CHAPTER 34

Libby held her pearl-handled revolver in her hand when she went to open her door. Gert stood on the landing outside.

“Did you hear? The mayor’s been shot.”

Libby sighed and lowered the pistol. “I wondered what it was all about.”

“Come over to the Walkers’ with me,” Gert said. “Ethan’s taken a posse after the shooter, and I don’t want you here alone.”

“A posse? They know who did it?”

“I saw him.” Gert’s mouth was set in a grim line.

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I was waiting outside Bitsy’s for Ethan. The killer came out of the shadows over by the telegraph office and shot Mr. Walker. Then he stole Ralph Storrey’s horse. Ralph’s madder than a wounded grizzly. I wanted to ride with the posse, but …” Her face contorted in a grimace. “We may be deputies, but we’re still women. Come on. And bring your gun. I don’t have one.”

“Would you like to carry my Peacemaker? I’ve got the little Smith & Wesson now.”

“I’d feel easier,” Gert admitted, and Libby ran for the weapon and her cloak.

A half dozen women had gathered in the Walkers’ kitchen. Apphia Benton met Gert and Libby at the door and told them in hushed tones that Mrs. Walker, Mrs. Harper, and the minister were with the mayor.

They milled about, talking quietly. Myra Harper and Ellie Nash took over the cookstove and made coffee and gingerbread for any who wanted some. Libby kept several pans of water boiling in case Annie called for it. After half an hour, Annie emerged from the bedchamber, asking for clean rags. Libby and Gert searched about but couldn’t find anything that looked the least bit frayed.

“Typical of Orissa,” muttered Ellie. “Here, take this.” She handed Annie a clean linen towel.

“How is he?” Libby asked.

“Not good. I’m afraid the bullet’s done more damage than I can undo. If we had a surgeon …” Annie shook her head and went back into the bedroom.

A knock sounded on the door, and Libby hurried to open it. Emmaline Landry with Starr Tinen, her little girl, and her mother-in-law entered.

“Micah rode off with the sheriff’s posse,” Emmaline said as she removed her bonnet. “He told me to get the Tinen ladies and come here, as Arthur Tinen and his father were with the posse, too.”

“They’d gone into town right after supper,” Starr explained. She stooped to help four-year-old Hester untie her bonnet strings. “I was looking for Arthur to come home, and here came Emmaline with word to fort up at the mayor’s house.”

Emmaline shrugged. “I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Micah wouldn’t stop and tell me everything. Just that the killer had shot Mayor Walker, and the posse was going to ride him down. Told me to get to town and stay here until they come back.”

“Did a single horseman ride past your place before that?”

“Not that I saw,” Emmaline said.

“Me either.” Starr gave Libby a pouty face as she stood. “We’d have been as safe at the ranch, now that Ma Tinen and I know how to shoot.”

“Oh well,” said Jessie Tinen, Starr’s mother-in-law. “It’s a chance to see the other ladies.” She took her granddaughter’s hand and walked with Hester toward the kitchen door. “So, tell me, is the mayor killed?”

“No.” Libby nodded toward the closed door of the bedchamber. “But his condition is grave. Annie Harper and Mr. Benton are seeing to him, but it doesn’t look promising.”

“Dear, dear.” Jessie shook her head.

As they entered the kitchen, the other women greeted Emmaline and the Tinens. Florence drew Starr into a corner for a gossip, and Ellie offered refreshments to the newcomers.

Gert paced back and forth between the wood box and the pitcher pump that loomed over one end of the cast-iron sink. The Walkers were one of the few families to have a pump in the house, and Libby tried to squelch her envy each time she looked at it.

She cornered Gert near the wood box. “Should we make a foray to the emporium? If they need more bandages …”

“I could go with you if you like.” Gert’s eagerness told Libby she chafed at the confines of Orissa’s kitchen, no matter how modern the furnishings.

“Let me ask Annie if they need anything else.”

