by Erin Lindsey
“In case it should fall into the wrong hands. The special branch is … well, it’s a secret. Most of our fellow Pinkertons don’t even know we exist. We handle cases of a supernatural nature.”
“Supernatural. As in hoodoo and haints and such.” His tone was inscrutable as usual. John Ward, I decided, ought to take up poker.
“We didn’t mention it before, because…”
“Because it would sound crazy.” He was quiet for a spell, digesting this. “So you knew all along this thing wasn’t … What did you call it? A product of nature?”
“Not exactly,” Thomas said. “We toyed with a number of theories, including an outright hoax, or perhaps some sort of prehistoric animal. But it would be fair to say that our minds remained open to the possibility that we were dealing with the paranormal.”
“What about you, John?” Maybe it was rude, but I had to ask. If you’re going to be working with a person, it’s helpful to know whether they think you belong in the cranky-hutch. “Is your mind open to the possibility?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Guess it don’t much matter what my mind is open to. My eyes is open to this.” He showed me the collection of shattered bullets in his hand.
It was just the sort of thing Sergeant Chapman might say, and it occurred to me that the two men had more than a little in common. My favorite copper was a man of few words and cast a wary eye on the supernatural. Half the time, I wasn’t sure he even believed what Thomas and I were telling him. But when you got right down to it, he was ready to get on with the business, and I figured that went for John Ward, too.
“A pragmatist, then,” Thomas said approvingly. “Does that mean we can continue to count on your assistance?”
“Far as it goes. But you was right in what you said before. We ain’t putting that thing down without a Gatling gun, and maybe not even then.”
He started to say more, but a thudding of hooves sounded from up the path. At first I thought it was Bowie Bill and his gang come to finish what they’d started, but then I recognized Little Wolf, followed closely by White Robes. They looked ready for a fight, hunting rifles tucked under their arms, but we all relaxed when we recognized each other.
“We heard shooting,” Little Wolf said. “It sounded like a battle.”
“So it was,” Thomas said. “Of a sort.”
“In that case, I’m glad you’re safe.”
“What about you?” I glanced up the path, but there was no sign of a third rider. “Where’s Red Calf?”
“Back at camp. When we heard the guns, we thought maybe Two Horses had escaped. We came to help, but Red Calf stayed behind to guard the horses in case it was a trick.” Little Wolf’s glance passed over the grim scene on the ground. He looked drawn, as if he’d aged a year since we saw him two days ago. Worried sick, no doubt, about the fate of his friend.
I did what I could to put his mind at ease. “We saw him. Two Horses. He’s safe, at least for now. They took him to the jailhouse in town.”
Relief passed over Little Wolf’s face—followed by bitter anger. “He was only trying to buy a horse. They had no right to take him.”
“They’ve accused him of cattle rustling,” Thomas said.
“Lies. We have not even seen a cow in days.” He didn’t ask what the sheriff would do next, which was a relief. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him they were talking about hanging his friend—though he probably assumed as much anyway. His people had learned long ago to expect the worst from the law.
White Robes climbed down from her horse to take a closer look at the bodies in the dirt. “Who are they?”
“Outlaws,” I said. “They ambushed us on the trail.”
“And then? These men were not shot.”
“It got ’em,” John said. “That thing. It jumped out of the bushes there, went straight for the kid.”
Little Wolf’s eyes widened. “You saw it? What was it?”
The three of us looked at one another. Where to even start?
“It weren’t no product of nature,” John said, succinctly.
We took turns describing what we’d seen. We must have sounded completely barmy, but the siblings listened without comment, only exchanging glances every now and then.
“You say it swims?” Little Wolf muttered something in his own language. “The peoples to the east speak of an underwater panther that lives in opposition to the Thunderbirds. Its body is that of many creatures blended together. A cougar, but with horns, and the tail of a serpent.”
“Indeed?” Thomas arched an eyebrow. “That certainly sounds similar to what we saw. Fascinating.”
