Milky Trail to Death

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

A warm wind blew up dust eddies from the hard-baked street as Reece sauntered along, glancing across the shop fronts, tipping his hat to the occasional bystander. No one returned the gesture and, before long, he ceased giving welcome to anyone.

At the end of the street, a small, squat clapboard blacksmith’s shop appeared in imminent danger of collapse. With its sagging roof and warped walls, Reece wasn’t sure whether or not to go inside. The sound of a hammer smashing down on an anvil rang out, heat pulsed from a brazier, smoke rose. Reece took a breath.

Crouching over his anvil, the man’s bulk seemed to fill the workshop. He wore a tattered, sweat-stained vest, his bare arms bulging with muscle, and Reece doubted he would need the old cavalry carbine propped up in the corner to help defend himself with. Even so, it was a curious addition to the sweltering heat of the shop. As the blacksmith raised his hammer arm to strike down upon the metal again, Reece cleared his throat.

The man turned. His eyes blazed from a face slathered with perspiration. “Can I help you?”

Reece dipped his head and stepped through the entrance. Reece was tall, but not as tall as the blacksmith. This close, Reece could feel the man’s strength. Impressed, he’d known men as big as this from before. He smiled. “I need my bridle fixing.”

“Well, you come to the right place.” He straightened up his back and, scanning Reece from head to toe, nodded. “You’ll be the stranger staying at Miss Bessy’s.”

Reece gave a short laugh. “News travels fast.”

“It’s a small town. Things don’t stay secret for long.” He carefully placed the heavy, solid hammer on top of the anvil. “You planning on staying long?”

“Not really. Once my horse is rested, I’ll be moving on, I reckon.”

“I’ll have the bridle done by tomorrow if you bring it to me before the day is done …”

Both of them swung around to look at a commotion breaking out in the street. A gaggle of men spilled out of the merchandise store in an agitated state, shouting, flapping their arms around. From the corner another man appeared, a large light grey Stetson shielding his features.

“That’s Sheriff Fieyn. Something must have happened. You wait here.” The big blacksmith shouldered his way past Reece and strode across the street to the assembled men. Other townsfolk were joining them. One woman gave a high-pitched scream, her hand coming to her mouth almost instantly. Fieyn stood amongst them, gesturing for them all to calm down. “Quiet, the lot of you,” he was saying, but Reece could not make out much else.

Shaking his head as if in disbelief, the blacksmith returned to his shop, muttering, “Seems like old Destry is missing.”

“Destry?” He watched the blacksmith take off his leather apron and hang it from a hook in the far wall.

“Miss Bessy’s husband.” His eyes narrowed. “The livery owner? You must have spoken to him.”

“I did. Yesterday.”

“Well, he’s not been seen since.”

“Bessy said he often goes missing.”

“She told you that?”

“Last night, during supper.”

“You got your feet under that table quick enough!”

Reece, who had been leaning in the door well, stood upright, “Hey, now just a goddamned minute—”

“A mite tetchy ain’t you, mister?” The blacksmith picked up the carbine. “Supposin’ you tell me where you’re from?”

Reece eyed the carbine. In such close confinement, Reece doubted he could draw his pistol fast enough to cause the blacksmith to reconsider any hasty action. “Why not put the gun down first.”

“Why don’t you just answer the question?”

“I’ll take it from here, Hanson,” said a voice.

Reece turned his head to see the sheriff standing there, thumbs in his belt, eyes levelled towards him.

“Sheriff, I was only—”

“I know you ‘was only’, Hanson. Just put down the gun before someone gets hurt.”

The big blacksmith blew out a sigh but did as he was asked, albeit reluctantly.

“So,” said Fieyn, moving inside, studying Reece intensely, “why don’t you answer the question, mister. Where you from?”

“If you must know …”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Kansas. I’ve been making my way west, taking it easy. Minding my own business.”

“Sensible, I’d say. Especially in these difficult times. You stabled your horse with Destry?”

