Murder for Greenhorns

by Kresge, Robert

  “Kate, come on. We’re trying to find a way to get us to the end of this trail tomorrow, if you’re gonna keep your promise to Jonah. Let’s write down real suspects. I had a chance to talk to Mrs. Odom when I walked her home after visiting the bank Saturday night. She said Len came home plenty early on Sunday from his deer hunt, while old man Webb was taking a nap. He can’t alibi Len, but she can. She seemed kinda embarrassed about it.”

  “Um, Martha tells me Jane is sensitive to the fact that they don’t have children and would like Mr. Webb to see a grandchild before he dies. Perhaps when Len came back early. . . .” She let the statement hang there. She hoped she wouldn’t have to explain what she meant.

  “What about Bull Devoe? You said you told him your life story out there on the trail.”

  “Well, he was with me when I saw the rider on the big black horse that day. So he couldn’t have been the shooter and I can’t see him paying anybody else to do it. Since Taggart spent the war in Kansas and never owned any slaves, I can’t see why Bull would want Taggart dead.”

  “All right, I guess we can rule him out. Anybody else?”

  “Well, I know Bert Sundquist claimed to have done some time in a Kansas jail before he came here.” Kate quickly wrote down his name. “But he told me Saturday he really did time in a military stockade. No connection to Sam Taggart that I can see. Besides, with his broken leg, he couldn’t fork a horse that day Bull and I saw the rider on the Cutoff.”

  “All right, I’ll reconsider him.” She put a question mark next to his name. “But at this point, anyone who says he’s lived in Kansas or Colorado ought to be a suspect.”

  “Even Jonah?”

  “No, of course not. If he had anything to do with the murder, why would he admit he knew Sam Taggart and cast suspicion on himself? Besides, he would’ve been preaching in Laramie the day before the murder. We were two days ride north of Laramie when the marshal was shot on a Monday morning. He couldn’t have preached that Sunday morning and ridden two days’ distance by Sunday evening.”

  “I can’t see Ike or Noah having any reason to shoot the marshal. They hired him.”

  Kate looked down at the top of the desk. “Yes, Ike can be ruled out. I hope I can say the same for Noah. I played the most shameful tricks, first on Jeanie the other day, then on her mother yesterday afternoon, after you took the piano back. But it was for their own good. I wanted to clear them, not uncover anyone else’s secrets.” Kate had enough secrets of her own. Why couldn’t she have left the scab over the Crandalls’ wounds? She felt wretched.

  “You know the clock they gave us for the school? I’d seen it the day before and noticed Noah’s last name was spelled ‘Randall’ on a plaque. When they gave it to us, the plaque had been removed. I thought I noticed a similar mark on the piano when I was playing it Saturday night. A plaque had been removed from the cover over the keyboard, but not recently.

  “I lied to Liza. I told her Joey had some trouble writing his last name for me on the school blackboard and squeezed in a “C” between his name and “Randall” at the last minute. She broke down and told me everything. We cried and cried together. It was awful. I’m so ashamed.” She took out her handkerchief.

  “She, Mr. Crandall, Noah.” Kate took a deep breath and went on. “Noah wasn’t a banker in San Francisco. He started by running a shipping business for his brother, Adam, a ship captain. He branched out during the war into marine insurance. There was some concern about the safety of cargoes coming from the Far East and those bound from San Francisco for the East Coast. He made a lot of money, but he got overextended. When the war ended, it was touch and go to see whether he could keep the shipping company and the insurance firm afloat.

  “In the end, he couldn’t. He moved money back and forth, from one company to the other, in an effort to stave off creditors. His reputation suffered, but he counted on Adam arriving with one more cargo and to testify before a court hearing a lawsuit. That would have cleared Noah’s name and his accounts.” Kate dabbed her eyes and looked forlornly at Monday before continuing. He came and took her left hand in his. She didn’t pull away.

  “But his ship never arrived. It went down in a storm between the Sandwich Islands and San Francisco. Noah was found liable by the judge and a mob sacked the home the two brothers shared. Liza was lucky to get the children out. She was struck in the head by a thrown brick. Her eyesight has declined ever since. Noah had some funds in a bank the court didn’t know about and managed to get the family away. He found a way to use that money to start a bank where no one would be looking for him. Warbonnet is still an obscure little town two years later.”

