Stone of Vengeance

by Vickie Britton

  ‘I suppose you’ve seen Mr Kingsley’s Western artifacts?’

  ‘Mary Ellen insisted on showing them to me once. Quite a collection.’

  ‘I’m thinking that the killer might have broken into the Kingsley ranch intending to steal these items. A robbery in progress, that Kingsley interrupted. Do you have any idea what that invitation to Tom Horn’s hanging would be worth?’

  The curator hesitated. ‘That little bit of paper is probably the most valuable item in Charles’ collection.’

  ‘How much money are we talking about?’

  ‘That depends,’ Jake Pierson replied. ‘I’d say under certain circumstances, it could bring between fifty to eighty thousand.’

  Kate drew in her breath. ‘That much?’

  ‘Only a handful of those invitations still exist and,’ he added after another dry little chuckle, ‘of course, there won’t be any more.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think everyone would want an invitation to a hanging decorating their parlour wall.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Jake Pierson returned. ‘Letters and documents from well-known people are highly desirable. Any serious collector of Western memorabilia would love to get their hands on that little section of history. Why, I’d like to own it myself.’

  Jake Pierson didn’t need to have added that – the fact shone clearly in his eyes.

  ‘For the museum collection, of course,’ he added quickly, as if reading her thoughts. ‘I asked Mrs Kingsley if she’d consider selling or even donating some items to the museum, but she turned me down flat. Can’t really blame her.’

  ‘So you know Jennie Irwin? Jennie Kingsley now,’ Kate corrected.

  ‘I met her at the funeral and once after it to talk about purchasing the collection.’

  He hadn’t wasted much time, Kate thought.

  ‘But, back to what you were saying, I don’t think anyone would break in to steal that invitation. Even though it is a great prize, no buyer would touch it. It would lead a trail right to his door.’

  Kate must not have looked convinced.

  ‘Because of the Kingsley name on it,’ Pierson went on, ‘a thief wouldn’t dare try to sell it.’

  ‘Not unless he had a ready buyer,’ Kate said, ‘one willing to look the other way, to purchase on a “don’t ask, don’t tell” basis.’ Her thoughts turned to Sam Swen and his interest in Tom Horn. What would he pay to get his hands on an item related to a historical figure he admired, one that belonged to his arch-enemy, Charles Kingsley? ‘Or, maybe whoever broke in didn’t intend to sell it.’

  ‘Could be. We’ll probably never know.’

  Kate began to walk towards the door, and Jake Pierson followed. Halfway across the room a cattle painting caught her eye. ‘Beautiful Herefords,’ she observed.

  Jake Pierson laughed. ‘Don’t say that too loudly around here.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There’s quite a story behind that painting. The original by Dutch painter Paul Potter once hung on the walls of the exclusive Cheyenne Club. You’ve probably heard of that place.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jake Pierson’s love of history animated his words as he said, ‘Members of the powerful Wyoming Stock Grower’s Association used to gather there for a taste of culture and companionship. The painting became notorious around 1895 when a wealthy rancher by the name of John Coble, Tom Horn’s boss, was suspended from the club for shooting holes in the leg of one of the painted bulls.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’

  The smile remained on the curator’s face. ‘He admitted he had been drinking. But he had few regrets about the shooting. You see, Coble was a bit of a cattle snob. In his own words, the painting was “a travesty on purebred stock”.’

  ‘How can you tell the difference?’

  ‘To an untrained eye, it might be difficult.’

  Kate was beginning to like his laugh, quick and appreciative.

  ‘But the critters in this picture are not from the pure Hereford line that originated in Herefordshire, England. A cattleman can spot them on sight, just as a dog breeder can tell an Irish setter from a mutt. Purebreds have white faces and reddish-brown bodies. The poor creatures in this painting are as spotted as Dalmatians. They’ve obviously been crossed with another breed, which makes them the mutts of the cattle world, cattle that ranchers like Coble would never condescend to raise.’ He paused significantly. ‘There’s big money in the purebred Herefords.’

  ‘You seem to know as much about ranching as you do about history.’

  ‘I grew up on a ranch. In Montana.’

