Murder for Greenhorns

by Kresge, Robert

  A half-hour’s easy lope north, he turned Lightning to the right onto a sandy trail. The horse tracks seemed to come from here. He came to a signpost that bore no words, just an “X” over top of a five-pointed star. Must be the X-Star Ranch. The great tracker makes another smart call.

  The trail wound around a little hill and into a ranch yard. There was a corral on the right and beyond that a barn under construction. A low one-story cabin ahead hugged the hillside—probably the ranch house—and a bunkhouse just to the left of that. Looking over the corral rails, Monday could see a set of low hills nearly half a mile to the east. He halted Lightning and stood in the stirrups, looking for signs of life. He was about to call out, when a young cowboy emerged from the barn leading an unsaddled horse over to the corral rail nearest to Monday. The cowboy looked startled to see him. Maybe they didn’t get many visitors out here.

  “Howdy, Mister. If you’re lookin’ for work, this spread’s got all the hands we need right now. The Cap ain’t hirin’.”

  “That so? What makes you think I’m looking to sign on with ‘the Cap,’ whoever he is?”

  “I seen quite a few cowboys the last few years—and a lot of cow ponies that didn’t look as good as yours.” He pushed his hat back with his thumb, put one foot up on a rail and grinned. “You may not be lookin’ for work, but you been a cowboy some time, just like me. Oh, Red Tyler. I’m Red Tyler. Cap is Mike Logan. He owns this spread.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Tyler. No, I’m not looking for work here,” Monday said, getting down to shake hands. The cowboy was a little younger than Monday, with reddish hair poking out from under his battered hat. Monday looped Lightning’s reins over the fence rail. “I’m the new marshal in Warbonnet. Name’s Taggart.” He watched Tyler’s face, but the young man showed no reaction.

  “I didn’t know the town hired a marshal. What brings you out this way?”

  Monday took out the drawing. “This is a picture of a man shot dead south of town day before yesterday. Name of Malone. I’m trying to find if anybody around here knew him. He was a cowboy, too, looking for work. Maybe headed here. You recall seeing him before?”

  Tyler took the drawing and turned away so his hat wouldn’t shade the picture. Monday couldn’t see his expression. When he turned back, his face was as open as before. “Nope, sorry, Marshal. Don’t look like anybody I seen. Cap and the boys are out with the stock. Maybe they’d know him. But like I said, we ain’t hirin’, so I don’t think he was headin’ our way.”

  Out with the stock? Then whose were all those hoofprints headed south toward town?

  He untied Lightning and prepared to mount. “Well, listen, Tyler. I’ve got to visit a couple more ranches and farms today. Maybe I’ll see your boss in town, but if I don’t, I’d appreciate you asking him to take a look at another drawing like this. It’s supposed to be nailed up in front of my office. I’d be much obliged if he’d stop by, him or any of the other boys.”

  Monday thought of another question as he returned to the saddle. “How many hands does it take to work a spread like this?”

  “There’s four of us been with Cap for about five years. Five, if you count Quincannon, who hired on in the spring. Got nine hundred head.”

  “Well, I’ll remember you’re not short of cows. So long.” Monday rode out of the ranch yard, past the sign, and headed for the road south.

  He hadn’t seen any spare mounts in the half-built barn. Usually a cowboy on a drive had four or five horses in his string, so he could rotate fresh mounts. Maybe a Wyoming ranch wouldn’t need that many. Whatever remounts they had could be off grazing or penned in a draw in the hills close by. He was disappointed not to find a big black horse right away. Still, nine hundred cows would keep four or five hands busy. And more cows next year could mean more jobs around here. He might not have to work for Becky’s father if he stayed.

  * * * *

  Monday rode almost back to town before turning east onto the trail along the north side of the Platte. He rode for about an hour, passing a few wagons headed west. A small rock cairn on the north side of the trail marked what Dave said would indicate he was close to the Sundquist spread. Slowly gathering clouds indicated possible rain tonight.

  He followed a little track up into the hills. As far as he could see, this looked like good cattle country. Fat grass blew in the breeze and every mile or so he saw small groves of trees along stream beds that flowed down toward the Platte. As he followed the track, he began to smell smoke. Probably a cooking fire. Sure enough, when he crested a rise, there was a small ranch house, shaded by some decent trees, a corral in the middle, and a barn on the left. Really just a large shed. No dog barked this time to announce his coming, and Lightning’s hooves made no dust on the grassy track. Monday saw some activity at the corral between the house and the shed, so he headed that way.

