California Carnage Read Online Free PDF

mustache appeared in the doorway. Compact and muscular, he wore the trousers from a dark suit with a white shirt that had the sleeves rolled up and the collar open. Fargo liked him on sight.
    Arthur Grayson came toward Fargo with his hand outstretched. ‘‘The Trailsman, as I live and breathe,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s an honor to meet you, sir.’’
    ‘‘Pleased to meet you, too, Mr. Grayson,’’ Fargo said as he shook hands with the man.
    ‘‘You were recommended to me by several of my associates,’’ Grayson went on. ‘‘I’d hoped to get in touch with you and offer you a job, but then Belinda told me she had run into you and said you were here to talk to Hiram Stoddard, so I thought I didn’t have a chance of hiring you.’’
    ‘‘I’m not going to work for Stoddard,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘Doesn’t mean I’m looking for another job, though.’’
    ‘‘But you’re here. Surely that means you’ll entertain the idea.’’
    ‘‘I wouldn’t mind knowing what your plans are,’’ Fargo admitted.
    Grayson took hold of his arm. The man had a firm grip. ‘‘Come into my room. I’ll show you the maps. And I’ve got some decent brandy, too, if you’d like a drink.’’
    Fargo had turned down the brandy Stoddard offered him. But he had turned down Stoddard’s job, too, he reminded himself.
    ‘‘Don’t mind if I do,’’ he told Grayson with a nod.
    The man turned to his daughter and said, ‘‘Thank you for introducing me to Mr. Fargo, my dear. We’ll try to keep our voices down so our discussion won’t disturb your sleep.’’
    ‘‘What are you talking about, Father? I’m going to be here, too.’’
    Grayson frowned. ‘‘Surely a lot of business talk would just be boring for you.’’
    ‘‘Not at all. You know I take a great interest in your business.’’
    For a second Grayson looked like he wanted to argue, but he must have known it would be hopeless to do so. He shrugged and said, ‘‘If you’re going to join us, at least put on something more, ah, appropriate.’’
    Belinda smiled in triumph. ‘‘I’ll be there in a moment.’’
    Grayson led Fargo into the other room and shut the door. He waved a hand toward a table covered with unrolled maps. Various small items weighted down their corners and held them open.
    ‘‘Take a look at those while I pour the drinks,’’ Grayson invited.
    Fargo hung his hat on the back of a chair and went to the table. He bent over to study the maps, which he recognized as U.S. topographical surveys of various parts of California. A large map of the entire state lay on the table, too. Someone had marked points that lay in a line up the coast from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco.
    Grayson brought snifters of brandy from a sideboard similar to the one in Stoddard’s room. As he handed one of the glasses to Fargo, he said, ‘‘That’s the Old Mission Trail marked on the state map.’’
    Fargo nodded. ‘‘I’m familiar with it. I’ve been to most of the missions, in fact.’’
    Earlier in California’s history, over a period of a little more than fifty years while it was still under Spanish rule, Franciscan friars had established the string of twenty-one missions, each of them about a day’s walk from the next. Towns, or pueblos, as the Spaniards called them, had grown up around many of those missions. The trail linking them had been a vital part of civilization’s development in the state.
    But the route laid out by the friars had been designed with walking in mind. A stage line couldn’t follow every twist and turn of the trail. Also, in some places the terrain was too rugged for wheeled vehicles, even though a man on foot or horseback would be able to negotiate it.
    That was why whoever established the first major stage line along the coast would need to lay out a new route that followed the Old Mission Trail in some stretches but not in others. That was why Arthur Grayson needed the services of someone like