by Ron Schwab
“You told me before that Gideon was building everything for his son, and that Clete’s been his greatest disappointment. Would Gideon kill to protect his own son?”
Her brow wrinkled, and she sat silently for some moments before she replied. “I don’t know. I truly don’t . . . but he might.”
“What about Clete?” Ethan asked. He touched his swollen face gingerly. “I know about his temper. Is he an Indian hater?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m sure he would be an Indian hater, but I doubt if it’s an obsessed kind of hate. He hates most white people, too. He is a very angry, hostile young man.”
“Would that have included the Harpers?”
A look of astonishment crossed Miss Wyeth’s face. “Oh, no. My goodness, no. Jake Harper was one of the few men who could get along with Clete. I suspect that was one reason Gideon liked Jake so much.”
“And the girl, Cynthia?”
“Clete was crazy about Cynthia. Of course, so were half the young men in the county.”
“Was he seeing her?”
“Yes, but he hadn’t spoken for her or anything like that.”
“How did Gideon feel about Clete’s interest in Cynthia?”
“Oh, he approved . . . totally. He thought marriage might settle Clete down. We didn’t talk about it all that much, but I’m certain he encouraged the match.”
“How did Cynthia feel about this?”
“I don’t know that she reciprocated Clete’s affection, but I never heard anything to indicate she disliked him, either. She danced with all the men at the barn dances. She had a naturally pleasant and outgoing disposition. I had the feeling she liked a lot of young men and wasn’t ready to fall in love yet.”
“I have to head over to the sheriff’s office, but there’s someone else I want to ask you about first. Grant Richards.”
“Grant Richards?”
“Yes. I’ve heard he’s quite close to Gideon.”
“More than close. He’s the son Clete was supposed to be. Sometimes, I think Gideon would be better off if Grant moved on because Grant’s a constant reminder of everything Clete can’t live up to. I’m sure Grant’s closeness to Gideon isn’t easy for Clete, either.”
“Did Gideon ever say anything about a rivalry between Grant and Clete?”
“Not that I recollect. He did mention once that he wished they could be better friends. I think he hoped that some of Grant would rub off on Clete.”
“Have you heard anything about Grant Richards being absent from the Circle W since the time the Harpers were killed?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why, no, but I haven’t talked to Gideon or anyone else from the Circle W since that noon after Miss dePaul came into the office. I don’t think Gideon’s been to town since, so for all I know he could be missing, too. I truly don’t know what else I could tell you. Gideon and I rarely confided in each other. You might say we were just mutual antidotes for loneliness.”
“Katherine, one more thing. You evidently find Gideon attractive. What is it about him that interests you?”
“His manners, for one. He doesn’t talk a great deal about his background, but I know he is from the East. He mentioned once he’d spent some time in Boston. He’s not the typical rancher I’ve encountered here. If you’ll forgive me, Mr. Ramsey, I must say that many of the men here are coarse, if not downright uncouth. I’ve never heard Gideon use profanity. Oh, I’m certain he does on occasion but never in the presence of a lady. He dresses impeccably, always the perfectly tailored, vested suit. He’s very well read and shares books from his library with me on occasion.”
“I hate to ask you this, Katherine, but did Gideon see any other women?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s been calling on me for several years. Sometimes, I’d see him as often as two or three times a week. Then I might not see him for several months. Until the day Miss dePaul came into the office, I had not seen Gideon for nearly three months. If he was seeing someone else, he was being very discreet about it. Of course, discretion is Gideon’s nature. But I doubt if that was the case. It was roundup time, you see, and he would have found it difficult to get away from the ranch. I saw little of him the previous spring as well.”
23
THE THICK OAK door of the limestone sheriff’s office was barred when Ethan arrived. He rapped on the door.
“Who is it?” called Will Bridges.
“Ethan Ramsey.”
The sheriff opened the door and Ethan stepped into the office. He spotted Dr. Weintraub sipping at a cup of coffee at the sheriff’s desk. Red Horse stood near the window with a shotgun cradled in his arms.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen,” he apologized.
