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

“Is it the stroke, or has he always been an ass?” Pope asked.

“He always was a bit of an ass, but today he was ruder and more argumentative than I have ever seen him. He was not even a gracious host. I am sorry I subjected you to him,” Sarah said.

“I have dealt with far worse. Sad, though,” he said almost pensively. “I have read all of his books. He was always a bit of a hero to me. No longer, I’m afraid.”

“John, he did not save Lincoln like we saved Arthur. He did not get Jesse James. He lost a lot of credibility when Pinkertons became a strike breaker and beat or shot American workers. I suspect he looks back on his life as a failure. Kate Warne was very special to him. She died young and he buried her in his plot. He will probably be buried next to her. Something which did not thrill his wife and sons, I’m sure. Seeing him like this breaks my heart, John.”

He nodded to her and squeezed her hand as they walked back towards the Northwestern Depot. He held her left hand up and the diamond sparkled in the sun. She smiled at him, momentarily getting past the sorrow over the decline of her old friend and boss.

Several days later, they pulled into San Francisco. A quick ride to their rooming house found the adjacent rooms safe, but musty from weeks without ventilation.

They aired the rooms out, took clothes to the Chinese laundry down the street and prepared to see Hume the following morning.

Chief Detective James Hume got to work early. He was always in before seven. The two detectives knew it was always better to see him before everyone else darkened his door.

He was expecting them and had a coffee pitcher and three cups on his desk. Coffee poured they sat and waited for him to open the conversation.

“John, the New York papers said Deputy Marshal Pope killed two conspirators on a dock of some sort in New York City. I am assuming it was you solving the threat against the president?”

“Yes, sir. The third conspirator had remorse and hung himself in Scarsdale. All concerned consider the entire matter to be closed. The president and two secretaries were pleased, and we were dismissed with appreciation,” Pope said.

“Tevis got a telegram from Secretary Lincoln saying much the same. He is happy. From my standpoint, anything happen which will cause repercussions to Wells Fargo?”

“No, sir,” Sarah said neglecting to summarize their kills. They set up one fake suicide, she killed two attackers, and Pope had to gun down two conspirators. She was aware Hume knew about the latter.

Pope continued to shock her with his esoteric knowledge when he described their case on the train by saying veni, vidi, vici or they came, they saw, and they conquered. As Pope had said to Pinkerton, his grandfather was well-read.

“I guess you are wondering what’s next for the pair of you?”

“It has been a bit of a topic of discussion, Boss,” Pope admitted.

“You seemed to like Cheyenne. I spoke with the superintendent and he concurred with assigning Sarah as office manager of the new office you all built and John being the regional detective. This would be at least a two-year assignment.”

“May we give it some thought?” Sarah asked, shocking Hume who thought they would be thrilled.

“A week or two off to rest and think about it would be appreciated,” Pope added. “We have been going hard. Sarah was undercover and had to beat off an attacker, I have added to my list of kills. We need some time to visit family and think. Sarah and I dropped in on Allan Pinkerton. His condition is bad and has added to her worries.”

“Alright, take two weeks off. You have earned the time. But, let me know about the assignment within several days,” Hume said, not pleased at all.

They left, walked downstairs without checking their desks and walked out the front door to Wells Fargo & Company. Sarah took a cab back to their rooms. Pope went to the livery stable where he kept Caesar.

Pope had sent his grandfather a letter. The older man had delivered Caesar back to the livery before Pope’s arrival. The pleasure between man and horse was mutual. The bill was up to date. Pope had a stable hand saddle the big horse and he rode him home.

Sarah had packed for both of them. In a riding skirt, she mounted the horse behind the cantle, and they rode the short blocks to the port. They took the ferry to Sausalito. Caesar was glad to get off San Francisco Bay. The extra hundred twenty pounds on the back of the saddle did not faze the sixteen-hand horse. The bumpy ride across in the ferry did not please him. They headed north from town and soon were at Israel Pope’s cabin.

Pope hailed his grandfather, “Grandpa! Put two more cups of water in the soup. You got company.”

The first one out the door was Pope’s dog, Scout. Hearing the voice made him about the happiest dog in America. The blue tick hound put both paws up on Pope’s leg while he was still on Caesar. The horse was even glad to see his canine buddy.

The handsome older version of the detective walked out of the cabin and put his rifle against the wall. His pretty wife, lately the housekeeper of the family whose kidnapped daughter Pope and Sarah had rescued, followed. Both were smiling with genuine pleasure.

Pope embraced his grandfather.

“This is a wonderful surprise, Sonny. C’mon in and tell me what’s going on. I know you better than anyone. When you pop in, you need to talk.”

“You are scary smart, Grandpa. Always have been.” Pope could not help but to draw a comparison between this robust, mid-sixties man and the one he and Sarah had visited in Chicago.

“Millie, you have hugged the girl long enough. It’s time