Twilight of the Coyote

by Ron Schwab

  Chapter 28

  GRANDMA BETH

  Beth Ridgeway had just finished grinding up beef strips and putting a meatloaf in the new electric oven. Stretch had offered to buy the appliance, but to Beth’s surprise, Owen had coughed up the money. He made clear, however, that the appliance was ranch property.

  Beth peered out the kitchen window. The sun was only a few hours from sinking down behind the hills to the west. The men would be home before dark. She hoped Kate would be home soon. It annoyed her that Owen had laid off the two extra hands after spring calving. He could have kept one on. The work was endless on the place, and she didn’t like Kate working without a partner. She started to turn away from the window when she caught a glimpse of movement in the ranch yard. Kate? She focused. It was War Paint, staggering like a drunk.

  She whirled and rushed out onto the porch and then nearly sprinted across the yard toward the horse, her heart hammering in her chest. When she reached War Paint, she saw the scarlet trickle of blood dripping down the animal’s neck over the brown, crusted blood that had flowed earlier. She grabbed the reins and led the horse to the stable, where she watered and grained him, while she tried to gather her wits. War Paint had obviously taken a bullet. Galahad would never have left Kate, so it was understandable he had not returned. What about Kate? My God, for all Beth knew she could be lying dead out on the range someplace. She didn’t even know where Kate had been working. Owen had sent her off someplace to repair fence. But where? She fought off the panic that threatened to consume her and returned to the house.

  She cranked up the wall phone and gave the operator the number Trey Ramsey had provided the family. A soft male voice answered, “Secret Service, Quinton.”

  “Mr. Quinton, this is Beth Ridgeway. I am Kate Connolly’s grandmother. I need to speak to Trey Ramsey. It’s an emergency.”

  “I will call him to the phone, ma’am,” replied the man in a calm voice.

  Shortly, Trey came on the line. “Beth, this is Trey. Quinton said something about an emergency. What is it?”

  Beth told him about War Paint and the fact Kate had not returned with him. “Something terrible has happened to her, Trey. I know it has. We’ve got to find her.”

  “As soon as I hang up, I’m going to make a call to the sheriff’s office. Then I’ll claim one of the cars and be at the Shamrock as soon as I can.”

  Beth then called the veterinarian in Custer to come out to the ranch to examine and treat War Paint. Afterward, she returned to the stable to check on the horse. The gelding seemed steadier on its feet now and had cleaned up the grain, which she took as a positive sign. She walked back to the house, agitated by the feeling she should be doing something, frustrated by the waiting. She checked the meatloaf, which was past due for her perusal and had formed a bit of a charred crust on top. She removed it from the oven, doubting anyone was going to have an appetite this evening. She decided the meatloaf was destined for sandwiches.

  She was relieved when she heard the familiar rattle and roar of the truck bouncing up the crushed rock drive and hurried out the door to greet Stretch and Owen, looking forward to the comfort and reassurance she could count on from her cowboy husband. On the other hand, she was on edge about the volatile Owen’s response. She knew he loved his daughter, but his reaction to the news could range from calm to rage.

  She was halfway along the pathway from the house to the ranch yard when Stretch started rushing toward her. She fell into his arms, savoring the sweat and hay dust smell of the man who had known a life of hard, physical labor long before motorized contraptions became a part of the western landscape. Few knew the keen intelligence and sensitivity that lay beneath the surface of this tall, rawboned cowboy with the windburned leathery face who had reached his sixties without a day of formal education. And he was a mind-reader, invariably knowing her thoughts before they formed in her own mind.

  “What’s the matter, Babe? It’s Kate isn’t it?” Stretch asked, his voice soft and gentle.

  Beth stepped back and nodded her head, her first tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes. “War Paint showed up in the yard without her. He’d been shot in the neck but got back here somehow. But I don’t know what happened to Kate and Galahad.”

  Owen came up behind Stretch. “What’s this about Kate?”

