Just as he reached out to grab her, the batwing doors burst inward, and in walked the Red Feather posse. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Chairs crashed against walls. Overturned tables scattered coins and faro chips across the floor. Playing cards flew up in the air.
Mrs. Perl held a man at bay with her knitting needles pointed at his jugular.
Holding her lorgnette in one hand, Mrs. Granby used the well-aimed fist of the other hand to punch a man in the mouth.
Good-time gal Goldie jumped on Gopher’s back. He spun around, trying to shake her off.
“What the—”
The preacher’s wife baptized Buster with a whiskey bottle, and Becky-Sue bopped Blade over the head with her parasol.
Mrs. Mooney, using her position as the bank president’s wife and without benefit of respectability, punched Harvey Harper square in the nasal promontory with her well-placed, ring-laden knuckles.
One man grabbed hold of the butcher’s wife, but her husband came to her rescue. “Hey, that’s my wife!” With that, T-Bone swung his fist and knocked the man out cold.
A cowpuncher dived for the retired schoolmarm, and she used her knowledge of male anatomy to great advantage. His friend lifted his fist to punch her back. Losing all manner of restraint, Amanda hit him over the head with the grip of her gun. The man teetered back and forth, spun like a slow-moving whirligig, and finally collapsed out cold on the floor.
As a whole, the men seemed at a loss as to how to handle a bunch of kicking, screaming, clawing females. Some couldn’t bring themselves to hit a woman, much to their detriment. Others, whose principles were dulled by whiskey, soon learned the folly of their ways, and prone bodies began stacking up like haphazard logs.
The blacksmith finally restored order. “Okay, men, that’s enough.” Wiping his bloodied lip with his shirtsleeve, he pointed a grimy finger at Gopher. “You’re leaving now, just like the lady said.”
Gopher’s face turned a vivid red, and the veins of his neck stood out. His shirt was torn, and blood trickled from his nose. He looked about to argue, but seeing how his own men had turned against him, he thought better of it.
He picked his hat off the floor and shuffled toward the door, but not before impaling Amanda with malice-filled eyes. “You’ll be sorry.”
Breathing hard, Amanda retrieved her own hat from under an overturned table. Just before she followed her posse outside, something caught her eye, and she stooped to pick it up. It was a feather. A peacock feather, just like the one found in Cooper’s hotel room. She slipped it into her vest pocket and elbowed her way out the swinging doors.
Twenty-six
The Red Feather posse followed Amanda away from the saloon, boasting like a bunch of old soldiers reminiscing about the past. To hear them tell it, no battle was more gallantly fought or so bravely won.
No one was seriously hurt, but Goldie’s already skimpy shirtwaist was missing a bit of vital fabric, and Becky-Sue’s parasol was bashed beyond repair. Mrs. Perl’s hair had unraveled from its bun like gray yarn. Hats were flattened or squashed, and some were missing red feathers. Mrs. Granby’s bowed plume dangled in front of her face like a swinging pendulum.
The pastor’s wife reeked of whiskey. Lord only knows what her husband would say about that!
“Did you see Blade’s expression when I punched him?” Ellie-Mae Walker said, swinging her saddlebag hips from side to side.
Becky-Sue giggled. “I guess we showed them.”
“We sure did,” Miss Read said with a toss of her head. The schoolmarm sported a black eye, but never was a shiner worn with such pride.
Amanda laughed. She had a feeling that she hadn’t heard the last of Gopher, but for now, victory felt good. “How’d you all know I needed help?”
“We went to the courthouse for Mr. Rennick’s trial, and Deputy Hobson told us you might need us,” Mrs. Perl explained.
“Yes,” Mrs. Mooney interjected, “and he told us to make haste.”
Amanda smiled. Hiring Scooter was a brilliant move, if she did say so herself.
“As the bank president’s wife, I say we celebrate,” Mrs. Mooney said. “Meet at my house in an hour, and I’ll fix us something to eat. You too, Sheriff.”