“Frankly, Ethan,” Weintraub said, “I’m surprised you made it in this morning. There’s no medical logic for your being able to crawl out of bed after the beating you took yesterday.”
“I had a good doctor.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Henry about Skye’s doctoring. He turned to Will Bridges. “Will, nobody seems to know a whole lot about Jake Harper and his family. What can you tell me about them?”
“Not a hell of a lot, either. Jake kept pretty much to himself. Gid Webb’s the only man in these parts that I know of that got on with Jake. It wasn’t that he was a mean cuss or anything like that.”
“How long had they lived here?”
“Oh, about four or five years. His missus died about a year after they settled here giving birth to a boy child. The baby passed on a month later. I only saw his woman once. Grey-haired, kind of sickly looking. Past child bearing prime by quite a ways.” He shrugged. “She shouldn’t have got with child again, but there’s lots of women on Boot Hill you can say that about. What do you do? People being people, having their natural urges?”
“The girl, Cynthia . . . she was more outgoing, I’m told.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right enough. All the young bucks knew Cynthia and were crazy about her.”
“What about their finances? I understand Harper worked some for the Circle W during roundup to make ends meet. He must not have been too well off. Does that jibe with what you know?”
“Don’t know nothing for a fact, but Jake had kind of a puny spread. It ain’t likely he could have eked out much of a living there. Besides, except for Gid, all the ranchers around here are land and cow poor. Or ain’t you noticed?”
“I’ve noticed. I fit in fine on that count. Will, are you on good terms with the Lockwood State Bank?”
“Good enough. I’ve done a few favors for Clyde Van Sykes. I got a chit or two I could call in if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“You can learn a hell of a lot about a man,” Ethan said, “by the way he handles his money. I don’t mean whether he’s poor or not, I’m talking about where it comes from, who he pays it out to. Show me a man’s financial transactions for a year, and I can write you a story about his life. Since Jake Harper’s dead, and there aren’t any known relatives around to object, I wonder if you couldn’t persuade Van Sykes to work up a list of Harper’s financial dealings with his bank for the past few years. If he won’t go through the trouble, get permission for me to go into the bank and review the records with him. Charley Langdon’s the bank’s lawyer, and I’m not sure I’d get much help on my own.”
“Clyde’s kind of a stuffy old turd, but I don’t see why he wouldn’t cooperate,” the sheriff said. He smoothed his bushy mustache and nodded his head. “Yep, I guarantee he’ll help us out. I’ll see him first thing this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Will. Now, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to step back and talk to Bear Killer a minute before we ride out.”
“Go right ahead. I ought to call this visitors’ day at the jail.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I thought you knew. Miss dePaul was in to see him a few hours ago. Enos is in with him now.”
“Enos? What kind of business would he have with Bear Killer?”
“Poker business. He’s teaching the kid to play cards. And from the moaning and cussing that’s coming up here, I’d guess it’s like teaching a man to use the gun he’s going to shoot you with. I had to pay the old fart double wages to sit in for Red Horse while he’s out with you. The town board ain’t gonna like it, are they, Doc? They think Enos is always gouging them for something.”
“I don’t think that judgment is unfair, Will,” the doctor replied, “but I’ll back you up on it. The old coot has a certain honor—if he takes your dollar, he’ll do exactly what he says he’s going to do for it. Of course, he’ll try to figure out a way to milk out another dollar after the job’s done.” He brushed his hand through his wiry black hair. “You know, Enos Fletcher lives like a pauper, but when he dies, perhaps I should say ‘if,’ I think we’re going to learn that he’s the richest man in the county. I know he exchanges all of his paper money for gold and silver coins. If he hasn’t figured out how to take it with him, it’ll be like digging for buried treasure after he’s gone.”
