Chapter 4
The house on the hill had stood there close to ten years braving every storm, beast, and person that might have founds it's way disposed on its doorsteps. Lonely and greatly in need of repair was it, but proudly it stood and many wandered why. The two story ranch house told a story of someone who had traveled west long ago, started their dream and failed.
Story had it, that the husband had slowly gone insane as his ranch had slowly withered away, and in the end had murdered his wife and child shortly before killing himself. It was, of course, just a story that had been made up to fit the old withering house, but as the house aged so did the story, until it was stated as fact instead of the fiction that it was. People had deemed the house haunted, and children would dare each other to enter, but none never actually would. Even adults shied from the place, and as Joe Cartwright slowly rode past it, he watched the house; never taking his eyes off of it for fear that the man from the past would jump up and claim one more victim.
This was a rather silly thought, but the weather was rather melodramatic, the sky being over cast, and Joe's hair was standing as the electricity was thick in the air. Cochise even pranced anxiously and Joe forced himself not urge Cochise on. The front door to the house banged open and shut as the wind rippled through the tall July grass, and it caused the floor boards to creak as if someone unseen where crossing them. A shutter―one of the few the still stood upright―suddenly fell from its perch and crashed to the ground.
Joe already had his hand resting on his gun and as it hit the ground he drew and fired. Instantly he felt stupid and smiled sheepishly at himself as he put the gun away and kicked Cochise into a trot. He was heading from town to Timothy Campler's ranch. He had gone to town on an errand for Ben, and for his appointment with Mr. Taylor, but Mr. Taylor had been away on urgent business, and Joe's appointment had been move to the next day. Irritated was he when the news had reached him, but there was nothing he could do about it, and off to the saloon he had gone. He had bumped into someone at the bar who had given him some information about Andrew's case and had hurried off to the Campler ranch to have his questions answered.
The house was settled in a far corner of the Campler spread. The area around the house was kept well-tended, and since the house sat close to a lake there was grass all year around that was kept short and trimmed. Flowers were planted expertly about the place, and tall graceful trees sat cozily around the yard. It made Joe feel as though he had just entered a plantation in Virginia, even though he had never seen one.
The house was two stories with four tall white columns all lined in a row stand proudly, and the porch was all red brick. Campler hadn't gotten the land he wanted, but he was the richest person in Virginia City only under the Cartwrights and the Fills. But you never would have guessed it, for Campler had put a great deal of his money into his house and yard giving the appearance of being the strongest of the three. He was in fact the weakest.
Slip-noting the reins to the post, Joe slowly dismounted and walked up the four steps to the double doors. Knocking lightly he looked about as he waited for an answer. It came some moments later opened by a small servant girl in a black dress complete with a frilly cap and apron.
"Mr. Cartwright." She smiled opening the door and allowing him to enter. Gently she shut the door and indicated for him to follow her down three steps into the foyer and off to the left into a small parlor. "I'll tell Mr. Campler you're here."
Hat playing in his hands, Joe smiled at her as she left then walked about the room in a board-nervous sort of way. He finally ended at the window where he stood looking out when Mr. Campler entered the room.
"Joseph!" Campler greeted, with a huge smile and offered his hand. Joe took it and the two shook as Campler offered him a seat. "So, what brings you out this way?"
"Well, Mr. Campler…" Joe studied the hat playing in his hands. "Have you heard of the death of Sir Edward Fill?"
"Yes, sad business that." Campler sat back in his chair with a sorry frown. "I hear it was the grandson that did him in, too."
Joe nodded his head. "Yes," he said slowly. "Mr. Campler, I understand that you were at the ranch the day of the murder." Joe's head came up and his eyes landed on Campler.
Frowning deeply Campler nodded. "Yes I was there; I went to see Sir Edward on business."
"I understand you had a fight with Sir Edward?"
Face flushing Campler stood. "Yes, there was a disagreement over the price of…Why do you care?" He snapped back around at Joe and his eyes landed coldly on the Cartwright.
"I'm trying to clear Andrew's name. He didn't kill his grandfather and I'm trying to prove his innocence. You were there the day it happened and I was curious to know why."
"Well if you think I did it you would be wrong."
"Not at all Mr. Campler." Joe said smoothly. Although he didn't think Campler did it, he didn't have any reason to assume he was innocent either.
