Murder for Greenhorns

by Kresge, Robert

  As he entered his office, Monday admired the new stool behind the desk. Nothing fancy, but it was sturdy. He’d better find out who to thank for this. He couldn’t imagine it was the generosity of the town council.

  His inclination was to work some more on the cells, but he also needed to talk to a few merchants like Webb and Ike Hauser. He unloaded his rifle and put it and the shells away, rolled up his sleeves and went into the back. He stopped when the door squeaked open behind him.

  Martha Haskell entered.

  “Oh, Marshal. I didn’t think you’d be in. Buxton said he saw you cross the river this morning. Now that you’re here. . . .”

  “What can I do for you, Ma’am?”

  “Well, this is a little embarrassing. It’s about Buxton and his friends. They’ve been hanging around my washline too often lately and I don’t know what to do.”

  Monday smiled. “Have they been chunking rocks or using slingshots to dirty some of your laundry? I used to do that myself when I was little. Don’t think I turned out too bad.”

  “No, it’s not that. They don’t do any damage. They just stand there and look. And they usually look at Miss Shaw’s garments. Especially her underthings. I don’t think that’s right—or healthy.”

  Monday chuckled. “I don’t know what town law they’re breaking, Ma’am. If they’re not doing any damage, don’t know that I can run ’em in. Or hold ’em if I did.” He grinned and spread his hands.

  “Can’t you talk to them? You’re acting like it’s just one of the games boys play. I’ve had to deal with rock throwing and other things, but I don’t know how to handle this. And I don’t have a husband to turn to.” She’d gone from embarrassment to anger in thirty seconds.

  Monday got serious fast. “All right, I’ll talk to them. Where can I find them?”

  “They’re usually up in that stand of trees above the school this time of day. They have some sort of fort by that big rock in the glen. Try there first.”

  Monday took his hat and walked up Main Street past the school. As he did, he wondered for a moment if Kate was working in there and what she was wearing. Thinking about her legs in the river yesterday had made it hard to get to sleep last night.

  He could hear whoops and yells ahead of him and found Buxton, Joey, and a smaller boy he didn’t recognize. They were trying to nail a board to a tree with a stone. The stone was too big to hold onto. There was much good natured banter and some mild cursing. Joey stopped hammering when he caught sight of Monday.

  They all turned and looked at him with big eyes. “We weren’t making too much noise, Marshal,” Buxton said. He seemed to be the leader.

  “You weren’t, Buck. Nobody in town can hear you up here. I see you’re putting up a sign. What’s it say?”

  “Nothing yet, Marshal,” Buxton said, puffing up at an adult’s use of his nickname. “We’re just hangin’ it up. Gotta get some paint later. It’s gonna say ‘No girls’.”

  “It’ll be harder to paint when it’s nailed to the tree. You’ll wish you done that when it was laying flat on the ground. But that’s not what I came to talk to you about. Why don’t you all come with me?”

  He led them down to the back of the Haskell house. Laundry flapped in the light breeze on long lines. They stopped just above the clotheslines.

  “I knew it,” the littlest boy said. “We’re gonna get it now. We shouldn’ta been peekin’ at Miss Shaw’s drawers.” He looked about to cry.

  “Don’t get your own drawers in a twist, son. I brought you here ’cause Buck’s ma frets about how much time you boys’re spending looking at Miss Kate’s wash. Which is hers?”

  Buxton pointed to the nearest line, farthest from the house. “Miss Kate hangs her things down there.” They walked that way. Monday noticed two dresses he’d seen Kate wear. There were some drawers and some of those frilly white things with shoulder straps.

  “What do you do here?”

  “Nothing much, Marshal,” said Joey. “We mostly just look each day to see what Miss Kate’s hung up. We all have our favorite dresses. Buck favors her riding skirt. We all like her little tops—them things.” He pointed. The tops swayed the most in the light breeze.

  “Well, boys, Buck’s ma don’t want you to spend so much time looking at Miss Kate’s laundry. You know, if Miss Kate sees you doing that, you’ll embarrass her nigh to death. You don’t want that, do you?” They shook their heads. He knew they all liked Kate.

