The Reckoning Page 11

  Kelly let the rest of the whip uncoil. “So it wasn’t just an accident. Everybody knows that’s the major’s supply wagon, so who’d be stupid enough to try to stop it?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I been too busy tryin’ to figure out a new schedule here this morning to…”

  “Well, get out there and take a look around, dammit. Tompkins ain’t payin’ you to make schedules. He’s payin’ you to keep ’em. And when you find out about that roadblock, you ride on out to the ranch and let me know. Understand?” A flick of the whip.

  “Yessir.”

  Kelly coiled the whip again slowly, dismissed the foreman, and marched straight to the Wildfire. Porter was still on his mind. The bartender greeted him as he sat solo at a table by the far wall. “Hello, Dan. Nice to see you.” Nick came out from behind the bar and stood by Kelly’s table. “What can I get for you today?”

  “A couple whiskeys. No…just bring me the whole damn bottle and a clean glass. I know you must have a clean glass behind the counter there somewhere. I just ain’t seen one in here before.” The scowl on Kelly’s face said everything.

  The bartender scurried back to the bar and began wiping a glass clean for all he was worth. He brought a bottle and a shot glass back to the table and stood there staring silently.

  Without looking up, Kelly said, “Go away, Nick.” A short bow and the bartender walked back to the counter and fumbled around for more glasses to clean. Kelly had just finished his third shot when he called Nick back over.

  “Was the major here recently?” Kelly already knew he was.

  “Why, yes, he was. It was a real pleasure to…”

  “Was he askin’ about that poker game in here the other day?”

  “Which one was that? You play here so much that I’m not sure which one you mean.”

  Kelly reached under the table and placed his revolver on top.

  Nick stammered. “You mean…do you mean when you was playin’ with that stranger, that new fella?”

  Kelly squinted. “You know that’s the one I mean. What did the major want to know?”

  “Nothin’ much, really. He just asked about what happened, and I told him it was just a poker game.”

  “What else did he ask?” He put a hand on the weapon.

  “Well, he just asked if there was any problem, and I told him it weren’t much, but he asked about it again.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  The bartender’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I just said that…there was this new fella playin’ poker…and… there weren’t no trouble, exactly. That you handled it just fine. The stranger was down a lot, then came back hard, and quit when he was just over even again.”

  “What did you tell him about how he left?”

  “Well, I just told the major that the fella seemed to want to keep playin’, but you said somethin’ like he should leave before he lost all his money again. The drifter still didn’t want to go, so you encouraged him a little bit with your pistol.”

  “What did the major say when you told him about that?”

  “He asked if you fired at him, and I said I really didn’t see all that went on, because I was tendin’ to my customers.” Nick’s gaze dropped to the floor. He kept wiping his hands on his dirty apron. “I said the way I heard it was you fired at him, and the fella didn’t flinch. He just kept walkin’ out the door.”

  “You told him all that, did you?” Kelly started to get up.

  Nick raised both hands out in front of him. “There’s nothin’ I could do, Dan. The major kept askin’ questions, like he already knew what happened. It weren’t my fault.”

  Kelly stood motionless for a moment, then waved the bartender away. He poured another shot, twirled it in his hand, and threw it back in one quick motion. He needed someone in town to keep a closer eye on the stranger. Lorraine sprang to mind. He and the major had been awful nice to her since her husband died. She owed Kelly. He’d visit her before he rode back to the ranch. But first, he had The Sew Pretty in his sights. He dropped a half dime on the table and headed for the street. On his way out, he yelled, “And get some damn decent whiskey in here!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Outside the Wildfire, Kelly strode down the middle of the muddy main street as it made a slightly crooked path through town. Several folks said hello as he passed, but he never was one to return a greeting. Ahead on his right was the mercantile, then The Sew Pretty.

  As Kelly passed by the general store, Ned O’Toole hurried out the front door. “Hello, Dan! Why, I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my store for quite a while.”

  “No, you ain’t, O’Toole. What I want ain’t in your store. I’m just in town to check on the major’s hotel.”

