“I think the only thing to do is solve the murder ourselves and find the killer.” She swallowed hard. Now it was out of the bag.
Monday pulled Lightning’s reins so hard the horse backed up and bumped Taggart’s mare. “What did you say, Miss Kate? How can we do anything about this murder when we didn’t even see the killer, except for your quarter-mile look? And why would anyone let us do that—a schoolteacher and a cowboy?”
“Nobody knows what we saw but you and me, Monday. You’re right that they would never let a new schoolteacher and a drifting cowboy have a hand in this matter. But what if they believed the victim was really only a cowboy who was riding with us? They ought to want their new marshal to solve this crime as soon as he’s sworn in.”
“Now, hold on. Talk sense. Taggart’s dead, and we both know he must’ve been the target.”
“But nobody else knows that except the killer and us. If you were to ride in with me, carrying Sam Taggart’s letters in your pocket, knowing all he told us about marshaling—don’t interrupt me, please! If we claimed the marshal was just some cowboy traveling with us when he was murdered, why wouldn’t the people of Warbonnet take our word for it? How could those ninety suitors you teased me about, my fifteen pupils, and their mothers and fathers doubt us?”
“Miss Kate, that’s a plumb crazy notion. Nobody would believe I’m old enough to be Sam Taggart. Besides, I don’t know nothing about being a real lawman. And I need to get to Montana while the weather’s good and there are still jobs to be had.”
“I hear all your objections, Monday, but be reasonable. The weather’s going to be fine in Montana for a few more months. You’d only have to pretend for a couple weeks, at the most.
“And I could help you,” she went on before he could respond. “I’ve read lots of mysterious stories about villains, killers, and blackmailers. I worked on a newspaper last summer, so I know how to ask questions. I was always good at puzzles.” She hurried on.
“We both know all the stories Marshal Taggart told us about big arrests he made, gunfights he survived, and how to handle rowdies. People would believe you’re twenty-five or twenty-six. And you already know all about horses, and tracking, and guns.”
“Miss Kate, you had your say. Now you listen to me. You’re not thinking straight. There’s more at stake here than you know. This ain’t a game nor a puzzle. For one thing, you’re safer if the killer thinks he got the right man and I just ride away. If I stay and we raise a big fuss about finding that bushwhacker, he’s gonna be coming after us. He must have looked at both of us through that gunsight this morning. He saw a darn sight more of you than he did me.”
Kate wrinkled her brow. What did that mean? Then it came to her. Her bath this morning. She began to color and opened her mouth, but Monday went on.
“Yes, Miss Kate, I was down behind those willows filling our canteens this morning when you washed up. But you had your back to me the whole time, and I swear I never saw nothing,” he added, raising both hands. “But that man across the river, he musta watched you from the front when you were drying off, and he didn’t turn his attention to the marshal ’til you dressed and run off.” He blushed and reached for his canteen.
Kate sawed on Valentine’s reins so hard the little gelding began to dance about. She was about to accuse Monday of spying on her, but she saw from his obvious embarrassment that he’d probably wilt under such an attack. There might be a way for one last appeal.
The other night, Taggart told her Monday had approached him in Laramie about riding north just before she met the marshal. He said the young cowboy seemed anxious to ride with them. Today, Monday was wearing the clothes she’d seen drying at the livery stable that first afternoon. He must’ve been in the barn and heard her ask Mr. Dillon about an escort. He’d signed on to ride with the marshal just so he could accompany her north. He’d stared at her last night when he was supposed to be standing guard and watched her bathe this morning without making a gentlemanly retreat. He was obviously infatuated with her. She took a deep breath.
“Listen, Monday. I could try to look into this murder all by myself—and I shall if you don’t help me. I’ve heard all you said about ‘no experience,’ ‘too young,’ and ‘I have to get to Montana.’ They’re good arguments. But I need your help. I have no one else to turn to, and I don’t know if I can do this alone.” Her eyes started to burn and she blinked rapidly.
“I need to know if you’ll agree to play Sam Taggart and help me for no better reason than just because I ask you to. Please.”