“Last night, after I rode in. I then took a room at Miss Bessy’s.”

“And you haven’t seen Destry since then?”

“No. Why, what’s happened?”

“We don’t know. He’s disappeared. I know he often gets drunk and wanders off, but this is different. One of the men found his horse. No sign of Destry … but there was blood and that makes me concerned.”

“If you’re looking at me, I can tell you, I was in my room all night and this morning took breakfast at the guesthouse. You can verify what I say with Miss Bessy.”

“I intend to, mister.”

“The name’s Reece. I’m ex-army, making my way to California to visit my sister.”

“Start a new life?”

“In a way. I’ve had a belly-full of war and fighting, that’s for sure. Don’t know why you need to know all this but—”

“It’s my job to know, mister. This is a small town, but it has a history. A none too pleasant one at that. Let’s take a walk back to the guesthouse and on the way, we’ll have a cup of coffee at Clapham’s.” He caught Hanson’s glare. “There’ll be a search party leaving shortly, Hanson. You can bring along your gun.”

“We go to the mine?”

Fieyn shrugged. “It’ll be a good place to start if any are willing to go there.”

“Most won’t.”

“True. What about you?”

“If needs be.”

“All right. After Mr Reece and I have had a little parlay, we can go up there together. Are you ready, Mr Reece?”

Nodding, Reece shot a glance towards Hanson. “I’ll drop off the bridle later on.”

“You do that.”

They moved down the street, Reece ignoring the looks of the townsfolk milling around, noting that the sheriff walked with a pronounced limp. Mounting the steps up to the little coffeehouse, Fieyn winced as he put pressure on his knee. He noticed Reece’s questioning stare. “Shot at Shiloh. Damn ball is still in there. Some fancy British doctor said it may well kill me, even now, if I don’t get it out.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I don’t trust doctors much, Mister. Saw enough butchery during the War. Especially at Shiloh.”

“That was one bloody day, Sheriff.”

“Indeed, it was. You were there?”

“Not there. But plenty of other places.”

They stood, regarding one another with a kind of grudging respect for a few moments before Fieyn turned away and pushed open the door, a tiny bell tinkling above it. There was nobody else inside. Six tables were arranged randomly around the interior, lace tablecloths covering each one. From behind the small counter, there was a bead curtain, and it was through this that a short, grey-haired woman appeared. Setting eyes on Fieyn, she grew agitated. “Oh Lordy, Sheriff, I do hope this man is not—”

“Don’t you concern yourself none, Mrs Clapham. This gentleman and I are only here for a coffee and a little powwow.”

Without a word, the woman went behind the counter to prepare the coffee. Meanwhile, Fieyn stretched back in his chair. He took out a silver pocket-watch from his waistcoat, the chain stretching across his midriff, and looked at it. “Got this from a Swiss fella as I lay in the field-dressing station. With his dying breath, he said, ‘It’ll never lose its time’. You know what,” he snapped the lid shut and put it away, “it never has.”

“A powwow you said,” said Reece, not in the least impressed. “About what?”

“Name. That’s first off. What is it?”

“Reece.”

“Well, Mister Reece, how did Destry appear when you spoke with him? I mean, was he agitated, frightened, what?”

“None of those things. I’d only just met him, of course, but as far as I could see, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about his demeanor.”

“His demeanor,” Fieyn repeated and nodded his head. “You’re an educated man, Mr Reece. Kansas you said you’re from. Not sure if I’ve ever met anyone from Kansas. Are people usually educated from that great city?”

“I ain’t from Kansas City,” said Reece. “I’m from the state. A little settlement not far from the Cimarron river is where I was born. In the middle of a great storm so my ma was always happy to tell me.”

“Never heard of it.”

“No reason why you should as it ain’t got no name as yet. I guess it might have once more people settle there.”

“You never go back?”

Reece shook his head then folded his arms as Mrs Clapham arrived with the coffee. She placed the cups and pot in the center of the small table. “Cream?”

