Murder for Greenhorns

by Kresge, Robert

  Then east of that, along the Mormon Cutoff on the north side of the Platte, and up the low hills along the river, was Bert Sundquist’s Sunrise spread. The Sundquists had two boys, no hired hands, and were more friendly than the Logan outfit, he said.

  But everyone was hospitable compared to the ranch farthest east, the “Lightning Point” spread owned by Victor Millbank. At least that was what the brand looked like, Dave said, sketching a quick wavy line and the ground beneath it. Nobody’d been up to his ranch house, and if he had any hands, they didn’t show themselves in town. He had a wife, but neither Rosalee nor Becky had met her. Kept to themselves. Either of the last two ranches should be able to tell him about the farms near Sloan’s Ford and give him directions to the mines south of the river.

  “Ranches ’round here are gettin’ bigger,” said Dave. “Thanks to Lincoln’s Homestead Act, anybody over twenty-one can claim a hundred sixty acres just by swearing he didn’t fight for the Confederacy. That’s how Corey and I each claimed a piece. I had Rosalee file in her maiden name. We got nearly five hundred acres now.”

  “Of course, anybody who gets homestead land can turn around and sell it,” Corey said. “Some ranchers even got travelers on the Oregon Trail to make claims, then sell out and move on. I reckon Mike Logan and maybe Bert Sundquist done that.”

  Dave sipped his coffee before continuing. “Don’t think I’ll try that ’til the courts say it’s legal. Wouldn’t do to order more cows from Texas, then find you didn’t have enough land to graze ’em.”

  Becky brought two eggs back to the house in her apron. The women made their goodnights and left the men to talk in the gathering gloom. After another hour, Monday went down to the barn and found a comfortable stall. Looked like extra straw had been forked into the last one on the right and a filled water bucket and dipper left there, too. He looked back at the ranch house. When Miss Becky set her cap, she sure didn’t forget any details. Bet she was more than that Lieutenant Beamish could handle.

  Monday stroked his chin. Becky might be a midnight visitor to this stall. Keeping the Masterson family’s good will was important, not only for himself. Kate would have to deal with any bad feelings when he rode off to Montana in a couple weeks. Maybe he wouldn’t have to go quite that far. An experienced cowhand could get a job right here. Maybe even marry the boss’s daughter. Another reason to be real careful about crossing Dave Masterson.

  He used the pitchfork to take some straw out to the corral, placing it behind the open back door of the barn. Then he brought out his bedroll and spread it behind the door, out of sight from the ranch house, and settled down with his blanket. He took off his hat and boots.

  Green eyes, green eyes. He could see them even with his eyes closed. Then there came to mind Kate’s blue eyes. This would never do. If he got to thinking on those two pretty women tonight, he’d wake up with a hell of a condition, if he slept at all. He felt around and found some old dried horse manure. He ran his finger through it and rubbed a little on his upper lip. He sighed, recognizing the pungent odor of a dozen corrals, hundreds of horses, and three cattle drives. Nothing to disturb his dreams tonight. And he slept.

  Chapter Nine

  Wednesday

  Warbonnet

  Kate set aside thoughts of murder as she began to clear the table. Two regular boarders and a canned goods drummer who was leaving town this morning finished eating and left.

  “I wish you’d let me help a little more around here, Martha. I feel like I ought to contribute something. The four dollars a month you’ll save won’t cover the cost of my meals. I must eat a couple dollars worth of food a week.” Kate put an apron over her blue dress. Female detectives couldn’t get out of housework. Schoolteachers either.

  “Not that much. I watched you yesterday, and I doubt you’ll eat a dollar of vittles all week. But if you’d like to do more, Sally will hand you the dried dishes, and you can learn where they go, teacher.”

  Kate grinned. “All right. And maybe I can use this time to start assessing one of my pupils. Sally, how much ciphering can you do?”

  “Oh, Ma! School ain’t supposed to start for another month. Why do I have to recite my numbers in the kitchen?”

  “Don’t you sass your new teacher. You’ll get lots of questions, having her this near. That can’t help but improve your mind. Kate, she’s pretty good with numbers. She’d rather read, though. Sally’ll be glad when your crate of books arrives.”

