CHAPTER SEVEN

They were back on the trail to California again, these people who'd uprooted their whole lives back east to make this trek. And they were finding it easier in some ways, harder in others,

to keep pressing on with each new day. But it seemed to those who guided them, that like

so many others on this trail before them, these would be settlers had just come through their first 'baptism of fire', better and stronger for it. They were going to reach Plum Creek, tomorrow. This was a place that had started as a Pony Express stop out on the Nebraska prairie, nothing more than that, and now was a small town not that much different from the ones they left behind in Pennsylvania, Indiana, Ohio or Kentucky.

And as the pace of the train picked up again, so did its Wagonmaster's mood, for the most part. Hale's crew had been on their best behavior since leaving Kearney, and Chris didn't mind that one bit. Except it gave him no excuse to call Coop over to finish their sadly interrupted talk. Was his chief scout right? Did he only call Coop or any of the others over when they'd done something wrong? No wonder they acted so skittish sometimes! What kind of antique New England style curmudgeon was he turning into?

Still waiting for word from Fort Kearney's medical officer, Chris knew he couldn't wait very long once he had that 'word' to at least let his crew know the unexpected danger they

faced, now. Hale knew most of his passengers firmly believed they were leaving behind

the corruption and criminality of eastern cities. Now he'd have to decide whether or not to

tell them, it had followed them westwards, into what seemed a clean and clear new land! Human nature wasn't essentially different west of the Alleghenies or the Mississippi, either. Good and bad warred within it, as they always had, the Wagonmaster considered, and always would. And how many of these people told me, when signing up, they wanted or needed ' a fresh start, someplace else' ? Why, if they had no troubles, back east?

''Mister Chris?'' Barney West called out, rushing up to the Wagonmaster, interrupting Hale's reverie. ''Mister Chris, there's a fellow, I mean there's a gentleman, just rode up to the cook wagon. But he said he rode all the way from Fort Kearney Just to talk to you, and not anybody… not anyone else, I mean.''

'' Thanks, Barney.'' Chris said, grinning at the youngster, who seemed to be growing taller everyday, these days, astride his blue roan. ''But where is he?''

''Oh, well that's the other part, I needed to tell you, Mister Chris. This … gentleman he and whooped, the way Duke and Coop do sometimes when they see something that's surprising but good. And then he practically ran up to Miss Kate, when she walked through the camp.

And then he gave Miss Kate the biggest ever hug. Seems like she knows him, cos she pulled back an' then hugged him, right back again. They're talkin' over by her wagon, now. And Mister Chris?'' Barney finished, nearly out of breath.

''What is it, Barney, something else I need to know?'' Chris asked, seeing the boy was excited about something, that wasn't how Kate Crawley hugged a stranger from Fort Kearney.

'' This fellow… sorry, this gentleman, he's one heckuva rider, I have to figure, cos he's only got his right arm!'' the youngster exclaimed, his eyes growing wide at the image.

'' That's likely to mean he fought in the War, Barney. A lot of men lost an arm or a leg, when there was nothing to save their lives but an amputation. So, of course they had to learn to do without, or else to use an artificial limb. And G-d willing you'll never have the chance to learn that at first hand.

Now, let's go find out who this gentleman is, who knows Katie that well. '' Hale said, putting one arm around Barney's shoulder, partly to keep the boy from racing back through camp at the same velocity he'd achieved in looking for the Wagonmaster.

''Sure, Mister Chris. Sure.'' Barney answered, accepting the older man's gesture, partly because he'd noted Hale favoring his left hip again today.

'' Dr. Jemison Singer, this is my dear friend Chris Hale, who runs this outfit.'' Kate Crawley was saying, a few minutes later. She had one arm companionably around the back of a wiry, compactly built young man, with dark-sandy hair and sharp features, lit by bright grass green eyes. This man dressed like an Eastern nabob's son or grandson, Chris thought, down to the fancy material of his vest and the gold chain going into his watch pocket. But his manner didn't match that label, he was studying Chris now, too, with a keen intelligence in his gaze. His bearing was a soldier's at parade-rest. And his left coat sleeve was tightly folded, and pinned nearly at the shoulder.

''And Chris, this is my young friend Jemmy Singer from Raleigh, the protégé and colleague of another friend of mine from Boston, Thomas Macquillan. I'm afraid I waylaid Jemmy for a little while; when he actually rode up from Kearney to see you, Chris. But I hadn't seen this rascal in nearly four years! And he didn't write me either! So I'm afraid I've taken your name completely off my dance card, Jemmy!''

'' Now you've completely broken my heart, and given great hope to the whole, entire rest of the male population, Miss Crawley, ma'am.'' Singer grinned, and held his hand out to the Wagonmaster.

