Flames of silver, p.5
Flames of Silver, page 5
“Wait here.” Benteen yanked Jessup around and shoved him into the jailhouse. Mason heard loud protests followed by the iron clang of a cell door closing. He flinched at the click of a key turning in the lock. The marshal came stomping out a few seconds later. “Get moving. Show me what you found.”
“Why’d you lock him up? He’s only trying to help.”
“Public drunkenness.”
“If you threw everyone who got drunk in Virginia City into the clink you’d need a jail ten times this size.”
“There’s still an empty cage right next to his.” Benteen’s meaning was clear. Mason clamped his mouth shut and walked a little faster.
He got to the office where he had found the evidence of arson and pointed it out. The sun was sinking behind Gold Hill, the tall hill to the west.
“Sure does get dark here early in the day,” Mason said. “But then dawn must come fast, since there’s nothing but open space to the east.”
“This it? A scorched spot on the wall?”
Mason explained what he had found and how this had to be deliberately set. The lawman grunted, spat and walked around, kicking at piles and finally returning to the street.
“The other fellow, Jessup, seemed to know all about setting a fire. He’ll agree that this was an attempted arson.” Mason expected some reply. He didn’t get it.
Marshal Benteen said nothing. With a shrug of his shoulders, he walked off with his eyes straight ahead. If he had shouted that he wanted to be elsewhere, anywhere else, he couldn’t have made it more obvious. Mason ran to keep up, his shorter legs pumping hard. He realized the marshal returned to the jailhouse and slowed, finally stopping. He watched Benteen’s back as he left him behind. He had no clear idea what went through the man’s mind, but he doubted it had anything to do with finding someone who had tried intentionally to burn the town down.
“Sir. Sir!”
Mason looked around, realizing he had stopped in front of the tailor shop where he had found the children. That seemed an eternity in the past. The woman beckoned to him to come over.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?” He glanced back in the direction taken by the marshal. The lawman had disappeared into the twilight. “Are your children all right? Tommy and Iris, wasn’t it?”
“They are fine, thanks to you. I can’t repay you, not with money, but you look as if you could use a new set of clothes. Those rags you’ve got on have seen better days.”
Mason laughed at that. “That better day was this morning, before I stepped off the stagecoach.”
“Do let me outfit you. I can’t give you anything fancy, but I have a few things that might fit you.”
“You don’t have to, ma’am.”
“Come inside now, young man.” She took his arm and pulled him into her shop. “I’d rather give you a set of durable clothes than have it all go up in smoke if there’s another fire along this street.”
“It was pretty grim today. Twice,” he said.
“Nothing like the fire back in 1875. That burned most of the town to ground. I came from Kansas City right after that terrible fire with my husband. He’s gone now, may he rest in peace. He’s down in the Silver Terrace Cemetery.” She smiled sadly but proudly. “He was a Knight of Pythias and has a fine grave site in their reserved section. You aren’t a Knight, are you? No, of course not. Maybe you should consider joining. You have the moral character.” She moved him around closer to a coal oil lamp. “Now, let’s see what we can do.”
A half hour later, Morgan Mason stepped out of the tailor shop with decent clothing that would be in style in San Francisco, as well as a brown paper package wrapped in twine with heavier work clothes.
The heavy smoke hung in the air as a reminder of the day’s disasters. He stopped at the big street coming down from higher up on the hill. For the first time he saw street signs. He walked along C Street and had almost tumbled down Union more than once that day. Getting the lay of the land was important. He felt better with the fancy duds. That would give him confidence and improve his chance of finding a job the next day.
The clerk at the assayer wasn’t likely to be any more agreeable, so he had to find a job that made use of his skills without making every day one filled with sore muscles and cuts and bruises. He stretched a little and stared uphill toward B Street. Laughter, loud music and the sounds of gaiety drew him. But he had only climbed a dozen steps when he knew he had to do something about Jasper Jessup. While he wasn’t responsible for the bad blood between him and the entire Virginia City police force, letting Jessup rot in the jail wasn’t the responsible thing to do.
