The Andersons did not come into town all that often. Adolphina blamed it on uppity Swedish airs. Chester was of the opinion they were kind, gentle folk who simply could not take much time away from their daily toil, but he did not offer his opinion to Adolphina. She generally disliked opinions that were not her own.
Twelve people. The total population. All that remained of the four score who once called Coffin Varnish home.
The dust from the departures of Jeeter Frost and Frank Lafferty had not yet settled when Chester and Win came out of the saloon. Lafferty had galloped south toward Dodge. Frost had ridden west toward God knew where. The bodies, and the blood, had to be dealt with, and Chester and Win were arguing over whether Chester should help clean up the mess when the Giorgio family came from their cottage and Placido and Arturo hurried from their livery, all with worried expressions. Gunfire in Coffin Varnish was unheard of.
“Everything is all right, folks,” Chester cheerily assured them. “There has been an incident but it is over.”
Minimi Giorgio, at a nudge from his wife, came closer. “Per favore, signore. Non capisco. Che cos’e quello? Incidente?”
“Damn it, Mini,” Chester testily responded. “I have just been through hell and you stand there chirping at me. How many times have I told you to speak American or don’t speak at all?”
“I am sorry, signore,” Giorgio said politely. “I always forget. But what is this incident you make mention of?”
Win answered him. “In this case four men have been shot dead.”
“Four men killed in your saloon?” Giorgio blanched and translated for his wife, who also blanched and wrapped her arms around their two boys and hugged them as if in fear of their being shot.
“Tell your woman there is nothing for her to fret about,” Chester said. “The killer is gone, leaving us the mess to clean up.”
“We will have a lot of explaining to do when the sheriff gets here,” Win commented.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Chester said. “He is bound to come once he hears about it.”
“Him, or a deputy.”
At the juncture the door to the general store opened and out lumbered the mayor’s distaff half. Adolphina plowed across the street as a ship might plow through a sea, her dress billowing like a sail, her moon face set in a scowl. “What is all the ruckus?” she demanded. “I was napping and could swear I heard gunshots.”
“You did, heart of my heart,” Chester said. “There has been a shooting.”
“What? Where?”
“Here.”
“In Coffin Varnish?”
“In the saloon,” Winifred clarified.
“Was anyone hurt?”
Chester enlightened her. “Four men were shot to death. Three nobodies and a newspaperman from that city south of us.”
“Dear God in heaven.” Adolphina barged past them to the batwings and nearly collided with Sally Worth, who was coming out. Adolphina’s scowl deepened. Sniffing, she said, “Well, are you just going to stand there blocking the doorway or let a lady pass?”
“I am so sorry,” Sally Worth said. “Here. Let me hold these open for you.” She pushed the batwings wide. “Is that enough room or would you like me to knock out the wall?”
Adolphina hissed and stalked on in.
“You should be nicer to her,” Win said to the dove.
“Why? She is never nice to me.” Sally Worth was in her fifties. The wear and tear of her profession was evident in her stringy brown hair streaked with gray and her many wrinkles. Her body was still shapely, though, if a bit thick through the middle, and she still sashayed with the best of them, swinging her hips fit to throw them out with every step she took. Scratching under her armpit, she yawned and commented, “That’s quite the mess you’ve got in there. Why didn’t you give a holler? The only excitement this lice trap has ever had and I missed it.”
“It happened sort of fast,” Win said.
Chester avoided looking at Sally as he remarked, “It was terrible. Not fit for a woman to see.”
“I am not squeamish,” Sally said. “I’ve seen it before, more times than I can count. When you have worked in saloons all your life, you see it all.”
The batwings creaked and in came Adolphina. “Who were those four men again, Chester?” She was not upset; she was not disturbed in any way.
Chester related all he knew about them, which was not much, then all he knew about their killer.
Sally Worth listened with her arms folded across her bosom, and when he was done, she said, “Jeeter Frost made his name in Texas. He was a ranch hand on the Bar T. A friend of his owned it, by the name of Tyler. A squabble started over water rights. There was a lot of shooting and burning and pretty near twenty men died. Tyler was murdered, ambushed one night by five of his enemies. Frost hunted them down and shot them dead.”
“How is it you know all that?” Winifred asked her.
“I was in Texas at the time, in San Antonio. It was all anybody talked about.”
Adolphina was gnawing her lower lip, a habit of hers when she was deep in thought. “So this Frost fellow is famous?”
“Not famous famous, like Wild Bill Hickok was, or like John Wesley Hardin,” Win said. “Famous in a small way. One penny dreadful and a lot of bar talk.”
“Still, people have heard of him.” Adolphina’s dark eyes, which were more close set than was common, bored into her husband’s. “You need to call a meeting of the town council, Chester.”
“I do? Why?”
“Use your head. The sheriff will come. Others, too. The curious. Maybe friends and acquaintances of the deceased.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Chester said, brightening. “Why, some of them might even buy something in our store.” He turned to the liverymen, who had been quietly listening. “Placido. Arturo. Would one of you Mexicans ride to Anderson’s and tell the Swede I am calling an emergency meeting of the town council in an hour and he must be here?”
“Sí, senor,” Placido said. He had his sombrero in his hand as a token of respect for the presence of the senoritas.
“Do you understand what has happened?” Chester struggled to think of the right word. “Do you comprende?”
“I speak excellent English, senor. Remember?” Placido said.
It was true, and it rankled Chester that a Mexican spoke it even better than he did. “Those priests taught you good, didn’t they?”
“They taught us very well, indeed, senor,” Placido said. He was always polite to everyone. Always a pleasant smile and a pleasant manner, and much more talkative than Arturo.
“Then off you go,” Chester said. He noticed the Giorgios were drifting in the direction of their cottage and hollered, “Minimi, you have to be at the meeting, too.”
“Me, signore? But the consiglio, it is you and Mr. Curry and Mr. Anderson. I am not a member.”
“You are today,” Chester said. “We have a decision to make that will affect everyone, so you might as well sit in.”
“As you wish. You are the alcade,” Minimi said, but he did not sound particularly happy about the invitation. His wife said something in Italian and he replied and she cast a worried look at Chester.
“What was that about, I wonder?”