“You betcha,” said Fieyn, rubbing his hands with expectation. “Mrs Clapham here makes the finest coffee for many a long mile.”

Slightly reddening along her jawline, Mrs Clapham gave a suppressed giggle, turned, and flounced away, returning in a few seconds with a tiny pot of cream. She turned to Reece. “You planning on staying another night at Bessy’s?”

“Seems like every soul in this place knows my business,” said Reece, leaning forward to take up the coffee that Fieyn had poured for him.

“I’ll take it that’s a no then,” said the little white-haired woman before she turned and went through the bead curtain to the rear.

“People are naturally curious here, Reece,” said Fieyn. “We don’t get many people passing through.”

“I’m not surprised. Not exactly the most welcoming of folk. No one gave me a welcome as I went to the blacksmith. Miss Bessy told me it was run by a man called Noah Barton but that wasn’t the one who—”

“Barton died some years ago. The business name just stuck is all. Hanson took it over when he arrived here from Sweden.”

Reece nodded. “He nigh-on accused me of trying to settle in with Miss Bessy.” He sipped his coffee and pulled a face. “The best you say? You clearly ain’t been to many other places, Sheriff.”

Fieyn chuckled. “I settled here about five years ago.” He frowned, lapsing into silence for a moment, “Maybe more. Damn it, I don’t know where the years go. I do not need to go anyplace else. It’s a good town, with good people. You shouldn’t take notice of Hanson. He’s gruff, unpleasant at times, but he has a good soul. People here are easily spooked, Reece. Best to remember that.”

“No need to remember anything, Sheriff. Once my bridle is fixed, I’ll be moving on.”

“I’d prefer if you stayed around,” he watched Reece over the brim of his coffee cup as he drank. “Until we find out what’s happened to Destry.”

Reece shrugged. “Why do you place so much importance on him if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s an important figure in our community, Reece. He’s virtually bankrolled every small business there is around here. This town wouldn’t be what it is if it weren’t for Brownlow Destry.”

“So, he’s rich?”

“Richest man in these parts.”

“Then why does he work at the livery?”

“He loves horses,” said Fieyn before his face split into a wide grin, “and it keeps him away from Miss Bessy.”

“I find that hard to believe. She’s a mighty fine-looking woman.”

“That she is but Destry is a drunk and she’s been known to lock him out of the house for nights on end. True, they were once sweet for each other, but you know how things can get … tarnished, let’s say.” He finished his coffee and poured himself another cup. “He’s had his share of liaisons with pretty girls, Reece. There’s Saint Francine’s a little ways out of town. It’s what could be loosely termed a place of ill-repute. He frequents it three or four nights a week. A little while ago, he got himself mixed up with a little vixen called Lizzie Coombs. She took his money, rode off into the night, and …” He drank again and stared into his cup. “We found her, about a mile or so out of town. She’d had her head caved in. There was no evidence to point to Destry, but folks knew it was him. Miss Bessy threw him out and he took to sleeping at the livery. That’s where he spends most of his time now, drinking himself to death.”

“He sounds like an i***t. Turning away from a woman like Miss Bessy … He must be either blind or stupid.”

“He’s sick,” said Fieyn. “That’s what he is.”

“Sick?”

“Could be the drink, I guess. He mixes his whisky with water from the local stream. It’s as white as milk. Maybe that has something to do with it, who knows?”

“And now he’s missing. Could it be revenge? For Lizzie, I mean?”

“Maybe. She had a lot of admirers, that’s for sure. But it more than likely has something to do with the mine.”

“The mine? I don’t get you. A gold mine?”

Fieyn nodded. “That’s how some folks think the town got its name. Man name of White came here back in the forties, found gold close to the river. It’s dried up now, but once I guess it must have flowed through these parts. All that’s left is a trickling little stream. White, he employed some local Indians and they dug out a mine. They found something other than gold.”

Reece frowned. “Silver? Lead maybe?”

