Murder for Greenhorns

by Kresge, Robert

  Crail moved out of the ranchhouse doorway and Monday stopped. Logan came out the door and stepped a little to Monday’s right. Loomis came out of the bunkhouse on his left and spat when he saw Monday. He took up position facing Crail and Logan, turned sideways to Monday, so his gun and that cross-draw rig on his left side were out of sight. Then Red and Jasper emerged from the bunkhouse carrying saddle blankets and lassoes. They stood on Monday’s far left. Neither one put down his gear.

  “Afternoon, Marshal. What brings you out here?” Logan asked with a trace of a smile. Monday kept himself where he could see Loomis and Crail’s hands and eyes. Some kind of funny light began to dance along the ranchhouse wall behind Logan and his foreman, like the reflection you’d see sometimes when you opened a pocket watch. No one else saw it. Monday tried to ignore it.

  “I’m here to arrest you, Mr. Lonergan, for the murder of Sam Taggart. Quincannon told us all about it. How you and your boys here killed and looted with Quantrill, rode down Taggart’s son, and got this here land under, uh, false pretenses.”

  “Well, now, Marshal whoever-you-be, don’t you go wronging my boys here. Red and Jasper’s older brothers, they rode and died with me, but these two were too young. They sort of grew up as we came west. But how’d you get that story out of Quincannon? I can’t see you taking him down, and he’s a man of few words.”

  Monday watched Crail take off his hat. The flickering light touched Crail’s hat, then vanished. Mexican hat trick? No. So far, Crail only held the hat in his right hand and wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand. He could still see Loomis’ right hand as well.

  Then it came to him. The flickering light. Quincannon’s rifle sight, what he saw that afternoon back on the Cutoff. He was behind Monday somewhere now, probably on that eastern hillside, running his sight across the ranch yard. Must be a reflection off the tube sight from the sun, now high in the western sky. So he’d come after all. Was that dancing light now centered on Monday’s back?

  He always knew he might not survive this. He was up against five men and the sixth was out of his reach. If he could only get off one shot, could he take out Logan? Would that make a difference to Kate after he was dead? He willed his hands to be still, swallowed hard, and tried to speak normally, but his voice was cracked and his mouth dry. His heartbeat hammered in his ears.

  “My name’s Monday Malone, Mr. Lonergan. Quincannon wrote a letter. Left it with Miss Shaw.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to call them back.

  “He did? Then Miss Shaw knows all about us, too.”

  Crail quit wiping his forehead but still held his hat in his right hand.

  “Well, we figure you’re going to have to disappear today, Marshal,” Logan continued. No trace you’ve ever been here.”

  Crail moved his hat a little to his left. Loomis just grinned and spit tobacco juice.

  “And after that,” Logan went on, “I reckon we’ll have to go make that letter and Miss Shaw disappear, too. Won’t we, boys?”

  Red and Jasper dumped their gear.

  “Not Miss Kate. You wouldn’t hurt her, Captain?” Red asked.

  Loomis sneered. “Won’t hurt her a bit, ’til I finish my dance with her. Then I aim to hurt her all night long.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Monday spat at Loomis.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Crail move his hat all the way over to his left side, still holding it with his right hand. Monday could now see his right hip was bare. That’s right. Crail wore his holster on his left side, too—Lefty Crail. As Monday went for his gun, he knew he’d made his last mistake. Crail pulled the hat back and his pistol came up, pointed at Monday’s belly.

  BA-WHOOM! A blast of air roared past Monday’s right ear and Crail leaped backward, bouncing off the ranchhouse wall and falling forward, limp as a rag doll. Everyone froze as Crail fell. His pistol came out of his hand as he collapsed. It turned over in the sunlight—once, twice, and finally settled into Monday’s outstretched right hand. Then everyone began to move at once.

  Logan was clearing leather. Monday cocked Crail’s pistol and shot Logan in the middle of his body. Bang! A cloud of powder smoke obscured Logan. Monday turned toward Loomis.

  Loomis had waited too long. His cross-draw had to come completely across his body, so he turned toward Monday to shorten the distance. Cock. Bang! Monday shot Loomis as he brought up his pistol.

