“That is strange,” Corey said, mostly because he felt Winslow expected him to say something.
“It is indeed,” Winslow agreed. “You know, with all of these ladies here, we ought to be able to find out what they wanted.”
Corey wasn’t certain that Miss Parson would appreciate any interference in her conversations with the ladies. “I don’t know if—”
“Nonsense!” Winslow cut him off before further raising his voice. “Baker? Get over here!”
A thin man with glasses appeared at the banker’s elbow. “Yes, Mr. Winslow?”
“Find that pretty little wife of yours,” Winslow said. “Callaghan and I have some questions for her.”
Baker adjusted his glasses on his nose and examined Corey more closely. “Rock Quarry Callaghan?” he asked. “Yes, I believe you are. My wife is quite a fan of yours, sir. We saw you fight when you passed through Cheyenne. You quite captivated her, I’m afraid.”
Corey was embarrassed. He’d never before been told by a man that his wife was captivated with him. What was worse, he could not, for the life of him, remember who Mrs. Baker might be. Truth to tell, Corey suddenly realized, he hadn’t been paying much heed to women since Miss Pandora Parson had begun traveling with Patrick and him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Baker,” Corey offered, fumbling for the proper thing to say, “but I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting you and Mrs. Baker.”
“Oh, I don’t think that we were ever formally introduced,” Mr. Baker assured him. “We saw you fight a man called Pistol Pete, and my Alice has been talking about you ever since. If I’m to be completely honest, I think she’s become a bit overly fond of the manly sport you engage in.”
“Well now,” Winslow butted his way back into the conversation, “we can’t blame you too much if you overindulge that pretty little thing now and then. Why don’t you go find her among those women and let us ask her a couple of questions?”
Mr. Baker turned to do as his employer directed, but it proved to be unnecessary. A squeal of delight sounded from across the room and a young female form darted over to them.
“Mr. Rock Quarry Callaghan!” The woman almost shouted Corey’s name in her excitement. “I am so pleased to meet you.” She caught Corey’s right hand between her two and pumped it up and down in what felt to Corey a most unseemly handshake.
Mrs. Baker was not through talking. “I saw you fight in Cheyenne,” she told him. “They said Pistol Pete was supposed to be fast but you made him look like cold molasses.”
Corey’s face was flushing with embarrassment. He had no idea what to do in this situation. The woman’s husband was frowning behind her. Winslow bore a look of startled amusement, and the rest of the room was beginning to forget its grief over Collins and turn to watch what was happening.
Corey extricated his hand from Mrs. Baker’s grip and tried to step back and put more space between them. “Well Joe Bullock is as fast again over me.”
“You are so modest,” Mrs. Baker said. She stepped forward with Corey’s retreat, keeping the space tight between them. She wasn’t exactly touching him, but she was definitely standing closer to him than felt appropriate. “I saw the fight,” she reminded him. “I was right there beside the ropes watching you. Thunderin’ Joe started out with the advantage but he’d played his hand. You were about to start pouring the pain back upon him.”
That was true, Corey thought. He really believed that he was about to turn the tables on Bullock. But somehow, the devoted look in Mrs. Baker’s eye didn’t convince him that she understood this.
“You’re one of those boxers, aren’t you?” a woman demanded. It was the same woman who had been bemoaning Collins’s fate as Corey, Patrick, and Miss Parson had entered the house.
Corey’s fingers fidgeted on his cap. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“How dare you come here!” she shouted. “The menfolk all say that a bullet meant for you killed poor Mr. Collins.”
“Well I—” Corey began.
Mrs. Baker leapt to Corey’s defense. “How dare you even think such a thing? I was in the crowd. I saw the whole thing. Why I was standing right next to Mr. Collins when the bullet struck him. It wasn’t Mr. Callaghan the assassin was aiming at, it was that colored boxer, Thunderin’ Joe Bullock.”
The matronly woman took a deep breath to continue arguing. For the moment, Mrs. Baker’s attention was on her and not on Corey. The boxer saw his opportunity and hurried to escape the room.
The sun was setting as Corey stalked away from the doctor’s house and into the square. The newly constructed ring continued to dominate the field, and Corey’s love of the sport and interest in the shooting naturally drew him back to it.
A passel of boys were gathered around it, ranging in age from maybe six to sixteen. Two of the older boys were circling each other within the ropes, fists held high and dreaming of the day that they might fight before hundreds of people as Corey had today.
Corey watched them from a distance, wanting neither to interrupt nor to be recognized. He liked to be a hero to young men, but his performance against Bullock had been weak enough that he feared he might be the goat to them instead. The boys in the ring had no training, but they made up for that with heart, circling around each other and then throwing a flurry of punches that often knocked one or the other of them down.
As Corey watched he tried to remember his own brief battle with Bullock. Thunderin’ Joe had been pounding him against the ropes on the north side of the square. Collins had been standing in the west right up against the ring near the corner. The shot, therefore, must have come from the east, either from the windows of Flat Rock’s only hotel, or the roof of the hotel or one of the neighboring buildings.
How early had Collins taken his place to view the fight? It would have taken a lot of time to reach the perch that let the killer have a shot at him. Not to mention that he also had to think of the plan and fetch his rifle before trying to carry it out.
He?
With sudden dread, Corey realized that the killer didn’t have to be a jealous husband or an angry father. With so many female admirers, Collins might just as easily have run afoul of one who felt she’d been jilted or neglected.
Corey focused his attention on the rooftops again. They all looked pretty much the same with their peaked roofs to keep the snow from piling too high upon them. Only the hotel was noticeably different than the bank, the general store, and the barber shop, and that was a matter of height and not shape.
Could he really picture a woman in her dress and skirts climbing onto one of those roofs to shoot a man? Were the second-story hotel windows really high enough to give a good shot? Corey wasn’t a marksman. He just didn’t know enough to tell for sure.
“Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Callaghan.”
Corey turned to find Miss Parson had quietly stolen up beside him. “How did it go in there?” he asked.
Miss Parson laughed, a genuinely merry expression. “Well Mrs. Baker appears heartbroken that her boxing idol departed so suddenly, but I think that she is alone among the womenfolk in this particular view. Most, if not all, believe that Mr. Collins was slain by a bullet intended for you. Just what should be done about that they have yet to agree upon.”
Corey watched Miss Parson’s expression carefully as she spoke. She was very happy about something. She must have learned something positive while mingling with the women in that room.
“But you still don’t agree with them,” he ventured.
“Indeed I do not,” she answered. Her smile was radiant. It transformed her from a remarkably pretty woman into a true beauty.
“And...” Corey prompted her.
“Let’s just say that while the women in that room might be in mourning, their husbands and fathers are not. I might go so far as to speculate in private that most of those husbands and fathers have reason to be relieved that Mr. Collins is gone.”