Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12: “A Matter of Imminent Significance”
As Alvin's business prospered, with Pauline's and Sim's help, he began to get ambitious and constantly postponed their marriage, until a “better time.” His portrait and photography supply business began to flow like the wide Missouri in the spring. Meanwhile he became a favorite criminal portraitist for the Pinkertons and U. S. Marshals, and began to accept road assignments, taking photographs of dead outlaws and their family members. Law Enforcement was discovering that crime ran like a tradition in certain families, and an innocuous photographer could gather critical intelligence during wakes and funerals of outlaws. Alvin was now known and respected in his unique trade, a man in demand, with money in his pockets, and that special feeling of finding one's niche. It was perfect, except for one thing. And he was so busy, he had no time to think about that one thing, which not long ago had been his very reason for existence.
Alvin now depended heavily on Sim, now fourteen going on twenty, to run the studio while he was gone, with the promise of an eventual partnership. Pauline complained about his absence, but she enjoyed working in the supply house, stocking and doing the books, and was not afraid to be there as long as Sim was running the front. Both of them learned the basics of portrait making, and turned out acceptable quality work for the frontier. Alvin had put together a fragile scheme which worked, but one that could come unraveled quite easily.
Pauline found out that Sim had very poor reading skills, and looking for some higher purpose, decided to teach him grammar and spelling while they were sitting around, and attempt to improve his vocabulary. At first Sim was not very enthusiastic about the project, but quiet afternoons across a desk from a beautiful, sweet-smelling woman soon changed his outlook. He turned out to have exceptional aptitude, and Pauline soon began to see herself as a potential school teacher. Then one summer afternoon an attractive woman entered the studio, and asked about a portrait or two. Sim was not as comfortable with female customers, so he excused himself and sent Pauline to wait on her.
“Hellooo... may I help you?” Pauline offered in her typical garden variety hospitality. But the well-dressed woman looked pained, as if she was already frustrated. Pauline maintained her smile, hoping to turn the tide, but she could not help but notice that the woman was wearing a lot of make-up, and yet naturally carried an unattractive, disquieting expression.
“Yes- How much is a tintype?” The lady asked as if she had never thought about it before, but now she had to know. She stared in admiration at Pauline after she began to talk, almost mesmerized by her beauty.
“Well... they are different prices.”
“You are beautiful! Do men tell you that?”
“Um... thank you... I don't know. I guess, Anyway, the price depends on the size. And if you want them in quantity...”
“That's nothing like my business,” she chuckled, finally showing a smile. “In mine, one size fits all, and the price is all the same. So how much are those little bitty ones, you know, about as big as a man's big toenail?”
Pauline was beginning to read between the lines and figure out the woman's profession. She told herself, only for Alvin would she even be conversing with a frontier whore. “You probably mean the “Gems,” they are cheap- usually done in quantities though. We do them in groups of 8... for one dollar.”
“One dollar...” The woman hesitated, as if she was counting something in her mind. “I suppose that will be all right. And how about a big one, you know, as big as, say, a man's palm?”
“We can do a half-sheet tintype for a dollar-fifty. What's your name Mam? I'll fix up an order sheet and you can see it all on paper.”
Mattie Blaylock
“That would be excellent. My name is Mattie... just put down “Mrs. Wyatt Earp.”
“Mrs. Earp- and your mailing address?”
Mattie was hesitant, not sure what to say. She did not want to give the address of the brothel where she lived. She was about to leave town any day, to meet up with her “husband” in Wichita. “Actually I'm leaving town- I soon won't have an address... here at least. I'm headed to join up with my man in Wichita, he is about to start sheriffin' there. Just write down Wyatt Earp, Wichita, Kansas.”
Pauline changed instantly, from hiding her haughtiness to wanting to feel sorry for the woman, now stepping out of prostitution and into the life a lawman's wife. She was not sure which was worse. “Sheriffing? Your husband is an officer in Wichita?” Mattie nodded enthusiastically, as if it was the greatest news. “Well, darlin' my heart goes out to you. I lost my husband just over a year ago. He was a detective in Missouri... killed by outlaws. And they never caught 'em.”
