by Donis Casey
“You’ve heard of him?” Scott asked.
Odell Skimmingmoon lifted his cowboy hat with one hand and scratched his head with the other, his broad, brown face thoughtful. He replaced the hat and readjusted it to his satisfaction before answering. “Crying blood ain’t a name, Shaw. In our Muscogee way, the Master of Breath created the world to be in perfect balance. But when a great wrong is done, like a death before its time, the world gets out of whack and it’s got to be put back in order. If you kill somebody, then his kinfolks are going to be looking to put things right. You spilled blood and that blood cries for…”
Alafair’s hand went to her throat. “Revenge?”
Skimmingmoon’s eyebrows knit. “No, ma’am, not exactly. Not punishment for a wrong. Not a feud like the White folks do, where y’all kill each other off ’til there ain’t nobody left. Once a life has been took for a life, or paid for in some other way, then everything is straight again and the world is back in balance.”
Scott slapped down the cover of his little notebook and put it back in his pocket. “Well, I think I’ve got a place to start, now. I’m going to issue a description of our young victim in case anybody is looking for him. Then I’ll telephone the constable over to Eufaula, see if he ever heard of a Reverend Edmond. By hook or crook, we’ll get this figured out. Alafair, I’m sorry, but I’ll forego your hospitality this afternoon and get back into town. Shaw, it could be that the killer did circle back on us and is still around here, so keep your eyes peeled.”
“I intend to.”
Scott took his leave and headed toward the stable to retrieve the horse on which he had ridden to the farm early that morning.
Alafair turned toward Skimmingmoon. “Well, Odell, you might as well eat a bite. Phoebe’s made enough ham sandwiches to feed the U.S. Army.”
After ham sandwiches, quarts of coffee, and sweet potato pie, Odell and Shaw spent a couple of hours following the bloodhounds on a second sweep through the woods behind the house. The hounds followed the same trail they had at dawn, leading them to the edge of Eichelberger’s property before Skimmingmoon called them off. Still no trace of Crying Blood’s murderer.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Shaw took Grace and Charlie with him when he went to the barn to feed and groom the mares; Charlie for the help and Grace because she insisted. Since she was blowing through the house like a tornado, Alafair was happy to let her go with her father.
And Shaw was glad for her bright, uncomplicated company. He took her hand as he passed back and forth through the barn, keeping the child close to his side as he methodically checked each stall one by one, the occupied and the unoccupied, reassuring himself that the fugitive had not doubled back on the posse and made his way back here. The yellow shepherd trotted behind, untroubled. Comforted by Charlie Dog’s attitude, he left Grace to play with the barn cats while he worked.
Shaw could see out of the corner of his eye that Charlie was shadowing him as he went about mucking out stalls. The boy was keeping his distance, casually attending to his own chores. But whenever Shaw looked directly at him his gaze would drop.
Shaw figured that Alafair had put Charlie up to hovering about, keeping an eye on him, which he found amusing. Charlie was not a subtle spy.
Still, Shaw was grateful for help with the animals this evening. He was constantly distracted by every unusual mark in the dust, every suspicious twig or stone, every flash of color. Had that rake been moved? He didn’t remember that feed sack being in just that spot.
He found himself facing a corner of the stable with a half-full bucket of oats in his hand, staring at a long scratch in the wall that resembled the letter “c,” not entirely sure how he had come to be standing there.
He glanced back over his shoulder to see Charlie in the near stall, staring at him over the back of one of the pregnant mares.
“What do you see, Daddy?”
Shaw turned around and walked back toward him. “Nothing, son. I just can’t get my head to work today.” He dumped the oats into the feed box of one of the occupied stalls.
“I can’t stop thinking about the murder, either!” Charlie took his father’s statement as permission to broach the subject. He didn’t sound frightened. The grisly death and hunt for a mysterious and ghostly killer was more exciting than horrifying to a fourteen-year-old who hadn’t actually seen either. “Do you think he’s gone, Daddy?”
