Chapter 15: Eagles

The three of us were in our usual position in bed — Rosie on my left, Rebecca on my right. Our body heat under the comforter felt good. Both of them had a hand under the sheet, gripping me.

Rebecca had a smile in her voice, “Mr. Murdock?”

“Mrs. Robinson.”

“That is some show that Penny and Miss Melanie put on.”

Rosie whispered, “Mrs. Chambers let us watch.”

Rebecca, “Encouraged us to watch.”

Rosie, “Some show.”

“Oh?”

Rebecca, “I was thinking, we were thinking...”

“Yeah?” Not hard to figure where this palaver was heading.

“I am kind of curious. Rosie too.”

“Yeah?”

“Up to you, of course.”

“Mrs. Robinson, nothing has been up to me since you arrived on the scene.”

Giggles.

“Oh, we know. Just wanted the old man to feel useful. Rosie already told Cayuse.”

Cayuse came back two days later. Carrying two small bundles wrapped in black canvas. He carried them upstairs as Venerable stared from his cell.

Mrs. Chambers joined us for breakfast; she did that sometimes. She smiled at Rebecca, “Well?”

Rebecca pretended to be worried, “I paid them, Mrs. Chambers. Penny and Miss Melanie, even though you said I didn’t have to.”

“Well?”

Full-throated laughter, “Oh God! It was ... I never dreamed...”

Rosie grinned and whispered something to Cayuse. He nodded, “Chiquita.”

Cayuse carried a handsaw up the jailhouse stairs. Venerable looked on. We didn’t talk to him, left him completely alone. Another kind of punishment. Squaw Whore.

Cayuse had told me he didn’t need any help with the Indian Board. I understood; he felt a personal duty, an obligation.

In all, he made five trips, leaving around midnight each time. One to each reservation — Lakota, Chippewa, Crow. Then he carried two white canvas bundles to the Sioux. The last was to the Kiowas. Lone Wolf.

For each of his five journeys, he also carried two black canvas packages. They were a little sodden and beginning to smell, even in the cold weather. He left them at his final stop, with Lone Wolf’s people.

Hotel Timmy came down to the office, “Telegram for you, Sheriff.”

“You bring it?”

“No sir, Sam needs to talk with you.”

“How’s your mother doing?”

Big grin, such an innocent face, “She’s the best! Most popular. Mrs. Chambers told me she’s the top earner again this month.”

I walked him back to the Bighorn, flipped him a quarter, and continued to the Western Union. Sam handed me the message from Memphis and watched as I read, “Cravens innocent. Cleared of all charges. Detective Sergeant Walter Lambert.”

I shrugged, pretty straightforward.

“Sheriff?”

“Yeah?”

“That telegram ... I checked the sine.” Operator’s signature.

“Okay.”

“Says it’s from J. C. Slagg. Like I told you, I never met him, but I know he didn’t send that wire. Wasn’t his fist.” Individual key pattern, as recognizable as a face to a professional telegrapher.

“Huh.”

Holy Redemption, the largest church in town, sat empty. Locked and empty. And no birds sing. A scrap of mostly forgotten poetry from some classroom.

Mrs. Chambers grinned, “I’d like to set my girls up in there.”

I smiled, “That would get tongues wagging.”

“What’s going to happen to Venerable?”

“Waiting to hear from back East. Sheriff in Kansas City is my contact, but Venerable’s wanted in Cleveland. I’d like to be shut of him.”

“I could use a couple of those pews in my lobby. Nice craftsmanship. Mosby can do good work when he’s paid enough.”

I said, “Different subject.” Handed her the Cravens telegram.

She said, “Hmm. That’s a surprise.”

“Thing is, Sam said it wasn’t sent by the regular telegrapher. But someone signed his name.”

She frowned, “What does that mean exactly?”

“Don’t know.”

“What do you think?”

“If it’s fake, the Cravens are wired into Memphis law enforcement at some level.”

“If they come back, will you just shoot ‘em for me?”

Kidding, but not entirely.

I said, “They’re coming back. At least the woman.”

“Marina.”

Then Mrs. Chambers said what I’d been thinking on myself. “You know, I don’t think it was just happenstance that Venerable targeted the No-Name Bar first.”

“Make room for the Cravens’ bordello.”

“Right. And then all that pulpit-pounding about closing down all seven Little River saloons. Think what an oasis that bordello would be.”

Cayuse and Rosie didn’t seem to be in any hurry to set up housekeeping on their own. Which was fine by me; I’d certainly gotten used to waking up with her and Rebecca.

Although both of them, mother and daughter, were going through a phase — spending a lot of time with Penny and Miss Melanie. Pretty sure it’s just a phase.

They wrote, well Rebecca did, but it was from both of them, to the Gilmore Girls all about their new adventures. Rebecca said, “Rosie and me felt we owed it to them. Be like we was hiding something from them.”

“I know that feeling. They could always see right through me.”

The schoolteacher from Laramie, Helen Maple, got herself appointed to be Town Clerk. No one else seemed to want the job, no one who could read and write anyway.

