Billy Casebolt greeted him with a grin. The deputy was sitting on a high stool at the counter along the back wall. Several other men were seated at the counter as well, and three of the eight tables in the room were occupied.
Cole hadn't been here since the first day Rose had begun moving in, and he was surprised by the change in the place. The walls were light and cheery with whitewash, and red-and-white curtains that matched the cloths on the tables hung in the windows. A menu with the day's specials chalked on it was on the wall behind the counter. Below the menu was a shelf containing several pies.
The air was full of delicious aromas from coffee brewing, bacon sizzling, and biscuits baking. Cole returned Casebolt's grin.
The door at the end of the counter opened and Rose Foster swung through it, a platter containing several plates in her arms. It was obvious that she had opened the door by bumping it with a hip. She paused for a second as she saw Cole standing there, then moved past him with a murmured, "Excuse me, Marshal."
Cole watched her deliver the food to one of the tables. Rose was wearing a blue dress with short, puffy sleeves and a white apron tied around her waist. Her thick reddish-blond hair was caught in a loose bun at the back of her head, but a few strands had escaped to dangle enticingly over her forehead. Cole thought she looked as pretty as the sunrise.
"Have a seat and try some of this grub, Marshal," invited Casebolt. "It's mighty good."
"I've eaten," Cole told him as he settled down on the vacant stool next to the deputy. "I reckon I could do with a cup of coffee, though."
"You sure?" Casebolt waved his fork at the plate full of food in front of him. "I ain't had flapjacks this light in I don't know when."
"Maybe tomorrow." Cole watched Rose hurry back to the door after delivering the order to the table, and as she went through to the kitchen he caught a glimpse of a wizened, middle-aged man at the stove. With a frown, Cole asked, "Is that Monty Riordan in there cooking?"
"I wouldn't know. The way that gal's been runnin' back and forth, though, she ain't had time to actually cook anything. Somebody else must be doin' it."
A couple of minutes passed, then Rose emerged from the kitchen again and seemed to notice Cole for the first time, even though she had obviously seen him earlier. She came over to him behind the counter and asked, "Is there anything I can get you, Marshal?"
"Just a cup of coffee will do me fine," Cole told her. "Was that Monty Riordan I saw out in the kitchen?"
"I hired Mr. Riordan to be my cook, yes," Rose said as she poured coffee from a pot she handled with a thick piece of leather, then placed the cup in front of Cole. "Do you know him?"
Cole nodded, picked up the cup and sipped the coffee, and then nodded again, this time in appreciation of the strong, rich brew. "He's been working for the Union Pacific. Ate many a buffalo steak Monty fried up from the meat I brought in."
"He's decided to make his home here in Wind River rather than moving on with the railroad. When he asked me for a job, I thought he'd be perfect. I can't do all the cooking and wait tables, too." Rose glanced at the shelf behind her and said with a hint of pride, "I made those pies last night."
"Well, I don't reckon it's too early in the morning for a piece of pie," Cole said with a smile. "I'll take one. What kind do you have?"
Rose's attitude, which had been almost friendly, changed abruptly. "It most certainly is too early for pie," she said. "Those are for lunch and supper."
"Anyway, I thought you said you already et," Billy Casebolt put in.
Cole tried not to glare at his deputy. "Are you saying you won't sell me a piece of pie?" he demanded of Rose.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. Come back at lunchtime."
"I reckon I'll probably be busy." If she wanted to be like that. Cole thought, then he figured he could be, too.
"That's a shame," Rose said without sounding like she really meant it. She moved on down the counter to inquire of one of the other customers if he needed a refill on his coffee.
Casebolt leaned over to Cole and asked quietly, "How come that gal acted so put out with you?"
Cole shrugged. "You're asking the wrong man."
"For that matter, you was a mite snippy with her. What's the matter, Marshal? Don't you like Miss Foster?"
"I don't even know her," Cole said with a shake of his head. "But if she made this coffee, she did a good job of it."
