by Lou Cameron
Barca cut in to ask, “Can you prove that one male mummy is the remains of this Ferris gent?” To which Stringer replied, “I don’t have to. Ben Winslow’s made a full confession. He seems to feel he’s been abused by the fickle finger of fate. When you see the tintype of his wife that I swiped you’ll savvy why.”
Barca told him to stick to the main thrust of the story. He replied, “I’m trying to. The assistant county coroner found it a pain in the ass to follow, too. Suffice it to say, the greedy Ben Winslow used some of the money to start his own town. His wicked wife helped him show a profit, right off, by encouraging vice for the transient trade. She seems to have had quite an interest in the subject. She was screwing around behind her rich but no doubt mighty dull husband when things conspired to complicate their lives further. As we were tipped off in the beginning, some honest mule skinners found the mummified remains of the wagon party, and despite all the death threats I showed up, so…”
“Forget those crank notes.” Barca cut in, explaining, “Every prominent newspaper man in town has received one of those dumb cards and the police lab says they were written in iodine, not blood. They expect to catch the crackpot any time, now.”
Stringer shrugged and said, “Whatever. It was confusing enough when I got here.”
He paused to organize his thoughts, aware The Sun was going to be stuck for one hell of a telephone bill, and said, “They were working at cross purpose. Florida was more passionate but coolerheaded and a lot brighter than her husband. He acted a mite more levelheaded than he really was. He kept changing his mind with every shift of the wind and his wife and her secret lover, the town law, considered him a loose cannon on the deck as well as a distraction to their slap and tickle.”
Barca asked, “How did the wife and her boy friend know about the way Winslow got his big grubstake? Were they in on it?”
Stringer said, “No. He was alone on the desert with his pard when they struck it rich and he decided to get richer, in his own impulsive way. But naturally he confided to his wife at some time or other and she just as naturally confided in Hamp Dugan. Women hardly ever cheat on their husbands without low rating them as much as they can, and he was a murderous ghoul, when you get down to bitchy pillow talk. They were in the clear and knew it. Big Ben was in their way. He must have struck them as even more in the way when he ordered the one they called Kid, or Billy Hargrave, to backshoot Calico Warren, under the mistaken impression Calico, not Hamp, was the one hanging around the house when Big Ben was out running his private town.”
Barca said, “Back up, you’re confusing the shit out of me. I thought you told me before that Kid nailed Warren as he was fixing to nail you, out near that wagon.”
Stringer sighed and said, “I had no way of even guessing at the real motive, at the time. Big Ben began by leaning on me and then, when he decided I might be more useful to him alive, acting as an unpaid publicity agent, he decided to cash in on my obvious stupidity in more ways than one. He’d no doubt been pondering some way to have Calico done in, not knowing it was another trusted henchman messing with his wife. As anyone can see, having Hargrave gun Calico in an apparent attempt to save my life worked pretty well. I bought it myself, seeing Kid had no sensible motive to commit coldblooded murder and lie about it.”
Barca said, “Got it. Okay, what about the gunslick who gunned Kid and went after you and Ben Winslow, later?”
Stringer said, “That’s easy. Manson was hired by old Florida. He was after her husband, though nobody gave a shit what happened to me. Florida put at least one of the fancy gals she’d recruited up to trying to cause trouble between Winslow and anyone they could get to listen to the fibs they made up. But, as Big Ben proved in that saloon fight, he was dangerous as hell in his own dim way.”
Barca decided, “He must have been, if that Hamp Dugan was afraid to fight him, mano a mano, for the pretty squaw both of them were sleeping with.”