“Oh. I'm sorry honey, I hope I didn't upset you.”
“It's quite all right, Mrs. Earp. I have cried my cries- a river of tears. I hope your man fares better. I was just like you once, with all the world in front of me, believing that God would protect him, and we would have a normal life and children and...”
“Oh, I doubt we will ever have any kids.” Mattie interjected, knowing that children were not in her plans. “Neither of us would be very good parents. But pardon me for saying this, I mean, don't take this the wrong way; you are truly a stunning beauty. And for what it is worth, I am sure that you made him very happy.” Mattie nodded knowingly, and sat down for her portraits. Pauline fought back a tiny nubbin of a tear. Mattie looked up and read Pauline's reaction, then added, “And I know something about that! If you loved him, and he truly loved you, then you have already had more than most women will ever know- and that I know.”
“THAT is probably true, I know,” Pauline sighed, “But I can tell you, I was not tough enough, or maybe even in love enough to live with a lawman for long. Like I said, my heart, it truly goes out to you, and we will have your tintypes ready tomorrow.”
Pauline sat down after the session and thought about Stew. Yes, they had loved one another. Greatly. Nobody could ever fill that void. Maybe her chance for happiness had come and gone, and she had not even recognized how precious it was.
Alvin remained focused, like most men who love their work, and was satisfied that he could best serve the Pinkerton Detective Agency by posing as a naive traveling photographer in frontier towns throughout western Kansas, wherever the outlaws were concentrated. He toured regularly in his makeshift wagon studio, servicing Hays, Wichita, Newton and Dodge City in its very beginnings. He lived like a buffalo hunter, traveling from hide town to hide town, gathering intel, telling himself the assignment was only temporary; that sooner or later, the outlaw societies would get wise, and he had to always be moving on, before they moved on him. But things were slowly souring, and Alvin could feel it. He had grown very fond of the nomad life, almost as exciting as the adventures of the Mastersons, but far more safe. He had grown fond of the circuit, and recognizing many people in every town across Kansas. He had a sense of belonging, and maybe of making or preserving history. And finally he made one trip too many.
The day eventually came when Pauline became disenchanted with Alvin's procrastination. He was always gone, and he obviously relished in his dangerous job, and he never seemed to think about the future. She was beginning to feel taken for granted. The store was doing well, and would support them, and she knew because she did the books, and she knew he could afford to quit his job as an operative. If he really wanted to.
Pauline had gotten wiser in her years taking care of her mother, and from visits with her more worldly sister. Sister Penney maintained that few men were worth waiting around for, and it did not take long to figure out what their priorities were. And Pauline's first marriage had taught her that even good men had trouble treating their marriages or their wives seriously. Her visits with Mattie Blaylock, who presumptuously called herself “Mrs. Wyatt Earp,” only cemented Pauline's doubts that she was ever cut out to be a lawman's wife.
At the point when she needed some solid reassurance, Alvin was not very reassuring, because he would not lie to himself, nor lie to her. Foolishly, he thought his honesty would prove something... but it did not reveal what he intended. One morning when he went to open up his studio, Pauline was waiting there in her carriage, her bags packed. After great deliberation, she had decided to go back to her family in Chicago. She had compromised herself, throwing herself vulnerable to scandal, in hopes that Alvin was ready to commit to their union. She had gambled, and lost, and now just wanted to cut her losses. Her mother had fallen and needed her help, and Penney was off again, and there was nothing, it seemed, in Ft. Scott to hold her.
Or was there?
But Alvin just acted shocked and hurt and failed to offer any imminent reason to entice her stay. Prideful, he would not be threatened or coerced. And he thought her morning tantrum was a ploy to get him to formally propose to her, and set the big date. So after sharing their mutual regrets, she handed him an envelope which contained her Illinois address, and one of his favorite tintypes, one he had made of her. She had mounted it in a leather case and pinned a lock of her golden hair in the red velvet lining. “This is for you. It may be the only part of me you will ever be able to keep.” She blurted as she wiped away a small tear, and with it her last inclination to stay.
