Читать книгу Triple Double - James Lewis - Страница 24

*****

In 1889, a halfway house with a bar, rooms to rent, an eatery, and a horse stable opened in Idaho territory. It was located a couple of miles from where the south and the north fork of the Coeur d’Alene River met. The way station was called the Saddle Inn. Over the years and a few generations later, it came to be known as the Silver Saddle. People would stop there while headed east or west along what is now Interstate 90. In the late nineteenth century, the territory was showing the first signs of development leading to statehood. It was a wild land that was growing in population thanks to the mining and logging industries in the region. The railroad came through around the turn of century, and commerce took off. Many of the early miners struck it big with the silver and gold unearthed from their claims. Fortunes also were made by selling earlier staked claims. Late arrivals made money opening stores and presenting services the workers and families needed. The first owner of the Saddle Inn was a hard foul-mouthed woman named Molly. She believed in shaking loose every penny possible from her customers. Molly was blessed with a devilish smile and thin anatomy. Born in Ireland, Molly was one of the best-known early pioneers of the region.

In the late spring of her first year in business, a couple of tough-looking cowboys checked into a room, paying for three days in advance. The unsmiling cowboys were riding two Appaloosa ponies and leading six empty pack mules. They boarded with Molly’s workers. All eight animals were in good condition, just needing hay and rest. These cowboys liked their steak rare, whiskey to drink, and loud bawdy talk. The two paid for everything with silver coins. Molly and her hired men couldn’t come up with any answers concerning the empty pack mules. Molly understood the wagon trail from Montana into Idaho was in good condition. For so many pack mules, one cargo hauler would have been the better choice. It piqued her interest.

On the first night of the boys’ stay, while they were drinking in the saloon portion of the inn, Molly introduced herself. Recognizing their slightly inebriated condition, she fell into a conversation, asking about their journey through Idaho territory all the while complimenting them on their youthful looks and manners. Their glasses were never empty. Molly was entrancing that evening. With long brown hair and in her late thirties, she always wore low-cut blouses. Later that night in their room, after both men had passed out, she quietly slipped on her skirt and flannel shirt then started in on their saddlebags. She smiled when she found a half-dozen gold coins and a few gold nuggets the size of small marbles. Molly also found a hand-drawn map with two marks of interest. The first mark was near Butte, Montana. The second x was between what later became known as the Rose and Killarney Lakes. That second mark was not more than a half-day buggy ride from her inn.

Molly took one nugget and one gold coin from the small pull-string pouch that contained the twenty-dollar gold pieces. It was way more money than these young toughs could have earned, legally, in two or three years. She replaced the map and slowly slipped out of their room. When she was downstairs, she drew the map from memory and put it in her safe. The young riders were gone most of the second day, returning after dark. Both were so exhausted they passed up Molly’s advances. Henry, Molly’s stable hand and confidant, reported that the horses and pack mules had been ridden hard. On the third day of their stay, just before dawn, both riders and their animals were gone.

News arrived slowly in the late 1800s until the telegraph and railways were constructed. The Saddle Inn became a hub of information. Molly foresaw the benefits of being a postmaster while also offering a telegraph service inside her establishment. A month after the two cowboys had departed, news came of a train robbery out of Butte, Montana. The robbery, shoot-out, and escape had taken place just two weeks before the two young riders had stayed at the Saddle. The stolen items were more than interesting to Molly: three hundred pounds of unrefined gold, six thousand dollars in gold coin, and stores of laudanum and opium medicines. Within three days, map in hand, Henry and Molly had a buggy packed and ready to travel. Henry was not just a stable boss. He could handle any rifle or pistol that was available. Preferring to settle most of the Saddle Inn’s problems with brute strength and fisticuffs, Henry was big and tough.

Molly and Henry traveled southwest, following the river. As the north fork turned straight south toward St. Maries, a logging township, darkness fell. They slept on the ground and waited for dawn. At first light, Henry started a fire, boiling water for coffee and frying bacon. Molly perused the map once again. Together, they agreed on a meadow and canyon that lay halfway between the Rose and Killarney Lakes. Already on the east side of the river, they followed a wheel-worn path south again toward St. Maries. Soon they found a less-used wheel trail that ran back east off the main southern route. It showed signs of recent usage. Twenty minutes in, they entered a meadow. Henry was first to spot several men working about a quarter mile across the open area. He halted the buggy while they were still hidden in the trees. “That’s why the path is so worn. Someone is building something.”

“Do we want them to know we’re here?” asked Molly.

“I’m sure they didn’t see us,” he told Molly. “I’ll get on up that hill to where I have a view. Keep the horses as quiet as you can. I won’t be long.” The hill was more like a cliff for the first fifty feet. Henry used the outcropping of roots and rocks to scale the escarpment. When on top, he walked up the slope another hundred yards and slowly edged toward the meadow overlook.

It was too far to hear anything except the occasional loud noise of unloading some crates and metal objects from a wagon team just inside the tree line. Henry did spot a peculiar-looking cleared area on the south edge of the meadow. The clearing was worn and looked to have a used ashen firepit. Next to the pit was an odd-looking arrangement of rocks circling what looked to be a well. If it was a water well, somebody had dug it out. The dry summer would have been in the laborers favor. Henry knew the work put into that well had to have covered many weeks. The rim was a good six feet across. Who knows how deep it was? Two small canvas tarps were draped over poles to provide shade and shelter for the men in the meadow.

When he returned to where he’d left Molly and the buggy, Henry reported everything he had seen. He was sure only three men were working. “It might be the start of a sawmill, but it’s hard to say,” he said, adding, “I think we should spend the rest of the day getting to a vantage point on the south side. It overlooks what seems to be a campsite. We could use some time watching and listening to their chatter.” Henry tied the horse team out of earshot from the wagon path. Fed and watered, they would be fine until morning. Both horses were tethered lightly in case a mountain lion showed up.