The Reckoning

by Mike Torreano

  Ike sagged into a chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment. The cat jumped into his lap, arching her back to be stroked. She patty-pawed her front legs back and forth in his lap for a moment, then lay down and curled up.

  “That’s the first time that cat’s ever taken to anyone,” Lorraine said.

  Ike absently petted the calico. “Sue’s my little sister. She’s a feisty one, though you wouldn’t think so to look at her. Kind of dainty. Over the years, she grew hard ’cause of all that happened back in Kansas during the war. I got a brother too, but my mother and father are gone. Killed durin’ the war. Quantrill’s Raiders shot Dad on a raid in Lawrence. Mom passed right after him because she couldn’t…” He stopped and pursed his lips. “I came home from the army to find them dead and Sue alive. She’d been hidin’ out with some family friends and was scared almighty.”

  Lorraine put her knitting down. “Sorry to hear about your folks. Sue never said anything about family except for you. What made you come out here?”

  “The three of us, we tried farmin’ the family land for a while after the war, but it weren’t no good. So, after several years, Sue wanted to come out to Denver, get away from the bad memories around Lawrence.” He couldn’t tell her the real reason she came to Colorado yet. He still needed to find out who was friend and who was foe.

  “She did say she was from Kansas; I didn’t know where.”

  “Well, I told her she could go to Denver if she had a job and a good place to stay, and damn if she didn’t get a job with the railroad there. I saw the letter they sent her; it had a drawing of a railroad at the top of it and all. So she settled in there, and sure enough she wrote me every month. That was our deal. She was to write me a letter a month, so I wouldn’t come after her.” Ike stared down at the floor as he talked and rubbed his forehead hard.

  “So how did she come to be in Cottonwood? It’s a far piece from Denver.”

  “One month she wrote and told me there was a stagecoach that traveled to some little towns in the mountains outside Denver. She said she wanted to see what was up in the hills.” He looked down as the lies piled up. “She was gonna catch a ride on one goin’ to a town named Cottonwood in an area she called South Park. Said the coach was doin’ a regular run carryin’ some town supplies up there. She’s got a mind of her own, that one.”

  “Why Cottonwood?” Lorraine fixed her gaze on Ike.

  It served no purpose at this point to tell Lorraine it was because the killers they were looking for were probably here. Ike said, “Don’t rightly know, other than she said it was in the mountains and some of what the coach was carryin’ was cloth for a dress shop there. I guess because she was already workin’ for a railroad, the folks that ran the stagecoach line let her ride up to Cottonwood with the goods. The lady that ran the shop—”

  “Margaret Pinshaw, right?”

  Ike nodded and strung the lie out further. “She said the lady that ran the shop hired her on the spot. Said she needed somebody young enough to do what she told her without fussin’ back. And it paid enough for her to get by on. When she wrote and told me she was leavin’ Denver for the mountains, I wanted to come out here right then and fetch her home, but it didn’t seem like she was in all that tight a spot or nothin’.”

  “Maybe you should have.” Lorraine looked back down at her needles and clacked faster.

  “I don’t need you to tell me that,” Ike snapped.

  An uncomfortable silence overtook them. Ike got up and strode to his room.

  Chapter Ten

  Ike stretched out on the bed, lumpy as it was. In the dark, he heard Lorraine leave the parlor and climb the stairs to her room. He kicked himself for snapping at her like that. It seemed like she wanted to help. She was the only one he’d met so far who did. Footsteps sounded across the wooden floor above him, then quiet descended on the house. When he was sure everyone was asleep, he got up and gathered his rifle, holster, coat, and hat. He crept to the front door, pulled the squeaky door open, and soon was at the stable, the cat following him in. Buster wasn’t there. Where the man slept on nights like tonight was a mystery. He saddled Ally and trotted south out of town, taking care to keep out of sight as much as possible.

