"Deputy Cully Markham, Miss Jemma."
The door swung open. Jemma brushed a strand of chestnut hair from her face and smiled sleepily at him. "Hello, Deputy. What brings you out here in the middle of the night?"
"You mean you didn't hear all the ruckus when the animals escaped?"
Jemma nodded. "Of course, I did. I started to go into town with the others to help round them up, but Professor Houser told me to stay here, that I wouldn't be needed. I'm afraid I went back to sleep." She was wearing a robe belted tightly around her trim waist.
"Then you don't know about the killing."
Jemma's eyes widened. "Someone was killed by the animals?" she asked.
Cully shook his head. "Not unless one of the monkeys can handle a knife. One of the roustabouts, a fellow named Joel, was stabbed by whoever turned the animals loose. At least that's the way Marshal Flint has it figured."
"My God," Jemma breathed. "Poor Joel. Does the marshal have any idea who's responsible?"
Cully shrugged. He wasn’t sure whether Flint would want him going into the theory that one of the members of the troupe was guilty. "He'll get it sorted out sooner or later," Cully said instead. "But I just wanted to make sure you were all right, Miss Richardson."
She came down a step and smiled at him. "I thought you were going to call me Jemma. And I'm fine, Cully. I appreciate you worrying about me."
As Cully looked up at her in the light from a nearby torch, he thought she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even wearing a robe, with her hair tousled from sleep, she was lovely. Peering into her brown eyes, he felt a tingle run up his spine. He wondered if she was feeling the same thing.
Suddenly at a loss for words, he touched the brim of his hat and said, "I—I'd better get back to the marshal. There might be something he wants me to do."
Jemma reached out and lightly touched his arm. "Thank you for coming by to see about me."
Cully swallowed. He was going to pull this woman into his arms and kiss her in about ten seconds—if he didn’t get out of here first. "Be seein' you," he muttered as he turned away quickly.
Heading across the camp toward Houser's wagon, he pushed Jemma from his mind by mulling over Flint's theory. By the time Cully reached the ringmaster's wagon, Flint had explained his speculation to Houser, and the idea had met with resistance.
"Absolutely not!" Houser insisted. "These people are my family. None of them would try to hurt me or the circus!"
"Somebody's got it in for you," Flint said grimly.
Houser shook his head. "Impossible! At least none of my people. It must be that Ned Cooper fellow. Or that schoolteacher of yours."
The door of the wagon was open, and the deputy arrived in time to hear the last of the conversation. Pausing in the doorway, Cully said, "The professor may be right, Marshal, at least about tonight's incident. Ned Cooper's sure as hell got a grudge against the circus after Jemma put him in his place. He would turn those animals loose and kill that roustabout."
Flint frowned. It was true that Ned Cooper was a likely suspect in this trouble, but it still seemed to him that one of the circus people was behind it. They could not afford to overlook any possibilities, however.
"Find out where Cooper went tonight after the show," he told Cully. "I want to know if he has an alibi for the time of the killing."
Cully nodded. "You bet."
Flint turned back to Houser. "I'll be keeping an eye on this place, Houser. Maybe we can head off any more trouble before it happens. But my main responsibility is keeping the peace in Abilene."
"I understand, Marshal," Houser said. His voice became grim as he went on. "Whoever our culprit is, we shall find him. Find him...and deal with him."
10
Walking wearily across Texas Street, Travis squinted in the bright morning sunlight. After only two hours' sleep, his eyes were gritty and his shoulders ached. He hoped that a cup of strong black coffee would help to clear the fog of fatigue that had wrapped itself around him. As he opened the door into the Red Top Cafe, he dropped his head to loosen the tight muscles in his neck and walked directly into a surprised patron who was leaving just as Flint was entering.
"Parker," Flint said with a start.
Asa Parker, who had recovered from the collision by grasping at a chair directly behind him, turned to smile at Flint. "Good morning, Marshal. You look a bit out of sorts this morning."
Flint grimaced. "It was a long night."
"I heard about the animals escaping. Sounds like quite an adventure."
