Murder for Greenhorns

by Kresge, Robert

  “Then you weren’t acquainted with Mr. Logan when he lived in Kansas?”

  “He didn’t come from Kansas, Miss. Mr. Logan and his men hail from Missouri.”

  If they lived in Missouri, how could Logan and Crail have known what Lawrence, Kansas looked like in ruins? Wait. Randall had become Crandall. What if Logan had been? . . . She tried to cover her sudden flush of excitement and turned back to Quincannon.

  “Well, I’m sure the marshal will straighten that out. He intended to ride out to Mr. Logan’s place today and show him a picture of that cowboy without his mustache.”

  “What? He’s going out there today? Damn and blast! I don’t see how I can—” Quincannon slapped his leg with his hat, then put it back on. “Sorry about my language, Miss. I’d better be on my way now. I don’t reckon I’ll need you to hold that letter for the marshal. If you’ll just give it back to me. . . .” He held out his hand.

  “Why are you so anxious to be off, Mr. Quincannon? And why do you want this letter back?” She waved it briefly, then impulsively broke the seal with her thumb.

  “Don’t open that!” He reached for it, but she turned and stepped away. “Oh, my God.” She read a few lines before she felt his hands on her shoulders. “You killed Sam Taggart because Mike Logan paid you? Mike Logan is really Mick Lonergan? Doc told me Lonergan rode with . . . Quantrill. Lawrence, Kansas.” She crumpled the letter. “That’s where Sam Taggart’s son was killed. He would have recognized Logan—Lonergan—and his men.”

  Quincannon turned her around.

  “Not me, he wouldn’t. I didn’t ride with those guerrillas in Kansas. Logan hired me to kill Taggart after the town council accepted him. A dead marshal who hadn’t picked up his badge didn’t mean anything more to me at the time than a hundred-and-fifty-dollar payoff. But since then, I’ve come to regret what I did. I like that boy who’s trying to take Taggart’s place. As for you, well, I sort of admired you from afar before we met.” He reached for the letter, but Kate held it behind her and retreated a pace or two.

  “That’s right. Monday said the killer likely watched me through that special sight.”

  “I see I was a fool to entrust you with that letter. Now that you’ve read it, you leave me no choice.” He advanced toward her. Kate hastily undid two buttons of her bodice and slipped the letter inside. He didn’t stop coming. And he raised both hands.

  She kept her right hand over the letter and tried to keep the rising panic out of her voice.

  “You . . . would . . . not . . . dare,” she barely managed, stepping back. Then she thought of the bell rope and flailed about behind her with her left hand.

  Too late, Kate decided she should scream. She opened her mouth, but Quincannon’s hand came up and muffled her cry.

  Oh, God, no! Not here, not in the schoolhouse. She knew she’d been wicked to tell so many lies, but please, God, don’t let one of the children find her body here.

  Chapter 33

  Tuesday

  Warbonnet

  Monday, Joe, and Bull came back down to the stable. “Real fine stew,” Monday said, as they emerged into the street. “See you both tonight, when I get back.”

  He’d go to the X-Star first and check the horses in that box canyon. He still hadn’t figured why Logan, Millbank, or their hands would want to kill Sam Taggart. But if he could find the horse or the rifle he was looking for, he’d come back and tell Kate. Give her credit for finding the killer. Then form a posse, arrest whoever he had to, and leave the jail keys for Boswell’s deputy. He could leave for Montana before the deputy arrived.

  Did he want to do that? Leave Kate? Or did he want a job with Dave Masterson and a chance to court Becky? Why did life in Wyoming have to be more complicated than in Texas?

  Monday took his canteen from Lightning’s saddle over to the trough pump. He thought of Kate, bathing by the willows at Box Elder Creek. When he left here, he’d always think of her whenever he filled a canteen or drank from one.

  He was capping the canteen to hang it on his saddle horn when Buxton staggered out of the alley between the stable and the back of the saloon. He was damp with sweat and covered with dust, his hair plastered to his scalp.

  Monday caught him under the arms. He poured some canteen water over the boy’s head, then let him drink. At last, Buxton panted out, “Big black horse. Been looking for you.”