As Alvin stared stupidly at her parting gift, she pursed her lips, and slapped the reins of her horse. Resolute, she headed to the livery stable, her back as straight as a marble monument. She would sell the rig and buy a train ticket, and then she would be gone forever.
Alvin watched her vanish into the Kansas dust, her hat ribbons fluttering. He loved her, more than anything. He considered going after her. Then he imagined her going towards the livery stable, then circling around and coming back. He was sure that they would eventually be married. But he would decide when, and where, and why. He thought to himself, “She'll be back.” He did not know that he too would soon be leaving, and would not even be in Ft. Scott if she returned.
“A rolling stone gathers no moss.” Alvin recited to himself, as he tossed the latest directive from the Pinkertons onto the cash counter. It was a good thing that he was not attached to his store in Ft. Scott, since they were sending him on the road, with instructions to operate out of Dodge City until further notice. The agency sent him a list of towns to pass through, spending about a week in each, before ending up in a hide town in the remotest reaches of westward expansion. Beyond Dodge City was nothing but buffalo and Indians and the Rocky Mountains. Alvin looked at Sim with a blank expression, not wanting to betray his disgust. “Let's pack it up, my friend, we are leeeeeaving.”
“What?” Sim said, hoping he had misheard.
“Sim, they are doing it again- and I hate it, I know you love it here. I won't blame you if you don't go any further with me. But we, or at least I, will be leaving for Dodge City in a few days, an' get out of here before we have to pay another month's rent.”
“But why?”
“Well- I can't really explain it- I am instructed to not share agency plans and operations with anyone, not friends, not even family. And you are somewhere in between.”
“That ain't fair! We've put a lotta work inta this place Alvi- an' it's goin' good.”
“I know. But it's only here because they set me up- and this store, when you strip away the facade, is all about agency objectives.” Alvin groused as he ransacked the drawers for his bank draft book. “I guess we have exhausted our usefulness here. No sense in belaboring it. But now maybe Pauline... and you can understand why I have been so reluctant to tie the knot with her. The store is great, I love it too, but in reality, it is an illusion. It would never survive without the money they pay me- under the table, to capture images for their rogues gallery.”
“I guess I never paid much attention to where the money came from.” Sim smiled, becoming somewhat invigorated by the sudden prospect of another adventure. He was disappointed, but he was also resilient. A street kid always adapts faster than anybody to change. Alvin headed out to go find some trunks large enough to hold his new camera gear, purchased since their opening in Ft. Scott. He knew too well where the money came from, and was beginning to regret it. Still, a deal was a deal.
Sim reached across the counter and picked up the letter, which Alvin neglected to file or destroy, as he would normally have done. Leaving in a minor huff, he had forgotten that wandering eyes and hands could easily come across it, and satisfy wondering minds. Sim did not feel very guilty as he read it. It was laying there,and he deserved to know whatever he could learn since he was probably going to accompany Alvin on the next assignment. It was written on official Pinkerton stationery.
April 17, 1874
Mr. Payne: We certainly hope this letter finds you in good health, and ready for a change. We have your next assignment, to start A.S.A.P; a matter of imminent significance.
Our agent is already on his way; Liquidate at Ft. Scott, and follow these directions without delay;
Purchase a larger wagon and strong team suitable for long-term travel. We suggest that you build a modified “chuck box” with a lined canvas shield in the back, for storage and use as a developing cubicle. We are hoping the proceeds from liquidating the store furnishings will cover your expenses. Let us know if otherwise.
