Deadlands--Thunder Moon Rising

by Jeffrey Mariotte

  At a knock on the door, Tuck turned away from the corpse. He looked through the door glass and saw the undertaker, Hubert Chalmers, standing outside with a couple of assistants. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been so glad to see somebody. The sour stink that had filled the office had dissipated, but that only allowed the overripe, meaty smell of the corpse to fill the space.

  “I’ll wait outside,” he said as he opened the door. “Do whatever you need to do.”

  Chalmers and his men went inside, and Tuck stepped out, sucking in fresh air as he did.

  While he stood in the street, a man rode up on a fine brown horse, tricked out in a saddle and bridle that together looked more expensive than all the horses and tack Tuck had ever owned put together. He dismounted and tied the animal to a hitching post, then started in Tuck’s direction. He was a slender man, wearing a white shirt under a paisley vest, a little derby hat, and black pants. On the vest was a round badge with a star in the middle. He smoothed down his mustache as he approached.

  “You must be Bringloe,” the man said. He was a bit of a dandy, with a high voice.

  “That’s right.”

  He put a hand out as he approached, and Tuck took it, gave it a shake. “I’m Sheriff Behan. John Behan.”

  Johnny Behan. That explained the pricey clothing and gear. Behan collected ten percent of all county taxes, plus the same slice of all Tombstone’s prostitution, liquor, gambling, and theater businesses. “Pleased to meet you, Sheriff.”

  “Likewise.”

  “What brings you to Carmichael?”

  “You do.” Behan took a step back and scrutinized Tuck. “You don’t look as bad off as I’d heard.”

  “Had me a shave, a bath, got some new clothes. Guess I can’t complain.”

  “The way they tell it in Tombstone, you’re barely able to stand on your own two legs.”

  “Appears they exaggerate.” Tuck hadn’t known anyone in Tombstone was aware of his existence, much less talked about him.

  “Probably they do, yes,” Behan said. “Still, I know you’re new in the job. I know you’ve had a rough start. That was an undertaker I saw going into your office, right?”

  “It was.”

  “Then that part’s true, anyway. About the murder last night, in a cell.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And it’s also true that until a few days ago, you were a rummy. No job, cadging drinks wherever you could.”

  “I’m not proud of it, but yep. That’s true, too.”

  “And now, suddenly, you’re reformed. Sober. A man to be relied upon.”

  “I don’t know as I’d go that far. How about trying to be?”

  “It might look easy, Mr. Bringloe. This law dog business. But it’s not. I guess you got a taste of that already.”

  “More than a taste, I’d say.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff Behan,” Tuck said. “I appreciate you coming down here to say howdy, but you’re the sheriff of all of Cochise County. I can’t help feeling like you must have better things to do with your time.”

  “Might could have,” Behan answered. “I like to introduce myself to new lawmen whenever they show up. Some of them, they show up and are gone about as quick, so I don’t like to waste time.”

  “That’s mighty neighborly, Sheriff.”

  “I figure we got to work together to keep things peaceable. Also, I want to remind you of something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something you can’t forget. But seeing as you’re new in these parts, you might not know it going in, so I thought I might just mention it. You’re a town marshal, and that gives you a badge and a gun and a little bit of power over folks.”

  “I understand that. I was an army captain once, Sheriff. I know about power, and its limits.”

  “That’s something,” Behan said. “But it’s a little different here. You’ve got power, yes. But you also have people who have power over you.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yes, but that’s not what I’m getting at. I’m saying you need to understand who wields power locally. Me, yes. But here, where you are? There’s the town council. They appointed you and they can cut you down just as quick. Mayor Chaffee is a big man around here, elected with more than seventy percent of the vote. Jasper Montclair is the wealthiest rancher in the county, bar none. Colonel Cuttrell is—”

  Tuck interrupted him. “The fort and Montclair’s ranch aren’t even in my jurisdiction.”

