Shooting For Justice G. Tilman (short books to read .txt) 📖

The next day, he and Sarah reversed their rail trips and headed back to Washington.

“You know, John?” she began. “Walking around new places is only mildly interesting to me. Traveling with you without investigating as your partner is not a lot of fun.”

“What if I needed you to back me up?” he asked.

“I’d probably be shopping or in a hotel room, reading a book.”

“You know in this case with the cover we have, you accompanying me and asking questions would cause a lot of questions.”

“I know. Just saying, honey,” she said as the train rumbled through North Georgia.

The first day back, Pope wrote a ten-page report addressed to both secretaries. He had a clerk at the War office use one of the new typing machines to make it a formal record. Records of everything seemed to be the government way.

4

Several days later, he received a letter from Michael Kane. The former Knights of the Golden Circle executive told him he had information to impart in person. He went on to say he and Rita would be in Washington for shopping the following Tuesday at the Willard Hotel and wondered if they could meet then.

Pope wrote back and suggested they come to the Pope’s house and join them for dinner on Tuesday night. Sarah was pleased, especially during the doldrums of a hot summer in Washington.

He wanted to walk with the guard pair at the President’s House on Friday night and stayed later at the War office.

The guard tour was uneventful.

Walking back home from the President’s House in the dark, Pope felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. They had not given false warning yet, so he opened his coat and loosened the .44 double-action he wore in town in its holster.

He stopped and turned, squatting as if to tie his shoe. As he bent his knees and his head lowered, a shot rang out and knocked the hat off his head. It was the derby he wore in town.

Pope drew quickly but could not identify a target. He heard footsteps but could not see anyone. Squatting, he scanned the area from where the shot had come. The muzzle of the revolver followed his eyes. Pope could not identify a target. No additional shots followed.

He took off in foot pursuit, gun in hand.

The man must have ducked down an alley and hid motionless, because Pope was unable to see anyone. He quietly stepped between some buildings and walked on a parallel street. It was Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest. He would walk, turn and listen. When he turned, it was always at a place where he had a barrier to stand behind, such as the corner of a building. He sprinted a block and stepped behind another building but could not hear anyone coming for him. By then, he was a block from his house. He passed the house, not wanting to give away the address. Four houses up, he went between houses and walked back by way of the alley used for accessing the stables many houses on the street had.

He took out his key and unlocked the rear door, carefully identifying it was he who was entering. May greeted him from the kitchen and told him she had kept a plate from dinner warm for him in the oven.

Sarah came down and the three of them chatted as he ate. Once they went upstairs to the bedroom, Pope told Sarah about the shot from an unidentified person. She reckoned it was the first time somebody ever shot at John Pope and survived. It worried her a great deal. Things were different back East. She liked the Midwest plains and the diverse West better.

The next day, he told the attorney general and secretary of war about the attempt on his life.

“I’d say you are getting close enough somebody is pretty worried,” Brewster said.

“I thought so, too. My last week has been about the matter of switching from wood to steel hulls. I did not pick up on anybody being shooting mad. Certainly not down South at the live oak reservations. But somebody had to have telegraphed ahead to a shooter in Washington. Luckily, he was not very good. He was pretty good at disappearing though,” Pope said.

“Should we put protection on you?” Lincoln asked.

“No thank you, sir. I am a protector, not a protectee. If he tries again, I may be able to capture or kill him.”

“Or he might be successful.”

“Much of my life has been as a target. Against what I think are deadlier men than this one. I’ll chance it, Robert.

“On another matter, the former head of the Knights of the Golden Circle wrote and mysteriously says he has something to tell me. He and his wife are coming to dinner at our house in several days,” Pope said. “I just received their response by mail.”

“An interesting development, John. I will be eager to hear what his message is,” Brewster said.

“Ask his beautiful wife if her father is still alive,” Lincoln requested.

“Is she who I think she is?” Pope asked.

“Quite. The Booths seem to play heavily in my life. One killed my father, his brother Edwin saved me from sure death on a train platform a decade ago, now his daughter shows up. I simply cannot get away from them,” Robert Lincoln said.

“Sarah came up with some news clippings about her. I will get her to go back and find some newspaper photos of her. Let’s see how she has weathered. I had lunch with them near Charlottesville. She was quite lovely,” Pope said.

“All of them were handsome. They had to be. They were America’s leading thespian family,” Lincoln said. “There have been reports of Booth sightings ever since the Ford Theater. Lafayette Baker said Vice President Johnson and maybe Secretary Stanton, in whose office I now sit, were involved. I never bought the story about the man killed at Garrett farm being Booth. It was just too clean and easy. Baker was the one who