Chapter 35

Malik had agreed to take Lewin’s turn in the rotation for Saturday office coverage and would be staying over in town. Andy decided to take the stage coach, rather than ride by himself to Ranch Home. Peng had already planned to stay in Waypoint with Delan, anyway, so she also worked at the office while Delan did the weekly marketing. The sisters had invited Malik and Fang Bai to supper on Saturday and to a picnic on Sunday.

After supper, while everyone drank tea and enjoyed almond cookies, Malik said, “I hesitate to bring up a delicate, possibly upsetting, topic, but...,” and he hesitated. Then he said, “No, better we have a meeting at work, first thing Monday morning.” Then he changed the plan, again. “No, you know what? Would you mind meeting before office hours at the Old Courthouse Inn? I’ll treat everyone to breakfast, so come hungry. I’ll reserve a private dining room. As I have called for the meeting, it will be designated as work time.”

Peng looked as if she might suspect the topic, and all three agreed to the meeting.

On Sunday, Malik rented a buggy and took the four of them to the mouth of Isabella Canyon, a spot neither Delan nor Fang Bai had visited previously. There, while lounging on blankets, Malik described his plan to bring piped water to the lower part of the canyon to operate a hydroelectric generator.

Everyone was at the Inn by seven on Monday morning. They ordered from the menu. Malik had coffee while the other three had tea.

Fang observed, “American breakfasts are a more distinct meal than what we have in China. There, we tended to have rice as the mainstay of every meal, complimented by other fare, but little distinction was made, though breakfast was usually a lighter meal. Still, we would have fish as often for breakfast as for a later meal.”

Delan added, “Americans also serve meat much more often, practically every day. We would have meat, mostly fish or chicken, perhaps only two or three times a week, and Father was a well-paid smelter and foundry manager, so it was not a matter of economy, but preference. I know many families could seldom afford any meat but for the occasional fish.”

Nonetheless, they each ordered a hearty meal.

As they were finishing, Malik said, “Not to ruin an enjoyable breakfast, but what I wanted to talk to you about was the Tiger Poppy Society.” None of them seemed surprised.

“Yan thought as much,” Delan said. “We are happy to tell you what little we know.”

“It’s not so much what you know that I wish to discuss. More, it’s what you might suspect. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Bear with me for just a moment while I review events.”

He pulled some notes from his briefcase and set them on the table, then referenced them as he spoke.

“I suspect that we began encountering the direct involvement of the Tiger Poppy Society late in May, with the murders of State Senator Aldecott and the union promoter, Marvin Vandeventer. And, since those two were clearly linked to some earlier misdeeds, including Missus Tian’s murder and an earlier attempt on my life, it suggests to me that our first notable encounter with the Tiger Poppy Society’s influence may have been as early as mid-April.”

He looked up at them. Peng said, “What about the anti-Chinese riot in Buccholz? Was that not brought about at the behest of the Labor Pioneers? That was in late March.”

Malik, nodding, said, “That’s right,” and he found a pencil in his briefcase and made a note.

Looking up at them, again, he said. “Delan, neither you nor Bai were here back then. Yan, you arrived here in mid-March, just before all this started.

“Now, the reason I bring this up in such a manner is because each of you has encountered the Tiger Poppy Society in the past and I want to ask if any of you suspect that their attacks have anything at all to do with any one of you, personally?”

Fang glanced at the two women, but then said, “With that sort of motive, you would have to consider Mister Fu-Chun and Doctor Lee, as well. The fact is, though, a large portion of the people who lived in southern China likely had some form of contact with the Tiger Poppy Society.”

“See,” Malik said, “that’s just the point. This isn’t southern China. So what are they after here?”

“Almost certainly the same thing they are after wherever they go: wealth and power,” Peng replied.

“Not revenge?”

“Not with this sort of campaign.” Peng said. “They might try to attack someone who has insulted them if it is convenient, but they never pursue anything that does not bring them either wealth, or power, or both.”

