Wild At Heart Seattle
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The first thing he did when they reached the city bought a newspaper. He wanted to see if there were any articles about his brother’s death in Montana and what had become of the men who killed him. It took nearly an hour for them to reach the city, so by the time he got back to the hotel, it was getting late.
He went into his room, but before going to bed he checked out the newspaper again. There weren’t many articles on either topic. The most recent one mentioned that two men had been arrested for killing another man over a card game debt.
They said they would be arraigned next week, but didn’t give their names or say where they were being held. A few weeks ago, someone had written a letter to the editor asking how these men could have escaped justice with all this talk about lawlessness in the West.
That letter was printed along with a reply from a prominent businessman in town saying that the writer was wrong and that the country needed more men like John Sweeny who were willing to protect the people against outlaws.
It wasn’t much help, so after reading a while longer, he decided to get some sleep. In the morning he would try to find out something useful about the murder of his brother. For now, he just wanted to forget everything that happened up until then—the shooting, the ambush, the deaths of those who had helped him.
His brother would never believe him if he told him what happened, which only made things worse because he knew that Frank wouldn’t let anything stop him from finding his killers. All he could do was hope that he’d come across some clue somewhere.
He woke early the following morning and ate breakfast in the lobby restaurant before taking a walk around town. One good thing about the rainy weather was that nobody would notice him as he walked through the streets. Seattle had changed considerably since last year when he visited.
Instead of just one big building, there were several tall skyscrapers. Most of the businesses seemed to be concentrated downtown. As usual, he saw plenty of women walking down the street, but not a single man. This struck him as odd considering Seattle was such a progressive city.
What kind of woman would live here alone? Did she know what it was like to feel unwanted in her own home? Or was she used to men treating her badly, so she expected it? Either way, he felt sorry for her.
They must have gotten off at the wrong station. When the train stopped at a different depot, he figured it might be better to stay aboard rather than risk running into Frank again. Besides, he still hadn’t found out enough information about the murder of his brother.
If nothing else, he should learn who the men who killed him were so he could tell Frank what became of them. He also hoped he’d hear something about the men who tried to rob the bank. But even though he asked everyone he met about them, no one seemed to recall seeing them. No doubt they left town quickly.
“Do you need me to go with you?” Richard asked. “I don’t think I can sit idle here anymore.”
“No. You’ve done enough already.”
Richard looked away. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone with you.”
“You’re always telling me you want to make up for your past mistakes,” Morgan said. “Well, today is another day for making amends.”
When the train finally arrived at the end of the line, he paid his fare and stepped off onto a platform crowded with passengers heading south toward Portland. Before leaving, he bought a ticket to San Francisco and waited for the next westbound train to arrive.
The rain continued throughout the trip. After reaching Oregon, the landscape turned hilly and green. He wondered if this was why Washington State had chosen to build its capital farther inland. Nowhere near Puget Sound or the Pacific Ocean.
Not exactly inviting, but he supposed the government couldn’t care less. Maybe it was better that way. With the right attitude, it could be a pleasant place to visit.
After stopping at Portland, the train headed north through the Cascade Mountains and crossed the border into California. On the other side of Mount Shasta lay the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the highest mountains in the U.S., and the only range within the Rocky Mountains that actually rose above 14,000 feet.
Near Sacramento, he passed by several gold mines, including a couple owned by wealthy businessmen. Even though he hadn’t seen any sign of gold yet, he figured he would eventually run into someone who knew something about it. Gold miners often traveled far distances to prospect for gold, so it wasn’t too surprising that none of the railroad workers he talked to could offer any help.
At least there weren’t many people living in the area. He spotted only a few ranches and farms. The land between the towns and cities was barren, but once you reached the mountains, it grew greener as you climbed higher.
Trees covered the sides of the valleys and hills, and wildflowers dotted the grassy slopes. At first, the scenery reminded him of New Mexico, but then he thought of Colorado instead. They both had wide open spaces, although neither state had nearly the same level of development.
It didn’t seem possible that anyone could call either place home. And how could anybody live surrounded by snow-covered peaks? That was probably why most people chose to settle in places like California and Arizona where they could enjoy milder temperatures and more sunshine.
Morgan watched the scenery roll by while reading a newspaper from Boston. A story caught his attention, especially since it mentioned the murder of two men. Apparently, they had been stabbed to death after breaking into a house. Police believed the murderer was an unknown black man.
The article went on to say that the killer was a skilled burglar with a scar over his eye. He obviously had some connection to the victims’ families because it described the events leading to their deaths: one man’s wife discovered her husband dead in bed; the other died when he returned home to find his father murdered. Neither family suspected foul play until the bodies were discovered.
