He walked to the three fallen men, noticing the men who were crowded around the batwing doors. Then he heard somebody yell, “Lou’s dead! Free beer!” and they all vanished back inside.
Roper checked the three bodies, found them all dead. What now? Wait around for the law and an undertaker? Go back to his room and let them come to him?
He waited a few minutes but nobody came running. Shootings couldn’t have been that common in Gilette. He looked around, shrugged, and went back into the hotel.
Wilkins backed out of the window after Roper checked the three bodies and closed it behind him. As far as anyone down there knew, Roper had gunned down the three men. As far as Wilkins was concerned, he had partially paid his debt to Roper.
But there was another way to pay Roper back, and that was to sign an affidavit for him. Wilkins just didn’t know if he could do that. At least, not until he talked with Hampstead and Templeton. It was too bad about McCord being killed all those years ago, but everyone who knew him knew that Vince McCord would end up that way, either in the war or after.
Gerald Quinn, that was a shame. Quinn was a good man, and Wilkins would have liked to help the detective find out who killed him.
But the rest…signing the affidavit, he couldn’t make up his mind about that. At least, not until the other two arrived in Gilette.
If they got there at all.
46
Roper walked into the hotel, didn’t see anyone at the clerk’s desk. That was what bullets in the street usually did to people.
He went up the stairs, down the hall to his room, and entered.
Wilkins was sitting on the bed, his hands behind his head.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” Wilkins asked.
“I don’t know how many shots you fired, but that first one did the trick. I figured you’d target the center man first.”
“I fired once,” Wilkins said. “You were pretty good. I didn’t have to pull the trigger again.”
Roper nodded, ejected the spent shells from his gun, replaced them, and holstered it.
“We’re liable to get a visit from the law tonight,” he said. “I’ll do the talking.”
“Suits me,” Wilkins said.
Roper walked to his bed and sat down.
“You didn’t bring a bottle of whiskey, did you?” Wilkins asked.
“No,” Roper said. “Just the beer.”
“Too bad.”
Roper agreed.
It only took half an hour for a knock to come at the door.
“Sooner than I thought,” Roper said. “Remember, let me do the talking.”
Wilkins nodded.
Roper went to the door and opened it, with his hand on his gun. Standing out in the hall was a tall man with a sheriff’s badge. Behind him was a shorter, younger man, wearing a deputy’s badge.
“You the fella from the street?” the sheriff asked. “Just shot three men?”
“I shot three men about half an hour ago,” Roper said. “So I guess you want me, unless somebody else shot three men since then.”
The sheriff looked at Roper’s hand, which was on his gun.
“I’m gonna need you to identify yourself,” the lawman said.
“You want me to do it here, or come to your office?” Roper asked.
“Here’ll do,” the sheriff said.
“Why don’t you and your deputy come in, Sheriff…what’s your name?”
“Freese,” the lawman said, “Sheriff Freese.”
“Come on in, Sheriff Freese.”
The two lawmen entered, nodded to Wilkins, who was still sitting on his bed. His rifle was leaning against the wall next to him.
“This fella is Henry Wilkins,” Roper said. “My name is Talbot Roper. I’m a private detective.”
“Detective, huh?” Freese asked. “What brings you here, to Gilette?”
“I’m meeting some friends.”
“Why here?”
Roper shrugged. “We had to meet somewhere. This is as good a place as any.”
“You got something that says you’re who you say you are?”
Roper went to his saddlebags, took out his wallet, and handed it to the sheriff. There were several pieces of identification there with his name and address on them.
“Denver, huh?”
“That’s right.”
Freese handed the wallet back.
“You wanna tell me what happened in the street, why you had to kill three of our citizens?”
“They pushed it, Sheriff,” Roper said. “I gave them all the chance to walk away.”
“I understand you had a run-in with Jake and Hobie in the saloon.”
“With them, yeah,” Roper said. “I don’t know why the bartender was in the street. I had no beef with him, and as far as I knew, he had none with me.”
“I got the story from the saloon,” Freese said.
“And?”
“It’s like you say,” the lawman said. “Hobie was hoorahing you until you hit him with a beer mug.”
“I put him down without killing him,” Roper said. “He should have stayed down.”
“I guess he should’ve,” Freese said.
“If you want me to come to your office with you, Sheriff, I will,” Roper said.
“There’s no need,” Freese said. “Your story checks out. They braced you in the street, and they called the play. I don’t think I have any grounds to take you in.”
“I appreciate that.”
“But I do have the right to tell you to leave town.”
“What?”
“Those boys all have friends in town,” Freese said. “To keep any more trouble from happening, you have to leave.”
“I told you, I’m waiting for some friends to get here,” Roper said.
“I know that, but I can’t have any more gunplay in the street. Your friend can wait here for the others, but you have to leave.”
“No,” Roper said, “I can’t do that.”
“If you don’t leave,” the sheriff said, “I’ll have to put you in a cell.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m afraid I am.”
The deputy drew himself up and stared at Roper. “You better do what the sheriff says.”
Roper looked at the deputy, staring at him until the younger man averted his eyes.
