Chapter 7: Love & Hate

Autry went off on marshal business and I returned to the Lenoir. Hoss was staying on our floor, and he and Cayuse and I walked down to the meeting room on two. I explained what Riles had overheard. And the telegram that Autry had just sent.

Both men listened without interruption. Hoss nodded.

I said, “Here’s what we’re going to do, starting tonight.”

This time both of them nodded. It was a small change in tactics, just a minor adjustment. And it was unlikely to actually pan out. But it was better to try something new than not, better to be active rather than passive. That was my working theory, anyway.

I added, “One more change. I’ll take the Osgood Palace. Cayuse, you’re at the Red Light Saloon.” Chicago Joe’s.

That left Hoss at the Castle, working to protect Crazy Belle’s prostitutes.

Prudence had been slain early on a Thursday morning, the 19th of January. The brothels were closed for four nights, from that Thursday through Sunday.

Riles had overheard that Red Light conversation on the following Tuesday. Autry sent the Denver telegram that same day. And Tuesday was also the night that I implemented a slight change in tactics.

I was continuing to operate under the assumption that the killer was known to the prostitutes. While they lived in three different brothels, a few had changed madams, moving to a different house. Others knew each other through shopping, through church, through daily interactions. I wouldn’t claim that each whore knew every other one, but there seemed to be a sort of ... sisterhood, for want of a better word.

It had been like that in Little River. The Bighorn had been the class bawdyhouse, but those sporting ladies knew most of the other ones in town. And there was sort of a camaraderie — a shared belief that the regular townswomen looked down on them. And certainly, Reverend Venerable had despised all of the working girls.

The physical setup here at the three Helena brothels was similar — there was a bar downstairs, card tables, a piano — a sort of social area where Rebecca and Rosie and the Gilmore Girls screened the men, collected the money, and sent them upstairs to take care of their business.

So, what I started doing at the Osgood Palace was to pretend to leave when it turned morning. I would act like I was going back to the Lenoir as soon as I heard one of the sporting ladies open a bedroom door, walk out into the hallway.

I’d clump my way down the stairs and open the front door. Make a little noise closing it, but stay inside. I’d take off my boots and creep back up to the upstairs landing. There were doorways to the right and left, leading to the bedrooms.

I might end up feeling a little foolish, standing there in my socks, but it felt good to be doing something. Exercising what Captain McIntyre called ‘aggressive caution’.

Cayuse and Hoss were going through similar motions at the other two brothels.

It was something. Maybe.

Marshal Autry showed me the lengthy return telegram from Denver. I read it aloud for Cayuse’s sake. He and Hoss listened intently.

The four of us sat in silence, thinking about the news. About the implications.

Autry walked with Cayuse and me over to meet Doc Adams.

“Says he spotted something with Collingsworth.”

Like before, the doctor led us through his small, tidy house, back out to the former two-horse stable. Made sadder still by the addition of a fourth body.

This time, all four women were naked. Still lying on their backs on wooden planks which were laid across the top of a stall. Four canvas shrouds were draped off to the side.

Doc Adams pointed to Pru, to her right side, “Prudence Collingsworth has two broken ribs, badly broken. Then I went back and found similar injuries for Abigail Murphy and Jane Goodnight. I’m not quite so positive about Sheryl Cummings, but I would imagine she suffered similar damage.”

Autry and I exchanged a puzzled glance.

Adams said, “I missed it the first time around; just examined the three head wounds. The obvious cause of death.”

Autry said, “Can’t get everything right, every time.”

Autry was a tough man, had to be in his job. But he had an internal kindness, a way of not blaming the people on his side of the law.

Adams shook his head, “Should have caught the broken ribs.”

One morning, on impulse as he was coming off his rounds, I invited Big Elk to join us for a hotel breakfast.

“Sure.”

He was just as talkative, just as friendly, in front of the Gilmore Girls, the Robinsons, Miss Melanie. Seemed completely at ease, smiling and joking around.

Rebecca and Rosie studied him out of the corners of their eyes. Such a contrast to Cayuse.

With a little tease in her voice, Emma said, “What do you think of the Assiniboine being settled up in Fort Belknap?”

Big Elk smiled and spoke easily, “I am the same person no matter where I choose to live. The government may tell other people where to go; not me.”

No bitterness, no resentment; he just answered her question by stating how he felt.

Emma regarded the tall man openly and with unveiled interest.

We talked through breakfast, then began getting ready to start our day. Molly and Riles continuing with their reading lessons. Later, Molly would update her diary.

