Disclaimer I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.

Notes Wow, what can I say, just thank you SO MUCH for all the reviews I received for the first chapter! They were brilliant, thank you, I loved reading them! Thank you to Moska for information on the types of guns used : ) Assignments all handed in, so I can concentrate more on this now ; ) Enjoy the next instalment; Sid's turn…

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

Chapter 2: Enigmatic Stranger

Sid:

Mr Donald Flack is a very tall man. I'd estimate he is at least 6 feet and 7 inches in height; it would certainly take a lot of pine to fit him up for the next world, probably around a small tree's worth. But there's plenty of life in the young gentleman yet. And he certainly is a gentleman; always helpful, and always ready with a brisk word to the young urchins that sometimes get a little rowdy around the funeral parlour. It's not respectful to the dead to have young 'uns rolling marbles around amongst the coffins. Yes, a fine upstanding young gentleman. As is Sheriff Taylor, fine and upstanding that is, not quite as young. I would estimate his height at approximately 5 feet and 10 inches.

We certainly have a pair of men more than capable of upholding the law here in Hattanville. Not that we have too much trouble or law-breaking; it's a little town with a big name. The odd panhandler and carpet bagger ride in looking for a little mischief now and again. The sheriff and his deputy usually send them riding out again, and I've been known to do my bit before now. It's quite astonishing how a well-thrown chisel can bring a look of pain and terror to a man's face. They soon turn tail and run.

Trouble though. I certainly find myself with more than a little of it this morning. Not what I was expecting to see when I returned from my constitutional around the town square; one of my customers missing. That is not a good advertisement for a business built upon trust: S Hammerback and Son, established 1867, Trust Us To Keep You Buried. My father began the business way back in '67, and I of course took over when he departed, in a beautifully carved casket of his own design. Trust has always been my guiding motto. Customers need to trust that once they or a loved one have shuffled off this mortal coil, they will be safely buried with no chance of any mortal remains shuffling off by themselves.

The man in question was definitely dead. No question about it. The bullet hole between his eyes, the knife between his ribs and the axe between his shoulder blades did seem to suggest that with a good measure of certainty. There was no need to call in Doctor Hawkes to certify this time. On other occasions, yes, that has been necessary.

I do remember one instance of a young man who appeared to be dead, but no sooner had I knocked in the nails, then there he was, knocking on the lid. It gave me quite a turn I can tell you. He made a full recovery however, (turned out he had drunk several quarts of moonshine and was dead drunk), and seems fine and sober to this day. But I have noticed a certain reluctance to talk to me, and a certain shifty-eyed unsettlement in my presence. I believe several times he has crossed the street in rather a hurry to avoid talking to me.

Sheriff Taylor I believe also had a stern talking to for him, as did Miss Stella. Now there is a woman to admire, though I do worry sometimes whether it's right and proper for an unmarried lady to be running a liquor saloon with no gentleman to assist her. Although I do happen to know that Taylor spends many a night outside, just keeping an eye out. I don't know if Miss Stella is always aware of this. He's often to be seen out at night, walking round the town, keeping an eye open.

Taylor wears a lot of black clothing, so sometimes it is difficult to distinguish him from the night. Man never seems to sleep. And let it not be heard first from me, but that coupled with the wearing of black and the prowling about at night… Well, rumours start easily in a small town. I sometimes wonder if he needs a woman's touch. Taylor though is never a man to heed gossip or rumours. A fine upstanding man. And one that seems to be waiting for me to speak. Keeping the sheriff or his deputy waiting is not a matter to be entertained. I do seem to have given quite a shock to Mr Flack; his jaw is practically touching his chest.

"You still with us, Hammerback?" Taylor asks me, "Tell us exactly what happened."

Where to start? Let me see… "Well, sirs, the customer in question is, or rather was, a man of unknown identity, probably aged around 24 years, 6 feet in height. Died with his boots on up in the hills, a couple of fur trappers brought him down. Usual story, nothing to say who he was, pauper's burial. Poor man had no one who wanted to claim his worldly possessions…"

"So what happened to those possessions, and what were they?"

I wish Taylor wouldn't interrupt me. Impatience is not a virtue, but forgivable in these circumstances, I have to concede.