  Monday lost sight of him in the powder smoke. Bang! A bullet plowed grass at Monday’s feet. Loomis must have pulled the trigger in reflex. Monday stepped left to avoid the smoke, and saw Loomis clutching his chest. Monday remembered what he’d said to Quincannon, squeezed the trigger, and fanned off another shot into Loomis without cocking. Bang! Three shots, he tallied, watching Loomis fall backwards.

  Monday kept stepping to his left to get out of the powder smoke. Cock.

  “Don’t draw, boys!” he shouted, but Red had just cleared leather and Jasper was pulling. Monday got off another shot—bang—and saw Red’s pistol fly away. The cowboy clutched his right arm and staggered back, but was lost in the cloud of smoke. Cock.

  Monday stepped left again. Jasper was bringing his gun up and Monday fired low. Bang! He saw Jasper’s right leg give way and moved a little left in order to see what he’d hit. Jasper fell back against the bunkhouse wall and slid down, his pistol gone.

  Five, Monday counted, dropping Crail’s pistol and reaching again for his own, turning back to see if there was any fight left in Logan.

  In the sudden silence, he heard a hammer being cocked. Logan was on his knees, his left hand over his stomach. He’d cocked his pistol early and was still bringing it up to Monday’s chest when a peculiar thing happened.

  BA-WHOOM! Again the rush of air, and Logan bent backwards from his knees. His back went flat to the ground and his face and pistol pointed skyward. His pistol went off harmlessly.

  BOOM! came the echo of the distant rifle. Monday turned and saw a man and a horse silhouetted against the sky atop a hill a half mile to the east. As he watched, the man mounted the horse and waved the rifle over his head. Monday waved his pistol in return, but doubted he could be seen from this distance without that special sight. The rider turned and vanished over the crest of the hill.

  Monday had a tired horse and two wounded men to deal with. He wouldn’t be riding after Quincannon today. Maybe not ever, John. Thanks for leaving Kate alive. And thanks for those two shots. He holstered his pistol and went to see about Jasper and Red. Red was closest, sitting against a water trough.

  “Damn it, Red, I told you boys not to pull on me.”

  “Sorry, Marshal,” Red said, grimacing and holding his right arm just above the elbow. “In all the confusion, me and Jasper didn’t know what to do. We sure wouldn’t have let the Cap and the boys hurt Miss Kate.”

  “They’d have killed her without blinking an eye. If you’d balked, they’d have killed both of you, too. Reckon they’d have said Quincannon must’ve killed me and run off. Then they’d have said you boys had a hankering for Miss Kate and probably ran off with her.”

  “Then you mean we was lucky to get wounded, so we wouldn’t get kilt?” Jasper winced. “Yeah, but it’s hard to feel lucky when you must hurt so bad.” Monday took Red’s bandana off and folded it into a bandage. “Here, hold this on that hole ’til I get something to tie it. I think Jasper’s hurt worse. I’ll have to use my own bandana and his on him.”

  Monday moved the few feet to Jasper, who’d slid down the bunkhouse wall to a sitting position. “How’s it feel?”

  “Not nearly so bad as it did going through. Burned like hell. Now it just aches. And look, it’s bleeding in two places.” Jasper showed Monday two holes in his right trouser leg.

  “I reckon that’s good, Jasper. Means the bullet went through clean. Since it ain’t spurtin’ like a fountain, guess I missed them big tubes in your leg. It’s gonna take two bandages and something to hold ’em. Here, let’s put your bandana on the front of your l
eg, like this. And I’ll put mine back here. Now can you hold ’em while I step into the bunkhouse for something I can tear into strips?”

  Monday was back in a moment with an old shirt. He tore off the sleeves and bound the bandanas on Jasper’s leg into place. He had just used the other strip of shirt to hold the bandana on Red’s arm when he heard the sound of hoofbeats coming fast. He stood up and cocked an ear, motioning the two cowboys to silence.

  “Just one horse. Too soon for a posse. How many hands you got around here, boys?”

  Monday moved out into the ranch yard, closer to where Lightning stood. Whoever it was would have to come right along the corral rail like he had. He shook his right hand to loosen up. He was surprised to find it didn’t shake any more.

  Welcome back, courage, he thought. Where you been? He faced the approaching hoofbeats.

