“You’re new, deputy,” sputtered Sam, still chuckling. “You didn’t know James Rose.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Luke, striving mightily to keep impatience out of his tone. “Educate me.”
Sam shook his ahead again. “Big city boy.” He spat the words. “Thought he was better than the rest of us. Fancy clothes. Always swinging his gold watch in your face.” Sam waved his leathery hand back and forth to demonstrate. “Even his steers had to be better than everyone else’s. Wouldn’t buy from locals. Not Mister Biggety Britches. He sent to Chicago for those Brah, Brah ...” Sam searched for the word.
“Brahman.”
“Yeah, the Brahman. Nothing but a bunch of flapdoodle. Poppycock and flapdoodle, all of it.” Sam’s mouth drooled as he worked himself into a palaver. He swiped at his mouth with his sleeve.
“What do you mean?”
“He was a macaroni! Fool macaroni! Didn’t know nothing about raising steer. If it hadn’t been for the neighbors helpin’ out he would have lost his fancy ranch first winter out here.”
“He came all the way from New York and didn’t know how to ranch?” asked Luke.
“Hell no! Just showed up in Buffalo one day, flashing his wad of greenbacks all over town, buying himself the nicest piece of dirt in the Territory. Showing off that pretty wife of his too, in her clicky-clack shoes and frilly dresses. Ain’t another woman in these parts that dresses as pretty as Miz Rose.”
Luke only nodded, all too conscious that some were already talking about him and Mrs. Rose. Better to say nothing about the way she dressed.
“Good riddance. To him, I mean. Not her. Where he is now he ain’t impressing nobody, no how.”
Luke pondered Sam’s last comment. What, exactly, did he mean? Did Sam know where James Rose was now? Did he mean in this life or the next? How could he speak of the whereabouts of a missing man with such certainty? Luke was tempted to push for answers but decided to let the questions rest and come back to them later. He didn’t have sufficient evidence to lock up Sam, and right now the man was talking. If Luke pushed too far Sam might clam up, or worse, flee the Territory.
“So you knew him? You worked for him?” said Luke.
“Nah. Never worked for him.”
“Why’s that?”
“The fool didn’t want no help.”
“You tried to get work on the Rose ranch?”
“I knocked on his door couple times. Asked for work. But he always shooed me away. Not friendly like, either. Treated everybody worse than a chicken-thieving wolf. It wasn’t like I was no beggar. I wanted work. I ain’t never asked for no hand-out.”
“What about Jennings and Pendergrass? They ever try to get work on the Rose ranch?”
Sam swore vehemently and jerked in his saddle. “Peapod? Maybe. Not sure.”
“What about Jennings?”
Sam swore again. Luke noted his agitation but gave nothing away while he waited for an answer. Sam had clammed up again.
“What about Jennings?” Luke finally demanded.
“I don’t know nothing about Jennings. What he does with his time is his business.”
Luke regarded Sam coolly as he debated how hard to press for an answer. He had little to pin on these three clowns, and being free men, they could ride out of town whenever they wanted, taking their guilt with them undetected. The lack of hard evidence in this case frustrated him.
“People didn’t like Rose much, huh?” said Luke.
“If you can find a soul in town will talk good of James Rose,” said Sam, laughing again, “I’ll buy us both a drink.”
Laughter caused Sam to cough, a wet, phlegmy eruption that originated deep in his chest. He fished in his pants pocket and pulled out a grimy hanky, wiped his mouth, and stuffed the hanky back into his pocket. Luke waited for him to finish. He seemed to want to talk. Best let him.
“What do you know of his wife?”
“Miz Rose?” Sam shook his head. “Nothing like her husband. Sweet woman. Once, when Mr. Rose chased me off the property, when he ain’t lookin’, she brung me a plate of biscuits and gravy. Hot coffee too.” Sam smiled at the memory.
“Can you think of anyone who is angry enough at James Rose to want him dead?”
“Eh?” Sam’s tongue was hanging out his mouth again.
Luke tried not to stare.
