TWO

ooooo

He'd known it would be haunted, but he hadn't realized quite how powerful the ghosts would be.

Joe Cartwright ran a hand along the back of his neck as he turned from the window and the dawning day to face the specters of the past. During the night it had been just about all he could do not to gather up his blankets and head out to the porch to sleep in the open air. Darkness had fallen by the time he entered Julia's room. The moment he lit the lamp images of what had been, like a herd of wayward cattle, ran riot through his tired mind.

His father, without a face, asking if he knew who shot him.

Pa sitting at the end of the bed chiding him; demanding he 'figure it out'.

Someone causing him pain. Intense pain. And then a sweet smell. A sickening sweet smell and…

Flowers. Everywhere. On the dresser. The quilted spread. Dancing on the walls, pressing in on him; smothering him.

A pillow over his face. His fingers clawing the air. No air. No breath.

Going…to…die….

Hoss. Saving him.

Joe sucked in a breath and held it. His gaze traveled around the room noting the coverlet and wallpaper, as well as a framed print of two puppies at play. A left-over from Julia's childhood, no doubt. He'd lain in this room for several weeks, recovering from the gunshot wound to his back. He'd grown so bored he'd asked for something to do and braided everything he could think of other than Julia's long brown hair.

She had beautiful hair.

Joe snorted. He'd felt kind of silly giving her that gewgaw, but she kept remarking on how beautiful the braided reins he was fashioning were. He had to admit he had skill at it – honed over twenty years and more. He'd asked her Ma if she had any ribbons and added some color to it. The curly-haired man released the breath he held as he walked over to the knick-knack shelf that hung on the bedroom wall. The gewgaw lay on the top shelf. He'd discovered it in the middle of the night while he was pacing. It kind of surprised him that she'd kept it – and kept it in such a prominent spot.

But then women were a whole different country.

A knock on the door made him jump.

"Joe, if you're decent, I've got some linens for you."

He snorted, remembering Pat's remark of the day before about seeing him in his 'birthday suit'. "Come on it. I've got more clothes on than the last time you saw me," he replied with a laugh. He'd removed his outer shirt and was clothed only in his undershirt and tan pants.

The older woman tutted as she entered the room. "Pshaw, boy! All I had eyes for was that hole in your back." Pat halted midway in placing the linens in the dresser drawer to look at him. "Tom and I thought you were a goner for sure. I don't know that I've ever seen a wound so bad. Other than…." She paled a bit.

"Other than?"

Pat shoved the drawer closed and turned toward him. "Other than Ed Flanders' son, James."

He'd heard the tale. "Pa said he was bushwhacked in a way too – killed by a man who thought he'd gunned down his brother."

The older woman shook her head. "That's the story."

"You don't believe it?" he asked, surprised.

"I knew Jimmy. He was a good boy. It just doesn't sound like him."

"Was he shot in the back as well?"

She shook her head. "He was gut shot. Jimmy bled out right quick."

So, unlike him, James was facing his killer.

Joe reached for his shirt. "Did the sheriff…what's his name?"

"Truslow." Pat scowled. "Robert Truslow."

"I take it you don't like him much."

"Have to," Pat said as she went to the window and threw the curtains open. "He's all we got."

He finished buttoning his shirt and then sat on the edge of the bed. "My pa thought he was…."

"Arrogant?"

"Well, that too," he laughed. "I was going to say inefficient."

"Bob came here from Carson City a few years back. He was set to retire, but Thom Fenton and Amos Pettis talked him into taking the position. Orv and Jim's pas"

Joe's jaw tightened. Orv Pettis, along with Jim Fenton, had meant to kill him. Hoss had thrown Fenton through the window in this very room when he found the rustler trying to finish him off. Pa clipped Orv with a bullet and lamed him. After they got home, his father made an inquiry about the outcome of their arrest, but they'd never heard what happened.

"Whatever happened to those two? The ones who shot me?"

The older woman raised a brow. "You didn't hear? They're dead."

Joe forgot to breathe. While he'd envisioned the pair hanging from a noose, the reality of it struck him hard. Orv, especially, had been young.

"Were they hung?"

She shook her head. "Bob was taking them into Lone Pines to await trial. They tried to make a break for it. One of his deputies shot them." Pat cocked her head. "You look kind of peeked. You need some water?"

"No. I'm just…surprised is all. You mentioned Pettis' father."

"Amos?"

"Was he okay with…. I mean, was there any kind of investigation?"

"There was an inquiry in Lone Pines. The sheriff and deputy were cleared of any wrong doing. What is it you're thinking, Joe?"

He frowned. James Flanders murdered, his killer unknown. Him, bushwhacked and left for dead. His would-be killers killed in turn on Sheriff Truslow's watch.