Libby went to the bedroom door and tapped softly. Mr. Benton opened it. Beyond him, Orissa Walker sat stiffly at her husband’s bedside, her white face more pinched than usual. Libby’s heart wrenched for her. Annie’s broad back bent over the swathed figure on the bed. At her feet rested a wash basin full of bloody water and drenched cloths.

Libby murmured to the pastor, “Miss Dooley and I thought we’d go together to my store and fetch anything that’s needed here. I’ve some soft cotton Annie could use for bandages, and perhaps she could use some peroxide or salve.” She shrugged, trying to think what other medicinal supplies she had in stock. She had yet to replenish some of her inventory since the fire.

Mr. Benton consulted Mrs. Harper and returned with a short list of items the nurse thought would be useful. When Libby reached the front hall, Gert waited for her. Light spilled from the door of the front room, and the gentle murmur of Apphia’s voice reached them.

“They’re praying,” Gert whispered. “Mrs. Benton suggested it, and they’ve all gone into the parlor.”

Libby snatched her cloak and handbag from the coat tree near the door.

“It frets me that Emmaline didn’t hear anyone ride past her house before the posse came,” Gert said as they went out into the cool evening. “I saw the shooter ride off, and Griff saw him go past the livery. That’s the last anyone knows for sure about where he went.”

“There’s not much out there but a few ranches.” Libby took out the key to the store.

“What if he cut off across country or circled back? He could be anywhere now.”

“You mustn’t worry.” They reached the store, and Libby unlocked the door. They spent the next ten minutes gathering a basket full of supplies for Annie. Libby added a pound of tea and a small sack of sugar. When they left, Gert looked carefully about before they stepped out onto the boardwalk. The street was silent and dark except for lights from the two subdued saloons and the few houses on Main Street. Gert kept the Peacemaker in her hand as they walked.

“I think we should tell the others about the pennies.”

Libby eyed her in surprise. “You mean the one on my counter after the fire and the one Ethan found near Bert Thalen’s body?”

Gert nodded. “There was one near Milzie’s body, too. My brother found that one. And … well, there’ve been others you probably don’t know about.”

Libby’s pulse beat faster, and her throat squeezed. “When?”

“After the warehouse fire, and again tonight.”

“No.”

“I’m afraid so. This killer has been using the mayor for his latest target.”

Libby slowed her steps. “And Ethan knew this?”

“Not specifically. Until tonight, I mean.” Gert’s mournful expression and ragged voice tugged at Libby’s heart. “We’ve talked about how this outlaw seemed to be going after important people in the town. You, Bert, Cyrus. And now Mr. Walker.”

Libby nodded slowly, thinking back over the last two months. “Cyrus because of Milzie being killed in his office.”

“Yes. And Isabel saw a man loitering in the alley there, too.”

“I remember. She and Cyrus came to tell me about it.” Libby shivered. “So you think he was lying in wait for Cyrus, not for me or Isabel.”

“The more I think about it, the more I believe that.”

“It’s almost a relief to hear you say that—it means he probably wasn’t planning to do me bodily harm. Although the fires …” She studied Gert’s profile as they approached the Walkers’ dooryard. “What would he have against Cyrus? And me and Bert and Mayor Walker, for that matter?”

“That’s what we need to find out. I think it’s time we brought the rest of the ladies in on this.”

“How can they help?”

Gert reached to touch her arm, and they stopped walking before the front steps. “We need to figure out who’s doing this. If the men don’t catch up with him, he’ll kill again.”

Libby stared into her friend’s troubled eyes. The lamplight from the window of the Walkers’ front room illuminated Gert’s face.

“My dear, you saw the mayor attacked tonight. You’ve had a shock.”

“No, Libby, listen to me.” Gert’s voice cracked, but she went on earnestly. “I should have been able to put a name to the killer. I saw him. True, his face was hidden. I tried to help Ethan by describing the man’s size and clothing and demeanor. It didn’t help. Now, Ethan is a fine man, and a fairly clever one, don’t you think?”

“Yes, dear, he’s a very fine man.”

Gert nodded and chewed her lower lip for a moment. “But if he and Hiram and I can’t figure this out, we need more people. Different folks come at things from different directions.”