“Dead,” repeated Sam. He paused to think, scratching his jaw as if doing so would warm up frozen brain juices, get them flowing.
Why was this clown having difficulty understanding a four-letter word? Certain topics, Luke noted wryly, greased the old coot’s flapper, while others gave him lockjaw. But Luke had the good sense to wait. Perhaps eventually he would pull some useful information out of this inscrutable prairie dog.
“No, not dead, exactly,” said Sam.
“Then what, exactly?”
Sam screwed up his face as if thinking was painful. “I’m thinkin’ most folk is just jealous of his stuff.”
Luke remembered the impeccably maintained house and barn, the many well-built, useful out buildings, the prize livestock, the abundant grazing land, all bordered by the widest, longest flowing creek in the north-east section of the Territory. Even more vividly he remembered the fetching face and shapely form of the unlucky rancher’s young widow. Longing rose within him. He wished he could be the one to treasure her now, to protect her. Now that she was feeling poorly, the temptation to sell the ranch and return to her kin in the East would be overwhelming for her. It was his biggest fear.
“Jealous enough to kill?” asked Luke.
“You’re the deputy,” said Sam, turning petulant. “That’s for you to chew on.” He pulled the reins sharply to the right, indicating his desire to end the questions and get moving. “I gotta get to town, Deputy Davies. It’s hot as Hades out here.” He took off his floppy hat to reveal thinning gray hair plastered to his head with sweat. Histrionically he began fanning himself with the hat, as if Luke wasn’t aware of how hot it was seated on horseback under a Wyoming summer sun.
Luke figured he’d gotten all he could from Sam anyway, and he was determined to check on Mrs. Rose and ride back to town before nightfall. He nodded and pulled at his own reins.
“Deputy,” said Sam, slapping his hat down on his head before they parted. He pointed to Luke’s canteen. “You got anything more medicinal than creek water in there?”
Luke shook his head. “Sorry, Sam. Dry as a Quaker picnic.”
“Me too,” said Sam, poignantly. “Me too.”
#
The sound of an approaching rider sent the Reverend Thomas outside to investigate. Luke tipped his hat in greeting and dismounted, relieved to be out of the saddle and to see someone trustworthy looking out for Mrs. Rose and her ranch. He noted Ulysses’ absence. Probably pushing his cold snout down a rabbit hole somewhere, thought Luke. The men shook hands.
“What brings you out this way, Deputy?” said Reverend Thomas, a warm smile on his face.
“Just checking on things,” said Luke, intentionally vague about what or who those things were.
“Glad you’re here, Deputy. Your timing couldn’t be better.”
Luke gave the Reverend a quizzical look.
“We’ll talk after your horse is looked after,” said the Reverend, lowering his voice, “in the house.”
“Mrs. Rose alright?” Luke wondered at the conspiratorial tone the Reverend used. Luke had heard she’d taken sick, but he had no idea what was ailing her and was too polite to inquire of the people most likely to know. He had learned only that it was serious enough to require the nursing services of another woman.
“Mrs. Rose is going to be fine. Just needs to rest. But I’d prefer to include her in our conversation.”
Luke nodded. His interest was always piqued when it came to Mrs. Rose’s affairs, but he was patient.
“Why don’t you get your horse some water and feed in the barn, then come into the house for a bite yourself. I’ll tell Betsy you’ll
be joining us for dinner.”
Luke was agreeable. Reverend Thomas returned to the house while Luke led his horse to the barn. After his animal was well watered and munching contentedly on fresh hay, Luke made a once over of the barn’s gloomy interior, his eyes sweeping dark corners and the section of the hay loft visible from the ground. Everything was in order, tack hanging on the wall where it always was, stalls cleaned of debris, Beauty and Beast well groomed and in good health. Ben Slocomb was doing a good job.