'' I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Hale. I came up the trail from Kearney with a report I think you've been waiting for. I'm also here to offer and arrange for any additional help you might need. And I rode up to ask if you're the Chris Hale my cousin Cooper Smith is working for, these days.''

'' He is, Jemmy. And just what kind of help does Chris need? And why all of a sudden do I get the impression I'm not supposed to ask either of you gentlemen about this report?'' Kate demanded to know, looking from Singer to Hale and back again.

'' Because, this report was written at Mr Hale's request, that's all, Kate.'' Singer told her. ''And since I wanted to see if Coop was here, I told the officer at Fort Kearney, I'd bring his report with me. Where is that n'er do well Cousin of mine, anyhow?''

''Oh, Coop rode out this mornin' to take another look at the North Platte.'' Barney blurted out, then turned a wide eyed look on Chris. '' Reckon I should have let you answer that, Mister Chris, 'm sorry.''

'' Reckon you should, Barney, but never mind that now. Dr Singer, this impetuous young man is my youngest crew member, Barnaby West.'' Chris tried and failed to frown at the youngster.

''Glad to know you, Barnaby. '' Singer nodded, took Barney's hand and shook it warmly. ''I actually get a letter about every two years from Coop, so I'm pretty sure he mentioned it being really crowded around here as far as competition for his job goes. Figure you're next

in line for chief scout, aren't you?''

Barney was still grinning ear to ear at Chris labeling him a 'young man', but he shook his head vigorously and corrected the Carolinian. '' Me? Oh, no, no, sir. Duke Shannon's a darned fine scout, too. And Bill Hawks, he's our ramrod, Bill can probably ride rings around both Coop

and Duke as far as scoutin' the trail goes.''

'' Then when I get a moment free, Barnaby will you introduce me to the rest of the crew?'' Singer asked.

''Oh, sure!'' Barney nodded, grinning even wider than before. '' Surely, Doctor Singer, I'd be glad to. That surely is a beautiful grey you rode up the line on, a real beauty.''

'' We try hard not to let Prince hear too many of the compliments he gets, Barnaby.'' Singer smiled, taking a conspiratorial tone. '' He'd really like to be a thoroughbred, you see. But

the old fellow's just a sort of Morab with some quirks added by way of the Welsh ponies my grandfather brought over here with him, years ago. So, if you don't mind, I won't tell Prince you were admiring him when we came in.''

''Oh, oh, sure.'' Barney nodded somberly. '' Wanderer, my blue roan, he gets a bit prideful himself, at times. So I can figure what you're sayin', surely. Ummm… Doctor Singer, I was admirin' the way you rode up, too… It was somethin' to see, alright! I was wonderin' if

maybe you'd be with the train long enough to show me how…''

'

Barney!'' Chris exclaimed, frowning in earnest at the youngster, now. ''Apologize for that, right now, young man and go on about your business.''

''Oh gosh! I'm sorry, Doctor Singer, sir! I'm real sorry. I shouldn't have asked about …'' Barney flushed red and chattered on until Singer put his hand on the boy's shoulder,

smiled warmly and looked him right in the eye.

'' It's alright, Barnaby, or do your friends call you Barney? Anyhow, I actually learned that

way of riding, for fun, when I was a … young man, myself. And I can tell you it really drove my folks wild, when I'd ride up that way. And they were well within their rights, 'cause I got thrown a time or two, doing it. So I didn't have much trouble at all, getting back to that. I don't think I really thought about it, much. Lots of fellows came home with one arm or one leg, some with both legs gone. I've got nothing to kick about, and I don't mind talking about it, either. So, never you mind. And don't stop asking questions, either.''

'' Ummm… alright. Reckon I've got some more work to get done. Thanks, Doctor Singer. I'll get back to that harness work now, Mister Chris.'' Barney said and took off like a shot again.

''Well, if you gentlemen will please excuse me.'' Kate said, chuckling as Barney disappeared from sight. '' I have work to get done too. And I won't trouble you about that mysterious report, again, I promise. Not unless my appalling curiosity gets the better of me, that is.''

'' Don't ever, ever change, Kate, please?'' Singer asked, and Hale could tell this was an old routine with them.

'' I have no plans to, certainly not at this late date, Jemmy.'' Kate answered and climbed

back onto her wagon, sitting with her back to both men.

'' I think we've been summarily dismissed, Dr.'' Chris said, shaking his head, leading Singer away. ''My wagon's over this way, and well out of earshot. I'm glad you brought that report. But I doubt I'm going to be glad about whatever it says. You've read it, I suppose?''

'' I did, out of old courier's habits, in case the paper itself were lost. It's not good news,

except I suppose, for the young woman's mother back in Kearney.'' Singer answered, and handed two twice folded sheets of paper to Hale. The Wagonmaster walked the doctor over

to his wagon and read both pages twice before looking at the younger man.

