by Brett Waring
Skinner shook his head. Coughing convulsed him. Nash was relentless in his questioning, refusing to give the dying man any peace.
“You been goin’ round squarin’ things away, Skinner. You shot Chuck Claybourne from ambush, set-up Randy Shaw and Mitch Parrish, now made your try at me. That’s how it was, right?”
Skinner’s head rolled from side to side. “No!” he managed hoarsely and so emphatically that Nash raised his eyebrows and sat back on his heels. He had to believe the man—and throw out a good theory, he thought bitterly.
“You’re mixed up in it somewhere, Skinner.”
Again Skinner rolled his head negatively. “Just—wanted to—nail you. Now you’re—a—a loner ...”
Nash thought about it. “All fight. I might accept that. Might. But you had scores to settle with the others, too.”
“Wasn’t me. Never killed ’em. They—they likely got too—greedy ...”
Clay Nash stiffened, frowning. “Greedy? What in hell you talkin’ about?”
“On the take. All-of ’em.”
“You’re lying’!” Nash snapped. “I guess I didn’t know Claybourne or Shaw any too well, but I knew Mitch Parrish. He sure wouldn’t be on the take.”
But Skinner nodded over and over as if his head was controlled by a string. Nash’s breath hissed through flared nostrils. “Goddamn it, no!”
“Yeah!” grated Skinner, baring his teeth a little. “Hurts, huh? That’s good—I—like—that!”
Nash bored his cold gaze into the man. “That’s why you’re lyin’ about it.”
Skinner’s teeth remained bared as once more he shook his head. And Nash had to believe him; it would take one hell of a lot to make a man in as much pain as Skinner rake up a bitter smile of revenge.
“Hell almighty!” he breathed, numbed by this news, feeling betrayed. “Callan. Then who the hell was Callan? You knew him?”
“Some. Long time ago when I was runnin’ buffalo up on Red River. Callan and Hollander and Morgan—they was all there.”
“Hollander! Race Hollander?”
Skinner nodded wearily. “Best shot of ’em all ...”
“Where’s he come into this?”
Skinner mumbled something, his chin on his chest now. Nash yanked his head up.
“Damn it, Skinner, don’t give out on me now!”
One corner of Skinner’s bloody mouth lifted. It could have been a cold, triumphant smile or a grimace of pain.
Not that it mattered. The man never spoke again. He was dead within thirty minutes, buried on the hillside in another thirty after that.
Then Clay Nash caught his big black and, sliding Skinner’s Winchester into his saddle scabbard to replace his own damaged one, mounted up and rode back along the trail to Virginia City.
Chapter Six – In the Open
It was dark down in the hollow between the hills and a constant thudding sound echoed down from one of the big mine stamp mills above. Lights moved about up there as the night shift went about their business and the noise of a full-blown mine in operation drifted out over the hills towards the distant, scattered lights of Virginia City.
At that time of night there were few windows still glowing in the houses, though the saloons were doing plenty of business and the sound of raucous talk and laughter mingled faintly with the clatter of the working mines.
Above these sounds, the man waiting in the deep shadows of a small butte called Indian Head heard the clatter of a horse’s hoofs as a rider came through the pebble-choked draw over to his left. The man lifted the rifle and thumbed back the hammer gently; there was a shell already jacked into the breech and he only had to cock the hammer to have the weapon ready to fire.
He strained his eyes to catch sight of the rider coming out of the draw but the faint starlight was misleading and the harder he stared the more the shadows seemed to move and take on a horseman’s form. There were no more sounds now and he knew the rider was approaching more cautiously since his horse’s hoofs had clattered on the loose stones.
Then he saw the horseman, a blacker moving patch against the slab of shadow of the draw. The man was on a dark horse and his clothes were of a color that didn’t show up easily in the night. The man with the rifle brought the weapon to his shoulder, settled himself comfortably on his rock and sighted at the approaching horseman.
The rider rounded the butte and stopped by a gray boulder. The rifleman saw him plainly against the pale surface, hipping in saddle and looking up towards the ledge where he lay.
