Sipping Whiskey in a Shallow Grave

by Mark Mitten

  Red Creek knew it had to be the one they called Bill.

  Griff and Emerson got the man’s name when they arrested him…although what his real name was, was any man’s guess. Red Creek reasoned Bill must be the gang leader. He seemed to be the most crafty, save for maybe Charley Crouse. But Charley Crouse no longer interested Red Creek. Red wanted the man who shot Emerson Greer. After all, Ben Leavick had paid him to hunt down the killer and that’s what he aimed to do.

  “And he was wearing Harold Chalmers’ green plaid shirt. Took it from the clothesline,” Chubb said in an excitable tone. “Mrs. Chalmers put out the word, thinking it might have blown off the line. It didn’t — the thief jacked it.”

  “I thought the shirt looked awful familiar,” Frank said thoughtfully. “You see, Harold comes into my saloon most Saturday nights. I own the Stevens Saloon. Right down there.”

  These two men were gabby. Gabby people irritated Red Creek but he was learning new facts as they jawed on. If he had to listen to their ramblings to learn just one or two new facts about Bill, he would tolerate it.

  Already, this had been a profitable stop. He knew who he was after now. He knew Bill was wearing a green plaid shirt. He knew he had been shot by an old rancher down in Guffey, although it clearly wasn’t slowing Bill down any. In addition he took the northbound train, the Denver South Park Railway, right out of Garo. The outlaw stood in this very spot at four o’clock in the afternoon not three days prior. The hunter was closing in.

  Red tried to guess where Bill might be headed. Perhaps Como. Or any of those mining towns: Tarryall, Hamilton, Jefferson City. Or on to Denver itself.

  Red Creek had already ridden quite a circuit looking for this man. He had ridden from Grand Lake to Ward. He had taken the train from Boulder to Denver to Pueblo. He’d ridden horseback through Cañon City, up to Guffey, and on into Garo. That was a big loop…just to hear Bill was circling back towards Denver.

  But no matter. Red Creek was patient, if nothing else.

  Chapter 15

  Leadville

  LG held up a ceramic jug triumphantly.

  “Moonshine!” he whispered.

  Casey looked back at the cabin. In the window, he could see the orange glow of hot coals in the woodstove. But the lanterns were out — Julianna was probably sound asleep by now.

  It was late. But the evening was nice and there were several big stumps on the porch to sit on. Casey usually sat on one every night. Being used to long cattle drives sleeping under the stars, Casey was drawn to porch-sitting.

  Julianna usually joined him, but since LG arrived Julianna rarely came out to sit. Casey knew why. She was giving them “space.” Space to talk. Every night that week, late at night, Julianna would whisper to him about how important it was to “talk” to LG. Casey let her go on about it, but mainly because she was pretty and sweet and he didn’t like arguing with her. He had no intention of talking to LG about anything.

  “Got this in town.”

  “Open ‘er up,” Casey said to LG, quietly. “And keep your voice low.”

  The cork came out with a hollow pop. LG had spent the afternoon in Leadville and Casey was glad for some quiet time. LG went to buy his train ticket since Casey suggested he better buy the ticket a day early — the Colorado Midland was a new spectacle and people were coming and going every day since they laid the tracks, he said.

  “Heading out tomorr’a,” LG mentioned.

  They sat in the dark rolling cigarettes and passing the jug.

  “Love these things,” LG mentioned, looking at his smoldering cigarette. “Reminds me of all them trail drives. Always had a smoke. Especially when I was nighthawk.”

  Casey threw him a look.

  “When were you ever nighthawk?”

  “Oh, I rode the graveyard shift,” LG said with a little indignation. “Many a time. Many a time.”

  “Must of been a time when I was rep’n for another brand.”

  LG reached out for the jug. Casey saw him reach but took another quick pull before passing it over. An owl was hooting up in a tall pine, just in front of the cabin.

  “I remember the time, down near Walsenburg, I was on the midnight guard. Hardest rain you ever seen. Hail, too. Got soaked to the bone. After it let up, tried to light a cig but them matches were so sogged.”

  “Who were you riding for?”

