Simmons the assayer had lived for three years in Denver before moving here about fifteen months ago. Taggart had told Kate he’d only moved to Julesburg a year ago. He and Simmons couldn’t have crossed paths in Colorado. That just left Doc.
Kate shrank from talking to him. He couldn’t be the killer. He was on the town council. If he’d recognized Taggart’s name when they sought a lawman, wouldn’t he simply have voted against hiring him? Maybe her theory about prior acquaintance was all wrong.
Playing detective was much harder than Poe’s stories made it look. She’d never solved the crimes before his detective Dupin, though she’d told Monday she had. As of tomorrow, it looked like she’d have to settle for just being a schoolteacher, if the town council didn’t ride her out of town on a rail for all their lies. Some Female Detective she was.
Abruptly, Doc came out his front door in shirtsleeves and squinted at the clearing sky. He assessed the puddles in the street and stayed on the duckboards. Kate came up behind him.
“Good morning, Doctor. Can I have a word with you? Professionally, I mean.”
“Oh, good morning, Miss Kate. Uh, yes, a few professional words. That would be splendid. How about my office?”
Kate took a seat. Doc stood, holding the back of his chair.
“What seems to be the trouble? That is, if you’re having trouble. Some young ladies do. Have trouble, that is.” He looked uncomfortable preparing to talk about some female complaint.
“This is hard for me to say. As you know, Marshal Taggart has been looking into that cowboy’s murder. He had an idea that since this man Malone had come through Kansas cow towns, perhaps anyone who’d lived in Kansas might know something that could help us. Help him, I mean. Doc, did you ever live in Kansas?” He was her last hope.
“Well, not exactly, Kate. After the war, my wife Emily and I moved to Kansas City, Missouri, where I set up a small practice.
“But after a year,” he sighed, removing and wiping his glasses. “Emily died. I was devastated. Through the war, all I’d thought about was getting home to her and healing women and children again, not just soldiers. Then she was gone.” He put his glasses back on.
“I’m afraid I didn’t handle it well. I started to drink, and my practice declined. Declined, hell. It went down the river. Anyway, about March of Sixty-seven, my wife’s sister and her family rescued me, dried me out, put me to work in the children’s ward at the first hospital there. The family lived across the Missouri River in Kansas, and I lived with them for a year. I think that barely qualifies as living in Kansas.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at her.
“I began to deliver babies and treat children again. That snapped me out of my funk. I found I could still be a doctor, even if I didn’t have Emily. The opening of the railroad to the Pacific convinced me there’d be more people moving out here, folks who’d need doctors. So I came out to Laramie in Sixty-eight, heard about Warbonnet up here on the Oregon Trail, and I’ve been here ever since. My first office was in a tent.” He moved to the window, where he could look out at the street.
“Does that help, Kate? I’m afraid the only Kansas I know has been near Kansas City. Must be lots of folks from Kansas out here.”
“There do seem to be a great many. Why is that?”
“You’re a mite young to have read newspapers in the Fifties, but Kansas was a long time bleeding even before the war started. Raiders from Missouri, a slave state at the time, tried to rig elections, kill officials, and generally raise enough hell to scare anti-slavery folks into pulling up stakes and heading back East, so Kansas could become a slave state. When war broke out, things got worse. All those guerrilla bands—Quantrill, Bloody Bill Anderson, Mick Lonergan—got their starts there. Most of them are long dead now, some went outlawing in Texas after the war. A few just dropped out of sight. They probably tend bar in Chicago now.” Doc moved around and sat in his chair.
“They sound like horrible men. What an awful time that must have been.”
“Well, I didn’t live there at the time, but folks from Kansas after the war used to talk about Coffeyville and Lawrence, and other places that got hit hard. Why, Lawrence was almost wiped out by ‘Colonel’ Quantrill and ‘Captain’ Lonergan.”
Lawrence, Kate remembered. That’s where Sam Taggart lost a son. Better not mention that. Doc wouldn’t believe Monday was old enough to have had a son during the war.
“Did any of the people here in Warbonnet go through that awful time?”
