P. K. Pinkerton and the Pistol-Packing Widows

by Caroline Lawrence

  “No,” I said. “I believe my original pa to be a man named Robert Pinkerton. Also, my Indian ma was Lakota, not Paiute, like I already told you. Can I go now?” I asked him.

  “I better escort you. I have got to go to Mrs. Murphy’s anyhow.”

  “Don’t you have to stay here and help the other reporters take notes?” I said.

  “No,” said Barry. “Nye printed out his whole speech and gave it to us reporters two days ago. The others can’t leave because it would be rudeness against the Governor. But I am just a lowly apprentice who runs errands for them so I got out of it. Thanks to you!” He laughed. “I believe I will take my sweet time bringing Sam’s tobacco. Nye will be at it for another two or three hours.”

  We started walking back towards Mrs. Murphy’s boardinghouse. When I wobbled on my high-heeled shoes, he offered his elbow. I took it. His arm was skinny but strong.

  “What is it like wearing ladies’ shoes?” he asked. “I have sometimes wondered.”

  I said, “It is vexing. But not as bad as the corset, which means you can’t hardly breathe.”

  He glanced down at me as we stepped up onto the boardwalk. “Hold on!” he cried. “Are you a girl?” He was looking at the bumps made by my northward-migrating balled-up socks.

  “They are balled-up socks,” I replied, pulling my shawl closer. “I stuffed them down the front of my corset but they migrated north.”

  For some reason he thought this was funny. He started to laugh. He stood there on the boardwalk laughing & slapping his thighs. I waited patiently but every time we started walking again he had to stop and laugh some more. Once he said, “When you fell off that podium, you did sound just like a sack of turnips.” And another time, “You should have seen the Governor’s face. I’ll bet he is still talking.”

  When we got to Mrs. Murphy’s, Master Barry Ashim left me with a cheery farewell and ran upstairs to fetch Sam Clemens’s tobacco.

  I turned left down the short hall & used my key to let myself into my own little ground-floor room.

  It was all nice & clean & bright, with the bed made & everything tidy. I had but one desire: to get out of that danged Blind Widow Woman Disguise. For that reason I did not take time to pull down the painted oilcloth window curtain for privacy. Instead, I tore off my bonnet, wig and dark spectacles and then rapidly unbuttoned my top. The socks fell out & I flung the bombazine bodice away & attacked the corset with trembling fingers. At last I unlaced the wretched thing & breathed a sigh of relief.

  As I stepped out of my steel-spring hoops & crinoline, I heard a sound that made my heart forget to beat.

  It was a stifled gasp on the other side of the window, which Mrs. Murphy had left a little bit open to allow in fresh air.

  Someone was spying on me!

  WEARING ONLY MY long underwear & ink-smelling high-heeled shoes, I pretended to yawn & stretch. As I did so, I stepped backwards towards the window. Then I whirled around, thrust my arm through the gap between sash & sill and fastened on to the girl who had been spying on me. I had seen her reflection in the mirror when I pretended to stretch.

  I meant to catch her arm but I got a fistful of long, curly brown hair instead.

  “Ow!” she squealed. “Let me go!” She tried to pull away but I held on tight, using both hands now.

  “Why were you spying on me?” I cried. “Who hired you?”

  “Let me go!” was her only response.

  Using a hand-over-hand method on her long hair, I reeled her in a bit. “Who are you?” I repeated.

  “I am Carrie. Carrie Pixley!” She was bent backwards, staring up at the blue sky with her hands to her head. “Please let me go. I didn’t mean to spy on you. I thought you were someone else.”

  I saw two men coming along the boardwalk towards us. They had not yet seen her as they were about a block away and deep in conversation.

  “Get in here, Carrie Pixley!” I said.

  “What? Through the window?”

  “Yes, through the window.” I pushed the sash up with one hand and tugged her hair with my other. Carrie Pixley tumbled through, head first. She almost knocked over the queen’s-ware washbowl on its stand.

  I quickly shut the window, did the clasp & pulled down the painted oilcloth window curtain, all of which I should have done in the first place.

