A Gideon Johann Boxed Set Book 1 - 4 (A Gideon Johann Western 0)

by Duane Boehm

The sky was cloudless, allowing the sun to dry out Last Stand after the downpour two nights earlier. Gideon precariously crossed the street, managing to navigate without slipping and making a spectacle of himself. The mud had sucked a shoe off his horse, Buck and he was headed to the livery stable to get a new one. Blackie, sweat drenched, was pounding a horseshoe on his anvil as Gideon approached.

  “Blackie, I need to get you to reshod Buck. When can you get to it?” Gideon said.

  “As soon as I get that gelding standing there finished, you’ll be next,” Blackie said.

  “I’ll go fetch him right now,” Gideon said as he noticed a rider coming down the sloppy street in a gallop.

  The rider, Carl Hill, spied Gideon and pulled his horse up hard in front of the stable, causing the animal’s rear legs to slide under its self and crash down into a sitting position.

  “Sheriff, I just came from Roy Weaver’s place. I was supposed to help him repair his corral today. He and his squaw are hanging from a tree in their yard. It’s a god–awful sight. They look to have been hanging there awhile,” Carl said.

  Roy Weaver, in his fifties, had lived and ranched around Last Stand all his life. He and the Ute woman that he called Sissy had been together nearly thirty years. The couple tended to keep to themselves, but was well liked in the community.

  “When’s the last time that you saw Roy?” Gideon asked.

  “I was out there last week. I’ve been busy and we agreed that I’d come help him today,” Carl said.

  “I’ll go and see about it. Carl, I’d appreciate it if you would keep this under your hat until I know more. There’s no need to stir folks up until there’s a reason,” Gideon said.

  “You have my word, Sheriff,” Carl said before aiming his horse towards the Last Chance, apparently needing a drink to calm his nerves.

  “Does Roy have any kin around here?” Gideon asked Blackie.

  “His brother died a long time ago and I don’t know where his two kids are. They’re not around these here parts,” Blackie said.

  “Would you get me a buckboard ready and put some tarps in it? I’ll go find Finnie and see if Doc wants to ride along,” Gideon said.

  “I’ll do it. Go ahead and bring Buck back,” Blackie said.

  Gideon tracked down Finnie and then persuaded Doc to ride along after insisting that the bodies be examined and warning that he doubted that the remains would be fit for bringing into the doctor’s office. Doc sat with Gideon on the bench seat as the sheriff maneuvered the team of horses on the three miles of muddy roads to the Weaver homestead. Finnie rode his own horse, having no desire to ride in the back of the wagon with the bodies on the return into town.

  The bodies could be spotted swaying in the breeze as the wagon headed up the driveway. The hair on the back of Gideon’s neck stood on end and a cold chill ran up his back, making him shudder at the sight. Roy and Sissy looked badly discolored and were starting to bloat. From the appearance of their clothes and hair, they had obviously died before the rains. Their hands were tied behind their backs and Sissy’s face was contorted into a mask of agony with her eyes still open and bulging.

  Doc rubbed his chin as he gazed at the bodies. “May God have mercy on their souls. Those poor people. Sissy wasn’t heavy enough to break her neck. She strangled to death,” he said as he studied the bodies

  Gideon climbed down from the wagon and circled the corpses. “Well, I’d say we have a couple of murders on our hands unless they knew some way to tie their own hands behind their backs.”

  At that point, Gideon and Doc heard someone running and turned to see Finnie dash behind a tree before heaving.

  “Get their bodies down and I’ll take a look at them,” Doc said.

  Waiting until Finnie composed himself, Gideon motioned him over to the bodies. He cut the rope while Finnie secured the cord in his hands and then helped him lower the bodies into the grass as gently as possible. The bodies buckled into macabre positions until the doctor walked over and stretched them out on the ground.

  “You two go on and look around or whatever it is that you intend to do and leave me be,” Doc said.

