Dusk Along the Niobrara Read online

  The woman appeared in the dark doorway.

  “Mrs. Pearson,” I said. “I’m Bard Montgomery. I work for Lou Foster. He sent us over to help. He can’t ride.” I ran out of words, so I waited.

  “I don’t know what you can do. They took Bill to town.”

  “Bill had some wages coming. The boss sent ’em with me.”

  Dunbar spoke. “And the cook sent a loaf of bread, along with some cooked beef.”

  “You might as well come in for a minute. Get out of the sun.”

  The day was heating up. We tied our horses at the rail and followed her inside. Sweat trickled down my forehead as I took off my hat. Dunbar had removed his as well. The dark interior of the house had a strange and empty feeling to it.

  I drew the envelope out of my vest and handed it to Mrs. Pearson. “Here’s his earnings,” I said.

  She held the packet with both hands and stared at it. “Thanks.” She raised her head, and I met her worried brown eyes.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what else to say.”

  She shook her head, and her eyes watered. “Nothin’ anyone can say will change anything. But I appreciate you coming here.” She motioned with her hand at two wooden chairs. “Sit down for a few minutes. I know it’s a long ride.”

  Dunbar handed her the two packages that Dan had wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “Here’s this.”

  “Thank you.” She disappeared into the kitchen with the packages of meat and bread.

  We took our seats. The chair that I touched felt sticky, but I wiped my hand on my trouser leg and thought no more about it. By now my eyes had adjusted, so I looked around the front room. A tattered bed cover was draped over the couch, with a pile of laundry on top that looked as if it had been taken off the line a few days earlier. Grime lay on the cupboard top and on the drawer handles. A tin coal bucket held twigs and splinters for starting a fire.

  I returned to the moment as Mrs. Pearson came out of the kitchen carrying a wooden chair like the ones we sat on. I nodded and gave her my attention as she took a seat and put her hands together in her lap. Her face was harried, as could be expected, and her gray hair was not well combed. She wore a sagging dress that looked as if it had not been washed in a while, and she had spots and wrinkles on the backs of her hands.

  Dunbar spoke. “I didn’t know your husband, Mrs. Pearson, but I’m sorry for what happened to him. If there’s anything I could do, I would be willing to help.”

  Her yellow teeth showed as she said, “I don’t know what it would be.”

  “I don’t, either. But if there’s anything you could tell us, it might do some good.”

  Her eyes tightened. “Are you some kind of a lawman?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I don’t like to see people get away with something like this, and if there’s anything I can do, I will.”

  She let out a tired breath. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone will do anything. I haven’t gotten a sense that anyone in town really cares. The men that came for Bill, they acted the same way people did when the old horse trader was found dead. Seems as if they don’t want to do or say anything that’ll bring something upon themselves. I’ll say this. If it was someone better off, someone important, then people would be doing things. Asking questions. Wanting answers. But when you’re dirt poor, no one cares.”

  “Almost no one. But I do. And I think my young friend does.”

  Mrs. Pearson turned her eyes toward me, and I nodded.

  Dunbar’s voice had a considerate tone. “I don’t know how much I can do, but I can try. And I’ve got to be careful myself. You can help if you can answer a couple of questions.”

  She gazed at him without much expression.

  He went on. “I imagine you’ll be asked this more than once, if you haven’t been asked already. But do you know of anyone who might have had a reason to do this to your husband?”

  She stared at the floor as she took a moment to answer. “I don’t know if it would do any good to say. Or worse, if it would lead to harm.”

  “Not with us, I assure you. If you know of someone who might have had a hand in this, you’ll be helping him, or them, by not saying anything.”

  She raised her eyes in a slow motion. “You say ‘know of.’ Maybe I do.”

  Dunbar’s eyebrows went up. “Ah.”

  Before he could say anything else, she spoke again. “Bill didn’t say much, and I don’t know how much to repeat.”

  “Believe me, Mrs. Pearson. None of this goes beyond the present company.”

