He found her with the marshal. She’d opened his shirt and was kneeling by his side. Looked like she’d been crying.
“What’re you doing out here in the open?”
“I thought I could help Marshal Taggart.” She sniffled. “I told you my father’s a doctor, and I’ve helped him with some injuries, even an accidental gunshot wound. The marshal isn’t breathing, but there’s so little blood. I thought maybe I could still—”
“There’s just a little on this side. He was shot with a real big rifle. There’s likely a bigger hole on the other side. Most of the blood prob’ly came out into the gravel under him.”
“How could anyone shoot him from where you were up there? It looks so far away.”
“I don’t know. Maybe some kind of buffalo gun. Not one I know real good, though. This one fired a bigger cartridge than my Henry.”
“I saw the man who did this. Or I think I did. Before you shot at him up there, I peeked around my rock and thought I saw someone in a duster stand up and move into the trees. He looked like he was carrying a rifle with two barrels.”
“Two barrels? You must have real good eyes, Miss, like you told the marshal he had yesterday.” But he was thinking, why had he found signs of only one man? Wouldn’t a gang be more likely to waylay travelers up here? And why wouldn’t he—or they—stick around to pick off him and Miss Shaw? Rob and kill him and then. . . . That didn’t bear thinking about.
“Well, I could see daylight between the two barrels. He was silhouetted for a moment against the morning sky.”
“Hmmm. Maybe one of them tube sights. I saw a buffalo hunter carrying a rifle with a big sight in Abilene a couple years back. Sight was nearly as long as the barrel.” Talk of the long sight made him glance back up the hill. Had the shooter really left the area or was he waiting down the trail, lining up a better shot? Better try to act calm for Miss Shaw’s sake.
“Oh, God. Here we stand talking about a murderer while his victim lies at our feet. What can we do for the marshal?”
“Since we expect to get to Warbonnet today, I’ll tie him over his saddle and take him with us. They’d bury him in town. Course, that’d mean riding all day with his body.”
“Why should you think that would upset me, Mr. Malone?” Kate asked, her voice rising. “Some of my father’s patients died in our house, some in my bed. A couple children my own age or younger. I already have Marshal Taggart’s blood on my hands.” She held them up. “What do you think I shall do, faint?”
“I mighta thought that before today, Miss Shaw, but now I’ve seen the stuff you’re made of.” He recalled her bare back and swallowed hard. Damn, but his mouth was dry. Was he more afraid of the shooter or of being alone with this woman? “I’ll bring the horses over here.”
“And while you’re at it, Mister—Monday—could we just call each other by our given names? I was going to ask the marshal to do that today. We were going to be neighbors. I wanted to meet his wife.” She looked at the body and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.
“All right, Miss Kate. First names. That’d suit me fine.”
Kate sighed in exasperation. Between them, they managed to get the marshal’s body up onto Monday’s shoulder and then onto Taggart’s horse, as Kate steadied the animal. While Monday secured the hands and feet, Kate picked up the marshal’s hat to hang on the saddle horn. “Look at this. Marshal Taggart had a couple letters in his hat. Do you think it would be all right if I kept them for a while and read them? We might be able to contact his wife when the next wagon goes to Laramie.”
“That’s a good idea, Miss Kate,” he said, adjusting the cinch on Taggart’s horse. “You could read ’em on the way.” The sooner they left here, the better. At least they’d be moving targets. And reading the letters might take her mind off the whereabouts of the killer.
He watered the horses while Kate rinsed the blood off her hands. Monday helped her mount, then got aboard himself.
They rode out of the creek bottom and rejoined the wagon track north. Monday reloaded his Henry before they topped the first rise. He squinted at the track ahead, then turned in his saddle to check their back trail. He didn’t return the rifle to its scabbard.
Chapter Four
Monday
The Wagon Trail
Kate marveled at how Monday could lead Sam Taggart’s horse, guide his own mount, and hold onto his rifle. The smell of Taggart’s blood must have unsettled her horse. She had to control him with both hands. Finally she saw Monday’s secret. He’d looped his reins over his saddle horn. He saw her looking and grinned.