Fang said, “I agree with Yan. The Tiger Poppies are not given to altruistic pursuits, even vengeful ones. They will be after something more tangible, and, if I were to speculate, I would say it has something to do with either you or the railroad.”

Malik looked doubtful. “But if it was me, shouldn’t I somehow already know that? I mean, wouldn’t they have told me what they wanted early on, just on the off chance I was willing to concede the issue?”

Peng said, “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe they know you and know you would not cooperate. So they are trying to make you more amenable to their demands.”

“Well,” Malik said, “I just don’t see me as the target. I control very little, on my own, and what little wealth I do have is all invested in various businesses, none of which I exclusively control. And as for the railroad, no one at the Wichita office seems to know anything more than we do.”

Looking unconvinced, Fang said, “In summary, you are suggesting that, because you suspect the Tiger Poppy Society was involved in the murders of the senator and the labor organizer, that every other misdeed associated with those two can be attributed to the Tiger Poppy Society. However, I must point out that the only probable indication of the Tiger Poppy Society’s involvement in any of these incidents is the tattoo on the men’s bodies found in the Rio Isabella and in Junction City, possibly linking them only to the two explosive attacks.

“While the connections between the men and the explosive attacks may be persuasive, connecting those attacks to Aldecott or Vandeventer is highly speculative, since they both had been dead for some weeks prior to the explosive attacks. Moreover, the actions instigated by the senator and the labor organizer were all carried out by white men, further weakening any likely connection.

Likewise, your only link between the senator and the Tiger Poppy Society is the presence of an unknown Chinese man in Buchholz at the time of the senator’s murder. That alone has two unsupported assumptions: first, that the unknown man killed the senator, and second, that the man was a member of the Tiger Poppy Society.

“Logically, the set of acts most likely perpetrated by the Tiger Poppy Society and the set of acts perpetrated at the behest of the senator and the labor organizer are connected only by those speculative assumptions. Your assumption may be correct, but you have nothing that would rise, even remotely, to the level of incontrovertible evidence.”

“Yes,” Malik replied, “but I’m not trying to build a case for court.”

“No,” Fang admitted, “but you may be trying to use a four foot string to secure a five foot bundle.”

Things seemed to settle into more of a routine. Malik was able to resume his schedule of visiting other towns in his coach. Both Peng and Lee Jin accompanied him on these trips. Malik and Lee shared one bunk room and Peng the other. Lee Jin usually slept on the floor in the main parlor, however.

During the ride to Ranch Home on Friday afternoon, Andy said, “Nathaniel just closed out the accounts for July. At this pace, we’ll have our initial investment repaid by the end of the year.”

Peng was traveling by coach, so only Lee Jin rode with the brothers.

Malik asked, “How likely is it that we’ll be able to maintain that pace?”

“Better than average. The rate of production was still increasing into July.”

Then Andy looked over at Malik. “But there’s more. I just finished reading Peng Zhao’s last production summary, finished just a few days before he was killed. He brought my attention to the copper ore they’re processing from the new mine in southern Franklin County. It’s a pretty rich ore, but he made note that the copper ore we’re pulling as part of the byproduct from our silver mine and the Sonora silver mine is even richer. And the price of copper is climbing. Seems it’s the prime metal suitable for all sorts of electronic transmission, not just telegraph, but the telephone, and electricity itself. Beyond that, it’s a main component of electricity generating machines. Demand back East is through the roof.”

“Have we been selling any copper?”

“Not so far. All that ore has been dumped in the tailings pile. But I’ve sent instructions to John Kelly to start processing it, but to keep silver production as the first priority.”

“So copper didn’t figure into that three-month production report?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Interesting.”

“Something else. Some of the miners and millworkers have taken to squatting down by Toonilini Creek just above the confluence with the Rio Isabella. We’ve got a bit of a shanty town started, maybe a dozen shacks, mostly scrap metal and lumber.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes.

