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

have an open proposal. This is just the next discussion about it. I figure if we don’t do something, we will miss a perfect opportunity.”

“So, a business decision?” she asked. He was not sure whether it was in jest or serious.

“No. It is a plausibly deniable opportunity to speed up what we both want,” he said.

She thought about this for a few minutes as the train rumbled across the southern part of Illinois.

“I think you are right. I love you totally. Do you have a question to ask?”

“Sarah, will you marry me?” he asked.

“Yes, I will happily marry you.”

Then, he shocked her with a diamond ring set. She was speechless. Something he would gloat on for years. He had finally made her speechless.

“John, it’s beautiful. I love it! It fits perfectly.”

“Of course, it does. I took one of your left hand rings with me,” he admitted.

“Handsome and brilliant. And still the fastest gun in America, if not the world. Do they have fast guns outside of the US?” she asked.

“Maybe. I doubt it.”

“Where would we have this wedding?” Sarah asked.

“San Francisco? Wherever you want.”

“What denomination church should we use?”

“Any church whose pastor or priest or whatever will marry us,” Pope said. “But we should, as a current couple, know where we are going to live and buy a house first. Even if it’s not in San Francisco,” he added.

“You know, John, Wells Fargo has a horrible reputation of moving its employees around the country.”

“Yes, it has been worrying me. A lot, actually.”

“What could we do?”

“One option is to take over Grandpa’s ranch. He and Millie seem to like the cabin in the woods in Marin County better. Maybe I could run for sheriff and you could run the ranch. Along with me, of course.”

“So, you think we are destined to leave Wells Fargo?” she asked.

“I fear so, honey.”

“John, what do you think of the ranch?” she asked.

“Well, I grew up there. But I am tied to Israel Pope, not the land. If I were to have land and raise anything, I would prefer it be a little more remote. Alameda is growing way too fast for me.”

“Let’s keep considering options. We will plan the wedding in San Francisco. There is nobody in my family I care about coming to it. We will see what Hume offers us and take it or not. Probably not. We will see what Israel wants to do about the ranch. He might want to sell it and split the money with you. Or he may want to sell it and buy a big piece of land adjacent to his Marin cabin. We could put a cabin on it. One day, you will get his land anyway. I think we should ask his advice. He’s pretty wise and several of our alternatives depend on what he does anyway,” Sarah said.

“You sold me,” her partner responded. “I really do like where Grandpa is across the Bay. I don’t know what their sheriff situation is. I may still be a Deputy US Marshal, but even if Arthur had me appointed the US marshal for the district, I’d have to work in San Francisco. And my job would disappear as soon as another party took the presidency.”

7

A day later, their northbound connection stopped at Chicago and they climbed down from the train. Baggage including long guns secured at the train station, they took a cab to 80 Washington Street, the headquarters of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.

They took a chance the stroke-stricken sixty-five-year-old founder was in the office.

As Sarah suspected, he was and agreed to see one of his favorites immediately.

“Sarah,” he said in his Scottish brogue. Pinkerton tried to rise from his desk but could not.

Sarah walked over to the famous detective and kissed him on the cheek. He beamed like an adolescent.

“Who is this over tall young man you have in tow, Sarah?” the short stocky Scot asked.

“My husband, Detective John Pope, Allan.”

“I have read about you, Detective Pope. You are a gunfighter detective. Killed more men than Billy the Kid or Jesse James. Both of them, thank heavens, have met their rewards. So, you won the hand of the second-best woman detective in America?”

“No, sir. I won the hand of the first best.”

“Well, you are right. Kate Warne was the best and saved Abraham Lincoln. She’s gone now, God rest her soul. So, Sarah is, as you say, number one.

“What brings you two to the Windy City?” he asked.

“Just to see you, Allan. We were so close.”

“Aye, I’m glad you came. Time is running out for me, Sarah.”

“Oh, Allan. You will outlive all of us. You are far too mean to ever die.”

“Ha! I wish. Were you back east?” he asked.

“We were, sir,” Pope said.

“We were requested by the secretary of war and the attorney general to be transferred to the government. There had been a threat against President Arthur, and we were asked to mitigate it.”

“An awfully big word for a young man schooled by a mountain man,” Pinkerton said, proving he knew more than he seemed upon meeting Pope.

“He was a very well-read mountain man, Mr. Pinkerton,” Pope replied calmly, not showing a whit of the anger he felt at the contemptuous older man.

“Robert’s father would have contacted me. I guess the apple fell a ways from the tree. He will never be the man his father was,” Pinkerton said.

“I suspect few could be the man your dear friend and admirer, Abe was, Allan,” Sarah said softening the subject.

“So, what lies ahead for the two of you?” he asked, turning to Sarah and effectively dismissing Pope.

“We will find out in several days, Allan. Right now, we have no idea whatsoever,” Sarah said.

“Well, tell Hume I said look after you, Sarah. Tell him when I go, he might be the number one detective. Him or Morse. It would be a big jump for either.”

“I trust he will. He has always been fair to John and me both.”

Seeing just these few minutes were tiring the