"Quite a mess, you mean," Flint said. He frowned. "What are you still doing in Abilene? I thought you had moved on to Dodge or Hays or Wichita with those handbills of yours."
Parker leaned against the chair. "I would have if the circus had kept to its original schedule," he explained. "But since Professor Houser decided to stay here for a few days, I decided it was a good opportunity to have my team of horses reshod. The circus is nearly always on the go, and I like to rest my animals and take care of them whenever I can."
Flint nodded in understanding. "Sounds like a good idea." He waved a hand toward a vacant table. "Had breakfast already?"
"Just finished."
"Could I talk you into another cup of coffee?"
Parker grinned. "I think you could do that, Marshal."
While they spoke, Flint had decided to question Parker about the problems that had been plaguing the circus. Strictly speaking, he was still a member of the troupe, but he was on the outside to a certain extent and might have a different perspective on events.
"Good morning, Marshal," Alice Hammond said as Flint and Parker sat down at the table. She, too, looked bleary-eyed this morning. "Did Cully tell you about what Patrick did last night?"
Flint tried not to smile. "Yes, he mentioned it. Said Patrick nearly got trampled by an elephant and a camel. Knowing that brother of yours, it doesn't surprise me." More seriously he added, "I'm glad he wasn't hurt."
"When Sister Lorraine and Reverend Markham finished giving him a talking-to, I think he wished he was back with the wild animals," Alice replied with a slight grin.
Asa Parker frowned. "You mean some child was almost killed during all the excitement?"
"That's right." Flint nodded. "That was the closest we came to having any injuries here in town. Alice, how about a stack of hotcakes and plenty of bacon? And keep the coffee coming. Bring Mr. Parker a cup, too."
"Sure, Marshal." The pretty young redhead turned toward the kitchen to pass the order on to the cook. Alice set cups of coffee down in front of the two men a moment later. Flint sipped the steaming brew and felt some strength flowing back into his veins. "I guess you heard about what happened out at the circus camp."
"You mean about Joel getting killed?" Parker's face was now grim. "Yes, I did. Do you have any idea who did it, Marshal?"
Flint shook his head. "The way I figure it, whoever turned the animals loose did the killing, too. The roustabout must have spotted him in the act."
"I certainly hope you find whoever is responsible."
"The fellow who was killed was a friend of yours, eh?"
Parker shrugged. "Not particularly. But the circus is more than a job; it's a family. When anything bad happens, it affects all of us."
"Seems like a lot of bad things have been happening to Houser's circus lately," Flint mused. "You have any ideas about that?"
Parker looked shrewdly at the marshal. "Are you talking about the professor's financial troubles?"
"Didn't know he was having any," Flint replied honestly. "According to Houser, somebody's been sabotaging the show for the last several months."
"I wouldn't know anything about that. Oh, I had heard that they were having some trouble with wagons breaking down. And then there was that fire a few weeks back..." Parker's voice trailed off as a thoughtful expression came over his face. "You know, I had never really thought about it, but I believe you're right, Marshal. Too many things have been happening for all of them to be
coincidence."
"That's what I think," Flint agreed. "What were you saying about money troubles?"
Parker leaned forward. "Now that I think about it, the whole thing could be connected. The circus's profits have been way down so far this year. The problem could stem from this sabotage you've been talking about."
"Do you have any idea who could be behind it?"
Parker thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"I'm really not around the circus itself much. I might stay with them a couple of nights a week, but the rest of the time I'm out on the road, traveling ahead of them to drum up interest. The only thing I can think of—" He broke off abruptly and shook his head.
"What?" Flint prodded.
Parker hesitated. Before he could speak, Alice appeared with the platter of food for Flint. Parker sipped from his mug and then shook his head again.
Not touching his food, Flint waited until Alice was beyond earshot before he probed Parker. "If you've got a notion of who might be behind this, I want to hear it," Flint insisted.
"It's just that the whole idea is so farfetched... But I guess you're right. You have to consider everything." Parker took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. "I've known Horace Houser for a long time, Marshal, and I don't believe he has ever recovered from the death of his wife."