Libby could see that nothing short of a powwow would calm her young friend. “All right, let’s go in and talk to the ladies then. If the posse can’t solve this case, perhaps the Ladies’ Shooting Club can.”

Ethan sent two men to check on the Robinsons and rode onward. Only one more homestead on this road before it petered out in the hills. Milzie Peart’s. A few minutes later, he and Hiram pulled up next to the burned-out cabin. A dozen men thundered in behind them and reined in their mounts.

“When did this place burn?” Griffin asked.

“Sometime this spring.” Ethan looked toward the hillside. “We’d best check the old mine, but I don’t see any horse.”

Hiram dismounted and dropped Hoss’s reins. Ethan and Griff climbed down to join him. Ethan turned to address the other men.

“Wait here. There’s a cave yonder, and we’ll check it.”

A minute later they stood to one side of the entrance. Hiram sniffed the air. Ethan quirked his eyebrows at him, but Hi shook his head.

“I’ve got matches,” Griffin said. An instant later, a small light flared up in his hands.

“There’s candles inside.” Before Ethan could stop him, Hiram scurried into the cave. The light flickered out, but Hiram reappeared in the entrance as Griffin lit another match. The gunsmith held out a short stub of candle, and Griffin put the match to the wick.

“If he were in there, he’d have shot us by now,” Ethan noted.

“Sorry.” Hiram ducked his head.

“Not the most brilliant thing you ever did.”

They walked into the cave together, with Hiram holding the candle high. A quick survey told them the cave was empty, and nothing appeared disturbed.

“Let’s go.” Ethan led them outside again. As they descended the path to the waiting posse, the two men he’d detailed at the Robinsons’ rode up.

“No one’s been by there until we came,” Parnell Oxley called.

Ethan bent and caught Scout’s reins. He looked up at the starry sky, thinking. Lord, show me what to do.

“We’re wasting time,” Griffin said. “He could be anywhere by now.”

Cyrus urged his mare over closer to Ethan. “Suppose he cut off by my ranch and rode west.”

“Could have, I guess,” Ethan said. “Or he could be up in these hills.”

“No sense going up there in the dark,” Micah Landry growled.

“What now?” asked Zach Harper. “Head back to town?”

“Hate to do that.” Ethan rubbed his scratchy chin. He looked around at the men. “How about if we split up? Half keep going this direction, and half go out the Owyhee Road?”

“He coulda lit out for Reynolds,” Augie Moore put in.

“Yes, he could have.” Ethan sighed. Probably the smartest thing would be to head back to Fergus. Most of the ranchers along the way had been alerted. The posse could go out in the morning and try to pick up the trail. He doubted they would. If they hadn’t trampled the outlaw’s tracks, they’d be mingled indistinguishably with the other hoofprints on the dusty roads.

“Gentlemen, I don’t know as we have much chance of finding this fellow tonight,” Ethan said.

“He’s got my horse,” Ralph Storrey called.

“I haven’t forgotten that.” Storrey’s ranch was on the south side of town, in the opposite direction to the one the outlaw had taken. Ethan puzzled over what little he knew.

“Let’s at least go out by my place,” Cyrus said. “We can ask if anyone out that way heard a rider go past.”

When no one presented a better plan, Ethan lifted his boot to the stirrup and swung onto Scout’s back. “All right, let’s go.”

“So the sheriff’s been collecting all these pennies from the crimes and trying to figure out who left them?” Starr’s eyes shone with the challenge.

“That’s right.” Gert faced all the women in the Walkers’ parlor and wondered if she’d made a wise decision. “I hoped the Ladies’ Shooting Club, and you other ladies, too,” she said, nodding deferentially to Bertha Runnels and Jessie Tinen, “could help us out. Seems to me, if we all put our heads together, we should be able to tell who the killer is.”

“Well, he’s not one of the posse,” Goldie said. She’d come over from the Spur & Saddle with a bottle of whiskey. Miss Shepard thought they might need it for the mayor, she’d explained. Apphia had gingerly accepted the bottle and carried it to the bedchamber as though she held a wriggling snake between her fingers.