Running his hand through his hair Campler sat. "Well I suppose I might as well come clean with it then. I went to see him about the price of his horses. I had bought some off of him, but at the last minute he changed the price, and I was not going to pay. I went to talk to him, and we had some words, but in the end a new price was settled on and I left for home."
The room fell silent and Campler shifted uncertain.
"Mr. Campler, as I understand it, you did get home until a little after four o'clock am. It's only a four hour ride from Edward's house to here, and if you left there at a decent hour you should have been home sooner."
A frown once again appeared on Campler's face and he rose from his seat. "You are well informed Mr. Cartwright," he said, with disapproval heavy in his voice.
"I'm just trying to figure out what happened."
"Yes well," Campler cleared his throat and went and got himself a drink. Downing it he turned back to Joe with a smile. "Alright then, I went to see Old Man Ryan, and I spent the rest of the day there. He had a bottle and the two of us shared it."
Joe smiled.
"But don't tell my wife and above all don't tell the sheriff."
"I won't Mr. Campler. Your secret is safe with me." Joe stood and held out his hand. "Thank you for all your help Mr. Campler. I should be going now, sorry to trouble you.
"No trouble at all Mr. Cartwright, I was happy to help. Please feel free to call anytime." Campler smiled and shook Joe's hand heartily and showed him to the door. "Tell your father I say hello."
"I will." Joe mounted and rode slowly away as Campler watched him go a frown fixed on his face.
"Nosey Cartwrights," he muttered, and headed inside.
The clouds grew thicker and a rumble of thunder sounded now and again, but it had not started to rain as the electricity grew stronger. Slowly Joe rode down the lowly trail for Old Man Ryan's place. He realized as he rode that he really hadn't had time to gather his thoughts on his investigation, so bring Cochise to a halt he dismounted and went to lean on a builder leading Cochise behind him.
"Well Cochise what do you think of it?"
The horse shook it's head and Joe smiled slightly.
"That's exactly how I feel. You see the more I dig into this the more confusing it seems. I know Andrew is innocent, yet why do I know that? All evidence says he did it. The whole town thinks he did it. Even Adam seems to think he's guilty, so why do I think otherwise? Why am I riding up to Old Man Ryan's place right now? Why do I have any reason to doubt what Mr. Campler just told me? He's always been honest before, why start lying now?"
Cochise shook it's head again.
"I know boy, I mean he was gone longer than he should have been, and he was at the scene of the crime. So I have to be one hundred percent sure that he was where he said he was." Mounting again Joe rode on. "Who do you think did it? Campler? For the land? It would give him near about everything. Thorps? Now why would Thorps kill him, he doesn't stand to gain anything. But I never have trusted the man, and he's not been known for his honesty. How about Jerry Timperman?"
Cochise threw it's head high and whinnied.
"So you agree with Adam?" Joe said thoughtfully. "Well, you're probably right. I mean why would he do it? He's has more to lose than gain, so I guess I'd better cross him off the list. Now who does that leave us with? Thorps and Campler." Throwing up his hands Joe sighed. "Oh I don't know! It could have been anyone under the sun! But…" he brought his hands back down and began to consider. "No, those two are the best to start with. We know they were present the day of. So, let's start with Campler."
Hurrying Cochise into a trot he hurried to reach his destination before the storm decided to brake lose.
He was having mixed feelings about seeing Old Man Ryan, for if Campler was telling the truth then Joe was left with Thorps, and how in the world was he ever going to prove it was Thorps? But if it turned out that Campler had been lying that opened more questions than it answered. The biggest one being, why would Campler lie?
Shaking his head to clear it, Joe rode further up the mountain until he was in the clouds and could feel the mist all about him. His hair was close to standing now, and it was deathly quiet, minus the thunder that sounded more often. Knowing that he needed to hurry before the storm opened up and made visibility imposable Joe pushed Cochise into something close to a run. Getting caught on a mountain in a storm was a bad idea, and Joe's worry began to grow. He had seen it where at time visibility was fine, and then the next thing you would know it was pitch black and you couldn't even see the hand in front of your face. He was greatly relieved when he realized he was almost there, and nearly jumped with joy when he saw the cabin just up a head.