  “That’s a sad story, Kate, but why all the tears? And what does it do to clear Noah in Sam Taggart’s murder?”

  “It doesn’t. That’s just the point. If Taggart had seen a wanted poster on Noah and put that together with the slightly modified family name, he might have, well. . . . Out here in the West, a man can be anyone he says he is, until he meets someone who knows better. Maybe that’s what happened to Sam Taggart, but I don’t believe Noah had anything to do with it.”

  Kate left it at that. Monday had no need to hear the rest of Liza’s confession. She hadn’t been Noah’s wife in San Francisco. She’d been married to his brother. But she and Noah had betrayed Adam more than once while he was at sea. Liza was sure Adam’s death and the destruction of their home was God’s judgment on her. She had nowhere else to go after fleeing California. She and Noah got married in Laramie and she became Mrs. Noah Crandall, wife of the respected banker. No one knew of their deception and Liza begged Kate not to tell what she knew, not even to Noah. She couldn’t tell Monday; she’d just have to hope nothing from Sheriff Boswell would make her regret her decision.

  “What about Roy Butcher?” Kate wiped her eyes. She got up and began to pace.

  “Well, I can’t connect him to the killing. Why would he shoot Taggart? Came from Cincinnati, you said. He looked at the marshal’s face when the coffin was open and I didn’t see anything peculiar in his reaction. His story about the broken wheel checked out all right.”

  Kate put a question mark next to Roy’s name on their short list of suspects and cross-outs. She was working her way mentally up the street, trying to identify suspects by where she first encountered them. She twisted another strand of hair around a finger, then resumed pacing. Several curls hung down the left side of her head.

  “Mr. Webb’s says his arthritis is so painful, he can’t bear to sit a horse. How about Chet Stratman?”

  “Well, maybe a big prosperous saloon owner, with gambling tables and a supply of women of, um, doubtful virtue, might want to keep a lawman out of this town, but Chet’s just scratching out a living. He owes thirty dollars in back taxes, but he’d hardly cancel that by killing the marshal. I couldn’t find any reason for Charlie Simmons, the assayer, either. And I checked on Mark, the bank teller. They were both on the job Monday morning, not out waiting for us on the trail.”

  “What about the farmers?” Kate asked.

  “Neither of them, Oberdorf or Weir, had the horse or rifle. I reckon the only other suspicious person out there is Victor Millbank. You notice he didn’t come to the dance, nor any of his hands either. I don’t know why he’d kill the marshal, but I wonder about his hands.”

  “Oh, God. What with one thing and another, I’d completely forgotten what Jonah told me about them.”

  “What would Jonah know about Millbank’s cowhands? Did he stop there some time?”

  “No, not about those men in particular. And I don’t think they’re cowhands. I asked Jonah about Basques. He said they come from a little area on the border between Spain and France. One biblical scholar said that because their language was unrelated to any other in Europe, like that of the Gypsies, Basques might be one of the Lost Tribes of Israel.”

  “Let me get this straight, Miss Kate. These men come from the Holy Land and that makes them above suspicion?”

  “No,” she sa
id, laughing at last, glad to put the Crandalls’ tragic story behind them. “I don’t know if that theory is valid or not. But Basques are known for one other thing besides their unique language. They raise sheep. They’re experts at it. That probably means Millbank isn’t using them to run cattle. Perhaps his secret is that he’s raising sheep in cattle country.”

  “I recall seeing one of his hands who rode over a hill and I thought he was riding off on a cloud. Sheep! Well, that does clear things up a little, but it still gives Millbank a strong reason to protect his secret, as long as he can, anyway.”

  “Yes, it would, but I can’t see why he’d kill the new lawman if he might turn to the law to protect him from cattlemen. Let me put his name down, too. You can always clear him by checking his ranch again for the big black horse, like you wanted to.” She added Millbank’s name with a question mark.

  “And what about cattlemen? Let’s consider the ranches and mines. Any suspects there?” She twisted another lock of hair with her left hand, until she caught Monday watching her.