Stringer said, “Hamp wasn’t afraid to gun his boss, Boss. He just didn’t want to hang for it. They were sure that sooner or later someone would figure out what had really gone on out there on the desert. Meanwhile Big Ben was blowing hot and cold enough to scare the shit out of them. He’d agree to hush the whole thing up and then he’d have greedy notions about charging admission to view the Lowendorf family and his own murdered sidekick. When it came to me that nobody who died back before the Civil War ought to be wearing postwar jeans, I was dumb enough to tell Florida of my suspicions. She must not have known whether to shit or go blind, but she gave us keys to get in at the mummies, and then got word to Hamp Dugan, pronto. The rest reads simple. Knowing I was getting warm, and sure to question Winslow about his recent wealth, once I started adding things up right, they decided to let us kill each other. As luck would have it, Hamp was able to swipe my personal sidearm, making it even easier to work if I hadn’t been packing a mighty big single-shooter under my jacket, just in case. Call me suspicious-natured if you will, but my trust muscles were a mite used up by the time Hamp frogmarched me over to confront his boss.”
As Sam Barca got his last details down on paper at his end, asking questions, they agreed that it didn’t matter whether the spiteful Tessie or some other natural troublemaker had wired in that news tip, knowing the boss of the town was undecided about the best way to deal with mysterious mummies. Such loose ends were likely to come out at the trial, now that Big Ben Winslow had been charged with everything but smallpox.
So they hung up, friendly, and Stringer mosied over to have supper with old Binnie, with some mighty sweet loving for their desserts.
She was a good sport about it when it came time for him to tumble weed on. Neither one of them could have come again on a bet. But as he walked back to the livery, he saw it was later than he’d planned on leaving.
He didn’t want to be caught in Esperanza by daylight, though. So he paid the night hostler his livery bill, saddled up the cordovan barb, and headed out across the moonlit desert. The night was downright cold and the pony well rested and frisky. But sunrise still caught them out on that dusty wagon trace and, by the time they made it into Barstow, they were both so hot and sweaty they never wanted to see one another again.
He turned the pony in at the livery near the rail yards, got his deposit back, and got cleaned up and into a fresh shirt at the public bath across from the depot. So he was feeling human as he boarded the morning varnish for the Cajon Pass and tamer parts. He was feeling even better as he fed himself flapjacks in the forward dining car. He’d just ordered his after breakfast coffee when he spotted that pretty little Miss Grace from the state historical society standing near the entrance as she looked about for an empty table. There was no such thing at this hour, so she looked downright pleased to see Stringer when he got to his feet and waved her on over.
As he seated her across from him she dimpled up at him sweetly and said, “I was afraid I was going to have to read all about it in The San Francisco Sun. They just told me back in Barstow that you’d solved the mystery of those oddly mismatched mummies.”
He sat himself down with a smile and told her, “You were right about the women and children. After that, it gets complicated. But I won’t make you wait to buy a paper, Miss Grace. We’ll have many an hour to talk about it, and with any luck you’ll let me buy you a swell Chinese supper, once we get to Frisco.”
She fluttered her lashes demurely and told him she didn’t know about that, since she was bound for Sacramento and his home base was a mite out of her way. But he didn’t argue. He knew he had all day to change her mind, and gals who fluttered so flirtily at breakfast didn’t have a chance at enjoying supper alone.
THE END
YOU CAN FIND ALL OF LOU CAMERON’S STRINGER SERIES AVAILABLE AS EBOOKS:
STRINGER (#1)
STRINGER ON DEAD MAN’S RANGE (#2)
STRINGER ON THE ASSASSIN’S TRAIL (#3)
STRINGER AND THE HANGMAN’S RODEO (#4)
STRINGER AND THE WILD BUNCH (#5)
STRINGER AND THE HANGING JUDGE (#6)
STRINGER IN TOMBSTONE (#7)
STRINGER AND THE DEADLY FLOOD (#8)
STRINGER AND THE LOST TRIBE (#9)
STRINGER AND THE OIL WELL INDIANS (#10)
STRINGER AND THE BORDER WAR (#11)
STRINGER ON THE MOJAVE (#12)
STRINGER ON PIKES PEAK (#13)
STRINGER AND THE HELL-BOUND HERD (#14)
STRINGER IN A TEXAS SHOOTOUT (#15)