It was at that very moment that the storm suddenly broke lose, and the sun disappeared from view making it darker than night. The rain pounded the horse and rider as though rocks where being thrown, and Joe rejoiced that he was close to his destination. A flash of lighting lit up the sky as bright as daylight and the he spotted the cabin just making out his distance as it all disappeared. It was quicker than a blink of the eye, and if he had blinked he might have missed it all. Thunder snapped through the air, so close and loud it made his skin crawl and left him momentarily deaf. He was already soaked to the skin, even though the rain had started less than a minute ago. Another flash of lighting showed at he was almost on top of the house and quickly dismounting he walked the rest of the way until he bumped into the cabin.
He was never more happy in all his life when he finally found himself grouping up the starts onto the porch and for the door. Banging on it he called for Old Man Ryan and waited. Nothing happened and no one came. He then realized that no light was shining from the inside. Pounding again, he hopped he was heard over the deafening sound of the storm about him. Still no answer came, and when the door would not open he put his shoulder to it.
Crashing through the door he went, right over a table and smack onto the body of Old Man Ryan. He froze in horror staring down at the face then scrambling off he moved quickly away from the body. Stumbling to his feet he fumbled about the cabin banging into things and knocking things about until at last his searching hands found a lantern, and a bright flash of lightning showed where the matches were. Lighting the lantern, he slowly and very unwillingly walked back to the still finger and kneeled next to it getting a good look.
Old Man Ryan had been shot twice, once through the head and once through the abdomen. The head wound was a gross ghastly sight, whoever had shot him through the head had laid the muzzle of their gun on his forehead and pulled the trigger. The other wound, was short form a farther difference but it had still been at close range. And as he looked up he saw it laid out before him.
The table had been laid for two, and even though his topple over it had disarrayed things slightly, you could still tell company was planned. Walking to the fireplace Joe got a fire going, and saw that a pot of stew was still hanging over the fireplace, and a loaf of bread, now burnt to a crisp. So the Old Man had been fixing a meal, one he never got to eat, and one he had been intending to share with a friend. Who?
The sight of Old Man Ryan appalled Joe, and after the fire was started he took a blanket and rolled the dead body up in it, placing it in a fair corner and someplace where he wouldn't look often. Once that was done he braved the storm and put Cochise up with Old Man Ryan's mule. He found himself almost whishing he didn't have to go back to the house. He didn't look forward to spending the rest of the storm cooped up in a house with a dead man, but nothing was to be done for it, and back to the house he went. A flash of lightening lit up the place in an odd bluish glow and Joe shuddered at it. Walking into the house, he disregarded the food that had once been started, and made a pot of coffee, a nice strong pot.
A clock on the mantle chimed three and Joe looked up surprised. It felt like midnight. Three, he was supposed to have been in town with Mr. Taylor at that moment. Not stuck in a cabin with a dead body. Thorps had been more than happy to tell him that morning as soon as he had gotten into town that his appointment had been canceled and scheduled for tomorrow.
"Tomorrow," Joe sputtered. "Life is full of tomorrows."
Well it was for some, but not Old Man Ryan. He was staring into the fire impatiently watching the coffee boil when something in the fire caught his attention and he grabbed up the poker pulling it from the flames. A cigar. Old Man Ryan didn't smoke cigar's he smoked a pipe. The cigar was new, at least, it had been there since that morning, which made sense, for Ryan's wounds looked to be about that old. Carefully Joe sniffed the Tabaco and he smiled ever so slightly. There was only one person in Virginia City that smoked that brand.
Mr. Taylor had always been proud to declare that no one else smoked, or had his brand of cigar. Joe had even known him to change his brand on occasion if someone else had tried to copy him. No, Mr. Taylor always had to be original.
"Just might be your down falling," Joe muttered as he studied the cigar.
Carefully he placed it in his pocket, then lifting the coffee pot he poured a cup. Crouching next to the fire he thought long and hard before standing and walking about the room.
"But why would, Mr. Taylor kill Old Man Ryan? Unless of course he knew something that Taylor didn't want anyone else to know."
Sitting at the table Joe sighed. Suddenly this whole case had gotten very complicated. His head hurt, and he looked about completely frustrated. How in the world was he ever going to figure this mess out? The more he looked into it the more complicated it got.
Removing his hat from his head Joe thumped it on the table and shivered slightly. Standing he got a blanket and sat back in his chair sipping the hot coffee and thinking.
"What a mess."
Thank you all who are still reading sorry that posting is rather slow. Thank you for overlooking and grammar errors found. I currently have been editing myself and that's proven to be more difficult than first thought. I hope you have enjoyed thus far, I actually am stumped as to what to do next, so any comments or thoughts you might have would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks!
~indahom