  “The 4W…Jacob Weil, down in Purgatoire. We brought them cows all the way up from there, grazed ‘em the whole way.”

  The moon was starting to rise up over the Ten-Mile Range. It was just a crescent.

  “I spent a summer in Walsenburg,” Casey said. “Back in ’83. I put in some hours at the feed store. But dry goods didn’t suit me none. That was my last time living in a proper home. Till now.”

  LG handed the jug back over again.

  “So, what’ll you do here? This ain’t exactly a finishing ranch.”

  “Nope,” replied Casey. “I’m hitched now. I can’t ride the range no more. Plus the range is closing up fast. Won’t be no range.”

  Blowing smoke rings, LG got quiet.

  It was true, LG knew. Homesteaders were eating up the open range and stringing wire. They both knew it wouldn’t be possible to drive a herd up to Montana before too long. What with the railroads built up everywhere, it was easier to simply ship the cattle where they needed to go. LG could see that. He didn’t like it. But he could see it coming as plain as day.

  “Gonna shoe,” Casey told him.

  “Ain’t a bad idea,” LG responded. It made him think about his own future. “You know, managin’ for Sam Hartsel ain’t too bad. But, I been thinking…mebbe I’ll sign on as a brand inspector down in Colorada Springs. Or Denver. Enjoy the city life for a spell.”

  “Looking at a store downtown here,” Casey went on. “Right on 3rd. I can shoe horses right off the street.”

  The alcohol was stronger than Casey expected. He was feeling it now. The stars were extra twinkly. He could see the North Star up above. Casey pointed at the Big Dipper.

  “Ladle creeping up on midnight now.”

  “Surely is,” LG said, and grinned thoughtfully.

  The constellation rotated around the North Star like a clock face. That’s how they always knew when their shift was over. His grin faded. He wasn’t sure if he would ever point cattle up the trail again or ride nighthawk on a long drive. He could stay on at the Hartsel Ranch as long as he needed, and oversee the breeding program. He wasn’t sure, though. He wasn’t sure what he needed. LG wasn’t too sure about anything anymore.

  “Hey, pard.”

  Casey looked over at him, expecting the jug. But LG was still holding it in his lap.

  “I feel cruddy — how I lit out.”

  Casey turned back to the night sky. He was feeling the buzz of the alcohol. Each time he turned his head the stars seemed to move around.

  “Once I realized what was going on, I shot that ki-yote off the roof,” LG continued softly. “I heard shots back there, but I was on the wrong end of the wagon.”

  Casey leaned over and took the jug out of LG’s lap. LG didn’t seem to notice.

  “I just had my ol’ Navy .36, cap and ball…not a quick-shootin’ gun. Clunky. And then they set upon me. The only route I had was on down the road. Was all I could do.”

  The owl continued to hoot somewhere above them. He took a breath.

  “Could have rode back later,” Casey pointed out, after a minute.

  LG looked up at the treetops. He didn’t know what to say. Or why he didn’t ride back after he shook those riders.

  “They shot me,” Casey said. “Almost killed me. Like they killed Ira. And Edwin. Right there in front of me.”

  Casey took another swallow and set the jug on the ground in between them. The owl was hooting again but he couldn’t tell where it was now. Whenever he turned his head one way or the other, the trees seemed to bend.

  Chapter 16

  Garo

  Driving the carryall throu
gh the tall August grass was pleasant. Til got two good cuttings this season, might even get a third if the weather would hold. He was thoroughly enjoying the ride and the morning air was enlivening.

  The draft horses were walking quietly and seemed to get along with each other. That was not always the case. They liked to bicker. Especially Bear, the swing horse, liked to nip at the lead horse, Heavy. Heavy had a lot of bite marks on his neck. But today they weren’t bickering. Just walking nicely.

  Til knew the pleasant summer days would be over soon. Autumn came early in the high country so he always savored the easy weather.

  Laura sat next to him, her arm hooked around his elbow. Her long blonde hair was blowing with the light breeze. Little Walker came along behind them on a gray Arabian mare, riding confidently.

