The Silver Shooter

by Erin Lindsey

  “And what about everybody else? The treasure hunters and the cattlemen and the rest?”

  “The dust will settle eventually. It always does. Once the shock wears off, people drift back to their natural corners. They sort the facts according to their worldview, and anything that doesn’t fit within that framework is simply cast aside. Most will dismiss the paranormal aspects in favor of some more prosaic explanation.”

  That, at least, I knew to be true. I’d done it myself, when my mother told me she talked to my dead granny. Ghosts didn’t fit within my worldview, so I blamed it all on her dementia—and almost had her committed to the insane asylum on Blackwell’s Island.

  Not a helpful turn of thought, Rose. I tried to focus on more immediate matters. “Did we hear back from Mr. Burrows?”

  Thomas nodded. “He says he’ll try for the six o’clock train, though I’d be surprised if he manages it. Either way, he’ll wire us from Chicago to let us know of his progress.”

  Assuming he did catch the overnight Western Express, that would put him in Medora on Thursday, four days from now. Four days of waiting for an extra pair of hands to help us solve Ben Upton’s murder—and four nights of fending off his pushy ghost.

  Just then, a commotion broke out on the far side of the room, a man erupting from his chair with enough force to send it skittering back. At first I took it for a saloon brawl, but then I recognized the scowling face of Gus Reid. “I told you, I don’t give a damn what Roosevelt says! He ain’t here! He went back east, remember?”

  “I got his proxy,” said one of his companions, and I recognized the back of Charlie Morrison’s head. “And seeing how he’s the chair of this here association…” He gestured at the others sharing their table.

  Reid sneered. “I don’t take orders from no four-eyed dude runs off with his tail between his legs at the first sign of trouble.”

  Morrison’s chair creaked as he rose up out of it. “If he was here, he’d knock the tar outta you for disrespecting him like that. But since he ain’t, I reckon I got his proxy for that too.”

  “You don’t wanna do that, Charlie,” said another man, pushing his own chair back in warning.

  Subtly, Thomas and I did the same, ready to spring into action if the situation called for it. Morrison was Roosevelt’s man, which made him our man, too.

  Reid pounded the table, sending beer glasses jumping. “I’m done sitting on my ass while my stock gets butchered. Look at you all, gossiping like a bunch of old women, half of you ready to sell and run home to mama. And why? ’Cause some outlaw too drunk to tell a bobcat from a barn cat tells you he saw a monster? Can’t you see them Indians is laughing at us? It’s time to do something, goddamn it!”

  “Ain’t you done enough?” one of the men said. “You got that Sioux sitting in jail. What happens when the rest of his tribe comes looking, huh?”

  “We’ll be ready for ’em. I say we wire Fort Buford.”

  Morrison sighed. “Cavalry ain’t coming out here on account of a few dead beeves. Chrissake, Gus, be reasonable.”

  “We’ll put together a posse, then!” Reid pounded the table again. “I aim to do what needs doing. Any of the rest of you decides to grow a backbone, you know where to find me.” So saying, he stormed out of the saloon.

  “Meeting adjourned, I guess,” Morrison said dryly.

  The group of cowboys dispersed. Charlie Morrison headed for the bar, looking very much like he needed a drink, but then he spied Thomas and me and came over.

  “Please,” Thomas said, gesturing for him to sit. “That looked like a lively affair. What was Reid so exercised about?”

  Morrison sighed and rubbed tired-looking eyes. “His foreman come across another half a dozen dead beeves this morning. Not too far from the house, so they say.”

  Strange. The spot where we’d been attacked this morning was several miles northeast of Cougar Ranch. If the creature had a reliable source of food in Gus Reid’s herd, what was it doing all the way over at Custer Creek?

  “And of course, Gus being Gus, he’s convinced the Sioux are behind it. Says he wants the cavalry out here, but I guess you heard all that.”

  “You told him they wouldn’t come,” I said. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Not halfway, ma’am. Truth is, I reckon it depends who’s asking. Gus, he don’t have the pull. But there’s others who might, and he ain’t the only one losing patience.”

