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CHAPTER 4

      IT HAD been a splendid night. They had eaten roast duck washed down with bottles of some of the Palace's best wine, and after dinner they had continued drinking until Purdy was woozy.

      They had talked about the future of the West, which seemed boundless, and the glory of Colorado's statehood just four years before, and how Tres Marias was named after three Mexican whores — each one beautiful, but long since married to miners who had struck it rich and sold their claims. Nugent and Weitnaur marveled over how the town had grown in just three short years from a rough mining camp to a solid community with more than 900 people, and ten more coming in each day.

      Nugent's eyes had positively sparkled when he described how rich Tres Marias was, with gold sprinkled on the ground like pebbles, and then he began laughing when he saw Purdy's skepticism. "I can see you're too smart to believe that land-developer talk, Bill. Every newspaper is full of it — the big gold strike in the Rockies, as they call the White Mountains. Sure you didn't come up here because of that?"

      Purdy shook his head. "Not much truth in those stories, I fear."

      "You're right," Nugent said. "But there is gold in Tres Marias, and lots of it. And we're getting it out, aren't we Alex."

      Weitnaur nodded.

      "We've set up a mining district, just like in the California camps. We've got a president, a sheriff and a claims recorder. No miner except the man who discovered the field, can hold by right of discovery more than one mountain claim, one creek and one gulch."

      He chuckled. "The first man who discovered the field could of had two of each, except he was killed by six accidental shots while cleaning his gun. Now we settle things in a more law abiding way — with our Law and Order Committee, of which I am Chairman. I am also a director of a little bank in Denver that Alex is president of. And I own with others and in entirety several mining claims, since our rules allow the claims to be bought and sold, of course."

      "Are you also the president of the Mining District?" Purdy asked, somewhat incautiously.

      Warming to his theme, Nugent never noticed. "Not at all. President's a fellow named Elmer Watson. Runs the mercantile store. Old friend of mine, and a member of our committee."

      And Purdy — sometimes they called him Billy as the evening wore on — nodded from the wine and whiskey as he hung unsteadily on their every word as they talked of what they saw in the future, and the millions that lay buried in the ground; how the placer mining would soon give way to deep-rock mining, with shafts and heavy equipment brought in to replace the sluice boxes and old-fashioned arristras with their oxen walking endlessly in a circle turning large stones that crushed the ore. Nugent talked about how a man could make a fortune just grubstaking some of the prospectors who used Tres Marias as a base.

      They talked of progress and justice, and philosophical things like man's innate need to help his fellow men and the good feeling they got when they helped a man succeed.

      Purdy thought he had never heard such pious claptrap. They were a couple of damned hypocrites — and he guessed he was a hypocrite too, because he smiled and nodded and pretended to be drunker than he was, although not pretending by much. When they pumped him for information about himself, he answered everything smoothly, with such an appearance of truth that he almost believed it himself.

      "My father owned farms in Ohio. My mother died when I was ten, and I lived for a time with my aunt . . . " He described a life never lived, but so carefully worked out that it seemed more truthful than his real life would have been. The Bill Purdy he described had grown up rich, had gone to school in the East, and when he came of age to fight in the Union Army, his father had paid for a substitute to take his place. Now he had come West to add to the fortune his father had left him.

      At last Nugent leaned close to Purdy, "Come with me to Tres Marias," he cried. He was now so close that Purdy could see the flecks of yellow in his pale eyes and feel his breath. "It's where the future is! Imagine getting in on Denver when it was just starting out — the opportunities that would lie before you!"

      Purdy looked thoughtful, considering it. Finally he shook his head. "I've got some ideas, made some plans . . . why add another one?"

      Later still, the crowded room thinned out until they were the only patrons left. The bartenders cleaned their glasses and stared at them patiently. Around two o'clock one of them walked over and said they were closing up, but would leave them with one last round on the house. Nugent paid up and tipped handsomely. They had all been drinking hard, and they glowed with good fellowship.

      Weitnaur said, "You should switch that money of yours out of that bank back East, and put it in our bank. Capital grows faster here." He exchanged glances with Nugent. "Tell you what, if you'll open up an account with $50,000 or more, and we'll make you a director!"

      "Wonderful idea!" said Nugent. He closed his eyes and nodded his head, smiling.

      "I don't know," said Purdy, thinking to himself that if he were to put that much money into their hands, he would undoubtedly be the shortest-lived director of any bank in history. "It isn't the money, I've got a lot more than that. It's just that I don't want to do anything hasty."

      Ah, they beamed to learn that he had even more money, although it came as no surprise. Weitnaur actually patted Purdy's shoulder.

      "You're a prudent man, Bill," Nugent said. "But consider carefully what we've told you about Tres Marias and the bank. Remember, opportunity knocks but once."

      As they finished their last round of drinks, Purdy capitulated. He slammed his hand down on the table. "Gentlemen, you've convinced me! Instead of going to Cheyenne this morning, I'll see what Tres Marias, has to offer."

      Nugent and Weitnaur were obviously pleased.

      "You've made the right decision, Bill," Nugent said.

      "But I have one condition, Frank," Purdy said earnestly. "You'll have to show me the ropes and help me."

      Nugent's eyes lit up and he extended his hand in a warm handshake. "We'll all take good care of you, Billy. Be assured of that."

      "A wise decision!" Weitnaur said. "After you get the lay of the land, we'll get your money transferred out of your present bank and put in ours, and officially make you a director." He winked at Purdy. "No doubt you'll want to buy a few shares in your bank, and we can take care of that, too."

      Nugent checked his watch. "I suggest we adjourn this meeting and get together again around seven for breakfast. Then when Alex returns to Denver, you and I, Bill, can head up to Tres Marias and be there by early afternoon."

      Purdy didn't want them to know he had the room next to Weitnaur, so he said he would like to take a little walk and clear his head. He strolled through the lobby, wrapping himself up tight in his coat and went outside where snow was falling.

      Against his will, he found himself almost liking Nugent. The man's enthusiasm was catching. Purdy wondered if perhaps through the years Nugent had really become what he appeared to be — an honest businessman.

      Even if he had, it wouldn't have mattered. Nugent could be the finest man in the world now, what had happened at the creek would still justify his death.

      At the livery, Purdy found the stableman and horses asleep. His own sorrel was so like the others he couldn't tell them apart in the lamplight, so he left. Even at this hour there were a few people, mostly drunks, on the streets. All around him there were signs of progress and prosperity. There was no question about it, Central City lived up to its reputation of being the richest square mile on earth.

      Heading back to the hotel, Purdy wondered what would happen next.

      He was walking into the den of snakes with a smile on his face. Be smart to step pretty lightly.

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