We will send whatever you need in travel expenses, but intend for you to live out of this wagon during the fall, when you arrive at Dodge. Purchase a tent for photography and sleeping in off-hours. Your circuit will include (May) Emporia, Topeka, et al..(June) Junction City- Abilene, et al.. (July) Ft. Larned and Dodge City. We understand that hotels will sometimes be necessary, but we are depending on your frugality. We anticipate needing your services for at least a month or more in Dodge City, where you will make photographs of subjects made known to us by M. of Wichita.
Targets: Attention to military personnel, (especially recently retired) railroad employees (especially new ones), horse traders, whiskey peddlers and teamsters, buffalo hunters not hunting, and any active horse traders. Spend as much time as necessary at military forts or camps. It is believed that the concerns originate with soldiers operating outside of the forts during off-duty.
Note: These concerns have been passed down from the desk of the POTUS, after numerous reports from various sources. P. G. has even sent boxcars full of horses, to express his concerns and apologies to Cheyenne chiefs. Rations, horses, etc. are not getting to the reservations. Cheyennes and Arapahoes are reportedly starving. The P- is very concerned that this will lead to serious Indian hostilities. Agent in Dodge will direct your attention to persons who might be useful. BE CAREFUL with your inquiries! Just get us the pictures.
Maj. Richard Dodge, Sheriff Charles Bassett, Thomas Nixon, Fred Zimmermann (gun shop), & Mollie Whitecamp, aka “Dutch Jake” are believed to be a reliable sources. Miss Whitecamp also runs a “boarding house” where you can find your preferred accommodations. Best you purchase winter clothing before you leave civilization! Good luck.
Regards,
W.P.
Sim carefully folded and returned the letter to where it had been laying when he picked it up. It was a veritable letter from the "POTUS," and this meant the PRESIDENT! He wasn't sure what it was all about, but he knew one thing- he wanted to go. He started packing up their business with a bit more urgency than he might have had before.
Alvin had gone downtown to search out a storage room. But a town like Ft. Scott was short on storage, because every square foot of space was rentable for small businesses or even living quarters. He bought a trunk and some new, larger campfire equipment, assuming that Sim would be coming along. The surplus tin plates he would eventually use, but it was the extra camera equipment which he had in stock which he could not take along, that concerned him. Everything had to fit in the trunk- and he started down the street with it on his back.
As he walked down the busy street, he saw some discarded hefty wooden crates on the side of a hardware store. One looked big enough to hold almost everything he was concerned about. That gave him a bold idea.
“Sim!” he yelled as he came into their store, and saw that a tornado had swept the store clean. “What in the..?”
“You said pack it up...” Sim said with a grin. Alvin glanced at the cash counter and saw the Pinkerton letter where he had left it. It stood out, having survived the whirlwind which had swept away almost everything else. Then he looked at Sim's overly innocent face.
“I also said I could not tell you, so you read it, didn't you?”
“I'm not gonna lie to you.” Sim confessed sheepishly. “I was thinkin' you left it there on purpose.”
“Then you understand... this is a pretty important assignment. Maybe one of the most important I'll ever have.” Sim nodded respectfully, so far he had not actually admitted to anything. “So let's get crackin,' go down to the hardware store and get those wood crates on the side of the building, make sure and ask 'em first. I'm gonna ship this merchandise to the Pinkertons to hold for me- maybe someday I will be able to use it. They can do that much for...” Sim was out the door before Alvin could finish his explanation. “It's the least they can do.” he said to himself.
He looked around and found that Sim had about half of the store already packed up. He needed to go sell his little Studebaker for a bigger freight wagon. And with any luck they could be on the road in a week, and he wanted to attack that list of towns while the weather was still tolerable. So Alvin approached Saunders's Livery with his mind going a mile a minute, like a locomotive down the tracks, with no doubts about where the tracks led. But when he came around where he could see the corral, his brain shot off of the tracks.
He stopped and stood at the corner, his heart pounding, hiding where he would not be seen, and stared at Col. Cleetus Head, who was bringing in a string of five haggard horses. He watched as Head brought his stock in and negotiated a fairly swift transaction with Mr. Saunders, and then waited patiently as the livery man brought him some cash. There was no receipt provided. Then Head marched away, ready to visit Ft. Scott's Saloons. He noticed how Col. Head dressed much nicer when out of town, and had smartly trimmed his beard, and walked as if he were ten years younger. It was as if he was a different man. But it was him.