Shaw rubbed the ears of Alafair’s riding mare, Missy, as she nosed her feed. “Son, I’m getting mighty tired of worrying over manhunts and Crying Blood and all of it. All I want is to have some supper and a night’s sleep and go to pondering on the problem again in the morning. Now, if you’ve finished brushing that mare, let’s you and me take Grace back up to the house. Then we’ll go around while there’s still daylight and see that all the outbuildings are locked up tight for the night. That way when your ma starts pumping you for information tonight, you can tell her that Daddy was calm and thinking straight.” He gave his son an ironic quirk of a smile and Charlie grinned, caught.
Shaw turned toward the corner where the barn cats liked to lounge. “Come on, honey.” But where was Grace? He straightened. Grace had been there half a minute before. His radar eye zoomed in on the girl’s figure, hunkered down with her back to her father, in the corner of the empty stall where Crying Blood had died not twenty-four hours before. It had been cleaned out down to the bare clay floor, except for the four raw eggs Alafair had placed in the corners that morning.
“Grace!” Shaw’s tone was sharp and Grace swiveled around to look at him, wide eyed. Have I done something wrong, her expression said?
“Get out of there, sugar, leave them eggs along. That’s no place to be playing.” Grace recognized her father’s tone. Argument would avail her nothing. She assumed a put-upon expression, but stood and stuffed something into the pocket of her little cotton coat before she trotted to Shaw’s side,
“What you got there, cookie?” He had pulled enough disgusting things out of children’s pockets to make him wary. “Show me.”
Grace’s pique disappeared as she dug into her pocket, eager to show him her treasure.
It looked like a piece of green rope, and his eyebrows knit. Grace held it up for him to see.
It was looking at him.
His breath caught and he took a step back.
Grace was still standing there holding her hand out,when Charlie walked up behind her, interested enough in his sister’s find that he didn’t notice that all the color had drained out of Shaw’s face. “It’s a snake! Where’d you find a snake in this weather, dinky?” Grace had never been afraid of creepy-crawly things, a useful trait for a farm girl.
She pointed with her free hand. “In that stall yonder. Look, Daddy, she’s cold. Can I keep her? ”
Charlie bent down and allowed the snake to slide out of Grace’s grip and wind around his hand. He brought it up to his face for a closer look. “Well, I’ll be jiggered! It’s naught but a little old garter snake. What’s she doing gadding about at this time of year! She ought to be snuggled up all warm in her den with all her garter snake friends.”
“Her name is Cinda,” Grace informed him.
Charlie snorted. “Is it, now? Snakes like to eat eggs, you know, but them eggs that Mama put out would be a mighty ambitious meal for this little critter.”
Grace threw her arms around Shaw’s knees. “Can I keep her, Daddy?’
The snake was about a foot long and less than the diameter of a finger. From its perch on Charlie’s hand it lifted its oval head, and two yellowish eyes regarded Shaw dispassionately. His instinct was to scoop up his girl and get out of there as fast as he could go. He put his hand on Grace’s head and struggled to get hold of himself. When he spoke, he was surprised that his voice sounded as calm as it did. “No, sugar. A snake shouldn’t be about in this cold. Charlie, you and Grace take that critter outside and let it go so it can find its family and sleep the winter away. Then go back to the house,”
he called to their backs as they moved to do his bidding. “Tell your mama I’ll be in directly.”
The instant the children were out the barn door he rushed to the empty stall. But there was nothing to see but four speckled brown eggs, one in each corner. He put his hand in his pocket to reassure himself that the snake bone necklace was still there.
***
Shaw was locking the smokehouse door when he heard Alafair call the children for supper. He glanced to the west. The sky was clear, with only a few stray clouds already stained orange by a sun not more than a finger-width above the horizon. The sun would be down in less than twenty minutes. Shaw withdrew his watch from his coat pocket and flipped open the cover. Five o’clock. He had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening trying his hardest to concentrate on feeding the livestock. To no avail. He and Kurt had managed to fill the stock feeders in the back pasture, but Shaw couldn’t keep his mind on his business. He had nearly forgotten his odd encounter with a snake just before he found the bones. And now his fey little daughter had also discovered a snake in November, a creature who shouldn’t be anywhere at all, in a place where a boy had just died.
