by Jo Goodman
Max nodded and sat. “They figured they’d go out to Hickory Lake first, seein’ as how the rail line cuts that way going to Cheyenne. We all thought about what you said last night.” He darted a look in Jane’s direction. She was humming to herself while she cracked eggs over the skillet. He still dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Seemed the most likely place to look around for jumpers.”
Looking at Jane’s back, Jem said more loudly, “Never know what one of those Herefords is gonna do.”
Max rolled his eyes. Morgan sighed and shook his head. Jane dropped both halves of an eggshell into a bowl and turned around. “Cows jump fences?”
Jem said, “Sure. One jumped over the moon, didn’t she?”
Jane gave him an arch look. “Clever, Jem. Very clever.” She turned back to her skillet and eggs.
When breakfast was over, Jem and Max headed to the barn. Morgan lingered at the table for coffee and conversation.
“Jem’s face looks worse today than it did last night,” Jane said. “But I suppose that’s to be expected.” She began gathering plates and utensils, pulling them toward her to stack.
“Leave them,” said Morgan. “Drink your coffee. I’m not sure that you’ve ever finished a cup that was still warm.”
“Morgan. I have things to do.”
He pushed the plates out of her reach. “So do I, and all of it will be there in ten minutes when I get up from this table.”
“All right.”
“Cows don’t jump,” he said. “A steer will buck and charge and carry on like he has no sense, but he won’t jump barbwire.”
“I knew that. I remember what you said about the cows stopping at the fences in a snowstorm.”
“I figured you did, especially after Jem used a nursery rhyme for supporting evidence. The jumpers that Max was talking about are the men that beat up Jem. Marshal Bridger put them on a train going east. We’re only supposing they might jump the train and circle back this way. That’s why Jessop and Jake went out to Hickory.”
“What in the world has Jem done to these men that they might come after him?”
Morgan shook his head. “If they do come back—and, again, there’s no certainty that they will—it’s the cattle that they’re after, not Jem.”
“Rustlers.”
“We think so.”
Jane did not reply. She slowly turned her cup in its saucer.
Her prolonged silence finally prompted Morgan to speak. “What is it?”
She shrugged, sighed. “I appreciate that you want to offer me the explanation I’ve been asking for, but I had hoped for something that might at least rub shoulders with the truth. Frankly, Jem’s cow over the moon reasoning was easier to swallow.”
Now it was Morgan who fell silent.
Jane said, “I’m sorry. It is just hard to believe.”
“I don’t know why.”
“The risk, for one thing.”
“Thieves aren’t necessarily smart, just determined. What’s the other?”
“The coincidence. As far as I can tell, you have no reason to suppose the men that fought with Jem are cattle thieves unless you know of some connection between them and the rustling happening here at Morning Star. If there is a connection, you should tell me that, because it seems incredible that they would stop bedeviling you and your men and your cattle to go into Bitter Springs and pick a fight with Jem.”
Morgan sat back in his chair. “How long have you known there’s been rustling here?”
“About as long as you have been trying to keep it a secret.”
“Huh.”
“One of the things I have not understood, other than why you thought I should not know, is why you have been so insistent that I remain indoors. That insistence has taken away my opportunity to learn to ride, to shoot, even to gather eggs and work in the garden. When it comes time to hang the laundry, there’s always someone else around to do it. I went to the corral one day, just to watch you and Sophie, and you shooed me away like one of the hens. What danger do you suppose rustlers present to me that someone’s always close by? They are interested in cattle. Why would they come here?”
Morgan’s mouth twisted wryly. “This is just a guess, you understand, but I’m thinking what you know about rustlers you got from a book. Nat Church and the Hanging at Harrisonville comes to mind immediately, but I will allow that some badly researched story in one of those important New York newspapers could also account for it.”
Jane pressed her lips together.