  “That’s my point, Bringloe. The people who have power over you aren’t necessarily people you have any sway over. I’m not in your jurisdiction, either. You can’t say boo to us, but we can yank your strings any time we need to. I’m including myself in that, even though I don’t have any intentions in that regard. I can’t speak for Montclair or Cuttrell or them. I’m only saying to keep that in mind. They run you, you don’t run them. That clear enough?”

  “Crystal,” Tuck said.

  “I wish you luck here, Marshal. You’re not off to a good start. Maybe you can turn that around.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “All a man can ask for.” Behan made an abrupt swivel and went back to his horse. He climbed into the saddle, touched the brim of his derby, and rode away. Tuck thought he might stop somewhere on the street, but he kept going, out of town and back toward Tombstone.

  So he had only come to deliver that message? What did that mean? What had he gotten into here?

  Chalmers and his men were hauling something out of the office, covered in a blanket. Tuck knew what it had to be, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. He wanted to try to figure out what the hell Behan had been yammering about.

  All he knew was, the combination of the undertaker and his guys carrying a body out in pieces and Behan’s warning, if that’s what it was, gave the day a decidedly sinister cast.

  “If you think it is bad now,” a female voice said behind him. Startled, Tuck spun around, his hand dropping to the grip of his revolver. He didn’t draw it, because when he turned he saw a chestnut-haired young woman wearing clothing that didn’t quite fit and a smile he could only describe as beatific. Her hair was worn loose, and reached well past her breasts. “Just wait.”

  “Excuse me?” Tuck said. “I don’t think I caught that, miss.”

  “I will help if I can,” she said. “But I do not know … I do not know if that will be enough.”

  “Enough? Enough for what?”

  The smile didn’t dim, but her eyes took on a momentary glimmer of disquiet. She moved her shoulders a little, but didn’t answer.

  “Miss?” Tuck said. “I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

  “I … I cannot say,” the girl said. “I…”

  An Apache man walked up behind her. He bore a paper-wrapped bundle and had on a CSA blouse decorated with fringe, feathers, bones, and other objects. “I’m sorry, Marshal,” the man said. “She don’t always know what she’s saying. She didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “For a second there, she was the only thing that made sense all day,” Tuck said. “Maybe that says more about me than her.”

  “Might be,” the Apache said.

  “What’s your name, miss?” Tuck asked.

  She kept smiling, and wiggled her shoulders again.

  “We call her Little Wing,” the Apache said. “She’s been through a lot.”

  “You’re with the army?” Tuck asked him.

  “I’m a scout, yes. I’m called Kuruk. That means bear, to you.”

  “Apaches like bears?”

  “Apaches hate bears,” the man corrected. “Bears, snakes, and owls. They’re creatures of the darkness. They called me that because I was a big pain in the rear.”

  “They knew when you were born that you were a pain?”

  “No. When I was about nine or ten, I guess. Before that my name was Brings the Sun.”

  “Because you were the light of
your momma’s life?”

  “Because I screamed so loud, I woke the sun up. Believe me, being named after a beast everybody hated was kind of an improvement.”

  “Well, Kuruk,” Tuck said. “I’m Tucker Bringloe. Folks call me Tuck.”

  “Or Marshal.”

  “Just lately. Not sure how long that’ll last, either. Figure people might just as well call me Tuck, cause that’s more likely to stick.”

  “Anyhow,” Kuruk said, “I hope Little Wing didn’t disturb you. She don’t mean any harm.”

  “Not a bit,” Tuck said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “I will help,” Little Wing said.

  Kuruk smiled patiently and led her away by the arm. Tuck watched them go, a little saddened by their absence. The Apache was nice enough, but the girl had a warmth about her that he had rarely seen. She might have been a little touched, as the Indian had suggested. But she seemed real, at the same time. Real, and honest. She might be crazy, but he was starting to think that term applied universally, so what was the difference?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  His office still stank like death.

  Chalmers and his assistants had cleared out the body, but there remained a sticky puddle of blood and other fluids, black in the middle and pink around the edges. The flies were thick on it. Tuck would have to get some lye and water and wash it down. Until he did, he couldn’t work in there, and he certainly couldn’t lock anyone up. He stepped outside again, in quest of fresh air.

