Danielle had no cause to doubt the sincerity of the two young bounty hunters, but she slept with her Colt in her hand. Danielle supplied the food and coffee for breakfast, and the trio set out for Denver. Except for deep canyons where the sun didn’t often shine, the snow had melted, leaving a quagmire of mud.
Denver, Colorado. September 27, 1870.
There was nothing fancy about the Denver House, but its rooms weren’t expensive, and Danielle rented two of them.
“You shouldn’t of done that,” said Herb Sellers. “We can’t repay you until we collect some bounties.”
“Let me look at your list of known outlaws,” Danielle said, “and that will be payment enough.”
“I aim to call on the Pinkertons and talk to my uncle in the morning,” Burris said.
The more Danielle thought about it, the less likely it seemed the Pinkerton listing of known outlaws would be of any value. From what she had heard, the Pinkerton Agency was most often called upon to seek out bank and train robbers. The outlaws who had hanged Daniel Strange in Indian Territory began to seem more and more like a ragtag lot of renegades left over from those infamous days following the war. But Danielle had not a single lead, and a Pinkerton list would be better than nothing. Danielle bought supper for the three of them at a small cafe.
“Jesse and me aim to hit some of the saloons tonight,” Herb said. “Want to come with us?”
“I reckon not,” said Danielle. “I’m tired of sleeping on the ground, and I want to enjoy a warm bed.” If the two were out of grub and low on money, the last place they should be going was to a saloon, Danielle thought. But it was the way of the frontier not to offer advice or opinions unless asked.
After the recent snow, there had been a warming trend and it seemed a shame to retire to her room so early. After Herb Sellers and Jesse Burris had left, Danielle changed her mind. Without taking her chestnut from the livery stable, she would walk to the places of business nearest the hotel. One of them—the Pretty Girl Saloon4—was across the street from her hotel. The Pretty Girl was a two-story affair, and the bottom floor was well lighted. There was a bar all along one side of the room, while the rest of it was occupied by a roulette wheel, several billiard tables, and more than a dozen tables topped with green felt for poker and black jack. A winding staircase led to the second floor. Waitresses dressed in flowing fancy gowns carried drinks to tables where the different games were in progress. Danielle stopped one of the waitresses.
“What’s upstairs?”
“High-stakes poker and faro,” the waitress said. “It’ll cost you a hundred dollars to go up there, but you get a hundred dollars’ worth of credit at the poker or faro tables.”
While Danielle didn’t care for poker, she had played faro—or “twenty-one”—with her father and brothers many times, and she understood the game. She still had more than $3,300, and feeling bold, she took five double eagles from her Levi’s pocket and exchanged them for chips.
“First door on the left, at the head of the stairs,” the waitress said.
Danielle climbed the stairs, opened the door, and got the shock of her life. All over the huge gambling hall there were young women who wore nothing except a short jacket that covered the arms and shoulders and red slippers on their feet. Danielle had no interest in naked women and was about to leave, when she recalled she had paid a hundred dollars to come to the second floor. Obviously, the girls were there to take a man’s mind off how much he had lost or was likely to lose. Danielle took her handful of five-dollar chips to one of the faro tables.
“Minimum bet five dollars,” said the dealer.
Danielle lost five times in a row, and then she started winning. One of the naked girls was at her side, urging her to visit the bar, but Danielle wouldn’t be distracted. Not until she had won more than three hundred dollars did she leave the table. There were some vain attempts to lure her to the poker tables, where the saloon might recover some of its money, but Danielle wasn’t tempted. With a last look at the naked women, she stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Reaching the street, she walked for an hour before returning to the hotel. She secretly hoped Sellers and Burris were as broke as they had implied, so that Burris wouldn’t be hung over and sick when it was time to visit the Pinkerton office.
Danielle was awake at first light. She was sitting on the bed, tugging on her boots, when there was a knock on her door.
“Who’s there?” she inquired.
“Sellers and Burris,” said a voice.
Danielle got up, unlocked the door, and let them in.
“We got in a poker game and, between us, won more’n five hundred dollars,” Jesse Burris said.
“That’s risky when you can’t afford to lose,” said Danielle.
“Hell, we know that,” Sellers said, “but we had so little, it didn’t make much difference between that and stone broke. Let’s get breakfast. We’re buying.”
After eating, they returned to the hotel, where they paid for another night.
“You want to go with us to the Pinkerton office?” Jesse Burris asked.
“I reckon not,” said Danielle. “You’ll likely be more successful if they don’t think you have a gang of bounty hunters. I’ll be here when you return.”
Danielle waited for almost four hours before the young bounty hunters returned.
“We got a list of thirty men with prices on their heads,” Jesse Burris said. “Look at it and see if any of the names sound familiar.”
Eagerly, Danielle took the list, reading it twice.
“Well,” said Herb, “have you found any of ’em?”
“Just two,” Danielle said. “Rufe Gaddis and Julius Byler.”
“Since you already knew their names, and the same names are on the Pinkerton list, it sounds like they’re using their real names,” said Jesse Burris.
“It does seem that way,” Danielle said. “I just wonder if some of the others on this list are the men I want, using different names.”
“One thing I learned from the Pinkertons might be helpful to you,” Jesse Burris said. “In southern New Mexico, southern Arizona, and other territories where there’s a lot of silver and gold mining going on, there’s plenty of outlaws.”
“I’m surprised the Pinkertons would tell you that,” said Danielle. “Seems to me they’d be anxious to cover that territory themselves.”
“They’ve tried,” Burris said. “Three Pinkerton men were sent there almost six months ago, and they haven’t been heard from. They’re presumed dead.”
“Damn,” said Danielle, “I can’t believe the Pinkertons would take that without fighting back. I thought they were tougher than that.”
“They’re plenty tough and dedicated,” Burris said, “but they bleed just like anybody else when they’re bushwhacked or shot in the back.”
Danielle sighed. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Neither do we,” said Herb Sellers. “Now that we got a stake, we’re gonna stay here one more night and try our luck at the poker tables.”
“Don’t risk all you have,” Danielle cautioned. “These outlaws may be scattered from here to yonder, and it may take some time to collect a bounty.”
“That’s good advice,” said Jesse Burris. “I think we’ll do well to take it.”
“I think so, too,” Herb Sellers said. “You’ve been a lot of help to us, Dan. In a way, I reckon we’re all in the same business. If you ever get your tail caught in a crack, be sure we’ll side you till hell freezes.”
“I’m obliged,” said Danielle. “If I’m there, and you need me and my gun, you got it.”