The Fire of Greed by Bill Yenne

first rays of the morning sun had fallen upon the vivid red sandstone cliffs of a canyon wall.
    â€œYou’re welcome to join me,” Geier said.
    â€œThanks,” Cole said in a tone that said the offer was tempting. “Good luck up there.”
    â€œSafe travels,
mein herr
,” the gray-haired man said with a wink as he reined his horse away.

Chapter 13

    â€œTWICE IN ONE WEEK.” AMOS RICHARDSON SMILED AS EZRA Waldron stepped into the candlelit interior of the Refugio del Viajero. “You must have developed a taste for the
carne asada
.”
    â€œOh . . . hello, doctor,” Waldron replied, surprised to see the coroner. “Yes . . . the
carne asada
, it is a memorable dish. I must thank you for introducing me. I had not previously favored the native fare out here in the West. I normally dine at Delmonico’s, but old dogs can certainly learn new tricks.”
    â€œWould you care to join me?” Richardson asked. “I’ve ordered, but I could ask Therese to put mine on the back burner.”
    â€œYes, thank you,” Waldron said.
    â€œI imagine that you have dined at the original Delmonico’s,” Richardson said, making conversation after Therese de la Gravière had swooped in to attend to them. While her daughter worked most of the tables, the proprietor always attended personally to her regular patrons, of whom Richardson was among the most loyal.
    â€œBut a short distance from my office in New York,” Waldron nodded. “And you sir, have you been to Delmonico’s?”
    â€œNot the one in New York. I have never, myself, been in the
North
.”
    â€œYes, I understand,” Waldron said, realizing from Richardson’s accent that mention of the northern city was treading on the raw nerves of old rivalries. Aiming to alter the course of the conversation, he quickly added, “I had no idea until I came out that enterprising restaurateurs in every town of any size, and some with no size, seem to have appropriated that name for a dining establishment.”
    â€œI hope that you’ve found them living up to the caliber of the original,” Richardson said and smiled.
    â€œMost not, as one might expect, but the one here in Santa Fe has not been a disappointment. And now the Refugio. I had not anticipated myself developing a taste for the ‘chili pepper’ cuisine.”
    â€œOne rarely sees chili peppers in Richmond either,” Richardson laughed, referencing the geographic divide in a lighthearted manner to set the Northerner at ease. “To chilies,” he said, holding up a glass.
    â€œTo chilies.” Waldron smiled, touching Richardson’s proffered glass with his own. “To new discoveries and . . . to new friends.”
    â€œTo friends,” Richardson said, smiling.
    When Therese had presented two sizzling plates of the house specialty, the two diners dived in, savoring the thinly sliced meat, the thinly sliced onions—and the chilies.
    â€œThere is something that I would like to speak with you about,” Waldron said as Richardson took a break and reached for his wineglass.
    â€œIs it about the bounty hunter and the robbers? How is that progressing?”
    â€œI have had no word, but it has been less than a week,” Waldron replied. “I hope that we will soon have word, and that no harm has come to your friend, the bounty hunter, Mr. Cole.”
    â€œMore an acquaintance than a friend,” Richardson clarified. “But he
is
a fellow Virginian.”
    Waldron nodded.
    â€œI would expect that you are due for some news soon,” Richardson said. “Even with two parties beginning a day apart, I would imagine that it should not take longer than a week for the bounty hunter to return, assuming he has been successful.”
    â€œI was thinking the same,” Waldron said uncertainly. “Although, I do not know the nature of the wilderness