  Shouts ahead, from the corral. Monday saw a woman in a gray dress waving her arms. Then a boy separated himself from the moving shapes and ran toward the ranch house. As he got closer, Monday saw another boy, a larger one, trying frantically to untie loops that held the corral gate closed. Shouts of “Pa, Pa!” reached him. He spurred Lightning and moved in fast.

  Through the bars of the corral, Monday saw a bucking sorrel horse leaping and twisting. It had no rider. He saw a sprawled shape inside the corral and knew immediately what had happened. Monday hauled Lightning to a dusty halt next to the corral fence and shouted to the boy.

  “Stand by that gate, son! Don’t open it yet!” He reached back, whipped loose the ties on his blanket roll, got a good grip on one edge of the blanket, and—kicking out of his stirrups—put one foot on the top rail and leaped into the corral.

  His sudden appearance startled the horse. It stopped bucking and looked at him. Then it reared and began to paw the air. Monday held the blanket by one corner and flipped it from side to side, making himself appear larger and distracting the horse from the inert form on the ground. The horse backed up to the far side fence, and Monday quickly whipped the blanket over its head and caught the opposite corner, holding makeshift blinders. It was confused by not being able to see. Monday waited until it calmed a bit, then caught the horse’s bridle and led it to the gate.

  “Got a hitch rail out there, son?”

  The boy drew the gate open and pointed toward the shed. Monday tied the horse at the rail in front of the shed and patted its neck. Then he loosened the girth and dumped the saddle at his feet. When he took the blanket off its head, the horse remained calm.

  “Check his saddle blanket. See if he’s got a burr or horsefly under there.” Then without looking back, he turned to the corral. The younger boy was coming up with a rifle. Monday raised both hands in mock surrender. “No need to shoot that horse, son. Let’s see to your pa.”

  The woman was kneeling next to the prostrate form. She slipped a hand under his head. Monday knelt and took her wrist.

  “Don’t, Ma’am. His neck may be hurt. Let me check his bones and see if he comes to.”

  “Who are you, Mister? Did you hear us calling for help?”

  “No, Ma’am. I’m Sam Taggart from Warbonnet. I was on my way here and happened on you at the right time. Too bad I didn’t get here a mite sooner.”

  “Glad you didn’t get here a mite later. I’m Clara Sundquist. This here’s my husband Bert. You seen our boys, Andy and Jesse. We didn’t know what to do when Bert got throwed. He hit the fence post, and the horse tried to stomp him a time or two, but I reckon we kept him away.”

  “Well, Mrs. Sundquist, I broke a few dozen horses in my time. Two of ’em broke me pretty good. Your husband could have some stove ribs, a broken leg, or a hurt head. All I know from the tending I got is to keep him from moving, make him easy, and hope he comes to. Let’s try a little water. Jesse, can you get some, or are you still deciding whether to shoot me?”

  Jesse came back with water and Monday wet his bandana to clean Bert’s brow. Then he felt along the arm and leg bones carefully. At
the left leg, he elicited a groan. A moment later, the man’s eyelids flickered, and he blinked. He tried to rise, but Monday had anticipated that and held his shoulders. “Stay put, Mr. Sundquist. You got throwed by that horse, and we’re still trying to figure out what ails you.”

  “Who the hell are you? Ow, my head.”

  “Sam Taggart, from Warbonnet. I happened by just after you parted company with your saddle. Now, before we let you move, tell me what hurts. Start with your head.”

  “Uh, much obliged for your help, Taggart. Guess the left side of my head hurts worst. Am I bleedin’?”

  “Nope, but you got a pretty good bruise. I reckon you’ll have a goose egg there soon enough. Now, I ain’t gonna try to move your head, but you tell me if you can move it a little from side to side. Yeah, like that. Does it hurt to do that?”

  “Naw, my neck’s hardly stiff. Do ya want me to sort of work my way south? Look, both my arms work. Nothin’ broken there.”