  After just under an hour’s ride, he circled around behind Emerald Valley Ranch. He pulled up at the edge of the trees that rose in a half circle on the forested ridge back of it and surveyed the moonlit spread below. The main house was dark. Same for the rest of the ranch. He pressed his boot heels against the mare’s flanks and leaned back slightly. Ally started off at a slow walk, zigzagging down the hillside. The moon was only a quarter full, but it still shed more light than Ike wanted, so he took his time to give himself a little camouflage. He wound down toward the barn, halting and listening every so often as he approached. Several hundred yards away he stopped and dismounted. He started to pull his rifle out of the scabbard, then shoved it back in. If trouble came, a rifle wouldn’t be of any use in this dim light. He tied Ally to a scrub oak so she wouldn’t spook the corral horses, then undid the leather loop atop his pistol. He limped toward the barn in a weaving crouch as a coyote howled in the distance.

  The cowboys’ outhouse was just this side of the barn, and Ike stopped in an awkward position for a full minute about twenty yards away from it. Confident there was no one in there, he quickly covered the remaining distance and leaned up against the latrine’s back wall. After another minute of motionlessness, he bent over and scuffled around in the dirt with his hands at the bottom of the outhouse. He found the rock he was looking for, raised it up a little with one hand and felt underneath with the other. His hand closed around a small piece of paper. He scanned the ranch again and made the same zigzag run back to Ally. With a hand on her muzzle, he led her away through a field of sparse sage and scrub oak, swung back up in the saddle, and headed for the dark heights he’d come from.

  Back in town, he unsaddled Ally in the stable and rubbed her down. With the cat in tow, Ike walked back to the boarding house. The front door protested as he opened it and entered the foyer. That squeak needed fixing. He stayed stock still for a while, listening for any noise from upstairs. He took his boots off and padded down the hall to his bedroom in stocking feet. He lit a match in his bedroom and scanned Rob’s five-word note.

  Probably right guy. LeMat revolver.

  He held it over the match and set fire to it. Easing down on the bed, he was asleep in less than a minute.

  The next thing he heard was a knock on his door. Then a harder knock.

  “Mornin’, Mr. Porter. Breakfast is served, and it ain’t gonna be there long.”

  Lorraine. He turned to the sound, then looked out the window at the morning light. “Be right out, thank you.” He hoped his voice sounded friendly to her. A chill breeze blew in through the window that he left open a crack at night. He got up, closed it, pushed his shirt back down his pants, and straightened up to look in the mirror. He looked worse this morning than when he went to bed. An image of a disheveled man stared back at him. At least his clothes weren’t as worn out as he was anymore. He glanced at his holster hanging off the single chair, hesitated for a moment, then headed for the dining room.

  “Mornin’, Miss Lorraine.” Ike’s hand went reflexively up to tip his hat until he remembered he wasn’t wearing one. He knew her last name but wasn’t sure if he should use it or her first name. Neither Buster nor the professor was at the table. “Just you and me this morning, eh ma’am?”

  “Just you, Mr. Porter.” Her voice carried an edge.

  Ike eased into a seat. “Sorry I snapped at you last night.” Two pieces of cold burnt toast lay on the plate in front of him. No butter. He gazed up at his hostess.

  Lorraine turned back to the kitchen and looked over her shoulder. “I didn’t even notice it.”

  The food on his plate said otherwise. “Mind if I ask some more questions?”

  “Free country.” She returned and dropped two pieces of overcooked bacon on his plate from
a height, then turned back to the kitchen.

  “Who else besides you and Margaret Pinshaw did my sister know well?”

  “I don’t expect there was anyone else. Maybe Buster.” Lorraine returned, eggs raining down this time. The yolks ruptured and yellowed his toast.

  He watched the chaos spreading on his plate and paused. “Thank you. What did she do in her spare time?”

  “Don’t rightly know. She stayed here a lot, reading. Didn’t go out much when she wasn’t working.”

  “Was she friends with Margaret Pinshaw?” He took a couple of bites of yolky bacon and started in on the blackened toast.

  “Not friends exactly, but her husband seemed to take an interest in Sue.”

  “You mean the man that got shot a few months back?” Buster had mentioned him.

  “Yes.” She said it in a tone that sounded like she was done answering questions.

  “Thank you.” He’d had lots of worse breakfasts, but he’d still gotten the message she was sending. “Think I’ll stroll around town for a bit.” He swiped at his mouth with a cloth napkin and got up from the unfinished disaster on his plate.

