Bullets & Lies (Talbot Roper 01)

by Randisi, Robert J.

  He stopped in front of a saloon, decided to consider the matter over a beer. Ten minutes, he told himself, he had to make up his mind in ten minutes.

  The saloon was busy, but he was able to make a space for himself at the bar. He ordered a beer and drank half of it down gratefully. He still wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. Whoever was behind the killing, whoever was trying to pull strings here, he’d cross them up completely if he just went back to Denver. But then he’d be wondering about the last three names on the list, and whether they were dead or alive—even if he sent telegrams warning all of them.

  A scuffle started at the end of the bar, and the chain reaction from it caused the guy next to him to bump Roper and spill some beer on him. His own beer, half done, was safe.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry, friend,” the man said.

  “That’s okay,” Roper said. “No problem.”

  “Those asses at the end of the bar—”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Lemme buy you another beer.”

  “It’s okay,” Roper said. “You didn’t spill any of mine.”

  “I insist,” the man said, and waved at the bartender to bring two more drinks.

  “Thank you,” Roper said when the man handed him the second beer. He quickly finished the first one and set the mug down, then switched the beer to his left hand so that his gun hand would be free.

  “Just get to town?” the man asked.

  “Yes, just about ten minutes ago.”

  “Sedona’s a nice town,” the man said. “You lookin’ for work?”

  “No.”

  “’Cause I’m hirin’ for my boss, out at the Double-B,” the man went on.

  “I’ve got a job, thanks.”

  “Oh? Whataya do?”

  Roper didn’t answer.

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” the man said. “I ask a lot of questions. You probably don’t even wanna talk about your work.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

  “Say no more,” the man said. “Enjoy your beer.”

  “Thanks.”

  The man finished his beer and left the saloon. Roper was glad. He wasn’t looking to make any new friends.

  As the man who bought him the beer left, so did two other men. Roper watched them leave, and thought they were paying him some undue attention. He had a feeling that buying him the beer had been a signal of some kind. These were, after all, the two men who had started the shoving match at the end of the bar.

  He called the bartender over.

  “Who was that fella that was standing here with me?”

  “I don’t know,” the bartender said. “Never saw him before.”

  “He doesn’t work on a ranch near here?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said, “and I know all the hands around here.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  “Is there another way out of here?”

  “Not for the public.”

  Roper put a dollar on the bar.

  “Back door, behind the stage.”

  The stage was small and, at the moment, empty. Roper walked across the room, went through the door, and walked down a hallway to a back door. He went out the door, looked both ways. There were alleys on either side of the building. He chose the right side, turned down the alley, and took it to the main street.

  At the mouth of the alley he stopped and peered out. Sure enough, the fellow who’d bought him the beer was waiting across the street, and on either side of him were the other two men. They were waiting for him to come out the front door.

  He had choices. He could go the other way, but his horse was in front of the saloon. He could go looking for a lawman for help, but that went against his grain on solving his own problems. Besides, he needed to know if these men had anything to do with the death of Gerald Quinn in Vega. He needed to find out if they had followed him to Sedona.

  He made up his mind. He did go the other way, but only for a block, then he crossed over so that he was on their side.

  They were fairly relaxed, probably certain that he was coming out the front door and would be a sitting duck for them.

  Who was the sitting duck now?

  35

  The three men were watching the front door, not looking from side to side at all. It was fairly easy for Roper to move up close to them, about two doors down. It was as close as he wanted to be.

  People walking by noticed him and suddenly decided to cross the street. Before long everybody noticed something was going on and started crossing the street. Eventually, the three men noticed the exodus to the other side, and looked around.

  “Hello, boys,” Roper said. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t use the front door.”

  As they turned to face him, they were standing single file, which meant two of them did not have a clear shot. Besides, Roper already had his gun in his hand, although it wasn’t pointed at them.

  “No, don’t move,” he told them. “I like you the way you are. I could probably take all three of you with one bullet.”

  “W-What are you talking about?” the man who’d bought him the drink asked.

  “I need to know what’s going on here,” Roper said. “Did you follow me here from Flagstaff? Or did you just pick me out when I entered the saloon?”

  “We don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, friend,” the man said. “All I did was buy you a drink.”

  “Look, the three of you were out here waiting to bushwhack me. That kinda makes me mad. I’m going to give you one chance.” He pointed his gun at them. “Go for your guns.”

  One of the other men said, “You’re crazy. You already have your gun pointed at us.”

  “My way of equaling the odds,” Roper said. “You don’t like it?”

  “I don’t like it,” the third man said.

  “Me neither,” said the second man.

  “Fine,” Roper said. “Walk away.”

  The two men did not waste any time. They stepped into the street, then hurriedly turned and rushed the other way.

  The remaining man went to step in the street and Roper said, “Not you, friend.”

  “Hey, l-look, friend, all I did was buy you a beer.”

  “I want to know,” Roper said, “did you follow me, or pick me out in the saloon?”