  O’Toole hurried closer to the top hand. “Yes sir, and a fine establishment it’s going to be. Why, I keep braggin’ on it ’cause it’s the biggest thing to hit this town, ever. When’s it gonna be done, Dan?”

  “It better be soon, better be soon.” But there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. The delays plaguing the hotel nagged at him. The major wasn’t going to take the news well.

  O’Toole said, “As long as you’re here, why don’t you come in the store and look around? I got some new firearms in just the other day, and some new felt hats, just like the kind you got on. Got ’em in black, gray, and brown. And if you don’t mind my sayin’, the one you’re wearin’ looks a mite wore out.”

  Kelly took the gray hat off his head and examined it. He brushed a hand over some old stains, then put it back on. “Some of those marks were hard-earned, O’Toole. Got ’em in places and ways that a man don’t forget easy, and they deserve to be remembered.” He turned and headed on a straight line to The Sew Pretty.

  Margaret was at the shop’s door before the small bell overhead even rang. “Why, hello, Mr. Kelly, what brings you to town?” A wan smile appeared on her face. “Would you be looking for a hat to surprise a sweetheart with? I have several quite beautiful new ones over here. Just received them this week. They’re high-fashion accessories from back east. Perhaps…”

  “Cut the small talk. I just came by to catch up on the town’s doin’s.”

  “Why, Mr. Kelly, I hardly know anything about what goes on around here.” She moved behind a large table full of various-colored cloth and quickly looked out the front window, then back to Kelly.

  “That’s not what I hear, shop lady. You’re being too modest. Word is, if you want to catch up on local gossip, this is the place.”

  Margaret flushed. “Why, I have no idea what you are talking about, sir.” She had a wide-eyed look. “Anyway, is there something else I can help you with today?” Margaret walked to the wall where her hats hung. She fiddled with something with her back to Kelly.

  Kelly moved purposely around the shop with his right hand resting on his gun, never taking his eyes off her. “I hear you’ve had a stranger visiting your shop. Tell me about him.”

  Margaret smiled. “You mean Ike Porter? He’s just looking for his sister, Sue. But you already know that. What is it you really want to know, Mr. Kelly?”

  “What did you tell him about that sister of his?” He was still making Sue his business even after he’d shot her.

  Margaret said, “He knew she used to work here. I just told him she didn’t come to work one morning, and that I hadn’t heard from her since.”

  Kelly stopped and stared directly at Margaret. “That sounds like a good way to leave it. Here’s a little gift from the major. Fifty dollars. Why don’t you wagon a hat out to his wife sometime?” He flipped the folded bill at Margaret, eyes narrowing as he did. Before she could respond, he turned on his heel and strode out the shop’s front door.

  ****

  Margaret wanted nothing more than to see Kelly’s back as he walked away. The bully stole the joy out of everything and everyone he was around. He and Tompkins were vermin. She’d filled Sue in about them every chance she could and wished she could tell her again. Say anything
to her again. Margaret picked up a small piece of wood by the stove and threw it at the door.

  Thunk.

  Outside, the foreman hesitated for a moment, then continued to walk toward his horse.

  Margaret dithered about whether to look Ike up and tell him about Kelly’s interest in him. She’d have to go to Lorraine’s place to do that, though, and she wasn’t about to go see one of the few other single women in town again. Other than the girls at the Wildfire. Lorraine could just come over here if she wanted to know anything about Kelly’s visit. She stared at the fifty-dollar bill for a moment, then smiled as she waved it in the air before placing it carefully in her desk drawer. She was set for a while.

  ****

  Ike was taking target practice on the outside of town, shooting rusted tin cans off a fallen log. He was near the edge of the forest that bordered Cottonwood, Ally grazing on the nearly-dormant grasses nearby.

  Buster pulled his mare up a short distance away. “You’re a hard man to find, Mr. Porter.”

  “Been right here in the open for a spell now, Buster. What can I do for you?” He reloaded his Colt .44, as smoke still trailed from the steel blue barrel.