* * * * *
Monday sat stock-still on Lightning. The horse kept rock steady when he wanted him to, but he felt his head begin to spin when Kate asked for help this way. He blinked and watched the horizon go awry, then saw Kate on her horse slide away from his field of vision. Monday closed his eyes and imagined he saw Warbonnet Peak behind them and had a vision of Sam Taggart riding and laughing as he did yesterday. He saw Major Malone with only one arm. Mary Ellen appeared, bleeding to death in his arms in the dusty street of Manzanita.
Finally, he saw Kate as she’d looked washing up at the creek, bare to the waist. But in this vision, Kate turned toward him and smiled, showing him what he’d wished he could see this morning. He closed his eyes more tightly, squeezing back tears, then opened them and saw a clothed Kate looking at him with concern from her seat on Valentine.
He took another swig from his canteen and managed to say, “All right, Miss Kate. If you’re dead set on doing this, I figure I’d better help you.”
Chapter Five
Monday
Warbonnet
Monday and Kate dismounted and discussed their plans in earnest. She handed him Taggart’s letters. He took the chaps and slicker from atop his bedroll and secured them behind Taggart’s saddle. Sam Taggart would become a cowboy who’d been riding with them. They went over all they knew of Taggart’s background, his hiring, and anything else they might be asked about. In an hour, they were ready to ride on.
They’d stopped on the last rise before descending to the North Platte River, which sparkled in the late afternoon sun. The pair rode westward, parallel to the river for a long while, before they finally saw Warbonnet. It stood on the southern bank, the near shore. One street ran parallel to the river and the beginnings of a cross street faced them at the eastern end.
Monday drank from his canteen and stared. Hell! Warbonnet was even smaller than his home town of Manzanita. How could a hundred and thirty people live in so few houses? Maybe some lived on farms and ranches, or at the mines. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kate register disappointment, too. But she only hesitated for a moment before riding down the hill.
They could see the deep ruts of the Oregon Trail that passed between the town and the river. On the far side, wagons had circled for the night next to another trail. Here and there on the slope above the town some small outbuildings huddled. The closest end of the cross street was anchored by a barn with corrals out back. They headed there.
Their arrival caused no stir. They reined in at the livery stable as a tall, lean man with a hawk nose and bushy black beard came out wiping his hands.
“Evening, folks. Welcome to Warbonnet. I see you met with some misfortune on the trail. Did you come from Cheyenne or from Laramie?”
“From Laramie, Mister. . . .”
“Sorry, Miss. I get to talk so little durin’ the day, ’cept to horses and my partner, I sometimes forget my manners. I’m Josiah Fitch, proprietor of this here livery and stock emporium. Folks hereabouts call me Joe.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fitch. We’re pleased to meet you and glad to arrive here somewhat safely. I’m Katherine Shaw. We met with more than misfortune today. This is the body of an unfortunate cowboy who was traveling with us. He was murdered from ambush this morning.”
“Well, dang, Miss Shaw. I know you. You’re the new schoolmarm. I’m on the town council. We sent ya a couple letters. Folks’ll sure be powerful glad to see you. We’ll hav
e to report this killin’ to the marshal, when he arrives. We’re expectin’ him any day now.”
Kate glared at Monday, who finally spoke. “The marshal knows already, Mr. Fitch. I’m, uh, Sam Taggart, the new marshal. I brought Miss Shaw up the wagon track from Laramie.” He got down, pulled off his right glove, and shook Fitch’s hand.
“Well, this is great news. I mean, it’s terrible for this poor fella, whoever he is, but it’s sure good you were with him and brought him in. Wonder if I know him.” Fitch went over to Taggart’s body and raised the head by pulling on his hair.
“Mr. Fitch! That’s no way to show proper respect for the dead. If you want to see if you recognize the marsh—the man—you should raise his head by tilting his chin.” She looked at Monday to see if he’d noticed her slip. Fitch moved quickly to change his grip.
“Yes, Ma’am. No, I don’t recollect seein’ him before. But then, ranches are gettin’ new cowboys all the time and mines are gettin’ new men. I don’t recall names as well as I used to. I don’t recognize this fella at all.
