With Katie leaving the next day to return to Chicago to plan her wedding, Violet kept mostly to her room again, plying her needle. The little embroidery frame and kit of threads were the only nonessential items she’d stuffed into her valise, because needlepoint was one of her favorite hobbies. She didn’t leave the hotel except to visit her father’s grave, where she did most of her crying, and to stop by the telegraph office twice a day, even though she’d been assured any telegrams for her would be delivered to her hotel.
She didn’t get her brothers’ response until later in the week, and it wasn’t what she was hoping for. They said it was impossible for them to join her but they were counting on her to find their father’s mine, which was likely where he’d hidden his money. She’d already concluded that if Charles had any money, that’s where it would be, so she ought to make every effort to find out, but she hadn’t expected to continue this mission alone! How could she? And how much longer could they stall Mr. Perry? It was nearly two weeks since she’d left Philadelphia, and she’d already been waiting a week for Callahan to arrive. She couldn’t wait for him indefinitely, or the next telegram she got from her brothers would inform her that they’d lost the house. Another week at the most, then she was leaving. But she started waiting in the hotel lobby. She couldn’t afford to miss the man if he did finally show up.
A few people checked in that day, including another fashionably dressed lady. Someone else from back east? Violet considered introducing herself until she saw the young woman speak angrily to one of the gentlemen escorting her and march up the stairs.
The next morning Violet went straight to the desk to ask after Callahan again, which was what she should have been doing all week. She could no longer leave this to chance or depend on the hotel employees to remember to give him her note when he arrived. There was a new attendant today, one she didn’t recognize, so she had to explain once more who she was and that it was imperative that she speak with Morgan Callahan when he checked in and that her note for him was being kept there at the desk. He opened a few drawers until he found it.
“You do know who I’m talking about?” she asked the new clerk.
“Everyone knows him, ma’am. The mountain man, least that’s what we thought he was, a gruff hermit of few words, and in fact, he looks mean as hell, beg your pardon. But then word spread that he has a rich silver mine somewhere in the area. That didn’t make him any friendlier. Are you sure you want to speak to a man like that?”
She wondered how many times she would be asked that question. “I don’t really have a choice,” she replied. “So tell me what he looks like. I would like to recognize him when I see him. Or will his identity be very obvious because he still looks like a bear?”
The man grinned. “No, ma’am, he won’t be wearing that smelly bear coat in this warm weather. The man’s tall, black-haired, in his midtwenties, and he usually wears a gun on his hip no matter the weather.”
Everyone in this town except the miners seemed to do that, but the clerk’s description was helpful and she thanked him. She joined an elderly man on the sofa across from the desk so she could keep an eye on it. He turned to her excitedly and said, “He’s the fastest gun in the West.”
She glanced at the elderly gentleman. “Who is?”
“The notorious gunfighter Degan Grant. I heard he’s staying in this very hotel.”
She lost interest as he droned on about the amazing gunfighter and glanced around the lobby again. Two men came out of the dining room walking briskly toward the hotel’s front door, one short, wearing a long tan coat and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, and the other tall, black-haired, and with a gun on his hip. Was that Callahan? Had he checked in last night and the new desk man didn’t know it? She certainly hoped not. The man was quite intimidating, dressed all in black from hat to boots and looking very angry. And it appeared that he was leaving again?!
She stood up to stop him. The old man pulled her back down, whispering, “That must be him! And don’t gawk. He’ll shoot you if you stare too long.”
Shot for gawking? What utter nonsense. And the old fellow was only guessing that this was the gunfighter, when he could in fact be the very man she was waiting for. Who was leaving without talking to her.
She followed the pair out of the hotel and saw them walking briskly down the middle of the street. But they were already the length of three shops away. She’d have to yell to stop him now, which simply wasn’t done. She couldn’t bring herself to break that golden rule of etiquette. At least, not in public. Instead she hurried along the boardwalk after him.
She was almost abreast of the duo and about to ask the man in black if he was Morgan Callahan when she heard a woman shout, “Degan Grant, come back here!”
Eyes wide, Violet looked back at the hotel and saw the same woman she’d almost approached yesterday, dressed just as finely. This time she wore an outfit that was three shades of blue; even the little hat she wore, which was just like Violet’s bonnet, was blue. The pretty lady had actually walked out into the street to yell at the gunfighter. Thank goodness this wasn’t Morgan Callahan, Violet thought.
The gunfighter didn’t halt for the lady, didn’t even look back, which prompted her to yell even louder, “Degan, stop! Youhaveto hear me out!”
He did stop then, but not for the lady. A man had stepped into the street ahead of the gunfighter and was slowly walking straight toward him. Violet didn’t need to be from the West to realize a gunfight was about to take place, especially when people quickly vacated the shops nearby and ran down the boardwalks away from the two men in the street. She knew she ought to do the same, but she was rooted to the spot, too shocked by what was happening to move.
She was close enough to hear Grant’s companion warn him, “There’s a man on the roof up ahead with a rifle pointed at you. This is an ambush.”
“I know. I’ve already spotted two others.”
“But that one is out of your range, while you’re not out of his.”
“It might not matter if I kill Jacob first. This is his fight, not theirs.”
“The better idea would be to take cover, don’t you think?” the shorter man suggested.
“You are,” Degan Grant replied. “Get back in the hotel and do it fast.”
Violet was amazed that he could talk so calmly about killing people. And the short man, or boy—she hadn’t actually seen his face—ran back to the hotel, stopping to say something to the lady, who seemed more concerned about not stepping in the horse droppings in the street than the imminent gunfight. But the lady did at that point hurry back to the hotel herself. Which was what Violet started to do, but was suddenly yanked inside the shop behind her.
“What the hell, lady!” the shopkeeper said disparagingly. “Don’t you realize what’s happening out there?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe you don’t know bullets can fly astray in fights like that? And kill innocents who aren’t involved?”
She blanched a little. “No, I wasn’t aware of that. Thank you.”
