William Johnstone: A Rocky Mountain Christmas

“Aye, sir.” Luke normally didn’t use aye except when he was at sea, but he knew Buckner enjoyed being addressed in such a manner.

As he was filling out the reports, Luke was given a stack of letters that had been held for him until the ship’s return. One of them was from a lawyer’s office in Pueblo, Colorado. He had never been to Pueblo, Colorado, and as far as he was aware, didn’t know anyone there. Tapping the envelope on the edge of the table, he wondered why he would be the recipient of a letter from a Pueblo lawyer. His curiosity was such that he interrupted the paperwork in order to read the letter.

1 February 1890

Dear Mr. Shardeen:

It is with sadness that I report to you the death of your Uncle Frank Luke, who passed away on the 5th of August from an infirmity of the heart.

As you were his only living relative, you are the sole beneficiary of his will, in which he leaves you the following items:

18,000 acres of land

A four room house

All the furniture therein

A bunkhouse

A barn

1500 head of cattle

20 horses with saddles and tack

$1017.56 (remaining after all final expenses)

In order to claim your inheritance, you must present yourself at the Pueblo courthouse on or before November 1st, 1890.

Sincerely,

Tom Murchison

Attorney at Law

The letter came as a complete surprise. Luke had not seen his uncle Frank in over ten years, had no idea he’d lived in Colorado, or that he even had anything valuable to leave in a will. And he’d left everything to him!

Conflicting emotions quickly rose in Luke—elation over what appeared to be a rather substantial inheritance and guilt because not only had he not seen his uncle Frank, he had corresponded with him only three or four times in the last ten years.

Setting the letter aside, he finished the paperwork and returned to Mr. Buckner’s office as requested.

“Mr. Shardeen,” Buckner said. “With the unfortunate death of Captain Cutter, we have to find a new captain for the American Eagle . You know the ship and the men, and you brought her successfully through a terrible storm. I would like for you to be her new captain.”

Had this offer been made to Luke one month earlier—or even one hour earlier—he would have accepted it immediately. But the letter from Tom Murchison had changed all that.

“I thank you for the offer, Mr. Buckner. I am extremely flattered by it.” Luke took a deep breath before plunging on. “But I believe I will leave the sea for a while. I’ll be submitting my resignation today.”

“What?” Buckner replied in shocked surprise. “You can’t be serious! Mr. Shardeen, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. How can you possibly pass it up?”

“Simple. Until today, I had no anchor. But now”—Luke held up his letter—“I am a man of property and can no longer afford to sail all over the world.”

“Are you absolutely positive of that? If you are, we will have to promote someone else to captain.”

“I am positive.”

“Very well. The company will hate to lose you, Mr. Shardeen. You have been a good officer. If ever you wish to return to the sea, please, come see us first.”

“I will do so,” Luke promised.

CHAPTER THREE

New Orleans—October 5

Nate McCoy boarded the Delta Mist and immediately entered the Grand Salon, interested in getting into a game of poker. He dressed well, had impeccable manners, and seemed able to get along with everyone. He was also the most handsome man Jenny had ever seen.

For the next two days, she watched him as he played, though she stood on the far side of the salon so nobody could see that she was watching him.

As evening fell, she took a quick break from her duties and she leaned on the railing of the texas deck, looking down at the great stern wheel, its paddles spilling water as they emerged from the river.

A man spoke to her. “You have been watching me.”

Turning toward the speaker, Jenny saw Nate McCoy. “I’m supposed to watch people in the salon. That is my job.”

“You’re not watching me as part of your job. You’re watching me for the same reason I’m watching you.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I think you know why that is,” McCoy quipped.

Jenny was lost from that moment, falling head over heels in love with him.

Three months later, On January 3, 1891, they were married.

Jenny learned quickly that marrying Nate McCoy was the biggest mistake she had ever made. Although he’d told her he was a broker who dealt with “other people’s money,” that was an extremely broad interpretation of his actual profession. McCoy was a professional gambler, and not an honest one.

Caught cheating on the Delta Mist , he was barred from taking passage on that or any of the passenger boats that plied the Mississippi. When he left the boats Jenny left with him, and for the next eighteen months, her life with McCoy became little more than running from town to town just ahead of a lynch mob.

“Why do you cheat?” Jenny asked her husband.

“Why do I cheat? Isn’t it obvious? I cheat to make money. Where do you think we get the food we eat? The expensive clothes you wear? How do we pay for the fine hotel rooms? From my winnings, that’s where. The odds of winning are not good enough for all that unless I give myself an edge. And that is exactly what I do, my dear. I give myself an edge.”

“By cheating.”

“You call it cheating, I call it increasing the odds.”

“When you were caught cheating on the boats you were barred from taking any further passage on them. But if you are caught cheating in a saloon or a gambling house, the consequences could be much more severe. You could be killed.”

“Ahh, it does my heart good to know my darling wife is frightened for me,” Nate said sarcastically.

“Nate, why don’t we make a living doing something else? I have an education. I could teach school.” Jenny made that offer, even though she knew most schools had a provision in their contract that the teachers they hire be unwed.

“Assuming you could get around the obstacle of being married, what would you propose that I do, my dear? Become a store clerk perhaps?”

“Why not? It would be honest work. And we could settle down somewhere and have a real home like ordinary people.”

“Like ordinary people,” McCoy repeated, emphasizing the word.

“Yes.”

“And this real home, no doubt, will have a white picket fence? Perhaps some flowers that you care for so tenderly? Maybe even a brat or two running around?”

“I-I wouldn’t call them brats,” Jenny mumbled, hurt by his sarcastic response.

“Yes. Well, my dear, as for your rather tedious dream, I am not ordinary, as you know.”

“Yes,” Jenny said, the dream now dead. “How well I know.”

Colorado Springs, Colorado

Two days after that very conversation, Jenny and Nate had breakfast in the hotel dining room.

“I’ve never seen a town that had so many people who were ripe for the plucking. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t get out of here with between a thousand and fifteen hundred dollars.”

“Nate, please be careful.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, my dear. I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know how to take care of myself.” McCoy stood and left Jenny to return to their room alone.

Jenny tried to concentrate on the book in her hand, but her thoughts kept interrupting. Nate had been gone for over four hours, and it wasn’t like him to be gone so long. He had told her they would have lunch together, but it was nearly one o’clock and he hadn’t come back to the hotel room yet.