  “Tell you what I’m going to do. You’re so good at noticing frilly little things, how’d you like to look for harder things, more important things, and maybe make some money, too?”

  They nodded vigorously and all tried to speak at once. He held up his hands, and they quieted down.

  “A marshal can’t be every place at once, boys. And he can’t always see everything that’s going on. He needs more than one set of eyes. That’s where you can help me. I can’t afford to pay no deputies no regular salary; town council don’t pay me that much. But—” he stressed the word and paused. “But, I can pay bonny-fied scouts like you for important information.

  “What I need you to do is to keep your eyes open all the time, and let me know about things that could be trouble before they happen. F’rinstance, when a stranger rides in wearing two pistols. When some bad-looking hombre ties his gun down before going into the saloon. When you find a broken window in a store or see somebody in trouble. I need to know all that. If you bring me something I can use, I’ll pay a penny a tip, a nickel if it turns out to be really important.”

  “What if all of us see the same thing? Who gets paid?”

  “I’ll pay the first one who tells me. If you all have the same information, I’ll keep track and see to it you get equal shares. What do you say?”

  “Deal!” they shouted.

  “All right. Here’s what I need you to watch out for. I’m looking for somebody who rides a big black horse. Don’t know what the man looks like. Could be anybody. I’d sure like to talk to him if you see him.” He squatted down to their level and showed his most serious expression.

  “But listen to me real hard on this, scouts. This man could be a killer. For this information and anything else you notice, you need to promise me you won’t do nothing to call attention to yourselves. You gotta watch quiet-like and learn all you can, then ease away—not run—and find me. If you get seen running off to talk to me, folks will think you’re just snitches. You don’t want that, right?”

  They assured him they didn’t and ran off toward town.

  Kate’s laundry snapping in the breeze caught his attention. Especially those little lacey tops, like he’d seen her take off down by Box Elder Creek. Remembering how he’d been filling canteens that morning, his mouth began to feel dry. He recalled her bare back in the sunshine and took off his hat, working it in his hands. He was just thinking of Kate’s legs in the stream yesterday when. . . .

  “Marshal!” He was jolted out of his reverie by Martha’s call. “I think you’ve spent long enough looking at the evidence, so to speak. Maybe you ought to move along, too.” She scowled at him.

  “I seen them three young hellions scampering into town like you’d promised ’em candy. They didn’t look like they been scolded.”

  “Oh, they’re sorry, Mrs. Haskell. They couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Why don’t you judge by what they do? See if they return to the ‘scene of the crime’ here. I’ll bet they don’t.” With that, he put on his hat and headed back to his office.

  Chapter 20

  Tuesday

  Warbonnet

  When Kate came around the corner from Main Street, she found Monday helping Roy Butcher load food for himself and fodder for his mules into the freight wagon in front of the livery stable. “Good morning, Marshal. I was hoping to find you here.” Roy came out with two more sacks, chucked them into the wagon, tipped his hat to Kate, and went back into the barn.

  “Quickly,” she whispered to Monday. “I have the letter ready for
Sheriff Boswell. I said you told me what to write, but you should sign it.” She handed him a pencil and held the letter on the wagon tailgate.

  Monday paused. “I can spell Sam. What about Taggart?”

  “T-A-G-G-A-R-T,” she whispered. When he finished, she placed the letter in an envelope. She also held a letter made out to Mrs. Emma Taggart in Julesburg, four more addressed to New York, and two more from Martha. Monday raised an eyebrow.

  “One is to my parents, one to my sister and brother, and one to my best friend, Lacey Ferris. The last is to my special friend, Anna Green, who started me reading Poe and other mystery stories. Since we can only send out mail every two weeks, I’ll write to them as often as I can. I do hope Roy brings some mail for me.” Then she saw the expression on Monday’s face and put her hand to her mouth.

  “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry. The thought of getting mail makes me so happy that I forgot myself. Or rather, I forgot that you have no one to write to or hear from.”