Tom Griswold, missing and presumed dead on a cattle drive that included Robert Truslow.

"Was Sheriff Truslow involved in the investigation into James Flanders' death?"

Pat nodded as she headed for the door. "Bob found him."

Joe listened to the door shut behind her. Then he rose and went to the window.

He'd have to wire Pa.

It seemed he was going to be spending a few days with the Griswolds after all.

ooooo

Joe was leaning over the water trough. After working steadily for several hours helping out around the yard, he'd removed his shirt and was washing the sweat out of it using a bar of soap he'd found on the dresser in Julia's room. A flash of Hoss laughing his head off caught him unawares.

His big brother would never have let him down for smelling like vanilla.

"Hey there! What do you think you're doin'?" an anxious young voice called out.

Joe straightened up as he rung the shirt out. He hid the smile that threatened to curl the corners of his lips at the sight of the intense young man approaching him.

If anyone had the right name it was Ernest Goode.

"Hello, Ern," he said.

The Griswolds' hand stared straight at him and made no attempt to mind his manners. Ern's deep brown eyes were narrowed and fixed on him with suspicion. The young man started to say something – probably intending to order him off the property – and then, suddenly, he grinned.

"Mister Cartwright?"

"That's my pa, but yes, it's me." He held out his hand. "Please, call me Joe."

Ern moved right on up and took his outstretched hand and pumped it for all he was worth. "I didn't figure we'd ever see you again, Joe. You're lookin' good."

Somehow he doubted that.

Maybe Ern did know something about manners.

"Julia said you were still here. I'm glad she and her ma have someone trustworthy to look out for them."

"I do my best." The young man sighed. "What happened to Mister Griswold, well, it just wasn't right."

"I understand you weren't on the drive?"

"No, sir." His chest puffed out just a bit. "Sheriff Truslow made me temporary sheriff while he was gone."

Joe was curious. "Why didn't he let you go and stay behind?"

Ern scratched his head. "You know, I kind of wondered that myself at the time, but Mister Griswold told me to do it. Said he'd feel safer with me watchin' over the women."

His words caught Joe's attention. "Safer than with the sheriff?"

The young man winced. "Didn't your Pa tell you about sheriff? I don't like to talk bad about anyone, but Sheriff Truslow's not the sharpest tool in the shack."

"Why's he still sheriff then?"

Ern opened his arms and indicated the land around them. "It's a big territory with only a few spreads, plus a one-horse town. Nobody else wants the job."

"I see," Joe said as he pulled his damp shirt on and began to button it.

The young man sniffed and then his eyes shot to the soap. "That Miss Julia's?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "I couldn't find any soap that didn't smell like a woman. This one was at least tolerable."

"So you didn't want to smell like roses or lavender, eh?" Ern laughed. "Miss Julia likes to make soap. It's always interestin' to see what she comes up with. My favorite is her calendula, rose, and cornflower. She's got so many kinds of oil in it, you think you're gonna slip and break your neck climbin' out of the tub."

Joe laughed. "I see you've tried it."

Ern actually blushed. "I didn't want Miss Julia to think I didn't like it or that I thought it was too girly."

He studied the young man a moment. "You're fond of her, aren't you?"

"Miss Julia? Sure. I watched her grow up."

"Oh? So, you're older than her?"

Ern looked at him like he was an idiot. "Gosh! Sure am. A whole four years!"

Joe sucked in a sigh of his own. He was getting old enough, he was beginning to understand why his Pa looked at people over twenty and scoffed, 'Children!'

He nodded toward the barn. "Can I help you with some chores?"

"You stayin' for a while?"

He hadn't meant to, but something about this whole thing – Pat's illness, the 'accidents' around the ranch, and Tom Griswold's untimely death – disturbed him. Pa knew he could be gone a week or more, traveling to Lone Pines and back, so the older man shouldn't begin to worry – at least until after the telegram he sent reached him.

"I have a few days to spare. This is a big place to keep up on your own."

Ern nodded. "I do my best, but truth to tell there's things I just can't get to."

Joe slapped an arm around the young man's shoulders. "Point the way!"

ooooo

They worked until noon repairing the portion of the barn that had been burnt, and then moved on to fix and secure the fence that had been torn down; the one that allowed the horses to escape. As they worked side-by-side Ern told him all about the strange happenings over the last year, most of which had cost Pat Griswold money she didn't have. She was a stubborn woman and took each one in stride. The young man explained Pat had been out trying to mend a portion of the fence herself when she cut her leg on barbed wire. An infection followed that came near to taking her life. Doctor Scully, the surgeon who had saved his life, saved hers as well.

Ern was hesitant, but in the end admitted that Pat was close to broke and might have to sell.

