Murder for Greenhorns

by Kresge, Robert

  “You look very nice tonight,” Kate said, in a voice no one could overhear. “All shaved and a new haircut, too. But some of Jack Haskell’s old clothes are in better repair than what you chose from your own things. Why didn’t you wear some hand-me-downs tonight?”

  “Didn’t seem right to outfit myself in dead man’s clothes, if his widow and children were gonna be here tonight.” He took in the amazed expression on her face and remembered what she’d said to him after the buffalo stampede.

  “That’s right, me. I said that. If you can knock Len Odom down and take his rifle, I reckon I can be, well, whatever, and not upset the Haskells.”

  Kate just stared at him. She reached out and touched his arm.

  “You come back and find a way to dance with me, Monday Malone. You hear? Nobody else here would’ve thought of that. I believe you have the sensitivity to make a good detective.”

  Monday eased away, watching Kate as long as he could. Then the crowd spilled around and blocked her from view. He dropped off the cup with Jane Odom and was making his way to the saloon, when one last wagon came into town. Trouble. But not the kind he’d expected.

  Dave and Rosalee Masterson sat on the seat. Corey rode a big appaloosa, and Becky sat on the tailgate, dangling her feet. When the wagon stopped in front of the general store, she hopped down and smoothed her green dress. It had little curlicues on it and laces at the sleeves and on the front. Well, halfway up the front. It was cut low and laced tight. Even in the lengthening shadows, Monday could see that Becky had freckles—lots of them—on her chest. He hoped she wouldn’t see him, but she did and closed on him rapidly.

  “There you are, Marshal. I mean to put you on my dance card. The band’s already started. Why don’t you take three for about an hour from now? I’ll just be warmed up by then.” Lord, she even smelled good, like cookies or pie. She held out her cup, and he dropped a quarter into it.

  “Mercy, are the dances bringing in that much now? I’ll have to see whether Lieutenant Beamish can afford this.” Becky wrote him in. Monday admired her skin from her dress to her chin and back while she worked her pencil. She turned to go toward the music.

  As if reading his mind, Becky looked back at him over the auburn curls that graced one shoulder. “Mama tells me she learned you’re a married man. Shame on you for leading me on out at our ranch that evening. See you later.” Her skirt twitched from side to side as she hurried. Monday swallowed hard. Not yet eighteen. He was startled to find Dave Masterson beside him.

  “She’s Rosalee’s headache tonight. Don’t know why she lets her wear that dress, but she usually brings in nearly ten dollars at these things, and I reckon in the end, the Lord won’t mind how money gets raised for His church. Come on, Marshal. Let me buy you a beer.”

  They entered the saloon and Doc Gertz joined them at the bar. “I just saw young Becky sashaying down to the dance. Looked like they were mobbing her dance card. Glad she’s not my daughter, Dave. Good thing the marshal’s running a peaceable town here. Woman like Becky, dressed like a sailor’s dream, could start a riot in a monastery.”

  They all laughed—Dave a little ruefully—and Doc ordered a round. Monday turned to survey the crowded room.

  Just then, two men came in the back door, probably from the privy out back. The two hardcases who rode in with Red and Jasper. They both wore their guns low and on the left side, one with the butt forward for a crossdraw, the other butt backward. That one was left-handed.

  Monday pushed away from the bar. “Looks like I got a little work to do tonight, after all. I seen these two before, but we ain’t howdy-ed yet, let alone shook hands. You know ’em?”

  “They work on Logan’s ranch,” Dave said. “The mean-looking one with the mustache is Pete Loomis, top hand. The meaner-looking one with a little gray in his beard is Lefty Crail. He’s Logan’s foreman. They called on Becky one time after a dance, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with them. They’ve been down getting on dance cards before they come here to drink. Becky won’t let ’em on her card. Go easy, Marshal. They’re nasty when they’ve been drinking.”

  “You armed? ’Case I need you to back my play?”

  “Nope. Left my rifle in the wagon.”

  “Right back here, Marshal,” said Chet softly. Monday glanced over his shoulder and saw the butt of Chet’s scattergun just below the edge of the counter. “Cocked, too.” Monday took the hammer loop off his pistol.

  The two men stopped at a table just in front of the bar and made rude comments to miners who’d taken their seats while they were out.