Flint frowned. "What are you saying?"
"Who would be in a better position to cause trouble for the show than the professor himself?"
The blunt question made Flint lean back in his chair, his forehead furrowed. "Why the hell would Houser want to hurt his own business?"
"Grief does funny things to a man," Parker pointed out. "Especially when he loses someone as close to him as a wife."
Parker's words struck a chord within Flint. He knew from painful experience what losing a wife was like. But Flint's face betrayed none of his feelings. He sat quietly waiting for Parker to continue.
"Maybe Horace blames himself for Moriah's death," Parker went on. "Maybe he's trying to punish himself. Could be he's not even fully aware of what he's doing." Parker spread his hands. "But this is just pointless speculation. Neither of us really thinks that the professor could be behind the troubles."
"It's not likely," Flint said. "But it is something to think about."
"What about that cowboy who disrupted Jemma's act? I was at the performance, and I imagine he's holding quite a grudge. I recognized him as the one who picked that fight with me a couple of mornings ago."
Flint nodded. "Ned Cooper. Yes, we've considered him, all right. Cooper's the type who wouldn't stop at anything to settle a score. I've got my deputy checking on him."
"There's your villain," Parker said fervently. "Not Horace Houser."
"You may be right. We'll find out sooner or later. Now, I'm going to eat these hotcakes while they're still hot."
Cully Markham wearily pushed open the batwing doors of Angus's Tavern and stepped onto the boardwalk. He had spent the morning checking every saloon in Abilene, making his way from large, well-appointed bars like the Bull's Head and the Alamo to hole-in-the-wall dives such as Big Mike's. But they all had one thing in common: Ned Cooper hadn’t been seen in any of them.
Of course, there was always the chance that he was being lied to, Cully thought as he strolled toward the marshal's office. Most of the bartenders and saloon patrons had little reason to love the law or its representatives. They might play dumb if the notion struck them. Not that long ago, Cully himself had been in a similar situation.
He had been in Dodge City when a gunfight with the notorious Josh Weaver had left Weaver dead and Cully wounded. It had been self-defense—the law wasn’t his pursuer. But Cully was hunted by men wanting to avenge Weaver's death and by young toughs hoping to build a name by outdrawing Weaver's killer.
All that had changed, thanks to Lucas Flint and Joshua and a few others in Abilene. Cully Markham had become a guardian of law and order.
There were times when the role chafed him, when he felt an urge to move on to see what was over the next rise. New dangers to be faced, new women to be kissed. . .
Flint looked up from his desk as Cully came into the office. The marshal had his Winchester in his lap and was cleaning the weapon. Only Cully took as good care of his guns.
"You find Cooper?" Flint asked.
Cully flipped his hat onto the rack just inside the door and shook his head. "Nope. To hear folks around here tell it, Ned Cooper's dropped off the face of the earth."
Flint grunted. "We couldn't be that lucky."
"I checked all the saloons," Cully said as he sat down in a ladder-backed chair and tilted it against the wall. He balanced himself with one foot against the cold iron stove. "Nobody's seen him, or so they say. I made sure that everyone knew I wanted to talk to him."
"Do you think it'll do any good?"
Cully shrugged. "I guess that depends on where he shows up next."
Flint nodded. "I saw Asa Parker this morning," he said, changing the subject.
"That fellow who puts up the posters for the circus? Didn't know he was still around."
"He's getting his team reshod. He's got some interesting ideas about who's trying to wreck Houser's show."
"Why, it's Cooper, of course," Cully said. "Who else could it be?"
"Cooper didn't cause the wagons to break down hundreds of miles from here," Flint pointed out. "He didn't start a fire over in another state."
Cully frowned and ran a thumb along his jaw. "No, I guess he didn't. But I'd be willing to bet a hat he's the one who killed that jasper and let those creatures loose."
"Could be. But Parker seems to think Houser himself might be causing some of the trouble."