He had almost fashioned a logical story in his head about this young, English-speaking, Creek man who had followed him home in hopes of finding the white-haired man who had shot his relative. But ghosts calling his name—why had he been so reluctant to tell Scott about that?—and snake vertebrae necklaces, and snakes showing up where they had no reason to be, had knocked all the logic out of the situation for him. Who was sending those snakes and what were they trying to tell him? Something about the murderer? How in the name of everything holy could a flesh and blood man have eluded those bloodhounds. Could he fly?
Shaw shook his head to dislodge the disturbing thought. No, he had seen the weapon that killed Crying Blood with his own eyes. A human hand had wielded it, no supernatural creature.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Alafair met him on the back porch when he got back to the house. “Scott’s back. He’s in the parlor,” she said.
Shaw’s eyebrows lifted. Scott was a close relative. That he was waiting in the parlor and not having supper in the kitchen with the rest of the family meant he was bearing official news.
“He didn’t tell me anything.” Alafair answered the question in his eyes as she took his coat.
Shaw brushed past her into the house. Charlie was on his heels, but Alafair was too quick for him and grabbed his arm. His face fell.
She tried not to smile. “You wash up, Charlie-boy. Talk to Crook. He’s lonely. Daddy’ll let us know what’s up directly.”
Scott stood up when Shaw came into the parlor and immediately launched into his topic. “I’ve been talking to Sheriff Barger on the telephone. I told him about our manhunt, the Reverend Edmond and all. He was right interested. And as it turns out he had a bunch of interesting information for me, too.”
They sat down across from one another, both men on the edge of their seats. Scott continued. “First of all, the skull you found had a slug rattling around inside. So our slender friend was definitely murdered. Second, Deputy Morgan has been asking around Oktaha about the Goingbacks. He found out that there was a tale going around some years ago that Roane Hawkins may have had a hand in the death of his wife’s first husband. Maybe so he could marry the widow and get his hands on the land. Nothing was ever proven, of course. Then when Hawkins took a powder and Lucretia sold the land to Uncle Peter and left, that pretty much ended the rumors.”
“I’ll tell you what, Scott, ever since I heard that Hawkins disappeared I’ve had it in my head that the skeleton is Roane Hawkins himself.”
“No. Whoever ended up in the ground it wasn’t Hawkins. According to the doctor in Muskogee who examined him, it seems the bony hombre in the grave you found was an Indian.”
Shaw was startled. “How could he tell?”
Scott shrugged. “Something about the shape of the skull. It’s all too modern and scientific for the likes of me. Not only was he Indian, but judging by his teeth and bones the doctor thinks he was young.” Shaw opened his mouth to speak but Scott held up a finger and continued. “And you were right that he was wearing cavalry boots.”
“An Indian in cavalry boots? Somebody Roane Hawkins knew from when he was in the Army?”
“That was thirty years earlier. Slim is too young to have been in the Army with Hawkins and Uncle Peter, I think.”
Shaw hesitated before he responded. “Well, Cousin, I don’t know have enough information to guess who the skeleton used to be, but as for Crying Blood, consider this. Papa said that Hawkins and Lucretia Goingback had a couple of children of their own…”
Scott completed his sentence for him. “…who got taken away from her by the B.I.A.”
But Shaw wasn’t quite done. “…to an Indian school…”
The sheriff considered this before he finished. “…in Eufaula?” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms along the rests. “I don’t know, Shaw. Just before I came I asked Kate Smith at the telephone exchange to ring up the boarding school out there. They told me that a Reverend Edmond used to work there years ago. He still pastors a church in Eufaula. But the lady I spoke with said she didn’t remember any children by the name of Hawkins living at the school. I’m planning on traveling over there in the morning to see if I can find this Edmond and see if he can tell me anything about our dead boy. If I need to, I’ll stop by the boarding school and have a look at their records. I came by tonight to ask if you want to go with me.”
“What for?”
Scott shrugged. “I figured you’d be interested, considering how the young’un died.”