  With the shade down it was dim in my room. Miss Carrie Pixley, the person who had been spying on me, was still on the floor, sitting up & rubbing her head.

  She was about 13 or 14 with curly brown hair almost down to her waist & a mid-length woolen dress & button-up boots.

  She glared up at me. “Ow!” She was still rubbing the crown of her head where she had banged it on the queen’s-ware washbowl.

  Then she did something surprising. She began to giggle.

  “What are you laughing at?” I asked.

  “Your getup,” she said. “When I saw you go inside, I thought you were my Beloved’s lady friend. But you are just a boy in high-heeled shoes and your ‘undress uniform.’”

  “What is ‘undress uniform’?”

  “That is what my Beloved calls long underwear. He is so clever.”

  I sighed. “Another Romantic Job. What is it about this place?” I held out my hand and helped her to her feet. “Who is your Beloved?” I asked. “Why did you think to find him here?”

  She sat on the edge of my bed. “My Beloved is a newspaper reporter named Sam Clemens.”

  “Sam Clemens?” I said. “Ain’t he a mite old for you?” I sat on my chair & bent over to undo the buttons on my shoes.

  “He is only twenty-six,” she said, “and I will be fifteen in just about a year, so there is hardly ten years between us. My pa is eight years older than my ma so I reckon it is all right. I admit he is lazy, and a prankster to boot, but he is so handsome,” she sighed, “with his auburn hair and flashing blue-green eyes and slim figure. He and his brother Orion were staying in this room last year,” she added. “When I saw you come in here I thought you were Sam’s new Lady Friend.”

  “You can see for yourself that I am not his new Lady Friend.”

  “I am mightily relieved,” said Carrie Pixley, “for I intend to marry him.”

  “Does he know about your plans to marry him?” I asked, kicking off the shoe I had just unbuttoned.

  “Not yet,” she said. “But I know he likes me. He calls me ‘Miss P. of the Long Curls’. Once he asked me what sort of man I fancied. I teased him by saying I liked men with raven-black hair and broad shoulders. He turned pink and stamped off in a huff. ”

  I stopped unbuttoning my second shoe and looked at her.

  “Also,” I said, “twenty-six take away fourteen is twelve, not ten.”

  “Oh, poo,” she said, twirling one of her long curls around her finger. “But who are you and why were you personating a lady?”

  “My name is P.K. Pinkerton, Private Eye. I am here in Carson on a job.” I returned to the other shoe. The buttons were real fiddly.

  “What is a Private Eye?”

  “It is a kind of detective who shadows people and solves crimes,” I said.

  “Has there been a crime?”

  “No, I am here to shadow somebody.”

  “‘Shadow’?”

  “That means to follow them without them knowing they are being followed.”

  “Is that why you were in disguise?”

  “Yup.” I kicked off the second shoe.

  “Who are you shadowing?” asked Miss Carrie Pixley, twirling a fresh ringlet.

  “A Mississippi gambler called Poker Face Jace,” I said. “Do you know him?”

  She shook her head.

  I said, “A lady in Virginia City hired me to find out if he is True to her or Playing her False.”

  “Just like me!” said Carrie Pixley. “I think Sam is Playin
g me False, too. I believe he is sweet on someone else. He used to pay attention to me and now he don’t.”

  “Also,” I said, “my friend might be in danger.”

  There was a tap on the door.

  Before I could do anything, Miss Carrie Pixley had scrambled under the bed. And not a moment too soon.

  “To whom were you talking, at all?” said Mrs. Murphy, coming into the room with my clean chamber pot. “I do not allow female visitors in my boardinghouse. Young as you are, if I find one I will evict you.”

  “It is only me,” I lied. I could see part of Miss Carrie Pixley’s black boot sticking out from under the bed.

  She put down the chamber pot. “I thought I heard voices.”