  Hearing footsteps on the boardwalk, he looked to his left to see Missy Haynes approaching, wearing a black dress with red trim and bearing a hatbox.

  “You didn’t,” Tuck said.

  “I did. I told you I would.”

  “You never even measured my head.”

  “I guessed. I’m pretty good at that.”

  She handed him the box. He had some trepidation about opening it. He had never been given a hat, at least not since he’d been a young boy. And, he supposed, the hats furnished by the Union Army weren’t exactly gifts, but he hadn’t been able to choose them. Other than those, he had picked out every hat he’d worn, and he considered it as personal a selection as a pair of boots.

  But Missy stood there with an expectant smile on her face, so he pulled off the lid. Inside was a fine, black, beaver hat, more luxurious than any he’d owned. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Put it on, silly,” Missy said.

  He tilted his head toward his office door. “We can’t go inside. It’s kind of a mess.”

  “I heard. That’s all right. I have a pocket mirror if you want to see.”

  He removed the hat and set the box down on the walkway. He liked the shape of it, and the way it felt in his hands. With a grin he was sure looked as awkward as it felt, he put it on.

  The fit was perfect. It was snug across the brow and temples, but not too tight. It would stay on in a stiff breeze without giving him a headache. “That’s just right,” he told her.

  Missy held out a mirror, but Tuck shook his head. “I don’t need to look at myself. Seen enough horror already today. I can tell it’s just right. Missy, you’re one hell of a judge of heads.”

  She snorted a laugh at that, but Tuck didn’t ask her to elaborate. Given her profession, he was sure there was much he didn’t want to know. “I’m glad you like it,” she said once she’d regained her composure.

  “I do. Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You found Daisie’s killer. I know you’ve had a rough start to this marshal job, but at least you’re willing to try.” She studied on him for a moment, then added, “And you know, you’re not all that hard to look at, once you’re cleaned up.”

  “Well, thank you again,” he said. He knew he was blushing. “You might want to see a doctor about your eyesight, but I’ll take the compliment. You’re quite a lovely woman yourself.”

  “I know what my flaws are, and I try to work around them,” she replied. “But I’ll allow as how some men don’t seem to notice them.”

  Tuck was hard-pressed to see any at the moment, but again, he felt like saying that out loud would lead into a conversation that he wasn’t ready to have. Instead, he touched the brim of the hat. “If I’d known this was the reward, I’d have started chasing down killers long ago.” He shot a glance back toward his office. “I expect I’ll have plenty more opportunity, though.”

  “I won’t promise a hat every time, Tucker,” she said. “And I won’t say your job will be easy. But there’s folks around here who’ll be glad to have an honest lawman in town.”

  “Turville wasn’t honest?”

  “I don’t know as I’d go that far. But he knew who he worked for, and the interests of a few men in town were always put above those of everybody else.”

  Which had more or less been the message Johnny Behan had tried to get across. Tuck was beginning to calculate that this job might be far more complicated than he had at first assumed.

  “Well, I don’t reckon I owe anybody too much of anything, excepting maybe Hank Turville,” he said. “And he’s not here to collect.”

  Missy put a hand on his arm. He liked the way it felt there. “I have a feeling about you, Tucker. I think underneath it all, you’re a good man. They’re hard to come by in these parts.”

  “I can’t vouch for that, Missy. I haven’t known myself very well, these last few years, but I haven’t much liked what I saw. Not sure what you’d find if you scratched the surface.”

  Missy was about to say something more, but her gaze lit on Jasper Montclair stalking up the far side of the street. In profile, he looked like a raptor on the hunt: sharp-beaked, his eyes alert for prey. “Speak of the devil,” she said.

  “Montclair? You don’t like him?”

  “I don’t have an opinion one way or the other. I’d as soon keep it that way.”

  Tuck thought he saw Montclair’s target, a pretty, slim blond woman in what looked like an expensive dress. “Who’s the lady?” he asked.