  “What of his threat to form a posse?” Thomas asked. “Would the sheriff tolerate that?”

  “Can’t say for sure. If he does, or if the army decides to show up … Well, I don’t need to tell you that don’t turn out well. Things like that got a way of getting outta hand mighty fast.”

  My skin grew hot with anger. The idea that someone like Gus Reid could call the United States Army down on the Lakota without a lick of evidence made my blood boil. “Reid is a fool.”

  “There’s plenty agree with him.”

  “Then they’re fools too,” I snapped, ignoring the warning look Thomas was giving me. “Anyone with an ounce of sense can see what’s happening to those animals isn’t the work of the Lakota. Mr. Wiltshire and I have seen the creature responsible with our own eyes.”

  “Sorry to say, but unless you got proof—”

  “We’re working on it,” Thomas said curtly. “In the meantime, one thing we know for certain is that the creature hunts on the banks of rivers and streams. It would be wise to warn everyone you can, especially at Maltese Cross.”

  “I’ll do that.” Morrison pushed his chair back. “I’d best get on the wire. Hopefully the boss can have a word with the sheriff.” He hesitated, his glance shifting between Thomas and me. “Listen. There’s another rumor going around too, ’bout the two of you. Far as I’m concerned, that’s between you and the boss. But whatever it is you’re planning to do, best do it quick, ’cause things is fixing to get ugly.”

  Thomas sighed as we watched him go. “He’s right, of course. Situations like these have a way of escalating very quickly. If conflict breaks out between the ranchers and the Lakota, we’ll have failed Roosevelt completely.”

  “We’ll have failed this whole town,” I said, “and Two Horses most of all. Three days, the sheriff said, and the first one’s nearly gone.”

  “The clock is certainly ticking. And since it would appear that our secret is out in any case, I think it’s time we were more … direct … with the locals.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If we can no longer conceal our association with the Agency, let us use it to our advantage. Pinkertons are disliked because they serve as the long arm of the law, and are reputed to be bullies besides. So.” Reaching into his satchel, he produced a shiny piece of metal and tossed it onto the table. “If we are to suffer the consequences of such a reputation, we ought to reap the benefits as well.”

  “Is that what I think it is?” I picked up the metal shield, turning it over in disbelief. Made of brass, with the Agency logo stamped at the top, it boldly proclaimed the wearer a PINKERTON NATIONAL DETECTIVE AGENT, NEW YORK. It was a simple badge, but impressive—and I’d never seen one in my life. “Why don’t I have one of these?”

  Thomas tilted his head. “Do you not?”

  “No, Thomas, I do not.” I scowled, feeling cheated.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. It so rarely comes up in the special branch. In any case, it’s easily remedied. In the meantime, you can wear that one if you like.”

  “No, thank you,” I said coolly, pushing it across the table at him.

  He eyed me with a puzzled sort of amusement, but he let it go. “At any rate, I think we ought to pay another visit to Cougar Ranch, this time as Pinkerton agents. Gus Reid is altogether too mixed up in this for it to be a coincidence. His cattle being preyed on. His ranch hands arresting Two Horses. And now we find out that some of those same ranch hands are former mercenaries.”

  “Not just any mercenaries, either. Buckshot Outfit. It has to be their br
and White Robes saw that night.” Which meant there was a good chance the horse thieves worked at Cougar Ranch. But were they acting on their boss’s orders, or just looking for a little something on the side? “Reid made it clear how he feels about the Lakota, so I have no trouble believing he’d steal from them. But then why not keep the horses, or sell them? How do they end up in the belly of a creature Reid doesn’t even believe exists? A creature that’s busy devouring his cattle every chance it gets?”

  “Cui bono.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Whom does it benefit? The questions you’re asking are the right ones. It’s difficult to see how Reid benefits from anything that’s going on here.”

  “Unless it’s all a bunch of lies, and his herd is doing just fine.” I’d blurted it out without really thinking, but Thomas pounced on it straightaway.