Ethan excused himself, and left the others to conjecture about the enterprising ways of Enos Fletcher. Closing the door that separated the sheriff’s office from the chamber of jail cells, he joined Enos and Bear Killer who sat on a bunk in the open cell and were so absorbed in their card game, they were unaware of Ethan’s presence. Ethan watched as Bear Killer spread out four aces on the blanket.
Enos threw his cards down and spat a slimy wad of tobacco on the jail floor. “Damn you, boy, you’re crooked as a snake in a cactus patch. There ain’t no way you could hold them kind of cards.”
Bear Killer grinned wickedly. If they didn’t get him out of here soon, Ethan thought, he was going to take a lot of unwelcome white culture back to his village.
Ethan interrupted. “Enos, I’d like to talk with Bear Killer a minute.”
The old-timer jerked his head around. “Why, good morning, Ethan. You look so purty this morning, I almost feel like takin’ my hat off to you.”
The livery man gathered up his cards and got up from the bunk. He nodded towards Bear Killer. “Watch the cub, here, Ethan. I think he aims to get his folks’ land back by playin’ poker. Goddamn, I feel like I turned against my own kind teachin’ him the game.” He let fly with another tobacco wad that splattered between Ethan’s feet and removed some gooey remnants from his beard with a swipe of his arm and hobbled out the door.
Ethan sat down next to Bear Killer. “So now you’ve met Enos,” he said. “What do you think of him?”
“He has the manner of a bear waking from his winter’s sleep. But in his heart, I think he flies with eagles. I like him.” The boy drew his legs up in front of him and clasped his hands about his knees. “What brings my friend, the Puma, to this place?”
“Did the sheriff tell you that Charlie Carlson confirmed your story about being at his place the day the Harpers were murdered?”
“No, he did not. Did you not believe what I told you?”
“Yes, I believed you, Bear Killer, but like it or not, we needed to be certain a white witness would back you up.”
“You did not come here to tell me this.”
“No,” Ethan said, “I wanted to ask you about something Charlie told the sheriff. Charlie said you left his place about seven o’clock. Is that right?”
“I would not know. I can read a white man’s clock, but it means little to me. I know that the sun was just beginning to fall behind the mountains when we left.”
“That would be about right. Why didn’t you stay over? That seems like an odd time to leave, especially when some of your people are kind of spooky about roaming after dark.”
“Brule do not fear the darkness. Not the warriors among us. But we waited until night because we believed we could ride unseen until we reached the mountains of the Brule. We thought it would be safe. We were wrong.”
“But you didn’t go more than five miles, and you stopped right in the middle of ranch country. Why?”
“Screeching Hawk’s pony became lame. It did not seem serious, and we thought if he rested the night, the pony could travel by morning, and Screeching Hawk could change off riding double with Raven Eyes and me. Our foolishness was in building a fire.”
“How long were you at your camping place before the riders came?” Ethan asked.
“I cannot say in white man’s time.” He thought a moment. “As long as it would have taken to ride back to Mr. Carlson’s and return again.”
“You were riding slowly?”
“Yes, there was no hurry.”
Two or three hours would have passed from the time the Indian youths left the Carlsons to the time they were captured, Ethan thought. That meant the evening was still young when Jake and Cynthia Harper were killed.
“My cousin says she will find the true killers,” Bear Killer said.
“Your cousin? Skye?”
“Sky-in-the-Morning is unhappy with you. She told me she would go to the Harper ranch and learn for herself what happened that night.”
The woman was more than he could cope with. If she would just sit still a few days, maybe he could get to the bottom of this.
“Why is she unhappy with me? Did she say?”
“She gave many reasons, but she did not give the real one.”
“And what is that?”
“It is not for me to say. The coyote is guiding you both. It would be bad medicine for me to interfere.”
24
THE THREE RIDERS skirted the silent ranch yard that was deserted except for the charred remains of the home and outbuildings that had once been the hub of lives and living. Red Horse edged his bay mare into the lead as they swung away from the Harper ranch, climbing into the aspen-cloaked foothills to the west.