“I don’t rightly know. Most of them probably wouldn’t talk about it. I heard Logan and Crail mention one time how Lawrence looked when it was nearly burned to the ground, but it must have bothered ’em, because they wouldn’t talk about it when I asked. Marshal Taggart’s lived in Kansas. Maybe he can tell you a thing or two about Lawrence.”
I’m sure he could, Kate thought. But the real Sam Taggart was dead. Kate excused herself and said she’d go talk with the marshal. She stopped in the doorway.
“Doc,” Kate said bleakly. “One more thing.” He looked up at her outlined in the pale light, looking out the door, staring into the distance. She asked softly, “Would you ask the town council to meet tomorrow morning at nine? The marshal may have some results for you by then.”
“All right, Kate. I’ll contact the others. I’m sure that would be fine. We’re always glad to talk with you. And with the marshal, of course.”
Kate walked down to the stable, dragging her feet like a petulant child, and dodging puddles from last night’s rain. Doc had been her last chance. Why hadn’t she thought to ask Sheriff Boswell for everybody’s former residences? Maybe she wasn’t smart enough to be a good detective.
She stopped for a moment. Logan and Crail had seen what Lawrence looked like after the fire. But how? Logan’s property record hadn’t indicated he came from Kansas. But both men likely served in the Army. Maybe that was it; they saw the ruins after the raid.
Kate found Monday at the stable exercising Taggart’s horse while Bull put a new shoe on Lightning. After she stood there for a minute, Monday rode over and got down. He didn’t seem happy to see her.
“Why are you wearing that dress today, Miss Kate?”
Bull looked sharply at him. Joe came out of the stable, wiping his hands on a rag. They weren’t alone; they couldn’t talk freely.
“What, this?” She spread the skirt of her dark blue paisley dress with the white ribbon along the hem and cuffs. “It’s a dress that’s actually mine and not a hand-me-down. I unpacked others from my trunk last night, but I was too tired to iron them. Why are you so upset about this dress? I wore it today for luck. You remember, luck, like we, uh, talked about last night?”
Remembering that kiss seemed to bring Monday back to his normal self. She knew he’d want to know what she’d found out from Doc, Nick Torricelli, and Mr. Simmons. They moved away, far enough that Joe and Bull couldn’t hear them.
“I’m sorry, Miss Kate. It’s just, well, I had a bad dream a few nights back, about you in that dress. I was a little spooked to see you in it today, that’s all. Uh, did you have any luck?”
“I talked to all three and they never lived anywhere near Marshal Taggart. They were no help. I guess it’ll take some out-of-town work on your part to find the answer. Neither Logan nor Millbank lived in Kansas or Colorado, as far as the county records show. I wish you luck.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit she’d overlooked asking for everyone’s former residence. Maybe it wouldn’t matter.
She grew serious, thinking of how little time she and Monday might have now. She turned to him and spoke quickly to cover her trembling lip.
“Be careful, please. In case you find that horse or the rifle. I’ll be at the school. I have that crate of books to unpack today. Good day, Marshal.”
Chapter 31
Tuesday
Warbonnet
Monday and Joe tipped their hats as Kate walked away. From the slump of her shoulders, Monday knew she was disappointe
d that her efforts to pin down some suspects hadn’t panned out. He waited for Bull to finish Lightning’s shoe while he gathered his gear. He wouldn’t need his bedroll or saddlebags, since he didn’t plan to stay out overnight. He’d brought his canteen from the office. Better stop there for a rifle and shells on his way out of town.
“You look anxious to be on your way, Marshal,” Bull grunted, as he bent the last nail in Lightning’s new shoe. What was all that you and Miss Kate talked about? ’Bout how you gonna catch the real marshal’s killer?” Joe had gone into the stable and couldn’t hear them.
“Yeah. Miss Kate took the mustache off that first drawing. She made Taggart look like this.” He took out the picture. “Thought I might show this version around some of ranches this afternoon.” Bull showed no reaction as he put the horse’s hoof down and wiped his hands. “While I’m up there, I’m gonna try to look in a couple barns for that big black horse.”