  “Interesting,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. “Suppose you’re right, and all his bluster about the Lakota is just that. A bit of smoke to throw everyone off the scent. Reid’s stock hasn’t really fallen prey to the creature, at least not recently. His operations are largely unaffected, but the same cannot be said for his competitors in the beef industry. Maltese Cross, the Bar H, all the others—they’ve been hit multiple times, and some are closing shop as a result. Reid’s share of the market increases. A clear benefit.”

  “But would that mean he’s somehow responsible for the creature?” I had a hard time imagining it. “He made his views on the supernatural pretty clear the other day. Hocus-pocus hoodoo, I think he called it. Unless you think that’s part of the act too?”

  “Not necessarily. A shrewd businessman might simply take advantage of the situation. And whipping up hysteria around the Lakota would certainly have a chilling effect on investment. Many of these ranches are financed by wealthy easterners. They’re already reeling from the effects of the winter. Rumors of a looming war with the Lakota might inspire them to cut bait before they lose everything.”

  “Leaving Cougar Ranch in an even stronger position.” I was beginning to like this theory, and not just because I disliked Gus Reid. It didn’t explain everything, but if it could help us clear Two Horses’s name, it was a good start.

  Returning to the hotel after supper, we found the place quiet as a grave. Maybe it was the unfamiliar shadows, or the creepy specter of the moose head on the landing, but I felt a skittering of ice down my spine the moment we started up the stairs, and I paused at the top, shivering.

  Thomas put a hand on my waist, as casual as if I were his wife. “Are you all right?”

  Why, do I seem a bit distracted? Nothing to do with the hand on my waist, I’m sure. Did he even realize he was doing it? Now I was doubly flustered, and I stammered out a thoroughly unconvincing reply. “I … think so, thank you. It’s … just a chill, that’s all.”

  Thomas narrowed one eye. He didn’t believe me, oddly enough.

  “It can’t be the ghost, can it? I drank some saltwater just after my bath.”

  He hesitated. “Do you have any of that mineral water left? Perhaps you ought to take that too, just in case.”

  “Why?”

  “This is our first night back since your dream. I think it likely the ghost will try again. The saltwater is probably enough, but one can’t be too careful.”

  I shivered again, this time with dread. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” He put his hands on my shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t mean to worry you. I would simply prefer to err on the side of caution. Events have forced us to focus on the creature once more, at the expense of investigating Upton’s murder. The ghost will be impatient, possibly even angry. I don’t want to leave even the slightest crack in your defenses.” His gaze fell from my eyes, drifting over my features in a way that brought warmth to my cheeks. “I am rather fond of you, you know.”

  “Oh, really?” I managed an arch look, even through my blush. “You’ve never said so.”

  “Hmm. That’s not quite true.” And with no more warning than that, he leaned in and kissed me.

  If yesterday’s was a Saturday sort of kiss, full of passion and urgency, this was a Sunday kiss: soft, lingering, deep in every sense of the word. Within seconds of our lips meeting, I was trembling, overcome with the instinctive realization that this kiss meant more than the ones before it. The storm, that night in the parlor six months ago … Those had been like the bursting of a dam. A momentary loss of control. This was different. This was premeditated. And it made my heart race like nothing before.

  He drew back after a moment, but his hand still rested against the nape of my neck, toying with a lock of hair that had come loose from my chignon. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was…”

  “Perfect.” I looked him right in the eye to show him I meant it. “This moment is perfect. Please don’t ruin it with an apology.”

  “Very well then, I’m not sorry. It’s the expected thing to say, though, isn’t it?”

  “I think we’re past what’s expected.”

  “Quite.” His gaze dropped to the floor, and when he raised it again, his eyes were full of that same uncertainty I’d seen yesterday. “I’m afraid I don’t know what the right thing is here. I don’t want to … That is, I shouldn’t wish you to think…”

  That sentence wasn’t leading anyplace I wanted to go, so I stopped it with a kiss.

  He didn’t take much encouragement, gathering me close and picking up where he left off, as though all he’d needed was my permission. Which was odd, considering that our first kiss was my doing, and I’d been the one with a fistful of buttons yesterday. My mother had firm views on the sort of woman who initiated romantic encounters, and they were not flattering. Hopefully, Thomas didn’t share those views. He certainly didn’t seem to just now.