  It was Laura’s first day of work and Til thought it was a fair enough occasion to take her into town himself. He figured it would give her a chance to think ahead without worrying about anything else — not even the bickery drafts. Laura had been almost too excited to get any sleep the night before.

  Chubb Newitt sent word the week before that the Garo schoolmarm had up and moved to Fairplay, without much notice. The school year had already begun, and Garo was suddenly without its teacher. Laura, of course, was beside herself and accepted the role without hesitation.

  There were enough children in Garo and the outlying ranches to justify both a schoolhouse and a teacher’s salary. The schoolhouse was only a few years old, but in that short time a half dozen young ladies passed in and out of the occupation.

  Laura found that curious. According to Chubb, none of the children were happy about attendance. He said it was because they had a different teacher each year, sometimes more often than that. He didn’t know why, but he guessed the glamour of the big mining towns lured them all away. Watch out, he warned her, for the small town blues.

  Or perhaps, Laura suspected, it was because certain people’s children were unruly and disruptive. Oh, she had met Chubb’s son Billy — and he was no petunia. She knew temperamental boys were capable of grand feats of insubordination. And in Laura’s opinion Billy Newitt seemed capable of chasing off inexperienced school teachers single-handedly, through pure malaise.

  She smiled at Til, who smiled back.

  “I’m so pleased!” she told him. “Initially, I was only hoping to assist with the school. Or start a library. But look! It’s all come about so quickly, so unexpectedly. How wonderful!”

  “Better than making pearl snaps?” Til asked, joshing her.

  “Better than making pearl snaps,” she said and dug her finger in his ribs. “Although, which man in all of South Park has the most dazzling shirt snaps?”

  “I do believe it’s me.”

  He puffed out his chest. Laura laughed at him.

  “Such a peacock!”

  Chapter 17

  Kinsey City

  The river sounds were loud here. Muddy Creek and the Blue came together not fifty feet away, and then joined the Colorado River just beyond. The water was not particularly high this time of year. Even though it wasn’t September yet, a couple cottonwood trees already had a handful of yellow leaves.

  Riding up to the Kinsey Inn, Red Creek studied the area from the saddle. Calling this place a city was a tad fallacious, he thought. If he had sneezed, he would have ridden right through and never saw it. There were a lot of cattle grazing about. Across the river from the Inn, he saw a calving barn, a corn bin, the defunct Kinsey City Bank, and Kremmling’s Store.

  Red Creek slid off his horse, led him up to the Kinsey Inn’s hitching rail and wrapped a rein around it. There were a couple other horses grazing outside, tacked up but grazing unattended. Maybe this was a nice quiet town where people let their horses wander around while they got a bite to eat. But Red wanted his horse where he could see it. Especially with his Whitworth in the scabbard. He could simply carry it inside — but he didn’t want to make a spectacle of himself.

  He headed up the stairs onto the veranda. The door was propped open and flies were buzzing in and out of the windows. Maude, the bulgy inn matron in a plain blue dress, was chatting with two men at a table. When she saw Red Creek come through the door, she hustled right over.

  “Afternoon, dear! Mutton is the meal of the day. Does that suit you?”

  “Suits me fine.”

  Maude saw Red check over the two men talking quietly at the table. She nodded their way.

  “Them’s the brothers,” she said in a singsong voice.

  Red Creek looked at her blankly. It was clear she expected him to recognize who they were.

  “Aaron and John Kinsey. I thought you might be here to sign on. They’re recruiting cowboys to rake alfalfa.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Sit over there then, and I’ll bring you some nice hot coffee and a plate of chops.”

  Maude disappeared in the back, the big blue dress swishing around her portly frame.

  Red leaned back in the sturdy chair. Someone knew how to build furniture up here. The table was stout, too, he thought, and must weigh as much as a heifer. The two brothers looked like brothers. One had dark hair, the other light brown…but each had the same mustache, wide set eyes, and monotoned voice. They were talking about the merits of alfalfa.

  Maude returned with coffee, a steaming plate, and a carefree grin. The mutton chops smelled good. Red had been living off of jerked venison and a lot of fresh fish. Red was pretty good at catching fish. He carried fish line in his saddle bags and usually fashioned a pole out of branches he would find. But he liked mutton when he could get it.

