sink into it. Lying there as poor Curtis is—and has been for half a day, presumably—we might very well see the same effect. After all, it’s semi hard cheese we have here, not parmigiana or pecorino.”
“Not what or what?” I asked.
Valmont looked at me sadly. “They are more chee-ZES, mon ami . You do not have them in the West?”
“Friend,” I said, “where I come from, there’s two kinds of cheese and two kinds only: the kind that comes from a cow and the kind that comes from a goat.”
Valmont’s pity turned to horror.
“Jehoshaphat!” Colonel Crowe cried out. “This is getting us nowhere!”
Diana threw a glance at Gustav, her big brown eyes widening ever so slightly. She’d handed him a chance to show off—perhaps win her father over—and so far all he’d done was open up a debate about the relative hardness and softness of exotic cheeses. He’d have to do a lot better if he was going to prove himself the smartest man there.
“The colonel’s right,” he said. “Let’s set the cheese talk aside, for now. There’s something else that needs figurin’. Something mighty peculiar I noticed about the body.”
“Yes?” Diana asked eagerly.
“When I swung in close to Curtis’s head,” my brother said, “I smelled dung.”
Diana winced, while her father rolled his eyes.
“I hate to be undelicate,” Valmont said, “but when a man dies, certain inavoidable processes are to be expec-TED. The result I like to call ‘ le parfum de la mort .’ The sickly-sweet smell of death.”
“Hell’s bells, I know what a stiff smells like,” my brother fumed. “Ain’t nothin’ ‘sickly sweet’ to it, if it’s fresh. Anyway, I’m talkin’ about Curtis’s head, not his trousers. I’m tellin’ you, I got a whiff of dung. Cow dung.”
“Could it have been a hair oil or pomade of some kind?” Greene asked.
“You ever heard of a pomade that smells like cow shit?” Old Red snapped back. He was growing so vexed, even his hero’s stand-in wasn’t spared a splash of acid.
“If you please, sir!” The colonel jerked his head at Diana. “Watch your language around the lady!”
Gustav swiped a hand at the man. “Aww, she’s heard a lot worse outta me.”
Diana’s shoulders slumped, as if she wanted to pull herself down into her dress like a turtle retreating into its shell.
“Perhaps what you smelled was the cheese going rotten,” Greene mused. “The odor of it is quite overpowering. I can only imagine what it would be like up close. In fact, I’m surprised you could detect any scent at all other than—”
“Mr. Greene,” Old Red said, “I’ve been around cattle all my life, and I’ve spent many a looooonnnnng stretch ridin’ behind herds thousands strong. So I’ve come across more cow pies than there are stars in the sky. Bury my head in cheese or stick garlic up my nose, it won’t matter. You put a whiff of plop from a hay-fed Hereford anywhere near me, I’ll know it. And that’s exactly what I got a whiff of.”
“Oh, well, when you put it like that, it makes perfect sense,” Colonel Crowe sneered. “After all, what other deduction could we expect from the Holmes of the Range?” He swung his snarl on Diana. “Curtis was murdered by a cow!”
Dozens of tourists had ambled past since we’d started our little impromptu caucus. The ones nearby now stopped to stare.
“You are a card, Colonel.” I guffawed for their benefit. “Now let me tell you the one about the chicken and the traveling salesman!”
The tourists went on their way again.
“All I know is what I smelled,” Gustav said, quiet but firm. “And I smelled manure.”
“Of course you did,” Colonel Crowe growled. “Because you’re full of it.”
My brother let loose a gruff, aggravated sigh and once again turned to Greene for support. And once again, he didn’t get it.
“I’m afraid I’m also unconvinced,” Greene said, and he went on to roll out one of the (in my opinion)
“Not what or what?” I asked.
Valmont looked at me sadly. “They are more chee-ZES, mon ami . You do not have them in the West?”
“Friend,” I said, “where I come from, there’s two kinds of cheese and two kinds only: the kind that comes from a cow and the kind that comes from a goat.”
Valmont’s pity turned to horror.
“Jehoshaphat!” Colonel Crowe cried out. “This is getting us nowhere!”
Diana threw a glance at Gustav, her big brown eyes widening ever so slightly. She’d handed him a chance to show off—perhaps win her father over—and so far all he’d done was open up a debate about the relative hardness and softness of exotic cheeses. He’d have to do a lot better if he was going to prove himself the smartest man there.
“The colonel’s right,” he said. “Let’s set the cheese talk aside, for now. There’s something else that needs figurin’. Something mighty peculiar I noticed about the body.”
“Yes?” Diana asked eagerly.
“When I swung in close to Curtis’s head,” my brother said, “I smelled dung.”
Diana winced, while her father rolled his eyes.
“I hate to be undelicate,” Valmont said, “but when a man dies, certain inavoidable processes are to be expec-TED. The result I like to call ‘ le parfum de la mort .’ The sickly-sweet smell of death.”
“Hell’s bells, I know what a stiff smells like,” my brother fumed. “Ain’t nothin’ ‘sickly sweet’ to it, if it’s fresh. Anyway, I’m talkin’ about Curtis’s head, not his trousers. I’m tellin’ you, I got a whiff of dung. Cow dung.”
“Could it have been a hair oil or pomade of some kind?” Greene asked.
“You ever heard of a pomade that smells like cow shit?” Old Red snapped back. He was growing so vexed, even his hero’s stand-in wasn’t spared a splash of acid.
“If you please, sir!” The colonel jerked his head at Diana. “Watch your language around the lady!”
Gustav swiped a hand at the man. “Aww, she’s heard a lot worse outta me.”
Diana’s shoulders slumped, as if she wanted to pull herself down into her dress like a turtle retreating into its shell.
“Perhaps what you smelled was the cheese going rotten,” Greene mused. “The odor of it is quite overpowering. I can only imagine what it would be like up close. In fact, I’m surprised you could detect any scent at all other than—”
“Mr. Greene,” Old Red said, “I’ve been around cattle all my life, and I’ve spent many a looooonnnnng stretch ridin’ behind herds thousands strong. So I’ve come across more cow pies than there are stars in the sky. Bury my head in cheese or stick garlic up my nose, it won’t matter. You put a whiff of plop from a hay-fed Hereford anywhere near me, I’ll know it. And that’s exactly what I got a whiff of.”
“Oh, well, when you put it like that, it makes perfect sense,” Colonel Crowe sneered. “After all, what other deduction could we expect from the Holmes of the Range?” He swung his snarl on Diana. “Curtis was murdered by a cow!”
Dozens of tourists had ambled past since we’d started our little impromptu caucus. The ones nearby now stopped to stare.
“You are a card, Colonel.” I guffawed for their benefit. “Now let me tell you the one about the chicken and the traveling salesman!”
The tourists went on their way again.
“All I know is what I smelled,” Gustav said, quiet but firm. “And I smelled manure.”
“Of course you did,” Colonel Crowe growled. “Because you’re full of it.”
My brother let loose a gruff, aggravated sigh and once again turned to Greene for support. And once again, he didn’t get it.
“I’m afraid I’m also unconvinced,” Greene said, and he went on to roll out one of the (in my opinion)
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