“How did you come across that?” Morgan asked Richard.
“It was in one of the books I read last night before going to sleep,” Richard said.
“Did you see anything else interesting?”
“A story about the trial of a woman accused of killing her lover.”
“Was she convicted?”
“She spent six years behind bars before being released due to lack of evidence.”
He remembered the woman. She’d been pretty attractive. “Why do you ask?”
“I saw her picture in the paper.”
Morgan stared down at the front page. Her face was slightly blurred, but he recognized her instantly. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. She was arrested at the jailhouse just before we left town. One of the deputies told me all about it.”
Morgan picked up the newspaper and handed it back to Richard. “I’m not surprised. What are you thinking now?”
“That we should follow her.”
“What makes you think she’ll lead us to Mr. Thompson?”
“Because she has information about him,” Richard said.
“We don’t know that for certain. All we know is that she knows what happened to him. If she doesn’t have any clues to share with us, we might as well leave her alone.”
“And miss our chance at learning who killed him?”
“If she does have something to tell us, then maybe she will mention it during questioning,” Morgan said. “But if she won’t cooperate, then we can always try again later.”
Richard nodded reluctantly. “You’re probably right. We should get back to the train station and buy tickets for Denver.”
“Then let’s go.”
They took seats in a second-class carriage and soon pulled out of the station. In the distance, the Sierra Nevadas spread out below them. While watching the white caps of the mountain peaks glide past, Morgan tried to imagine himself walking among them.
No doubt the weather would be harsh. But despite the cold and wind, it would still be an impressive sight. How wonderful it must be to look up and gaze upon such beauty.
The train stopped briefly near Reno to pick up a group of passengers. Most of the new arrivals were women heading to San Francisco or Seattle for jobs as domestic servants. They wore elegant dresses, hats, gloves, and parasols, which made it easy for Morgan to spot them.
Some of the ladies even carried large handbags filled with makeup kits, hairbrushes, and toiletries. Others brought along sewing machines so they wouldn’t have to worry about having their clothes mended.
One of the women turned and smiled at Richard, causing him to blush. For the moment, he appeared oblivious to the stares directed at him. He leaned forward and whispered, “Do you want to stop by the telegraph office in Carson City to send your mother another message?”
“No,” Morgan answered. “Let’s wait until we reach the next station. Otherwise, we may miss our connection.”
As they rode along, Morgan noticed that some of the windows were boarded up, while others were broken. Many houses looked abandoned. There was also evidence that some buildings had burned down. It seemed strange that fires could burn so hot and bright without anyone noticing. As he recalled, there hadn’t been any rainstorms lately. Then why?
“Look!” Richard pointed out the window.
On the side of the road was a small shack where a lone man stood in front of a stove warming himself. His feet were bare, and his coat was covered in dust. A dog lay beside him. The poor thing looked like it hadn’t eaten in days.
Morgan reached into his pocket and felt the piece of bread he had saved from breakfast. “Here you go. That’ll make him happy.”
“Thank you,” Richard said.
When they passed by, the man gave them a quick nod before returning to his chores.
Morgan thought of the poor fellow and wondered how many people lived in this part of Nevada. He imagined families living together under one roof. Men working on farms. Children playing games around campfires. Women baking pies in kitchens. How different life would be here than anywhere he’d ever known?
He glanced over at Richard. “There are more settlers than you realize. Maybe someday we’ll move west and live in a place like that.”
“Wouldn’t you rather stay here instead of traveling all day long?”
“This is my home,” Morgan said simply.
***
By noon, the sun shone brightly above the mountains and the sky was clear blue. When the train crossed the border between California and Nevada, the landscape changed dramatically. Instead of rolling hills dotted with trees, grasslands stretched as far as the eye could see.
The land was dry and barren; nothing grew except sagebrush and cactus. At first glance, it reminded Morgan of Kansas. Except here the sky wasn’t gray and dreary. On the contrary, it was wide open.
It was impossible to ignore the poverty that reigned throughout the territory. More than half of the homes looked like shacks, while the other half were built of wood and stone. It seemed as though most of the residents were itinerant workers who traveled from town to town to find work. Few of those who remained behind owned much property, although a few did own cattle ranches.
As the train neared its destination, Morgan watched as the ranch lands became larger and more prosperous. Houses now rose high on stilts, making it easier to protect them from tornadoes and floods. Large barns and sheds lined the dirt roads leading from farmhouses.
In places, the tracks ran alongside the Virgin River, which flowed swiftly beneath the bridge. Occasionally, the water was stained green by runoff from the nearby cottonwood trees. Other times, the river was brown because of the alkali soil.