  “You probably heard me practicing my Blind Widow Woman voice,” I said. “What do you think?” Here I put on the breathy voice of Mrs. Consuela Clever, “I am a blind widow woman from Dayton,” I said. “I like this room.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Murphy. She pointed to my hoops, skirt and corset where they lay in a pile in the middle of the floor. “You must not leave your fine new clothes lying about. Here, let me hang them up for you.”

  I glanced over at the bed. Carrie Pixley’s foot had disappeared. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “How was your disguise, at all?” asked Mrs. Murphy over her shoulder.

  “Bully,” I said. “I even fooled Sam Clemens up close and he knows me.”

  From under the bed came a muffled noise.

  I froze.

  Would Mrs. Murphy discover Carrie? Would I be evicted, young as I was?

  LUCKILY MRS. MURPHY did not seem to hear the girl hiding under the bed.

  “How did the false bosoms work out?” she asked, picking up the two balled-up socks.

  “Not so good,” I said. “They migrated north.” I was about to tell her it was the most uncomfortable getup I had ever worn & that I would probably never wear it again when she pulled something out of her apron pocket, saying, “Look what I made for you.”

  I took the cloth object and studied it. It was a kind of band made out of scraps of faded calico. It had two padded half spheres sewn in.

  I said, “False bosoms!”

  From under the bed came a muffled noise.

  “What was that?” said Mrs. Murphy.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” I said. To distract her I put the bosoms up against my chest. “These are bully,” I said.

  She smiled a genuine smile. “I did not make them too big,” she said. “We do not want you to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Murphy. That is mighty kind of you.” I tossed the false bosoms onto the bed. I did not tell her I would never wear that getup again. My Blind Widow Disguise was quite exploded. I would have to think of another way of shadowing Jace.

  “Mrs. Murphy,” I asked. “Does the Legislature meet at night?”

  She said, “Only in the last days of the session, if they are running out of time to get laws through. But there is the Third House, a burlesque of the Legislature. They meet most nights.”

  “Burlesque?”

  “‘Burlesque’ means a comical imitation. Good-natured mocking. My brigade is going over later, after they have had supper.”

  “Your brigade?”

  “My boarders. Sometimes I call them my ‘boys.’ But they call themselves the ‘Irish Brigade’ on account of they board with me and because some are Irish, like me. They usually go along to the Third House.”

  I said, “How can I get in to this Third House? What disguise should I wear?”

  She put her hands on her ample hips. “You’re never thinking of going along there at all? Why, they get up to all sorts of shenanigans not fit for women and children. Plus they hold it late, around nine or ten o’clock.”

  I said, “I am a Detective. It is my job.” Then I quoted my motto: “We Hardly Ever Sleep.”

  “Well, then.” She kind of smiled & went to the door. “You make sure you don’t let them catch you spying on them down at the Third House.”

  “That is my intent,” I replied.

  After the door closed behind her, Miss Carrie Pixley scooted back out from under my bed. “Are you going out tonight?” she asked, brushing dust from her woolen dress.

  I nodded.

  “Will you keep a lookout for my Beloved and see if he is with someone else? I cannot pay you but I can help you if you ever need something. My pa is a carpenter and my older brother, E.B., is a messenger for the telegraph.”

  “Telegraph?” I said. “Can you give him messages to send?”

  She nodded. “Also letters or parcels via stagecoach,” she said. “If there ain’t too many.”

  “All right,” I said. “If you will pass him telegraphic messages from me, I will keep an eye on Sam Clemens. Can you send a message right now?”

  “Surely.”

  I tore a page from my Detective Notebook. On one side I wrote this message to Ping: Arrived safely. Peter Clever.

  The other I addressed to Miss Jane Loveless (the false name Miss Opal Blossom had asked me to use): J. in Carson. I saw him kissing a lady in a tall bonnet. More soon. Peter Clever.

  I looked at the note. The word kissing made me queasy, so I struck it out and put with instead. Now my message to Opal read: J. in Carson. I saw him with a lady in a tall bonnet. More soon. Peter Clever.

  Carrie’s eyes opened wide when she saw my struck-out kissing, but she only said, “I am on my lunch break and have to get back to school but I will deliver these as soon as it is out.”