  Beth repeated what she had told Stretch. “I’ve called the vet and contacted Trey Ramsey. He was going to call the sheriff’s office. There should be help here soon.”

  “We don’t need a bunch of damned outsiders in on this,” Owen snapped, “least of all, Ramsey. You didn’t have any business calling him.”

  Beth started to strike back, but Stretch, stepped in front of her, speaking very slowly and calmly, “Owen, I’ve worked for you a long time, but I won’t have you talking that way to Beth. You do that one more time, and we’re packing up and moving on. And if that’s what you want, that’s okay, too. Just say so.”

  Connolly looked at him dumbfounded. “Sorry, Beth. I’m just upset. And you know why I don’t like Ramsey sniffing around here like some horny bull after a heifer.”

  “Under the circumstances, I’ll excuse your vulgarity and illogical foolishness. Where was she working today?”

  Stretch said, “Owen sent her to work the east fence line. Most of it follows the county and park roads. She took the sorrel mare, too, for a pack animal. If she’s not dead, I suppose she’s wandering around out in the hills. She’ll likely find her way back tomorrow.”

  “We should have better than an hour of daylight left. I’ll run to the house and grab a few kerosene lanterns. Do you have flashlights?” Beth asked.

  “In the truck,” Owen said.

  “You and Stretch head up the road and see what you can find. I’ll send Trey Ramsey and the sheriff’s people your way when they get here.”

  Only after Owen and Stretch disappeared into the swirling dust kicked up in the driveway did Beth sit down on the porch step and surrender to the tears she had fought off till now. Her body shook as the torrent soaked the front of her blouse. Less than five minutes later, she willed herself to stop the silliness and stood up. She had lost Coleen to Wilson’s damned war. Now the only link to her daughter was missing. Kate was alive out there somewhere. She had to believe that. Her religious faith was fragile, but it occurred to her that Trey Ramsey might be an emissary from heaven sent to redeem his father. Perhaps that explained the bizarre coincidence of Trey and Kate meeting up a world away from the battlefields of France.

  Chapter 29

  TREY

  After I spoke to Beth Ridgeway, I called Bing Compton, who, fortunately, was still at the sheriff’s office. He grumbled a bit about having to cancel a date with Carrie but promised he would head out to the Shamrock and meet me there. I informed Quinton about my conversation with Beth and told him President Coolidge would want to know as soon as he returned from the ranchers’ barbecue he and the first lady were attending at the Tall Tree Ranch a half-dozen miles north of the State Game Lodge.

  Dusk was closing in when I pulled the Model T into the Shamrock ranch yard. Beth was waiting outside, and as I got out of the car, I heard tires of another vehicle crunching against the drive rock. I looked over my shoulder and saw it was Bing. He must have pushed pedal to floor board on his run from Rapid City. I turned back to Beth, who embraced me warmly.

  “Thank God, you’re here, Trey. I’m beside myself with worry. Stretch and Owen left a short while ago to look for Kate, but I have a terrible feeling about this.”

  Bing came up behind me, and I made hasty introductions. “Where are Stretch and Owen searching?” I asked.

  “They took the road south along our east ranch boundary. That’s where Kate was fixing fence today. If you drive south on the county road, you should catch up to them. If they stopped someplace, the truck should be parked just off the road. I assume they’ll be checking pasture along the fence for signs that Kate was there.”

  “Let’s take my car, Bing. Beth, t
he Secret Service may be calling for a report. Tell them I’ll get word to them as soon as we know anything.” And please let it be good news, I thought.

  I climbed in the Model T while Bing cranked the starter, and, after a few protests, the car roared, and I steered the machine down the long driveway and onto the main road. We drove in silence until Bing pointed to the Shamrock’s truck a football field’s length ahead of us, parked on the grassy roadside. As we pulled up behind it, we couldn’t see any sign of Connolly or Stretch.

  “They must have seen something and climbed over the fence,” Bing said. “Let’s see if we can find them.”

  I plucked a flashlight from under the car seat and stepped down from the running board. It was turning dusky, and, although stars would be lighting the sky with sparkle soon enough, they wouldn’t provide enough radiance for the search facing us.

