Murder for Greenhorns

by Kresge, Robert

  “You know, Martha, he didn’t come to see me this morning, but to apologize to Buxton for getting him in trouble.” She spoke quickly, hoping to move the conversation away from Emma Taggart. She’d have to caution Monday about Martha’s suspicions.

  “He arranged with Buxton and his friends to watch for a particular horse he was looking for. Buxton may have found it last night. In doing so, he stayed out too late and suffered his punishment. So the marshal hoped to find Buxton to apologize. But I told him he’d gone fishing with his friends again.” She rose and dumped a lapful of peas into Martha’s pot. Perhaps moving on to another chore would get her out of any further mention of Emma Taggart.

  “Well, he won’t find Buxton fishing down at the north road ford at this time today, Kate. I heard him tell Sally he and his gang were going up to their fort in the glen to paint a sign. Then they were going to fish farther downstream before working their way back up to the ford this afternoon. I told him to stay home after supper this evening—and he knows to mind me this time.”

  Kate regretted Monday’s futile search. She would’ve liked to tell him where to find Buxton, but she’d better not let Martha see her talking to him again today. She went out back, fed the chickens, and returned to washing bedding.

  Mercifully, Martha had no more questions while they served a mid-day meal to the boarders, then cleaned up. Martha asked her to take some leftover chicken up to Bull and Joe, and added, “It would be all right if you took some to the marshal, too, Kate. I think you’re a fine young woman, and you’re not leading anybody on. I’m just more sure of you than I am of him.”

  After taking chicken to Joe and Bull at the stable, Kate sought out Monday, but couldn’t find him. She left a plate of chicken on his desk and wrote him a note about Buxton, then went to Liza Crandall’s to practice some hymns for Sunday.

  Liza showed her a few tunes she played at the monthly dance that would be held this Saturday. Some would take more than a little learning, especially to play them at a lively tempo.

  “I hoped I could just play ones I already know, Liza.”

  “Sometimes it works out that way, dear. You’ll be my relief on the piano for a few songs, but you should plan on dancing most of the evening. This is a fund raiser to build a church here eventually, and I think most of the men in this town will line up down the street to get on your dance card—and not just the young ones, either.” Kate hoped she didn’t blush. Liza went off to make some tea and Kate was temporarily left alone with her daughter.

  “Jeanie, how are you at writing and ciphering?” she began, hating herself for what she was going to do.

  “I’m pretty good at writing, Miss Shaw. I used to go to school in San Francisco. But I haven’t had much practice at ciphering since we came here.”

  “Why did your family settle here? This must be quite a letdown from the sights of San Francisco. I miss my home in Buffalo, New York already.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about San Francisco,” Jeanie said. Kate tried a different tack.

  “I guess Joey didn’t go to school there. He’s so much younger than you are.” When Jeanie nodded, Kate struck.

  “He doesn’t write as well as you do, for instance. I had him put his name on the blackboard one day while we were cleaning the school, and he did the funniest thing. He wrote his name, but left the ‘C’ off of Crandall. I wonder why he’d do a thing like that.”

  Jeanie looked worried and obviously wanted to say something, but her mother came back with a tray at that point. The three of them made small talk and neither Kate nor Jeanie mentioned the matter again. Kate could see she’d alarmed the child. What were the Crandalls hiding? Why had they left San Francisco? And why modify the family name?

  * * * * *

  After tea, Kate and Liza practiced more dance tunes for Saturday night. Then she said goodbye. Kate was grateful to rest her fingers after more than an hour of practice. What with washing dishes, wringing clothes, shelling peas, and playing the piano, her hands and wrists ached. It would have been a pleasure to put them into warm dishwater.

  Maybe she could find Monday before she went back to the house to help with supper. Kate picked up an empty plate at the livery stable. When she went to the jail, she found the chicken eaten and her note gone. He’d probably try the ford, since her note told him Buxton and his pals would be working their way back up the river by now. She took his empty plate, too.

  She left the jail and headed for Webb’s General Store. Kate remembered she ought to let out the bodices of two hand-me-down dresses from Jane and would need to move some buttons, so she could breathe more easily in them. She needed some dark blue thread.