  Lorraine said, “I’d watch my back while I was doin’ it if I were you.”

  He stiffened and squinted down at her as she cleared the table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There’s queer things been happenin’ around here, like I said before.” Just then came a knock at the front door. “That’d be Buster.”

  Buster came in with his head bowed, already smelling of whiskey. “Mornin’, Miss Lorraine, Mr. Porter.”

  Ike nodded. “Say, Buster, I’m full up. You’re welcome to the rest of my breakfast.”

  Lorraine cut in. “He doesn’t need any charity from you or nobody else.” She cracked some more eggs in the iron skillet and surrounded them with strips of bacon to keep them from running. “You sit down Buster, breakfast will be right up. Toast? Butter?”

  Ike raised his eyebrows. Buster was getting the royal treatment.

  Buster brightened a bit. “Thanks, ma’am.” He sat at the other side of the table and smiled up at Ike. “Find out any more about your sister?”

  Ike snapped him a look. Why was he asking about Sue? It was none of his business. “Nope, no one seems to know anything about a young woman that just up and disappeared.”

  Buster paused. “Could be you just ain’t talked to the right people yet. Maybe there’s folks that do know somethin’.” His voice trailed off.

  “You got somethin’ behind them words, spit it out.” Ike’s eyes went cold as he stared at Buster.

  “Don’t mean nothin’ by it, Mr. Porter. I just knowed you ain’t talked to everyone around here yet.”

  Lorraine brought Buster a plate filled with bacon and eggs. She tipped the metal coffeepot toward him, poured him a cupful, and lingered for a moment.

  Ike turned back to Buster. “Like who?”

  “Well, first George Pinshaw dies, and nobody seems to know what happened to him. And then your sister disappeared. Don’t nobody seem to know nothin’ about that, either. Sheriff Tucker ain’t even looked into it, from what I hear. I saw him talkin’ with Dan Kelly in town a day or so after she went missin’, but I couldn’t pick up on what they was talkin’ about.” Buster resumed making quick work of his breakfast.

  Ike leveled a steady stare at the handyman. “Sounds like Kelly is involved with a lot of what goes on around here. Seems like you keep your ear to the ground too, Buster. Thanks for the information.” Ike folded his napkin and placed it back on the table. “And thank you, Miss Lorraine, for a fine breakfast.”

  Lorraine gave him a flinty stare as he left the dining room and disappeared out the front door, headed to the stable. This time an old man was there, who looked like he couldn’t heft the water bucket he was carrying, much less handle thousand-pound horses.

  Ike said, “Hello. My name’s—”

  “Well, I’ll be,” the man interrupted. “So there’s where that cat went.” The calico was walking right behind Ike as he approached. “Couldn’t figure out what happened to him.”

  “Her.”

  “Her. I didn’t even know she had orange and black fur. She looks a sight better than she did when she was hangin’ around here. Not pretty like some cats, but looks like she cleans up real good.”

  “She don’t like baths. I found that out. As I was sayin’, my name’s—”

  “I know who you are, mister. You already made a name for yourself ’round here in a short time.” He stuck his hand out. “The name’s Crawford, Red Crawford, and I run this place.” The old man had a striking shock of white hair.

  Ike’s impression of Crawford’s strength changed when he shook Red’s hand and had to clench and unclench his hand several times.

  “That your horse inside my stable?”

  “Yes, it is. Her name’s Ally. There wasn’t anybody around when I rode into town, so I put her up ’til I could get back down here. Hope she hasn’t been any trouble.”

  “Nope, she’s a mighty fine-lookin’ horse. That’s almost sixteen hands of pretty chestnut mare. I was wonderin’ about those scars on her flank, though. Looks like she mighta saw some action in the war.”

  “Yes, she did, enough that now she’s earned some peace and quiet.”

  “Well, I’ll make sure she gets it. What can I do for you?”

  “Just wanted to pay for her board. How much do I owe you?”

  “Don’t owe me nothin’, mister, and I’ll let you know if you ever do. It’s a pleasure havin’ a real warhorse here. We’re gettin’ along pretty good, for just startin’ to know each other.”