“Okay, Sheriff,” he said finally. “I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”
“Fine,” Freese said. “Sorry about this, Mr. Roper, but there’s nothing I can do.”
Roper opened the door and waited while the sheriff and his deputy left.
“What are we gonna do?” Wilkins asked. “Should I stay and wait while you go?”
“No, I can’t leave you here alone,” Roper said. “We’ll have to leave and camp just outside of town, try and catch the others when they ride in.”
“Well,” Wilkins said, “at least I get to sleep in a real bed one more night.”
“Yeah,” Roper said, “I could use some sleep myself.”
They each washed up with the pitcher and basin on the dresser. Wilkins got between the sheets, but before he went to bed, Roper took the chair from the corner and jammed it underneath the doorknob.
“Just in case,” he told Wilkins.
“What about the window?”
“They’d have to scale the building to get in that way, but I’ll put the pitcher on the windowsill just in case. They’d have to knock it off to get in.”
“Good enough,” Wilkins said.
Roper turned down the lamp on the wall by the door and got into bed.
47
Sally Bando passed a cup of coffee over to Dave Hampstead, who was wincing as he sat on the ground.
“Damn,” Hampstead said, “it’s been a while since I’ve been in the saddle.”
Bando had seen that the moment he met Dave Hampstead in Montana. The man was a businessman and had the belly to prove it.
“My ass is used to sittin’ in
a chair, not on a horse,” he went on. “Was the day I didn’t have this belly and sore ass, but that was years ago.”
“Sorry, Mr. Hampstead,” Bando said, “but my orders are to get you to Gilette, on horseback, and alive.”
“Well,” Hampstead said, “I can’t rightly object to the alive part, can I?”
“No, sir.” Bando passed Hampstead a plate of bacon and beans, and a fork.
“Eat up, friend,” Bando said. “We’ll be in Gilette tomorrow.”
“And then I get to find out what this is all about?” Hampstead asked.
“Then we all do,” Bando said. He only knew what he and Dexter were hired to do, didn’t know anything about a Medal of Honor, or about the first two dead men. His telegram from Roper simply said “Do this” and he was doing it.
In another camp, Tommy Dexter handed his charge, Zack Templeton, a plate of beans and a cup of coffee.
“We’ll need to split the watch tonight again,” he said.
“What for?” Templeton asked. “Who’s chasing us?”
“I don’t know if anyone is chasing us,” Dexter said, “but I like to be careful.”
Templeton must have been young during the war, because he barely looked forty now. When Dexter found him, he was working as a hand on a ranch. He spent his days in the saddle, so riding to Gilette, Wyoming, was no chore for him.
“I’ll take the first watch, then,” Templeton said. “You get some shut-eye.”
“I can use it,” Dexter said.
“Still not gonna tell me what this is all about?” Dexter asked.
“I told you all I know,” Dexter said. “My boss, Roper, he’ll tell you the rest. And me, I hope.”
“Well, I don’t mind this,” Templeton said. “It’s better than punchin’ cows, and I ain’t seen those boys in a while. Not since the war.”
“None of them since the war?”
“Nope. I heard about McCord dyin’, but that wasn’t no surprise. That boy was askin’ for it.”
Dexter didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about McCord or Quinn. He only knew that Sally had been sent to pick up a man named Hampstead, and he had been sent to pick up Templeton. They were supposed to keep them alive and bring them to Gilette, Wyoming.
48
In the morning, Roper and Wilkins checked out of the hotel and chanced having breakfast before they left town. Roper took them to the café where he’d gotten the steaks the night before.
The sheriff came in while they were eating. His deputy stayed outside but cast mean looks toward them through the window.
“You gents mind if I have some coffee?” the sheriff asked.
“Be my guest, Sheriff,” Roper said. The man sat. “Thanks for leaving your deputy outside. He’s got a bad attitude.”
“Yeah, he does,” Freese said, “but he’ll get over it. He just needs to live long enough to get a little older.”
Freese poured himself some coffee, and a waiter brought a fresh pot over for them.
“Thanks, Lance,” Freese said.
“Sure, Sheriff.”
“We’re ready to go, Sheriff,” Roper assured him. “Just wanted to get some hot food in our bellies.”
“Where you headed when you leave here?” Freese asked. “Maybe I can tell your friends when they get here.”
“Don’t worry ’bout it, Sheriff,” Roper said. “We’re going to try to catch them on the trail.”
“I checked you out, Roper.”
That didn’t surprise Roper. He’d seen the telegraph wires as they rode into town. He didn’t want to send any telegrams from here, though, just in case somebody was in Denver, waiting.
“You got a solid reputation.”
“I like to think so.”
“Can’t imagine what brought you to Gilette, though.”
“Afraid I can’t say,” Roper said.
“Well,” Freese said, “that’s up to you. Sorry I can’t change my mind on you leavin’.”
“Forget it,” Roper said. “You’ve got your town to think of.”
“Appreciate you takin’ it that way.”
The sheriff pushed back his chair and stood up. He hadn’t taken a sip of his coffee.