  That explained the rough, work-hardened hands with their big, bony knuckles.

  ‘That kind of snobbery exists today the same way it did years ago. Except now there’s fewer and fewer small ranchers. In Montana big ruthless cattle barons have already gobbled up most of them.’ Grimness crept into his voice. ‘My daddy went broke and moved to Helena, but he never recovered.’ Pierson stood for a moment looking at the picture. ‘From what I hear, things haven’t changed much around here either. People like Swen and Kingsley still live that way, knocking over anyone who gets in their way.’

  ‘That always seems the case when there’s a lot at stake. How much would one of these animals be worth?’

  Jake Pierson shrugged. ‘The price varies, of course, but I suppose a good Hereford bull could run a couple of thousand. Or even more.’

  That meant both Sam Swen and Charles Kingsley had a gold mine roaming around in their pastures, money ripe for the taking, open to anyone who had the means and opportunity to steal and transport stolen cattle.

  Although Kate had visited the museum for an entirely different reason, her thoughts had come full circle. Kingsley’s murder might centre on cattle rustling after all. Although that seemed the plausible answer, Kate still found herself clinging to the idea that the killer’s motivation went much deeper than what was seen on the surface. The Tom Horn hanging and the cattle rustling: if only she could find a link between the two.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Pierson. You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Helping people understand history, that’s my job and my joy.’

  Kate left the museum thinking that the murder of Charles Kingsley had to have been committed by someone who knew all about the legend of Tom Horn and the feud between Sam Swen and Charles Kingsley. All the evidence seemed to point directly – almost too directly – to Sam Swen. Perhaps, just as he had claimed, he was being cleverly set up to take the blame. Either way, someone had purposefully placed that stone beneath Kingsley’s head, that ominous ‘Stone of Vengeance’.

  Feeling a little weary, in need of a quiet place to be alone and think, Kate cut across the street to the Tumbleweed café. Everything here was named after something Western: the Cowboy Motel, the Lazy Z Tavern, the Outlaw gas station on the corner. After her move from Auburn Hills, Michigan, it had taken time for Kate to adjust to life in a small Wyoming town. The laid-back atmosphere, the single main street, the buildings with their Old West facades, was a far cry from the bustling city and the suburban neighbourhood where her parents and younger sister still lived. Here, everyone knew everyone else’s business.

  But Kate had also discovered advantages: little need to lock doors at night, no long lines at the single supermarket, and finding a parking space on main street never posed a problem. Moreover, the local restaurant served good, home-cooked food.

  Kate’s job kept her so busy that often she simply grabbed a sandwich, so most weekends she headed for the Tumbleweed and ordered their Ranch Hand Special, which consisted today of chicken fried steak.

  When her meal came, she began to eat hungrily.

  ‘Now there’s what I like to see,’ a deep voice spoke up, ‘a girl with a hearty appetite.’

  Ty Garrison, free of the air of guarded aloofness that Kate had noted at Swen’s ranch, was walking towards her, his lean, broad-shouldered form seeming to swagger in the hazy sunlight that streamed from the window.
His hair looked thick, streaked with gold, much lighter than she recalled, but his eyes seemed darker, more intense.

  He didn’t ask permission to join her, just slipped into the opposite side of the booth. He called to the waitress to bring him the special and a strong cup of coffee.

  Kate liked the change in him. The bruise along the line of his jaw had faded and warmth lit his eyes. Today he seemed to really see her, Kate the person, not Kate the sheriff.

  Their conversation was marked with laughs and banter until Kate asked, ‘How did you end up working for Swen?’

  At her question he grew grave and thoughtful. ‘Just got back to Rock Creek. I had worked for him once before in a roundup when I was little more than a kid.’ Ty slanted her a glance, then went on hesitantly, as if this were something about which he seldom spoke. ‘Swen gave me a job to do and I let him down. Got drunk and ended up in jail, wound up costing Swen money. I thought he’d fire me. I came around to apologize, but he only told me, “You don’t have to answer to me, you have to answer to yourself”.’

  ‘And that’s what you do now?’ Kate returned lightly, wishing she had not brought up this serious subject.