  Buster dismounted and glanced up at a murky sky cluttered with flat gray clouds scurrying overhead. “Not a very nice day for much of anything, is it? Winter’s on the way.”

  Ike just nodded and spun the gun’s cylinder.

  Buster said, “Looks like it’s comin’ early this year, seems. Those mountains get cold as anything on days like this.” He gazed at the distant hills.

  Ike snugged percussion caps on the back of each cylinder and turned toward his visitor. “What’s on your mind?” His voice had a hard edge.

  “You don’t mince words, do you, Mr. Porter?”

  “No sense in it. Shoot.”

  Buster hesitated. “Any luck in findin’ more out about Sue?”

  Ike was surprised. “Get to the point, Buster. You didn’t come all the way out here just to ask me about my sister.” He whirled back to the log and fired two shots, only one of which launched a can in the air.

  “Right. I was just thinkin’, you might want to scout out the place where George Pinshaw went down.”

  “Now, why would I want to do that?” Ike stared at the remaining can as if it had insulted him.

  “Don’t know for sure, just a feelin’.”

  Ike fast-drew again and knocked the offending can off. After he’d reloaded, he turned to Buster and held him with a hard stare. “Then let’s you and me both go. Now.”

  “Yessir. I thought you might say that. We can head down that little trail right there.” He pointed to a faint path that ran through the meadow in the distance.

  Ike gave Buster a sideways glance. The handyman had a clear head about him today.

  They mounted up and struck to the south, leaving the town behind at a fast pace. Neither spoke as they rode, and as the miles piled up, the broad brown valley gradually narrowed with low hills rising slightly on either side of it. A row of cottonwoods appeared in a depression in the distance, a sure sign of water in this dry land.

  While they were still a ways from the creek, Buster called out, “That’s where Mr. Pinshaw was shot.” He pointed toward the trees ahead. “The trail we’re on now crosses right over a little stream by the trees and lies on a direct line between Cottonwood and Emerald Valley Ranch.” As the two riders slowed, the cottonwoods on either side of the faint trail gave way to a sheltered grove. A low stream ran right to left in front of them. On the other side of the water, the trail reappeared and wound up a slight earthen rise until it disappeared over the top again.

  Buster slowed as they neared the sheltered spot. He rose in his saddle and looked around.

  “What’s got you so interested, Buster?”

  “Nothin’, I guess. It’s just that you never know who might be watchin’.” He pulled a bottle from his saddlebag and took a swig. He held it out to Ike. “Care for a drink?”

  “No, thanks.” That was an odd thing for Buster to say. “What do you mean by that? Who might be watchin’?”

  “I just meant you can’t be too careful out here on the trail. Like I said, this is right where Pinshaw was killed. Why don’t we take a look around?” Buster dismounted and walked his horse across the stream, waiting for Ike.

  Ike glanced around and rode across the shallow creek. How was this getting him any closer to finding out what happened to Sue? He stared at Buster and shook his head. After he dismounted, he tied Ally off on a scrub oak and examined his surroundings. His gaze fell on something out of the ordinary. He walked over to a tall cottonwood whose broad leaves had just started falling and fingered a dark spot on the light gray bark. He worked his knife blade through the soft material in the middle of the stain and extracted a deformed bullet. After holding it up to the tree-filtered light, he looked over at Buster. “This looks like what’s left of a .36 slug.”

  Buster shook his head. “How’d you see that hole in the bark? I been out here lots and still missed it.”

  “It just looked out of place.” The last time he’d seen a .36 slug was when they’d captured all those Confederate arms in Atlanta. What was one doing out here? “And somebody plugged it here fairly recent, sometime in the last few months, I’d say.”

  “How do you know that?” Buster walked over to the cottonwood and eyed the bullet.

  “See this bark? It’s busted up some around the bullet hole, and where it’s broke off, there’s a dark patch, maybe a stain, around it. The broken bark around the spot is still light underneath and hasn’t weathered back to its original color yet, which tells me it’s recent.”

  Buster squinted at the bullet hole and the brown spot around it. “Well, that’d fit all right.” His eyes swept the shaded clearing again, and he took another drink.