  Chapter 36

  Tuesday

  The X-Star Ranch

  Kate Shaw galloped into the ranchyard aboard a sorrel pony foamy with sweat, her long blond hair streaming behind her like a flag. The horse had no saddle. She held her place by leg muscles and balance alone, her skirt hiked up high. In her right hand, she gripped a rifle at arm’s length, using it to help keep her balance. As the horse raced along the corral fence, Monday appeared, standing in her path.

  Monday! Alive! After all those shots. She barely had time to haul in on the reins. The horse swerved left and stopped so suddenly, she was catapulted over its shoulders, straight into Monday, knocking him flat.

  Kate came to rest sprawled on Monday’s chest, unaware she’d knocked the breath out of him. Her face was caked in dust. Etched down her cheeks were the muddy tracks of tears. Her eyelashes glistened with fresh beads of moisture. The echoes of all those shots rang in her ears.

  “Oh, God,” she cried. “I thought they’d killed you!” Monday said nothing, but fought for breath. She released the rifle, seized the lapels of his vest, and kissed him fiercely.

  Monday squirmed under her. He was fighting for breath, but she had him pinned. She felt his hands take her upper arms, but he seemed to have no strength. In desperation, he opened his mouth beneath hers.

  Oh, thought Kate, this will be one of those kisses Lacey had told her about. All right, she could kiss that way, too, and opened her mouth. It must be working; Monday squirmed even more vigorously. Kate closed her eyes and couldn’t see his pop-eyed expression. She must taste of trail dust and tears, but she didn’t care.

  Kate broke the kiss and raised her head. Monday gasped, wheezed, and fought for air.

  “Monday, speak to me. Are you hurt?” He managed to wave his right arm feebly in the direction of the ranch buildings. Kate turned her head and saw Red and Jasper sitting there. She and Monday weren’t alone.

  “Oh, hello,” she said, managing a weak smile.

  Red grinned hugely. “Afternoon, Miss Kate. If’n you came over here and kissed me like that, I reckon the marshal could shoot me again, and I wouldn’t even feel it.”

  Shot? Kate focused on bloody bandages. The doctor’s daughter began to take charge.

  “Monday, these men are wounded. They need our help.” She put her left knee over his leg and tried to crawl to the two cowboys, but her skirt restricted her so that her right knee slammed into Monday’s crotch. She completed her clumsy crossover and didn’t notice him curling into a ball facing the corral, holding both hands to his hurt. Behind her, she heard him gasping even more loudly. What was wrong with him? He didn’t eat as much dust this afternoon as she had, couldn’t be as sore.

  Kate tried to crawl to Red, but she kept putting one knee or the other on the hem of her skirt. That nearly made her put her nose into the dirt. She struggled to her feet—dignity be damned—gathered the skirt, and ran to Red. Kneeling, she checked his bandage and the shirt sleeve that bound it.

  “This will do for now, but you must lie down, not sit up. Keep your arm elevated. Here, prop it against the trough. It’ll be harder for the blood to flow to the wound if we keep your arm above your heart. I’ll be back, Red.

  “Monday!” she called over her shoulder to where he was still rolling in the dirt. “If you’re through resting, come here. I need your help.”

  She pulled herself up and limped over to Jasper. Monday managed to roll to his knees and used Kate’s rifle to get to his feet. Bent double, he staggered over to Kate and sank to his knees.

  “It’s about time. Jasper’s bled through the original bandages, and I shall need fresh ones. Cut strips from my petticoat. Jasper, you oughtn’t to sit up any more. I need you to lie down, like Red. We’ll have to elevate your leg to get ahead of the bleeding.”

  “Don’t have my knife, Kate. Left it with you. In the school,” Monday wheezed. They were the first words he’d spoken to her. Not much of a greeting. And not a hint of gratitude for her having ridden to his rescue.

  “Marshal, here,” Red called, and flipped Monday his own belt knife. Monday raised the hem of Kate’s skirt and stared at the blood. Her stockings were sliced to ribbons and her ankles were caked with dried blood mixed with dust and grime. She wore no shoes.

  He paused in shock. “What happened to your feet?”