Rebecca watched Big Elk as he thanked us for breakfast and said goodbye. She said, “He’s big. And probably strong.”

Emma nodded, “A hard man is good to find.”

Mrs. Chambers returned to Helena on the train. Her second visit since we’d arrived in town.

It was partly social — she’d grown fond of the Robinsons and the Gilmore Girls. With George Autry it was partly romantic and partly, I imagined, sexual. And, she wanted to check up on Miss Melanie. Plus, see how the hunt for the killer was progressing. But there was also another reason.

She pulled me aside just like she had for the EagleLeague rumor. She showed me a copy of a telegram and said, “I sent this to Chicago over two weeks ago.”

They had replied by mail and she handed me the letter. I read it, then read it a second time.

I said, “What made you suspicious in the first place?”

“Molly got me thinking. All that library research she’d been doing.”

Mrs. Chambers explained her line of thinking — how one of Molly’s casual observations had made her curious. And that curiosity led to suspicion. An idea, a way of thinking, that I wouldn’t have come up with in a hundred years.

I said, “Did you tell Marshal Autry?”

“No, George couldn’t keep from letting everything show on his face.”

Just like Emma could make him blush with her gentle teasing.

I agreed with Mrs. Chambers about keeping the contents of the Chicago letter between the two of us. For now anyway; it was too early in the game to tip off a possible suspect.

Autry joined us at the hotel for breakfast and asked me, real casual, if I’d like to meet the gold prospector who had filed the claim on the Miracle Mine north of town.

I could tell he wanted my perspective, so there we were walking through a heavy snowstorm to the Federal Assay Office on Broadway. Autry brushed his shoulders off and said, “The former Superintendent of this place is pretty famous.”

“Oh?”

“Russel B. Harrison.”

The name didn’t mean anything to me.

“Son of William Henry Harrison.”

“Ah.”

A former President of the United States, although I couldn’t recall from the history books exactly how far back he went. Before the War, I did remember that. And that he’d gotten sick and died not all that long after he’d been inaugurated.

It was a solid looking building, sort of reminded me of a bank. A gentleman named Jonny Locke gave us a cordial welcome. He was kind of thin and scholarly looking. And friendly. “We’re under the control of the Bureau of the Mint. And it’s pretty busy here in Helena. We record document assays, bullion shipments and redeposits, mass melts, mining activity ... a million different things.”

“Impressive.”

“Do you like our building?”

“Pretty substantial.”

“It should be! The architect for the United States Treasury Department designed it himself. Mr. A. B. Mullet drew up the plans. This, gentleman, is a $75,000 structure. Washington DC does things right.”

I like a man who is enthusiastic about his work and Mr. Locke certainly was.

He nodded at a framed picture, “Russ set the standard here before he moved to New York City. We’re just following in his footsteps.”

The photograph showed a gentleman — I assumed to be Russel B. Harrison — in a suit and a shirt with a white banded collar. He had a smaller version of Autry’s gunfighter mustache.

Autry said, “Having a Federal Assay Office in Helena is yet another national recognition of this city’s value.”

Locke nodded, “And there’s value for Montanans too. Direct value like they can now have their gold dust melted into gold bars.”

Now that was interesting.

Locke said, “Russ wrote a paper and read it at some big-shots’ meeting in New York City. He showed them the Levi Price nugget, caused quite a stir, is what I heard.”

“The Levi Price nugget?”

He made a circle with his thumb and finger, “Worth $945, by itself.”

Autry cleared his throat, and Locke smiled and said we could use an empty office at the end of the hall for our meeting with Gil Olbaum.

Autry had said Olbaum was a rough-looking man and he was right. Not that tall, but thick through the chest and shoulders. A weathered face with an ugly white scar that ran from his left ear down to his chin.

Probably a story there, but not one that I cared to hear.

Olbaum nodded to another man, “Richardson, my mining engineer.”

He looked more like a professor or lawyer or something. Slender and soft with white, puffy hands. But I’d never met a mining engineer before; maybe that’s what they looked like.

Olbaum said, “This will be big, not Sutter’s Mill, but big. Right Richardson?”

“Could be, Mr. Olbaum. But it’s too early to tell for sure. I’ll need to conduct a more in-depth mill run.”

He looked at Autry and me, “That’s a test of the quality of ore after reduction.”

Olbaum jumped in, “But the first test was significant, right?”

“Maybe. Quite possibly. There was some amalgam.” He looked at Autry and me again, “Some gold, but combined with a lot of quicksilver.”