“Well, don’t forget to check a draw that the X-Star uses for a corral. Logan has about thirty more horses penned up a box canyon just north of the hill behind his ranch house. I go up there sometimes to trim hooves and re-shoe a few. Don’t recall any black ones, though.”
With that many horses Monday hadn’t seen, it increased the odds he might find the black one at the X-Star, or at Millbank’s place. But who would want to kill Sam Taggart? Two men had shot up the jail and tried to ambush him. Loomis and Crail? Maybe. But why would they want to kill Taggart before they even met him?
Looked like the X-Star should be his first stop. He’d better come in from the north instead of the entrance road. He ought to see if that horse was corralled in some draw before leveling any accusations, there or at Millbank’s. Who had the rifle? Who had reason to kill Taggart? He wasn’t going to tell Kate and get her hopes up before he scouted out the two ranches this afternoon. Then he could act on what he found. Good thing he hadn’t worried her about the ambush at the stone arch.
“It’s almost dinner time” said Bull. “Why don’t you come eat the last of our buffalo stew with Joe and me? If you stop at Mastersons’ today, you may spend all afternoon there. Many men have been snared along that trail by young Becky.”
“Yes, sir,” said Joe, returning from the stable. “She’s a real siren. I spent all Saturday night trying to play my fiddle and be in the best position if her green dress popped its laces.”
They all shared a laugh. Monday agreed to dinner, but first put saddle and tack on Lightning. When he led him out of the barn, Quincannon stood there in a travel-stained duster.
“Morning, John. Little early for you to be in town. Done with your chores already?”
“Just passing through today, Sam. Logan’s sending me to Cheyenne to pick up a couple horses he bought. I hear tell your sign in the saloon has people minding their manners now.” His tone matched Monday’s.
“Sorry to see you go. Got any more of that Arkansas lawman advice for me?”
“Well, I thought on that some. You seem to know most of the moves I know. How about fanning?”
“Don’t think I’d be likely to use that, ’less I was desperate and the range was short. Only tried it twice, on old airtights after we’d eaten the beans. I was awful.”
Quincannon nodded. “Burns up ammunition too fast. Your accuracy drops way off if the target’s beyond ten feet. I only saw experienced pistoleros use it, just showing off.”
“Before you go, John, let me show you this. Miss Kate changed her drawing and took off our man’s mustache.” He took it from his pocket and showed it to Quincannon. No response. Monday didn’t say he intended to show it at the ranches today. Nor did he mention box canyon corrals. If Logan or one of his hands owned that horse, he’d just as soon not tip Quincannon. He was glad now that his friend would be gone when he checked out the horses in that draw.
“No, sorry. Never seen that face before. You any closer to figuring your killer?”
“Nope. I keep thinking I may run across that man on the big black horse, but I ain’t no closer to figuring out why anybody’d want to kill that old cowpoke. I’m nearly ready to give up.” Monday beat his hat against his leg in frustration, then put it back on.
“Well, I hope you won’t be too disappointed, Sam. You gotta remember to spend time on what’s important, you know. Now, that new schoolteacher, she could be real important, I hear. Red and Jasper came back from the dance Saturday night singing Miss Shaw’s praises. I’m gonna be riding out in a little bit, but I missed the dance. Had to ride night herd, and I still haven’t met her. If I wanted to introduce myself, where would I likely find her this time of day?”
“Kate’ll be at the school now. She was here a little while ago and said she’d be unpacking her crate of books. Don’t ask her to dance, though. Her feet are still a mite tender.” Great. Another good-looking man interested in Kate. His estimate of ninety suitors hadn’t been far off.
They said goodbye and shook hands. Quincannon walked back up to Main Street and turned the corner. One more friend he wouldn’t be able to say a proper farewell to, when he rode out of town for good tomorrow. Maybe Kate would help him write a note to leave for John.
Bull and Joe were waiting. Bull stood next to Lightning at the rail and reached out to touch the horse’s brand. “You know, Marshal, it’s gonna be a lucky man that lassoes Miss Shaw.”
