a murder in Utopia.”
Ty half expected it to be the man in black, but it wasn’t. Paul Tant was leaning against one of the four posts that held the roof over the front porch of the Barrows’ cabin. Around Utopia, Tant was known as a bitter old man who claimed to have ridden with Quantrill’s guerrillas during the War of Secession. His red chin-whiskers were never trimmed and he had a milky right eye that he maintained was caused by a Union musket ball. Sorry clung to Tant like bitter gall. Ty didn’t like Tant even a little bit. He’d heard that last year Tant had cut a dog’s throat just to watch him bleed to death. From that day on, Ty had held no respect for the man.
“What are you doing here, Tant?” Ty asked.
“You need to get your bushy tail back to town where you belong. You ain’t got no business asslin’ around up here in Bandera County fifteen miles from where we pay you to be.”
Tant’s head was propped against a cedar post that gave no resistance when Ty short-jabbed him on the nose and broke it. Blood gushed down Tant’s face as he slumped to the floor, holding his head with both hands.
“You had no call to hit me like that, Holt,” Tant mumbled, his blood dripping in little puddles between his legs.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Ty said, rubbing his fist. “And that ain’t nothing compared to what you’ll get the next time you talk to me like that.” Ty turned to Mrs. Barrow, who was standing in the doorway, and took off his hat. “Mrs. Barrow, ma’am, I’m sorry about Shine, and I apologize for this.”
Mrs. Barrow nodded her head. Her oldest daughter, Mary Jane, was standing behind her. Mary Jane’s eyes were big and green, clear green like high mountain stream water. As soon as her mother turned to go back into the house, Mary Jane stepped to the side, allowing Mrs. Barrow to pass. Mary Jane stayed to watch what was going to happen next.
Mary Jane was past twenty and not married. She was the prettiest girl Ty had ever seen. Although he was practically engaged to Sarah Thompson, he couldn’t help but cast a sideways glance at her when he thought no one was looking. Her long blond hair was the color of summer corn. She was tall, almost as tall as he. Her face was beyond practical or theoretical improvement, with a dimple in each cheek and a hint of humor in her eyes that made Ty blush. When she suddenly smiled at him, Ty had to force himself to look away. His heart pounded like a cattle stampede. He felt himself blushing like a schoolboy. Simply the sight of her in the doorway made Ty weak in his knees. When a gentle breeze from the river blew a strand of hair across her face, Ty could smell the scent from her rosewater. He felt intoxicated and was embarrassed, this being the day after her pa had been murdered and all. Ty made a mental promise to catch the man who’d killed Shine, Bandera County or no Bandera County.
“Now, Tant, what’s so important that you had to ride here in this heat to make a fool of yourself?” Ty asked, leaning over to help Tant from the floor.
“You oughtn’t to have hit me, Holt. I was funnin’ with you,” Tant whined. “I rode all this way to tell you that Banker Thornberry has done gone and got himself shot. Shot between the eyes coming out the back door of Crazy Shirley’s house.”
“Crazy Shirley’s?” Ty said in astonishment. “What was he doing over there?”
“What the heck you think he was doing? You sure ain’t much of a detective, are you?” Tant said, ducking his head and covering his bloody nose when he saw the flash of anger in Ty’s eyes. “Don’t hit me no more,” Tant whimpered, “I didn’t mean nothing.”
“Tell me the whole story,” Ty said, and handed Tant his bandana to wipe the blood from his face. “What happened?”
Chapter 3
Tant began to tell the story that had brought him fifteen miles to get his nose broken.
“Early this morning,” Tant said in a nasally whine, his nose puffy from Ty’s punch, “Thornberry was hiking it to the diner for breakfast. Everyone knows he goes there every morning for breakfast except Sunday, everyone except you, Holt. I guess everyone also knows that once or twice a week on his way to the diner, Thornberry stops at Crazy Shirley’s for a poke.”
“Banker Thornberry?”
“Who’s Crazy Shirley?” Dade interrupted.
“Town’s only whore,” Ty said. Remembering Mary Jane, he turned and doffed his hat. “Sorry, ma’am.”
Tant also glanced toward Mary Jane standing in the doorway. “Sorry, ma’am,” he echoed, then continued, “I guess he had done his business and was on his way to the diner when wham! Someone shot him right between the eyes. Took that smile right off his face and sent him to be a moneychanger for the devil.”
“Who plugged him?” Ty asked.
“Don’t know. Mr. Cornelius, the bank’s teller, gave me five dollars to ride up here and fetch you. That’s all I know. He said to tell you Thornberry’s dead and to come quick.”
“Me and Matthew could use a little help with the grave digging before Pastor Boultinghouse arrives,” Dade hurriedly interjected.
“We’ll help, and then set out at first light,” Ty decided.
“Five dollars don’t buy no grave digging,” Tant said as he fell into one of the porch chairs.
“I reckon you’ll help us with the digging ‘less you want another whack to the side of your head.”
“Dang it, Holt. You ain’t got no sense of humor at all.” Tant grunted as he got up. “Where’s the dad-blamed shovel? What’s one grave anyhow?”
“Four graves, Mr. Tant,” Dade snorted.
By dark, the graves had been dug and words said. Shine was buried near the house. The braves were buried in a shallow grave near the river. Mrs. Barrow and Mary Jane were now in the kitchen preparing supper for the lawmen and Tant. The pastor had come and gone. Sue Carol, the youngest Barrow child, was asleep on a straw pallet near the door. The sunset was a deep red as the men went about caring for the stock.
Ty wanted to be alone. He took his canteen and walked to the spring. He needed time to think about all that had happened. He needed time to decide if the murders of the three Comanches, Shine Barrow, and Banker Thornberry were somehow connected. He also needed to determine if the man he’d seen in black could be the assassin. Had he let the murderer ride right by him to kill Banker Thornberry?
When the canteen was full, he noticed a hole dug into the side of the bluff between the still and the spring. It was covered by a gunnysack and a little dry brush. Inside the dugout, along the back wall, were four gallon jugs of moonshine, wrapped in wet moss. Ty unwrapped one of the jugs and took a long swallow. The whiskey took his breath. Carefully, he shoved the plug back into the jug and laid it back in place. When he turned around, Mary Jane was standing right behind him. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“I hope I didn’t scare you.” Mary Jane took a quick breath and then told Ty, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you alone.”
“What about?”
“Come walk with me, Mr. Holt. I’ve got something to show you.” Quickly, she turned away and began walking upstream, her black skirt, dragging the ground like turkey wings in a strut, sending little puffs of dust skyward. “Come on Mr. Holt. I won’t hurt you,” she said when he hesitated.
Ty followed behind as they threaded their way through the thick river grass and sumac trees. Mary Jane paused about a hundred yards beyond the pecan motte where Dade had shown Ty the forty-four-forty casing.
“I don’t know Mr. Peterson, but I know you. I’ve seen you here before. You’ve bought whiskey from Pa,” she said matter-of-factly. “I need to tell the law something. But it has to be someone I can trust. Can I trust you, Mr. Holt?”
“I think so, Mary Jane. What is it?”
She