So she had no good news to tell her brothers, but she couldn’t hold off sharing the bad any longer. And she asked in that telegram why Daniel hadn’t yet arrived in Butte as he’d promised, and stressed that she still needed him there to help find their father’s money. Then she sat in her room for two days waiting for their reply. When some of the numbness wore off, she realized she should have switched to Callahan’s preferred hotel to be absolutely sure she didn’t miss him when he came to town. After she accomplished that, she took flowers to her father’s grave and wept some more. Afterward she tried exploring the town to pass the time, but gave up that notion when she drew too many whistles and rudely inappropriate remarks from men she passed on the boardwalks.
She stayed in her new room mostly during the days, going down to the hotel dining room only for dinner. That first night in the new hotel, she met Katie Sullivan, a kindred spirit. Katie was a lively girl, red-haired, green-eyed, quite pretty. She lived with her family in Chicago and was only in Butte for a visit with her father and to introduce him to her fiancé, Thomas, who had just arrived and was staying at the hotel.
Violet guessed that Katie had invited her to sit with her and Thomas because of the way she was dressed. So little high fashion was seen in this town that she stood out, as did Katie, and they were naturally drawn to each other by apparent shared interests—at least in fashion.
But there was more when Violet introduced herself and mentioned her father’s name. “Morgan Callahan’s friend?” Katie asked.
“So you’ve met Morgan Callahan?”
“Goodness, no, I wouldn’t get anywhere near such an uncouth fellow. But everyone knows of him by now. They say he’s a former cowboy turned trapper, then a miner, and now he’s just crazy from so much solitude—but in any case, he’s very unsociable, by all accounts. And my father doesn’t like the man, says that he’s the most stubborn jack—er, mule he’s ever met. My father, Shawn Sullivan, will be joining us shortly. He’s always late. And we might not want to mention that you know Mr. Callahan.”
That sounded ominous. Violet assured the girl, “But I don’t, and apparently, I don’t want to. However, I’ve been informed that he might be the only one who can show me to my father’s mine. I am hoping that he will simply draw me a map to the location instead.”
“A map? Yes, that would be ideal, wouldn’t it? The less time you must spend with him, the better.”
Following Katie’s advice, Violet didn’t mention Callahan’s name after Shawn Sullivan arrived. He was a gregarious fellow once he relaxed, middle-aged, astute, portly, with a very distinct Irish brogue. Most of the dinner was spent with the parent grilling the possible future son-in-law about his family, his connections, his means. But once he gave his blessing, laughing that there still might be stipulations, both Thomas and Shawn relaxed to enjoy the last of the dinner agreeably.
Which was when Mr. Sullivan turned his green eyes to Violet and remarked, “A Mitchell, eh? The name sounds familiar.”
“My father was in the area for a few months before he died,” she explained, then added hopefully, “Perhaps you met him?”
“He might have worked for me if he was a miner.”
“No, he had his own mine, I just don’t know where it is yet.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
He did briefly look sad on her behalf, as if he didn’t think she would have any luck in finding it, which left her feeling quite crestfallen. So she only vaguely listened to the rest of the conversation that centered on his family in Chicago.
But apparently Katie must have told her father later that night that Violet intended to have words with Morgan Callahan and why. She actually got a note from Shawn Sullivan the next day, saying if she did get a map to her father’s mine, he would be pleased to supply her with an armed escort to take her there. So nice of him!
With Katie leaving the next day to return to Chicago to plan her wedding, Violet kept mostly to her room again, plying her needle. The little embroidery frame and kit of threads were the only nonessential items she’d stuffed into her valise, because needlepoint was one of her favorite hobbies. She didn’t leave the hotel except to visit her father’s grave, where she did most of her crying, and to stop by the telegraph office twice a day, even though she’d been assured any telegrams for her would be delivered to her hotel.
She didn’t get her brothers’ response until later in the week, and it wasn’t what she was hoping for. They said it was impossible for them to join her but they were counting on her to find their father’s mine, which was likely where he’d hidden his money. She’d already concluded that if Charles had any money, that’s where it would be, so she ought to make every effort to find out, but she hadn’t expected to continue this mission alone! How could she? And how much longer could they stall Mr. Perry? It was nearly two weeks since she’d left Philadelphia, and she’d already been waiting a week for Callahan to arrive. She couldn’t wait for him indefinitely, or the next telegram she got from her brothers would inform her that they’d lost the house. Another week at the most, then she was leaving. But she started waiting in the hotel lobby. She couldn’t afford to miss the man if he did finally show up.
A few people checked in that day, including another fashionably dressed lady. Someone else from back east? Violet considered introducing herself until she saw the young woman speak angrily to one of the gentlemen escorting her and march up the stairs.
The next morning Violet went straight to the desk to ask after Callahan again, which was what she should have been doing all week. She could no longer leave this to chance or depend on the hotel employees to remember to give him her note when he arrived. There was a new attendant today, one she didn’t recognize, so she had to explain once more who she was and that it was imperative that she speak with Morgan Callahan when he checked in and that her note for him was being kept there at the desk. He opened a few drawers until he found it.
“You do know who I’m talking about?” she asked the new clerk.
“Everyone knows him, ma’am. The mountain man, least that’s what we thought he was, a gruff hermit of few words, and in fact, he looks mean as hell, beg your pardon. But then word spread that he has a rich silver mine somewhere in the area. That didn’t make him any friendlier. Are you sure you want to speak to a man like that?”
She wondered how many times she would be asked that question. “I don’t really have a choice,” she replied. “So tell me what he looks like. I would like to recognize him when I see him. Or will his identity be very obvious because he still looks like a bear?”
The man grinned. “No, ma’am, he won’t be wearing that smelly bear coat in this warm weather. The man’s tall, black-haired, in his midtwenties, and he usually wears a gun on his hip no matter the weather.”
Everyone in this town except the miners seemed to do that, but the clerk’s description was helpful and she thanked him. She joined an elderly man on the sofa across from the desk so she could keep an eye on it. He turned to her excitedly and said, “He’s the fastest gun in the West.”
She glanced at the elderly gentleman. “Who is?”
“The notorious gunfighter Degan Grant. I heard he’s staying in this very hotel.”
She lost interest as he droned on about the amazing gunfighter and glanced around the lobby again. Two men came out of the dining room walking briskly toward the hotel’s front door, one short, wearing a long tan coat and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, and the other tall, black-haired, and with a gun on his hip. Was that Callahan? Had he checked in last night and the new desk man didn’t know it? She certainly hoped not. The man was quite intimidating, dressed all in black from hat to boots and looking very angry. And it appeared that he was leaving again?!
She stood up to stop him. The old man pulled her back down, whispering, “That must be him! And don’t gawk. He’ll shoot you if you stare too long.”
Shot for gawking? What utter nonsense. And the old fellow was only guessing that this was the gunfighter, when he could in fact be the very man she was waiting for. Who was leaving without talking to her.