"Houser?" Cully exclaimed. "Now that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Why the hell would Houser want to ruin his own circus?"
"Because he feels guilty over his wife's death. At least that's the theory Parker gave me. Seems pretty farfetched when you first think about it, but I've seen stranger things happen."
Cully shook his head. "I don't know about all those other things that have happened, but Cooper's the cause of that ruckus last night, and I'm going to prove it."
The rest of the morning passed quietly. The only official business the two lawmen had to deal with was a merchant's report of a break-in and robbery at his general store. Nothing had been taken except a case of canned peaches. Flint suspected that the stolen goods were already on their way somewhere else in the saddlebags of some cowboys. Few things were more highly prized on the range than canned fruit.
Cully was alone in the office in the early afternoon when hurried footsteps sounded on the boardwalk outside. The door swung open, and a boy about ten years old poked his head in. "You'd best come quick, Deputy!" he said excitedly.
Cully came up out of his chair. "What's the matter?"
The boy shook his head. "Don't know. I was just passin' Angus's place, and he give me a nickel to run down here and fetch you. Said there was somebody there he thought you wanted to see."
Nodding, Cully said, "Thanks." He was already crossing the office and reaching for his hat. The Scotsman had promised to let him know if Ned Cooper showed up, and Angus kept his word. Cully was sure that that had to be the reason for this summons.
Cully strode quickly down the boardwalk toward Angus's place. He pushed the batwings aside and paused in the entrance of the tavern. Angus was behind the bar, pouring drinks for several cowboys who were leaning on the mahogany. There was a slow-paced poker game going on at one of the tables. At another table in the back of the room a half-dozen men sat nursing drinks. One of them was Ned Cooper.
Cully studied the situation. Cooper's two friends were with him, as were three other men of the same stripe. Hardcases, all of them, part of the motley crew that floated through the territory, teaming up from time to time to pull a robbery.
There was a heavy step on the planks behind Cully, and a deep voice said, "Excuse me, mister."
Cully looked around
to see the tall, burly form of the circus strong man, Bruno Waldman. "Uh, sure," the deputy said, moving into the saloon.
Bruno went to the bar and nodded to Angus. "Good afternoon, Mr. MacQuarrie," he said. "I was wondering if you wanted a rematch of that arm wrestling contest."
Old Bailey squawked, "Dinna be daft, man!"
Angus grinned and jerked a thumb at the parrot.
"For once in me life, I'm agreeing with tha' bird. I'll be glad t'drink some fine Scotch whiskey wi' ye, though."
"Sounds good to me," Bruno declared.
While Angus was pouring the drink, he glanced over Bruno's shoulder and caught Cully's eye, inclining his head toward the table where Cooper and the others sat. Cully nodded and strolled to the back of the saloon.
Cooper saw him coming, Cully was sure of that, but the young man gave no sign of it. He frowned down at his drink until Cully paused by the table and said, "I want to talk to you, Cooper."
Cooper raised his eyes and glared at the deputy. "I got nothing to say to you, Markham."
"I think you do," Cully insisted. Although his attention was centered on Cooper, he saw that the other men around the table had tensed and were ready for trouble. "I want to ask you some questions."
"Ask all you want, but I'm damned if I'll answer."
"I think you will unless you want to go down to the jail and talk to the marshal. Where'd you go last night after you left the circus?"
Cooper's frown deepened. "We went and had some drinks, if it's any of your damned business, which it's not."
"Where?"
"Some saloon." Cooper shrugged. "I didn't pay much attention. Could've been the Bull's Head or the Silver Dollar or old Tansey's place."
"So you wouldn't be able to produce anybody who could vouch for your whereabouts?"
"We was with him," the one called Dawson spoke up. "We was with him the whole time, wasn't we, Gage?"
The other one nodded in confirmation.
"You didn't go back to the circus?" Cully prodded.
"Told you I didn't," Cooper grated. "What is this, Markham?" A sudden look of realization came over his face. "You think I had something to do with them animals getting loose, don't you?"
Rattler's Law, Volume One Page 34