  “The horse we want? Where’d you see it, Buck? Here in town? When?” Joe laid a hand on Monday’s shoulder. He was probably scaring the boy.

  Buck took a deep breath. “Dunno. Maybe twenty minutes ago. Running all over town. Looking for you. Tied next to the schoolhouse.”

  “The schoolhouse? Did you get a look at the rider?” Monday’s heart sank.

  “Yeah, big man with black hair and a little beard. I seen him with you once.”

  Buck started to stagger for the corner. “Come on, Marshal. I’ll show you.”

  Monday grabbed him by one arm. He picked the boy up and threw him into Bull’s arms.

  “Don’t let him get away from you! Sit on him if you have to. Don’t let him near the schoolhouse ’til I say.” Then he wheeled and ran around the corner onto Main Street.

  Quincannon. He hadn’t wanted to suspect him. He sent him straight to Kate. About a half hour ago. She’d figure out he was the killer, and he’d. . . .

  Monday saw as he sprinted up the street there was no big black horse tied at the school now. Had Quincannon left Kate? Had he taken her away? Had he taken advantage of her, then killed her? Monday cursed his progress. He drew his pistol.

  About a hundred feet from the schoolhouse door, he heard the school bell. A solitary muted “clank.” There came unbidden to his mind a vision of Kate hanging by the neck from the bell rope. Lord, no. Please.

  Monday cleared the two front steps in a bound, put one shoulder forward, yelled “Kate!” and banged the door back into a side wall, where it rebounded and bounced off his shoulder as he wobbled breathlessly to a stop. In the light from the doorway, he could see the bell rope dancing wildly. It was empty.

  There at the foot of the rope lay the huddled body of Kate Shaw. She was wearing that blue dress he remembered from his dream. And just like in his dream, there was no blood on it.

  Chapter 34

  Tuesday

  Warbonnet

  Monday cried out at the sight and sank to his knees next to Kate’s body. He’d begun to blink back tears when he noticed her eyes on him. She blinked, too. Kate was alive! Now that he’d grown accustomed to the dimmer light, he saw she was gagged. And bound to a chair that had fallen over.

  “Oh, Lord,” he said, bending close to her face, “I thought he’d killed you.” He holstered his pistol and began to tug at the gag. When he got it free, they both said: “Quincannon.”

  “He brought me a letter to give you later when he was safely out of town,” Kate croaked. Monday wished he had his canteen.

  “Mike Logan of the X-Star—his real name is Mick Lonergan. He and his men rode with Quantrill in the war. They broke out of jail in Lawrence during the big attack in ’63 and rode down Taggart’s boy. Logan knew the marshal would recognize him and either kill him or take away the land he’d claimed under false pretenses.”

  “False pretenses?” Monday saw Kate had been trussed so securely she hadn’t been able to pull the bell rope. She must have scooted her chair across the floor, grasped the rope behind her back, and fallen over, making the bell clank once. What a determined woman. Trying to undo the knot was useless. He pulled his belt knife, hoping it wouldn’t scare her.

  “Logan and his men swore they’d never borne arms against the Union. He’d have lost his ranch, his cattle, everything.”

  Monday looked for a safe place to cut. “Where’s the letter and where’d Quincannon go?”

  “I don’t know. He said Logan paid him twice, told him to kill you today and then get out of town. He said he was going to Laramie, but that may have been a lie. He took the letter back from me. H
e, he. . . . Never mind. He may have gone to warn them. Hurry up and untie me.”

  “I’m doing the best I can, Kate. Soon’s I get you loose, I’ll get Joe to help me put together a posse, and we’ll—”

  “Good. I want to go with you.”

  “Like hell you will!” Monday stopped looking for a place to cut the rope. “I just came in here and took you for dead on the floor. I’ll be damned if I’ll take you with me when I go up against those dangerous men. Throw you in that new jail if I got to.”

  “You would not dare! Now untie me. I mean to see this through. You can’t stop me.”

  “Oh, can’t I? All right, I’ll leave you the means to get free, but I reckon it’ll take you a while.” Monday stood and with a snap of his wrist, drove his knife into the floor about three feet from her. It sank in more than an inch and quivered there. “I’m on my way to the X-Star right now. Let’s see how easy you find it to follow me.” He turned and strode for the door.