Casebolt mopped up the last of his bacon grease with a final bite of biscuit, then paid Rose for the meal. Cole left a coin on the counter to pay for his coffee, then joined his deputy on the boardwalk outside.
With a contented sigh, Casebolt loosened his belt a little, then asked, "You reckon there's somethin' wrong with that redheaded gal? She strikes me as a mite standoffish, and not just with you."
"A woman trying to make her way alone out here on the frontier, that's not an easy job," Cole replied after a moment's thought. "I reckon she's just being careful that nobody gets the wrong idea about her."
"Yeah, you could be right." Casebolt stretched. "Well, the day's off to a good start, anyway. That was the best breakfast I've had in a coon's age. Imagine, a gal that pretty, and she runs a cafe, too."
"Sounds perfect, Billy," Cole said. "Why don't you marry her?"
"Me?" exclaimed Casebolt. "Why, I never even thought . . . hell, I'm twice her age! And I never said nothin' about wantin' to get married. Of all the dang-fool ideas!"
Grinning, Cole left Casebolt there sputtering to himself. That ought to have taken care of any ideas the deputy might have had about playing matchmaker, Cole thought with satisfaction.
He couldn't have said what motivated him for sure—maybe the desire not to let Rose Foster think she had gotten the best of him—but Cole didn't eat lunch at the Wind River Cafe, returning to the boardinghouse and sitting down at Mrs. Paine's table instead. He couldn't argue about the quality of the food; Abigail was just about as good a cook as old Monty Riordan.
That was how Cole came to be on the boardwalk in front of Dr. Judson Kent's office, heading back toward his own office in the early afternoon. Just after passing the door of the doctor's office, Cole heard the man's unmistakable English accent as Kent called his name.
Cole swung around and saw the tall, bearded physician standing in the doorway in shirt sleeves and vest, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Do you have half a moment, Marshal?" Kent asked. "I'd like to speak with you, if I might."
"Sure." Cole nodded. "What can I do for you, Doctor?"
"Come inside. I was about to have a spot of tea. Care to join me?"
Cole looked dubious. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a tea drinker, Doc."
Kent grimaced. "Please, Marshal, I hear that dreadful appellation from so many of your compatriots here in Wind River. I'd prefer that you not use it, too."
"You mean you don't want to be called Doc?"
"Oh, I'll answer to it. What is it you Yanks say? Call me anything you like, just don't call me late for supper—or some such colorful phrase. But I prefer Dr. Kent, or even Judson."
"Judson's all right with me. I'm Cole."
"Very well." Kent ushered him into the building. "You're certain you won't have some tea?"
"I'll pass, thanks," Cole said dryly.
He looked around. The doctor's office was housed in a squarish frame building much like many of the others in Wind River. Cole suspected Kent's living quarters were in the rear of the building; the front room contained an examining table and several glass-fronted cases full of medical instruments and bottles of dark brown glass that no doubt held a variety of medicines, tonics, and nostrums. Kent's desk took up one corner of the room, and a small stove sat in the opposite corner. But the most eye-catching feature of the room was a complete human skeleton hanging from a stand between the desk and the stove. Cole looked at it and grinned.
"Who's your friend?" he asked Kent as the doctor was taking a pot of tea from the stove and pouring a cup for himself.
"Oh, you mean Reginald?"
"That thing's got a name?" Cole asked, surprised.
"Well, of course he has a name. What did you expect? He may be nothing but bones, but let's accord the poor devil a little dignity, shall we? Reginald, this is Marshal Tyler. Marshal, meet Reginald."
Cole frowned. Surely Kent didn't expect him to say hello to a damned skeleton! But the doctor stood there calmly, waiting for some sort of response, so after a moment Cole muttered, "Howdy, Reginald." He hoped Billy Casebolt never got wind of this.
"I'm afraid he can't answer you, but I'm certain if he could that he would be very pleased to meet you, Cole." Kent waved toward a chair in front of the desk. "Have a seat."
Cole reversed the chair and straddled it, more comfortable that way. Kent sat down behind the desk to sip his tea, and Cole asked, "You said you wanted to talk to me, Doc—I mean Judson?"