  They were interrupted by a young red-haired girl who came to the back door. “Sally, Sally! Can you come out? Miranda and me are goin’ to the schoolhouse with our dolls!”

  “This is Jeanie Crandall, Kate,” Martha said. “She’ll be another of your pupils. You’ve met her father.”

  “Hello, Jeanie. I’m pleased to meet you. I hope you’ll be as enthusiastic in school when the fall term starts. Is it safe for them to play over there, Martha?”

  “Oh, I reckon. There’s nothin’ there between Sundays but dust and spiders and a few mice. And those critters know to stay out of sight when noisy young girls descend on the place. It’s the closest thing to a dollhouse they have, and they do it no harm. I make them sweep it out once a week, and they keep the windows fairly clean—as high as they can reach.”

  “In that case, Sally, you go on with Jeanie and—Miranda, was it? Your mother can teach me my cupboard lessons. We’ll be over there directly. I want to see how much needs to be done to get ready for September.”

  When the girls had skipped out, Kate said, “Thank you for rescuing me from Jane Odom yesterday. I wasn’t prepared for her assessment of my conduct. My heart went out to the marshal, and I had no thought for propriety.”

  “That’s all right. No need to thank me. Any woman in this town would have stood up for you, too. Jane has frequent hissy fits about one thing and another. She usually gets over her ‘spells,’ and she’ll prob’ly get over this. Thanks for helping with the ironing last night. Made it go quicker to have someone to talk to. That’ll let me work on these pies today.”

  “After we get these dishes put away, shall we go across to the school for a few minutes? I’d like to make a list of whatever needs to be done. What did the schoolhouse used to be?”

  “My Jack helped build it. It was supposed to be a feed and seed store, but we don’t have enough farms in this neck of the woods to support such a store yet. After it closed, Jack helped add some windows and that steeple. We use it for church services once a month and hymn sings in between, but it’s gettin’ crowded. It’s alright for fifteen kids and can prob’ly hold twenty more, if we get that many. We got a bell from Noah Crandall. His brother was a ship captain.”

  “A steeple and a bell will serve a school and part-time church equally well. I look forward to meeting the preacher. When does he come by?”

  “We get Reverend Barnes first Sunday each month. We share him with Rawlins, Laramie, and Cheyenne. He’s a nice lookin’ fella—single, and with a good education, too.”

  Kate busied herself folding a tablecloth. But she heard the implied suggestion. How many women in this town would try to get her married off? Miss Bishop warned her that most towns wouldn’t want their schoolteachers married and raising their own families. Maybe that would protect her from matchmakers for a while.

  “I’m glad to be here in Wyoming, Martha. I look forward to voting in the fall.”

  “Me, too. Ain’t been an election since the bill passed last December. Almost didn’t.”

  “How’s that? We didn’t get all the news back in Buffalo. Just the result.”

  “Esther Morris up in Atlantic City, on the Continental Divide, held a tea party last fall. Invited the two candidates for territorial representative in Washington. Got ’em both to support female suffrage. December sixth, our twelve-man legislature passed the bill and the governor surprised everybody by signing it. Our men in Cheyenne just wanted Eastern newspapers to report there’d been a bill. They didn’t expect it to become law.”

 
“Well, how did it? If it was a surprise, it must have been difficult.”

  “We thought it might be, but word got around Cheyenne that there’d better be quick action. Women, husbands, brothers, and fathers of daughters all pressed the governor and he signed it. I hear tell Esther’s gonna become the first female justice of the peace in these here United States.” Kate grinned.

  “And there was a bonus. Utah passed the same law not sixty days later. They’re hopin’ it’ll get ’em declared a state. Course, with all those wives, they got a whole lot more female votes than Wyoming. Can you imagine sharing your husband with three or four other women?”

  “No, I can’t,” Kate said. She thought of Stuart and shuddered.

  Martha folded the tablecloth and put it away.

  “When does the next mail go out?” Kate asked, taking off her apron. “I ought to write to my parents. And I imagine the marshal wants to write to his wife to tell her he’s arrived.”

  “Roy Butcher takes the mail down to Laramie and brings mail and freight back every two weeks. He’ll make his next run down there on Tuesday. You and the marshal will have plenty of time for long letters. Do you have a beau back home to write to?”