  “Monday! No! Don’t go. Don’t go!” Her words rang in his ears as he closed the door. She was shouting the same thing he’d cried to Mary Ellen and those words hadn’t called her back, hadn’t kept her alive. He leaned on the closed door a second and exhaled.

  Joe was coming up the street leading Lightning. Perfect. He jogged to meet him, so Joe wouldn’t hear Kate. She was quiet now, but she’d get free in a while.

  “Thanks, Joe.”

  “Is Miss Kate all right? We was feared you were running to a fire, the way you threw that boy to Bull and took off.”

  “Kate’s OK. She’s just, uh, tied up right now. Is the boy still with Bull?”

  “Oh, he’s got him, all right. Nothing gets away from Bull.”

  “Good. You can probably let him go in another ten minutes. I need you to do two things for me. Get a posse together—three or four armed men. Send them along to the X-Star Ranch. I’m on my way there to arrest Logan and some of his hands. He had Quincannon kill the . . . that Malone feller. I’ll tell you all about it later.” Monday stepped into the left stirrup and swung his right leg over. Joe handed him the reins.

  “And this is even more important, Joe. I don’t want Miss Kate to get ahold of any horse when she comes down to the stable. Any mounts you’re not using for the posse, turn out into the pasture. Hide all the extra tack so she can’t saddle anything herself. Have Bull sit on her next, if he needs to. Can you do that for me? I got to go.”

  “Might take me half an hour to put together a posse. Sure you don’t want to wait?”

  “Can’t afford to. I’ve got Quincannon in front of me and Miss Kate behind. I got no time to lose.” With that, he turned Lightning and spurred away down the street. He leaned into a hard turn in front of the bank and galloped toward the ford and the trail north.

  Chapter 35

  Tuesday

  The X-Star Ranch

  Monday slowed the horse as he approached the river. Only a fool would risk his mount’s legs galloping through river rocks and gravel. As soon as they cleared the river, Monday urged him north again, and the horse leaped forward.

  After a few minutes, he slowed Lightning to a walk to let him catch his breath. He wanted to get to the X-Star quickly, but he needed to pace his horse. He’d need to alternate running and resting Lightning, so his mount would have some strength left when he got there. When just the two of them got there.

  At least Kate would live. The town would forgive her anything. She could stay here and run that school and marry somebody she could boss around. Have children and grow old. All he had to do was bring in Logan. Lonergan. Maybe all five of them, . . . or was it six? Had Quincannon come this way to warn them?

  He took advantage of Lightning’s easy gait and looked at the trail. The only tracks were headed south, toward town. The grassy verge on both sides, still damp from last night’s showers, showed no hoofprints. Quincannon could ride there and leave no tracks. How much lead time would the man have? Ten, twenty minutes? More than enough to get there first.

  Monday brought Lightning up to a gallop and held him there for another five minutes. It’d be nice to encounter a cavalry patrol now, or even Dave and Corey Masterson. Maybe he should. . . . No, couldn’t risk turning in there. What if Becky wanted to go along? He watched the trail ahead and the rolling grassland off to his right.

  The next time Monday slowed Lightning to a walk, he had time to think about all the things he’d missed that pointed to Logan. He’d noticed those tracks headed toward town the first time he’d come here. Logan and the hands weren’t out with the stock that day, as Red had told him; they’d gone to town to see if the new marshal they must’ve heard about was the real Sam Taggart. He’d missed them by staying the night at Mastersons. When Monday came calling the next morning, Red hadn’t reacted to the drawing; he might have been told Taggart could still be alive.

  Quincannon had sized Monday up at their first meeting and probably told Logan he had nothing to worry about. So when Jasper, Crail, and Loomis met him, they’d all thought of him as a greenhorn. And after Monday told Quincannon about seeing the man on the big black horse on the Mormon Cutoff, his friend kept the horse hidden or stayed out of town after that. His friend. Damn, what a fool he’d been. Crail and Loomis were in town the night the jail was shot up. They probably ambushed him at the rock arch and cut up his bunk after the dance.