Shaw chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip before he answered. “Unless you need me for a second pair of ears I’d better stay around home. Are you taking the train?”
“No. It’d take me all day to ride up north to Muskogee on the train then wait around and catch the connection south to Eufaula, do my business, and same thing back. Jack Cecil offered to let me drive down there in his Ford.”
“What, that Model T he got last year? That’s a sturdier automobile than most I’ve seen, but I’ve got to tell you if it was to rain tomorrow it’d be faster for you to walk to Eufaula.”
Scott laughed. “I know it. It don’t look like rain, though, and that road south is in pretty good shape last I rode it.”
“Good luck, then.”
“I’ll go with you.” At the interruption Shaw and Scott twisted in their chairs. Alafair was standing in the kitchen door. Neither man was surprised to see her.
“I declare, Alafair,” Scott said. “Ever since you went up to your sister’s in Enid a while back you’ve just took it into your head to go gallivanting all over the state!”
She reddened. “Well, if Shaw isn’t going, I’d like to, if I won’t be in the way. After all, I’d like to find out about that poor child as much as anybody. The younger children are in town with Alice and Grace can stay over at Phoebe’s. Martha and Mary can do for you fellows for a day, Shaw.”
Scott directed his answer at Shaw. “It’s all right with me if she wants to go. I’ve found her to be a good judge of character and fairly observant. Besides, I could use the company on that long drive.” His gaze shifted back to Alafair. “I expect you won’t be in the way as long as you let me do the talking.”
She gave Shaw a questioning look. He was not one to try and tell her what to do and she was not much of an obeyer if he did. But if he had objections Scott would not overrule him. An anxious moment passed before he responded.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Her eyebrows shot up. She had expected grudging acquiescence from him at best. What was he thinking? His expression was so calculating that she almost reconsidered. Was he trying to get her out of the way for some reason? But her desire to meet the Reverend Edmond and perhaps to see from where Crying Blood had sprung overcame her misgivings.
“All right, then,” Scott said. “If y
ou want to go, be at the jailhouse at dawn and we’ll hit the trail.”
She nodded. “Come on into the kitchen, then, boys. Supper’s on the table.”
Chapter Forty
Just before dawn, after morning chores were done, so many family members had business in town that Shaw had to ferry them all in the buckboard, the only vehicle on the farm that was big enough to hold everyone at once. The first stop was at Phoebe’s house on the adjoining farm to drop off Grace. Then into Boynton to leave Mary at the schoolhouse to prepare her classroom, Charlie and Martha at Alice’s house, where the three younger girls had already spent the night. The plan was that when time came, the children would walk to school together and Martha would go to work at the bank. Alafair was pretty sure that as soon as the parents were out of sight, Martha would walk downtown to Streeter McCoy’s apartment upstairs over his business office and make breakfast for her intended. As long as Martha didn’t become an object of gossip Alafair didn’t care. Martha was twenty-four years old after all, and the young people would be married in a few months anyway.
Once the children were distributed, Alafair and Shaw drove to the jailhouse. Jack Cecil’s black Model T Ford was already parked next to the boardwalk. Shaw pulled the wagon up next to the automobile and threw the reins over the hitching post in front of the building.
It was amazing to Alafair how autos had proliferated around town in just the last couple of years. It wasn’t so long ago that an automobile chugging down Main Street was an occasion for wonder, drawing people out of stores to gawk and causing horses to shy. Now, no one raised an eyebrow and most animals were inured to the noisy machines. In fact, there were usually as many cars as buggies parked on the street when the shops were open.
Shaw’s brother-in-law Jack Cecil was his older sister Josie’s husband. Jack was Vice President of the First National Bank of Boynton, a large, sleek, good-natured man who was not just a shrewd businessman but a kind and generous human being. One had to be careful about expressing a wish or desire in Jack’s presence, for Jack would see that it was fulfilled whether you really wanted him to or not. Only months before, Scott had approached the town council about acquiring an automobile for official business. When the council balked Jack had offered his own vehicle for Scott to use whenever he needed it. Alafair expected that Scott found reasons to need it. He was quite an enthusiastic driver.