  “OK. Now, this might be a bit trickier. I don’t want you to move your legs yet. Just move your right foot side to side for me. Good, good. Now the left. Uh-huh. I’ll bet that hurt. Now try bending your right knee for us. I think your right leg’s gonna be all right, Mr. Sundquist. We won’t try your hips yet. Try moving that left knee.”

  “Ahhh!”

  “Yep, left leg, prob’ly that big bone, whatever Doc might call it. Now I’m gonna check your ribs. I’ll press mighty gentle on ’em, one at a time. You holler if I cause you any pain.”

  Monday probed the ribs and Sundquist only made a sucking sound once when he pressed on the left side. “Taste any blood, Mr. Sundquist? No? Then you prob’ly just got a cracked rib there. Fourth one up. We’ll tell Doc when he gets here.”

  “Doc Gertz? Why would he come out here? We ain’t sent for him, have we?”

  “No, sir, not yet. But you should. We can try to get you comfortable in the house, now that we know what’s hurting you. Then you should send one of these boys for Doc. I’d go myself, but I’d kind of like to keep on with my visits to the other ranch and the farms and mines.”

  “Why you visitin’ all them places?” asked Clara. “You a new preacher in town?”

  Monday stood up and chuckled. As he did so, his vest fell away from his shirt. Clara gasped. Andy said, “The law!” And Jesse worked the lever of his father’s Henry repeater.

  “Simmer down,” Monday said, raising his hands to waist level. “Yeah, I’m the new marshal. What’re you folks so riled up about?”

  “Mister, we ain’t had nothin’ but grief from the law back where we come from. Ain’t too partial to lawmen snoopin’ around on our prop’ty,” Mrs. Sundquist said.

  “Clara, you heard the man say he’s here to help. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Let him help you get me inside.”

  Monday sent Clara to prepare the bed and bring a blanket. When she did so, he gently rolled Bert onto it, then indicated Clara and Jesse should take leg corners. He and Andy took the shoulders. They half-carried, half-dragged Bert into the house and onto the bed. Jesse brought some splint materials and Monday tied them to Bert’s left leg.

  “Sorry for all the rough-housing when we brought you in. Reckon I shoulda set these splints before we moved you. I ain’t much of a doctor.”

  “Mister,” Jesse said. “You said you got busted up twice. Is this what they done for you?”

  “Yeah, son. The first time, I don’t know what they did. I was out cold, they tell me. Second time, I had a broken collarbone.” He grinned and tousled the youngster’s blond hair.

  “Now, Mr. Sundquist, I reckon there’s two chores to be done—one’s getting Doc up here, and t’other’s breaking that horse. I can take care of the second one for you, in return for dinner, Ma’am, if that’s all right by you. But you oughta have young Andy ride down for Doc right after that. I saw the fare card in his office. Charges a dollar to set a broken leg. You oughta have it done perfessional, if your husband wants to dance as good as new when it heals.”

  Sundquist grumbled at the likely expense but accepted Monday’s offer on the horse.

  “Come on, Andy. I’m gonna need your help.” Monday took him outside and retrieved the saddle. He glanced into the shed, but the only horses he could see were every shade but black—and they were none too big, no long tails.

  The red horse was still tethered. “OK, Andy, you haul this here saddle back into the corral, and I’ll bring old ‘Piss and Vinegar’ here.”

  “Pa said his name’s gonna be Blazes. He’s got two on his forehead. But I don’t see nothin’ wrong with that new name.” He grinned. They went into the corral and closed the gate.

  “It’s your pa’s call on a name. Where I come from, it’s bad luck to name a horse before it’s broke to ride. Maybe he didn’t know that. Anyway, you can offer up a name after a bit.” Monday tried without success to get the horse to quiet down for saddling. “All right, Andy, step up here while I saddle him.” He bent the horse’s left ear down. “Bite right here. Not too hard, now, just enough to distract him.”

  With that, Monday threw the blanket and saddle on and cinched down. “OK,” he said, taking the reins. “If you can just hold that bite and count to five, I’ll be aboard and you can let loose. Step back smart when you do.” He swung into the saddle, got his feet into the stirrups and braced himself.

  Andy released his bite and scrambled through the fencerails. The horse jumped straight up and came down twisting to the left. Monday hung on. The horse bucked and jumped some more, then twisted right. After a few more jumps, he seemed to sense he wasn’t going to dislodge this rider and quieted. His jumps and twists became fewer and far between. Monday waited until he’d ridden the horse around the corral for a few minutes.