Ahead, the railroad track curved around the base of Mount Potosi. From there, the line climbed upward toward the summit of the mountain, but then veered off to the east. Soon after reaching the top, the tracks came to an abrupt end.
“That’s the highest point in the state,” Richard explained. “And since no one has yet found a way to tunnel through it, the only way to reach the top is by horseback.”
At last, the train rolled into Virginia City. It was everything Morgan remembered—a bustling gold rush boomtown. Gold miners, ranchers, cowboys, prospectors, and merchants alike mingled among the crowds gathered outside the depot. Some of the men wore old-fashioned suits and hats, while others dressed casually in jeans, shirts, and boots.
Most of the people who worked in Virginia City lived elsewhere and returned to the area every night. But there were exceptions. The majority of the saloons were located inside the city limits. In addition, there were several brothels in operation. All of these establishments were crowded with men waiting for their favorite ladies or hoping to meet someone new.
Virginia City had once boasted eight hotels and thirty-four saloons. Now it had become even bigger. Alongside the railroad tracks, the town expanded to encompass the surrounding areas. One hundred twenty-three miles from south to north, and forty miles wide at the widest point.
The main street of Virginia City was narrow and crooked. As soon as the train stopped, the crowd moved quickly away from the locomotive and headed straight for the nearest saloon. Men carried their whiskey bottles in hand. Others clutched cards. Many had cigars tucked into their lips.
Morgan knew that if he waited any longer, he would never get Richard alone again. “We have to talk to the sheriff.”
Richard followed Morgan down the platform. “Why?”
“I need to know what happened to that boy.”
“What about it?” Richard asked when they reached the door of the station master’s office. “You already told me you don’t think he’s guilty.”
Morgan nodded. “But I want to hear it from him. Besides, there may be something else involved.”
They entered the room and the clerk greeted them politely. “How can I help you, gentlemen? Is there anything you’re looking for?”
“No,” Morgan replied. “Just passing through.”
“Good luck finding it,” the man said with a chuckle. Then he pointed out the window. “See the road beyond the depot? That’s where you’ll find all your needs.”
Morgan didn’t bother to answer. He turned to Richard. “Let’s go.”
Outside, the temperature was considerably warmer. A gentle breeze stirred up dust as Morgan and Richard walked along the sidewalk. They passed by the hotel and boarded the street car bound for the mines.
When they stepped aboard, Richard took his hat off and placed it on the seat beside him. His hair fell forward over his forehead. With a flick of his wrist, he brushed it back. Morgan smiled. When they first met, Richard hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her. And she couldn’t stop staring at him either.
After leaving the station, the street car continued to climb higher until it reached the edge of town. At last, it arrived at the entrance to the Silver King Mine.
The mine was enormous, stretching three stories below ground level. There was enough silver here to make more than fifty million dollars. It also produced copper and gold.
The Silver King was not far from the Virgin River, so naturally, most of the miners spent time swimming in the waters of the stream. After work, many went to a nearby saloon or brothel for a drink before returning home.
Once the streetcar pulled to a halt, Richard paid the conductor for both tickets and led Morgan down the steps.
Inside, the dimly lit interior smelled musty. Only one light burned overhead. No one spoke during their descent down the wooden stairs, which seemed to stretch endlessly beneath the earth. The only sound was the clanking of metal as the rails rattled against the sides of the mine shaft.
Finally, they reached the bottom of the shaft and crossed the stone floor of the cavernous chamber. Here the air was cold, damp, and stale. The ceiling rose high above their heads. Below, the water dripped steadily from the roof.
Along one side of the chamber, the floor was covered with piles of ore. Other than the occasional miner walking by, the place appeared deserted.
Ahead, another tunnel stretched into the distance. To the right was an open space where workers could stand around a bonfire and chat with each other. This was where the men often gathered after a long day of work.
In the middle of this open area, Morgan spotted Sheriff Frank Rourke sitting next to a coal fire. Next to him, two deputies played checkers. Nearby sat several miners in conversation. Several women stood behind them watching intently.
Rourke noticed Morgan and Richard approaching. He glanced up from the board game. “There you are. We’ve been searching everywhere for you. What did you find out?”
“Where is the boy?” Morgan asked.
“He isn’t here.”
Morgan frowned. “Didn’t you bring him to jail?”
“I thought we might talk to him first,” Richard explained. “To see how he feels about what happened.”
“Talk to him?” Rourke asked incredulously. “Are you kidding me? Don’t waste my time.”