Fieyn shook his head and grew more serious than Reece had noted before now. “Nope. Nothing metal. Nothing mineral. Nothing natural. The Indians got spooked and ran. Ran. White, he settled here. Others came along as it was the main trail to the West and the Territories. No mention was ever made of the mine and it fell into disrepair. Then, recently, things took a turn for the worse.”

The air grew chill. Fieyn turned to look towards the small window next to the main entrance of the coffee-house. Behind the counter, Mrs Clapham stopped what she was doing, folded up a tea cloth, and came to join the two men. She drew up a chair and sat. “Mr Reece, is that your name?”

“I prefer just Reece, ma’am.”

She gave him a withering look. “I guess that’s your prerogative, although I don’t like it. The incident the sheriff refers to occurred during the War. You know much about the War, Mister Reece?”

“More than I care to remember.”

“I see. Well then, you’d have heard the term renegades? Bushwhackers?”

“Jayhawkers?” put in Fieyn, his icy gaze settling unblinkingly on Reece.

“I have heard all those terms, yes.” Reece did not flinch. He sat, waited, face set hard. “What of them?”

“A bunch of them came riding in here,” continued Mrs Clapham. “They shot up the town before Mr Destry took it upon himself to fight it out with them.”

“This was before my time, Reece,” said Fieyn. “Story goes that Destry rounded up a bunch of local toughs, drove the bushwhackers out of town and cornered them near the mine.”

“There was a gunfight,” said Mrs Clapham. Her voice held no emotion, but Reece noted how her hands shook as she brought one to her mouth. She saw his look, quickly put her hands on the table and clamped them together. “From that point on, the story gets a little fuzzy.”

Frowning, Reece looked from one to the other. “I don’t quite get your drift, ma’am. Fuzzy in what way?”

“They disappeared,” said Fieyn.

“The bushwhackers?”

“All of ‘em. Except of course Destry. He took to his bed and was not seen for almost a week.”

“The drink,” said Mrs Clapham. “It became his master from then on.”

“So, what you’re saying is, in the gunfight, everyone was killed, save for Destry?”

“No,” said the old woman, “what I’m saying is nobody knows what happened, Mister Reece. And Destry, he ain’t ever said.”

“And nobody has gone to check?”

She leaned forward, so close Reece could count the pores on her nose. “Mr Reece, we don’t go up there. We don’t even talk about it.”

“But we have to now,” said Fieyn solemnly, “to check on Destry. See if he might be up there.”

Mrs Clapham released a sharp sigh. “If you want my opinion, Sheriff, you’ll steer well clear of that place. You know why.”

“I do. But his horse was found close by. It stands to reason he’s there.”

“I don’t get any of this,” said Reece, picking up the pot to pour himself more coffee. Finding it empty, he put it down again and turned it around. “Seems to me all of this is old suspicion, probably Indian in nature that keeps people away. Might it not be more accurate to consider it’s because of the gold that’s still in there?”

Mrs Clapham nodded. “That’s how Destry got rich, so the story goes. Maybe he’s found another lode and has kept it secret? Someone got to him, forced him to show them where it is, and then they murdered him.”

“Could be,” said Fieyn.

“Or it could be a whole lot more sinister than any of that,” said Mrs Clapham and stood up. “I’ve said my bit and that’s that. Sheriff, don’t go there.” She turned and left.

The two men sat in silence, the old lady’s words sinking deep.

“We’ll go to the livery first,” said Fieyn at last, “then you can ride up to the mine with me and the others.”

“This ain’t got nothing to do with me, Sheriff.”

“It’s got everything to do with you, Reece. I think you’ve got a lot more explaining to do before this whole sorry mess is sorted out. Like, why you’re here.”

“I told you, I’m—”

“Passing through … Yeah, you said. What I need to know is the true reason.”

He stood and stared. Reece stared back before blowing out a loud sigh. He moved in step behind the sheriff and together they walked through the town towards the livery.