“That’s what I reckon.” Joe said, chuckling through his beard.
“I figure you’re both wrong. Miss Kate’s a maverick. She don’t do things like ever’body else. The lucky man will be somebody she lassoes. He’ll end up wearing her brand, not the other way round.” They laughed at that, but Monday was serious. The three of them went to eat.
Chapter 32
Tuesday
Warbonnet
Up at the schoolhouse, Kate found no leaks from last night’s showers. The roof must be as sound as it looked. She turned to her bookcase.
Her twenty precious McGuffey Readers went on the top shelf. A gift from Miss Bishop’s Normal School. Most new teachers went to established schools and would inherit older books. She added her own books on the second shelf.
Kate picked up the picture book of Niagara Falls her parents had given her as a child. She looked down at the back of her left hand and thought of the falls—and Stuart. She put the book on a shelf quickly, before memory could overtake her.
The last thing out of the crate was her Bible. She held it to her bosom for a moment, then placed it on top of the low bookcase. Kate noticed it was about the height of an altar rail. She knelt and took the Bible in her hands again.
“O Lord, help us find a way out of this mess we’ve made for ourselves. Help us repair all the wrong we may have done, the hurts we’ve caused.” She paused to gather her thoughts.
“Hold Monday Malone in the palm of Your hand all day long, and tonight, too. If he must leave tomorrow, be with him all the way to Montana. Protect him from Indians. Help him find what he was looking for before he met me.” She remembered how she’d enticed him into helping her.
“Please, Lord, whatever happens between here and Montana, let me not be the cause of any harm to him. I couldn’t bear that.” She wiped the back of her left hand across her cheek. The scar on her hand came away wet with tears, as if the mark were fresh and not five years old.
As Kate got to her feet, the front door opened, and a big man in a white duster entered. A handsome dark-haired stranger with a small beard and mustache. The way he moved and the look of his worn gunbelt made her heart rise into her throat. He could be a lawman himself. Perhaps Sheriff Boswell’s deputy, who could take the investigation off their hands. Maybe he could be their salvation. She hoped Monday had already left. She hadn’t expected an answer to her prayer this soon.
“Welcome to Warbonnet School. I’m Katherine Shaw, the new teacher.” She held out her hand.
“I’m sorry we haven’t met before, Miss Shaw,” the big man said, coming forward to engulf her hand in his. “I’m John Quincannon. I work at
the—”
“I recall your name, Mr. Quincannon. You’re the marshal’s new friend.”
“Yes, I am. But you look less than pleased. Most women I meet don’t disapprove of me so quickly.”
“It’s just, well, I’d hoped you were someone else. My expectation was probably unrealistic. I’m sorry we haven’t met before this. The marshal has spoken well of you.”
“I’m glad you’re on friendly terms with him. I need to ask you a favor about the marshal. I realize we’ve only just met, but. . . .”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’d do anything that would help him. Would you like to sit down? All I can offer is a bench.”
“No, thanks, Ma’am. This won’t take long and I need to be on my way. Mr. Logan has me off to, uh, Laramie today to look at some horses. I thought of something that might help Marshal Taggart, but I just missed him down at the stable. Could you hold this letter for him until he gets back?” He produced a folded sheet of paper sealed with wax.
She took the offered letter and fanned herself with it. So Monday had left for the ranches already. Their time was running out.
“Tell me, how long have you worked for Mr. Logan? Did you come with him when he bought his ranch?”
“Uh, no, Ma’am. Mr. Logan hired me back in May. He and the rest of the boys been here more’n eighteen months.”
“So you don’t own a piece of the ranch?”
“No, Miss. Mr. Logan and his four hands came here together and took out a hundred sixty acres each. He bought out the rest of ’em, and picked up a few hundred acres more since then. He’s got the biggest spread in these parts.”
Kate glanced out the window. She gasped at the flicking of a black horse tail and moved to where she could see the rest of it. All black. Big. And with a rifle scabbard. A chill ran through her and she shivered. She kept her back to Quincannon and took a chance.
Murder for Greenhorns Page 27