  Bing and I were both tall men, but the top barbed wire was strung tight and high enough to carve a duet of sopranos if we tried to step over. Therefore, we each took turns spreading the two middle wires with foot and fingers so the other could slip through. Even then, I caught the seat of my trousers on a barb and tore a hole in the fabric large enough to stick a fist in. The price paid by a fool who didn’t have the sense to change into outdoor garb before taking off for a search in cow country.

  After we squeezed through the fence, we stood silently for several moments, taking in the landscape. I heard voices to the south. “They’re down that way,” I said and started walking along the fence line toward the voices.

  “Watch your step,” Bing said. “There are a couple of rolls of wire and materials piled up ahead of us.”

  I switched on the flashlight, and the beam revealed a pile of fencing tools, wire and other supplies. Then, I started a bit when I saw a large shadowy figure plodding up the slope toward us. By the time the horse whinnied, I had already figured out it wasn’t a Black Hills cousin to Sasquatch.

  “The packhorse,” I said. “They must have found her and unpacked her here and turned her loose again.”

  We moved on with the horse trailing along behind us. Soon we picked up the glow of two lanterns moving back and forth some distance apart like fireflies in the darkness. As we approached, the lights froze in place, as the cattlemen fixed their eyes on the visitors coming their way.

  I waved and yelled, “It’s Trey Ramsey coming your way. Deputy Bing Compton’s with me.”

  “Howdy, Trey,” Stretch Ridgeway said, extending his big hand and taking mine firmly in a sandpaper paw. “Your help’s welcome here.”

  I noted that Connolly remained silent and sensed he was not so pleased to see me. “I see you found the packhorse. She tagged along with us.”

  “Yep. She’s tame as an old hound dog. We figured we’d leave her out here, and she’ll find her way home in a day or two. She’ll hang around us till we head back, though.”

  “Have you found anything else?”

  “Not yet. We drove back and forth on the road for a spell until we spotted Mazie grazing down the hill. Then we pulled over, and, after unloading her, we started walking the fence line. We found some fresh splices and patches on the wires, so we know Kate was working here, but there are more than three miles of fence so that doesn’t narrow it down a lot. I’m thinking Mazie might have stayed around where she last saw Kate, but who knows?”

  I had not realized Bing wandered off, when he called from the bottom of the hill. “Hey, I found something. Better get down here.”

  I could barely make out Bing’s shadowy image, but his flashlight beam swept over the earth about him and provided an ample target. We scrambled down the slope as fast as the tricky footing over the loose rock would allow. As we neared Bing, I heard the murmur of water rushing over stone from the stream behind him. My heart stopped for an instant when I saw him kneeling in the grass above a still form.

  “It’s the dog,” Bing said. “He’s been dead awhile. Shot twice. But look.” Bing fixed the beam of light on the animal’s face and muzzle, which were covered with a dark crust. “Blood. And it’s nowhere near his wounds.”

  Then something seemed to catch the deputy’s interest, and he wedged his fingers into the Labrador’s mouth and pried the jaw open, picking at the creature’s teeth. He plucked an object out and held it up, shining the flashlight on it.

  “What the hell is that?” Connolly asked.

  “Looks like part of somebody’s pinky finger,” Bing replied. “I’m guessing this guy chewed up somebody pretty good trying to protect his mistress.”

  “Galahad didn’t have a mean bone,” Stretch said, “unless somebody threatened Kate.”

  Bing pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his faded denims and wrapped his trophy in it before stuffing it in his shirt pocket.

  I said, “It’s obvious Kate was stalked and trapped here. It seems likely somebody took her, but we need to walk this area, I’d say twenty feet apart, and see what we turn up in a sweep.” I turned to Bing. “You’ve done some tracking?”

  “I’ve been a hunter since I was a tadpole. Pop spent most of his time hunting and trapping. Couldn’t quite make a living at it so did some seasonal cow-punching for neighbors.”

