“Get in, Margaret, quick.” Doctor Sam Early reached a hand out and helped her up next to him.
She hurried into the upholstered front seat and sat with a plop, smoothing her sodden hoops as best she could. The buggy’s roof sounded as if it was being ripped apart. “Thank you, Sam. I don’t know how I would have gotten back safely without you. I should have brought my own buggy.”
“We’re not back yet, just hold on.” The hail turned to rain and flung itself at them sideways, and they each raised an arm against it.
Margaret yelled, “Can your horse see in this, Sam?”
“Nope. No better’n us.”
“Well then, how does he know how to go?”
“I let the reins tell him. He doesn’t have to know anything else.” Sam snapped the leathers again, pulling left and right all the way back to town.
When they got to Margaret’s shop, Sam brought the horse to a stop and moved to help Margaret from the buggy, but she was already down and rushing for the door. “Hurry in, Sam.”
Inside, she stomped her wet shoes on the smooth, wooden floorboards and flung her arms wildly about to shake off what water she could. “How did you know I was up there?” She laughed in spite of herself.
“You always walk up there after services, Margaret. Everybody knows that. So when I saw the clouds split, I figured you might need some help.”
“Well, I thank you for that, Doctor. Can you stay for some tea? It’ll give both of us some time to dry out.”
“Why, I expect I can.”
She hurried to the black iron stove that on its best day only slightly warmed an area a couple of feet around it. She lit the small fire she kept set, put a teapot on the burner, then disappeared to the back room to assess the damage. Taking a comb and brushing her hair back, she studied herself in an uneven mirror. Her reflection told a story she didn’t want to be reminded of. A widow and not yet thirty. She dried her face with a towel and smoothed her soggy dress.
When she returned, Sam was at the stove holding his hands out over it. Margaret rubbed her hands together over the warm burner and retrieved the small teapot as it started to whistle. “Sit please, Sam. Pull up that chair.”
Sam drew up two chairs and arranged them by the stove.
Margaret poured tea into two china cups and sat close to the stove.
“How’s the shop doing, Margaret?” Sam raised his cup to take a sip.
“It’s been better, but it’s also been worse. If George hadn’t had that pension money from the war, I don’t know that we would have even opened it up in the first place. Now he’s gone, and my widow’s pension is very small. But the miners give me some steady business—making new clothes for them and sewing up their old. And it’s a good thing Emerald Tompkins buys so much, or I’d probably have closed up by now. It’s almost like she’s doing me a favor.”
Sam nodded. “Maybe she is.”
Margaret didn’t know what to make of that remark. She put her coffee down and stared hard at the doctor. “Mind if I ask you a question, Sam?”
Sam stopped his cup just short of his mouth again. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t, ’cause you look like you got something on your mind.”
“I’ve wondered about something ever since George got shot.” She fixed a steady gaze on the doctor. “He couldn’t have killed himself, could he? That’s what some of the gossips have been saying, and I don’t believe it.”
Sam hesitated. “No, no, I don’t believe he did. There weren’t any powder marks on him, or around the wounds…” He stopped. “Sorry for being so blunt, Margaret. I didn’t mean to describe things in…so much detail.”
“No, go on. Please.” Her cup rattled against the saucer in her hand. “I need to know what happened, and the sheriff has never mentioned that before. I don’t think he’s smart enough to know anything, and if he does know something, he hasn’t told me, so please continue.”
Sam had his cup nearly to his mouth a third time but put it back down. “Sometimes, looks are deceiving, but in Tucker’s case, I think you’re right. About George, well, first thing is he was shot by somebody who was in front of him fairly close up, so he saw who it was. Don’t know if he knew him or not, though. His horse was still nearby when they found him, so he was probably dismounted when he died. Maybe he was talkin’ with somebody?”
The question startled Margaret. “Who would he have been talking with?”
“Dunno. I was hoping maybe you might know. Nobody’s come forward and said they saw anything.”