“Now, that’s a good thought.” Gert pointed her index finger at Goldie. “See? I knew this would be helpful.”

“So, who was in the posse?” Ellie Nash asked.

“And who did you see at the Spur & Saddle after the outlaw rode away?” Myra added.

Libby jumped up. “Excellent! Let me get a pencil and a sheet of paper, ladies. We can make a list of men we know are innocent.”

Gert exhaled, feeling as though a huge rock had rolled off her chest. It wasn’t the same as naming the killer, but eliminating the better part of the town’s residents might bring them closer to the truth.

She looked around at the rapt faces. “All of you be thinking while she gets it.”

A minute later, Libby returned with a piece of brown wrapping paper and a pencil. She settled down on the settee next to Apphia, who handed her a book to use as a lap desk.

“All right,” Libby said. “Gert, you were there. Tell us which men you’re certain this infidel is not.”

“Well, Ethan Chapman, for sure. And Ralph Storrey. His horse was stolen.” Gert lowered her eyebrows, mentally counting the men who had poured out of the saloon. “Augie Moore. Ezra Dyer. Mr. Tinen—junior and senior. Uh … Parnell Oxley. One of the Storreys’ ranch hands. Mr. Runnels …” Gert’s gaze caught Goldie’s. The girl seemed barely able to contain herself. “Of course, Goldie was there, too. She might be able to tell us who was inside the Spur & Saddle when the shooting took place.”

Names spilled out of Goldie’s mouth faster than Libby could write them down. “Mr. Colburn, Maitland Dostie, Josh Runnels, Nealy and Clem Higgins. A drummer that came in on the Boise stagecoach. That feller who’s got a mine down the river. Micah Landry and the ranch hand Miss Dooley mentioned. Buck, they call him.”

“Well!” Gert felt a new admiration for the girl. “Anyone else?”

“Hmm …” Goldie’s brow furrowed. “Of course, Miss Bitsy was there, and Vashti and me.”

“Do you think it could have been a woman?” Florence asked. Everyone stared at her.

“I … I don’t think so.” Gert wished she could state emphatically that the killer was a man.

“All right,” Libby said, scribbling the last of the names. “If anyone else can positively give someone an alibi, tell me now.”

Most of the women quickly vouched for themselves and their husbands.

Isabel cleared her throat. “What about my father?”

Gert winced. “He came soon after the shooting. I believe he was … at the other end of town when it occurred.”

“Yes, I expect you’re right.” Isabel’s face was stricken. “I had two customers take rooms at the boardinghouse today. One was the salesman that Goldie mentioned. The other was an older gentleman who went to his room as soon as he’d had supper. Bill Stout was going to sleep there tonight, too, but he’d gone out.”

“Probably to the Nugget,” Gert hazarded. She wondered if the saloon girls on that end of town could give her a list of patrons.

Hester Tinen had fallen asleep on her mother’s lap. Starr curled a lock of the little girl’s hair around her finger as she spoke. “You know, we can’t rule out anyone who was at the Nugget tonight. Unless they vouch for each other, that is.”

Isabel shrank down in the corner of the sofa.

Gert pressed her lips together. She wished she could shout out, “Your father is innocent, Isabel.” But she couldn’t do that. She doubted Cyrus’s guilt now, but could she say that for certain? And could the shooter have ridden out of town then sneaked back to join the posse? She rejected that idea. Storrey’s horse was still missing, after all.

Silence hung over them for an agonizing moment. Gert inhaled deeply. “I don’t think the man I saw was Mr. Fennel. Of course, I can’t be certain, but Mr. Fennel is a tall man. As is Griffin Bane. When the killer mounted Mr. Storrey’s horse, I didn’t have the impression of an overly large man. And I’m sure I’d have recognized Mr. Bane’s build, so I’ve ruled him out as well.”

“He’s quite distinctive, isn’t he?” Bertha asked. A chuckle rippled through the room.

Gert nodded. “He is.”