  “Evening, gents. I’m the new marshal. You mind putting your hardware on them pegs there, like the sign says?” He cocked his left thumb in that direction, but never took his eyes off the pair. His right hand rested on his gun butt.

  When they turned, their reaction surprised him. They seemed amused, practically laughing. But their eyes were serious. “Don’t reckon,” said Loomis, “we need to take much sass from a greenhorn marshal, do we, Lefty?” He had a high voice.e had a He

  Crail’s squint made him look even meaner. “Let’s not get too riled up before the dance gets going.” He had a deeper, more threatening voice. “You recall what the Cap and Quincannon told us. Not to push this here marshal tonight. I seen some awful pretty fillies down there when we was getting dances. Be a shame to spoil their mood.”

  With that, Loomis sneered, then walked over to the pegs with an exaggerated swagger. When he took off his gunbelt, Monday noted he had to untie the leg thong, too. Why would he be tied down unless he anticipated a fight? Crail joined Loomis and slung his belt over a peg. He grinned, and they both showed empty hands before walking back to the table. Two miners who’d seen the exchange quickly vacated their seats.

  Monday thanked Chet and heard him uncock the scattergun discreetly, then slide it back out of sight. Doc breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Would’ve taken me all night to dig buckshot out of them, not to mention bystanders. Much obliged, Sam. I’m not that hard up for business.”

  Monday finished his small beer and moved back down to the dance. Sally Haskell saw him coming and held out a card to him.

  “Dime for three dances, Marshal. I’ve got plenty of spaces left, but I can only stay until nine.”

  Monday fished his last two quarters out of his pocket. “I’ll take the next three you have open, Sally. And put Reverend Barnes down for three close to eight-thirty, would you?” In a moment, he took her hand, and they moved onto the dance floor. It was a slow dance. Monday tried to remember what his mother and Mary Ellen taught him and avoided stepping on the girl’s feet. He saw Becky dancing with a young lieutenant, but not Beamish. Kate danced with broad-shouldered Corey Masterson. They made a fine-looking couple. Maybe Corey would be more competition than Barnes. As he watched, Corey swung Kate effortlessly in a flurry of white petticoat and had her skirt popping like a whip. To much appreciative applause from men on the sidelines.

  Sally said, “I don’t weigh much, Marshal. We can do that, too.” She showed him how, and he swung her high twice. The next two numbers were square dances. Monday enjoyed having Joe as caller to tell him what to do.

  He got a cup of punch and was about to put his gunbelt back on, when a voice said, “Not so fast, Marshal Taggart. I believe you promised the next three to me.”

  Becky stood there with both arms out. Her bosom heaved dramatically. Monday sought a safe place to look, raised his eyes to hers, and was snared by their green fire. Becky took the cup from his hand, drained it in a gulp, tossed her auburn mane, and led him to the dance floor. Led him! She insisted he swing her like she’d seen him do Sally, so he put spins into all three of their dances.

  He took her back to the punchbowl when they were finished. He was breathing heavily himself and dared not look anywhere but at Becky’s face as he passed her a cup. She fanned herself with a hand and went off with another eager partner. Monday was glad to find his gunbelt and go back to work. He saw Kate look
ing at him from the corner of the dance floor. Becky had just swished past her, and Kate was preparing to resume with a new partner. He saw fire in Kate’s eyes. He swallowed hard and moved out of the light.

  Noah Crandall was talking to someone in the back of a wagon. Monday saw it was Bert Sundquist. He’d seen Mrs. Sundquist and the oldest boy, but it never occurred to him that Bert might have come in, broken leg and all. He stopped and talked with them, blushing as Bert told Noah the story of Monday breaking the horse and splinting Bert’s leg. Noah noted how peaceful things seemed at the saloon with the marshal’s new sign.

  “Well, it’s a little early for the council to think I’ve solved all your problems. Let’s see what you think in another week or so.” What they would think when they learned the trick he and Kate had played?

  Noah went to dance with his wife as Kate spelled Liza at the piano, much to the disappointment of the male dancers. Clara Sundquist came from dancing to check on Bert.

  “I reckon you were right, Marshal. I got to get this leg healed so I can dance with that schoolteacher.” Clara gave him an elbow. When he didn’t respond, she gave him another one.