  “None that I can point to, but there’re some tough hombres in both groups. That Saturday night your drawing got shot up, there were cowboys, miners, and soldiers in town.”

  “Among the ranchers—Dave Masterson? Not Corey, surely?”

  Monday explained that Becky had a black pony, but it was too small and its tail too short for the tracks and hairs Monday found. And Dave and Corey just had Henry rifles like his own.

  “Well, then, Logan and that X-Star Ranch. He employs those beastly louts Loomis and Crail. Just because I despise them shouldn’t make them suspects, but what do we know about them? Can we rule them out? What about your Mr. Quincannon? I haven’t met him yet, so I have no way to judge. He must keep pretty much to the saloon when he comes to town.”

  “I don’t think he could be a suspect, Kate. Or at least I don’t want him to be. He’s been right friendly to me, almost as good as Doc and Bull and Joe.” He paused for a moment.

  “That reminds me. Loomis and Crail treated me like a greenhorn Saturday. I don’t know if they’re picking on me ’cause I’m new in town or if it means something else. Maybe that’s another good reason to check the X-Star for black horses again, when I go out to Millbank’s place.”

  “Well, I’ll put all their names down.”

  “I wouldn’t like to think Red Tyler could be our killer, and I can’t see Jasper in that role, either. Do you reckon we could end class for now, teacher? If I’m gonna hit the trail for the ranches again or for Montana, I need to spend some time seeing to Lightning’s shoes and tack.” Monday stood and then spoke as if remembering something.

  “I showed the picture to the coal miners south of town last week. No reaction and no black horses, just gray and brown mules. They did look black for a minute or two, all covered with coal dust.” Now it was his turn to shake his head and laugh. Then he got serious again.

  “You know, we haven’t found the horse or rifle yet. And precious few folks who could have been out of town for two whole days. If we could find out why somebody would kill Marshal Taggart, that might be the only way we can come up with who did it.”

  “I know. It’s so discouraging. Perhaps Roy will bring us something from Sheriff Boswell.”

  “Then why don’t we talk some more after Roy gets here? You know, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I considered putting the word around town that we were expecting him back with big news about this murder. Then I’d go camp out above Box Elder Creek and see if our mysterious rider showed up.”

  “Oh, that’s horrible! Using him for live bait. I like Roy.”

  “So do I, Miss Kate. After I thought up that idea, I didn’t do anything about it. And I did say I was ashamed.”

  “Speaking of shame, I should like to ask why Becky told me you didn’t act like a married man when you visited their ranch.” His head snapped around. He looked guilty.

  “Let’s each go do what we gotta do, Miss Kate. I’ll make you a deal. When I leave here for good, I’ll tell you everything you want to know about my meeting Becky. And in return, you tell me all about how you got that scar on your hand. The one I got here—” he touched his left shoulder “—ain’t half the size of yours.”

  * * * * *

  Kate came back to the marshal’s office after supper and found Monday seated at the desk, looking at their list of suspects and playing with the pencil stub. He quickly put away his sheet of brands, but not before she saw he’d added little “Ks” in circles, some in hearts.

  “I had another idea,” Kate said, not bothering with “hello” or “good evening.” “What about the Indians we saw?”

  “I thought about them, too. But why would they shoot the marshal and leave us alone? And leave three good horses? They sure wouldn’t have left you alone, Miss Kate.” She knew what he meant and shivered.

  “You recollect how that big brave stared at you at the ford and again at the stampede? He was admiring your hair. I ain’t saying he was eager to separate you from it, but I’ll bet he’d like to get a closer look, maybe even touch it. He probably ain’t never seen that much yellow hair before. And yours is nearly white when it’s fresh washed.”

  “Well, I didn’t really think Indians did it. I just wanted to add to our meager suspect list.” She shuddered, remembering newspaper accounts of the Sioux.

  “I’d like to cross a few suspects off. Hey, what you got there?”