  Missy had to turn to see. “That’s Sadie Cuttrell.”

  “Cuttrell, like the colonel?”

  “His wife,” she said.

  As they watched, Montclair said something to Mrs. Cuttrell. The woman stopped and listened. From the look on her face, whatever Montclair said might have been offensive. Still, she answered him, and the two engaged in a conversation that appeared to grow ever more intense.

  “She can take care of herself,” Missy said. “She used to work in the crib next to mine, before she married the colonel.”

  “She was a—” Tuck broke off his own sentence. Montclair had grabbed Mrs. Cuttrell’s arm, hard. From her expression, it looked like it hurt. “Excuse me,” he said.

  He stormed across the street. Montclair might have been a prominent man in these parts, and on his own ranch he was outside Tuck’s jurisdiction. But here in Carmichael, he would treat women with respect.

  “Montclair!” he said as he got close. “Leave go of her!”

  Montclair released the woman’s arm and swung around to face Tuck. “This is none of your concern, Marshal,” he said.

  “You’re manhandling a soldier’s wife on the streets of my town,” Tuck replied. “That makes it my concern.”

  “A colonel’s wife!” Sadie Cuttrell snapped. “And maybe you should keep out of affairs that aren’t your business, Marshal. Like Mr. Montclair said, this doesn’t involve you.”

  Tuck was astonished. He’d thought he was rescuing her, but she didn’t seem to want any help.

  “You need to keep in mind who put you where you are, Mr. Bringloe,” Montclair said. Tuck noted the absence of the word “marshal” in that sentence.

  “You need to keep your hands to yourself while you’re in town,” Tuck said. “I don’t care who put me here, there’s things I won’t stand for.”

  “Are you arresting me, Bringloe?”

  “He wouldn’t dare!” Mrs. Cuttrell said.

 
; “You haven’t broken any law that I’m aware of,” Tuck said. “See you keep it that way.” He turned to Sadie. “You sure you’re all right, ma’am?”

  “Just leave us the hell alone,” she said. The bitterness in her tone saddened Tuck. He wondered what a woman had to go through to sound like that.

  “We’ll talk again,” Montclair said to her. He walked away briskly and disappeared into the bank. Sadie Cuttrell showed Tuck her back and headed toward the fort, sitting at the far western end of the street. Tuck crossed back to where Missy waited.

  “Everything all right?” she asked when he joined her.

  “Far as I can tell. Mrs. Cuttrell told me to mind my own business. Montclair agreed with her.”

  “Like I said, she can take care of herself. She also knows how to latch on to powerful men. From here, I’d say it looks like she might be trying to trade in an army colonel for the richest rancher in the county.”

  “I really don’t understand that kind of thing,” Tuck said. “All I know is marshaling is tougher than it looks.”

  “Some women are drawn to power or wealth, or both,” Missy explained. “Even when I was working with her, Sadie obviously was. She was the prettiest of us, and you could see how she’d light up when an important or influential man came into the place. Soon enough she had ’em all eating out of her hand. When she landed the colonel, she thought she had struck gold. She pretty much had, I guess.”

  “What’s Montclair’s story?”

  Missy took a deep breath. Tuck watched the way it swelled her bosom, and admired the fit of her dress. Sadie Cuttrell was a looker, all right, but in his mind she didn’t hold a candle to Missy Haynes. “I don’t know that much about him,” she said. “I don’t guess anybody does. His daddy owns a company back east. Montclair Arms?”

  “Sure,” Tuck said. “I never made the connection. I’ve carried a couple of their guns, and fired plenty of their ammunition. Union Army had a contract with them for years.”

  “That’s them. Anyway, Jasper came from money. He showed up here one day, a few years ago, and just started buying up ranches. First it was spreads adjoining one another, but then he got so he’d buy them even if they didn’t, and he’d squeeze out whoever was in the middle. It got so ranchers would start packing when they saw him coming, because he was paying so much more than they could ever hope to make on their land.”