  I pulled up the painted oilcloth window shade and opened the sash window. “You’d best exit the way you entered. Here, use this chair as a step. Meet me here tomorrow about four and a half in the afternoon,” I added. “Just wait out there on the boardwalk.”

  When she was gone I pulled down the painted oilcloth window curtain once more & dressed myself in all my darkest clothes but left off my shoes and hat.

  It was only about 1 p.m. and it would not be dark for hours. Although my motto is We Hardly Ever Sleep, I suspected I would be up late so I took a Detective Nap.

  This is how I take a Detective Nap: I lie fully clothed but shoeless on top of the bedspread with my head at the foot and my stockinged feet near the head of the bed. This position tells my brain that it is nap-time not nighttime, and thus ensures a light but refreshing sleep.

  It was chilly so I pulled a corner of the bedspread over me. Soon I warmed up & drifted off into a light but refreshing sleep.

  I dreamt I was riding Cheeya across a sparkly white plain. Was it alkali? Was it snow? Was it Heaven? I could not tell. It stretched as far as the eye could see and it went on & on. But I was on Cheeya so I was not frightened.

  When I woke up I saw it was getting dark outside. I had slept for another seven hours!

  I reckon I was catching up on all the sleep I missed in Virginia. I could smell food & hear the clink of cutlery on china & the faint sound of laughter. I was up and alert by the time Mrs. Murphy brought me my tray.

  I had just finished eating when I heard a much louder clamor of voices in the hall that told me Mrs. Murphy’s Brigade was on the move again, almost certainly to the Third House.

  My Indian ma told me how one Lakota brave in her tribe would paint his body and face with black mud to make himself invisible for night raids. They called him Night Shadow. I reckoned daubing my naked body in black mud might make me conspicuous if I strayed into a pool of torchlight and someone saw me. Dressing in black and dark blue was better for town because you did not look so suspicious. Also it was warmer than just wearing mud.

  I was already dressed in dark colors so all I had to do was lace up my brogues & tug on my black slouch hat & pull on the black leather ladies’ gloves Mrs. Murphy had loaned me.

  I glanced at myself in the
mirror.

  I saw a boy dressed in dark blue and black: his shoes were black & his trowsers were dark blue & his coat was dark blue & his gloves were black & his slouch hat pulled down low was also black. The only part of him that stood out was the bottom half of his face. I needed to cover that up. I thought of the two Celestials who had kidnapped me. I needed a scarf to wrap around my face like them. In this chill weather it would not be suspicious and it would help hide my features. I thought I had seen some scarves on hooks in the hall when I first hid behind Mrs. Murphy’s skirt.

  I heard the front door open so I turned the lamp down low & went to the window to peep between the crack in the blind and the frame. My window faced east but I could just see the torches around the big Plaza to the south. A dozen men came out of Mrs. Murphy’s front door and congregated on the boardwalk. I could hear laughing in the darkness & see the flares of matches illuminating several faces as they lit cigars or pipes.

  “Where is it being held tonight?” asked my friend Sam Clemens.

  “The Deer Lick Saloon,” replied one of the men. “Barkeep there mixes one of them new cocktails. It is called a Blue Blazer. It involves flinging flaming whiskey from one silver mug to another.”

  I thought, “I would like to see that.”

  Sam Clemens said, “I would like to see that.”

  “Let’s go then,” said someone, and they all set off south along the boardwalk.

  I slipped my door key in one pocket of my coat and my loaded Smith & Wesson’s seven-shooter in the other. My heart was beating hard as I let myself out of my room & went to the entryway. There were still some hats and scarves there so I stood on tiptoe & tugged down a black muffler scarf & wrapped it around my neck & lower face.

  I thought, “I will return it when I am finished sneaking, so it is not stealing, only borrowing.”

  Then I thought, “I will follow Mrs. Murphy’s Brigade to the Third House to see if Jace is there with a Lady Friend.”

  And finally, “He will never spot me in my Night Shadow Disguise.”