“Jim?”
The man eased down the hammer with a slow release of breath through his nostrils as he stood up and started down from the ledge towards the rock and the waiting horseman.
By the time he reached him, the man had dismounted and they gripped hands.
“By God, Clay,” said Jim Hume, “I was startin’ to worry. Four nights I’ve been waitin’ out here and you never showed. I thought we must have had it blow up in our faces.”
Clay Nash thumbed back his hat and gave a hard grin. “Almost. Lex Skinner nearly nailed me first and I lung-shot him. Managed to get some information out of him before he cashed in. On my way back, the Sabin brothers made their try. With dynamite.”
“Judas! You all right?”
“Only just. They tossed a stick into my camp but it hit a tree bough and bounced short. Landed on the opposite side of a rock where I was sleepin’. If it hadn’t been between me and the blast I’d have been spread all over the state.”
“And the Sabins?”
“You can close their files.”
Jim Hume nodded slowly. “So that much of the plan worked, anyway. It drew out some of your enemies as soon as they thought Wells Fargo wasn’t behind you anymore.”
“Yeah. But it doesn’t sound as if revenge was behind Parrish’s death or the other killings, Jim.” Nash sounded worried. He hesitated a little before adding, “Fact is, Skinner swears they were all on the take.”
He heard Hume’s clothes rustle as the man stiffened, though he couldn’t see the movement in the darkness. Hume was silent for a long moment.
“You believe him, Clay?”
“Didn’t want to, but he was dyin’ and he knew it and it was his last chance to slip a knife into me. He even managed to rake up a smile and that must’ve really cost him, because he had three of my slugs in him.”
“Damn!” whispered Hume. “That’s the last thing I figured about any of ’em.” He snapped up his head. “And all three of them killed-off on the same day. By God, Clay, we’ve had one helluva spate of robberies in the general area bounded by Virginia City, Salt Lake City and Fort Laramie, these past nine or ten months. I’d have to look up some files to be sure, but as this was the area those three hombres worked, I guess they could’ve been involved. Maybe not in every one, because they’ve brought in some of the road agents and they’re all now in Virginia City jail waiting for trial ...”
“Jim! That’s it!” Nash cut in abruptly. “Don’t ask me what it means, but that’s the common factor, all right. I thought about it before and discarded it because it didn’t mean anything. It still don’t, but it’s got to be it. Parrish, Shaw and Claybourne all put away road agents in Virginia City jail. Claybourne jumped some road agent he recognized down at Eight Mile, didn’t he?”
Hume nodded. “Charley Finer. Nailed him good and got the reward. But, Clay, I can’t see why anyone would want to kill our three men for putting a bunch of outlaws in jail. Unless it was revenge, but that would mean a whole bunch of hombres behind it.”
“Nothin’ to say there isn’t, Jim, though I admit it don’t make sense. It’s just that there’s not one other thing that we’ve come up with to link the three together.”
“There is now; they were all on the take.”
“Sure. We know that now. Or, we’ve been told that. Still to be proved. And I know how we can maybe check up on Mitch Parrish, at least. Can you get to the banks in Virginia City and take a look at his bank account? If
he was on the take, that ought to give us a line.”
“Might be under a false name.”
“Yeah. Okay, try under Lucy’s maiden name, too. It was Jarvis—or ‘Jarvess’, with an ‘e’ and ‘double-s’. He might’ve opened an account under her name. If he’s pulled a name out of a hat we’re out of luck.”
“You sound like you’re changing your mind about Mitch, now, Clay.”
Nash was silent for a short time. “I don’t want to. But he was getting mighty impatient about saving up for that ranch. And he was gamblin’ some. Two good reasons for taking easy money, Jim.”
“Damn good reasons but, like you, I find it hard to swallow. I’ll get those checks going, meet you here later. Be best if we avoid each other in town. You are goin’ in to Virginia City I take it?”
Nash nodded. “Yeah. Want to see Lucy again. And Skinner said Hollander and Morgan used to hunt buffalo with Callan.”