“I’m guiding him with my knees, Miss. He’s a good enough cow pony to turn on a biscuit and not break the crust.” He smiled, but she knew it was to divert her from the danger they still faced. He was riding this way to keep his rifle ready. Ready for meeting whomever killed Sam Taggart. And who had killed the marshal? Had those Indians come back in the night? Could it have been robbers? Were they watching her and Monday right now? She looked behind them. As far as she could tell, nothing moved anywhere. No birds chirped. Not even a hawk to be seen in the cloudless sky.
After half an hour of careful travel through empty grassland and the occasional stand of trees, Kate opened the first letter.
“Marshal Taggart was writing to his wife in Julesburg. He says he started this letter in Laramie and would finish it in Warbonnet and tell her what the people were like. He even mentioned me. He said. . . .” She sniffled, then cleared her throat.
“He said Emma would like me and would start wishing again that they’d had a daughter.” She blinked to hold back tears. Taggart seemed to have liked her as much as she admired him. It was outrageous that someone had killed him so callously. If only she could do something about it. She busied herself returning the letter to its envelope, sniffling once or twice, then brought out the second letter and scanned it, brushing stray hairs back from her face.
“This is his hiring letter. It confirms what he told us. The town council in Warbonnet hired him sight unseen, based on his reputation and his responses to their previous two letters. He was supposed to arrive by the end of this month. That would have made us a pair.”
“Miss?”
“The town council hired me sight unseen, too. I graduated in May from Miss Bishop’s Normal School in Seneca Falls. The school gets requests for teachers every winter.” She sighed as she put the letter away. “My friends and I talked about the women’s suffrage law passed in Wyoming last December and wondered if any of us would be hired out here. You know, become the first of us to vote. I was surprised Miss Bishop recommended me and the town council accepted me.
“Women vote in Wyoming?”
“They do now, Mister Malone. What is your opinion on that? I should like to know.”
“Don’t know as I have an opinion.” He squinted at the sun. “What does voting get you?”
“Why, it gives women a voice in government. It lets us express our views and gives some weight to them—as much weight as you men have. Now we get to vote right alongside you, or at least we can here in this territory. Nowhere else but Utah yet.”
They rode for another hour in awkward silence. Kate noticed Monday stood in the saddle every so often to look back. Each time the wagon track went over a rise, he had her pull to one side, then they circled and rejoined the track on the other side. They never rode directly over the top of even a small hill. He said nothing about these precautions, but he seemed concerned about pursuit. Or maybe another ambush.
“You said on Saturday you were just going to ride with us as far as Warbonnet and then go on to Montana. Why do you want to go to Montana? Monday.” She realized she sounded too brusque and added his name as an afterthought.
“Me and Lightning sort of wandered up here. Montana’s where Nelson Story took his outfit four years ago. Supposed to be plenty of jobs for cowboys up there.”
“Lightning? Your horse is named Lightning?” Kate laughed. “He didn’t move too fast afte
r we saw those Indians yesterday.” Her smile evaporated. So much had happened since then. A restless night after she’d seen the Indians. Now the marshal was dead, and Warbonnet was getting ever nearer. Her great adventure wasn’t so appealing any more.
“I didn’t name him Lightning for his speed, Miss Kate. Him and me dodged real lightning near the Red River back in May. My last real friend got killed in that stampede.” He scowled. “I was riding his second best horse that day. At the back of the herd, as usual. So I survived again while somebody else died in my place.”
She sensed the bitterness in his voice. Again? Did he mean Mary Ellen?
Monday patted the neck of his buckskin horse. “Randy called him ‘Laredo’ then. I settled on a new name.” He brightened a bit. “Marshal Taggart told me women and Easterners like to name their horses right off. Got a name for your horse yet?”