  I’m not sure how long we carried on, but it was only the sound of footsteps on the stairs that drew us apart. I half hoped it would be the lady in the traveling cloak again, but it was only one of the treasure hunters, and by the time he noticed us, we’d separated to a respectable distance.

  Thomas gave a courtly nod, the sort I’d seen him give dozens of times at formal functions, only this one came with a wry twist of the mouth. “Good night, Miss Gallagher.”

  “Good night, Mr. Wiltshire.”

  I don’t suppose I have to tell you that I didn’t get much sleep that night, and not because of any ghost. Neither did Thomas, judging from the lamplight leaking between the slats in my wall. I’m quite sure none of our fellow agents would have approved of such distractions in the middle of a case. They wouldn’t have approved of anything about it. Back in New York, that would have troubled me greatly, but out here …

  Out here, one is whoever he wishes to be, isn’t he?

  In the three years I’d known him, Thomas had rarely let his guard down, and then only for moments at a time. All that seemed to have changed the moment the train pulled into Medora. Since then, he’d been more relaxed, more open, than I’d ever seen him. This version of Thomas Wiltshire had room for me in his life, maybe even his heart. But would he survive the train ride home? For that matter, would this version of me?

  I was getting ahead of myself, of course. The real question, as I was about to be reminded, was whether either of us would make it onto that train at all.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW—A LOAD OF BULL—GIDEON PROVES HIS WORTH

  We struck out just before dawn, with another long ride ahead of us. After last night, I half expected Thomas to have some sort of speech prepared, of the It’s been lovely but for both our sakes we ought to leave it here variety. But he didn’t bring it up, and that was fine by me. I understood perfectly well that what was happening between us was an indulgence, almost certainly a temporary one. Dragging it out in the open would only make it bittersweet, like anticipating the end of a holiday before it’s even really begun. And what would that accomplish except to rain on our brief m
oment of sunshine?

  I suppose that sounds like denial, and maybe it was. But if Thomas was willing to live in denial with me, even for just a little longer, it was worth it.

  Gather ye rosebuds, et cetera.

  It was a little after ten when we rode up to Cougar Ranch. The first to spot us was a young man rubbing a horse down near the barn. He looked friendly enough until he saw the badge pinned to Thomas’s chest, at which point he nearly dropped his brush. “Can I help you?”

  “Let us hope so.” Thomas swung down from his saddle. “Agent Wiltshire, Pinkerton Detective Agency, and this is my partner, Agent Gallagher.”

  No one had ever called me Agent Gallagher before, and I quite liked the sound of it.

  The young man didn’t. He swallowed audibly.

  “What is your name, please?” Thomas took out his notebook.

  “C-Clive Weatherspoon. Sir.”

  Thomas wrote that down with a severe expression. “Is your employer at home?”

  Clive shook his head. “Ain’t back from town yet.”

  Probably had some whiskey to sleep off. Just as well, really. Reid’s men would be on the back foot without the boss around.

  “Very well, then,” Thomas said. “You’ll have to do. Agent Gallagher and I are here to interview the employees of Cougar Ranch.”

  “What, all of them?”

  “Yes, Mr. Weatherspoon, all of them, beginning with the foreman. We’ll require space to work. The verandah ought to suffice. Kindly ensure there are sufficient chairs. And a pitcher of water and two glasses, if you would be so good.”

  The young man stood there for a moment, gaping like a fish. I felt a little sorry for him, to tell the truth. But I couldn’t break character, so instead I folded my arms and said, “Well? We’re losing daylight.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am. Er … this way, I guess?”

  He led us to the verandah overlooking the river, where we took the liberty of rearranging Reid’s furniture. I couldn’t help casting a nervous glance or two over my shoulder as we worked, even though we were a good thirty feet from the riverbank. If it had been up to me, I’d have suggested we conduct our interviews in the barn. With the door barred. And a shotgun.