  They found the cabin undisturbed. Two plates of food sat on the table half eaten and Roy’s rifle and shotgun hung on the wall. Rain had washed away any signs of tracks. Gideon trudged back towards the doctor knowing that he had no clues to determine the murderers while Finnie sat down on the porch, not wanting to return to the bodies.

  “What can you tell me about things?” Gideon asked as he approached.

  “Roy put up a good fight. He has a good deal of bruising all over his body, including his knuckles. Sissy has bruises on her arms where they held her. I don’t think she was raped, but she had an absolutely gruesome death,” Doc said.

  “Roy must not have been suspicious of whoever it was. His guns are still on the wall. They were in the middle of eating and I don’t think they were robbed. Nothing looks disturbed. There had to be at least two people to do this,” Gideon said.

  “I would say so. Roy and Herman Ross had a feud years ago over the open range between their ranches. They both thought that they had a right to it. Sheriff Fuller had to come out to calm things down when Herman threatened to kill Roy. That was a long time ago and I don’t know how things were these days,” Doc said.

  “Let’s roll the bodies into the tarps. I hope Finnie can help me lift them into the wagon if they are wrapped,” Gideon said.

  Doc said, “I guess I can help if he can’t. I’d think that Finnie would’ve seen enough carnage in the war that this kind of thing would not bother him.”

  “I think seeing this brings all that back to mind. Some things are better off forgotten,” Gideon said.

  After they had each body rolled into a tarp, Gideon waved at Finnie to join them. The Irishman still looked pale and said little as they lifted the bodies into the wagon and headed back to town. Once there, they left the bodies with the cabinetmaker before Gideon returned the wagon and retrieved the newly shod Buck.

  His first order of business involved riding to the edge of town to see the retired Sheriff Fuller. He found the old sheriff out in the yard cleaning fish while puffing on his pipe and blowing smoke plumes like a chimney.

  “Gideon Johann, what brings you my way? I bet you came for a fish dinner,” Sheriff Fuller said.

  “I wish I was. Somebody hanged Roy Weaver and his wife. Doc said that he and Herman Ross had some bad blood. I wanted to see what you thought about it,” Gideon said.

  Sheriff Fuller removed the pipe from his mouth and placed it on his workbench. “That’s a shame. Roy was a pretty good fellow even if he was a little odd. I don’t think he and Sissy were ever actually married. Sure hate to hear such terrible news.”

  “Do you think Herman could have done it? I understand that he threatened Roy. It took more than one person to pull this off,” Gideon said.

  “That squabble was a good ten years ago. I’d think Herman would have settled that a long time ago if he were going to do it. He just said that in the heat of the argument. I don’t think Herman or his boys are capable of being killers. I guess I’ve seen stranger things happen, but that one would be a shock,” Sheriff Fuller said.

  “Thanks, I think I’ll go have a talk with him just the same. I’d sure come back and have some fish if I’d get an invite,” Gideon said, grinning at the old sheriff.

  “You know that you’re always welcome. You come back here for lunch anytime that you want. I could use the company,” Sheriff Fuller said.

  Riding back on the same road that he had traveled earlier that day, Gideon rode past the Weaver place down to the Ross homestead. He found Herman sitting on his porch mending tack. The rancher was a tall man and thin as a rail. His long legs and arms seemed to point in all directions as he worked on the leather.

  “What brings you all the way out here, Sheriff?” Herman asked as Gideon dismounted.

  “Roy Weaver and Sissy were found hanged in their yard. I wanted to know if
you saw anything unusual the last few days or know of anybody that might want to kill them,” Gideon said and watched the shocked expression come over Herman’s face.

  “That’s terrible. Even Roy didn’t deserve that. If you are asking me if I did it, the answer is no,” Herman said.

  “I understand that you once threatened to kill Roy,” Gideon said.

  “Sheriff, that was years ago and I said it when Roy and I were in a screaming match. I never meant it and if I were going to kill Roy, I would’ve done it a long time ago. I’m not going to lie and tell you that we were best friends, but we had gotten to the point where we greeted each other when we crossed paths. We quit fighting over that land and our cattle often grazed together,” Herman said.