  She turned her head to take in each of us, and I gave what I hoped was an assuring nod.

  “As soon as Bill’s buried, I’m leaving. The kids can come and sell the property. I’ve got a sister in North Platte and another in Red Cloud. I won’t say which one I’m going to.”

  “I don’t blame you. But I promise you I won’t repeat anything unless someone is brought to account. Nor will my young friend.”

  I nodded as before.

  She heaved another tired breath. “Well, it might help. But like I say, Bill didn’t tell me much. He thought there were some things I was better off not knowing too much about.”

  “Maybe he was right—” Dunbar left his comment hanging.

  “And maybe he wasn’t. I see what you mean.” Her chest rose and fell. “Anyway, it goes like this. He said he saw a man recently that he had seen before, and he was afraid he let the man know he recognized him. The man gave him more than a dirty look.”

  “Did he mention the man’s name?”

  “No.”

  “And what did he recognize him from?”

  “Bill said that he saw this man, back at about the time the old horse trader was killed, and this man was coming from the direction of the horse trader’s place. It was winter, and Bill was out trapping and hunting.”

  “And he didn’t say the man’s name? Did he know it?”

  “I believe he did, but he wouldn’t say it. I think he thought that if I knew it, I could get hurt.”

  Dunbar smoothed his mustache with his hand. “How about someone else? Was there anyone who had a grudge against your husband or that he owed money to?”

  “I don’t know of any grudges, but he owed a bit of money here and there. Never anything very great. Maybe a little at the general store, some at the mercantile, maybe at the blacksmith’s, and maybe a little at The Bower.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A small saloon in town.”

  Dunbar cast his eyes at me.

  I shrugged and said, “I know where it is. That’s all.”

  Dunbar spoke to Mrs. Pearson. “Anything else you can think of?”

  She shook her head.

  Silence held in the room for a few seconds until Mrs. Pearson said, “Would either of you like a cup of coffee? I could fix some.”

  “None for me, thank you,” said Dunbar.

  “No, thanks,” I added. To Dunbar I said, “I suppose we should be going.”

  “I think so.” He rotated his hat in his hands. “Is there anything we can do before we leave, Mrs. Pearson?”

  “I can’t think of anything. I’ve asked for a buggy from town. As soon as Bill is buried, you won’t see me here again.”

  Out on the trail, I was glad to be riding under the big sky, even if the air was becoming heavy with the day’s heat. I said to Dunbar, “I agree with you about not liking to see someone get away with something like this. And I agree with her. These people had very little to begin with, and now this poor woman has nothing, and she wonders whether anyone will do anything.”

  “That’s just it,” said Dunbar. “People kill for bad reasons, and it becomes worse when they think they can get away with it because the lesser people don’t matter. It’s not right.” He pushed out his mustache and said, “I guess that last part is an obvious thing to say. But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cigarette smoke hung in the bunkhouse after break
fast. Bob, George, and Lou had all rolled pills, as George called them. Dunbar kept to himself with his chair pushed back as he drank coffee. I had gotten some tiny prickly-pear needles in my finger the day before, and I was straining my eyes trying to pluck them out. Dan, with his white hair and white apron, was moving around the table, pouring coffee.

  The boss rested his cigarette on the sardine can. “Kid,” he said, which was what he called me half the time, “you and Dunbar can ride together again today. I need to send a message up to Bancroft’s. Dunbar can get the layout of some of the country. If you see any of our cattle too far north, push ’em back this way.”

  Dan said, “I think it’s a good idea you’re sending someone with him. He might forget to come back.”

  The boss smiled. “You wouldn’t do something like that, would you?”

  I said, “Not at all.”

  “Good.” He looked past me. “Dunbar, you know which horses to pick from, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. The boys showed me yesterday. If you don’t mind, I like to use mine once in a while as well, to keep them in shape.”

  The boss took a puff from his cigarette. “I suppose that would be all right. Hired men usually ride company horses, but I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let them rest another day or so, anyway.”