  “There you go, hun!” she said, but was in no hurry to leave. She liked to see men eat. It made her feel like she was doing what she was put on this earth to do: feeding people.

  “Ma’am, I was wondering. You seen a feller come through here recent, in a green plaid shirt with a nice pocketwatch?”

  She pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips.

  “Surely did. Not a couple days ago, if I remember rightly.”

  The Kinsey brothers turned in their seats, abruptly ending their dull talk.

  “Friend of yours?”

  “Afraid not,” Red replied. He could tell they were interested, but not in a kindly way. He decided to be straightforward.

  “The man’s wanted. Right up in Grand Lake, actually. Been tracking him all over the state…and here he’s looped right back to Grand County.”

  Aaron and John stared at each other, raising their eyebrows in the same manner at the same time.

  “He was very complimentary about my raspberry pie!” Maude exclaimed.

  “He also helped himself to a horse from my corral,” Aaron said bitterly.

  “Are you sure it was him?” Maude asked.

  John looked at her and sighed loudly.

  “How many times we got to go through this, Maude?”

  “Was the only visitor we’ve had, recent,” Aaron reasoned. “No one else has passed through.”

  “Makes the most sense,” John agreed.

  Kinsey City was small — just the inn and Kremmling’s store, the tiny bank and the brothers’ alfalfa ranch. Red figured it would be better just to speak freely and see what the locals knew. This wasn’t much of a town and folks seemed open enough. He bet anything unusual got around quickly.

  “Well, I’ll be!” Maude said, and slid into a chair at Red’s table. “Are you a bounty hunter?”

  “Yep.”

  “Man stole a horse,” Aaron reiterated, leaning forward on his elbows. “Just a quarterhorse. Big bay. White nip on its nose.”

  “Sock on his left hind. All the way up to his hock,” his brother added.

  Red Creek made a show of pulling out his notebook and scribbling the information down. He did not really care about their horse, and he wouldn’t spend any effort bringing it back. But the description might be useful. Ben Leavick had paid him to hunt down the Grand Lake Gang — these people had not. The stolen horse w
as their responsibility.

  “Tracks led due east,” Aaron mentioned. “We’re short-handed this season. Rowed up alfalfa all week long. Trying to get it in the barn a’fore any rains come in. Or else I’d chase that sun’bitch down myself.”

  “We surely woulda chased him down,” John chimed in and banged his fist on the tabletop.

  Maude wore a look of absolute surprise and began fanning her face with a napkin.

  “Just can’t believe it! I fed the man my good raspberry pie. He paid for it, too. I didn’t suspect the man was a horse thief or I never would have served him any raspberry pie.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t have, ma’am” Red said.

  “You hang that sun’bitch horse thief,” Aaron told Red Creek.

  “Hang that sun’bitch,” John echoed.

  Another man strode in through the open doorway. It was Rudolph “Kare” Kremmling, owner of Kremmling’s Store across the river. He walked up and rubbed his hands together excitedly.

  “Who’s getting hung?”

  “The feller who ate Maude’s raspberry pie. And then stole my dern horse,” Aaron said.

  He also robbed your bank, Red thought, but decided not to mention it. What if that information stirred them up, and they invited themselves along? Red didn’t need the company.

  Kare had watched Red Creek ride up to the inn and decided it was as good a time as any for supper. His store was empty at the time. Of course Kinsey City was pretty empty most of the time, generally speaking.

  The Kinsey brothers’ moved in and set up their ranch a few years back, but it was Kare’s store that brought people in. Then one day the brothers decided to nominate the area “Kinsey City.” Kare was flabbergasted — he found that irritating. Hell, he found the brothers irritating. If this was a city, it shouldn’t be named after a couple alfalfa farmers. No one went to the Kinsey’s for anything except alfalfa. They came to Kare for everything else…for supplies, for mail, for fancy ceramic dishes and Chinese teapots. They came to Kremmling’s Store. When Maude wanted some rhubarb earlier that year, who was it that freighted it in? Kare did, special order, just for her.