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

“Pope, please come in.”

Pope followed the man inside, through an entry hall, a parlor and to a small dining room. He was sure there was a larger dining room for entertaining. This was probably where Kane and his wife ate. A sunroom, it also had comfortable chairs and bookshelves.

“Perhaps we can finish the official part of our chat before my wife returns with lunch?” Kane said firmly, though posed as a question.

“I’m sure we can,” Pope replied.

“I am interested someone who the news rags claim has solved many of Wells Fargo’s thorniest mysteries and killed its most dangerous outlaws was called to Washington. The threat must be very major. An assassination at the highest level, an overthrow of a government agency. A defamation with enough evidence to fuel an impeachment,” Kane said.

“As you are not at liberty to violate the trust agreement the Golden Circle lives by, I am also not at liberty to say the specific threat,” Pope said.

“You are very close to the threat identification, Mr. Kane. I will add the suspect list is larger than one might expect. I am in the process of reducing the suspect list by elimination now.”

“I am glad you do not consider the Knights or their funding a major suspect.”

“My suspicions are diminishing,” Pope admitted.

“President Arthur is an odd duck,” Kane began.

“He did not set out to be president and I don’t get the impression he wants to be one now. When Garfield was wounded and died of infection, people said ‘Chet Arthur is President? How odd!’ Yet, he has done remarkably well. Many of his major endeavors have pleased the people and made special interests very mad. Some of those special interests are very powerful. I can see you have your work cut out for you. Is your partner helping?” Kane asked.

“She is, though under her housewife cover, is doing more research than investigations. Nobody but the president has identified us as quickly as you did. Most of the people in Washington are so absorbed with what is best for them they have no time to worry about anyone else. I think it makes them very vulnerable.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, Pope. Not to move suspicion away from my former employer, but have you considered how cheap it would be to eliminate a head of government? Or, so simple to amass evidence against him to impeach him?” Kane asked.

“You are right. Just get a crazy and spend enough to arm and liquor him up. Which is why we have subtly hardened the President’s House and the movements of the president himself,” Pope said.

“My guys stopped a man with a gun beating on the President’s House door at two in the morning recently. He claimed under questioning he was going to shoot the president because Chinese were taking “good American” jobs,” Pope added.

“You know the scariest thing about our republic?” Kane asked. He proceeded to answer before Pope could respond.

“Uninformed idiots like him vote.”

“Yes. Terrifying,” Pope responded, “but, perhaps the cost of freedom.”

“Afraid so. Changing the subject…” He was interrupted by Rita Kane bringing in a silver tray of sandwiches, followed by a pitcher of lemonade.

“Please join us, darling,” Kane asked. She sat down next to him.

“Mrs. Kane, I did not expect lunch, but I will appreciatively enjoy it.”

“May I ask, Mrs. Kane, you seem familiar. I know we have not met. Have I seen you in the papers?” Pope asked.

“Perhaps. I was an actress before getting married.”

“I’m sure recognizing you is it, then,” Pope said without probing further. “The sandwiches are wonderful. I really like the salty ham’s flavor,” he continued.

“It’s Smithfield ham from east of Richmond. Virginia ham is always salty. This seems to Michael and me to be the saltiest and most flavorful. This particular one was from the Joyner’s farm.”

“With me being from California and my wife from Illinois, we are just beginning to sample Southern cooking in Washington. So far, we love it.”

“What does your wife do, Mr. Pope?” Rita Booth Kane asked. Kane watched, enjoying himself. He knew his wife would get more out of Pope than he could.

“Officially, she just puts up with me as a husband now. Previously, she was one of the small cadre of female Pinkerton detectives. Then, I recruited her to Wells Fargo. She is a wonderful detective.”

“I love seeing women succeed in manly jobs. And you, Mr. Pope, what is your background?”

“I grew up in Kansas. At ten, I saw an Indian raiding party kill my mother, father and little sister. My grandfather, Israel Pope, was one of the last of the real mountain men. He took me and raised me.”

“I have heard of him,” Kane said. “I am surprised he did not go after the party.”

“We did. He knew the tribe from the arrows and who was raiding in the area. We watched them and identified a raiding party of young braves ride out. We saw there were no more left and reckoned they were the ones who killed his and my only kin.

“We trailed them and picked our place. With lever action rifles, we mowed them down. I hesitate to continue during lunch. The story gets pretty violent,” Pope said.

“My Rita is pretty tough, Pope. Please continue,” Kane said.

“We killed them all and scalped them. The scalps were presented to the old chief. Immediately, my grandfather and I had developed the ability to read each other without words. I saw my little sister’s scalp hanging on display. Grandpa knew what I wanted to do. I saw a flicker in his eyes. Given permission, I shot the chief where he stood. We rode off hoping my family could rest in peace.”

“You did this at ten years old?” Kane asked.

“I did. I could not have had a better person to raise me than Israel Pope. He set out to teach me everything he knew about hunting, tracking, fighting, even smelling horses and men at a distance. He turned me into an Indian.”

“Do you hate the Indians for