Ragtime Cowboys by Loren D. Estleman

telephone in the combination dining room and parlor and went back to her seat. “That was a Sergeant Conifer with the San Francisco Police, returning my call. A horse answering Spirit Dancer’s description was found half an hour ago in the livery stable of a man named Soo Lok.”
    â€œThat sounds like the place where we rented our mounts,” Hammett said. “We could’ve saved ourselves a trip.”
    â€œI ain’t complaining.” Siringo sipped beer, spat a hop back into the glass, and sat back in his rocker, admiring Charmian London. It was dark out, and lamplight was uncommonly kind to her cheekbones. “I was pretty sure Butterfield told the truth this time. No one wants to be drug by a horse twice.”
    â€œThat was barbaric.” Becky London didn’t look up from David Copperfield open in her lap; on the other hand, she hadn’t turned the page in twenty minutes.
    Her stepmother ignored the interruption. “The resemblance wasn’t so close at first, but the sergeant was thorough enough to apply a piece of wet burlap to the horse’s forehead. He found Spirit Dancer’s star-shaped blaze under the paint. Personally I doubt Abner had the intelligence to think of that; but I doubt the police will be able to prove it was Soo Lok, unless Abner implicates him. It was probably a crime of opportunity. He saw his client was nervous, guessed theft was involved, and took steps to protect himself and whatever profit he might draw from the situation. In any case, the fact someone went to all that trouble certainly redounds to the theory’s credit.”
    â€œWho goes to jail over it don’t signify, though Earp’ll likely want somebody to pay; he’s vindictive. But he’s more interested in getting the horse back. Now all we got to figure’s who benefited from putting Butterfield in the ground before he could tell his story.”
    â€œWe know who, ” Hammett said. “ Why’s the question.”
    Charmian looked from one to the other. “What is it you think I’m too delicate to know? If having an assassin on my property doesn’t entitle me, I don’t know what would.”
    â€œMr. Hammett’s just speculating. I’d like to run it past your sheriff before we go around casting stones. Can you trust your hands to make Butterfield stay put till he comes?”
    â€œThey’re used to harder work. As I said, they’re a fine bunch of pirates.” She looked at the clock on the big stone mantel. “He should have been here by now. What’s keeping him?”
    â€œShaking every hand on the way,” muttered Becky. “He started running for reelection the minute he was sworn in.”
    â€œPatience, child. You’ve a lifetime to learn about the world of men.” Charmian returned her attention to Siringo. “You know, you didn’t have to break Ivan’s nose. He and his brother Yuri have been working here since Jack brought them from a Russian settlement up north. They’re sawyers by training, and between them they do the work of ten men.”
    â€œIt’s a self-defense issue. In Texas, a fellow’s hat can be the only thing between him and a set of fried brains.”
    â€œNeed I remind you this isn’t Texas?” This time Becky met his gaze. She still had her own hat on, as if she’d forgotten about it. He thought she looked comical sitting around her own house wearing a hat.
    Hammett turned from a shelf of books whose titles he’d been examining and smiled over his beer.
    â€œDon’t be too hard on him, miss. He’s got an allergy to lynch mobs. And he could’ve shot Butterfield and saved himself effort.”
    â€œHe’s a brute. This is Beauty Ranch, not some filthy mining camp.”
    â€œAll the more reason to see you came to no harm for harboring a thief without knowing it.”
    Siringo could see his partner was sweet on the