What records there were, were a mess. Mrs. Chambers, who created the position and was paying Helen a dollar a week, said, “Start with Deeds and Records. Get that sorted out — who owns what.”

“Okay.”

“Begin with the original settlement — No-Name. That’ll be the biggest mess.”

Sam Knowles stopped me in front of the Buffalo Cut Bar, “Sheriff, there’s something weird going on with the telegraph line.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a delay, just a few minutes, on the wire from Memphis. Kansas City too.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. Delays used to be real common. But this ... just a few minutes, just from those two cities ... I don’t know. Should I report it to Western Union?”

Interesting question.

“No, not yet. Keep your eyes open. If it’s being done on purpose ... well, it might be useful not to let on that we know.”

This was more of a task for the Pinkertons, but Little River just had me. Cayuse and me.

Mrs. Chambers sent Hotel Timmy for me. We walked back through blowing snow to the Bighorn and he nodded toward her office. I took off my duster and brushed it clean.

Miss Melanie was sitting quietly in the guest chair, looking down at her lap.

Mrs. Chambers turned to the girl and said, “Tell him.”

Miss Melanie’s refined voice quavered a little, “He had a wager with Sir Roger Dalby.”


‘He’ — Lord Sidcup.

I said, “Who is Dalby?”

“The Earl of Plymouth. Another ... sportsman.”

She put a bitter sound to ‘sportsman’.

Mrs. Chambers said, “This Dalby’s in Wyoming. He and Sidcup had a bet on who could collect the most trophies in a year.” She shook her head, “The wager was one pound.” She looked at Miss Melanie, “Tell him the rest.”

The girl blushed, looked off into the distance, “My mother was the governess for Lord Dalby. He bet her and me on a race at the Downs. Lord Sidcup’s horse won.”

“So you and your mother...”

“Went to Lord Sidcup. But he got bored with her. Passed her around to some friends and then sent her back. Too old.”

I was pretty sure the Fitzes wouldn’t come back to Little River. Not even to break Venerable out.

What I wasn’t sure of was why they’d murdered the remaining three Deacons. I hadn’t speculated when Marshal Autry asked me. But I did wonder.

Had the Fitzes seen the men as deserters? So far as I knew, the Deacons who had left earlier hadn’t been killed. But, in fact, I didn’t know that for certain.

Could it have something to do with the EagleLeague? Whatever that was.

In any case, I told Hoss I was calling off the night watch on the back of our jail. It just no longer seemed necessary.

Hoss shook his head; he wanted to stay.

He looked down at his boots and said, “Wife.”

Ah. Trouble on the home front.

The Gilmore Girls now wrote directly to Rebecca and Rosie. They always included messages for me, but they sensed, I believed, that the Robinsons hungered for the personal correspondence, needed it in a way, more than I did.

But some things were included for me. Like they had heard a little gossip about The EagleLeague. Nothing confirmed, just that it seemed to attract lowlifes. But no solid information, no names of members, just vague speculation.

Rebecca was reading the latest, “Flint, listen to this! Your mother writes, ‘We were escorted to the Buffalo Bill extravaganza Friday. He is so handsome! Lawrence, Donald, and Howie took us. (Of course Emma had another date after Howie brought her home!) But that Wild West Show got us in the mood to see the real thing. Tell Flint (if you’re still on speaking terms!) that we may take the train West one of these days.’”

Rosie gasped, “Oh, Flint, can you imagine!”

I’d gotten into the habit of talking things over with Cayuse. Even if he didn’t contribute much to the conversation, it helped me get things straight in my mind.

But with Venerable behind bars, we couldn’t discuss much in front of him. Rosie still brought us that good coffee from the Bighorn, but she just ignored him, wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence. Rebecca didn’t come by at all anymore.

Cayuse and I, hats pulled down, collars up, gloves on, walked north on Market. I ticked things off on my fingers, “Venerable. Like to get rid of him before the Fitzes make some kind of move.”

Cayuse nodded.

“The Cravens. They’ll be back.” I thought about it some. “I got the impression that Mrs. Chambers may be up to something in No-Name.”

Those were my two main concerns — the Fitzes and the Cravens. And a possible EagleLeague connection between Venerable and the Cravens. The Fitzes too?

Thing was, I couldn’t think of anything to do in the way of heading off whatever trouble might be coming toward Little River.

I went back to Western Union, handed Sam the message, “Detective Sergeant Walter Lambert: Thank you for Cravens wire. Told everyone here they are solid citizens. Sheriff Flint Murdock.”

Sam looked at me, but didn’t comment.

With the No-Name annexation stalled, Mrs. Chambers went into action. I wondered if she’d told Ollie about it ahead of time.

Using the Deeds and Records papers that Helen Maple had organized, Mrs. Chambers just bought up the No-Name land, the entire settlement.

She told me, “You probably already figured out I financed Mrs. Hogg’s Bar; figured I may as well buy all the property too.”

If Marina Cravens was still planning her bordello, she’d have to go even further north. Where the terrain went uphill and was far rougher ground to build on. Harlan Goodwin’s copper mine was to the east of Market; Hank Mosby’s sawmill and paper mill to the west.