“I’d love to celebrate with you all, but duty calls. I’m needed in court.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Mrs. Mooney lowered her voice. “Poor, poor Mr. Rennick. Such a nice man. So handsome,” she said, as if that had a bearing on the case.
Goldie adjusted her plunging neckline. “Most handsome men can’t be trusted, but Mr. Rennick isn’t like most.” She lowered her voice as well. “I have a good instinct about men. My job requires it, and I’m telling you”—she patted her hair and tucked her shirt into the waist of her divided skirt—“I would trust Mr. Rennick with my life.”
* * *
Amanda decided to stop at the office and freshen up before heading to the courthouse and was surprised to find the cowpuncher seen earlier on the street waiting for her.
He pulled off his Stetson. “Name’s Larsen, but everyone calls me Kansas Pete. Got a minute?” Eyes the color of full-grain leather peered at her from beneath a mop of curly brown hair.
She didn’t really have time to spare, but something about the man piqued her curiosity. Shoving the door shut, she turned. “What’s this about?”
“Your prisoner.”
Her gaze sharpened. “You know him?” Her instincts had been right.
He nodded. “Used to work for him. On his horse ranch in the Panhandle.”
“Go on.”
“He didn’t do the things they say he did. He didn’t kill no one.” He spoke in earnest and sounded sincere.
“How do you know he didn’t?”
“I know him, that’s how. I know the kind of man he is. Once, me and the other wranglers came down with an awful fever. You know what he did? He took care of us. Brought food and medicine to the bunkhouse and made sure we had everything we needed. The foreman wanted to dock our pay, but he wouldn’t allow it. He insisted we get full pay even though some of us couldn’t do a lick of work for weeks. That’s the kind of man he is.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Thought nothing ’bout staying up all night with a sick horse. Never knew him to even exaggerate a horse’s good qualities to make a sale.”
“Did you know Mr. Cooper?”
“Yeah, I knew him. He worked on the horse ranch. He was the foreman I mentioned earlier. Didn’t much care for him.”
So Cooper and Rennick had a history together. She could well imagine what the prosecutor would do with that information. “How did he and Rennick get along?”
Kansas Pete frowned. “Who’s Rennick?”
Just as she suspected—Rennick was an assumed name. Knowing this didn’t make her feel any better, and her spirits dropped. If he lied about his name, what else did he lie about?
“He claims his name is Rick Rennick. What name did you know him as?”
“Barrett. Rick Barrett.”
“How did Barrett and Cooper get along?”
“Far as I knew, they got along just fine. But then, I didn’t hang around all that long.”
“So you have no way of knowing what happened after you left the horse ranch.”
“No, but that don’t change my opinion. Barrett is tough and expects a lot from his employees, but he would never do anyone harm.”
Amanda’s mind raced. “It’s been years since you knew him. A lot can happen to a man in all that time. People change.”
“Yeah, but Rick ain’t like most people.”
The man meant well, but he could offer no real proof of Rick’s innocence, only opinion. That wasn’t worth a wooden nickel in a court of law. An idea occurred to her, and she brightened. “You could testify as a character witness.”
He made a face. “Well, here’s the thing. I a
in’t exactly been workin’ in the Lord’s vineyards, if you know what I mean. My talking about character is like a politician talking about honesty. Who’s gonna believe me?”
“So why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“I feel partly to blame for the trouble he’s in.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“I took me a trip to San Antone and happened to bump into his sister. That was the first I knew Barrett’s wife had died and he no longer owned the horse ranch.”
“So you knew his wife.”
“Yeah. Her name was Christy. A sweet little thing. His sister didn’t say how she died, and I didn’t ask. We got to talking about the good old days and some of the men who worked on the ranch when I did. I happened to mention I was now working at a ranch in Two-Time and spotted Cooper.”
“And you think she told Ren…Barrett?”