  Ike turned to the small man. “What’s that mean? What would fit?”

  “It means the time would fit with when Pinshaw died here.”

  Ike stared at Buster. “Not sure that means anything—this doesn’t tie Pinshaw to this tree or this bullet. The .36 ain’t as common as a .44, but I’d guess there’s more than one fella around here that carries one on his hip.” He flashed back to the run-in he had with Kelly.

  Buster looked at the slug. “Anything else unusual about that bullet?”

  Ike glanced down. “Don’t see nothin’. It’s pretty mashed up. But I’ll just keep it anyway,” and he put it in his shirt pocket.

  Buster circled an old fire pit nearby surrounded by low blackened rocks. “This ain’t had a fire in it for a while.” Scattered grasses burned away near the outside of the pit were sprouting again, but frosty nights had halted them for the season.

  “So what? What’re you lookin’ for?”

  Buster’s gaze fell to the skimpy ground cover around the pit. “Don’t rightly know. Just lookin’.”

  Ike took his hat off and ran a hand through his long hair, then put it back on again. “What’re we doin’ out here, Buster?”

  “Just a hunch. Like I said, this trail goes directly between the ranch and town. There’s no turnoffs on it either. It ain’t traveled on near as much as the main road, but I see ranch hands ridin’ into town on it sometimes.”

  “What does that have to do with Sue?”

  “Gettin’ to that. Might not have anything to do with her, but it might be that one of the Emerald Valley hands met Pinshaw out here.”

  “So?”

  “Well, that’s just it. If he met somebody from Emerald Valley, there might be a connection with Sue.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well, from the looks of it, Pinshaw was meetin’ somebody out here for some reason. Since this trail is a straight shot between town and the Emerald Valley, I figger it was probably somebody from the ranch that he met. Might be that the hand came here because he didn’t want to meet Pinshaw at the ranch or in town. So, maybe the two of them decided to meet at some out of the way spot like this, intentional.”
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  “Why?” Ike asked.

  Buster fell silent for a moment. “I reckon there could be several reasons. One is that George owed someone some money ’cause of his gambling debts, and he was out here to pay up or ask for more time.”

  “So, he was a big gambler?”

  “Yeah. Bein’ a gambler ain’t good if you’re bad at it. And George was bad. He was always beggin’ money off his wife, and maybe she finally said, ‘Enough, that’s it.’ Who knows?”

  Ike said, “Margaret Pinshaw doesn’t strike me as someone a husband could push around.”

  “Well, it also could have been that Pinshaw came to talk about somethin’ that one of ’em didn’t want known, so that’s why they met way out here private-like. If that was the reason, my guess is it was probably the ranch hand who didn’t want somethin’ known.”

  Ike paced the creek bank. “Why’s that?”

  “Well, it ain’t likely that a cowboy would be tellin’ an hombre from town somethin’ secret, so it’s probably Pinshaw that had somethin’ to tell the cowboy. And it was probably somethin’ important if they met all the way out here.”

  “Sounds like we don’t really know why George was out here, could have been almost anything.”

  Buster sat at the fire pit. “I lean toward George knowin’ somethin’ bad.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he’s the one got killed. Maybe the shooter figgered he could shut George up right here and be done with it.”

  Ike said, “Even if that’s true, I still don’t get how this might be connected to Sue.”

  Buster shrugged. “Can’t be sure that it is, but I know Pinshaw was sweet on Sue. Stands to reason that if he knew somethin’ important, then maybe he told her about it before he came down here, so he could be a big man in her eyes.”

  Ike picked Buster’s idea up from there. “So, you’re sayin’ if George told Sue about whatever it was that got him killed, and George told the fella that shot him that he’d told her, then maybe she was the killer’s next target.” His voice trailed off, and he stared down at the clear, cold creek.

  “That’s the way I figured it too,” said Buster. “Whatever it is, it must be somethin’ bad if it gets two people killed.” Buster stopped short and looked up at Ike. “Sorry—didn’t mean to say that your sister’s dead. All we know for sure is she ain’t around here no more.”