Their conversation ceased when Julia showed up with a basket of bread and cold cuts for lunch and three of them retired to the shade of a nearby tree to eat. The sun was bright and the day, beautiful. Its rays warmed them enough that they remained there for some time laughing and talking. The sound of an approaching horse caused both him and Ern to rise.

"Oh, dear," Julia sighed as he helped her up. "Ma's gonna be fit to be tied tonight."

"Why is that?" he asked as he draped her shawl around her shoulders.

"Ed Flanders," Ern said.

Joe had a vague memory of the name. Pa didn't like the man from what he could recall. "What's so special about Ed Flanders?"

Julia rolled her eyes. "He's been sweet-talking Ma since about six months after Pa died. He wants to marry her."

"Ms. Griswold's told him plain and simple what he can do with his proposal, but it ain't stopped him from comin' out once a week to try and talk her into it."

"Ma doesn't want to get married again. She says one man's enough for one lifetime."

Joe was thinking. "It would solve her problems, though, wouldn't it? She wouldn't have to sell."

Julia was glaring at Ern.

The young man dropped his head. "Sorry, Miss Julia."

"Don't blame Ern, Julia," Joe said with a grin. "I'm used to getting my way."

"Well, you're right," she admitted with a sigh. "Ed started showing up right after the trouble began. He told Ma he had enough money to keep her and work the land. When she said she didn't love him, do you know what he said? He didn't care! He said they'd come to love one another in time."

At that moment, the subject of their conversation drew abreast them. Ed Flanders greeted Julia and Ern before dismounting. He was an average man of average height, with the kind of face you could easily forget. His hair was black going gray and he had pale, narrow eyes. Joe remembered now that Pa had spoken of him. He told him he found the man to be cold. Apparently Flanders had refused to do anything to help in the search for the men who had bushwhacked him, and almost seemed to be interfering with it.

"Who's this?" Ed asked with a nod in his direction.

Joe stepped forward. "Joe Cartwright."

Flanders stared at his hand a moment before taking hold and shaking it. "Cartwright. You related to that man who had the boy who was shot here around a year or so back?"

"I'm the 'boy' who was shot."

"I guess you look different on your feet." Ed scowled. "What're you doin' back here?"

He could see why this man had rubbed his father the wrong way. "I was on my way to Lone Pines on business. I thought I'd see how the Griswolds were doing."

"Well, you seen it now, so you can be on your way."

Julia stepped between them. "Joe's gonna stay a few days and help Ern out."

"Yes," he agreed. "We fixed the barn this morning, and are working on the fence. It's curious how many 'accidents' there have been since Mrs. Griswold has been on her own."

Ed was staring at him.

He stared back.

Then, like a pane of glass striking stone, Ed's deadpan look shattered and genuine concern entered his eyes. "Pat's a stubborn woman," he sighed. "She needs a man to look out for her."

"And you think you're the one?"

"Seems to me it ain't a stranger's place to ask."

"Joe's not a stranger," Julia insisted. "He's…."

"What exactly?" the older man asked.

Yes.

What exactly was he?

"Julia? What are you doing lollygagging about? You pack up that basket and…." The older woman had been standing on the porch with her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. She'd just taken a step forward. "Ed. I didn't see you there."

"It's Thursday," he said.

"So it is," Pat acknowledged. "I suppose you've come to ask your question."

"And I suppose you're gonna give me the same answer."

She nodded. "And a slice of pie if you want it."

"Don't mind if I do." Ed started forward, then he swung around. "You listen to me, young fellow. You do anything to bring harm to these two ladies and you'll answer to me."

Julia started to protest, but he stopped her. Joe smiled. "I was about to say the same thing to you."

Ed held his gaze. "Then we understand one another."

Joe watched the sullen man walk away.

Yes, he supposed they did.

ooooo

It took some doing to find out where Sheriff Truslow's office was located. It turned out it was in Lone Pines, but he used his home – which was about halfway to the city – as a base of operations when he was out this way. Once he was done talking to the lawman, Joe intended to ride on to Lone Pines and wire both his Pa and Clem Foster – Pa, to let him know what had happened to Pettis and Fenton, and Clem, in order to see if he had any knowledge of Robert Truslow. He'd have to stay overnight once he got there, so he'd let Pat and Julia know he wouldn't be back until morning.

Julia's goodbye kiss still lingered on his lips.

The curly-haired man grinned. That awkward gawky girl he remembered – the one who'd been afraid he would die in her bed – was still there, but the not-so-ugly duckling was quickly turning into a swan. Julia was nineteen now and, rather than cracking under the unexpected responsibility of taking care of her mother and running a spread the size of the Griswold's, she'd embraced it. In the time he'd been away Julia had matured and blossomed into a beautiful and attractive young woman.