  “No, I haven’t had a beau in years.” Kate couldn’t look Martha in the eye. She reached for an apron. “Will I need this across the street?” she asked, hoping to halt any more questions about young men.

  “Best bring it along. I’ll put a little more water in the big boiler. We’ll want a mop and bucket in a while.” Martha stoked up the fire in the stove and they left.

  They walked across to one of the side doors of the schoolhouse. Up the little wooded hill behind the school, boys raced, followed by small dogs. Their shouts and laughter carried in the still air. No clouds today. It looked to be a warm one.

  They found Sally and Jeanie with light-haired Miranda. They’d propped their dolls on a bench and were taking turns at the blackboard with chalk and a switch.

  “Good heavens, Sally,” Kate said in mock alarm. “Is that switch for your dolls, if they don’t recite their lessons?”

  “No, Miss Shaw. This switch is for those boys if they come in here again. They won’t mind us and I guess they prob’ly won’t mind you neither.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that when the time comes. Martha, I see enough benches for more than fifteen pupils. I wish we had desks, but I’ll have to wait for a larger body of students—or a generous donor—for that.”

  “I reckon you’re right. These benches were easy enough to put together. At least you have a desk—and a chair, too. What else do you think you’ll need?”

  Kate turned from surveying the blackboard, a large piece of uneven slate. “Well, those two lamps will do for cloudy days, or late hours for me. And I guess this lectern will serve me or Reverend Barnes equally well. I have twenty copies of McGuffey’s Reader coming with my clothes, so we’ll be fairly well equipped. These shelves will make a good bookcase for the Readers and my other books. I can’t imagine we’ll have paper and pencils for anything except formal penmanship. Have we slates and chalk?”

  “Over here in the cupboard. None too many pieces of chalk. Might want to order more from Kansas City.”

  “How about structural problems? The roof looks sound. Does this stove work?”

  “Certainly does. We had to use it on Sundays until May. You’ll prob’ly have a truant or backtalker to clear ash and haul coal for you each day. The walls and floor are solid. There are a couple mouseholes that could use stoppin’.”

  A short, dark-haired woman came in the front door with a small boy in tow. “Oh, Mrs. Torricelli, hello,” Martha said. “And you’ve brought little Peter.”

  “Si, Signora Haskell. Good morning. And good morning you, too, lady. You must be new schoolteacher.”

  “I’m Kate Shaw, Mrs. Torricelli. Happy to meet you. And pleased to meet Peter, too.”

  “My boy’s name really is Pietro, but people here make it Peter. His friends call him Petey. Our family live just up the street.”

  “You can follow your nose to Maria’s, Kate. She’s a wonderful baker. We’ve been after her to open a shop. Her husband Nick is our barber. Maria, why don’t we leave little Petey with Kate and the other children and step across to my kitchen? I need to bring over a bucket of soapy water and a mop, and I’d admire your opinion of my latest pie crust.” Kate wanted to ask where the Torricelli family lived before they came to Warbonnet, but she bit back her question.

  As they left, Buxton and two boys trooped in. “Hello, Miss Shaw,” chirped Buxton. “The marshal said I could be ‘Buck’ if’n I got my friends to call me that. These here are my pals Joey and Chad. They’re callin’ me ‘Buck’ already.” The younger boy grinned, showing a gap in his front teeth.

  “Well, the marshal has many good ideas. I’m sure you’ll all learn things from him besides what I teach you here in school.” Her words rang hollow. Monday would leave in two weeks.

  “School won’t be in session for a while yet. You and these girls are nearly half my class.” She brushed off her apron and looked around the schoolroom.

  “All right. Go ahead with your play. I have some cleaning to do before dinner.”

  “Yes, Miss Shaw.” Buxton grinned and stuck his tongue out at his sister. The boys ran out laughing.

  But cleaning wasn’t her first priority. Kate went out the front door with her spare drawing, the one of Sam Taggart without his mustache. Down at the marshal’s office, she found a board next to one front window. There were a few tacks left and she fixed the drawing in place. She considered the sketch for a moment; it probably ought to have a sign saying something like, “Do you know this man?” But that would have to wait. At least there was something posted in town now that might stir up some talk. Perhaps she’d have better luck in town than Monday would, riding alone for two days. Reluctantly, she left the part-time work of detecting and went back to the school.