  ‘I looked up to Swen, mostly because he’s the only one who ever gave me a second chance. Not to mention good advice.’ Ty’s smile appeared again. ‘Of course, most of it I didn’t follow. Couldn’t really, because trouble seems to track me around. I should have stayed with him then instead of striking out on my own. Made a big mess of those next years.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Acting as if he wanted to avoid any answer, he said evasively, ‘Just wandered around, mostly.’

  ‘In Wyoming?’

  ‘For the most part. I just went back to drifting. Ended up working on a ranch over in Coal County. I was having problems with my boss there, we just didn’t see eye to eye. So when I ran across Swen one day in Casper, and he said he needed me, that he was having a lot of trouble at the ranch, I jumped at his offer of a steady job. So here I am. But now, Kate, tell me all about yourself.’

  ‘Not much to tell,’ she replied. ‘I was born in Detroit. My parents were both opposed to my taking up police work. Mum wanted me to go into teaching; that’s what my sister Allison plans to do.’

  ‘They don’t like the danger involved in your job. Can’t blame them for that.’

  ‘I graduated from the Michigan Police Academy, where I got my degree in Criminal Justice. The boys here will never let me live it down.’

  His clear, brown eyes met hers admiringly. ‘I think we’re a lot alike, not afraid to take a chance and follow our hearts. I needed a job where I could be free, not confined behind a desk all day.’ He watched her carefully.

  ‘I went into law enforcement because I like to see wrongs righted.’

  ‘So do I,’ Ty replied, ‘in my own way.’

  His words made her think of Tom Horn’s slant on justice. The thought caused the closeness between them to take distance. ‘Are you certain there’s no truth in the lawsuit Kingsley intended to bring against Swen?’

  ‘Swen, a cattle thief?’ Ty shook his head. ‘At first I thought Kingsley had got that foreman of his, Hal Barkley, to set this all up simply to cause trouble for Swen. But now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Why?’

  Ty’s eyes, like his hair, seeming an indefinite colour, now glinted with flecks of yellow light. ‘Like I told you the other day, we may be dealing with a professional ring of thieves hitting both ranches. Kingsley must have found some evidence out in the vast canyon between our lands that he misinterpreted and linked with Swen.’

  The bright sheen disappeared from his eyes and left them dark and moody. ‘Anyway, it’s not over yet. Whatever’s going on, I intend to settle it.’

  Once again the Tom Horn image merged with Ty’s. ‘Not a very wise idea,’ Kate said, ‘to take the law into your own hands.’

  He made no reply.

  ‘That’s what Tom Horn did.’ In the stillness Kate thought of Charles Kingsley lying dead in his study, then of Tom Horn, a hired gun who had been willing to go to any lengths to protect his boss.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not like that.’

  Suddenly, as if to bridge the great empty space between them, Ty reached across the table and caught her hand. She felt the warm, strong pressure of his grasp and wished that the two of them had met under different circumstances.

  ‘You’re the first girl I’ve seen who makes me think of flowers. May I send you some? A dozen red roses.’

  ‘I couldn’t accept any gifts from you.’ Kate smiled to take the edge from her words. ‘Besides, I’m a wild flower person.’

  ‘Then I have a great idea. Let’s go out and view the autumn flowers. Since you’re not working today, why don’t you head out to the ranch this afternoon? I’ll put together a picnic. We’ll saddle up the horses and ride out into the canyon land. It’s beautiful there.’

  Just at that moment, she saw Jeff walk by the café, slow his steps and look in. His jaw tightened as his gaze fastened on her and Ty, then he moved quickly away. Kate wondered how long it would take Jeff to get word to Ben Addison that she was having dinner with a prime suspect in the Kingsley case.

  Kate removed her hand from his. ‘Ty, I’d like to, but I can’t.’

  Kate continued looking at the vacant window where moments ago Jeff had stood watching. She wished she wasn’t the sheriff and that Ty wasn’t a major suspect in her investigation. But that was fact and that fact prevented her from following her heart.