“Don’t know. But there’s got to be a reason Barrett turns up in the same town as Cooper. Maybe that’s a coincidence. Maybe not. But I still stand by what I said: Barrett’s no killer. And I’ll tell you something else. After what I heard people say today, he’s as good as dead.”
* * *
The office door cracked open, and Meg’s head appeared. “Got a minute?”
Amanda beckoned her sister in with a wave of her hand. The court was in midday recess, and she was anxious to get back, but she didn’t want to send her sister away. It was obvious she had something on her mind.
“I always have time for you.” Amanda motioned to the chair in front of her desk and waited for Meg to sit. Her sister didn’t show weight-wise, but her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes sparkled with a warm inner glow. “What brings you to town?”
“I came to purchase fabric. Mama and I are working on baby clothes. It’s so much easier now that she has a machine that does the work.”
“Remember how long it took you and Josie to sew your wedding trousseau?” Amanda said and immediately regretted her words. That bridal wardrobe had been sewn when Meg was betrothed to another man. “Oh, I’m sorry, Meg. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s all right,” Meg said. “Just think. If things hadn’t turned out the way they did, I wouldn’t have met and fallen in love with Grant.”
“I’m just glad that everything worked out as well as it did.”
“It has for you too. I mean…” Meg gazed around the office. “Look at you. I still can’t believe you’re the sheriff.”
“And that’s not all.” Amanda reached for the letter on her desk. “As soon as Lucy Stone heard I was sheriff, she invited me to give the opening speech at the next suffragist meeting.”
“Oh, Mandy, that’s such a great honor. I’m so happy for you.”
Amanda smiled. “Life sure does have a way of surprising us, doesn’t it?” Never in a million years would she have guessed the strange sequence of events that brought her to this place. Nor did it ever occur to her that Josie would leave Two-Time.
“It sure does.” Meg absentmindedly rubbed her stomach with protective hands. “I also wanted to tell you that we bought Josie’s house.”
“What?” Amanda blinked. “But why?”
“It just seemed like the right thing to do. They’re in a hurry to leave, and with the baby coming… We can hardly turn around in our small house as it is.”
“I’m glad you did that,” Amanda said. Josie’s two-story house and neat little yard would make the perfect home for Meg’s growing family. “I’m sure you and Grant will be very happy there.”
Meg’s smile died. “The other night…I didn’t mean to suggest that you had feelings for…” She glanced toward the cells in back.
“A man on trial for murder?” Amanda asked.
Meg bit her lip. “It was just…there was something about you I had never noticed before. You looked miserable enough to be in love.”
Amanda laughed. “What a thing to say. I thought love was supposed to make a person happy.”
“It can.” Meg regarded her with probing eyes. “If you’re in love with the right man. I just wish you could be as happy as I am. If only you could find a good man like Grant to love.”
Normally, such a sentiment would put Amanda on the defensive, but today, she accepted it with good humor. “And who, pray tell, would want to set his cap for a woman sheriff?”
Meg laughed. “Who indeed?”
* * *
The conversation with Meg was very much on Amanda’s mind that night as she readied for bed. She brushed her hair for the required hundred strokes before setting her hairbrush on the dressing table. She turned up the flame on the kerosene lamp and reached for her grandmother’s daguerreotype.
The clock by the side of her bed ticked, and the lamp sputtered, but otherwise, all was quiet. Even the voices of the past—her grandmother’s voice—failed to fill in the emptiness of Amanda’s heart.
Meg was no doubt sharing the day’s joys and sorrows with her husband, and here Amanda was, staring at her grandmother’s image.
Sighing, she set the picture frame next to the milliner’s pliers and tailor chalk on the dresser. The peacock feather placed there days earlier drifted lazily to the floor. Stooping, she picked it up and remembered something.
She reached for the vest tossed on the back of a chair. The first pocket was empty, but the second one revealed the feather found on the floor of the Golden Spur. She arranged the feathers side by side and moved the lamp closer. The feathers were close to identical.