“What was this thing you mentioned about pennies?” Myra asked. “The sheriff has found a penny after each killing?”

“Yes,” Gert said. “After the fires at the emporium and the mayor’s warehouse, too. There are five now. One from Sheriff Thalen’s murder, one from Milzie Peart’s, and the one the man threw tonight. It landed on the steps of the Spur & Saddle next to Mayor Walker.” Would Ethan be upset if she revealed the rest? Gert gulped and said as calmly as she could, “All five were minted in the same year—1866.”

“That’s a long time ago,” Starr said.

Florence nodded. “The year I was born.”

Libby cleared her throat. “They’re common though. Gert and I have discussed this some. I didn’t come to Fergus until a few years after that, but my husband was here then. I can’t think of anything Isaac ever told me that could be connected to these crimes. We wondered if any of you older ladies can recall what went on in town that year. Did something happen that would make this person angry?”

At that moment, Annie and Orissa entered the parlor, and all the ladies fell silent.

Apphia stood and walked toward them. “How is the mayor?”

“He’s resting,” Annie said. “The pastor is sitting with him. I thought it would do Orissa good to have a cup of tea and something to eat.”

“I’ll get it.” Ellie rose and hurried toward the kitchen.

Orissa’s skin was stretched tight over her face. Even her hands were pale. Apphia took her arm and guided her to the spot she had vacated on the settee.

“We’ve been praying for your husband, and for you, my dear.” Apphia squeezed her hand.

“Thank you. Annie is optimistic.”

All eyes turned to Annie for confirmation.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a serious wound, but none of the vital organs seems to be hit. We’ve got the bleeding stopped, and he’s resting easier. We’ll see what a good night’s sleep will do for him.”

Orissa looked around at all of them. “What was it you were discussing when we came in? Something about the town’s history?”

Everyone looked to Gert. She nodded. “We were saying how the people who’ve been attacked by this outlaw all seem to be among the town’s founders. The sheriff has some clues that point to something in the past—something that perhaps happened in 1866.”

“Charles and I were here then,” Orissa said. “Do you think it’s someone who’s carried a grudge for near twenty years?”

“It could be.”

Ellie came in with a tray and took tea and a few cookies to Mrs. Walker.

“That was the peak of the gold frenzy,” Bertha said. “My husband and I came the next year. The mines were already starting to play out.”

“Yes. Fergus was a lawless place back then.” Orissa reached for the teacup. “A thousand men would come to town every weekend.”

Libby said, “We’ve asked all the ladies to think about what the town was like then. There were several businesses that have closed since, and the boardinghouse was in its heyday.”

“The stamp mill over to Booneville had begun operating,” Bertha said. “A lot of ore passed through there.”

“My family was here,” Isabel said quietly.

Something clicked in Gert’s mind. She glanced over at Libby. “Ladies, think about this. Isaac Adams was here in 1866. A few weeks ago, his widow’s business was set afire. Cyrus Fennel was here that year. Milzie Peart was killed in his office. Mayor Walker was here. Both his business and his person have been attacked.”

Bertha clapped her hand over her mouth. “Cyrus, Charles, Isaac … they were all here when we moved to town. Of course, Charles wasn’t the mayor then. He started out mining, didn’t he, Orissa?”

“Oh yes. They all did. Cyrus took over the assay office in ‘65, I think. My husband gave up mining soon after. It didn’t go as well as he’d hoped. But we’d saved enough to build a decent house and start a business.” She nodded and took another sip of tea.

Gert frowned, reaching for something. “What about Bert Thalen? Was he here in ‘66?”

“And Milzie Peart,” said Ellie.

“Well … I’m not sure it’s so important when Milzie arrived.”

“But she was killed,” Starr said, her brow furrowing.

“Yes, but …” Gert swallowed hard. “Right now my theory is that the outlaw didn’t set out to kill Milzie. He only did it because she got in his way.”

“In Father’s office,” Isabel said.

“Yes. The sheriff and I both think the killer was waiting in there to ambush Mr. Fennel. Poor Milzie went in, and he attacked her instead.”