“I thought so,” he said. “They’re cattle thieves, Jane. Horses are cattle, too. Taking stock from the barn and corral is easier than rounding up mustangs on the range. Not only easier, but the stock is better. Our saddle horses are good animals. Put aside all your thoughts about what you think they’ll take, and consider nothing else but the fact that they’re thieves. They have no honor, no scruples, and no respect for what rightfully belongs to someone else.”
Morgan leaned forward, set his arms on the table, and regarded Jane frankly. “For all kinds of reasons I’d rather not say out loud, I don’t want them anywhere near you. Maybe trying to keep what’s been going on from you was a mistake—you’ve proven to me that we’ve been pretty clumsy at it—but I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do.”
Jane laid one hand over his. “I know that. I’ve always known that.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t do it again, Jane. That part about it maybe being a mistake, well, that’s when I look at it sitting where you are. From where I’m sitting it still doesn’t strike me that I did something wrong.”
“I suppose it’s a disagreement that we’ll have from time to time.” She squeezed his hand before she released it. “Now tell me why you think there is any possibility that Jem’s fight was with the same men you’ve been hunting.”
“Marshal Bridger said they came to town together by train with a story about looking for range work. They didn’t have gear, which bothered him some. He directed them to Whistler’s place, but they went to the Pennyroyal instead. That bothered him more. He didn’t know about the trouble we’ve been having until Jem told him about it after the fight. By then, he had already sent the men on their way. Too late to do anything except maybe speculate. What the marshal got from the witnesses, and what I got from Jem, is that Jem had a bull’s-eye on his back from the moment those men walked into the saloon. Miss Harrison might have encouraged it some because she can’t always help herself, but those men were spoiling for a fight, and not with anyone. They wanted it with Jem.”
Jane nodded slowly. “So the speculation is that they recognized him because they’ve seen him on Morning Star land. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“But it is speculation.”
“If that’s a question, the answer is yes. That’s all it is.”
Jane considered that. “Thank you.” Her chair scraped the floor as she pushed back from the table. Standing, she reached for the dishes. “Now I have work to do, including laundry. With everyone else away this morning, it will be your turn to hang the wash on the line for me.”
Morgan finished his coffee, watching her as she turned her back on him and faced the sink. Damn, but she had enjoyed saying that. He grinned a little then because he couldn’t really blame her.
• • •
As it happened, Morgan got out of laundry line duty because of the timely arrival of Rabbit and Finn Collins. Morgan saw them when they were still a far piece from the house. It was not their first visit to Morning Star, and he recognized them by the meandering route they were taking, as if staying on what passed for the road was just not interesting enough. They were driving the old buckboard they used to deliver visitors and luggage from the station to the hotel, and it was fairly certain in his mind that they were fussing over who should be holding the reins.
Morgan made a point of intercepting them before they reached the house. He had a pretty good idea what had brought them out his way, and when they an
nounced importantly that they were on official deputy business, he knew he was right.
“You better show me that business before we reach the house,” he told them, walking alongside the wagon. “Are you carrying something for me?”
Finn pointed to his temple. “Carrying it right here, Mr. Longstreet. Marshal Bridger didn’t give us anything to pass along. Put it in our heads and made us memorize it. We’re pretty good at that. Rabbit here knows all the presidents up through Mr. Benjamin Harrison, and I know just about everything there is to know about General George Washington on account of Mrs. Bridger thinkin’ there might be a lesson in it for me about tellin’ the truth and all.”
Morgan did not know why he thought Finn could be hurried. “You’re referring to the cherry tree.”
“Ain’t I just? It’s a sorrowful tale. I figure he got a butt whuppin’ for what he did, but no one wrote that part down.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Bridger will want to hear your opinion on that, but I don’t. Not right now.” Morgan reached across Finn’s lap and took the reins from Rabbit. He pulled up on them and brought the mare to a halt. “Boys? What do you have to tell me? Rabbit, you go first.”