“But I’m forgetting my manners again. You must be tired and hungry. You’ll want to see the mayor and town council right away, and Doc Gertz will take this body off your hands. Just leave your own horses with me. If you’ll walk that bay mare up to the bank yonder, Mr. Crandall will get the rest of the council together.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fitch,” Kate said as Monday helped her dismount. “I hired my horse from Mr. Dillon in Laramie. We’ll deal with stable arrangements later.” Fitch moved toward the barn with their horses, shouting for “Bull.” Monday led Taggart’s horse past the saloon next door, across the major street and toward the brick bank building on the other corner.
“Well, we got through that,” Kate said in a hopeful tone. “I think we can do this. How do you feel so far?”
“Scared. It’s not like there’s any kind of danger yet in doing this, Miss Kate, but I know I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m lying to my ma.”
“I know. I feel like I’m cheating on an examination, and the whole class knows it. But if we can convince the town council that you’re the marshal, I think everyone else will believe you are who we say.”
A woman came out onto the walk in front of the bank, saw the body on the horse, and scuttled back inside. A moment later, a stout man in a white shirt and tie came out, adjusting a pair of glasses over his ears. He squinted at them, put a fist to his mouth and looked around. Then he came down the two steps from the bank porch and advanced to meet them.
“How do you do, folks? Who do you have there, and what happened to him?” Kate touched Monday’s elbow, so he’d speak first.
“Uh, you must be Mr. Noah Crandall, who wrote me the first letter last spring. I’m M-M-Marshal Sam Taggart. Or at least I’m fixing to be the marshal. This here’s Miss Katherine Shaw, your new schoolteacher.”
Crandall adjusted his glasses again and squinted at Monday before answering. Then he tentatively put out his hand and said, “You’re a little younger than I pictured you, Marshal.”
“Well, sir, folks don’t always look their age, I reckon. Look here at Miss Shaw. I’ll bet you didn’t know she was gonna look like this. Pretty as a picture.”
Kate blushed. Crandall squinted and reddened, then said “Oh my,” smiled broadly, and straightened his tie. “Oh my, oh my, oh my.” At last he remembered to take Kate’s hand. “How was your journey all the way from—Boston, was it?”
“Buffalo, Mr. Crandall. Buffalo, New York. It was quite uneventful all the way to Laramie. It’s only the journey here that has been distressing.” She indicated the body.
“Oh, yes. I quite see what you mean, Miss Shaw. Who is this man?”
“He’s a cowboy we met in Laramie who asked to ride along with us. He was murdered from ambush. Bushwhacked, Marshal Taggart calls it.”
“You don’t say? What a terrible introduction to Wyoming. I hope you won’t think less of Warbonnet for it. This sort of thing seldom happens any more. The cavalry and the Sioux seem to scare off most road agents around here. Well, come along, come along, both of you. The mayor and the rest of the council will be anxious to meet you.” He led her onto the long street. Monday followed, leading Taggart’s horse and listening.
“We thought you were the mayor, Mr. Crandall. You signed both our letters that way.”
“Well, I was, up ’til June. We elect a four-man council for four years, and we take turns being mayor. Ike Hauser’s the mayor until next summer. He runs the hardware store. Oh, here comes Doc Gertz. We want to see him anyway.”
An older man in a hat and coat came out of the saloon walking in the same direction as their party. He turned at the sound of their voices, came down from the duckboards, and hurried across the street. Compact and trim, with gray hair and a matching mustache, he looked about fifty years old. The man reached into his coat pocket and fumbled with glasses.
“I’m the doctor here. Looks like this patient is beyond my help. I see by the copious blood on the back of his shirt that he must have been bushwhacked.” He too raised Taggart’s head by the hair to look at his face. “No, no, I don’t think he’s ever been a patient of mine. Don’t know him. We’ll have to. . . . His voice trailed off as he noticed Kate. He released Taggart’s head and pulled off his own hat. “I’m mighty sorry, Miss. Didn’t see you at first.” He held out his hand. “I’m Doctor Gertz.”
Kate took his hand and smiled at him. “I’m Katherine Shaw, Doctor. I expect we’ll see a lot of each other, since some of my pupils are among your patients.”