  “Let’s test him, Andy. You get aboard.”

  “Me, sir? I never rode a buckin’ horse before.”

  “Well, we hope this horse is all bucked out. I’ll hold his lead rope, but you just take his reins and keep one leg on each side and your mind square in the middle. Now ride him in a gentle circle. That’s good.” He was able to drop the lead rope and let Andy guide the horse. Monday turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  “Howdy, Ma’am. Your horse ain’t so tough now. Andy knocked a few corners off of him.”

  “I seen you ridin’ him from the porch, Marshal. Nice of you to make Andy feel so growed up, but I think you took his rough edges off. Andy’s just sorta sandin’ him down a little. Come on in, both of you. You’ve more than earned your meal.”

  While they ate, Monday explained his visit and brought out the drawing. It drew no more reaction than had the name. He said he’d ride on to the Lightning Point spread this afternoon.

  “That’s what most folks call the brand,” said Bert from his bed. “But Vic Millbank calls it ‘God’s Finger’ or some such. Only arrived here last fall.”

  “Well, thanks. Getting the name of the place right will help smooth my way. While we’re about it, how come you shied away at meeting a lawman out here today?”

  Bert glanced at Clara, who took the boys outside.

  “Back where we used to live in Kansas, I got into a fight with some drunken cowboys one night. One of those boys was hurt real bad, so the judge fined me for the damages and gave me a year in jail. Anyway, I did six months in the county hoosegow before they let me out.

  “My wife and kids got no help from people in town. After I got out, we sold our place and come out here, ‘bout a year ago. That bitter taste is still fresh in my mouth. No reflection on you, Marshal Taggart. You seem like a decent sort of lawman.”

  “Thanks, I reckon. Your boys don’t know nothing about your being in jail, I take it.”

  “Nope. Clara told ‘em I was away bein’ a scout for the Army and sent the boys to her sister’s, so they wouldn’t hear nothin’ in school. They ain’t been in school since we came here. All they know is Clara and I are hell on peace officers throwing their weight around.”

  “Don’t su
ppose you’d tell me where in Kansas this happened—or when,” Monday said, playing with his hat. Sundquist scowled and shook his head slightly, as if alert to any pain that might cause. “Well, let’s just keep that secret from the boys, Mr. Sundquist. Warbonnet’s got a new schoolteacher now. She rode in with me, day before yesterday. Hope you’ll send the boys to her. She’s first rate—whip smart and mighty easy on the eyes.” He stood and put on his hat.

  “That so? Maybe I’ll have to get this dancin’ leg set, so’s I can do a couple a turns with her. I reckon you’ll want to be gettin’ on to the Millbank place. I appreciate all your help.”

  Monday showed Bert the drawing, to no reaction, then went outside. Jesse helped Andy saddle a pony, while Clara went to get Bert’s agreement to Andy fetching the doctor. Monday asked the boys if they’d seen any rider on a big black horse, especially one with a fine rifle. They said they hadn’t, but promised to keep an eye out.

  When Clara returned, Monday asked her about Millbank’s ranch.

  “He’s got a surly bunch of hands. Mexicans, maybe. They keep intruders off Millbank’s land. One threatened to cut Jesse’s throat when he went looking for strays last month.”

  Monday said his goodbyes and pondered what she’d told him while he and Andy rode down the track together back to the Mormon Cutoff. At that point, Andy turned west toward Warbonnet. Monday turned east again and headed for the next ranch.

  Bert Sundquist sure was down on the law. Looked like he might have cause. What if Sundquist had his run-in in a Kansas town where Sam Taggart was a peace officer? Well, if he needed to come arrest Bert, Monday knew right where he’d be for the next few weeks. He’d check with Doc to see how bad that break was.

  * * * * *

  Monday followed the ruts of the Mormon Cutoff to Sloan’s Ford. He could see why folks forded here; a sandbar of rounded rocks and gravel half-filled the river. Looked like a place you could cross without getting your hubs wet. Or your boots, if you were riding a horse. He stayed on the cutoff on this side and continued east a little way. Not far beyond the ford was another track leading north that Sundquist had told him would take him to Millbank’s ranch. He turned Lightning and headed up the track.