  “You take the end nearest the road and see if you can find sign of where they left the pasture. They had to have transportation to get here and take her away.” I hoped this was a snatch as I suspected and we didn’t find her here.

  “Hold your horses, young man,” Connolly snarled, “who the hell do you think you are to be throwing out orders here? You’re on Shamrock property.”

  I was not up to a pissing contest with Owen Connolly. “This is a federal investigation, Mr. Connolly. I’m a Bureau of Investigation agent, and I represent the President of the United States. You don’t have to take orders from me, but you will not be allowed to interfere with our efforts to find your daughter. I can’t believe you would even want to do that. You can stand by and watch, or help us. That’s up to you. But stay out of our way.”

  A few minutes later, we had all spread out and were walking in a line following the east bank of the creek. We didn’t have to go far before picking up our first sign at the base of a cottonwood tree, where we found the remains of a half-eaten sandwich and crumbled cookies scattered on a paper sack next to a canteen that had tipped over and spilled its contents.

  “She stopped here to eat her lunch,” Bing said. “Probably where they caught up with her.”

  Within fifteen minutes Bing found a trail of matted grass sprinkled with dry droplets of blood that led back to a pasture access drive-off, where a vehicle had evidently been parked. I relaxed some when he reported boot prints in softer dirt on the edge of the drive-off that were too small for a man’s.

  “We dead-end here,” Bing said. “The car or truck could have gone anywhere from here.” He threw the mess back in my hands. “What now, Trey?”

  I tried my best to look authoritative and was silent for some moments, hoping my companions would conclude I was working on a great plan. Of course, I didn’t know what in the hell I was doing. “We can’t do much in the dark,” I said, stating the obvious.

  “That’s the best the BI can come up with? I guess me and Stretch are going to have to find Kate ourselves,” Connolly said.

  This guy and I were going to seriously butt heads before our final goodbye, but I didn’t have time to debate. I also was certain he was smarter than the palooka he appeared to be during our conversations to date. Who knows? He might even be helpful at some point, I decided. “Bing, could you come out here in the morning and take another look at the scene. Bring somebody to help if you can and gather up anything that might be evidence of what happened. I would appreciate it if the sheriff’s office could put out a quiet alert to physicians and hospital authorities to inform you if anybody shows up with a chewed-up hand and missing finger.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Do you have any snitches in Rapid City who might ask around about local goons with Chi
cago connections?”

  “Oh, yeah, but they’re mostly boozehounds. I got a contact named Ollie, though, who works the other side of a bar. Knows a lot and is a stoolie for a price.”

  I pulled my wallet from my jacket pocket, plucked out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Bing. “Here’s a double-sawbuck. Tell him there’re more of those for information that leads us to a gang with Chicago connections. Soon.”

  “You sound like you know who you’re looking for.”

  “In a general way. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “Tell us about it now,” Connolly demanded.

  “Mr. Connolly, I understand your concern, and I will tell you as much as I can as soon as I am authorized to do so. This involves a secret government investigation, and I must speak with the president before I discuss it with anyone. Now, I am going back down the hill and recover Galahad. I assume you have a suitable place to bury him?”

  “I figured we’d leave him here. The coons and coyotes and buzzards will clean him up quick.”

  “I’ll help you,” Stretch said, and walked away from Connolly to join me.

  We walked in silence until we approached the dog’s body. I peeled off my suitcoat and said, “Maybe we can lay Galahad on this and use it as a sling to carry him.”

  “That should work. We have an area marked off as a pet cemetery back at the home place. Owen’s buried some of his own dogs there. He wouldn’t have left Galahad here. He was just trying to get your goat.”

  “Well, he succeeded. He doesn’t like me for some reason.”

  “It’s complicated. He just never got over losing Coleen. It turned him bitter.”

  “But that’s not my fault.”

  “No, but like I say, it’s complicated.”

  Stretch wasn’t telling me all he knew, but I wasn’t going to press him. All that mattered now was finding Kate and bringing her home alive.