“If that’s what happened,” Goldie said soberly, “then the same person killed her as shot the mayor and killed the old sheriff, but not for the same reason.”

Gert nodded. “That’s my thinking, all right. So why did he do these things? What made him go after Bert? And the mayor and

Mr. Fennel?”

“And what about Griffin Bane?” Starr asked.

“He came to town later,” Libby said with certainty. “After Isaac and I had married. He bought the smithy, and later on he took over the livery, too.”

“Libby doesn’t fit in,” said Apphia. “From what you’ve told me, the killer has attacked men who were here during the town’s boom years. Libby told me she came about twelve years ago and married Mr. Adams then.”

“That’s right,” Libby said. “We were married in 1873. But Isaac had already stopped mining and established the emporium.”

“That’s why he didn’t kill you,” Emmaline said. Several jaws dropped, and she hurried to explain her thoughts. “Suppose this killer was angry at your husband. Isaac was already dead when he came, and it was too late for revenge. Maybe he thought he’d do something bad to you, his widow, but not …”

“Not as bad as he’s done to the others,” said Myra.

“If what you’re saying is true, my father is in grave danger.” Isabel’s gray eyes pinned Gert. “That man tried to kill him and failed, perhaps more than once. He succeeded with Sheriff Thalen, and the mayor lies in grave danger under this roof. Isaac Adams is already dead. My father could be next.”

Gert’s mouth went dry. “That’s so. And Cyrus went with the posse.”

“Yes. He insisted on helping find the man who shot his old friend.” Isabel’s lips trembled, and she clamped them firmly shut.

Gert nodded. “I fear you’re right. If anyone is in danger tonight, it’s Mr. Fennel. So … what did those four men all do to cause such hatred?”

“There were a lot of gold strikes in the early years,” Orissa said, her eyes unfocused as she looked back over the years. “The first miners came here in 1862 or ‘63, I think. Charles heard about it, and we got here in the fall of ‘63. I’m not sure if Bert Thalen was already here, or if he came the next spring—there were a lot of rough men about, and I stayed close in our lodgings that winter. But Bert and Charles met by spring and became partners.”

Gert sat up straighter. “Business partners?”

“They had a claim together with …”

“Why, yes,” Libby said. “Now that you mention that, I recall my husband telling me about it once. Isaac was in on a mining claim with the mayor and Mr. Thalen. And Cyrus, too. Isn’t that right?”

Orissa nodded. “Yes. All four of them invested in a tract down the river. They thought they’d strike it rich. They sluiced out a fair amount of gold, but nowhere near as much as the few really rich claims you’d hear tell of. They each put away a stash and bought some land.”

“Who owns the claim now?” Gert asked.

“I don’t know.” Orissa looked blankly to Libby.

“They sold it, didn’t they?” Libby asked.

“Yes, I’m sure they did.”

“When Isaac died, the only property I found a deed for was the emporium building and the lot it’s standing on.” Libby met Gert’s gaze. “But if the four men owned a claim together and sold it, there must be a record of it.”

“My father might have something,” Isabel said, and all eyes swung her way. “He kept the assay office until business dropped so much they closed the one here. Now they go through Silver City, but he has old records in the safe at his office.”

“Now, hold on just a second,” Jessie Tinen said. “Arthur and I came here the year our son turned seven. Sixty-five. Right after Arthur got home from the army.”

Again the ladies fell silent. The Civil War had barely touched Idaho Territory, but those who came from points east remembered it well.

“Now, there was a big to-do, I recall, about a mining claim.” Jessie sucked in her ample cheeks and frowned. “Some fella made a big fuss over it. He’d bought a claim that was supposed to be a good one, but it turned out to be worthless. Arthur decided then and there not to try mining. We bought our ranch and started working it.”

A stir of excitement flickered in Gert’s stomach. She turned to the mayor’s wife. “Mrs. Walker, can’t you remember the name—”

Orissa’s face had turned ashen. She stared at the far parlor window and spoke a single word. “Morrell.”