Alvin wondered how Head's horse business connected to everything else, and then it came to him. He would check the papers when he got a chance. But he had no doubt, that there had been a robbery recently- probably attributed to the James's or Youngers, and it was Head's job to get rid of the horses used during the robbery, while he probably provided fresh ones for their escape. Old Col. Head was transforming right in front of him into a middle-aged, criminal general. Somehow he needed to find the evidence that would cage this old jackal, but right now Col. Head was not in his purview. Still, what he had seen was a revelation, and from that day forward, Head was in the back of his mind.
Old man Saunders was in an uncooperative mood, and had little interest in Alvin's little, worn out Studebaker wagon. Still, he was willing to give him $250.00 for it with the team. But he had no decent wagon that could be made to work for Alvin's needs. Alvin and Sim would need a large wagon, and that size was unlikely to be found easily. Having Sim along was already causing extra concerns, but Alvin knew that the young man was worth the extra trouble and expense. The problem was, the Pinkertons did not. With no sufficient choices locally, Saunders suggested that he knew where some probably were: In Abilene.
Then Alvin tried to play detective. "Nice ponies you have there, Mr. Saunders, they look restless, like they just arrived."
“Yeah... Col. Head just brought 'em in. He never brings me any good stock- just these cheap Injun jugheads. BVut people like 'em for their kids."
"I don' know, I like 'em- one might be good for my young employee... if they are broke decent."
"You don't want one of these my friend. I don't know where he gets 'em, but wherever it is, they must be havin' a war. They come in here ridden nearly to death, saddle sore, shoes thrown, half-starved, legs scarred. Sometimes with bullets in 'em! He claims they are posse horses used by the Sheriff over there. But by the time they get to me, they are so jaded I have to nurse them back to health.”
"Hmmmm. Mr. Saunders, I used to ride in those posses. The men usually provide their own mounts."
"I'm just tellin' you what he tells me..." The stable owner joked. Alvin nodded and waved him good-bye, having to stifle himself from asking more questions. He figured that Saunders knew a great deal more than he would admit. He was buying horses cheap, without any receipt, and overlooking their abused condition. All that seemed to matter was that the ponies were going to be a money-maker, if and when they recovered from their ordeal. And when it came to the James gang, if they managed to do that, they were counted among the lucky ones.
In a few days Alvin and Sim were ready to leave. The store fixtures and merchandise were broken up into several groups. They shipped some to Chicago, gave some away, traded the counter for two winter coats and two sweaters, and sold a few chairs to his next door neighbor. Then they spent a few days crating everything they needed for the job. They would ship it all to Abilene, and buy a wagon and team there, and do some of the drumming in reverse. The rest Alvin was forced to leave behind. He sensed that he was making the same kind of sacrificial decisions he remembered while serving as a policeman in Missouri, and shook his head.
The day they left, as they swept the place out and waited for the landlord to come get their keys, Alvin saw a large bearded man step in and block the light in the doorway, and just stare for a moment. It was Col. Head. He stared just long enough to verify Alvin's identity, and then stormed away. Mr. Saunders must have told him what he said, and he came to see if he was whom he thought he was. Before Alvin could say anything, he was gone, and down the street, as if he was in a hurry. "I wonder what he wanted..." Sim scoffed aloud, but never missing a stroke with the broom. Maybe it was a man disgusted because he wanted to have his picture made.
"I wonder too." Echoed Alvin. "But I think I know. He wasn't wanting a picture made. And I'm afraid my name just got posted on the "MOST WANTED" list- of the James gang."