  “I’ll leave it to you. Each man looks after his own string, you know.”

  “Sure.”

  “Bob and George, you ride west. Your usual pattern. Just don’t get lost.”

  Bob smiled as he dipped his head. “We won’t.”

  I picked out a bay to ride for the day. It was his turn. Not all the horses in my string let me walk up to them, but he did. Dunbar roped out a stocky brown horse, and we led our mounts to the barn together.

  “That’s Grumpy,” I said.

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “It’s just his name. He’s a pretty well-behaved horse.”

  “So was the one I rode yesterday.” After a moment of silence, he said, “Where do Bob and George get lost?”

  “Ashton. It’s the next town over on the railroad line. It’s a bigger town. Crossroads. It’s got a handful of saloons, a couple of fancy houses, card games, and I don’t know what-all.”

  “I know the place. Not all the establishments, of course.”

  I shrugged.

  “For example, there’s a place that sells sewing notions. Never been in it. I buy all my needles and thread in Great Falls, Montana.”

  “I keep a good supply, too,” I said. At least he didn’t ask me about Dan’s joke. Still, I was used to men joshing me.

  The morning was dry and warm as we set out across country toward the northwest. From time to time we came to a rest on a high point to survey the surrounding country. The day promised to be hot, with the sun bearing down on us, but the meadowlarks were singing, and what cattle we saw were feeding on good grass.

  As I was the one setting the course, I thought I would take us past Blue Wolf Spring. Such were the folds and rolls of the grassland that a person wouldn’t know the place existed unless he rode within a half-mile from the south or the west. As I brought us near, the low clay bluffs and narrow canyon came into view. A few chokecherry trees, about ten to twelve feet tall, grew at the mouth of the canyon. The bottoms of the trees were trimmed level, as was common in cow country.

  I brought us to a stop on the bare ground in front of the canyon. Cattle tracks and cow pies lay all around, and along one bluff, a scattering of bleached bones caught the sunlight.

  “This is Blue Wolf Spring,” I said.

  Dunbar nodded.

  “This is where the old horse trader lived, the one Mrs. Pearson referred to. His name was Alex Garrison.” I pointed to a rectangle of rocks embedded in the ground. “I think that’s where he had his cabin.”

  Dunbar nodded again, but he did not show great interest.

  “He was killed, you know.”

  “That’s what I understood.”

  I pointed at the wooden trough that was wet with spillage. “Over there is the spring where he watered his horses.”

  “I can see that. It brings cattle here.”

  “We can water these horses if we like,” I said.

  “Not a bad idea.”

  We dismounted and led our mounts to the trough. We loosened the cinches, and as the animals drank, Dunbar gave the area around us what I thought was a critical observation.

  “You’re not superstitious, are you?” I asked.

  “Oh, no. Just thinking. This wouldn’t be a bad place for a picnic if it weren’t for all the flies. Maybe on a sunny day in winter, up against the bluffs. No flies then.”

  We arrived at Bancroft’s in the latter part of the morning. We had made a gentle climb for the last hour across the grassland, and as we came out on a level area, I felt a faint breeze from the west. At the same time, perspiration trickled down my back.

  To the southwest lay Rawhide Mountain, at a greater distance than it had been a couple of days earlier when Dunbar had pointed it out. As before, it loomed as a dark shape, and I knew it was covered with pine and cedar trees. To the north, the Hat Creek Breaks rose from the plains. The southernmost reaches of the breaks lay a mile or two to the north of where we were, and I could see pine trees, dark specks against the tones of earth and dry grass.

  As we rode up to the Bancroft place, I noted, as I had on earlier visits, that there were no trees. The yard was clean, and the buildings were painted—the barn was red, and the house was white. Horses stood in the corral swishing flies, and a tan nanny goat wandered free in the yard, doing her job of keeping the weeds down.

  At our approach, the goat raised her head, opened her pink mouth, and called, “Beh-heh-heh-heh-heh.”