He returned to the jailhouse. The door stood open and light spilled out from inside. He tucked his bundle of clothing under his arm and stepped inside. The marshal sat at his desk with a carpet of wanted posters spread in front of him.
“What do you want?” Even as he spoke, Benteen lifted one of the posters and compared it to Mason’s face. He scowled, put down the poster and chose another. Disgusted, he dropped this to his desk, too, and stared at Mason.
Mason wasn’t going to be intimidated. He had endured too much during the day for that.
“I want to talk to your prisoner.”
“You got bail for him? Ten dollars will spring him.” Marshal Benteen glowered even harder. “You got fine duds there. Miz Logan fixed you up nice.”
“How can you tell?” This startled Mason. While adequate, he saw nothing distinctive in the clothing the woman had given him. He hadn’t even thought to ask her name, in spite of knowing her children’s.
“She’s the best seamstress for a hundred miles.” Benteen coughed and added, “She sews mighty fine shrouds for the undertakers, too. For all of them.”
“All four?”
Mason was pleased to finally shock the marshal out of his glaring choler.
“Some things are general knowledge,” Benteen said. “I suspect that’s one of them, but nothing a prospector or miner wants to think on too much. But you’re not either of them, not with clothes like you wore before.”
“Jasper Jessup. Can I exchange a few words with him?”
“No reason why not.” Benteen grabbed a key ring and rose, towering over Mason. The marshal moved like a coiled snake, lithe and dangerously ready to unwind in a strike. He went to a door at the rear of his small office and unlocked it. He silently opened the door and waited.
Mason suspected he wanted to tell how easy it would be to add a prisoner in the cell next to Jessup, but he held his tongue. The dozen cells in the back were all empty, save for the one holding the drunken fireman.
“Stay as long as you like.” Benteen closed the door behind Mason with a loud bang. The lock made a metallic rasping sound like the peal of doom.
In spite of the marshal’s attitude, Mason considered the offer in a different light. He had nowhere to stay. The cells were clean and the cots, while not feather beds, looked more comfortable than many of the beds he’d slept in on his way here from San Francisco.
“You came to spring me? You’re a prince!” Jasper Jessup leaped to his feet and clung to the bars. His breath was fierce enough to bowl over a charging bull, and his bloodshot eyes matched many a topographical map Mason had seen in his day.
“You’re about the only person I know in town,” Mason started.
Jessup laughed and pointed at his new clothes.
“You’re all decked out in mighty fine duds. Did you sweet-talk Miz Logan? That’s quite an accomplishment since she’s not paid the least attention to any man since her husband died.”
“How’d he die?” Mason wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but the question slipped out.
“A fire down in the mines. There’s nothing as deadly as a fire burning five hundred feet underground. He wasn’t a miner and he wasn’t even a fireman. When the call went out, he came running. He worked a hand pump like a demon.” Jessup shook his head sadly. “Never real sure what happened. The pump handle broke, and it bucked back like a mule. He was impaled on the sharp end. It kept goin’ up and down a few times like they do.” Jessup made a face. “Real messy. I’m not sure anybody ever told his wife the full story since it turned so bloody and there was pieces of him all over the mine opening.”
“That’s gruesome.”
“Not as gruesome as what happened to the miners trapped in the mine. They—”
“I don’t need to know the details.”
“Reckon not. Just that it’s sorta ironic and all.” Jessup saw Mason’s expression. “She sewed up all the shrouds, including the one for her hubby.”
“I think it’s worth your time to help stop the arsonist, if one did start both fires today.” Mason pulled up a chair and sank into it. His legs turned to butter, and keeping from falling asleep became increasingly difficult.
