Chapter 10

Nathaniel Aaron Silverberg leaned across his teakwood desk, scowling at the two Pinkerton men before him. He blew out a thick cloud of cigar smoke, eyes settling on the smaller, younger and more neatly dressed of the pair.

In a scathing tone, he asked, “you haven’t found her? Not a trace? Nothing?”

“As I explained sir, she was quite clever at confusing her trail. Then, there was the rain, and the storm. We questioned everybody involved in the initial search, and any witnesses. All we can manage is conjecture.” He waved at the printed sheets on Silverberg’s desk. “Of course, we have alerted our people everywhere, and especially railway station masters and agents. She appears to have doubled back to the northeast, down into Lava Gap. From there, she could have ridden west or east. There was one old Mexican who claims to have seen a rider heading east through Lava Gap some time before the worst of the storm. Two horses, one with a big pack on the saddle, and two loaded mules. Only one rider.” He shrugged. “If it was your daughter, she was heading for the Tularosa Basin. Not an inviting prospect.”

“I’ve learned that my daughter has been sneaking off into wilderness around here for the past six years!” Silverberg growled, adding, “even if she went into the White Sands, she knows how to survive! The little vixen took enough food and supplies for a dozen men!” His fist came down on the hardwood surface. “Cleaned out my safe! Thousands of dollars! All my gold and silver coin! Two of my finest horses and two mules! She ran away to be with a gigolo! A money-grubbing lover!” Silverberg flushed, took a few deep breaths, coughed and slowly regained control. His gaze lifted to the taller, older man. He drew deep on a cigar, blowing a stream of thick smoke over the smaller man’s head. Examining the ash, he flicked it into a ceramic dish. He tapped the printed report with a forefinger, asking, “did you uncover anything of interest? Anything not written here?”

“Wal’ now, might have,” the lean old Texan drawled. “Past couple of weeks, I’ve gone from village to village round the Tularosa Basin, as far south as Las Cruces, and along the border. Stopped at a few trading posts, talked up folks. Finally asked a Mex padre about recent events and interesting happenings.”

“I don’t want a travelogue!” Silverberg barked, opening a brandy decanter, pouring himself another large snifter of expensive French cognac. The tall Texan in range clothing waited patiently, distractedly flipping pages, reviewing his notes while Silverberg drank a couple of mouthfuls. The smaller man fidgeted, nervously looking from Nathaniel Silverberg to the Texan, then out library windows to the ranch yard.