  “What about your boys?” Gideon asked.

  Herman stood and color came to his face. “Listen here, Sheriff, my boys wouldn’t do nothing like that. Fact is, Roy always treated my boys good even when we were feuding. They wouldn’t hurt him or Sissy.”

  “So you have no idea who would do this?” Gideon said.

  “No, sir, I do not. Makes me kind of nervous for the family and me. I’ll be looking over my shoulder, that’s for sure,” Herman said.

  “Can I see the back of your hands?” Gideon asked.

  Herman held up his hands. They looked red and weather–beaten, but showed no signs of cuts or bruises.

  “Keep your eyes open and if you see anything unusual, you come and get me,” Gideon said before riding away.

  On the ride back to town, Gideon analyzed his conversation with Herman. The rancher seemed genuinely surprised about the murders and sincere in his answers. Based on the rancher’s demeanor, he tended to believe that Herman had been telling the truth, but he wasn’t ready to mark him off his list of suspects just yet.

  Chapter 7

  Smiling with amusement, Mary watched the visitor in the fine suit pause in the doorway of the Last Chance. He stood there looking all around as if he were sizing up the place and trying to decide if it were fit for him to set foot in. Whatever drinking establishments the man had been in previously, she felt sure that he had never visited anything like her saloon. The noonday crowd had thinned out and very few patrons remained. After the stranger seemed to decide that there were no desperados hanging around the place, he cautiously entered and sat down with his back to the wall at the table that Gideon always used.

  Mary walked over to him. “Welcome to the Last Stand Last Chance Saloon. What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a glass of whiskey,” he said in a Boston accent.

  “Do you want the stuff that the cowboys around here drink or the good stuff?” Mary asked.

  The stranger smiled. “I better have the good stuff. Otherwise, I might begin singing “Buffalo Gals” and make a spectacle of myself.”

  “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Mary said.

  “Not if you ever heard me sing,” he joked.

  Mary left to pour the drink and after returning with the whiskey, she said, “May I ask you your name?”

  “John. And yours?”

  “Mary.”

  “Would you sit with me if you have the time? I’m trying to learn about Last Stand,” John said before rising and pulling a chair out for her.

  Mary sat down at the table. “I’m from Indiana originally so I don’t know as much as some. From what I understand, settlers came here to raise cattle because of the good grasslands and plenty of water runoff from the mountains. It’s a good little town.”

  “So it is not one of those wild places that we are always reading about back east?” John asked before taking his first sip. “That is pretty good whiskey.”

  “We’re certainly not Dodge City. Not since Gideon came back and became sheriff. Sheriff Fuller got old and things were not being tended to like they should. Gideon cleaned that up, though a couple was just found hanged on their ranch. It’s got everybody quite upset,” Mary said.

  “Really? That seems queer. And nobody has a clue on the murderers?” he said.

  “I haven’t talked to Gideon about it, but from what I hear, some think it’s a neighboring rancher and others say that there is no way that Herman Ross is capable of murder,” she said.

  “So, Sheriff Gideon is a friend of yours, I take it?” John asked.

  “We are friends. He’s a good man and we look out for each other. It’s good to have the sheriff on your side when you are a woman running a saloon,” Mary said.

  John chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure that it is.”

  “Where are you from, John?” she asked.

  “Boston,” he replied.

  “What brings a man all the way from Boston out here to Last Stand, Colorado?” Mary asked.

  Smiling and letting out a small sigh, John said, “That’s a long story and for another day. I’m the paying customer and I get to ask the questions at least for today.”

  With her many encounters with men over the years, Mary had developed a keen sense of judging character. She liked John and could spot no malice in the man. There was no doubt much more to his story than he seemed willing to tell, but she didn’t see anything sinister in his motives. “What more do you want to know?” she asked.

  “Does a town like Last Stand have a doctor?” he asked.

  “It does. Doc Abram has been around here forever. In fact, I think he went to medical school in Boston. He likes to pretend to be a grouchy old man, but he’s really a sweetheart,” Mary said.