"Not much. Really not much to show for a life. He had on him said boots, very nice, looked to be new in fact, buffalo hide. Which I did think odd in some ways, as the rest of his attire was barely hanging together by its threads."

"Go on."

Is that a vein I can see beginning to twitch in his forehead? I really should warn him about over arousal of the blood circulation. The good doctor will also be able to suggest some remedy I expect, I believe digitalis has some useful properties…

"Keep talkin' Hammerback." Mr Flack has finally recovered his voice, "We'd like to be hearing your story before the sun sets. Lunchtime is fast creepin' up on us, and I'll tell you now, nothin' or no one comes between me and the plate of food out back that has my name on it."

"I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your lunch, young sir. No indeed, other than his boots and clothes this man had very little else. Other than one or two wads of tobacco, a small heap of money tucked away in a hidden seam, a pocket knife and most interesting of all, a piece of paper with what looks to be instructions or directions on it, but I couldn't figure out what the head or tail they're supposed to be."

"And these would be where now?"

There looks to be a slight flush in Mr Flack's face.

"Well now, some of the money went towards my costs, and the rest I passed to dear Miss Monroe for her orphan's charity. The tobacco I kept myself, not to smoke, but merely out of curiosity, it had an unusual odour. The knife and paper are also still in my safe keeping. The knife I must tell you had an intriguing design carved into the handle, scrimshaw…" I receive blank looks, "You do know…?"

"Enlighten us, please." I choose to ignore the suggestion of sarcasm in Mr Flack's voice. It's an ugly habit in such a young fellow.

"Engraving into bone, it was a bone handled knife. A bone from what, I'm not entirely sure, but I would hazard a guess at a whale, that's what's usually used. Leading me to conclude that either this man had been a sailor himself, or had been given the knife by a sailor."

"Or he stole it. Interestin', Hammerback, but what happened to the body? When was the last time you saw it?"

"Customer, please, and the last time I saw him was…" I take out my pocket watch. It is now almost half past twelve, "Approximately two hours and twenty five minutes ago. Mr Ross had not long passed my window on his way to the hardware store. He makes his prescription deliveries every day at ten am, never fails. I saw him, and then I went downstairs into the workshop where my customer was at rest. Then I went for my walk. When I returned, the man was gone. The door appeared to have been forced open, but nothing else has been taken as far as I can tell. I came straight over to you upon the discovery."

I put my spectacles back on. Taylor is regarding me with a grim look in his eyes. It has been said to me that at times they are the colour of thunderclouds, and I must say I can see the resemblance now.

"Anythin' else you recall, Hammerback?" He asks me, and I can see now that the look in his eyes is one I've seen before; he has the scent of the chase in his nostrils. I last saw it when he was asked by young Mr Ross at the drugstore to locate some arsenic that had been stolen. It didn't take him long to track it down, and prevent the untimely death of dear old Mrs Prosser at the hands of her not so devoted son. Once Taylor picks up a scent there's no stopping him. Like a bloodhound in a black shirt and stetson. Quite ruthless.

But they're waiting for me to answer, "Nothing more at present. Perhaps it would be of benefit for you to stroll on over to my establishment and see for yourselves, gentlemen? And at the same time, my dear Martha and the girls will be more than happy to put some coffee on for you, there may also be some cake in the store cupboard…"

"Lead us over." Mr Flack replies, and is leading the way out of the door.

As I expect, Martha is delighted to see our little party, and serves us handsomely with fresh brewed coffee and slabs of her home made lemon and seed cake. Mr Flack is persuaded to have four slices. And then we examine the scene of the crime.

"Tell me Hammerback, where was Martha when all this happened?"

"She was out back I expect." I reply, a little ruffled, I do hope that neither Taylor or Mr Flack are implying my dear wife is any way responsible for this mishap, "I hope you're not…"

But before I have a chance to say any more, a dreadful shriek sounds from outside, and we rush to see what has happened. To all of our horror, the sight of Miss Lindsay Monroe almost fainted away into the arms of Mr Daniel Messer greets us. The reason for this would appear to be a very dead gentleman, face down in the horse trough by the hardware store.

Hope you enjoyed this one! I am away for the weekend, so I apologise in advance if you review and do not receive a reply straight away. But please do review, and I will answer as soon as I can! Thank you, Lily x