I shall tell Mr. Dunaway you’re here.”

  “Be prompt about it,” Jamison demanded. “I am a most busy man, and I have no time for inefficiency.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  While Jamison waited, and fumed, the head teller stepped back to Keith Dunaway’s office. As the door was open, he stepped inside.

  “Yes, Dan?”

  “Mr. Jamison is here.”

  “And?”

  “It is just as you said, sir. He is attempting to transfer a large amount of money.”

  “How large?”

  “One million dollars.”

  Dunaway let out a quiet whistle. “Yes, I would say that is quite a large sum. All right. Hold him for a few minutes then send him back here, and I will deal with the situation.”

  Dunaway took out the last telegram he had received from Pete.

  JAMISON GUILTY OF EMBEZZLEMENT AGAINST MY COMPANY STOP IF HE ATTEMPTS ANOTHER LARGE TRANSFER PLEASE INFORM POLICE AND FILE CHARGES

  Earlier, Dunaway had shared the information with the police. He called them. “Hello, Captain Burns. The man I told you about in our last conversation is in the bank now. Please send some officers to deal with it.”

  Dunaway knew that the nearest precinct was but two minutes away, so, after waiting for one minute, he stepped out of his office. “Mr. Jamison, you may come back now.”

  “It’s about damn time,” Jamison replied angrily. “Dunaway, your bank tellers need to know just who they are dealing with. P R and M is your biggest depositor, and I am the executive secretary with full banking authority.” Jamison strode quickly, his irritation growing even as he walked. It had reached its peak by the time he stepped into the office.

  “Dunaway, what is this?” Jamison demanded. “How dare you refuse a bank draft from us? And then make me wait around like some beggar from the street before you would even see me to deal with it.” The words were spit out in one long, angry stream.

  “Come on in and have a seat and we’ll talk about it,” Dunaway invited.

  Jamison accepted the invitation.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Coffee? No, why would I want coffee? I came here for money.”

  “Yes, for one million d
ollars,” Dunaway said. “And this, on top of several other recent and very large transfers.”

  “Why does it matter how much money has been transferred?” Jamison removed a piece of paper from his pocket and read from it. “As of this morning, P R and M has one million, ten thousand, six hundred and twelve dollars in its account.”

  “Yes, P R and M has that much money, but at this moment, we have insufficient cash on hand to handle a transfer that large. I’m afraid you will have to give us time to accumulate the assets so we can comply with your request.”

  “Are you telling me that the bank doesn’t have that much money?” Jamison asked incredulously.

  “Of course we do, but I’m sure you know how a bank works. We have loans, investments, and dispersed funds rather than keep all our assets in one place. It will take a little time to gather that much cash.”

  “How much time?” Jamison demanded.

  “Oh, I’m not—”

  Before he could finish his comment Dan, the teller who had dealt with Jamison, stepped through the door. “Mr. Dunaway, they are here.”

  “Send them in, please.”

  “Who is here?” Jamison demanded. “How dare you see someone else while we are discussing business?”

  At that moment two uniformed policemen came into the office.

  “What are the police doing here?” Jamison asked, his belligerent attitude replaced by one of apprehension.

  “Officer, I am Keith Dunaway, president of the bank, and as agent for Preston Poindexter, our largest depositor, I am filing charges of bank fraud and embezzlement against this man, Norman Jamison.”

  “What?” Jamison replied, stunned by the sudden turn of events.

  “Mr. Jamison, you are under arrest. Please come along quietly,” one of the police officers said.