Joe snorted. He could just hear Hoss now. 'There you go, little brother. You got yourself a mystery with dead bodies right and left and all you can think about is that pretty little filly and her long legs.'

He closed his eyes. His stomach muscles tensed as if he'd been sucker-punched.

He'd never hear that voice again .

Joe lifted his gloved fist and brought it down on the sheriff's door with more force than intended. When there was no response, he cast a glance to the side. Truslow's horse was tethered to the rail, so he knew he was in.

So he tried again.

"Who is it?" a gruff voice called out.

'The man you would have happily let die,' he thought, but said, "Joe Cartwright. I'd like to talk to you if you have a minute."

The door opened to reveal a man he only vaguely remembered. The sheriff had come out to the Griswolds to talk to his Pa before they left for home. He'd seen him through the open bedroom door.

Robert Truslow made Roy Coffee look like a lean mean Texas Ranger.

The lawman, if that was what he could be called, was in his mid-fifties at a guess, with a pork-jowl face and piggish eyes, the color of which were indeterminate. They might have been blue, or they might have been an ugly gray. If someone had shoved him hard, he would have rolled all the way down to Mexico with his short legs and arms akimbo. Truslow's belly protruded past his nose, while his nose dived south toward a chin that was thrust out in defiance.

"Cartwright, eh?" the sorry excuse for a lawman asked as his beady eyes searched every inch of him. "What're you doin' back here?"

"Hello to you too," Joe said, drawing back the hand he held out. "I didn't know I needed permission to be in the area."

His eyes narrowed even further – if that was possible. "We don't want no trouble 'round these parts."

It seemed an odd thing to say, but then Joe's suspicions were already aroused where this man was concerned. He knew that could and did color his perceptions.

"Look, Sheriff Truslow, I don't mean to cause any trouble. I came looking for you because I wanted to ask about Jim Fenton and Orv Pettis. Seems to me, since I am the man they meant to kill, that I have a right to know what happened."

"They tried to escape, plain and simple," Truslow said.

"And you shot them down in cold blood?"

The sheriff jammed one piggy finger in his direction. "Now, look here Mister Cartwright, you ain't got any more right to grill me than that pa of yours had!"

"So you did shoot them down in cold blood?"

The officious lawman drew a breath and let it out…real…slow. "Them two boys jumped one of my deputies. Got his gun. What do you think we should have done, asked them to dance?"

Joe noted movement in the house behind the other man. "Sorry. I didn't realize you weren't alone."

Truslow glanced behind. "Just a couple of boys come over for a friendly hand of poker."

He glanced at the sky. It was getting late and he had no desire to sleep in the open. It was too cold. "Is it all right if I ask you one more question before I go?"

"What's that?" he groused.

"What happened to Tom Griswold?"

"You ask an awful lot of questions for a stranger," the sheriff replied.

'And you evade an awful lot of them for someone in the know,' he thought.

"I didn't want to ask Pat…Mrs. Griswold or her daughter," he ad-libbed. "I didn't want to stir up unpleasant memories."

A man appeared behind the sheriff. "He bothering you, Bob? You want me to get rid of him?"

"He's botherin' me all right," the lawman replied, "but I don't need no help."

The other man was a little taller than Truslow and a whole lot thinner. Joe couldn't see his face, but the way he moved – slightly hunched over and quick – set his hackles on edge.

"I understand you were on the drive," he continued. "I thought maybe…."

"Now, look here. Tom took a risk he shouldn't ought to have taken. I told him he was too old to try to head off a stampede. He should have let one of the younger men do it."

"I understand you never found a body?"

"Them cattle went straight into the river, boy," Truslow said, emphasizing the 'boy'. "I doubt there was anythin' left to find."

And with that, the sheriff slammed the door in his face.

So much for the people's servant.

Joe considered hammering on the door again, but decided it was pointless. While the sheriff had said nothing to confirm his suspicions, the obese little man's pat answers had done nothing to allay them either. Turning on his heel, Joe stepped down from the porch and headed for his horse. Cochise snorted and nudged him with her nose when he arrived. As he fished in his pocket for a treat, Joe considered everything he had learned so far. Some time back, three years at most, maybe less, Ed Flanders son had been killed. The circumstances were suspicious to say the least. Sheriff Truslow had been the one to find him and, so far, no one had been held accountable for his murder. A year ago he too had been bushwhacked and, from what his Pa told him, it seemed Lone Pine's sheriff had done everything he could to impede the search for his would be killers – who were now dead themselves. And shortly after that, the good sheriff had turned his badge over to Ern and gone on the drive and Tom Griswold had ended up dead.

All of it might be coincidence.

But then again, it might not.

ooooo

To be continued