  Ike was relieved. Having money wasn’t his strong suit. “Thanks, Mr. Crawford. I—”

  “Name’s Red. Use it.”

  “Thanks, Red. And I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Ike.”

  “’Deed I will. Now let me get back to work. Go on, shoo. Looks like I don’t have to say, ‘and take your cat with you.’ She ain’t took her eyes off you since you got here.”

  Ike looked down at the cat, which stared back at him as he did. A cat wasn’t on his agenda. He looked back at Red. “Does this cat have a name?”

  “Nah, she’s just a barn cat that never cottoned to nobody.”

  It was just as well that she didn’t have a name. “Say, Red, mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

  “Sure, don’t hurt to ask.”

  “You know I been nosin’ around town, right?”

  “I heard as much,” Red said.

  Ike replied, “Do you know why I been nosin’ around?”

  “Heard you’re lookin’ for your sister, is all.”

  “You heard right. I was just wonderin’ if you might have run into her sometime. Did she stable a horse here at all?”

  “No, she never had a horse, or at least didn’t have one she kept here.” Red carried the water bucket back to the stable, where he picked up a large iron mallet. He placed an old horseshoe on an even older-looking iron anvil and started pounding the surface. “Don’t know where some of these Emerald Valley hands have been with their horses, but it must be pretty rough territory from the looks of these shoes.”

  “Did Sue ever ride anywhere that you remember?” Ike was fishing now.

  “Margaret Pinshaw used her sometimes to deliver clothes and things to Emerald Tompkins. Sometimes I’d see her leavin’ town with a hat box sittin’ on the wagon next to her. One day she took the wagon out and never came back.” Red paused. “Then there were other times when Lorraine Blanchard wagoned out to the ranch, but I don’t ever remember your sister being with her.”

  “Which way did Sue go the day she disappeared?”

  Red pointed down the main dirt road leading south.

  Ike stared off in the direction of Emerald Valley. “Thanks.” He wasn’t sure what to do next. He walked away from the stable, with no particular destination in mind. But Buster had hinted there was someone who might know more about Sue’s disappearan
ce than they were letting on. And that person wasn’t talking. At least to him. He couldn’t imagine it was the sheriff. Too dim or too crooked. And Margaret didn’t seem to care for anything but her shop. Lorraine said she wanted to find out what happened to Sue, too. So who could it be? He walked back toward the saloon, and as he passed, he noticed a cowboy lounging in a chair outside. Hat pulled low. He’d seen the cowpuncher before somewhere. Now he remembered. The poker game at the Wildfire the night before. Ike stared as he walked by. He was one of Kelly’s men at the bar. The drover sat there motionless, but he wasn’t sleeping.

  Ike walked up the wooden steps in front of The Sew Pretty. He still thought Margaret knew more than she was letting on. It was a good bet she didn’t want to see him again, though. Too bad. He stopped, looked back at the drover, and walked into the shop. Margaret was at her small desk, finishing up with a customer.

  “That’ll be a dollar fifty, please. That’s such a pretty hat, and won’t its pink stand out in the dreary winter days ahead. You’ll just be the toast of the town.” The woman blushed and left the shop with a tall hatbox and a wide smile.

  Margaret looked up at Ike. “Why are you back here, Mr. Porter? I would have thought after our last unpleasantness, that I wouldn’t see you in my shop ever again. Have you come back to bully me? Or would you just care to throw some more hats around?” She sat behind her desk with her chin stuck out.

  Ike hesitated. “I didn’t bully you, woman. I was just askin’ you some questions, and you got all fired up at me. It wasn’t me; it was you. And I have a feelin’ you ain’t told me everything you know about my sister.” His voice grew louder and deeper. “I want to know what else ain’t you tellin’ me. I know you know somethin’ more. What is it?” He was fairly shouting at the woman seated in front of him. She looked small sitting there.

  Margaret stood and put her hands flat on her desk and looked directly at Ike. Her eyes blazed, then she suddenly brought a hand to her mouth and turned her back to him. Her shoulders started to shake.