She reached into a dresser drawer for the packet of peacock feathers used for making hats. Pulling one out, she compared it with the others. They all looked similar, but of course, that didn’t mean they came from the same bird or even the same peacock farm.
Chicken and peacock feathers were the only ones she would ever use for her hats. Chicken feathers were easy to work with and could be dyed. Better yet, chicken feathers were cheap, easily obtainable, and a food by-product. Her second choice was peacock feathers. The magnificent birds shed their feathers naturally, so no bird was needlessly destroyed. She abhorred the practice of killing wild birds for the sole purpose of decorating hats. The demand for feathers had put some of the most beautiful species, including the snowy egret, on the brink of extinction.
She gnawed on a fingernail as she studied the feathers. One was found in Cooper’s hotel room and the other at Pepper’s saloon. Coincidence? Maybe. Peacock feathers symbolized many things to many people. Some thought peacock feathers represented the “evil eye” and brought bad luck or death. That’s why some cowboys refused to wear them on a hat.
Others, including many Indian tribes, believed the opposite—that peacock feathers brought serenity and good fortune. One gambler drifting through town wore a peacock feather in his hat. He claimed that the eye intimidated his opponents, thus bringing him good luck.
Did other gamblers hold on to feathers for good luck? Did Cooper? There had to be a reason why a peacock feather was found in his room. What if it was left there by his killer?
Or maybe it had been there by chance. A feather could attach itself to shoes or clothing and be carried inside by an unsuspecting host.
She tried to think of any locals raising peacocks, and the only one who came to mind was Mr. Steckle. Was it possible to determine if the feathers came from his birds? Probably not. Still… She held her breath. Was she on to something or simply grasping at straws?
Twenty-seven
The trial moved swiftly—too swiftly for Amanda’s peace of mind—and attracted an astounding amount of community interest. The courtroom was packed, but so were the grounds outside.
Witnesses for the prosecution included the young woman who found the body and the maid who discovered the knife.
Pepper, Gopher, and their cronies also testified to finding the suspect bent over the body. Birdseye’s objections were as regular as clockwork, but he
was soundly overruled each and every time.
Amanda and Hobson told the court how they’d searched the room and found no weapon, but their testimony hardly made a dent in the prosecutor’s case. Things couldn’t look worse for Rick.
That night, she heard Birdseye and Rick arguing. The door was closed between her office and the cellblock, so she couldn’t make out the words, but there was no mistaking the angry voices.
Finally, Birdseye stormed through her office, his face a mask of fury.
“You can’t save him, can you?” she asked.
Birdseye shook his head. “He refuses to say or do anything in his own defense. I can only save those who want to save themselves.” Without another word, he stomped out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Long after Birdseye left, Amanda sat staring into space. Her faith in Rick’s innocence teetered back and forth. One minute, she was convinced he didn’t kill Cooper. But then little niggling doubts crept into her head. Was it possible she had missed seeing the knife under the bureau? Was Rick playing her for a fool?
Oh, how she wanted to believe him innocent, but he sure wasn’t acting like it. So far, he’d done none of the things she expected an innocent man to do. Certainly, a man with nothing to hide wouldn’t try to escape like he did the night he was arrested. Was all the talk about finding the real killer a ploy designed to confuse her?
Oh, Rick… Why did her heart tell her one thing and her head another? Which one to believe? She had to know, and as much as she hated the thought, there was only one way to find out.
Trembling, she rose from her desk and reached for the keys on the wall. She swallowed hard and inhaled.
Moments later, she inserted a key into the lock of Rick’s cell and swung the door open. She stepped aside and waited. She had done many things in her life, all in the name of justice. But this…this was the boldest, bravest, and maybe even dumbest thing she’d ever done. But she had to know…
Rick stared at the open door before meeting her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“You keep saying you’re innocent. I’m giving you a chance to prove it.”
A Match Made in Texas Page 18