“The sheriff is a dunce. I’ve questioned him several times, and he never has any answers. The worst part is I don’t think he wants to look into George’s death.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, he’s never really talked to me about anything that happened by that creek there, and from what I hear, he hasn’t asked anyone else anything either. Has he ever asked you any questions?”
“No, can’t say as he has, and that is troubling.” Sam put his untouched teacup down. “Well, I better go now, won’t look good me bein’ in here with you on a day you’re closed. You know how people talk.”
“Well, no one’s talked to me about George.”
“Don’t you worry, Margaret. I’ll let you know if anyone says anything to me.”
“How can you? Isn’t anything someone says to you supposed to be a secret?”
“If it’s about something medical, yes. Otherwise, no. Thank you for the tea.” He smiled as he said it, put his wet hat on, tipped it toward Margaret, and headed out into the waning rain.
Margaret watched the doctor’s buggy drive away, then straightened herself up and walked to the jail. When she opened the door, Sheriff Tucker was tilted back in his chair dozing off. She slammed the door behind her, and his feet flew out in front of him and his chair fell backward and hit the floor with him still in it. He pushed his bulk back upright and stared at his visitor. Margaret took command of the chair in front of the desk. She shook some water from her parasol onto his desk and smoothed her hair with her hand. “Sit back down, Sheriff, and tell me about my husband’s death. It’s been three months, and you haven’t said more than three words to me in all that time.”
“And good morning to you, Mrs. Pinshaw. What brings you—sorry, I guess you already told me that. Just let me get a cup of coffee.” He filled the mug, placed it on his desk, and looked at his visitor. “Would you like some?”
Margaret shook her head. “It’s well known that your coffee is the worst in town.” Tucker deserved to be taken down a notch. “Enough of the pleasantries, Sheriff. I need you to tell me how George died.”
Tucker moved back behind his desk and reached down to pull out a side drawer. He said, “You know as well as I do that it was lead poisoning.” His grin at his lame joke dimmed in the intensity of Margaret’s severe stare. He swung an arm up as he started to say something else and knocked his coffee over. “Damn!” He swept the biggest pool off the desk with a dirty sleeve, shook it hard, and wiped it on his pants. “Sorry. Just a minute, let me see…” He opened the desk drawer and rummaged around in it for a moment. “Can’t find no notes in here. ’Spect someone’s been rearrangin’ things again.” He looked back up at Margaret. “I don’t remember findin’ out nothin’ new since I last talked with you. You heard anythin’?”
Margaret’s face flushed darker than her maroon outfit. “I’m not the sheriff, you sorry excuse for a lawman! You’re the one that’s supposed to find out who killed my husband, not me! Idiot!” She stormed out of the office and slammed the door closed behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
Kelly was in a foul mood. He’d just come from a conversation with the major, and he hadn’t picked up on his boss’ drift at first. He’d sounded so stupid in there. He kicked at a dog curled up at the bottom of the ranch house steps.
Earlier that morning, he’d stood in the major’s perfectly appointed study. Tompkins sat ramrod straight behind his large desk. “Dan, I asked you h
ere to tell you a little story. Have a seat.” Kelly stood holding his hat just below his chin. It took some time to lower his tall frame into a nearby leather chair.
The major placed both hands on the desk. “You’ve seen mice around the ranch here, right?”
“Yes sir, there’s mice all over the place. Why, just the other day, there was—”
“And those mice eat pretty good, don’t they?”
Kelly nodded.
“You ever see a skinny one?”
Kelly shook his head.
“So there’s plenty of cheese, right?”
Kelly nodded.
“Well, let’s say there’s a really tasty piece of cheese the mice are nibbling on, but this other mouse wants it all. How’s he gonna get it?”
“Pardon me, Major, but what’s he want that big piece of cheese for? You said yourself there’s plenty around.”