Kent nodded, his expression becoming more solemn. "I've observed you around town the past week, talking to the citizens and asking them all sorts of questions about William Durand and the late Mr. Andrew McKay. I was wondering about your purpose in this."
"Maybe I was just curious," Cole replied, frowning a little. "And any other reasons I might have would be law business, not medical ones."
"I see. I thought you might be trying to find out whether or not William Durand is responsible for the death of his late partner."
The calm statement uttered by Judson Kent was even more surprising to Cole than the skeleton had been. "What in blazes makes you say that?" he demanded.
"You don't have to worry, Cole," Kent assured him. "Mrs. McKay has taken me into her confidence concerning her suspicions. She and I are friends, as well as doctor and patient."
"Son of a—" Cole caught himself. "Do you know if she's told anybody else?" He was a novice at this sort of thing to start with, and Simone McKay was just going to make it harder on him if she was going around town telling people that Durand had killed her husband.
Kent put down his cup of tea and said, "No, she hasn't told anyone else. As I said, she confided in me, and she swore me to secrecy as well. But from your behavior since you accepted the position of marshal, I assumed that you were looking into the matter on her behalf."
There was no point in denying it, Cole decided. Kent had already figured out most of it. "She came to see me, all right. I don't know if there's anything to her suspicions or not, but I promised I'd poke around a little and see what I could find out. So far, not a damned thing."
"I see. Have you considered, Marshal. . . Cole . . . that Mrs. McKay may be wrong about Durand and her husband?"
"Sure. I was there that day, remember? I know it could've been a wild shot that killed McKay, just as easy as it could've been deliberate. But it could have been deliberate, that's the point."
Kent's high forehead furrowed. "Mrs. McKay is a grief-stricken lady. Such a woman might say things that had no basis in reality, that were in fact ill-advised."
"You're saying she shouldn't have accused Durand?"
"I'm saying I want only the best for Simone, and I'm not sure that indulging her suspicions is a good idea."
"What if she's right?" Cole asked bluntly.
Kent's shoulders rose and fell in a slight shrug. "Ah, yes, there is that possibility. But you've already admitted that you have found nothing to indicate that either William Durand or some person unknown murdered Andrew McKay. Do you intend to continue investigating indefinitely?"
Cole rubbed his jaw and admitted, "I don't know yet. Seems like sooner or later even the most determined cat's going to get tired of chasing his own tail around and around."
"Quite so," Kent said dryly. "Please understand, Marshal. I have no real opinion either way concerning Durand's guilt—or lack of same. I just don't want to see Simone hurt, and if Durand gets wind of this . . ."
"You think he wouldn't take it kindly?"
"I'm not sure how he would react, but it couldn't be good in the long run for Simone's relationship with him. I don't fully trust the man to start with to look after her best interests."
"But that's what you're doing, isn't it, Judson?"
Kent flushed slightly, and Cole knew his guess had hit home. The doctor had admitted to a fondness for Simone McKay, but Cole had to wonder if it was even more than that. Kent, of course, being the proper sort that he obviously was, wouldn't approach her until a suitable time had passed after her husband's death.
But the Widow McKay was quite an attractive woman, Cole mused, and she was damned well-off, too. . . .
"That's neither here nor there," Kent said curtly, as if he was reading Cole's mind. "I just want you to be careful, Marshal. If one goes poking and prodding around a nest of hornets, one has to expect them to come swarming out sooner or later."
"Don't worry, Doctor, I've smoked a few hives in my time—"
Before Cole could go on, a sudden clatter of hoofbeats in the street outside drew his attention. He looked up through Kent's front window in time to see a rider pull a horse to an urgent, skidding halt in front of the building. The young man, who wore the range clothes of a cowboy, practically threw himself out of the saddle and came bounding into the doctor's office. Wide-eyed and panting, he demanded, "You . . . you the doc?"
Kent stood up and nodded. "I am. What's wrong, lad?"