Finally, Malik said, “What we need to avoid is having those flood control structures compromised, nor do we need a bunch of human waste and other crud being washed into the Isabella.” He slowly blew out between his compressed lips. “We can’t really blame the men. The question is, do we want a permanent settlement, or even a short-term settlement over there? Is it all on the Dry Valleys Mining property?”

Andy said, “It is. But we need to keep in mind that might not be the last squatters’ settlement that will show up in those valleys.”

“Maybe, but the dearth of water elsewhere should limit that. They might be able to dig or drill for water, but if that’s not successful, they’d have to haul it in by rail or wagon, which is not very economical, nor is the railroad likely to provide it, unless they’re sponsoring the camp. Our main concern is the Toonilini Valley. It drains into either the Isabella or Shepherds Creek, both of which are important to us.”

Again, silence prevailed, until Andy said, “Do you reckon the railroad would put in a spur, a bit higher up the hill, away from the creek, say a half mile from the mill? Then we’ll lease a dozen box cars, convert each of ‘em to two two-man bunk rooms, each with a stove. Put up a few three-hole, privies with pissers on the back, like Missus Kuiper has. Rent ‘em out cheap, then tear down the shanties.”

“Pipe water over from the Isabella?”

“Or rent a tank car.”

“Might work,” Malik said. “Then, when there’s no longer a need, fill in the pits and haul the rest of it away.”

“I might talk to Jacob,” Andy said, “See if he’d want to fill orders by train.”

Early on Sunday morning, August twenty-sixth, the volunteer fire brigade was alerted to a blaze at Arthur Coates livery stable at the corner of Jackson Street and Adams Avenue. One end of the stable was destroyed. Fire Chief Val Garcia estimated it was about a third of the building. Two horses had to be put down.

“But they were a couple old nags,” Garcia told Malik by telephone. Malik was at Ranch Home. “They were dead when we got there. Coates said they were so badly burnt, he shot them to put them out of their misery.”

“What part of the building burnt?” Malik wanted to know.

“The south side, facing the corrals.”

“How fortunate for Arthur. He’d been wanting to add on to that end of the building. Was there any hay, or supplies, or equipment damaged?”

“Some hay. What didn’t burn looked pretty old.” Garcia paused, then asked, “Does he have fire insurance?”

“He increased his coverage late last year.”

“They’ll probably send an investigator. I wonder how Coates will handle that?” Garcia said.

“I’m trying to remember if he has an expense account earmarked for bribes.”

On Monday, August twenty-seventh, Malik, along with Peng and Lee Jin, boarded his car with Juniper Tsosie and Stone Raven to accompany them on their journey to La Paz University. Malik planned to first take them to San Francisco for two days, then on to La Paz, at the south end of the Bay. Malik had offered to bring Judah Deering along, but he was busy with setting up the new home savings bank and, besides, he planned a trip home at the New Year, accompanied by Mariel Kuiper, whom he wanted his father to meet.

While awaiting the AT&SF train in Fort Birney, Malik took the group to a military surplus store, where he bought a pair of cots for Juniper and Stone Raven to sleep on during the trip. Stone Raven gawked, having never been to a town as large Fort Birney, Waypoint having been his furthest trip and biggest town until then. Malik chuckled. “Wait until you see San Francisco.”

Forsaking his own dining car, Malik hosted his companions at the Officer’s Mess.

The trip was uneventful, save for the fact that Indians and Chinese were only served at the second seating in the Santa Fe’s dining car. After that first experience, the group bought their meals from food vendors at the station stops.

Stone Raven was dumbfounded and even Juniper was pensive as the train traveled on and on, across the seemingly endless land passing town after town of white people. Again, Malik chuckled. “We’ll only be crossing about a third of the country. There’s even more of it if you travel east, and at least twenty times as many people.”

They played poker. Malik was usually the loser, while the other four seemed all on a par. The conversation was wide-ranging and each told tales of his or her childhood.

At one point, Stone Raven and Juniper were discussing celestial navigation. They were looking at a slim, soft-cover book they had found in a Fort Birney bookstore. It was laid open on a corner of the low table, and they each sat at the end of a couch, corner-wise to one another, turning pages and discussing the process of “shooting” the sun and calculating location.

