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“You’re all under arrest.”
Wish Clarke said, “You can’t arrest us.”
“Why not?”
“Your jail burned down.”
Archie Abbott spewed a mouthful of whiskey in the sawdust.
The Pinkerton said, “We got temporary hoosegows lined up on a siding in case the miners take it in their damned fool heads to strike — old reefer cars for refrigerating meat. There’s one reserved for you boys ’til the judge gets around to filling out the papers. If you’re packing firearms, drop them while you can.”
Kisley, Fulton, and Clarke spread apart slightly, which neither the Pinkertons nor the Gleasons appeared to notice.
“You, too, Red. On your feet.”
Kisley said, “Do what he says, Archie.”
Archie rose from the piano stool, looking confused by the turn of events.
“Guns, Red. Drop ’em.”
“He doesn’t
have any,” said Kisley. “He’s an apprentice. Van Dorns are not allowed to carry guns when they apprentice.”
The company cops snickered. “I bet none of you have guns, seeing as how you’re all looking like apprentices.”
14
“I have a gun.”
Isaac Bell glided out of the night with a double-barreled, sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun cocked in each hand. “In fact, I have two. Elevate, boys. Paws in the air.”
The Pinkerton said, “Fire those twelve-gauges one-handed, sonny, and you’ll make a comic sight kicked tail over teakettle.”
“You,” said Isaac Bell, “will be waiting in Hell for the next batch to come down and tell you who was laughing. Drop ’em and elevate!”
The wiser Pinkertons observed winter in the young detective’s eyes. They dropped their pistols and raised their hands. The Gleasons glowered and shrugged their shoulders.
“Drop ’em,” snapped a Pinkerton.
They obeyed reluctantly, and all six shuffled out of the saloon.
Mack Fulton gestured for Archie to pick up their guns. “Here’s your first lesson, Apprentice Archie. You know you’re close to something when they threaten to poke you in the snoot.”
“Close to what?” asked Wish Clarke. “Every miner I talked to — twenty at least — thinks that chain bridle broke of natural causes. They also indicated that if that poor union fellow walked in, they would hang him from the rafters. On the other hand, I noted a certain electricity in the air.”
“Fired up to strike?” asked Bell.
“Fired up for something, just not sure what. I think your courthouse conflagration strengthened their self-esteem.”
Fulton said, “They hate Gleason — taking particular umbrage at his steam yacht — and hate the cops, but they don’t blame either for the runaway. My impression is, they’ll strike only when they find someone to lead them.”
Wally Kisley said, “Pretty much what I heard, too. They think the wreck was an accident. Though a few men told me they blamed the company for double-jobbing what’s his name, Higgins. But Wish is right, Isaac burning down the courthouse seemed to give ’em guts.”
“I didn’t really burn it down,” said Bell.
“Well, you held the lady’s coat.”