  “I—I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” the man said. “I didn’t follow you from nowhere. Anybody can tell you I been in this town for a month.”

  “So you just figured when I walked into the saloon, I was easy pickings?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  “You picked the wrong man.”

  “Yessir.”

  “You were going to kill me,” Roper said. “You think I should let you walk away for that?”

  “Y-You let them walk away.”

  “They were flunkies,” Roper said. “You’re the head man.”

  “I ain’t no head man,” the man said. “You just came and stood next to me.”

  “Just coincidence, huh?”

  “Y-Yessir.”

  Roper still wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to let this man go until he was.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Stark.”

  “Okay, Stark, where’s your horse?”

  “I-In front of the saloon.”

  “Walk to it.”

  Stark started to step into the street.

  “First drop your gun. Take it out careful like, with two fingers.”

  He stopped, took his gun from his holster, and dropped it to the ground.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Roper said, “and if I find anything in your saddlebags that makes me think you followed me, I’m going to kill you, so tell me now if White sent you, or if you came from West Virginia.”

  “West Virginia?” the man said. “I ain’t never been to West Virginia. And who’s White?”

  “If you’re acting, you’re doing a good job,” Roper told him.

  “Mister, I�
�m tellin’ you the truth. I’m just a plumb terrible actor.”

  “We’re going to see,” Roper said. “Which horse is yours?”

  “Th-The mare next to the Appaloosa.”

  “Walk to it, my friend,” Roper said. “The next few minutes are very important to you.”

  36

  When they reached the horses, Roper said to Stark, “Empty it all out.”

  “What?”

  “The contents of both saddlebags. Empty it all out onto the ground.”

  “B-But…my stuff’ll get dirty.”

  “Your stuff can get dirty or you can get dead,” Roper said. “Your choice.”

  Word had gotten around that something was happening on the street, so it was clear, but faces were pressed up against windows, and that included the saloon.

  “A-All right, wait,” Stark said. He went to his horse, removed both saddlebags, and started to put his hand in one.

  “How stupid do you think I am? You go for a gun in there and I’ll shoot you in the face.”

  It had been Roper’s experience that nobody wanted to get shot, but the prospect of getting shot in the face seemed to be worst of all.

  Stark pulled his hand out of his saddlebags. He took them off his horse and dumped the contents on the ground.

  “Back up,” Roper said.

  Stark obeyed. Roper kicked the contents around on the ground, saw a dirty shirt, a coffee cup, a pot, some letters, some loose bullets, and the extra gun Stark had been reaching for.

  “If you had pulled that gun, I would have killed you, son,” Roper said.

  “Yessir.”

  “Now I’m going to ask you for the last time,” Roper said. “Did anyone hire you to brace me?”

  “No, sir, we wuz just gonna rob you.”

  “Rob me and kill me, is more likely. I’m leaving town, so you better get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

  “My things,” Stark said, “my horse, and guns—”

  “You come back for them later, if they’re still here,” Roper said. “Right now, just get the hell out of my sight.”

  Stark hesitated, then turned and ran off down the street.

  Roper holstered his gun, left Stark’s belongings on the ground, where anybody could go through them. He took a quick look at the letters, but they weren’t anything of concern to him.

  He picked up the extra gun and stuck it in his belt and went back into the saloon and up to the bar.

  “Still say you don’t know those boys?” he asked the bartender.

  “That’s a fact, mister. Why’d you let them go?”

  “I don’t have time to have them arrested and go to court. I’ve got to get moving.” Plus, he’d already killed three men this trip who had intended to rob him. He wasn’t looking to repeat the experience.

  “Well, have another beer, on the house.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Roper nursed his beer and talked to the bartender about who the law was in Sedona.

  “Name’s Hardesty, Al Hardesty. Been sheriff here for a few months.”

  “First-time lawman?”

  “Naw, he’s wore a badge in other towns. Must be about forty, ol’ Al. It’s only this job that’s new to him.”

  “You know a fella in Jerome named Henry Wilkins?” Roper asked.

  “Sure, I know ol’ Henry. Stops in here when he comes to town for supplies.”

  “You know when he was here last?”

  The man rubbed his jaw and said, “Must be a few weeks now. He usually comes in once a month. He’s got him a small ranch, raises some horses.”

  “Is there a telegraph office in town?”

  “Yeah, but if you’re thinkin’ of sendin’ one to Jerome, forget it. They ain’t got one.”

  Roper wasn’t thinking about sending one to Jerome. He was thinking of sending two to Denver.

  “Okay,” he said, “thanks for the beer, and the information.”

  “Come back if you’re stayin’ in town.”

  “I’m not staying, but I may be back. How about directing me to the telegraph office?”

  He left the saloon and started toward the telegraph office, following the bartender’s directions.

  Roper had some men in Denver he used when he needed extra help. He was going to send telegrams to two of them, get them moving on a new plan he had, and then head for Jerome.

  If someone was using him to find these men so they could be killed, or if they were ahead of him, he was going to take steps to protect the remaining three.