  “Makes no difference to me, Miss Kate. I ain’t any better at writing than I am at talking.” He tucked the letters into Roy’s mailbag. “Reckon if you just get something back from the sheriff about folks who came here from Kansas and Colorado, I’d be content with that.”

  Roy emerged with his coat, canteen, and rifle, nearly ready to leave. As he stowed these items, Kate took the opportunity to pass him a shopping list and some money, saying she hoped it was no imposition.

  “No, Ma’am. I might as well have your list, too. Never had so many orders to shop for before. Done throwed off my schedule completely. ’Stead of getting there on Thursday evening, loading up and leaving early Friday like I always do, I’ll hafta spend most of Friday shopping and likely won’t get back here ’til Monday night. If I’da had this shopping slow me down last time, you coulda come up on my wagon, ’stead of riding that horse. Maybe I’da been with you and the marshal when that feller got killed.”

  Kate and Monday looked at each other but said nothing.

  Roy squinted at the list, then put it and the money into a large can stashed under the seat.

  Monday brought out Valentine, the horse Kate had rented in Laramie, and tied his reins to the rear of the wagon. Kate stroked his nose in farewell. She couldn’t afford to keep a horse on her salary. And there’d be little or no time to ride him after the school term started.

  “Thank you, Mr. Butcher. Please don’t forget my trunk of clothes and that crate of books and supplies. I’ll be much relieved to have them here safely.” She smoothed her worn pink gingham dress.

  “Don’t you worry, Ma’am. I’ll see to it you get your things first when I get back. And those newpapers you asked for.” He tipped his hat to Kate, backed up his team a few feet, wheeled them to the right, and bounced away, east toward Deer Creek and the track south.

  They stood watching Roy drive out of sight. When Kate turned to leave, Monday spoke up. He looked down at the ground and kicked the dirt.

  “Roy told me that new stool in my jail is his work, but your doing. Fits me fine. Well made, too. Thank you for thinking of my. . . .” He paused, probably looking for the right word.

  Kate couldn’t resist. “Your what, Monday? Your fundament, your posterior?”

  “No, Ma’am. Don’t reckon I have any of them things. I just meant thanks for thinking of my . . . comfort.” His blush only made Kate grin wider.

  “I’m delighted you like the stool. I’m sorry for teasing you this morning. Let me make it up to you a little. Mr. Crandall asked me to pick up a donation to the school this morning. Come on. Let’s go to the bank together.”

  Noah Crandall seemed pleased when they came in. “I don’t have a cash donation for you, although I’m sure you’ll see some of those once the school term starts. I talked to my wife this morning. We want to give you something you can use. We have an extra wall clock that doesn’t chime and Liza, as you know, is having trouble seeing. She relies on our mantel clock and another in the hall that do chime. I have my pocket watch and we have a clock here at the bank, so we have a spare one at the house that you could have for the school.”

  “That would be splendid, Mr. Crandall. I can use it to teach time. When all my pupils can read the clock, I can set them to their lessons and they’ll know when they have to finish. Is it convenient for us to get the clock this morning? Marshal Taggart can carry it.”

  They shook hands all around, and Monday followed Kate next door to the Crandalls.

  Monday cradled the clock carefully. Liza gave Kate the winding key on a black cord.

  “Thank you, Liza,” Kate said, slipping the cord around her neck. “I’ll wind your gift every morning, and I won’t feel completely dressed for school until I put this key on.”

  Monday carried the clock down to the school. When Kate found a nail at the right height, just to the left of her blackboard, he hoisted it up for her, and she checked the location. “My teachers always put up a clock at the back of the classroom for themselves, but my students will have a better view than I will. I can check the time when I write on the board.” She thanked him and they talked for a while about who might still be under suspicion for the murder and who they hadn’t talked to yet.

  Kate motioned toward the clock. “This is ironic. I first noticed that clock on Saturday afternoon when I called at the Crandalls. It had a plaque on it then, but I see it’s been removed.” She noticed Monday’s expression and explained.