  “Oh, yeah. Clara said I was too standoffish about my time in a Kansas jail.”

  Monday had nearly ruled him out. After all, Bert couldn’t have ridden that big black horse near the Mormon Cutoff last Saturday, or into town. Nor shot at him from ambush at that rock arch.

  “Actually, I, uh, lied about the reason I was jailed. I didn’t wait for April ’Sixty-five to leave the Army. I was only a scout for a year, helping chase Confederate guerrillas like Bloody Bill Anderson, Quantrill, and Lonergan around Kansas. Quantrill went east and Anderson got killed. So I didn’t think the Army’d mind if I took off early. I’d been away from Clara and the boys for nearly a year.” He rearranged his stiff leg.

  “Turns out they did mind. They didn’t treat me like no deserter. Wasn’t gonna shoot me or nothing. But they put me in a stockade at Fort Leavenworth while they decided what to do with me. I was in a military jail for six months. Sorry I didn’t tell you the straight story. Didn’t want you to think I’d shirked my duty or lied to get my land.”

  “Lied? Why would you have to lie to get your ranch?”

  “Well, they don’t give homestead claims to no deserters, nor to anybody who fought for the Rebs. Didn’t want folks around here to think I’d filed a false claim.”

  Monday hadn’t thought of that before. Bert didn’t seem a likely candidate, but could someone else have a secret like that? He thanked Clara for her influence and moved off toward the saloon.

  As he neared the Alamo, he saw an old miner help another out to a wagon. One slid to the ground beside a wheel and the other staggered off to find a privy. Monday checked on the slumped man. He was snoring happily. Sticking out of his shirt pocket was a slip of paper. Monday extracted it. A ticket for three dances with Miss Kate Shaw. For eleven-fifteen.

  Looked like this old-timer was too tuckered to use his ticket to heaven. Monday couldn’t find a quarter, so he dropped a dollar into the man’s shirt pocket.

  Yes sir, what started out as a bad day could still turn out to be a real nice night. He wasn’t scared of the fire he’d seen in Kate’s eyes. In fact, he was looking forward to seeing it again, from a distance of maybe six inches if he got a slow dance. He went into the saloon, humming along with the dance music.

  Chapter 26

  Saturday

  Warbonnet

  Kate got up from the piano after her three numbers. There was scattered applause, but she was embarrassed by the mistakes she’d made. She was still rusty.

  Liza Crandall came back, fanning herself vigorously. “Thank you, Kate. You played very well. If I’m only going to dance a few times tonight, it might as well be to the liveliest tunes.” Liza returned to the piano, but didn’t play. Joe and the accordionist were taking a break.

  Kate went to the punch bowl and saw there was only one clean cup. As she reached for it, a man picked it up.

  “Allow me, Miss Shaw,” said a tall, dark-haired man with a mustache, as he filled the cup and held it out to her. He wore a coat and tie.

  “You have the advantage of me, sir,” Kate said after she drank. “And you’ve given me the last clean cup.”

  The man took it back, refilled it, then sipped from it himself. “There isn’t a man here tonight who wouldn’t fight me for the chance to drink from a cup that touched your lips. I’m Mike Logan. I own the X-Star Ranch north of town. Welcome to Warbonnet.”

  What a flatterer, Kate thought. But these were better manners than most of what she’d endured tonight. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Logan. I’ve danced with two of your men already, Red and Jasper. Do you have—?”

  Logan smiled and held up a dance ticket with Kate’s name on it. He offered his arm and led her to the dance floor as the musicians returned.

  Logan danced well and was careful about her toes. That alone raised him in her estimation. She’d lost track of how many times they’d been stepped on tonight. Her feet ached, but they could rest a little with this partner.

  “We’re glad to have you safely here, Miss Shaw. Warbonnet needs more marriageable young women like you to help settle this territory. Make us a state some day.”

  “This is so sudden, Mr. Logan. Is that a proposal?”

  Logan laughed, showing even white teeth below his mustache. “No, Miss. Not this soon. I just meant that having a school here would convince more folks to settle in this area. It’s a mark of civilization for a town to have a school.”

  “I couldn’t argue with that. So is having a marshal in town. I suppose we’re all pioneers—the first cattlemen, teachers, lawmen.” Logan lifted her lightly off her feet and set her down a quarter turn later, just as the tune ended. His hand had been firm at her back.