“Good luck to you,” he said and left.
“What was that about?” Wilkins asked.
“He checked me out, wants us to know he’s not a bad guy.”
“What do we do about meeting the others?” Wilkins asked. “From what you told me, they’re coming from two different directions.”
“We’ll have to find a high point from where we can watch the town,” Roper said. “High enough to be able to see both ends. It’s not a big place.”
“Think that’s gonna work?”
“We won’t know until we try.”
Kilkenny tracked Roper to Denver. From there he sent out a batch of telegrams of his own and recruited some men right there in the city. He also got word from his men in Helena and Pierre that both Hampstead and Templeton were gone. That meant Roper was moving them, probably to some central location.
When he found Roper and his people, he was going to have a gang of his own to throw at them. Until then, he was content to remain in Denver until he got some word. Talbot Roper would be somewhere north of there, since Hampstead was in Montana and Templeton was in South Dakota. Denver was a good place to wait because wherever they had to go, they’d be able to get there pretty quick.
Kilkenny was sitting in a saloon on Market Street when one of his men, Chris Dunn, came in.
“What the hell are you doin’ here, Dunn? You’re supposed to be sittin’ on the telegraph office,” Kilkenny said.
“I was,” Dunn said, taking a seat, “but I thought you might like to hear a piece of news that came in.”
“News?”
Dunn nodded.
“There was a fella there from the Post,” the man explained, “got hisself a piece of news he’s gonna put in the paper this afternoon, but you’re gettin’ it before anybody else.”
“What is it?”
“There was a shootout in Gilette, Wyoming,” Dunn said. “One fella, from Denver, gunned down three men in the street.”
“And why would that interest me, Dunn?” Kilkenny asked.
“Fella’s name was Talbot Roper.”
Kilkenny grinned.
“Yeah,” Dunn said, “I figured—”
“Get the men together,” Kilkenny told him. “Meet me at the railroad station in two hours.”
“Horses?”
“Horses, guns, the works,” Kilkenny said. “We got him.”
49
It took half the day to circle the town and find a clearing where they could camp and look down at the town.
“This would be a great place to build a house,” Wilkins said as they made camp.
“Well, keep it in mind,” Roper said.
“I don’t got any money to build a house,” Wilkins said. “I’ll probably have to go back to my place when this is over—if I’m still alive.”
“You’ll be alive,” Roper said. “I’m not spending all this time with you to let you get killed.”
“I appreciate that,” Wilkins said.
They got a fire going, a pot of coffee, and then drank it, looking down on Gilette, where lights were just starting to come on.
“Looks right pretty,” Wilkins said.
“And peaceful,” Roper said.
“Now that we’re gone.”
“Yes.”
While Roper continued to stare down at the town, Wilkins dropped some bacon into a pan. Then he handed Roper a plateful, saying, “There’s nothin’ else to do while we watch.”
Roper accepted the bacon and ate it with his fingers. Then Wilkins broke out the one bottle of whiskey they had bought before leaving Gilette.
“Take it easy on that,” Roper said.
“I ain’t gonna get drunk.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Roper said. “We’re going to need that to wash d
own our supper.”
“Okay.” Wilkins took another drink, then put the cork back in and set the bottle aside.
They had talked about a lot of things during the many days they’d been together now, but neither of them had really talked about Howard Westover.
“Tell me how Westover’s doin’,” Wilkins said.
“Not so good. He has a nurse twenty-four hours a day.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
Roper hesitated, then said, “I really don’t know. All I was told is that he was wounded during the war, and when he came home, he kept getting worse.”
Wilkins nodded.
“What do you know about it?”
“About what?” Wilkins asked. “I only know what you told me.”
“I mean, about his wound,” Roper said. “Do you know anything about him being wounded in battle?”
“No,” Wilkins said, “I don’t know anything. He wasn’t wounded while we were together.”
“Then when could it have happened?”
“I don’t know,” Wilkins said. “We mustered out and split up. It could have happened then.”
“After Lee surrendered?” Roper asked. “That would have been ironic.” But of all people, Roper knew that the war had not just stopped after Lee surrendered. There were Confederate soldiers who didn’t buy into Lee’s decision, who went on raiding and fighting. But that didn’t negate the irony of the situation. Some men did die after the war was actually over.
“I’m getting sleepy,” Wilkins said then.
“Get some shut-eye,” Roper said. “All we’re going to be doing is watching. It’s going to be tiring. We’ll do it in shifts.”
Wilkins nodded, lay down with his head on his saddle, and pulled his hat down over his eyes.
Roper finished the rest of the bacon, took a swig from the whiskey bottle, and settled in to watch…
Later Wilkins asked, “How are you gonna recognize them from here? It could be anyone ridin’ into town.”
“I’ll recognize them,” Roper said. “Sally rides a sorrel, Dexter a buckskin.”
“And you got a palomino,” Wilkins said. “Seems like detectives ride pretty flashy horses.”
“We each got our own tastes,” Roper said.
“You got a taste for palominos?”
Bullets & Lies (Talbot Roper 01) Page 15