Hume swore. “Claybourne was blown apart with a buffalo rifle!”
“And Hollander couldn’t wait to find out where I was stayin’ in town. And when I got back to my room, Callan and his pard were waiting. He’s worth checking out, Jim, and I aim to do it.”
“Could be trouble for you. He’s run you out once.”
Nash smiled faintly. “Only because it suited me to go.” He glanced over to the east. The sky was paling and the stars were fading fast. “Sun’s not far off rising. I’ll slip in before it’s fully up. Want to see Lucy before I let Hollander realize I’m back.”
They gripped hands briefly and Nash mounted and rode back through the draw on the way to Virginia City. Hume settled down amongst the rocks to wait for an hour or so. He folded his arms across his barrel chest and dozed, but he kept his rifle close by, still with a shell jacked into the breech.
The first thing Nash noticed about the parlor was that it had new furniture. The drapes, too, were fresh, had a new look about them, and the lamp with the cracked china shade had been replaced with a brass and glass affair, standing on the highly-polished top of the new oak bureau. The sofa was velvet-covered with matching overstuffed chairs and there were new rugs on the floor.
Even the curtain hanging in the arched doorway was new. Nash turned to the nervous Lucy as he stepped through this doorway, indicating the room with a gesture.
“Sure looks nice. Must’ve cost somethin’, though.”
There was a query in his words and she smiled as she stepped around him and went to the cut-glass decanter on the bureau and poured brandy into a glass. She handed it to him and he noticed her hand was shaking a little. Nash saluted her silently and sipped the drink. He looked at her steadily over the top of the glass. “Well-sit down, Clay.”
He hesitated. “Don’t want to muss a chair with these dusty old trail clothes.”
“It’ll brush off. Please. Have a seat.”
He sat on an easy chair while Lucy chose one end of the sofa. “You—ah—changed your mind, I guess, about leaving?”
“Got down-trail apiece and thought of a few things I wanted to look into.” He downed his drink and stood up, crossing the room to sit on the sofa beside the girl. He felt her tense as he picked up one of her hands between his. “Look at me, Lucy. I’ve got to ask you something.”
“Sure, go ahead, Clay,” she said with forced brightness.
He took a deep breath. “Where’d the money come from?”
She frowned. “What money?”
He swept an arm round the room. “For this. Must be a couple hundred dollars’ worth of furnishings here. And I haven’t been through the rest of the house yet, so I dunno how much more you might’ve renewed.”
“Nothing, Clay. I just refurnished this room.” She frowned at him. “Clay, I really don’t see that it’s any concern of yours where the money came from.”
He pursed his lips, searching for words. “Lucy, it is. Believe me. I—can’t explain fully just now, but I’d sure be obliged if you’d tell me where you got the money.”
She was looking severe as she withdrew her hand from his, folding it with her other in her lap and looking down.
“Clay, I have a confession to make. I never wanted to move to a ranch. I’m a town girl. I told you I was willing to move for Mitch’s sake but I hated the idea of it, really hated it. I was—actually pleased when he lost money gambling because I knew it would take that much longer before he had what he considered enough to buy his ranch.” She glanced up, her face flushed and she looked ashamed, somehow, spoke quietly, with a quaver in her voice. She took a deep breath and continued. “I would have been content to stay right here in this house. In town. All I wanted was decent furniture, somewhere I could invite my friends, entertain folk. Mitch was more of a loner, felt uncomfortable with a lot of people around him. That was why he wanted to move out into the wilds.”
She turned to look into Nash’s face, her eyes pleading for his understanding.
“Naturally, after Mitch died, I had no intention of looking for any ranch and I thought that I might as well put the money to some use so I—I went to the bank and drew out three hundred dollars and refurnished my parlor. I—I intended to gradually work through the rest of the house when I could afford it. And I guess that answers your question.”
Nash nodded. “Guess it does. Sorry, Lucy. I had to ask.”
She frowned at him. “Why, Clay? Why did you have to?”