Alvin felt suddenly ill, and imagined that Col. Head was coming back with some gunmen to trump up some excuse to murder him. Pauline had been right to leave him. His future was truly a fickle phantom. And right now it was boiled down to two train tickets to Abilene, as Ft. Scott became another evaporating stepping stone in Alvin's harrowing career. And thanks to the Pinkertons, he was escaping a personal calamity. “Let's get out of here Sim, before the storm hits.” It would not hurt, and might be advantageous, to sit around the train station a bit early. Alvin thought out loud, as they kicked the dust of Ft. Scott off of their feet.
The train stopped for a few hours in Emporia, so Alvin used the opportunity to find a printer and order a hundred more advertisement fliers, which were made like circus posters, where he could fill in dates and locations. They would pick them up later while on their circuit. On his way back to the train station, Alvin saw Col. Head and two men searching around the train station near departure time. He had instructed Sim to board the train and get them a good seat, and he would meet up with him. He watched to make sure he was not being watched, and boarded right before the train left Emporia. When he found Sim, he had a pale expression on his face, as the "man in the doorway" had just breezed through the train car with two men just ten minutes before. Their problem was that Emporia was a hub, and the two could have been headed to Topeka, or Kansas City, or Dodge, or Wichita. Hopefully Head and his men had ultimately bet on a different train, and they were rid of them.
Sure enough, they found a wagon yard in Abilene with a half-dozen wagons worth considering. Most of those were chuck wagons, which were not very useful in northern Kansas without a cattle drive to serve. Drovers would bring them up from Texas and, flush with money after they sold their cattle, they would sell them cheap rather that drive them all the way back home. Alvin found one painted red which he especially liked, thinking it would attract attention when he passed through those sterile little Kansas villages. It had some miles on it, but the wheels had been replaced and the water barrel was brand new. Sim hated it, and thought it would be embarrassing. “It'll look like a travelin' whorehouse!” he argued.
But Alvin bought it anyway, probably just to irritate Sim, and they got a great deal, since Sim complained so much about the color. The wagon would do well, but Alvin needed to make modifications while he could still find planed lumber in order to customize it for his purposes. Lumber would be more scarce on the prairie, and expensive. All along the railroad tracks, buildings were being thrown together every day, and every carpenter was scrounging for lumber. The Pinkertons had made emphatic the point about having a “secure place” to keep his private papers, letters, and especially the tintypes, as they would be of special interest to anyone working on either side of the law. Most of the pioneers traveling in wagons usually used the same place, preferring the convenience of a cigar box under their wagon seat, as a safe, but this would not do in his situation. Alvin put one there anyway, and even put a little money in it for Sim to get to, but as a decoy. If thieves did find it, they would quit looking any further.
Alvin bought some cypress 1 by 6's, and built a false bottom under the wagon, adding a large, four-inch deep shelf which would not be easily detected, and could not be accessed without removing some wooden pegs which held its narrow cap trim in place. He had Sim scrub all the new wood down with mud, to kill the fresh color of the new wood. Unless a prowler was pretty smart, he would never recognize a change in floor depth under the wagon. When he surveyed his handiwork, he was quite proud of himself. Maybe he was meant for this kind of work, after all. To be a good lawman, Stew always said, you had to have a criminal mind- and be just a little bit smarter, in order to be successful against the criminals.
After a day or so, they had the chuck box modified also, to double as a food and a camera supply cupboard. They made a photograph-developing closet on the back side of it, and still had room for their gear and a place to sleep.
Constantly amazed, Sim asked “Where'd you learn to do that?” Alvin just shrugged, it was all just problem solving. When you grow up on a farm, you have to be handy, with wood, iron, livestock, medicine, dirt, and plants of course. Farmers were just artists with the land; planning, designing, shaping their crops.
Then Alvin bought a new wagon sheet and painted the letters on as if he were a journeyman sign painter. His artistic talent kept Sim fascinated, while he managed to put a new board in the wagon seat. Just to drive Sim crazy, Alvin had him put a fresh coat of red on the whole wagon. Soon they would be driving the most attention-getting vehicle, and peddling tintypes all across Kansas.
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