“Oh, uh, that’s wonderful, Miss Shaw. I mean, wonderful that you’ll be staying on here in Warbonnet. This town can certainly use someone of your obvious charms. I mean, credentials.” He dropped his hat and picked it back up. Monday tried to keep a straight face. Kate seemed to have the same effect on these men as she had on him that first day in Laramie.
“Doc,” said Crandall, “this is the new marshal, too. Sam Taggart from Julesburg. They were riding with this poor man when he was killed, on the way up from Laramie. Think you could take him now? I reckon Miss Shaw would like to freshen up down at Mrs. Haskell’s. I’ll tell Ike you two are here. After some supper, maybe you’d both come up to the council meeting room.” He pointed back at the outside stairway to the second floor of the bank.
“That would be fine, Mr. Crandall. Marshal Taggart can escort me to Mrs. Haskell’s. Is it down this way?” She gestured down the street.
“Yes, Ma’am. Last house on the left, next to the school. Big porch and blue shutters.”
Doc put his hat back on, tipped it, and he and Crandall took the horse and body to a small building where the doctor’s shingle hung. Monday and Kate walked toward the far end of the street, Monday carrying her valise.
“Oh, my. Do you suppose that is the school?” Kate asked quietly. At the exact end of the street and facing them stood a white building with a little porch, a sagging door, two dark windows, and a small steeple. The late afternoon sunlight glinted on what must be a brass bell.
“Looks like it could use some work. More paint, maybe. But I don’t think there’s going to be any lack of painters and carpenters, once the men around here get a look at you.”
“They do seem to blush and stammer a bit, but so did you at first. You don’t blush now.”
“No, Miss Kate. Reckon I’m more used to you.”
“My acceptance letter said there was no hotel or restaurant in town, but Mrs. Haskell takes in reputable boarders and sets a good table. What did their letter to Taggart say about your accommodations and meals?”
“Said they’d have to discuss them ’rangements. Maybe I’ll just sleep in the jail. Hope it’s in better shape than the schoolhouse.” As they neared the last house, they saw two children on the porch, a dark-haired girl of about nine and a younger boy. The girl noticed them first and ran inside, banging the door. The boy stood open-mouthed, staring at Kate.
“Good evening, young man. Is this the Haskel
l home?”
No response.
“Hey, son,” Monday called out. “Ain’t you never seen a schoolteacher before? You know it ain’t polite to stare.”
That got his attention. The boy managed to say “schoolteacher?” before the door opened and Mrs. Haskell came out. A large, buxom woman with brown hair pulled into a bun, she wore a white apron over her black dress.
“Schoolteacher?” she echoed. “You can’t be Miss Shaw, here already. Roy said we shouldn’t expect you for a while. Good thing we’ve a room or two available. My, but I didn’t think you’d be so young—nor so beautiful, neither. What with your looks and that school, this is surely goin’ to be the busy end of Main Street.” She grinned. When she finally paused for breath, Kate was able to get a word in.
“How do you do, Mrs. Haskell? I’m Kate Shaw, and this is Marshal Sam Taggart. We’ve just come in off the trail. Could we freshen up a bit before supper? We don’t want to inconvenience you if you weren’t expecting us.”
“No, no, Miss Shaw. Kate is it? My own mother was a Kate. And what lovely manners you have. Sally, take Miss Shaw around back and show her the necessary. Buxton, if you can close your mouth and stop starin’ at Miss Shaw, you might show the marshal where to put his hat and hang up his gunbelt. He’ll be wantin’ to clean up before supper, too, I’ll warrant. We’ll eat in about half an hour, Mr. Taggart.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Haskell,” Monday called, as she went back into the house and Sally took Kate’s hand. He stepped up onto the porch as Kate and Sally went around the house.
“Well, Buxton, is it?” Monday asked, tousling the boy’s hair. “You named for a grandpa or something?”
“I’m named for my mother’s whole family, the Buxtons. When Ma and Pa decided I might be the last Haskell, they named me Thaddeus Buxton. I don’t much like Buxton, but it beats bein’ called Thaddeus, if you know what I mean. And Tad makes me feel kinda small.”
Murder for Greenhorns Page 5