“Solving one problem like that’s not out of the question.” Jessup took a couple steps back and fell onto the cot. The alcohol in his veins still held him in thrall. “If I was you, though, I’d look in other directions for problems to solve. Don’t concern yourself with any firebug. I’ve been sittin’ and thinkin’ on it and maybe I was wrong about that fire bein’ set. Folks get careless. That’d be my judgment in this case, yes, sir.”
“Will you just tell the marshal who you think’s the culprit?” Mason said, not budging.
“Culprit?”
“Name the one who set the fires today. If he gets too bold, he might set so many that the fire brigades cannot possibly snuff them all out.”
“Back in ’75 was a big fire.”
“I’ve heard. It burned down almost the entire town.”
“I almost wish that’d happen again. A man fighting a fire that big could make quite a reputation for himself. As I opined before, I’m not so sure today’s fire was set.”
Mason shot to his feet, angered at such a callous wish.
“How many would die in such a fire? Think of the destruction.” He hesitated. “Even the Fire Drake Brigade headquarters would be burned to the ground. Such devastation could spell the end of the town.”
“Never happen, not with so much silver in the ground. Don’t know how, but miners would figure a way of making suits to walk right through the flames to get to that metal. Why, look at my shirt.” Jasper Jessup pinched a bit and pulled it out. “This here’s got asbestos in it to keep from catchin’ fire. Real smart, ain’t it?”
“Will you talk to the marshal?” He stopped by the locked door, his fist raised to knock on the panel.
“Be my pleasure,” Jessup said.
Mason rapped sharply. He expected to wait while the marshal took his own sweet time to open, but the door opened almost immediately. For all Mason knew, the marshal had listened to their conversation with his ear pressed to the wood.
“He has something to tell you, Marshal.”
“Go on, Jessup. Spill your guts, and I don’t mean puke on my floor again. You do, you clean it up.”
“I am quite under control, sir,” Jessup said with dignity fueled by the booze in his bloodstream. “My good friend here has asked me to tell you something of great importance.”
Mason heaved a sigh of relief. Jessup naming a potential arsonist gave the lawman somewhere to start investigating. He felt he’d accomplished more with this than all the work he had done fighting the fires. If he had learned of the arsonist earlier, Blue Dirt Duggan wouldn’t have been trapped and injured. The Logan children would—
“I am proposing my friend for membership in the Fire Drake Brigade, and will present his case directly to Captain Finley. After all his fine work today, even if he helped that scalawag Delahunt, makes him a worthy addition.”
“That’s what you wanted to tell me?” Benteen stared at Mason in disbelief.
“No, no, Jessup said he knew who the arsonist might be. He—”
“I’m turning you loose, Jessup. Get out of here before I figure out real charges against you.” Benteen opened the cell door.
“But there’s someone setting fires. The entire town is in danger!” Mason was outraged at the marshal’s indifference to such a crime.
“I told you I’d look into it, but there’s other lawbreaking going on that requires a more immediate response.” As if to emphasize his duties, gunshots suddenly echoed down the street. “Clear out. Both of you.”
Mason and Jessup stood in the street outside the jailhouse, listening to volley after volley of gunfire. A Civil War battle couldn’t have sent so much lead flying. Marshal Benteen locked the jailhouse door and hurried off, bellowing for his deputies to follow him.
“You come with me,” Jessup said, tugging on Mason’s sleeve. “I wasn’t joshing when I said I’d propose you for membership. That’s about the biggest honor you can get in this here town. The rest of the brigade has to vote on you, but we got a couple spots open. Them boys lit out and were never seen or heard from again.”
Morgan Mason let the still-half-drunk fireman steer him to Union Street and then downhill to D Street and the volunteer fire company’s sumptuous headquarters. At least he’d have a place to sleep for the night.
CHAPTER SIX
Wake up. You got to wake up.”
Strong hands shook Morgan Mason and rolled him off the bed. He hit the floor hard. His eyes popped open and panic seized him. He had no idea where he was. Then he took a deep whiff and inhaled heavy smoke. With a reflexive shove, he came to hands and knees and began crawling around. He bumped his head against the side of the bed. With a quick twist he rolled over and sat up, looking around frantically.