  “Yes, Miss. They tell me you rode in with the marshal and that murdered cowboy. Perhaps you can tell me how this young marshal can possibly be—”

  But the musicians began a square dance and they whirled away with other partners. When their set was over, Logan thanked her for the dances and said he’d try to continue their conversation later. Kate watched him move off as her next partner introduced himself. What had he been going to ask about Monday? Did he suspect Monday was an imposter like Len Odom, Bull, and Martha did?

  * * * * *

  Almost eleven o’clock. Kate was exhausted. She limped a little and stumbled to the head of the line at the ladies’ privy behind the school. She was next. Thank God for even this brief break. The two times she’d played the piano to let Liza dance seemed like ages ago. She couldn’t believe her feet could hurt this badly—or ever would again.

  Then a voice behind her said, “So you’re Miss Shaw. I’m mighty proud to meet you.” When she turned around, it was to see that green-eyed creature with the great curls of auburn hair that no man could take his eyes off. “I’m Becky Masterson. You been dancing up a storm with my brother Corey tonight.” She held out her hand as if she were a man.

  Kate took the hand and was surprised at how warm it felt. She was as struck by Becky’s heavy breathing as the men on the dance floor had been. The girl had a sheen of perspiration on her chest. Kate was sure she’d contract the croup or some such from dancing overheated on a night like this. Kate was damp herself, but much better covered.

  “Hello, Miss Masterson. It’s so nice to meet you. I know the marshal was out to your ranch, more than a week ago. I’m surprised he didn’t mention meeting you.”

  “He didn’t, huh? Then I’m surprised, too. I didn’t find out ’til later that he was married. He sure didn’t act married that night.”

  “Indeed?” What did that mean? What had Monday done that he hadn’t told her about? Then it was her turn. She handed Becky the shawl Martha had lent her. “Here, Miss Masterson, wrap yourself in this while I’m in there. I fear you’ll catch your death—of exposure.”

  When Kate came out, she bit back anything else catty to say while B
ecky took her turn. They walked back toward the dance together. Their break was nearly over, and Kate longed to sit down again. She noticed her shawl had acquired a pleasant smell and brought it closer to her nose. “What are you wearing tonight, Miss Masterson? I’m wearing lavender water, but I swear you smell like you just stepped out of a kitchen.”

  “Vanilla essence, made from a bean and some brandy. Mama taught me it’d keep men hanging around, and so far it has. That’s my secret.” They sat for a few minutes on a shadowed bench beside the school.

  “You’re awful nice to talk to, Miss Shaw, and so pretty, too. I’m sorry I’m all done with schooling. I’d have admired being in your class. Oh, wait,” she touched Kate’s arm.

  “Look there. See those two unshaven, squint-eyed critters standing by the gun table? They’re Lefty Crail and Pete Loomis, two dirty polecats from the X-Star Ranch, next to ours. The last time Crail danced with me, he waltzed me over into that dark corner by the side of the school and pinched my ass.”

  “I beg your pardon? Your, uh, derriere?”

  “No, he grabbed my ass. Like to give me a charley horse. Had a bruise for nearly a week and had to ride Darby funny. He’s my horse. I gave Crail a knee in the crotch for that, but I didn’t hit him square and he just laughed. Hope he didn’t get any of my dances tonight.”

  “Wouldn’t you know? How could he have any of your dances if he didn’t pay you?”

  “Oh, him and Loomis spend some time gambling for dance tickets at the saloon before they come up here. Corey told me they mighta slugged one old miner a couple months ago and took one of my tickets off him while he lay bleeding. Maybe they’ll show up with a ticket of yours. You be careful, Miss Shaw. Whoops. Music’s startin’. I’ll see you later.”

  Why hadn’t Monday found a way to dance with her as she’d told him? Now she wanted to ask him about what Becky had said. He’d certainly found time to dance with her tonight.

  Just then, Pete Loomis came up. “Lookie here, teacher,” he said, brandishing a ticket. “Says here I got the next three dances with the beautiful Miss Kate Shaw.” He smiled, showing a missing tooth. She looked at his ticket; they were her initials, all right. She collected the ticket and moved to the dance floor with him.