With no choice but to listen, Morgan and Richard joined the others near the fire. Once everyone had settled down, Rourke began telling the story. “That night, just before midnight, a boy named Jimmy Gilmer was found murdered outside the Silver Queen Mine. Two days ago, he was discovered missing from the jail.”
One of the men standing closest to the fire snorted. “Well, he probably got out himself.”
“And who do you think killed him?” Morgan demanded.
“Who knows?” Rourke replied. “We haven’t arrested anyone yet. But if we have to arrest someone, we will.”
“What about that boy?” Morgan pressed. “Was he responsible for the murder?”
Sheriff Rourke shook his head. “Not exactly. Let me explain.”
***
The sheriff cleared his throat and started again. “About a week ago, a man came to our office asking about the boy. He wanted us to investigate his claim.”
“His claim?” Morgan asked.
“Yeah, he claimed that Jimmy Gilmer was actually his son,” Rourke answered. “This man has some money he wants to invest. He’s heard that there’s a lot of silver in these mountains. So far, though, we can’t locate any of the man’s family members.”
“But you never questioned the boy about this?” Morgan asked.
Rourke shrugged. “Why would we? If I were going to kill someone, why would I tell you beforehand?”
“So, you don’t know anything about the man or the claim?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you remember when the man showed up?”
“Yes.” Rourke looked at her. “It was almost two weeks ago. The man came to my office early in the morning and waited patiently until I arrived.”
“Did you ask him any questions?” Morgan asked.
“Only that he was looking for a boy. That he needed to find him quickly because he was running out of time.”
“How much does this man want to be invested?” Richard asked.
“Fifteen thousand dollars,” Rourke said. “Enough to start a business.”
Richard nodded. “You didn’t mention it earlier. Fifteen thousand dollars! Did the man pay cash?”
“No,” Rourke admitted. “He offered to send the money to us in a few days. Right now, though, we’re waiting on the bank to transfer the funds. We’ll be able to deposit it tomorrow.”
“Then the boy still hasn’t received any money?” Morgan asked.
“Apparently not.”
She turned to Richard. “Does this seem strange to you? Why would a rich man come all the way to Colorado to look for a lost boy? And why wouldn’t he wait until the money arrives so he could buy the boy’s silence?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to wait,” Richard suggested. “After all, the boy was just accused of killing another man.”
“Which means,” Morgan continued, “he might feel compelled to get rid of the boy as soon as possible.”
“If he really did kill somebody, then maybe he should go back to New York,” Rourke remarked.
“Or he could run away,” Morgan added. “Take off across the country. It’d take a long time to reach California, but if he left tonight…”
“Could he make it?” Richard asked. “Traveling alone like that?”
“He’s a fast runner.”
“Very fast,” Richard agreed. “Like Usain Bolt.”
“Usain Bolt!” Sheriff Rourke exclaimed. “Now, there’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”
“When did you last hear him say anything about his former life?” Morgan wondered.
“Almost ten years ago, when he was visiting a friend in Boston,” Rourke answered. “They played chess every day. Sometimes, they even played together.”
“So, where is this friend today?”
“Oh, he died a year later. Heart attack. A real shocker, too.”
Morgan felt a twinge of sadness for the man. She remembered how close she’d become to James. What made it worse was that after learning that Richard and Morgan had been involved with each other, James had told them both that he loved them — and meant it. Now, he was gone.
“Where was your friend staying?” Morgan asked.
“At a boardinghouse in Harvard Square,” Rourke said. “I believe it’s called the Harvard Inn.”
“Have you ever been inside?” Richard asked.
“A few times.”
“Any idea what happened to the inn since then?” Morgan asked.
“No. It closed down several years ago. I suppose it must’ve fallen into disrepair.”
“That’s odd,” Richard said. “Because according to its website, the place is open for business again.”
“Really?” Rourke raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah. It seems the inn is under new management. In fact, the current owner says that it’s better than before.”
“What do you mean by that?” Morgan asked.
“Well, he claims that he’s put a lot of work into renovating the property. He’s also expanded the business. He now offers more services. Like a spa. Classes in cooking. Even art classes. There are even special events such as concerts and wine tastings.”
“Sounds interesting,” Morgan said.
“Not only that, but he says there will be a new hotel being built right behind the inn,” Richard explained. “The new building will have fifty-four rooms and three floors.”
Sheriff Rourke looked from one woman to another. “Wait a minute! You two were here yesterday.”
Morgan glanced at Richard who seemed surprised. Then she realized what Rourke was talking about. They had returned to the inn twice since their arrival. First, to meet with the innkeeper, who told them the story of the inn and the town.
Then, a short while later, they met with the mayor to discuss the murder investigation. After that, they took a tour around the city and rode through the hills surrounding the community.
The End