He saw legs and worked his way up to Jasper Jessup’s frightened face. Everything flooded back. Jessup had brought him to the Fire Drake Brigade headquarters after he had gotten out of jail. The place had been empty and he had chosen a bed to stretch out on. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep for very long. All he wanted was a quick catnap before going on his way.
Sunlight slanted in through an east-facing window and warned him it was well past dawn.
“Is there a fire?” Mason used the bed to lever himself to his feet. Axes were racked in the wall opposite. Red shirts and canvas trousers hung on hooks, each hook marked with a different number. Those had to belong to the individual firemen.
“There will be if Captain Finley catches you sleeping here. Nobody but brigade members are allowed in.”
“But you said it’d be all right, and you’re a member. Aren’t you?” Mason’s sleep-muzzy brain worked through everything he’d heard. Even Marshal Benteen had named Jessup a member of this brigade. He’d said something about him being the fire captain’s favorite.
“I’m allowed, you’re not. They’ll string you up if they find you here.” Jessup made a motion like a noose had been dropped over his head and then tightened.
“It’s a crime punishable by death?” Mason hardly believed that.
“By my sacred honor, it is.” Jessup’s answer carried no hint of lie or joke. “There aren’t many things as honored as membership in a volunteer company. This might as well be a cathedral.” He waved his arms about like a windmill in a stiff breeze. “Hurry up. They’ve spent the night getting drunk and won’t be in any mood to fool around. They’ll not think twice about stringing you up.”
Mason went to the window and looked out. A dozen men, arms locked, marched down the street toward the firehouse. From the noise they made, they all sang a different song. Each tried to drown out his partner. Mason backed off and looked around. He didn’t see how to get out. If he went down the stairs, he’d run smack-dab into the returning firemen. If he tried to drop out the second-story window, they’d catch him for sure.
“What am I going to do?” He looked around, scooped up the bundle of work clothes that constituted his only possessions and prepared to bluff his way out. Some lie had to do, but his brain churned, and nothing came to him.
“There. In there. Can you climb?” Jasper Jessup pointed to a door in an alcove that Mason had overlooked.
He threw open the door and let out a yelp of surprise. Jessup pushed him forward as he took a startled step back.
“Grab hold and climb. You can get to the roof.”
“What are they? Th-they’re snakes!”
“That’s where we dry out the hoses. We let them dangle down from hooks at the top of the shaft. Go on. Hurry!”
The sound of boots clacking on the steps as the firemen came up to the dormitory gave wings to Mason’s feet. He stuffed the brown paper wrapped parcel under his vest and launched himself into the air. Rough canvas hose slid past his fingers. He grabbed and clung for dear life. He swung to and fro like a clock pendulum. For a second he wanted nothing but to swing back to the door and stop.
Jessup slammed the door shut, blocking his retreat. Mason closed his eyes, settled himself, then craned his neck around and looked upward. Jessup had been right. The hoses were looped around hooks fastened into the four-story-high ceiling. He wrapped his legs around the hose, then began climbing. He got to the third floor before his strength began to run out of him like sand from an hourglass. He was rested, but his muscles hadn’t recovered from the previous day’s exertion.
Mason looked down. He might escape that way. The hoses shed water into what looked like a French drain. But the lower floor was open and the returning firemen might not all have gone to bed on the second floor. With grim determination, he summoned up what power remained in his arms and began climbing again. Inch by inch, he made it to the top. A final frantic grab brought an iron hook into his grip.
For a heart-stopping moment he hung, holding on to the hook. He kicked hard, swung and let loose. He landed on a ledge where men used a pulley system to lift the hoses. Hands on his knees, he regained his strength, found a small door that led out onto a railed balcony around the top of the tower. The breathtaking sight of sun lighting Virginia City for a new day was lost on him. Edging around until he faced the center of town, he made out the two burned areas from the day before.