  Kate put a little honey-colored cube on the desk. “This is called an art gum,” she said. “Artists use it to erase pencil marks they don’t want. Could you give me that drawing of Sam Taggart with the mustache?” Monday brought it out of a drawer and unfolded it. It was badly creased but still usable. She carefully rubbed the art gum over the upper lip until the facial hair disappeared. She used Monday’s pencil stub to draw in the lines from Taggart’s nose to the edge of his lip.

  “That will have to be approximate, I’m afraid. We can’t use that other drawing, the one shot full of holes.”

  “Reckon this is good enough for me to show around. What’s our plan for tomorrow?” Tomorrow might be their last day together. She hesitated before answering.

  “Far be it from me to pretend I’m any good at playing detective. Depending on what Roy brings us, I’ll finish questioning anyone who looks promising here in town. We said Logan and his bunch and Millbank probably ought to see this revised drawing. You said you wanted to check their places for the horse and rifle.”

  “Yeah, I aim to ride in to both ranches from a different direction this time.” He broke off and stood up. “What’s all that commotion?” They went to the door as footsteps sounded. Monday opened it to find Buxton standing there, ready to knock.

  “Marshal. Miss Kate. Mr. Butcher’s back. With the wagon. They’ll be unloading freight and mail. Over behind the general store. Come on, Miss Kate. He’s got your things from back East.” With that, Buxton was off, running back across the street. In the fading light, they saw people converging on the store. The arrival of freight and mail must be a special occasion.

  Monday took his hat from the nail by the door. “Well, come on, Miss Kate,” he said, mimicking Buxton’s voice. “Let’s get it over with. If there’s nothing in the letter from Sheriff Boswell, at least I’ll tote your trunk and your crate of books for you.”

  “No, wait a minute.” She took his elbow and closed the door.

  “What? . . .” he began. She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He put his hand to the spot, as if he didn’t believe it. “What was that for?”

  “For luck. Now let’s go see what kind of future we’ll have.” She opened the door.

  Chapter 30

  Tuesday

  Warbonnet

  Doc had to be open for business soon. He was known as an early riser, unless he’d been drinking the night before. Kate needed to talk to him about the information in this letter from Sheriff Boswell. She tapped the envelope against her leg. Boswell had provided names of Warb
onnet property owners, merchants, and townspeople who’d lived in Kansas or Colorado.

  Kate had agreed to check out any new suspects this morning and tell Monday what she found before he left for the ranches. The letter indicated three more residents had lived in the two states besides those they already knew about—Simmons, the assayer, in Colorado; Nick Torricelli, the barber, in Kansas; and Doc, in Kansas City. Monday would check Millbank’s and Logan’s places for the big black horse, but Kate didn’t see how they could have a motive. Boswell hadn’t said those two lived in Kansas or Colorado.

  She regretted the new pressure to solve this killing today. She’d seen Roy angrily confront Monday last night. Monday hustled him away from the wagon and they had an animated conversation in front of the general store where no one could hear them. Monday told her about it later, as he lugged her crate of books down to the school.

  “We got trouble, Kate. Roy got that list from Sheriff Boswell, but as he was leaving, he told Nate I was investigating the murder of the cowboy Malone who traveled to Warbonnet with us. Nate said that was too bad; he remembered the young fella and liked him. Roy said the cowboy was older than the marshal and that led to some talk. Boswell’s suspicious of what’s going on up here and told Roy he was going to send a deputy. He may arrive as early as day after tomorrow.” That was last night. Today they had even less time.

  They had to find the killer now or Monday would have to head for Montana tonight or tomorrow and flee charges of impersonating a lawman. Taggart said town lawmen in Wyoming also served as county deputy sheriffs. Boswell wouldn’t take their masquerade lightly. Roy’s agreement to hold his tongue would buy them a little time with the town council. None at all with the deputy who was surely on his way.

  Kate had started with the Torricellis this morning. Maria was up early baking. She told Kate they’d lived in Kansas, Nebraska, and Wyoming, in “hell on wheels” railroad towns until little Pietro had gotten old enough to need a school. Then they sought a quieter place to live, and settled on Warbonnet after Roy talked them into it about a year ago in Laramie. The temporary “towns” they’d lived in were gone now, folded up as the railhead moved west, but they all lay north of where Sam Taggart had lived. Unlikely they’d have a connection.