“Listen close. There’s never enough cheese, Dan.” Tompkins stared at him and paused to let that notion sink in. “Did you hear what I said?”
Kelly nodded. He felt like he was struggling to keep his head above water in a fast-moving stream.
The major came out from behind the desk. “So if you were that mouse, how would you go about gettin’ that big piece?”
“Why, I’d just mosey over there, pull out my six-shooter, and let the other mice have it. Then I’d grab the cheese and hightail it,” said Kelly with a satisfied smile. He looked around the room out of force of habit. No one else was there to appreciate his brilliance.
Tompkins shook his head and went over to the large window. He gazed out at the landscape. “See all this, Dan?” He made a wide sweep with his hand.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a lot of land, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes it is, but there’s more out there that I don’t have and I want it. I want all of South Park, and like I told you before, the key to getting it is the railroad that’s gonna run through that little town of Jefferson just north of us in a few years.” He clasped his hands behind his back, turned, and walked back to the desk. “Besides, your plan won’t work. Too many people would know you did the other mice in. Got another idea?”
Kelly was drowning now. “Uh, Major, why are we talkin’ about mice?”
Tompkins pounded his fist on his desk, and a pulsing red flush spread over his face and ears. “I ain’t talkin’ about mice, dammit! I’m talking about grabbing the land that the railroad’s gonna come through on. That’s how I’m gonna lock up the rest of South Park, and since the damned Indians backed out, you’re gonna do it for me. Got it?”
The major’s outburst made Kelly spring up from his chair. “Oh…I get it, Major. So I’m gonna take the boys over to Jefferson and burn those settlers out, right? Just like we did in Kansas.”
“No, dammit! Like I just said, there’s too many people who would know you did it. You gotta throw people off the scent.”
Kelly was back to fighting the swift current again. “Uh, sure, Major, sure. Uh…how do I do that?”
“Damn, Kelly. I must have the biggest jackass for a foreman a hundred miles in any direction.”
Kelly’s face flushed, and he gazed down at the plush carpet.
Tompkins wasn’t through. “You gotta go burn those settlers out all right, but you gotta make it look like someone else did it.”
Kelly’s eyes widened as Tompkins’ meaning finally registered.
Tompkins clasped his hands behind his back and turned his gaze to the ceiling. “Now, who could we pin a raid like this on?”
The foreman rubbed his beard, then brightened. “Well, there’s all kinds of drifters comin’ into town all the time. Why, we could say it was some of them that done it.”
“No. Think! Who else is around here?”
“Well, there’s the miners we sell the cattle to, we—uh, uh…” Kelly’s head was underwater now, and he was going down for the count.
The major came over and pulled him close. Kelly forced a smile and leaned in toward his boss. Tompkins quietly said, “It’s the Indians, Dan, the Ute Indians.”
Kelly broke into a big smile. “Yeah, that’s it…it’s the Indians, Major! They did it. That’s a great plan, sir. I’ll set the boys to workin’ on it right away.” He strode out of the ranch house toward the barn and yelled for Scratchy. “Come here and be quick about it!”
Scratchy was working in what passed for the ranch’s blacksmith shop and had just pried an old shoe off an even-older horse. “Comin’, Dan.” He hurried over to Kelly as fast as his bowlegs would carry him. Straight legs would have made Scratchy taller, but age and too many rides on too many horses for too many years had taken their toll.
“I got somethin’ for you to do.”
Scratchy stood there, scratching at his neck.
“And stop that scratchin’, or do it somewhere else.”
“What scratchin’, Dan?”
“That scratchin’ you’re doin’ right now.” He knocked Scratchy’s hand away with his hat.
“Oh that. Sure, Dan. What do you want me to do?” His hand absently traveled back to his neck.
Kelly just shook his head. “You know where that Indian stuff is that we got on our way out here from Kansas?”
“You mean from them Indians we ambushed out on the plains?”
“Of course, what other Indians did we take stuff from?”
