Chapter 3

Virginia, 1861

The town was quiet as Wade tied his horse to the post, his eyes scanning the streets: McGraw Stables, McGraw General Store, and McGraw Saloon. It was not difficult to know who was a major landowner here. He rubbed his chin, feeling several days growth of beard as he walked past the barber shop. He had hoped to arrive earlier so he could have a proper bath, shave, and then change clothes. A quick look at his pocket watch told him those luxuries would have to wait.

His hat made a quick slap across his legs, the loose dust making a small cloud as his eyes continued to scan the streets and boardwalks for anything unusual, any person out of place. Satisfied, he pushed open the swinging doors of the saloon, the smell of sour liquor, dust and sweat filling the room.

It was just past noon and already there were several men inside. He mentally counted three ranch hands leaning against the bar while four of the seven tables were occupied, one with two ranch hands, one with two men he was sure were foremen, and one with four men playing cards. Judging by the satchels next to two of the players, Wade figured these two were waiting for the three o'clock stage while the other two looked to be local townsmen. In the far corner, the last table was occupied by a lone man, his back to the wall, a shot-glass and a half-filled bottle of whiskey on the table. Their eyes locked as the man sitting gave a barely noticeable nod. Returning the gesture, he made his way to the corner.

“Stevens?” Wade confirmed as he approached the table. Stevens nodded his head as he held out his hand.

“Wade,” Stevens acknowledged, a slight tilt to his head.

“Was expecting you yesterday,” the man greeted as Wade sat in the chair against the adjoining wall.

“Would have been here earlier, but there was a mine cave-in in the last town I passed. Decided to help the townsfolk.”

Stevens nodded his head as he gave the barkeep a signal.

“How many trapped?”

“Three. Took all night, but we got all of ’em out. One had a busted leg, but otherwise, they were fine.”

“Good.”

Both men paused as the barkeep placed a clean shot-glass before Wade, then returned to his place behind the bar.

“Thanks,” Wade offered as his companion poured a shot from his bottle.

Stevens waited till Wade finished his first drink, then refilled his glass as he brought up the reason for the meeting.

“As you know, the counterfeiters are getting bolder back east. With the Civil War running its course, President Lincoln is concerned with freeing the slaves, but he’s more concerned with uniting the Nation. Right now, every bank in every town prints their own banknotes. The government estimates that there are several thousand varieties of genuine currency flooding the nation. With all the assorted notes in circulation, shopkeepers are having a difficult time determining the difference between a genuine banknote and a bogus bill.”

“I heard rumors that the government is planning to make one note to be recognized throughout the country.”

“President Lincoln is highly considering it.”

Wade took another drink. “Has the government considered how the counterfeiters are going to react? They are very adaptable.”

“To be honest, I don’t think they’ve thought that far. Several of us have been chewing on the problem. If this new Legal Tender Act goes through, we think it’ll make it easier for the counterfeiters.”

“How do you figure?”

“Right now, a small storeowner will study a large banknote from a distant town or state, wondering if it’s real or fake. But the same storeowner would most likely accept a large U.S. Note without a second thought. Did you know, the government believes about half the paper currency in circulation is counterfeit?”

Wade gave a soft whistle.

“Some of the bills we’ve recovered looked good,” Stevens continued, “but it was easy to see where they misspelled words. Too many people never noticed.”

“A lot of people never finished school.”

“True. One of the best counterfeit engravers was finally caught. His five-dollar bill was so accurate, it even fooled experts.”

“That good?”

“Yeah. As you know, most of the counterfeiting rings are located in major cities where there’s a substantial printing industry and a major transportation hub to make it easy to distribute the counterfeit bills or coins. In the past three or four years, though, many of these organizations are heading west where there’s less law enforcement to hinder their work.”

“We've been noticing a rise in counterfeit coins even out here. With the absence of effective law enforcement, seems counterfeiters are hoping to enjoy a very long and lucrative career.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right. And these counterfeiters blend in well with their surroundings. They can be anyone from a seamstress buying food, to a gambler paying off a winner, or a shopkeeper making change.”

“Wherever these thieves hope to do their business, I assume it’s important they not be strangers.”

Stevens finished his drink, then poured himself another. “In order to use the public spaces and meeting places, they need to establish themselves as regulars with some pretense of legitimate employment.”

“Well, to qualify as a regular, they would have to live in the vicinity, same as their honest neighbors.”

“Like I said, they blend right in.”

Wade took another drink. He had a feeling he knew where this meeting was heading. “Notice a central area?”

“Somewhat. There’s a particular area in Texas, but where we’re noticing the coins are a far piece away from each other. Somehow, they’re either shipping or transporting them.”

“Any idea how they’re transporting the coins?”

“We’re not sure yet. But somehow the coins are being shipped from one place to another without anyone noticing.”

“Many businesses use a shipping company today. Finding one particular one may be difficult to locate.”

“People are losing confidence in the paper currency, so they’re starting to use more coins. The government is having a hard time keeping up with them. They’ve started to print fraction bills, but the people are still wanting to use coins. Several months ago, a stage was held up and a large shipment of silver was stolen. Three of the men on the stage were found dead, but one was barely alive.”

“Did he mention who was responsible?”

“No, but he kept repeating two words over and over until he died. We want you to go and investigate. We’re not sure if they’ve established an organization there, or if it's just a lone man operation. Either way, we need to find that shipment of silver, hopefully before it becomes counterfeit coins.”

Wade nodded his head. “Where am I going?”

“Round Rock, Texas.”