But there was a haunting, sepulchral feel about the place that made Luke edgy. Something wasn’t right. A strange prescience made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, a sense that something invisible but very real and very evil hovered in the barn. No, not necessarily the barn, he realized with sudden clarity. He had sensed it when he first rode onto the Rose property. Luke stood statue still a moment, muscles taut, ears and eyes on high alert, listening and looking for anything unusual. A thought came to him that it might be a good idea to climb the ladder leading to the hay loft to survey the entire barn from the height of the loft instead of the limited vantage point of the barn floor. It had not occurred to him to do this the day before when he checked the property. But yesterday he hadn’t had the willies.
He walked to the ladder and began to climb. He stopped halfway up and listened. Nothing. He continued to climb until his eyes were even with the floor of the loft. Just then a barn swallow, startled by Luke’s intrusion, flapped noisily, swooped from his perch high above the hay loft, and flew directly over Luke’s head into the broad light of the open barn door.
Luke watched the swallow until it was beyond the edge of the barn door and then he paused a second to listen again. No sound. He climbed two more rungs of the ladder until his chest was even with the loft floor. It was even darker in the loft than on the barn floor, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He scanned all about, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Everything seemed as he expected: the loft was dark and musty with grain dust, but there was an unusually large number of dung flies and an odd, sickish smell hung in the air.
Then he saw a low depression at the far end of the loft, like an eddy created by water slipping quickly down a funnel. Above the depression was an indeterminate dark blotch on the barn wall, its color and content obscured by the gloom. He climbed a few more rungs, hoisted himself into the loft, and walked the few steps to the depression to investigate, rustling dry hay as he stepped.
About two feet from the wall Luke jumped back, repulsed by what he saw. Ulysses’ lifeless head lay in the depression in the hay, his teeth still bared in death. As Luke’s eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, it became obvious that the long, dark streaks on the wall were dried blood. A spray of blood formed a rough ring in the hay around the animal’s head. Clearly someone had stood on the barn floor and flung the head upward into the loft, where it had struck the barn wall with force and then fallen back into the hay, fouling it and leaving a gruesome find for an unsuspecting visitor. Flies buzzed about the head.
Doubtless this was what Reverend Thomas wanted to speak with him about. Luke made another quick scan of the loft but, other than the area near the discarded head, the hay had not been disturbed since it had been stored there many months earlier. Seeing nothing that would help him unravel the mystery of the missing James Rose or the murder of his dog, Luke determined to clean up the mess in the loft after dinner.
He climbed back down the ladder. Shaken by the brutality he’d seen inflicted on an innocent animal, he felt compelled to check on the welfare of all the horses again, his own as well as Mrs. Rose’s and Reverend Thomas’, even though he had checked on them only minutes earlier. Once he had assured himself that they were unharmed, he stepped outside the barn into the bright noonday sun and looked around in every direction to make sure there was no one watching the property. Seeing nothing but prairie grass and low hills shimmering in the heat, he washed up at the pump, more thoroughly than usual, and walked to the house.
#
Before the clomping of Luke’s boot heels could be heard on the front porch, Reverend Thomas and Betsy had informed Lenora that he would be sharing dinner with them. Nevertheless her eyes grew wide when the tall and handsome deputy stepped through her front door, hat in hand. She tried to act normally, but there was nothing normal about Deputy Davies stopping by to check on her. There was nothing normal either about hostessing from a daybed, which the kind Reverend Thomas had fashioned out of clean straw, blankets, and pillows so that Lenora could spend daylight hours propped up in a sitting position in the front room instead of languishing all alone in her real bed, cut off from visitors.
And there was nothing normal about the heightened awareness she felt when Luke’s tall frame darkened the doorway. Her heart yearned in her chest when Luke’s eyes went straight to hers, and for a moment it was as if they were the only two in the room. Lenora caught a stricken look that flashed across his face lightning fast, and just as fast she saw it disappear behind a mask of professionalism.
“Sorry to see you ailing, ma’am,” he said, his eyes tender with compassion.
“Thank you, Deputy Davies. Forgive me for not getting up, but Dr. Biggerstaff insisted I remain prone for a good while.”
Luke stood by the door, still holding his hat, saying nothing and looking like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Betsy walked out of the kitchen then, wiping her hands on one of Lenora’s aprons. She walked directly to Luke and extended her hand in greeting.
