December 30, 1846:
It was a harsh morning, merciless. A fresh layer of snow had packed on the ground, and our hopes and dreams of California were all but gone.
We had awoken to three of our party having vanished: Miss Graves, Mr. Fosdick, and Mrs. Pike. And so it came to be that there were only four of us left, and we knew, just knew, that the killer was still lose.
There was myself, (as you know, genteel reader) Agatha McCutcheon. There was Mr. Stanton, who had been so ruthless with the ax. Then there was Antonio, the New Mexican. And finally, the quiet ones, there were the Indians.
O how long it had been since we had seen the supple green of a field of grass? Each day we thought of the ocean, of sunny beaches, of gold in our pockets. We had crossed so much of this continent to reach the West, and how much farther now than all that had come before this last stretch did seem.
"I have something to say,"
Mr. Stanton said.
"I am indeed a cannibal, and a killer... but at each step along the way I have been trying to stop those who would do us harm. Last night, I am the one who killed Mrs. Pike. I thought that, without any doubt, after her nefarious lies that she would be one of our villains. Alas, it was for naught... she must have been simply mad, simply mad, for she had no part in the deaths of the others. I... I am sorry, Antonio."
He sighed, sighed deeply.
Here it was! A confession of cannibalism. I watched carefully to see Antonio's reaction, but he seemed... unnerved, but not shaken.
"Aye, I blame you not, sir, and I believe that you are not the one who started this whole mess, and not the one that killed Mr. Eddy."
This did raise the stakes! Here was the killer of Mrs. Pike in the open, but he'd been so brazen about it, that I had no choice. Yes, the direct approach, that would work... that would work well. No one would expect me to have the gall to go straight for the jugular, now would they?
"I too believe Mr. Stanton,"
I said, stepping in. And then I swung my gaze on the Indians.
"And indeed, I have been spending each night trying to investigate the diet of those in our party. Last night I spent the night looking for signs of cannibalism among these barbarians, these foreign creatures"
-- the Indians foreign? Well nevermind that --
"and..."
I paused for drama,
"I found that despite their silence, their mysteriousness, these men had no part in the killings these last few days."
I let that sink in a few moments, and then followed through on my next revelation:
"This leads me to conclude only one thing: Antonio is the monster who ate and killed the others in our party!"
Mr. Stanton stood panting, his breath faint, as he glanced first at Antonio, and then at myself. Who would he believe, the New Mexican, or myself?
It was only now that the Indians spoke up. The first stepped forward, saying, "Aye, friends, if Mrs. McCutcheon was lying, it makes no sense for her to come out now and say what she's said. I dare say, now that we know Antonio didn't kill Mrs. Pike, it seems easy to believe that he might have killed one of the other two." They were not actually as eloquent as I have presented here, being Indians, and I have slightly refined their words into something more pleasing to the ear.
"I don't know..." Mr. Stanton said, perhaps shocked to suddenly be in the clear. No doubt his fears of being revealed over the last few days seemed to have weighed heavily on his mind.
A great silence loomed over the village.
"This is madness... I... Mrs. McCutcheon must be a killer,"
Antonio said at first, struggling to sort out the madness.
"I knew her briefly before, well we all have come to know her on the trail, but... no, it makes no sense, she must be a killer."
His words, his doubt, betrayed him to me: but it mattered not if he convinced me of his innocence, as I had known since the morning began his role in these things.
"I believe we have caught him,"
the second Indian said (again I have greatly clarified his language).
"Wait, wait..."
Antonio said, looking around, realizing how weak his words seemed.
"I understand now. Yes, Agatha is telling the truth, perhaps, but what has happened suggests one thing: Mr. Stanton is the monster that has been terrifying us. He has never had our best intentions at heart. Just think of what he did to young little Murphy!"
These words set out a firestorm in Mr. Stanton's eyes. At once he grabbed his ax.
"You have said too much, boy."
Antonio looked to the Indians, to Stanton's ax, to me. Yet Stanton hesitated.
"Hah, if Stanton was a monster, he would have killed you now!"
I said, trying to mask my grin.
"You're right,"
he said.
"So it must be you. It must be you, Agatha. It's you. Don't you all see what she's doing?"
he said turning to the Indians, to Stanton.
"She's turning you against me. She's a monster. She is a cannibal! She is a killer! She is the one who has preyed on us, preyed on our doubts, our fears! She..."
His passionate words were cut short by Mr. Stanton stepping forward with his ax, and it swung.
Antonio was dead.