  “But is he a good doctor?” John asked.

  “He’s fixed me up a time or two. If you need to see him, don’t worry. He’s good at what he does,” she said.

  “I take it that the doctor is also a friend of yours?” he said before taking another drink.

  “He is. Some people look down on me for running a saloon and my past, but Doc was never judgmental. He treated me the same as everybody else – which can be a bit brusque at times,” Mary said and laughed.

  “Well, I can see why you have so many friends. Is your Sheriff Gideon friends with the doctor also?” John said.

  “Gideon doesn’t have a lot of friends, but Doc is one of them. I think Doc is kind of our stand–in father for us that don’t have one,” Mary said.

  “I see. Doesn’t the doctor have his own family?” John inquired.

  “No. He’s been a bachelor his whole life as far as I know. You sure are curious about Doc and Gideon,” she said.

  “I’m just trying to learn about some of the pillars of the community. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Mary,” John said before tipping his glass and drinking the last of his whiskey and paying her.

  Mary watched him walk out of the saloon, carrying himself with command and presence. He certainly piqued her interest and what John from Boston didn’t know was that she was determined to figure out why he had arrived in Last Stand.

  After putting away the leftover food from lunch, Mary walked to the jail. She found Gideon at his desk and Finnie sitting across from him. Both men seemed distracted and barely gave her a greeting.

  Mary plopped down in a chair beside Finnie. “You two aren’t very friendly. Makes a girl feel unwelcome.”

  Gideon ran his hand through his mop of hair. “Sorry, Mary. We’re sitting here trying to figure out why Roy and Sissy were hanged and who the murderers might be. We don’t have much to go on unless we assume that Herman Ross did it and I don’t think that he did. I certainly don’t have any evidence to accuse him of doing it.”

  “You didn’t think you were going to solve Minnie Ware’s murder either and you did. You’ll figure it out,” Mary said.

  “I hope you’re right,” Gideon said.

  “John, the stranger that came in on the stage, stopped into the Last Chance. We had a nice talk. He’s from Boston,” Mary said.

  Finnie sat up in his chair at the mention of John. “Did you learn anything about him? I looked at the register at the hotel and you couldn’t even read his name. He doesn’t want anybody to know wh
o he is and I think he’s up to no good. It’s mighty suspicious that he shows up and two days later, we have two murders. I think we need to talk to him.”

  Gideon rubbed his cheek and sighed. “This John apparently doesn’t know a soul in town. I don’t think he committed the murders by himself and I don’t know how he would have known where Roy lived or how to get out there. I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Mary chimed in, “He has hands that are softer than mine. I doubt he’s done an ounce of manual labor in life. He doesn’t strike me as a killer.”

  Finnie grabbed the arms of the chair and resituated himself in agitation. “I’ve been thinking that maybe the killer tied up Sissy when Roy was gone and then waited for him. He could have waylaid him. One person could have done it that way.”

  Mary chortled. “That might be true, but that still doesn’t put John at Roy’s place. You think you have it all figured out. I can’t see that you’re much good in figuring anything out.”

  Offended, Finnie asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” Mary replied.

  Gideon interrupted the conversation. “I take it that you were impressed with John and I would guess that you used your womanly intuition that you are so proud of to size him up. Did you learn anything about him?” he asked, failing to conceal his disdain for Mary’s ability to know what he felt even when he didn’t want her to know.

  “I do like him, but he doesn’t want to talk about himself. He seems like a very nice man to me, but he’s here for a reason and I plan to figure it out. He was awfully curious about you and Doc,” she said.

  “Maybe it was to murder Roy and Sissy,” Finnie said, still not willing to let his theory die.

  Ignoring Finnie, Mary looked at Gideon and said, “Don’t you find it odd that they were hanged instead of shot. Shooting them would have been a lot easier. It’s almost like they were handed down sentences and then executed.”

  “I thought about that too. There’s something just not quite right about this whole thing. The pieces don’t fit the puzzle. I wonder why this John was asking about Doc and me,” Gideon said.