“Only them, as far as I remember.”
Kelly shook his head again. “I want you to go make sure it’s still there in that stall, okay?”
“You mean the feathers and buckskins and stuff?”
“Yeah, the spears and the bows and arrows too. Can you do that?”
“Sure, Dan. Do you want me to put it somewhere?”
“Leave it in that stall in the barn for now. How many Indians did we take stuff off of?”
Scratchy broke into a big smile. “As I remember it, there was about five braves who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Okay, that should be enough.”
“Enough for—” and Scratchy stopped.
Kelly yelled. “I should lay you out for that. Don’t you never question me, Scratchy. You know better than that by now. If you keep doin’ stuff I don’t like, you’re gonna make me real mad, see?” He balled his fists.
Scratchy nodded enthusiastically, then smiled and turned toward the bunkhouse. The wind whistled between his legs as he walked away.
Later, that afternoon, Kelly tracked Tompkins down outside the main house to give him an update. “I already got things rollin’, Major. We’re gonna run them settlers out of Jefferson real soon. If they’re smart, they’ll hightail it as soon as they see us, just like you wanted.”
Tompkins looked at Kelly steadily. “Not sure what you mean. I never mentioned anything about those settlers in Jefferson to you, now did I?”
Kelly was speechless for a second. Then his eyes lit up. “…Uh, that’s right, sir, you never said nothin’ of the sort.”
“So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Uh…nothin’, Major.” Kelly was thinking fast now—at least fast for him. “Wait, there is one thing. I’m plannin’ on takin’ the boys on a nighttime ride sometime. You know, just a little ride uprange, admirin’ the stars above, and all that.” He whacked his hat against his chaps and waited for an answer.
“That sounds like a good idea, Dan, and it occurs to me that the sooner you do that, the better.”
Kelly grinned. “Yes, sir.”
The major turned on his heel and strode back to the ranch house, leaving Kelly standing there alone. But the top hand’s mood had brightened considerably. He yelled to Scratchy that he was going to town on business. He retrieved his horse from the corral, swung up in the saddle, and started the stallion out at an easy trot for Cottonwood. After a couple of miles, he began putting the ranch behind him at a faster pace.
When he reached town, Kelly rode directly to the hotel construction
site. Tompkins’ new hotel. The building didn’t have a name yet, but the ranch hands had come up with several Kelly didn’t want the major to hear. He hitched the horse to the rail in front of the saloon next door and took a whip off the saddle as he walked over to where the crew sat.
The construction boss got up and greeted Kelly as he approached. “Mornin’, Dan. Well, I guess it’s hit afternoon by now. How are you?”
“Not so good, Jack. Doesn’t look like the building’s comin’ along all that good.”
“You’re right about that. It’s not going well as you can see, so I’m glad you’re here.” Most of the construction crew were sitting around idle. “Maybe you can help me figure somethin’ out. We had a problem this mornin’ with the wagon that was deliverin’ wood from the mill for the siding. Seems like the driver ran into some kind of a roadblock about ten miles outside of town. Down by the stream. The road was blocked, and the men had to stop and start workin’ to clear it. That’s where the wagon is right now. They say they’re not sure when they’ll be rollin’ again. The delay’ll put us that much closer to the end of building season.”
Kelly thought for a moment, then leaned in close to the foreman. “Can’t have that, Jack. The major needs this place closed in before it gets too cold and snowy to work outside.” Kelly let a length of the whip unravel.
The construction foreman took a half step backward. “Yessir, I understand. But there’s somethin’ strange about that roadblock. It was trees that jammed up the road, and not ones that fell on their own. These trees dropped right across the road and blocked it. And they weren’t cut down, they were blown down. By dynamite. Somebody wanted to stop that wagon from gettin’ here. I rode that stretch just a couple days ago, and it was clear. And now this happens. It don’t make sense.”
The Reckoning Page 10