CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A man’s body lay facedown in the street at the corner of Main Street and North Adams and by the time Red and Buttons reached there, a crowd had already gathered.
Buttons, stocky and strong, elbowed his way to the body and asked a young man, who looked like a respectable clerk of some kind, “Who is he?”
The man shook his head. “I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him before today.” He looked closely at the body, then turned to Buttons again and said, “I don’t think he’s from around these parts.”
“Make way there! Make way!”
Sheriff Herman Ritter pushed his way through the crowd and examined the man.
“Is . . . is he dead?” a woman asked, nervously twisting the lace handkerchief in her hands.
“As he’s ever gonna be,” Buttons said. “He’s been shot through and through.”
The woman shrieked, and Red said, “Nice going, Buttons.”
“What?” Buttons said, surprised.
Red was spared answering as Ritter said to the crowd, “Did anyone see what happened?”
“I did,” the respectable-looking clerk said. “I was walking out of Doan’s general store when I heard two shots and saw the man fall.”
“Did you see the shooter?” Ritter said.
“I caught a glimpse of him as he ran into the alley across there on the far side of Adams,” the young man said. “He’s wearing a dark blue shirt and brown pants. That’s all I saw.”
Ritter, a man without deputies, looked around the crowd and spotted Buttons and Red. “Ryan, check out the alley. Muldoon, you stay here with me. The murderer might have accomplices.”
It occurred to Red that Ritter was being a tad high and mighty with his orders, but he recalled that he owed the sheriff a favor or two dating back to the time of the adventuress Hannah Huckabee’s visit to Fredericksburg, and he merely nodded and angled across the street to the alley.
* * *
A three-story brick warehouse with barred windows and big, shapeless bushes pushing up at its foundations stood to Red’s right as he entered the alleyway. On his left, the rear of a general store, opened packing cases, and wisps of straw littered around its back door. Ahead of him more stores and another large warehouse with a parked freight wagon against its wall along with some empty wooden barrels. Red drew his Colt and walked deeper into the alley, hot and windless, the only sound the crunch of his boots on sandy gravel. A high, merciless sun bore down through a haze of dust, and the still air smelled vaguely of beer and boiled cabbage and outhouses. His eyes never at rest, Red stepped carefully and warily, his palm sweaty on the handle of his cocked revolver.
A narrow space ran between the warehouses, and he approached the gap carefully, annoyed that he could hear his own quick gasps of breath as he cautiously put one foot in front of the other. Suddenly he felt it . . . the nearness of another human being . . . as palpable as footsteps in a fog.
As tense as he was, Red almost jumped out of his skin. He brought up the Colt and yelled in the direction of the passageway between the warehouses and yelled, “Come out of there with your hands high or I’ll drill ya.”
“Don’t shoot!”
A woman’s voice, high-pitched and nervous.
“Walk on out, slowly,” Red said. “I’m with six marshals here, all well-armed and determined men.”
“Don’t shoot. I’m coming out.”
A plain-faced girl wearing a yellow dress, holding an open parasol over her head, stepped out of the gap. She smiled at Red and said, “Did I scare you?”
Red thumbed down the hammer of his Colt and asserted his manhood. “I’ve been scared by experts in my time, usually road agents or Apaches,” he said. “But girls don’t scare me.” Then, frowning, “Did you see a man wearing a blue shirt run down this alley?”
The girl nodded. “Yes, I did, right after I heard a gunshot.” She pointed in the other direction. “He was headed that way.”
Red looked down the alley, but it was empty. “Seems like he got away,” he said. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”
The girl hesitated a moment and then said, “My brother and me are visiting Fredericksburg for the first time, and I decided to take a stroll and see the sights.”
“In an alley?”
“I got lost.”
“You staying at the Alpenrose Inn?” Red said.
“No. We’re further down Main Street at the Palace.”
“Well, let me escort you home,” Red said. “There’s a killer on the loose.”
The girl took Red’s arm and said, “You are very kind.”
As they walked, Red said, “Name’s Red Ryan. I’m a shotgun messenger for the Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company.”
“You must be very brave,” the girl said. After another moment’s hesitation, she said, “My name is Effie . . . Effie Bell.”
“Right glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Bell,” Red said.
“Who was shot, Mr. Ryan?” the girl said.
“Some feller,” Red said. “I don’t know who.”
“For a moment back there I was very afraid,” the girl said. “I was gently raised, and I’m not used to shooting and killing.”
Red smiled. “Well, don’t be scared. You’re safe with me.”
The girl squeezed his arm. “Mr. Ryan, you’re my knight in shining armor,” she said.
* * *
“He’s a shotgun messenger and he walked me to the hotel,” the girl said. “He chased after you, and I met him in the alley.”
“Did anyone recognize me?” Donny Bryson said. “Did he say?”
“No. He told me he was looking for a man wearing a blue shirt. That was all.”
Donny unbuttoned the shirt and tossed it into a corner. “I won’t wear that again in Fredericksburg,” he said. “I’m sure the man I killed in the street recognized me.”
“Who was he, Donny?” the girl said.
“I don’t know. But if I had to guess I’d say he was a lawman from Austin. Damn devil looked at me strange.”
“What will we do now?” the girl said. “Maybe we should get out of this town.”
“Heck, no, we won’t. At least not now. There could be something big brewing.”
“What have you heard, Donny?”
“Right now, there are four monks in Fredericksburg who could make us rich if we play the cards right.”
“What’s a monk?” the girl said.
“A kind of holy man. He wears a robe and sich and lives in a place called a monastery where he says prayers all day long.”
“So what are four monks doing here?”
“It’s supposed to be a secret, but the desk clerk says the whole town knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That the monks are here to build a mission out in the prairie around a holy relic.”
“What’s a holy relic?” the girl said.
“Well, this one is the staff of Moses . . . and don’t ask me who Moses was. I’ll tell you later,” Donny said. “The thing is, the staff is supposed to be as tall as a man, made from solid gold and studded with jewels . . . diamonds and rubies and the like. It’s valuable enough to keep a man in luxury for the rest of his life.”
“Is that true? I mean, solid gold with jewels?”
“Yeah, back in them olden Bible days folks had all kinds of gold and jewelry lying around.”
“When you said luxury, did you mean big house and horse and carriage luxury?”
“Yeah. That kind of luxury. Servants, private railroad cars, the whole enchilada.”
The girl seemed eager. “How do we get the staff?”
Donny smiled. “The way we usually get things we want, kill the monks and take it. A golden staff will be of more use to us than them.”
“Do you have a plan?” the girl said.
“Not yet, but I’m working on it,” Donny said. “The clerk says the monks are staying at the Alpenrose Inn. We’ll keep an eye on them.”
The girl sat down hard on the bed, her face aglow. “Oh, Donny, I’m so excited,” she said. “A big house, servants . . . I can’t believe my luck.” A pause, then, “Donny, will you call me Effie? Now I’m going to be rich, I need a name of my own.”
“Sure,” Donny said. “I’ll call you whatever the heck name you want.”