'' I was right, then. Melissa Burke was murdered.'' Chris finally said when he'd tried twice to find a different answer in those pages.

'' According to what you told us, and with Mrs Burke's permission to do an autopsy, that's what we found. Melissa was forced to swallow enough laudanum to stop the breathing of

a man twice her size! '' Jemmy Singer nodded, frowning. '' And she clearly fought her attacker. She undoubtedly fought for her life. WE found several small, but noticeable

defensive wounds on both her hands. That young woman was anything but suicidal the

night she died.''

''So, we know how she was killed. But we have no idea at all by why or by whom!'' Hale

shook his head, throwing the pages down. '' So now I get to tell my crew and probably the calmer, more rational among my passengers that there's been a murder on my train!''

'' Well, that's actually only partly true, Mr. Hale.'' Singer told him. '' I came up here to give you that, and to talk to my cousin Cooper, because there is some evidence to show us

the motive and the people involved in this killing. Melissa Burke was betrothed to a young

man named Aaron Calder, who died three months ago. And Aaron Calder served in the

8th Texas Cavalry, who called themselves Terry's Texas Rangers, during the War.

Well, in the past eighteen months or a little more, twenty other people, men and women who had the similar connections to the 8th have died, the same way Melissa Burke died. They were all poisoned, is one way to put it, with killing doses of either morphine or laudanum. And those are only the cases we're sure of because we were able to do autopsies. There may be as many as ten or fifteen or twenty more we aren't sure of!

And worse than that, we know that ninety men from that regiment, men listed as fit for duty gave their paroles when Joseph Johnston surrendered. And we know that one hundred and fifty eight men of that regiment left before the surrender, for the Trans-Mississippi, to go on fighting there. So we have, in potential, two hundred and eleven men being targeted by these murderers, as well as whatever surviving families they have.'' Singer sighed tiredly and glanced at the Wagonmaster.

Chris was listening to every word, the doctor-agent could tell, and he was coming to another unwelcome conclusion. '' And you wanted to talk to Coop about these murders? Do you believe he has a connection to the 8th?''

'' I don't have to believe it, Mr. Hale. I know. Coop has the same connection to the 8th Texas that I do, our cousin, Jess Harper rode with Terry's Rangers. The difference is, Coop and Jess are as close to being identical as they could be without being twins. And I'm standing here telling you this, and wondering why you don't look surprised by that fact. Have you met our cousin Jess?''

''Not for many years, no, Doctor.'' Hale answered, looking around, hoping his head scout wasn't learning about their past connection this way. '' I last went down to Nacogdoches

when Beth Smith died. And I haven't talked with Coop about that, either. So if you don't mind keeping a confidence, until I get the chance, until there's a time I can let my friend Coop

know his father was also my very good friend, long ago… ''

'' I won't say a word.'' Singer promised. '' Seems like that would be something between you and Coop, now. In any case, I need to finish telling you why I rode up from Kearney. And I don't think you'll like this part much, either, Mr. Hale. I'm going to tell my Cousin Coop he needs to leave your train, if there's any hope of keeping him alive.''

''Because these murderers could easily mistake him for young Jess, I understand that part. But I wish you luck, Dr, convincing Coop to leave, or do much of anything only for his own protection. I think you must already know just how hard a row to hoe you're looking at, there.'' Chris told the doctor.

'' How blasted stubborn, you mean?'' Singer nodded, with a crooked smile. '' That much I know, very well, and have for a long time.''

'' Yes, I'd have to guess you do. Is there anything more you can tell me, Doctor? Is there anything I can do to keep my friend and my passengers safe from what sounds like a pack

of maniacs, running loose out here?''

'' That's the most apt description I've heard, yet. We don't have anything that pins their motive down any closer than a shared connection to Terry's Rangers. Some of my colleagues are back east, trying to chase down records from that time. And of course, the greatest parts of the Confederate Army's records were lost when Richmond burned.

We're working on a number of theories, but none of them seem to fit with the details we

do know. It seemed logical for starters to speculate that these killers have in their number someone who served with the 8th, who's carrying some incredibly bitter grudge. But that doesn't really explain them killing people like young Miss Burke. It could be a family connection, too, we could be dealing with the survivors of one of the Rangers who didn't

make it home. But that doesn't explain the means these killers have to come across country, to kill and get away with such impunity, nor how they have such a supply of morphine and laudanum. And I hate to think any physician is a willing part of this murder scheme.

So I ask myself who have they robbed, or who have they in some way coerced to keep them supplied? And then I ask myself, if they really plan to murder as many people as we fear, how can we begin to protect those former Confederates and their kin? And that's when I start to wish I could fold, and leave this game. But I can't, not when my cousins and my friends, my best friends growing up are both in the midst of this danger. So, here I am, ready and willing to clonk both Coop and Jess over their hard as mahogany noggins, to keep them safe!''