“I only rented this horse, but Mr. Dillon said I could send him fifty dollars if I wanted to keep him. He seems gentle enough and I like the heart-shaped blaze on his forehead. Perhaps I’ll call him Valentine.”
Monday laughed, took off his hat, and slapped it against his leg.
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny?”
“Valentine. He ain’t a stallion, teacher. He’s a gelding. That’s a right fine romantic name for a neutered horse.”
Kate felt the color rise in her cheeks. Why had she ever thought Western men treated women respectfully? First, he hadn’t been impressed by her long journey from the East. Today, he wasn’t impressed by women’s right to vote here in Wyoming. Now he was making fun of what little she knew about horses. At least she could tell it wasn’t a mare.
She bit back retorts about her education and knowing both her parents—her true, live parents—and asked, “Do you think we might stop for something to eat and drink soon?”
“I was thinking on that myself, Miss Kate. How about that stand of trees up ahead? It’ll give us some shade and you some privacy.” And some cover, too, no doubt, remembering Monday’s careful looks behind them. But she said nothing.
When they stopped, Monday dismounted, tied off his horses’ reins, and came to help her get down. She stiffened as he approached.
“Come on, Miss Kate. This ain’t gonna be like Saturday when we got you down after your first morning’s ride. You’re well saddle broke by now and prob’ly don’t need a hand from me.”
Kate looked down at Monday, brought her right leg over the saddle, turned her back to him, and came down so quickly he had to back away to keep from being kicked. At the last moment, though, her stiff left knee betrayed her, and she sagged against Valentine. Monday reached for her, but she grabbed the saddle horn and cantle.
“No,” she snapped, her cheek against the saddle and her eyes closed against the sudden pain. “Thank you. I can walk by myself today.” She limped off toward the trees. When Kate returned, Monday had one saddle bag open and their canteens placed on his unrolled blanket. He’d folded her sleeping blanket several times to form a pad for her to sit on. How considerate.
“Just the last of the biscuits and some cheese. But we each get a whole apple.”
“You’re the first school teacher I ever met,” Monday continued as they ate. “Abilene had a school, but I never saw any teachers. Wasn’t in session when we let off steam after those drives.”
“I should think not. Two of my classmates accepted positions in Kansas and they’re probably fending off unwelcome advances from friends of yours at this very moment. I decided to come farther west.” She finished her apple and reached around behind her to give the core to Valentine. She reached too far and gasped at the sudden spasm in the small of her back.
“This is a big adventure for you, Miss Kate. You’re a long way from home all alone.” Monday took off his hat and played with the strings nervously. “No beau waiting for you back in Buffalo?”
The question caught her off guard. She’d cried so many tears after Stuart’s death, but no one had mentioned him in years.
“No, no one,” she said in a small voice, looking away. Maybe he’d think she was just being shy. “I’ve had some callers, but not so many as my sister Nettie.”
“That’s all right then. You’ll have a whole townful of suitors when you get to Warbonnet.” Monday stood straight up out of his cross-legged position in one easy fluid motion that she envied.
“Marshal said yesterday there were maybe a hundred and thirty souls in and around Warbonnet. With the fifteen kids you said would be in your school, I’d reckon maybe ten or twelve wives then, and about ninety unmarried men. I think you’re gonna end up surrounded by men—just like the Alamo.” He chuckled while he hung the canteens on their saddle horns.
Kate chose not to rise to the bait. She’d been weighing aspects of the murder during the morning ride and had come up with the makings of a plan. She’d need Monday’s cooperation, and he might take some convincing.
Her mother would have said, “Better to pour on a little honey while you can, if you’re going to have to serve vinegar later.”
“I’ll need a little help to get up, please,” Kate said, offering her hand. Monday helped her to her feet. At Valentine’s side, Kate reached back and placed Monday’s hands on her waist so he could help her up. She waited for a long moment, knowing he was standing so close that he could smell her hair. When she nodded that she was ready, he lifted her until she got her left foot into its stirrup, then eased the other leg over. It hurt a little, but she smiled down sweetly at him. She hoped he didn’t think she was grinning like a ninny at the prospect of ninety suitors. They probably wouldn’t have ninety teeth among them.