He stared at her for what seemed a long time to Lucy.
“I picked up some information. There was a—suggestion that Mitch was on the take.”
“What?” she asked, seeming to reel slightly. “What do you mean, ‘on the take’?”
Nash sighed. “You know that I mean, Lucy. Mitch was taking money from someone to reveal the routes and timetables of stages carrying full express boxes and so on. Someone put him on their payroll. Leastways, that’s what we heard.”
Lucy was on her feet, stiff-faced, her body tensed. “I thought you were his friend, Clay!”
Nash stood suddenly. “I am, Lucy. I find it hard to believe. But it has to be checked out and it’d explain a lot of things if it were true.”
“What things?” she demanded.
“Where do you figure Mitch got the money to gamble with?”
“Why—from his pay, of course.”
“Think about it, Lucy. Would Mitch really have had money to gamble with and still put some away towards his ranch and support you, too? This is a rented house, from the company, sure, and so it’s cheap, but it had to be paid for each week. Mitch had often griped to me that he had hardly a dollar left over for tobacco, used to josh me about showin’ sense in not gettin’ married. Now, come on! It was a joke. He had no regrets about marryin’ you and you know it, so don’t take offence.”
Lucy nodded jerkily. “All right. It’s true. There were times when I wondered how on earth Mitch could spare money to gamble with. But finances were always his affair. I didn’t interfere, didn’t think it was my place to.”
“Do you mind if I ask how much there was in the bank account?”
Again she stiffened, then relaxed slowly. “I suppose it doesn’t matter what you know. Four hundred dollars. In all that time, Clay, for all those risks he took and the wounds he got, that’s all he had to show for it! Four hundred miserable dollars! Towards a dream he could never hope to realize!”
She started to cry. Nash stood there awkwardly.
“Sorry, Lucy. But you see what I was gettin’ at now. That gamblin’ money had to come from somewhere and it sure wasn’t his pay packet.”
Suddenly she was clinging to him, face pressed against his shirt, her body shaking with sobs. He put his arms around her trembling shoulders.
“Oh, God, Clay!”
He held her awkwardly for a spell and gradually she got herself under control. Embarrassed now, she dabbed at her wet eyes with her handkerchief and walked to the bureau, leaning on it, her back to Nash.
“I’m sorry, Clay.”
“Forget it. You might feel b
etter now. Jim’s checking it out. There might not be anything in it, but it seems like there could be. At least you’ll be—prepared.”
Lucy turned to face him. “If it is true, does it explain why Mitch was killed?”
“Mebbe. He could’ve outlived his usefulness to someone.”
“Who?”
“No idea. But if there is someone, we’ll find him.”
She frowned, stiffening. “We? Just a minute, you said ‘Jim’ was checking. Jim Hume? Of course, it has to be! Then your leaving Wells Fargo was only a subterfuge!”
Nash shrugged. “We figured it might give us a freer hand, bring a few bugs out of the woodwork to make their play if they figured I didn’t have Wells Fargo behind me. It did, but none of them so far had anything to do with Mitch’s death.”
“You’ve set yourself up as a walking target!”
“Part of the job.”
She shook her head slowly. “I just don’t understand men like you.”
“Mitch was a man like me.”
She looked steadily at Nash. “Yes. And I never really understood him, either.”
Red Morgan carried his Greener shotgun easily in his left hand as he swung along the boardwalk of the main drag, his cold eyes roving over the folk on the walks. He had his beefy shoulders set aggressively and people stepped aside swiftly when they saw him coming, making way.
Then he stopped suddenly, frowning, squinting out into the sunlight of the street from under the awning outside the barber’s shop. He swore under his breath.
“Nash!” he bawled suddenly and Clay Nash, crossing the street, turned towards the deputy, saw him and walked over casually, nodding.
“Howdy, Morgan. Just headin’ for the law office.”
“Save yourself a trip then. Sheriff’s out of town. Which is where you’re s’posed to be.”
Nash smiled faintly. “I went when Hollander said. He didn’t say anything about not comin’ back.”