Then he hunkered and indicated footprints in the dirt near the cabin door.
“Heavyset woman. Small feet. Quite a jumble here. But I’d guess she came out last.”
“Do we dig up the graves, Dee?” the Ranger on the bay asked.
“A few we might have to. Given my druthers I wouldn’t, but some of the townsfolk swear it was Injuns.”
“And my ma is the Queen of England.”
Dee snickered. “If she were, Les, you wouldn’t be dodging lead for a living. You’d be off in some castle somewhere, diddling the maid.”
“Why, pard, I’m affronted. It would be the maid and the cook and their cousins, if they had any.”
I smiled along with them. So the Texas Rangers liked their women as much as the next man. It was a revelation.
Then more hooves pounded up the trail, and into the clearing trotted Calista Modine, Tom from the general store, and Webber, the butcher. Tom and Webber were what you could describe as two of Whiskey Flats’s leading citizens.
“Are we late?” Calista asked. “I thought you said to meet you here at one.”
“You’re not late, ma’am, we’re early,” Dee said.
“We came on ahead to scout the country,” Les elaborated, “and to read the sign.” He swung down. “It’s too bad the townspeople came up here yesterday. They made a mess of any tracks that might have helped us.”
Dee nodded. “The bodies should have been left as they were.”
“Now hold on,” Webber said. He was a big, beefy man with a gut that bulged over his belt. “It wouldn’t be Christian to let the scavengers gnaw on them.”
“And we weren’t entirely sure you would show up when that drummer claimed you would,” Tom said, defending the burials.
Dee and Les ambled toward the mounds, Dee saying to Calista, “Show us which was which, if you would be so kind, ma’am.” After she went down the row, attaching a name to each mound, he stepped to the third one and tapped it with his boot. “So this here is Jordy Butcher’s? And you say he was one of those who was scalped?”
“Yes.” Calista was wringing her hands as if she were nervous.
Les handed his Winchester to Tom and dropped to his knees. “I reckon our hands will have to do.”
“You’re not doing what I think you’re doing?” Webber asked, aghast.
“Unless you would rather do it,” Les said.
The Rangers went at it like badgers and had Jordy unearthed in no time. Each body had been wrapped in a blanket and the ends tied. Dee took one end and Les the other.
“This is most unseemly,” Webber groused as the blanket parted.
“We do what we have to,” Dee said.
The proceedings were interrupted by yet more hoofbeats, heralding the unexpected arrival of none other than Gertrude Tanner.
I wedged the Winchester to my shoulder.
Chapter 17
Gertrude was not alone. Four cowboys were along. Or maybe it was only three. The fourth wore a black Stetson, a Carlsbad hat, and a black leather vest. On his right hip, butt forward, was an ivory-handled Smith & Wesson. It was rare for a cowboy to indulge in a revolver that cost more than most punchers earned in three or four months. He had curly blond hair and a wispy blond mustache, and from the way he sat the saddle, it gave the impression he was fond of his reflection.
Gertrude rode straight to the graves and wasted no time in pleasantries. “What in heaven’s name do you two think you are doing?”
“We’re on a maggot hunt,” Les said.
Dee paused in the act of unwrapping the body. “Pay him no mind, ma’am. I take it you are Mrs. Tanner? We’ve heard about you.”
“Then you know I do not suffer fools gladly,” Gertrude declared. “Even those who pride themselves on being lawmen.” She placed both hands on her saddle horn. “I will ask you one more time. What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
“Making sure these folks were buried right-side up,” Les replied. “It’s against the law to bury someone facedown. They could smother.”
“Is he insane?” Gertrude snapped at Dee.
“Only every other Sunday,” Dee said. “The rest of the time he’s only half loco.”
The cowboy in the black Carlsbad gigged his roan closer. “Enough silliness. Those tin stars don’t give you the right to treat a lady with disrespect.”
“You’re right as rain, puncher,” Dee said.
“I’m not no damn cowpoke,” the man in the black hat said.
Les was studying him. “Not that what we do is any of your damn business. But if it will smooth your hackles, I’ll apologize to your boss if she’ll tell us what in heaven’s name she’s doing here.”
“Someone should shoot him,” Gertrude said.
Dee smiled a crooked smile. “That would be murder, ma’am, and it appears there has been enough of that already.”
“What are you implying?”
Flipping the blanket, Dee uncovered Jordy Butcher from the shoulders up and pointed at Jordy’s head. “This man has been scalped.”
“Yes. So? Indians scalp whites all the time.”
Les made a clucking sound. “Not true, ma’am. Some Injuns do, yes, but only some of the time. Fact is, more whites have scalped Injuns than Injuns have scalped whites, if you count the giants the Injuns say lived here before the Injuns came, since the giants were white.”
“Give me a pistol and I will shoot him myself,” Gertrude said.
Dee ran a finger across Jordy’s head. “Do you see how deep the cut is, ma’am? And how much hair was lifted?”
“So?”
“So Injuns don’t cut down to the bone. They stick the tip of their knife under the hair and peel it like an apple.”
“Maybe this one had never done it before,” Gertrude suggested.
“That could be, ma’am.” Dee continued to be as polite as a politician on the stump. “But Injuns generally don’t raise all the hair. They always leave some. Which proves to me that this here fella was scalped by a white man. And if he was scalped by a white, then it was whites that did the killing, and if whites did the killing, then my partner and me aim to find out who and put them behind bars or plant them, their choice.”
Gertrude was boiling mad and trying not to show it. “I see. And you would be willing to swear in a court of law that whites were to blame?”
“Any day of the week.”
“And twice on Sunday,” Les chimed in. “Although the courts are usually closed on Sundays on account of it being the Lord’s day and all.”
A peculiar thing happened. Gertrude smiled. “You two are not the simpletons you present yourselves as. That was neatly done, gentlemen.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Dee said.
“My ma raised me to always be neat,” Lee added.
Gertrude lifted her reins. “Well, I only came to meet you and I’ve done that, so I’ll be on my way.”
“Be looking for us to visit the LT, ma’am,” Dee informed her. “We have a few questions to ask.”
“Maybe more than a few,” Les said.
The rider in the black hat was squirming in his saddle like a sidewinder on a hot rock. “These lawdogs rile me, Mrs. Tanner. They surely do.”
“Now, now, Mr. Seton. The Rangers deserve our highest respect. When they come out to the ranch, they