  Back at the office, Kate kept thinking about the statements both the owners of the Rocking C and the Double S had made concerning stolen stock. Both ranches claimed to be the target of cattle thefts which, according to Ty, were still occurring. That meant that the rustlers, able to make such bold strikes, possessed some sure and easy method of turning the stock into quick cash.

  On the computer Kate pulled up a listing of Wyoming’s livestock auctions. The closest one, as well as the largest, was Pauley’s Auction Barn in Downing. She jotted this address down, as well as several others.

  Feeling hostile eyes on her, Kate glanced up to see Jeff’s tall solid form blocking the doorway to her office. The way his broad jaw thrust forward added an unusual look of aggression to his generally laid-back appearance. As did his stance, rigidly straight, hands at his sides as if ready for some dark-alley shoot-out.

  ‘Just what on earth do you think you’re doing?’

  Kate shrugged. ‘Investigating.’

  ‘Is that why you were just holding hands with Ty Garrison? Is that the way you investigate?’

  When Kate made no reply, Jeff’s voice grew louder. ‘You’re not playing test scores at your highfaluting little college now. The driver of that truck meant to harm you. You’d better start putting two and two together, young lady. You had just left Swen’s ranch. No one but them knew you were anywhere in the area. Swen wanted to stop your prying, so he sent Garrison after you. So tell me, what do you mean getting all chummy with Ty Garrison, of all people?’

  Kate thought she saw a spark of something – was it jealousy – in his eyes. She looked at him with surprise. Could Jeff harbour a special interest in her and was that the source of his sometimes merciless teasing? No, she had pegged that correctly from the beginning when she had chalked his attitude down to petty professional envy, envy that was surfacing again now.

  Jeff stepped closer to her, hands on his hips. ‘Even though you seem to think you’re invisible, the whole town saw you with him.’

  ‘I needed information,’ Kate said. ‘Ty believes we may be dealing with professional cattle rustlers who are hitting both ranches.’

  ‘Of course, he’d say that,’ Jeff replied caustically, ‘to divert suspicion away from himself.’

  Kate knew that Jeff wasn’t going to listen. His mind was dead set against the Double S. He had already pegged Ty and Swen as co-conspirators. But Kate wasn’t that hasty to make a judgment. Kingsley’s being able to identify th
e cattle rustlers could very well have been the cause of his murder. But if someone were rustling cattle from both ranches, and the thefts hadn’t stopped with Kingsley’s death, Swen and Ty might also be in danger.

  ‘I want you to back off, Kate,’ Jeff said belligerently. ‘I’ll handle the Double S myself.’

  ‘I can’t do that. My investigation.…’

  ‘Not just yours, Kate,’ he cut her off. ‘Mine, too.’

  For a short time, when he had accompanied her to Casper, Jeff and Kate had been able to work on the case together harmoniously. Now, Jeff seemed once more her opposition. All along she had chalked up his attitude to petty rivalry and was able to overlook it, now she felt threatened. If she couldn’t pacify him, trouble would erupt, trouble she might not be able to handle.

  ‘What do you think I should be doing?’

  ‘Certainly not dating Ty Garrison.’

  ‘Ty invited himself to my table. What was I supposed to do, grab my plate and run away? It certainly wasn’t a date.’

  ‘Tell that to Ben, not to me. I’ve seen the way Garrison looks at you.’ Jeff swung around, as if feeling the same flare of anger that was sweeping through her. ‘If you want my opinion, I think you should take yourself off this case!’

  It took some time after Jeff had stormed out for Kate to get back to the task at hand. She finished her research on the computer and concluded that Pauley’s Auction Barn would be her best bet at finding out more about both Swen and Charles Kingsley’s operations.

  Chapter 6

  As Kate approached Pauley’s Auction Barn, the strong scent of hay and cattle made her think of county fairs, of ribbons pinned on prize-winning livestock. The parking lot was crammed with pick-ups and four-wheel drives, many hitched with stock trailers. Kate circled the driveway and found a place to park near the stalls and corrals that spanned the area beyond the main building.

  Kate remained in the Landcruiser watching the milling cattle and the cowboys in worn boots and Stetsons who were speculating over prices and values. Taking on the same appraising manner, Kate left her vehicle and walked along the fence examining the consigned livestock.