  Dunbar answered her with a similar sound.

  Silence returned. I thought I had heard a banging noise in the barn when we were riding in, but it had ceased. About forty yards away, the barn door was open. I was about to call out when a bearded man appeared in the doorway. I recognized him as Del Bancroft, so I waved. He did the same and walked toward us.

  In addition to his beard, he had a full head of brown hair. He was not wearing a hat, which I attributed to whatever work he had been doing in the barn. He was of average height and square build. He waved the goat aside as he walked past her, and his voice carried as he smiled at me.

  “Hello, Tag.” I think it was his way of calling me “kid” but softening it. “What are you up to?”

  “Good morning. I think it’s morning still.” I squinted at the sky and came back to him. “I brought a message from Lou. By the way, this is Mr. Dunbar. He just came to work for us, and he’ll be working on the corrals in town.” I handed over the folded letter.

  Del broke the wax seal, which I think Lou had applied as a matter of form and courtesy. Del nodded as he read the letter, then folded it and put it in his back pocket.

  “Sounds like work,” he said. “It’s good for young fellas like you.”

  I smiled in return. “How’s everything?”

  “Oh, just fine. Except the coyotes put up quite a wail last night. Wouldn’t let us sleep.” He turned to Dunbar. “Are you a varmint hunter?”

  “Not by trade. As you might guess, I’m a cowhand. Lately I’ve gained fame as a dishwasher at the Foster ranch, and they say they’re going to make a post-hole digger out of me.”

  “Looks as if there’ll be plenty of holes to dig. The ones that have rocks in ’em we’ll give to young Montgomery.”

  “Are you a blacksmith?”

  Del turned his smudgy hands palms up as he regarded them. “Not by trade. But I have a project I work on when I can find a few minutes. I’m restoring an old stagecoach.”

  “Sounds interesting,” said Dunbar. “I never get tired of looking at old coaches and wagons and the like. Traces and harness.”

  Del motioned with his hand. “Come and take a look at it. You’ve got time, haven’t you?”

/>   Dunbar turned to me and raised his eyebrows.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ve seen it, so I can water the horses. Go ahead.” As the two of them walked away, I led the horses to the water trough that stood halfway between the house and the barn.

  I loosened the cinches and let the two horses drink. I did not want them to drink a large amount all at once, so I pulled them back after they had drunk for a minute or so.

  I glanced toward the house, but I saw nothing new. I led the horses away from the trough and kept myself from staring at the house. All in an instant, the door opened, and movement caught my eye. My pulse jumped. A light blue dress and brown hair shining in the sun told me it was Emma.

  I caught a flash of her teeth as she smiled and waved.

  I waved back, then took off my hat as I stood waiting with the horses at my side.

  “Hello, stranger,” she said. “Long time.”

  “I got here as soon as I could.” I blinked at the sun. “Good morning.”

  A smile played on her face. “What brings you here?”

  “Message from my boss to your father. Another rider, fellow by the name of Dunbar, came with me. Your father is showing him the stagecoach.” I allowed my eyes to rove over her. My knees almost weakened at the sight of her dark eyes and her brown hair, the latter lying in a single braid over her shoulder in front of her, some strands lightened by the sun and twisted into variegation with the darker hair underneath. She had a slender face and a beautiful mouth. I had known her for more than three years, but I had not yet kissed her. I would have given just about anything to do so, and in my fancy, I recalled stories of Indian lads who would bring a string of ponies to a girl’s father. In reality I did not expect to have to give anything, but I felt that I still had to wait. I thought I would know when the time came, and I hoped it would.

  “What’s new?” Her pretty teeth showed in contrast with her tan complexion.

  “Not much. It looks as if we’re going to be working on a corral project. The shipping pens in town.”

  She drew her brows in a thoughtful expression. “Oh, yes. I heard something about that a while back.” After a pause, she said, “We also heard there was some trouble not far from you.”