Rabbit lowered his scarf and tucked it under his chin. “Marshal says Pepper, Wilcox, and Ravenwood never did go as far as Cheyenne. He says it could have been around Westerville, but he doesn’t know for certain, and he says you might want to have a look around Hickory Lake.”
“Is that all?”
Finn said, “Except for the part about dropping by his office first chance you get to look at some sketches he made. I told him we’d bring them out, but he said he’d rather have you look at them there.”
Morgan could think of two reasons Bridger wanted it that way. The first was to keep them out of the boys’ hands; the second was so the marshal could have a look at his face while he studied the drawings. It was a good strategy, except that it wasn’t going to happen.
Still holding the reins, Morgan glanced in the back of the buckboard. There were two parcels of equal size in the bed of the wagon, both wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. The similarities ended there. One of them had obviously been opened, though a serious, if clumsy, attempt had been made to rewrap it. “What else are you boys bringing out here on official deputy business?”
Rabbit said, “Marshal Bridger said we should have something to show for our trip, so he bought an apple pie out of his own pocket from Mrs. Phillips.”
Morgan did not inquire about the contents of the other parcel. From the way the boys were nervously licking their lips, it was probably safe to assume that they had already helped themselves to the contents. Cookies, Morgan guessed, but he was hoping for tarts.
He handed the reins back to Rabbit. “How about coming up to the house for something to eat? Mrs. Longstreet will enjoy your company.”
“That’s what Marshal Bridger said, but he was kinda chucklin’ out of the side of his mouth when he said it. You know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean. C’mon. Let’s get you up to the barn, take care of your horse, and then maybe you’ll want to meet Sophie. She’s the mustang I captured a while back.”
There followed a rather philosophical discussion as to whether “Sophie” was the proper name for a horse, especially one that had been running the range all her life, but once the boys were properly introduced, they agreed that Mrs. Longstreet had got it right.
“We have guests,” Morgan told Jane as he came through the kitchen door. “They’ll be in directly. They’re putting up that basket of wash you set out for me.”
Wiping her hands on her apron, Jane sidled from the cookstove to the sink and looked out the window. She got there in time to see Rabbit jump up and toss one of Morgan’s shirts over the clothesline. Finn was standing on the other side to catch it in case Rabbit overthrew his mark. They did not have a good strategy if the throw was short. “You are shameless,” she told Morgan.
“So are they. The marshal sent them out with two parcels of baked goods. You’ll be able to see right off which one they were sampling.”
That made Jane laugh. “Will they stay for lunch?”
“I don’t think we can get rid of them without feeding them first.” He lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and reset it on his head. “Will you be all right with them for a while? I have chores in the barn to finish up.”
“Of course.” She put out a hand when he started to go. “Just a minute. Tell me why the marshal sent us baked goods.”
Morgan shrugged. “My guess? To get Rabbit and Finn out of his hair on a Saturday morning.”
“He’s very clever, isn’t he?”
“That’s one word for it,” he said, stepping outside. “‘Devious’ would be another.”
Jane had some time to appreciate that as the boys shared the piano bench in the front room and fingered the piano keys in every combination they could think of. First all the white keys, then all the black, then alternating, then every other. In thirty minutes, they had not happened upon a tune, and she was starting to twitch.
From the kitchen, she called to them, “Why don’t you come in here, boys, and keep me company? I’m making potato cakes.” She winced as the bench crashed to the floor. “Are you all right?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Longstreet,” Rabbit called back. “That was Finn.”
“Was not,” said Finn.
“Was.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jane said, raising her voice above theirs. “Pick it up and come in here.” She directed them to opposite sides of the table when they slunk in.
“It’s real nice of you askin’ us to sit with you,” said Rabbit.
“Yeah,” Finn agreed. “Mostly our gran wants us out of the kitchen. Same with Mrs. Sterling when we’re up at the Pennyroyal, but at least she gives us somethin’ to eat when she sends us off. Granny shows us her broom.” He craned his skinny neck to see what Jane was doing at the stove. “We havin’ anything besides potato cakes?”