  As Kate stepped into the street, she heard thunder. She was glad it would rain now and perhaps not on Saturday night. But as she crossed the street and climbed the steps to the store, she noted bright reflections in the window and looked up at a cloudless blue sky. Where was that thunder coming from? From the south. She went to the corner of the store and looked east.

  A big dark cloud boiled up in her field of view, but it wasn’t very high and it looked dirty brown, instead of white or gray. Horses in the livery meadow were whinnying in alarm. The thunder seemed louder now and almost continuous. It seemed to be moving from south to north, heading behind the town and toward Deer Creek at the town’s eastern edge. She set down the plates and turned to follow the sound, almost bumping into Len Odom, who peered at the sky, removed his glasses, and squinted.

  “Oh, hello, Miss Shaw. Sorry. Didn’t see you there. What do you think of this thunder? Mr. Webb’s hanging lamps are all a-tremble. Maybe it’s a twister.” He was teasing her.

  Kate and Odom moved across the front of the store as the thunder increased to a roar. Before they got to the end of the walk, a tide of shaggy brown bodies burst into view, beyond the end of the street, heading north now, toward the river.

  “Buffalo,” she shouted and clapped her hands. “I didn’t know they ever came this close to a town.” She was talking to herself; Odom had disappeared. The buffalo were running toward the Platte River ford, headed north toward the ranches, north toward the Cheyenne and Sioux lands beyond.

  Buxton! He might be at the ford now. What should she do? The ground was shaking and the noise and dust were appalling.

  Then Kate spotted Monday. He must have been returning from the ford as the dusty, rumbling storm broke. He’d clambered up onto a three-foot rock outcrop a hundred yards beyond the end of Main Street. Kate hoped he was safe in that position. He stood above the herd as it parted to avoid his perch. She knew he couldn’t hear her from there, but she waved.

  He seemed intent on something. Then she saw a rider gallop by. Indians, she realized with a start, bringing her hand to her mouth. He was stranded out there with all those buffalo and now Indians, too. More and more people came out onto the duckboards or stood in the street to see the herd. Shop signs swung wildly, and she thought she heard glass break somewhere.

  Dust began to fill Kate’s nostrils and coat the inside of her mouth. The sun dimmed to a brown haze. She felt the rumble coming up through her bones. She was torn between the need to cover her ears, or maybe her mouth.

  Bang! An ear-splitting crash next to her head sent Kate staggering. She caught herself by clutching a corner post of the store. She dimly saw Monday flinch, and an Indian who was riding by at that moment looked sharply in her direction. Turning, she saw Len Odom on the porch with a rifle. Had he fired at the Indians? Or at the marshal? He wasn’t wearing his glasses. What did that mean? He worked the lever and raised the rifle to fire again. Kate lurched away from the store front and collided with him, causing the shot to go wild and sending them both tumbling into the street.

  They weren’t in danger from the buffalo. The shaggy beasts continued to pour across the end of the street, heading for the river, raising more and more dust. Kate saw some Indians waving blankets to urge the big beasts on, their horses nearly invisible in the swirling dust.

 
Odom got up and brushed himself off. Kate got to her knees. When he stooped for his rifle, Kate was closer and picked it up first. She worked the action rapidly like she’d seen Monday do back on Box Elder Creek, and each of the Henry’s cartridges clicked out into the dusty street until the magazine was empty. She tossed the rifle back at Odom, and he barely caught it. She struggled to her feet.

  “There!” She had to shout. “What were you trying to do with that thing, kill the marshal?”

  “No, you, you interfering little hussy! I was trying to shoot a buffalo. It’s fresh meat, and a damn sight cheaper than paying ranchers for beef.”

  “How dare you address me that way? You were shooting too close to the marshal.”

  “There are Indians out there, too. It wouldn’t hurt if I’d got one. There’s plenty of buffalo. And too many Indians.” He stooped to pick up his shells, but without his glasses, he seemed unable to find them. He fumbled at a shirt pocket, but he must have left his glasses in the store. He turned and went in.