  Worst of all, Monday told himself, he’d failed to spot the money. Crandall told him Logan had withdrawn a hundred and fifty dollars a week ago, and must’ve used it to pay Quincannon. Chet had referred to Quincannon’s big wad of money at the saloon. Payment for killing Taggart. No, wait, that wouldn’t be right. Logan would’ve paid the big man for that job up front or right after the murder. It must have been the price for killing Monday himself. When had Quincannon decided to keep the money, leave a letter with Kate, and get out of town? Monday spurred his horse for another stretch.

  Minutes after they galloped past the turnoff to Masterson’s, Monday brought Lightning down to a walk to rest him again. Then he did what he’d learned to do each evening. He brought out his pistol and checked his loads. They were all right, but he had a missing cap on one nipple. He fished another cap out of his vest pocket and pressed it carefully into place. He holstered his pistol and reached for the rifle scabbard. Damn! In his haste to get out of town before Kate freed herself, he’d forgotten to stop by the jail and pick up a rifle and shells.

  He hadn’t even brought extra powder and pistol shot. They were still sitting on his desk. What had he boasted to Kate when he’d settled that first dispute in the saloon?

  “Still got five pills in the wheel.”

  “What if you needed all six?”

  “If I was ever to get to where I needed all six, I probably shouldn’t be there in the first place.”

  But now he was going to be in that fix. He’d passed the turnoff to Arrow Ranch and any chance to borrow a rifle or extra pistol from the Mastersons.

  He’d done all right up to this point, talking his way out of trouble. Hadn’t had to fire a shot, except in that ambush. He’d gotten out of a couple of nasty scrapes in the saloon, disarmed Old Man Gunderson on the trail, and faced down Crail and Loomis. They looked like real hardcases. Reckon he’d better watch them for the first signs of trouble. If he could get the drop on one of them and disarm him, he could get another gun and only have one of them to contend with. If he could do that, he might be able to wait for the posse. Maybe he’d live through this day. He took Lightning up to a trot and then to a run again.

  Five minutes later, they were at the turnoff to Logan’s ranch. Monday brought Lightning up short for his last breather. He saw by the side of the turnoff what he’d most feared, a pile of grain-fed manure. Quincannon’s horse had likely been here.

  He got down as Lighting panted and rested a bit. The manure looked fresh. Had Quincannon’s horse dropped it a couple hours ago when he’d headed south for town, or had he been here just minutes ago, headed in to warn the Logan outfit?
Monday pulled off a glove and thrust his left index finger into the pile. Not warm. And enough of a crust forming to indicate this was “southbound manure” from this morning.

  The great tracker’s last discovery. Manure, how fitting. Lightning shivered. Monday did, too.

  “Well, fella, this is it. Up ahead are the men who killed Sam Taggart and want me dead, too. Hope they won’t be expecting us to sidle in there, bold as brass. You back me up, boy. But let me do the talking.” With that, he wiped his finger on the grass, put on the glove, and got back aboard. Monday patted Lightning’s neck, and walked the horse in quietly.

  He hadn’t needed much courage to walk out the door of the hotel that afternoon in Manzanita when Mary Ellen died. He’d had no time to be afraid then. It was easier to be brave when things happened quickly. Why was his right hand shaking now? The Major told him you get courage by doing what you’re most afraid of. Then, if you survive, you get courage afterwards. Where had his old courage gone?

  No horses in sight. Maybe Quincannon wasn’t here. Monday stood in his stirrups, reached down, and tied his holster thong to his leg. He’d been lucky to find Kate alive, but he could do with some more good luck today.

  The ranch yard looked deserted. But as Monday steered Lightning away from the house and bunkhouse toward the corral rail, out of the corner of his eye he saw Crail step through the ranchhouse door, then turn and shout something back inside. As he dismounted, Monday eased the hammer loop off his pistol. He thought about tying Lightning to the rail, but decided against it. If he got killed, he wanted his horse to get away.

  He walked slowly up toward the bunkhouse on his left and the ranchhouse on his right and stopped in front. Monday kept his right hand firmly on his holster to hide the shaking he’d noticed earlier. To keep his left hand steady, he hooked his thumb in his belt. Damn, he was thirsty.