Jane turned a little sideways as she worked so she could keep an eye on the boys. “I have what’s left of yesterday’s roast warming in the oven. I thought you would have smelled that.”
Finn sniffed the air. “I think I have apple pie in my nose.”
Rabbit snickered. “That’s what you’re callin’ your boogers now?”
Before Finn came out of his chair, Jane put her hand down hard on the table. Except for coming to sharp, military-like attention, neither boy moved. “Good,” said Jane. “I have a broom, too. I also have cookies. Think about that.”
They fell quiet as Jane began shaping cold mashed potatoes into small cakes and rolled them in flour. “Do you boys generally visit the marshal on Saturday mornings?”
“Sure,” said Rabbit. “After we get our chores done. Sometimes we drop by on our way home from school.”
“We’re pretty much deputies now,” Finn said.
Jane saw his small chest puff. Only the fact that he was seated kept him from strutting. “So Marshal Bridger probably looks to you for help from time to time.”
Rabbit nodded. “Sure he does. He came for us this morning. Ain’t that right, Finn? He had to wait around while we finished up, but I don’t think he minded much. Granny had coffee and crumb cake for him.”
“I see. So Marshal Bridger must have had an important assignment for you today.”
Finn sat up on his knees and leaned forward, supporting himself by the elbows. “Did he ever. Swore us in special.”
“Goodness. I have to believe you brought us the best apple pie in Wyoming. The best cookies, too.”
“That’s a fact,” said Rabbit.
Finn nodded. “’Course, the pie and cookies are what you call a red hair. Ain’t that right, Rabbit?”
Rabbit shrugged. “Something like that. That’s when Marshal Bridger was talking to Gran. I wasn’t really paying no mind.”
Jane asked, “Did he say red herring, perhaps?”
“Might’uv.�
�� Finn sniffed the air. “Butter’s melted in your pan, Mrs. Longstreet. Just about ready to burn. That would be a shame.”
Jane saw he was right. She quickly began adding the potato cakes. They sizzled immediately and started to brown on the edges. Picking up the turner, Jane gave her attention to her cooking.
Red herring, indeed. She had a good mind to serve Morgan from that kettle of fish.
• • •
Morgan knelt beside the copper tub where Jane was sitting with her knees almost tucked under her chin. The water was not quite deep enough to cover her breasts. “Bend your head,” he said. When she complied, he raised a kettle of warm water and poured it over her hair while she sifted through wet strands to squeeze out the last of the soap.
“That’s enough.” Jane pulled her hair to one side and began wringing out the water. “May I have a towel?”
Morgan set the kettle on the floor and handed her one. He watched her deftly wrap it around her hair and make a tuck that kept it securely on her head. He picked up a second towel and held it up for her to take.
Jane shook her head. “I am not getting out of this tub while you are in here.”
Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Morgan sat back on his heels. “Why not?”
“Because I am not wearing anything.” She pointed to the washroom door. “Out.” When he did not move, she said, “Please.”
Morgan rose slowly. “I don’t understand. I’m your husband.”
“Please?”
“All right.” He dropped the towel on a chair and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. “I wouldn’t ask you to leave.” When Jane did not reply, Morgan shrugged, but he was grinning.
He got ready for bed while Jane was in the washroom and was turning back the covers when she reappeared. She had the kettle in one hand. He took it from her and pointed to the bed. Morgan recognized it as one of the few times since Finn and Rabbit left that she did not fuss at him. By the time he returned from the kitchen, Jane was in bed. She had a book open in her lap and did not look up as he crawled into bed. He lay on his back and did not try to engage her in conversation. Neither did he try to figure out what he had done wrong or what she thought he had done wrong. He could not imagine a more futile exercise in cogitation. When Jane was ready, she would tell him.