  “Cut strips of petticoat,” she ordered, removing Jasper’s old bandages. “I’ll tell you while we work.” She took the first strip he cut and folded it into a bandage.

  “Another just like that one,” Kate said. She realized how bossy she must sound and changed her tone.

  “I guess I cut my feet pretty badly. Remember how you left me bound? I worked my way over to your knife, but I couldn’t budge it. So I slid the chair around and cut my arms free with only a nick or two. By that time, my ankles had been tied so tightly for so long, they were numb. “Even with my hands free, I couldn’t pull your knife out of the floor. When I tried to slice through those ropes by moving my ankles up and down against the blade, I cut through my shoes and made several gashes without feeling them. When I got to my feet, the only thing I felt was the burn of returning circulation.

  “I limped to the door and found the street deserted. I only noticed I was bleeding by the tracks I left on the floor and the porch. My shoes fell apart.” She retied the shirt sleeve around both bandages and put Jasper’s foot on top of a bucket to keep his leg raised. She turned her tear-streaked face and dusty, windblown hair to Monday.

  “I was determined your posse not leave me behind. I went to your office for a rifle, then to the stable. Joe and Bull were hiding tack and refused to let me have a horse. I tried threatening them. I must have been incoherent, screaming and crying. I’m afraid I used some unladylike language. They weren’t afraid of my rifle. Some young cowboy came in at that point, leading his horse. He said he’d busted his saddle girth.” Still on their knees, she continued.

  “I worked the lever of the rifle like I’d seen you do. He put his hands up and let me have the horse. I rode bareback a little when I was a child. I thought I could hang on until I got here, but I almost didn’t make it.” She finally looked at him again. “I’m so stiff, I must move like an old lady. I saw you moving bent over, too. Are you hurt?”

  “Um, no. It’s, uh, a different kind of hurt. Let me get this straight. You got this rifle straight from my rack?” His tone started at embarrassed but escalated to dead serious.

  “Yes, I did. You left another one behind. I would have thought—”

  “Do you have any idea what damn fool thing you did, Kate? You didn’t load this.” He brandished her rifle.

  “Load it? Don’t you keep them loaded?”

  With that, he jacked the lever three times. No cartridges flew out.

  “You came out here with an empty rifle! Those men would have killed you!”

  “If they had,” she shouted back, “it would only be because they’d already killed you!”

  “Well, at least I wouldn’ta had to watch you die!”

  Oh, God. Mary Ellen. He must be thinking how he couldn’t keep Mary Ellen alive. She put her hand to her mouth and
just stared at him.

  “Goll-y,” Red said. “What’s all this yellin’? I thought you two loved each other.”

  “We do not!” They shouted in unison, rounding on Red so furiously, he put up his good left arm as if to ward off a blow.

  Abruptly, their anger cooled, but they couldn’t look at each other. Monday found another bucket and wordlessly scooped water from the trough. Kate didn’t object when he raised her hem again and cut more strips from her rapidly shortening petticoat. He used one wet strip to bathe her ankles gently, then bound each ankle in more strips of bandage.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Monday said. “Now that I’ve bandaged you, do I need to raise your ankles like you did Red and Jasper’s wounds?” He was blushing.

  She shook her head and smiled, then reached out and took his hand in both of hers. She wanted to tell him how much she. . . .

  They were interrupted by the sound of horses. Monday left Kate and moved over to the corral again. He picked up the reins of the sorrel pony and turned toward the track into the ranchyard. It was the posse. Joe Fitch and Chet Stratman, holding rifles, and a young cowboy riding Sam Taggart’s bay mare.

  “There she is! That’s her,” the cowboy called out, pointing at Kate. “She stole my horse. Arrest her!” Kate put her hand to her throat. She’d heard what happened to horse thieves. The three men dismounted to let their foaming horses blow. The cowboy went directly to his little sorrel. “Look at this, she damn near killed him.”

  “That’s a pretty serious charge,” Monday said. “This woman found your horse running free, I hear, and brought it straight to the law. You got your horse back. I don’t think you can press charges.”

  “Damn it!” he said, slapping his leg with his dusty hat. I know when I’m being flim-flammed. I oughta get somethin’. Wait! I recollect how pretty she was. Maybe I could sorta settle out of court, for a kiss.”