Monday brought the other horses over and got up smoothly. He left his rifle in its scabbard this time. He told her he figured by the progress of the sun that they might make Warbonnet in only a few more hours. The land began to flatten out into more gentle hills and sloped gradually toward the Platte River. Monday looked around at the first rise, but seemed to relax a little when they crossed over the next two without incident.
* * * * *
Kate finally broke an hour’s silence. Better ease into this.
“Monday, I’ve been thinking about the marshal’s murder. Doesn’t it seem like the killer was only interested in him and not at all in us?”
“That’s the way I read it, too, Miss Kate. I didn’t see any sign of more than one man up there. One very patient man. He waited all night above that creek on the best lookout at the best possible campsite. Remember the marks of all those other campfires? Anybody going our way must camp there.” He took off his hat and wiped his brow, then put it back on.
“He waited ’til the light was real good, then made sure there were only the two of us in the marshal’s party. After that, he waited again, ’til we got back from our chores and he could see us real clear, before he took his one shot and skedaddled. All that and his special rifle makes it look to me like he only wanted the marshal.”
Kate was impressed by his ability to list so many details. Perhaps he was capable of what she had in mind—if he’d agree to it. She still feared he might reject her plan outright.
“I can only think of two reasons why someone might shoot a new marshal en route to a town that hired him without seeing him,” she said. “One is that someone doesn’t want the town to have a lawman yet. The second reason is more personal. Maybe someone in Warbonnet knows Marshal Taggart. Maybe the marshal would recognize that someone. That could threaten that person or even land him in jail.”
Mr. Clemens would be proud of her willingness to follow up on this, to investigate. He’d told her, “Truth goes out in public so seldom these days, most folks wouldn’t recognize her if they saw her.” Of course, he’d been talking about the newspaper business, not murder. Perhaps finding a killer would have something in common with researching a newspaper story. She hoped it wouldn’t be too dangerous.
“Well, I’ll allow it don’t look like anyone was set on robbing us,” Monday said, tugging his
ear, “but I hadn’t thought why anyone would shoot a brand new marshal who hadn’t even picked up his star yet. I mean, new to this territory. I enjoyed Marshal Taggart’s stories about Colorado and Kansas near as much as you did. I reckon he was only gonna be a greenhorn to Wyoming, just like you. Like I’ll be in Montana.”
“I read that term in a dime novel, I think. Isn’t a ‘greenhorn’ a young steer?”
“‘Greenhorn’ can mean a newcomer, like somebody from back East. The marshal was no green lawman and I’m no green cowboy. Reckon you’ll be a greenhorn teacher your first year.”
They topped a rise and paused to look at the distant shimmering Platte River.
“What do you think will happen, Monday, when we get to Warbonnet?” Maybe she should use the direct approach now. She tried to swallow her rising nervousness.
“I reckon they’ll give Marshal Taggart a nice burial and start looking for a new lawman. They’ll be mighty glad their pretty new schoolteacher made it through safe. Might even stand the cowboy who helped her to a real fine meal before he rides on.” He began to urge his horse forward, but Kate didn’t move. He had to stop Lightning and Taggart’s horse.
“That’s what I’d like to talk to you about.” She chose her words like feeling melons in a greengrocer’s shop. “If the town advertises for a new marshal and gets one before the end of the year, do you think he could catch Taggart’s killer?”
“Well, I’m no peace officer, nor even a stock detective, but I’d reckon not. Trail’d be cold by then, and you’d be the only witness, since I’ll be off snapping broncs on somebody’s winter range in Montana. Can’t see what else the town could do, though. If someone who lived there could be marshal, they’d have already hired him.”
“That sounds right to me. I’m sure you’re correct that the killer will probably never be caught and will likely get away with this cowardly ambush. That means I’ll be living in the same town as a murderer.” She shivered, then pressed on.
Murder for Greenhorns Page 4