  That was when she saw it, some sort of announcement tacked to the front door of the school that she hadn’t seen when she came out. As she drew closer, she saw it was a list.

  It was printed, not hand-written, and said, “Rules for Teachers” with nine prohibitions spelled out underneath. At least half seemed to pertain to male teachers. Many contained admonitions toward thrift. It also listed scut-work teachers would have to do, like chopping their own firewood. She stopped dead on number six: “Women teachers who marry or engage in unseemly conduct will be dismissed.” Miss Bishop had warned all her students about the marriage ban, but the “unseemly conduct” part seemed to be open to broad interpretation. She grinned at point number eight that prohibited smoking, using liquor in any form, frequenting pool halls, or getting shaved in a barber shop. She snorted at that, but glanced around carefully to see if anyone was watching. There was no one on the street.

  She pulled the list off, went in, and placed it in her desk. Who’d dare instruct her in proper conduct? She’d bet half the women in town smoked and more than that likely drank alcohol in some form.

  Monday wouldn’t be the only one who’d have to stand up to public scrutiny. Warbonnet was going to have to learn to trust its new teacher. But would anyone trust her after they learned she and Monday had deceived them?

  Chapter 10

  Wednesday

  More Ranches

  Monday rolled out of his blanket behind Mastersons’ barn, awakened by the insistent nuzzling of Lightning’s big nose. The horse was quieter than a rooster would have been. Monday checked his pocket watch. Six-thirty. He was packed up in a few minutes. Clear sky, few clouds. Maybe no rain on this journey.

  As he washed his face from a bucket, Monday scrubbed off the manure mustache. Must have worked; he’d been undisturbed by either dream girls or flesh-and-blood women last night. But he thought about them—blond Kate, auburn-haired Becky, dark-haired Mary Ellen—as he saddled Lightning.

  Sampson growled when Monday walked up to the porch, so he stood still while the dog guarded
his territory. After a moment, the door opened and Becky came out, looking cross. She was wearing a man’s shirt, pants, and boots today. “He’s up, Ma,” she called over her shoulder. “Looks like he’s ready to leave too, but I doubt he’ll turn down your hotcakes.” Her eyes blazed. Maybe she’d come to the barn last night and couldn’t find him. He tipped his hat and grinned.

  “Morning, Miss Masterson. Sleep well? Would you ask Sampson to let me up?”

  “Sampson made a mite too much noise last night when I stepped on his tail out here. Pa reckoned I was doing more than goin’ to the outhouse and tanned my backside good. Sampson’s lucky I don’t take it out on him. Stop your grinning, dang it! You ain’t worth my getting in trouble for!” She went inside, slammed the door, and left Monday to Sampson’s growls. But his tail was wagging. Monday took a chance and walked up to pet the dog. A loud smack and a yelp sounded from inside the house. Dave Masterson opened the door, holding a downcast Becky by the hand. She rubbed the seat of her jeans.

  “I’m sorry my girl can’t seem to remember her manners this morning, nor proper modesty last night. Don’t know if I can get an apology out of her before you leave this morning.” He gestured Monday in and led him to the breakfast table. After a meal of hotcakes and honey, Monday went to the rail where he’d tied Lightning to make his goodbyes.

  “Remember, you just go back to the main road and head north again,” Dave said. “Logan’s place ain’t but a half-hour on. His buildings are on t’other side of the road, but he owns a little bit of land on this side, too, north of me.”

  “Thanks, Dave. Much obliged for last night’s lodging. Your good vittles, too, Ma’am. Look forward to seeing you all in town. Corey. Miss.” Becky tossed her head and looked away in a haughty manner. He got aboard Lightning, tipped his hat, and rode out chuckling.

  When Monday reached the main north road, he paused. Lots of hoofprints heading south, toward town. Hmmm. Four, maybe five horses. Some fresh manure had been ridden over, indicating the group of riders passed no more than an hour ago. He didn’t fancy himself as good a tracker as Smoky Joe, the old Kiowa scout who’d taught him, but probably good enough for a pretend Wyoming lawman.