White Robes, meanwhile, looked decidedly unconvinced, observing this exchange with a frown.
John smiled ruefully at her. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t blame you. But I saw what I saw. I about emptied my rifle into that thing. We all did, and this is what we got to show for it.” He held out a hand as if to give her something, and when she opened hers, he let the shattered bullets fall into her palm. “Now you tell me what coulda done that besides a brick wall.”
She shook her head. She had no answer for him.
“My people have hunted here for a hundred years and more,” Little Wolf said. “If there was such an animal, why have we not seen it before?”
“That,” said Thomas, “is a very good question. Why here, and why now? Until we find answers, it may not be possible to destroy it.”
Little Wolf didn’t even hesitate. “Then we must catch it. We must catch it and show it to everyone in town, so they will see Two Horses is not to blame.” He turned to his sister, and they conversed for a moment in Lakota. “We have a plan. We meant it for the men who stole our horses, but it should work for this creature as well.”
“A trap,” White Robes said, “using horses as bait. We can let them graze in places we know the creature hunts.”
John nodded slowly. “That oughta get its attention, but then what? I’m good with a rope, but I don’t like my chances of lassoing that thing.”
“We will find a way,” White Robes said. “We must, for Two Horses. But first we need bait. That’s what Two Horses was trying to do when he was taken. We were foolish to send him. We should have known the ranchers would not sell to Lakota. But they will sell to you, John Ward.”
“We are poor,” Little Wolf added, “but we have things to trade.”
“That needn’t be a concern,” Thomas put in. “The Agency will cover our expenses. Will this do for now?” Reaching into his jacket, he produced a few crisp bills and handed them to John. I didn’t see the denominations, but the arch of John’s eyebrow suggested they were generous. “For our part, Rose and I will consult our resources in Chicago and New York to see if we can find any record of such a creature.”
John glanced at the Lakota. “They reckon it’s magic,” he explained, hooking a thumb at us.
That was a whole lot more blunt than I’d have suggested, but they took it pretty well, considering. Little Wolf looked thoughtful, and White Robes just sighed. I suppose they’d heard it all before, and besides, there wasn’t much point in arguing about it now. What mattered was catching the thing, and then we’d see what we could see.
“Well, then,” said John. “If I’m going on a buying spree, I best get started. Might be we’ll find a place that’s got more than one or two ponies to sell, but most likely I’ll be all over creation. What with the distances and all, that’s gonna take time.”
“What about the livery?” Thomas asked.
“They’ll have a few, at twice the price, but not enough. I reckon it makes most sense to start around here, see how we do.”
“What about your boss?” I asked. “I don’t suppose he’ll much like you taking time off.”
“Don’t suppose he will. He can send me packing if he likes. This here’s more important than any job.”
“You will need help to herd them, once you have enough,” Little Wolf said. “When you are ready, you know where to find us.”
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John nodded. “Will do.”
I didn’t like abandoning our friends out here in the wilderness, but we didn’t have much choice. Thomas and I had our part to play, and we’d only slow them down anyway. “Just promise us you’ll take care of yourselves, all of you.”
“And you must do the same,” Little Wolf said. “The creature may not be the only thing stalking you.” He inclined his head meaningfully at the dead outlaws.
He’s right, I realized with a sinking feeling. Men like Bowie Bill Wallace wouldn’t let something like this go.
“This will be answered,” Little Wolf said. “Answered in blood.”
* * *
It was late afternoon by the time we got back to Medora. I was filthy and exhausted, so when Thomas told me I wasn’t needed at the Western Union office, I was happy to let him go, already dreaming of the hot bath I would take. Lavender water, I promised myself. Candles.
Imagine my disappointment when I arrived back at the hotel to find blood everywhere.
It took me a moment to notice it. The lobby was deserted, so I went to ring the service bell; that’s when a flash of crimson caught my eye. The hotel registry lay open, its cream-colored pages marred with a single, perfect drop of blood. There was more of it on the desk, I realized, a wide smear that wasn’t quite dry.
