Shooting For Justice, G. Tilman [best historical fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

been for over a hundred years. The old man is dead, but his son lives there now. Rumor has it he’s married to a beautiful actress.”

“Thank you. One last question. Where can I get a horse to ride out there?” Pope asked.

“Two blocks to the left of the post office and one block over to the right. There’s a good livery stable. Tell the man Honus sent you. He’ll take care of you.”

Pope stopped at a café along the route and got a ham sandwich and cup of coffee.

The livery owner set him up with a handsome Morgan gelding. Unfortunately, the saddle was the British style popular in the east.

No damn place to wrap a lariat or hang a canteen and no latigos to lash on a rifle scabbard or saddlebags, he thought to himself.

He swung up on the horse with the ease and grace of a cowboy, his first job.

Following the postmaster’s directions, he found Richmond Road and headed away from Charlottesville.

Knowing his day on the horse was not going to accrue much mileage, he rode at a fast trot and saw the sign for Topping Castle quickly.

He turned into a long, one lane entry. It was lined with trees on both sides.

If I was going to live back East, this would be it, he thought. And was rich, he added.

He was totally convinced when he rounded a curve in the lane and saw the house. It was brick with white columns. As he got closer, he could see well performed repairs almost hiding bullet pock marks and at least one cannon hit. As a Californian, he had never given much thought about the war. Only the fact it had eliminated slavery. At least black slavery. Certainly not helped the way Indians were treated. Or immigrant workers.

It hit him hard to imagine what it might be like to have an invading army attack you at home where your wife and children and animals were. To bombard your house and stables. And, for this to happen when you were not around to help protect them or fight the fires or bury the dead. He decided it was the most horrible war imaginable.

As he approached the house, several fine-looking hounds, tri-color fox hounds, probably, came out and set up a ruckus. It made him think of Scout.

A tall man appeared on the front porch. He stood near a column he could duck behind if shooting started. Pope would have done the same thing.

He was darkly handsome and probably forty years old. His hands were loose at his sides. Pope would have bet a year’s salary a revolver and maybe a Bowie knife were in his waistband in back.

“Buck, Tar! It’s okay boys. I have it now. Sit!” he called, and the dogs returned to his side and sat protectively one either side of where he stood.

“Are you Mr. Kane?” Pope asked.

“Who’s asking?”

“My name is John Pope. I am an army provost marshal on loan to the attorney general.”

“Mr. Pope, do you have a way to prove it?”

“I do. I have a written warrant naming me provost marshal for the secretary of war and a deputy US marshal badge from the attorney general, who swore me in himself.”

“Why don’t you get down and show me these things, then we can commence talking about whatever brought you to Topping Castle?”

“Fair enough.”

Pope had already determined the Morgan horse would stand with his reins dropped, so he walked slowly towards the man and the dogs.

“I don’t know about you, Mr. Kane. But I detest the English saddles. How do you all stay on them foxhunting?”

Kane smiled.

“Despite the dogs, I don’t foxhunt. I irritate my neighbors by not allowing them to foxhunt on my land. And there is not one of those silly saddles anywhere in my stables, Mr. Pope. Or should I call you Deputy Pope? Maybe Provost Pope?” he asked.

“Most people just call me Pope.”

“There is a gunfighting Wells Fargo detective named Pope. Has a beautiful ex-Pinkerton lady detective partner. I read she’s almost as deadly as him.”

“Actually, Mr. Kane, she’s a lot more dangerous. A helluva lot,” Pope said confirming his identity.

“What brings you here? I take it you are not Wells Fargo anymore.”

“I was asked to come to Washington and investigate for the government. My case is sensitive. It involves an attack on certain government assets in Washington. I cannot divulge much more. But, in a recent conversation in Dallas I was referred to you.”

“How much did Joe, Jr. say to you, Pope?” Kane asked suggesting Kane’s knowledge of his talk with Shelby was more than just speculation.

“He was very careful and would not answer any questions about the Knights of the Golden Circle, its leadership or funding. He promised me he was not aware of anything involving them or GC Financial which involved an attack on government resources. He said for anything before his six months on the job, I would have to ask you.”

“I am not aware of anything which would imperil the government or any person in it, either,” Kane said.

“How about trustees using your funding in a manner where you would be unaware of the actual use?”

“The procedures I set up years ago should prevent such a thing. There are…influencers associated with the group who might undertake getting rid of someone they thought was a problem for some reason.

“To get money to finance an operation, it would have to be applied for in writing and vetted by the entire board of trustees. These men do not act as a rubber stamp, Mr. Pope. They keep each other in line.”

A very lovely woman appeared in the doorway behind Kane.

“Michael, do we have a guest?” she asked.

“We do, my dear. And, I suspect hospitality and prudence should have told me to have our conversation inside and over a beverage and perhaps lunch.”

“Let me look to lunch. I will leave you to the liquid refreshments.” She moved away. Pope got a sense of her floating away. She was beautiful, but not