“Don’t worry, Deputy,” she deadpanned, “Lenora isn’t contagious.”
Lenora swallowed hard to force down a chuckle. Betsy turned to her and winked.
“Deputy Davies, come and help me move this table closer to the fireplace,” said Reverend Thomas, gesturing to the table visible through the kitchen door. “That way Mrs. Rose won’t feel like she’s eating alone.”
“Or would you rather we all join you on the floor?” quipped Betsy to Lenora. “I don’t see any reason why you should be the only one who gets to have a picnic.”
Both men laughed, which greatly reduced the awkwardness of this unusual seating arrangement, while they picked up the table and carried it easily to the front room and set it down near Lenora. They went back to the kitchen, retrieved three chairs, and set them by the table. Betsy returned to the kitchen to finish dinner preparations.
In short order the two men and one woman at the table and Lenora in her daybed had finished a hot meal of fried ham, fried potatoes, and hot tea. By the time Betsy was clearing the dirty dishes, however, the mild joviality that had played across the room had been replaced by somberness. When Betsy had cleared away the dishes and set a pot of coffee to boil, she sat back down and made eye contact with her husband. Reverend Thomas leaned forward over the table, his long salt-and-pepper beard brushing his clasped hands, and looked directly at Luke. His face was serious, his voice lower than usual.
“Deputy Davies, when we returned from town yesterday evening, I found Mrs. Rose’s dog, dead. Someone killed him and left his body on the porch.” He swallowed. “Whoever did it removed the animal’s head.”
“I knew he was dead,” said Luke, looking equally grim. “I found his head in the barn.”
The women gasped. Reverend Thomas leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head in his intertwined fingers.
“I had a bad feeling in there,” Luke continued, “while I was tending my horse, so I decided to take a look around. I found the head in the hay loft. Someone threw it up there. It hit the wall and fell into the hay. There was a lot of blood.”
Lenora let her head fall back on a pillow for support and closed her eyes, imagining in the most acute way the vivid act just described. She saw Ulysses’ head flying through the air, heard the muffled, wet smack of it hitting the barn wall, saw it land with a swoosh in the hay. Her breathing became shallow, which caused her face to turn pale. What did it all mean? Why was she being stalked, her dog murdered, her husband missing? There had to
be some sense to this agonizing series of tragedies. Most of all, when would it all end?
“Mrs. Rose,” said Luke, his voice gentle but direct, “I need to ask you some questions. Are you well enough to help me?”
Lenora opened her eyes. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just all so unbelievable.”
All three at the table stared at Lenora. As if she didn’t feel foolish enough already, dining on the floor in her own home with the Reverend, his wife, and the deputy seated nearby. And entertaining in her nightgown yet! What was the world coming to?
“Don’t worry,” she said, noting the concern on all three faces, “I’m fine. And even if I weren’t, I’m already in a good position for fainting.” She smiled wanly at her weak joke. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor. It wasn’t all that difficult to crack jokes since they had found Ulysses’ remains. She was too numb with the shock of recent events to mourn her myriad losses anymore.
“Do you have any idea who did this, Mrs. Rose?” asked Luke.
No, she didn’t. But it was evident from the footprints on her ranch, the repeated attempts by some unnamed person to enter her home uninvited, and from the brutal murder of her dog, that she was a target. But why? And who? Her mind was blank.
“I have no idea.”
“Did James owe money to anyone?”
“I don’t think so. But he never told me about our debts, whether we have any. I don’t know.”
“Do you know of anyone that James was having any disagreements with?”
She thought again. She was embarrassed that she couldn’t give Deputy Davies any hard information. She tried to dredge up logical answers to illogical events. But there weren’t any. And she was so very, very tired. She leaned farther back into the makeshift daybed so that the pillow and not her neck supported her head.
“I can’t think of any. No.”
“Do you suppose someone’s just trying to frighten her, Deputy Davies?” said Reverend Thomas.
Crazy Woman Creek Page 15