  Telegraph office first.

  37

  Having sent his telegrams to Denver, hoping there’d be a reply by the time he got back to Sedona, Roper mounted up and rode to Jerome to find Henry Wilkins.

  Jerome was about twenty miles from Sedona. Roper rode the horse hard and made the ride in two-and-a-half hours. There wasn’t much to Jerome, which had fallen on hard times. Many of the buildings were boarded up, but there was a saloon, a hotel, a livery, and the sheriff’s office. However, the bartender in Sedona had already told Roper that Wilkins had a ranch on the outside of town, so he rode through Jerome without stopping.

  Hoping he wouldn’t arrive to find Wilkins dead, Roper rode up to the ranch, which consisted of a house, a barn, and a corral. There were a few horses in the corral, but nothing to indicate that anyone was raising them for sale.

  He rode up to the house and dismounted.

  “Wilkins,” he shouted. “Henry Wilkins!”

  He looked around, anxiously waiting for someone to appear from the house or the barn. Whoever had killed Quinn had only just beaten him to the man, so he drew his gun, just in case.

  “Stand fast, friend,” he heard a voice say from behind him. Roper put his hands up.

  “What are you doin’ here?”

  “I’m looking for Henry Wilkins,” Roper said, hoping he wasn’t talking to the man who had killed Quinn, and maybe Wilkins as well.

  “That’s me. Who are you?”

  “My name’s Roper,” Roper said. “I’m a private detective from Denver. Are you Wilkins?”

  “I am.”

  “Can I put my hands down?”

  “I got a rifle pointed at you,” Wilkins said. “Holster your weapon and turn around slowly.”

  Roper obeyed, sliding the pistol into the holster and turning. He continued to hold his hands away from his body so as to appear less threatening.

  “What are you doin’ here?” Wilkins asked. He was a tall man with very long, stringy hair, painfully thin, as if he hadn’t been eating well for a long time. “Why are you looking for me?”

  “Well,” Roper said, “basically I’m here to save your life.”

  “What?”

  “If we could go inside and talk, I can explain.”

  “First tell me who sent you.”

  “Victoria Westover.” Roper decided it didn’t matter whether they went inside, or stayed out.

  “Westover?” Wilkins said. The barrel of the rifle lowered slightly. “I knew a Westover during the war. Howard Westover?”

  “That’s right,” Roper said. “Victoria is his wife. She sent me to find you.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s in a bad way,” Roper said, “and he’s in danger of having his Medal of Honor stripped from him.”

  “Stripped?”

  “That’s right. She sent me to find five men he served with so they can swear he earned the medal honorably.”

  “And I’m one of the five?” Wilkins seemed surprised.

  “Do you remember Vincent McCord and Gerald Quinn?” Roper asked.

  “I do,” Wilkins said, and the barrel dipped even more, until it was pointing at the ground. “I served with them.”

  “They’re dead.”

  “What? How?”

  “McCord died years ago, in Saint Joe, Missouri,” Roper said, “but someone killed Quinn days ago, before I could get to him. And I think that same someone is after you.”

  “M
e? Somebody wants to kill me?”

  “Yes,” Roper said, “and they may not be far behind me. They beat me to Quinn, but it looks like I beat them to you. We have to get out of here.”

  “And go where?”

  “Somewhere I can keep you safe,” Roper said.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “You’re an old soldier, I know,” Roper said. “So am I. I served with Pinkerton.”

  “They didn’t call him that during the war,” Wilkins said.

  “I know, he was Major E. J. Allan. I’m a private detective now because of him.”

  Wilkins looked around, then said, “You better come inside.”

  “Only long enough for you to pack,” Roper said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Come inside,” Wilkins said. “We can talk more over a jug.”

  The hard ride had awakened a thirst in Roper so he said, “All right. One drink and then we’re out of here!”

  38

  The house was little more than a bare cabin inside, but there was a rickety table and two matching chairs. It reminded him of the house Vincent McCord’s woman lived in.

  “Have yourself a seat,” Wilkins said. “I’ll get the jug,” Roper was feeling antsy. Could be a killer outside any minute. He had to get Wilkins out of there. Anyplace other than this would do.

  Wilkins returned with a jug, sat across from Roper, and passed it to him. The detective uncorked it and poured some down his throat. It burned like fire. He put it on the table and pushed it back, his eyes tearing.

  Wilkins drank deeply from the jug, then put the cork back in. He must have been in his thirties during the war, because he looked to be near sixty.

  “You better start from the beginning, mister.”

  “I don’t think we have time, Mr. Wilkins. I’m convinced there’s a man on the way here to kill you. If we don’t get you out of here—”

  “You sure about this?”

  “Sure as I can be,” Roper said. “Gerald Quinn is dead, and there are two more men on my list.”

  “Who are they?”

  “David Hampstead and Zack Templeton.”

  Wilkins sat back in his chair.

  “You know them?” Roper asked.