  Kate ran up the street as far as she could. The herd was thinning out now. There were fewer buffalo and more Indians. Why had she stopped Odom if he was telling the truth? Had she done the right thing?

  She saw with a start that a smaller Indian veered his pony toward Monday, instead of avoiding him like the others had. Monday saw him come, but made no move to draw his pistol. Kate looked wildly around. None of the townspeople appeared to be armed. The Indian closed the gap rapidly, and Kate saw him lift a stick A club? Why didn’t Monday move? As the last of the buffalo went by, the Indian reached Monday’s rock and lashed out. The marshal fell to his knees, but didn’t tumble off his perch.

  The Indian rode on and Kate saw another, larger Indian trot by on a big horse, bringing up the rear of the herd. He had a rifle across his lap, but didn’t bring it up into firing position. He looked hard at Monday as he rode by. As the Indian passed the rock, Kate felt him turn his gaze in her direction and he stared even more intently at her. He looked a lot like the one who’d watched them back at Sloan’s Ford on Sunday. He kicked his horse with his heels and rode rapidly toward the river.

  The river! She’d forgotten all about Buxton. She tried to run through the settling cloud of dust, but it choked her. It was in her eyes, up her nose, on her tongue. She wanted to spit, and she’d never wanted to do that before. She began to cough. Monday found her and took her by the arms as she stumbled.

  “Kate, are you all right? Where are you going? It might not be safe up here yet.”

  “Buxton! Buxton and his friends might be at the ford now,” she shouted, then coughed again. “The buffalo may have trampled them, or the Indians may have got them. Let me go!” She struggled in his grip. He was strong. Under other circumstances. . . .

  “Kate! Kate, stop it! Listen to me. Buxton and his friends were at the ford when I found them a half hour ago. They gave up fishing and were headed back downstream to go swimming in that wide pool below the island. They should be fine. Come with me. We’ll go check on them.” He released her.

  She calmed down enough to catch her breath, then coughed out more dust. Monday brushed dust from his clothes downwind from her, beating his hat against one leg.

  “Dang if they don’t stir up even more dust than cattle. Must be them short legs.”

  Brushing dust from her clothes, Kate was amazed at how much had settled on her. Especially in her hair. Monday tried to brush some dust off her skirt, back where she couldn’t reach, but blushed when his hand touched her rear. He used his hat, but Kate shook out her skirt herself.

  “Did you know Len Odom was shooting at you?” God, but her throat hurt. She was so thirsty. Her eyelashes felt gritty. She must have dirty streaks on her face.

  “I didn’t know anybody was shooting ’til a bullet whizzed past my ear. Took the feather off the head of a brave about twenty yards beyond me. I was in nearly a direct line to you and Odom back there. What happened? Didn’t seem like he fired again.”

  “Oh, he fired again,” she said, coloring when she remembered what he’d called her. She began to walk with Monday up the street, toward the swimming area in the river beyond the school. Monday spat to clear his mouth of dust. Kate tried it, but couldn’t get up any spittle. How did men and boys learn to spit so easily?

  “His second shot went high and wide. I knocked him down and took his rifle away.” Monday stopped short and stared at Kate.

  “That’s right, me. Don’t look at me that way. I couldn’t tell whether he was shooting at Indians or at you, and I had to stop him. From what you say, that first shot was very accurate. He was shooting without his glasses on. When I emptied his rifle, he couldn’t find the spilled bullets and that ended it. He claimed he was trying to hit a buffalo, but I don’t see how he could have missed one if he’d fired a little lower. The whole horizon was nothing but buffalo.”

  Monday began to walk with her again. He tried to whistle a single note, but just blew dust.

  “Reckon I misjudged you, Miss Kate. You’re no Eastern rose. You must be tough as a cactus flower. I’m much obliged to you. Besides maybe hitting me, he might’ve done a world of harm if he’d killed one of those Indians. They didn’t threaten us with them buffalo, and it don’t do to make enemies of those people. This town’s too isolated for folks to make the Indians around here hostile.”

  “Speaking of Indians, what about that Indian who hit you?”