My hand strayed to my gun. “Hello?”
Silence.
I walked around to the other side of the desk. The drawers hung open, and the cupboards too. The safe was dappled with bloody fingerprints, though it didn’t look to have been opened. A door marked PRIVATE stood ajar. Warily, I stepped through, and that’s where I found the body. It sat slumped against the wall, almost as if it had been propped there. The owner, I realized, recognizing his straw-colored hair. Stabbed, from the look of things, and not long ago. I swallowed down a surge of nausea. No matter how many times you see it, murder is always horrific.
I’d just knelt for a closer look when the door swung open.
Quicker than you could say tough day, I had my gun pointed at the man’s face. He yelped and threw his hands up; we recognized each other in the same instant.
“Damnation!” The night clerk clutched at his chest. “You about scared the life outta me!”
I lowered my gun, but only because I didn’t want him to see my hands shaking. “What happened here?”
“Mr. Oliver got kilt.”
“I can see that. Do you know who killed him?”
“No, ma’am. Looks like he was robbed, though. His pockets was turned out, and they took his belt buckle. Probably they was laying for him just outside the back door, and jumped him on his way home.” Seeing my puzzled expression, he added, “It was me brung him in here while I went to fetch the law. Didn’t want him just lying there for any old Peeping Tom to see.”
“Is the sheriff on his way, then?”
“Not yet. He were … indisposed, I guess you’d call it. Best to catch Hell Roaring Bill early in the day, if you take my meaning.”
Drunk. Doesn’t that just figure. “What about his deputy?”
“We’ll track him down. Don’t you fret.”
I clucked my tongue in disgust. No wonder Wallace and his boys chose this place to lie low. I wondered if Bowie Bill might even be to blame. He was famous for using a pig-sticker, after all. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot around here?”
“Now ’n’ then. Gets to where you can smell it coming on. Folk is all nervy and ill-tempered. They get to drinking and gambling, and then…” He gestured vaguely at the body. “Anyhow, you don’t need to worry about it none. Like I said, the law’ll be here by and by, and they’ll sort it all out. Now, I’m gonna have to take care of this, but is there anything you need? Cup of tea? Hot bath? Splash of laudanum? I know you got the delicate nerves and all.”
“I … pardon?”
“That nightmare you had the other night musta really been something. I’ve heard plenty of hollering up there on account of this place being haunted, but that scream you did…” He shook his head. “No offense, ma’am, but I don’t need to be replacing that door again. So why don’t you let me have Lucy fix you some chamomile and draw you up a nice, relaxing bath?”
I hesitated, but there wasn’t much point pretending I could be of service here. Even if I wanted to get involved in a stray murder case, Thomas and I were in over our heads already. And besides, from the sounds of things, this would be nothing new to Hell Roaring Bill Jones. Just another day in the Wild West, I thought, holstering my gun. “When you do speak to the sheriff, tell him he ought to question Bowie Bill Wallace. And that fellow from Bismarck, too. I saw him arguing with Mr. Oliver earlier today. I think he was trying to buy the hotel.”
After which I accepted the tea and the bath, though I drew the line at laudanum.
It’s a strange sensation, soaking in lavender water when you know there’s a corpse one floor below. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The detective in me went over the crime scene, while the former housemaid couldn’t help wondering how they’d get the bloodstains out of the floorboards. Neither train of thought was especially relaxing, so I decided to read Clara’s letter, which I’d kept tucked in the pocket of my trousers. It did my heart good to see her familiar neat hand. She must have had a meticulous schoolmarm, someone just like Mam who clucked and tutted over every loop and line. But there was nothing fussy about the prose. That was pure Clara, and it brought a smile to my face.
Dear Rose,
I hope it didn’t worry you to find a letter from me so soon. Everything is all right here, but I figured you ought to know what happened the other day so you got your story straight by the time you come home.