  “The plaque said some marine insurance company awarded it to Mr. Crandall in San Francisco in Eighteen sixty-six. But his name was spelled Randall, not Crandall. I don’t know if it means anything, but I’ll try to find out. It could be important. Mr. Crandall doesn’t seem to have either the rifle or the horse for this job, but I suppose he could have paid someone to kill the marshal.”

  “Paid a killer? We hadn’t thought of that. You mean two or more people might be in this—the shooter and whoever paid him? Two people shot up the jail and Sam Taggart’s picture. Trying to find this killer is getting to be tougher than we figured.”

  “I know. Name changes and perhaps more than one person involved are unforeseen complications. I hope we’ll figure it out. You can still leave for Montana as you planned.”

  Monday said nothing. Kate couldn’t tell if he was having second thoughts about the investigation. Perhaps second thoughts about leaving?

  “I still need to talk to the rest of Logan’s hands. Millbank’s, too.”

  “I haven’t finished here in town. I’ve yet to meet Mr. Simmons, the assayer, and Chet Stratman. And I want to talk to the preacher.”

  “The preacher? He can’t be a suspect, can he?”

  “No, not for that reason. I just meant I should speak to him as a new neighbor would. He may offer me some spiritual comfort. I’m still troubled by carrying this lie around. The burden gets heavier every day. How about you?”

  “It bothers me, too, Miss Kate. I don’t know what I’m gonna do or how I’m gonna feel when I have to tell these folks who trusted me that I’m just a lying son of a—”

  He cleared his throat and said he had a confession to make.

  “I, uh, had to tell Bull who I really am when we went out on his wagon last Saturday. Don’t look at me like that. I only told him because he figured out I’m not Sam Taggart. Said he wouldn’t tell nobody else, and I haven’t noticed anyone acting suspicious of me. Besides, Joe backed up Bull’s story about taking a wagon west on the Trail when were coming up with the marshal.”

  “I suppose, under the circumstances, that you couldn’t help telling him the truth. Are you absolutely certain you can trust him not to tell anyone else? I don’t for a moment suspect Bull or Joe, but I shouldn’t want our charade to become common knowledge too soon. We’ll never find this killer if everyone learns who you really are.”

  “Don’t worry. Bull was with me when we saw that rider with the big black horse. But now that you raised the idea that more than one man might be involved, maybe we can’t rule out Crandall o
r Roy, even Bert Sundquist with his broken leg. Maybe nobody’s ruled out. At least I’m sure Bert wasn’t riding the horse Bull and I saw.”

  With that, they parted, Kate back to the boarding house and Monday back to his office.

  Chapter 21

  Tuesday

  Warbonnet

  Bull was working at the jail when Monday arrived, using the desk for a sawhorse and trimming a short window bar with a hacksaw. It was such a beautiful day, he hated to work indoors. Goodbye, blue skies, cool breeze from the west. Hello, dim light and sawdust.

  “Glad you’re here, Marshal. Guess I have to keep calling you that, even in here, so’s I don’t slip up some time. I’m having a devil of a time trying to hold these bars while I pare a little more iron away for a better fit. You got smaller hands. You hold it while I cut.”

  By mid-afternoon they had strong-looking bars in the window opening.

  “Looks like you’re open for business now. Course, it’ll seem a little more homey when the council comes up with money for the cell bars.” Bull kicked the wooden cleats in the floor and looked up at matching cleats in the ceiling.

  “Yeah, and a couple bunks, too,” Monday said. “Maybe having to sleep on the floor will keep folks from wanting to spend the night here.”

  After Bull left, Monday toasted some of Maria Torricelli’s bread, heated on the coal he’d arranged to have delivered. The new coal bucket next to his stove reminded him he ought to show Kate’s picture to the miners on Deer Creek.

  The mine turned out to be so close to town Monday might have walked there. But no self-respecting cowboy would walk anywhere if he could ride. He still thought of himself as a cowboy, and only a temporary lawman.

  Monday wasn’t surprised to get no result again. The miners’ horses had looked black, until he’d seen gray and brown through the coal dust. The same grime coated the miners. He hadn’t let them touch Kate’s now sadly worn and creased drawing. This picture would have to last until next week, since the one posted at his office was ruined.