  “Him? That was just a boy, maybe ten or twelve years old. I figure the big Indian was his daddy or an uncle maybe. The boy didn’t have any weapon I could see, just that stick. He was trying to ‘count coup’ on me. That’s when a young warrior earns respect in his tribe for touching a live, armed enemy. I was that enemy today, I guess. I knew he was only coming in for a touch with his stick, but I reckon if I’d drawn on him, that big man would have taken me out with his rifle right quick. Might be the same one that stared at us at the ford the other day.

  “Anyway, the boy didn’t really touch me. His pony shied away from the rock at the last second. I just tried to make it look good by falling, as if he’d scored a clean hit on me.”

  “That was a very brave thing to do, taking a chance on a complete stranger like that. I do hope they haven’t harmed Buxton and his friends.” They stopped short as Buxton and two other boys ran up from the river carrying their clothes.

  “Marshal, Miss Kate! Indians! Buffalo! Did you see ’em in town? Must have been thousands!” Kate turned around and covered a grin with her hands; the excited boys hadn’t dressed after swimming. Monday took Buxton by the shoulders and stopped the others from running past Kate.

  “Hold up here now. You boys can’t come running into town in your birthday suits. It’s prob’ly against the law. You better take time to dress. You’re embarrassin’ Miss Kate. Come on now, get your clothes on and I’ll make sure you get home. Your mamas will likely be scared you got run down out there.”

  As the boys dressed, Monday came and stood with Kate looking back at town. “Wish I’d gotten better news from Buck when I found him today. He didn’t see any big rifle with that horse, and in the dark, it just looked to him like it had ordinary tack, nothing we’d recognize. And he couldn’t make out any brand. Hard enough to do that on a black horse in daylight. Guess I’ll just have to keep looking.” He looked back over his shoulder and saw the boys were mostly dressed. They started back to town.

  “I got a feeling we’re being stalked, Miss Kate. First, young Aaron Weir sees our man—or what could be our man—down by Sloan’s Ford. Then I spot him an hour east of here. Now we find he’s been in town. One of us might’ve even talked to him and not knowed it. Damned fine job I’m doing protecting you. Sorry ’bout my language. I didn’t even do a good job of protecting myself today. Reckon you did that better than me.”

  His praise made Kate walk a little taller. “Well, thank you. But I think we’re making progress. When Roy gets back with the mail and our reply from Sheriff Boswell on Monday evening, we may have our answe
r—or at least a way to find the answer.”

  “Uh-oh,” she interrupted herself, looking at the front porch of the boarding house. “Martha doesn’t look too happy. I wonder which of us is in trouble now.”

  “Them damned Injuns!” Martha shouted, stamping her feet and practically jumping up and down. “Them and their great dusty buffalo have ruint all the sheets you hung out to dry, Kate. They look like they’re covered in mud now!”

  Kate muttered an oath and gathered her skirts to run ahead of Monday and the boys. She barely heard Buxton and Monday as she dashed off.

  “She’s gonna get a licking. Ladies ain’t supposed to use words like that.”

  “Ladies ain’t even supposed to know words like that, Buck.”

  Chapter 23

  Thursday

  Warbonnet

  Monday dressed in the dim light filtering through the jail curtains and prepared for his first morning round. As he took his hat from the nail by the door, he wished, not for the first time, that he had some place to hang his gunbelt. He’d been thumping it down onto the desk or hanging it from his bedpost, where it trailed on the floor. The lone nail he used for his hat wasn’t sturdy enough for his heavy artillery. Better buy a nail and borrow a hammer.

  Most citizens were out sweeping their front walks or washing windows. Doc had told him last night that there’d only been one buffalo stampede around here before, and that went through Sloan’s ford, well east of town.

  “All that noise and commotion,” Doc had said. “All that fretting. And do you know, not one broken bone, or twisted ankle, or case of nerves? All I got to treat out of it was a couple cases of watery eyes from all that dust. Damn! It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.”

  Monday reminded him that a buffalo cow and a calf had broken legs in the stampede and the town would eat well on the meat Bull and Joe had butchered from the carcasses. Bull claimed the hide of the bigger one and nobody argued. Looked like it was his size.