"I. . . I'm Lon Rogers . . . from the Diamond S."
"What's that?" Cole asked sharply.
Rogers huffed and puffed for a few seconds, then said, "Mr. Sawyer's ranch. We got trouble up there."
Cole wasn't surprised by the answer. He had recognized the young cowboy as one of Sawyer's hands. The information that Sawyer already had a name and a brand for his new spread came as news to him, however, although the brand part made sense. Sawyer would have put at least a road brand on his stock before starting up the trail from Texas.
"What's happened?" Kent asked as he came out from behind the desk.
"One of our punchers got himself stepped on by a longhorn. He's hurt real bad, Doc. You got to come out and take a look at him."
Without hesitation, Kent reached for his coat and shrugged into it. As he picked up his hat and his black medical bag from the desk, he said, "Of course I'll come. Let me get my horse."
Acting on impulse, Cole said, "I'll come with you, Doctor. You might need a hand."
Kent glanced at him. "I assure you, I won't need anyone arrested."
"That's not what I meant," Cole said. He hadn't been out to where Sawyer had the herd of longhorns camped, hadn't seen the rancher since the morning of the stampede, in fact. Even though Cole's jurisdiction ended at the edge of town, he thought it would be a good idea to keep up with what was going on in this part of the country, and that included Sawyer's activities. He didn't waste time explaining that to Judson Kent, however.
The medico shrugged. "You're welcome to come along, of course, Marshal."
Lon Rogers burst out, "As long as you stop jawin' and come on!"
Cole and Kent hurried out of the office after the cowboy and headed for the stable to fetch their mounts. At Cole's suggestion, Rogers swapped his winded horse for another animal, promising the stable owner to bring the fresh horse back later. A couple of minutes later the three men rode out of Wind River and headed northwest toward the foothills, and Cole and Dr. Kent put their horses into a gallop to keep up with the frantic young cowhand.
Cole noticed right away that Rogers was leading them in a different direction than the herd had taken leaving Wind River. The cattle had moved almost due north from town, and now the three of them were riding northwest. He called to Lon, "Has Sawyer moved his herd?"
The young man nodded but didn't slow down. "Him and that Durand fella made a deal for Mr. Sawyer to start his ranch on some land up in the hills. Prettiest valley you ever saw."
Cole and Kent glanced at each other. Durand again. The man certainly had his fingers in a lot of pies.
The terrain quickly grew rougher than the area right around the settlement, but not so rugged that it
kept the riders from making good time. They reached a creek and followed it for a couple of miles, then took a winding path that led them up a bluff to a valley where they picked up the creek again.
Cole thought the place looked vaguely familiar, and he figured he must have ridden through it a couple of years earlier when he was scouting for the army here in Wyoming Territory. As Lon Rogers had said, it was a pretty place and a fine location for cattle. Cole spotted a thread of smoke climbing into the sky ahead of them and thought that was probably where Sawyer had established his camp.
That proved to be the case. As Cole, Kent, and Lon Rogers rode up, Cole saw that a couple of log cabins had already been built, along with several large pole corrals filled with bawling cattle. The smoke he had seen came from a branding fire, and Cole figured Sawyer's men had been slapping the Diamond S brand on calves that had been born on the long trek up from Texas. The fire was untended at the moment, though, because all of the men on hand were clustered around a spot near one of the corrals.
Kermit Sawyer heard them coming and detached himself from the group, turning and stalking out to meet them. He barely spared a cold glance for Cole, then turned his attention to Judson Kent. "You the doc?" he asked, echoing the question Lon Rogers had asked when he burst into the office in Wind River.
"That's right," Kent replied briskly as he swung down from the saddle of his roan gelding. Cole had already dismounted, too, and he took the reins of the doctor's horse without being asked. Kent went on, "Where's the injured man?"
"Right over here," snapped Sawyer. The cattleman was wearing the same dark clothes, or ones just like them. As he led Kent over toward the corral he barked, "Step aside, damn it! Give us some room."
Wind River Page 10