Ethan looked back over his shoulder, struck suddenly by a great sense of sadness as he watched the ruins fade behind him. He could never get over the fragility of human life. A man has plans and dreams. He goes through each day working for tomorrow when he will take time to sit back and watch the sunset or when he will find someone to share his life with. What are the chances of reaching tomorrow? Jake and Cynthia Harper never would. In brief moments, their lives had been snuffed out and everything tangible they had built had gone up in flames and vanished into the wind.
Like himself, Jake and Cynthia Harper had no known family. Unless a will turned up, the disposition of Jake’s small landholdings was in doubt. A hundred years from now, who would know they had ever walked this earth? There was no immortality of this world. Perhaps that was why so many men placed their bets on heaven; it was intolerable to them to accept the notion of nothingness after life. It was a sobering thought.
“You’re quiet, Ethan. Do you feel all right?” It was Dr. Weintraub, who bounced uncomfortably on a sway-backed gelding at Ethan’s side.
“I’m fine, Henry. Just daydreaming.”
“About the lovely Miss dePaul?”
“No, that hellcat just shows up in my nightmares.”
“For a lawyer, you’re not a very good liar, Ethan. Just how much farther do we have to go? I’m not accustomed to this kind of riding. I’m going to have more bruises on my butt than you’ve got on your face.”
“You’ll be a better doctor for it, Henry. You’ll have more compassion for your patients’ suffering.”
Ahead of them, the Pawnee reined in his horse and dismounted. Moments later, Red Horse led them to an outcropping of rock jutting over a shallow ravine, at the bottom of which was a huge mound of caved-off shale. The Indian got down on his knees and began to scoop the rock away with his hands. Ethan and Dr. Weintraub joined him with shovels, and by the time the scorching sun said it was high noon, they had uncovered the blanket-shrouded bodies of Jake and Cynthia Harper.
Ethan and Red Horse dislodged the bodies and carried them up the slope and placed them in a shaded glen off the trail, while Dr. Weintraub retrieved his bag. When the doctor returned, he let loose a deep sigh and knelt down and began to unwrap the larger
of the bodies. The decaying, grotesque corpse he uncovered gave off a putrid odor that turned Ethan’s stomach. A body five days dead was not a pleasant sight, but Ethan had expected to find worse.
So, apparently, had Dr. Weintraub. He pulled away the blanket that shrouded Cynthia Harper. Not even Cynthia could be beautiful in death, Ethan thought, recalling the several occasions he had seen her flitting gaily past the merchandise in the Lockwood General Store.
“I thought they were pulled from the fire,” Dr. Weintraub said. “I don’t see any burns on these bodies. They certainly didn’t die by fire.”
He plucked a kit of scalpels of various shapes and sizes from his bag and commenced his grisly chore, noting his observations in a professorial monotone as he worked. “No mutilation; they were not scalped. Mr. Harper was shot in the chest, apparently twice. I should be able to find the bullets.”
Ethan noted that Red Horse, who had spoken barely a word the entire journey was totally absorbed in the process, squatting on his haunches, his neck craned over Harper’s bloated corpse. Ethan turned away and strolled off to the edge of the clearing to seek some fresh air. This was Henry Weintraub’s domain, and the young doctor was welcome to it.
Ethan sat down and leaned back against the trunk of a ponderosa and waited. He was about to doze off when Dr. Weintraub called to him.
“Ethan? I’ve got some answers for you now.”
Ethan got up and rejoined Weintraub and Red Horse. Dr. Weintraub handed him a crusty chunk of lead. “The remnants of one bullet passed through his right lung and exited through the interior of the scapula, the shoulder blade. This one appears to have deflected off a rib and pierced the aorta before it lodged between the third and fourth thoracic vertebrae.”
“Talkin’ like damn foreigner,” Red Horse said. “I seen whole damn thing. Something to see, by damn.”
“He didn’t suffer,” Weintraub said. “I don’t know a great deal about firearms, Ethan, just enough to repair the damage they do . . . if the victim’s lucky. Do you have any idea what kind of gun might have fired it?”