At the opposite corner of the table, Malik was speaking quietly with Peng, each, likewise at the adjoining ends of the couches at that corner.

“I think I’ve changed my mind about building a house in Waypoint. The idea’s held little appeal for me, but I want to be able to spend more time with Aspen. And it looks like Christina and Luke will join Andy in town as soon as their house is complete. I think I’ll see if Wren wants to continue caring for Aspen, in town.”

“What about Matilda and Emily? Will Matilda not feel abandoned?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t really expect so. First, she’s got quite a following among the several young women who help her in the bakery. They’ve become their own social circle. Beyond that, Andy tells me that Christina has said that Luther Nunamaker, the carpenter who’s second fiddle to Cal Valdez, has taken an interest in her.”

“Her mourning period is well over,” Peng observed.

“That never has been much of an issue, in these parts, at least not for folks raised out away from towns. At its most basic, survival is what’s important, and survival prospects are improved with more people actively pulling in the traces.”

Malik shrugged, then went on, “Now, I’m not saying Matilda’s responded to Mister Nunamaker, or even if she’s interested. In fact, I think she’s as devastated as I am by the personal losses both of us have shared, over the past eighteen months. For all that, she simply may be insensible to those sorts of feelings right now, especially with little Emily to absorb what love she can muster. I just note that her prospects in Ranch Home aren’t necessarily those of devastating loneliness.”

“Where would you build? In the new development or on one of your lots on Sunset Avenue?”

“I’m not sure. Sunset Avenue has some big trees. But, if I built at the top end of the development, there would be some striking views.”

“And the electricity and water and telephones,” Peng added.

“Yes, but the lots on the west side of Sunset Avenue border the Sundown Ridge development and those utilities could readily be extended.”

“So it becomes a question of trees or no trees?”

He shrugged. “I could plant trees. Of course, they’d not mature until Aspen is grown and off on her own.”

Elms, perhaps,” she said, “but cottonwoods grow more quickly, though they demand more water.”

They sat silently for a few minutes, listening to the college-bound young Indian men discuss aspects of mathematics involved in astronomy. Malik shook his head as the esoterica left him wondering about the deficiencies in his own mental processes.

Smiling, Peng asked, “Do you feel dim-witted?”

“A bit,” Malik admitted. “But I realize theirs is a special faculty not widely distributed. And they would likely feel as confused listening to a discussion of the finer points of tort defenses.” He smiled and shook his head.

“What amuses you?”

“A couple things. One is that I have a suspicion that those two might not be all that mystified by the obscure practices of the legal profession. The other is, I was recalling a story Cowboy once told, during his courtship of Matilda and his efforts to try to better understand her profession. He claimed to have mistook one of my law books on torts to somehow be related to baking.” Malik smiled at her. “I doubt he ever made such a mistake, but Cowboy never allowed the truth to harm a good story. He was quite the raconteur. Saved our skin, a time or two, when we were younkers.”

“He must have been an exceptional friend,” she observed.

He frowned. “In a way, I think he and I were closer than I was with Gabriela.’ He paused, and went on, “But maybe that’s not a valid comparison. The relationships were fundamentally different. I suppose my connection to Cowboy was more deeply ingrained simply because of its duration, not so much as a difference in depth of feeling. And Gabriela left me with Aspen. But Cowboy...” He shook his head and looked at his hands, folded on his lap.

“And you still feel responsible for his death.”

He looked up at her, the anguish in his eyes a confirmation of what she had surmised.

She sighed. “I suppose that is a feeling you will have to learn to live with. I have heard others tell you that it had been Cowboy’s decision to place himself where he was, but your perspective resists that logic. I’ll not be one to beat a dead horse, as you Americans say, so that illogic will have to be absorbed into your view of yourself.” She paused, then said, “Though I do recall that you once berated me to grow up and accept things for how the actually were. But I’ll not presume to preach to you your own sermon. Still, you might reflect on it, in a quiet moment.”