I was down at the Eighteenth Street station, and who do I bump into coming off the el but your friend Pietro, and right behind him your mama. How strange is that? I finally meet them after all this time and not a month later I run into them on the street. Anyhow, your mama gets to asking if I’ve heard from you all, and I forget what the story is supposed to be, so I go and say something addlebrained about the weather in Newport. Well, she gives me this funny look because of course you all are not supposed to be in Newport. So now she’s worried, and Pietro is practically dancing a jig because I’m messing it up so bad, and all I can think to do is skedaddle before I make things worse.
But don’t worry, your friend Edith fixed it. I got to admit, Rose, I wasn’t sure about her at first, but she’s all right. She came around yesterday, asking if you’d written yet. I told her how I messed things up with your mama, and she said not to worry, she’d take care of it. And that’s just what she did. She went straight down to your place with some flimflam about needing to pick up a few things for you, and oh by the way, Mr. Wiltshire started his holiday in Newport but you all was in Long Island now, and that’s where she was headed because he was throwing some big fancy party. So it’s all fixed up, and all you need to remember is that bit about Newport and your mama will never know the difference.
I hope you’re enjoying Medora. I started to read about it and then decided it would be best for my nerves if I didn’t. All I can say is it don’t sound like a place any good Christian soul would want to live. You all be careful, now.
Love,
Clara
CHAPTER 15
EXODUS—CUI BONO—A DILEMMA DEFERRED
If I’d had time to answer Clara’s letter, I’d have told her I didn’t think there was a soul, Christian or otherwise, enjoying Medora just now.
Word of the monster sighting at Custer Creek tore through the town like wildfire. Bowie Bill, or one of his boys, must have ridden through the streets like Paul Revere, because by the time I’d finished my bath and put on a fresh shirt, the commotion outside was audible. The stage to Deadwood wasn’t due to leave until tomorrow morning, but there it was, parked on the street below my window as it loaded up with passengers. There was a queue outside the Northern Pacific ticket office, and when I headed downstairs, I found the clerk struggling to handle a
crowd of guests waiting to check out. Medora was clearing out faster than a typhoid town.
Thomas had left word to meet him at the saloon. For supper, I presumed, but it would be a working supper, judging from the mountain of books I found him poring over. Granger’s was busy, but that hadn’t stopped my partner from claiming two tables for himself, over which he’d spread half the Astor Library.
“No wonder it took two men to lift your trunk,” I said, sinking into a chair across from him.
He paused in his note taking, his hand sliding across the table to take mine. “How are you feeling? It must have been a terrible shock to find a body waiting for you at the hotel.”
“Not my first murder scene.”
I’d been trying for professional indifference, but I guess I didn’t quite manage it, because Thomas arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps not, but the first you weren’t prepared for, surely? It’s perfectly natural to be shaken, Rose.”
“Has it ever happened to you? Stumbling across a murder scene, I mean.”
I’m not sure why I asked, and I sensed immediately that it was a mistake. Something dark passed through Thomas’s eyes. “I have,” he said, returning to his notes.
“Have you seen what’s going on outside? Safe to say everybody knows what happened at Custer Creek.”
“Indeed. They’re calling it the Medora Monster. Frightfully unimaginative, if you ask me. Judging from the snippets of conversation I’ve overheard, half of these fine fellows”—he gestured at the crowded barroom—“are planning to drink their way through to the 8:35 Atlantic Express tomorrow morning.”
“So much for keeping things quiet. I don’t suppose our client will be pleased.” To say nothing of the United States government. The special branch was under strict orders to keep paranormal matters out of the public eye. We called it the Containment Protocol, and it was one of our most important directives. “What if the story hits the papers in Bismarck, or even Chicago?”
“It’s not our tidiest operation, to be sure, but you needn’t worry. Breaches like these aren’t as uncommon as one might think, and we always manage to control them. The Agency will take care of the newspapers and any stray officials who need to be brought back into the fold.”