by Evans, Tabor
No one answered. The looks on all their faces showed the same depth of incomprehension that Sheriff Brown displayed.
“Sheriff,” one man said, “I never seen Dinky with a gun. Never seen him with money enough to buy one neither. And you know he wouldn’t have stole anything. That boy was honest as the day is long. I never heard of him ever taking anything that wasn’t give to him fair and square.”
Brown sighed and agreed. He explained to Longarm, “You could say that Dinky was raised by this town.
Everybody liked him, and he sure liked everybody else. Like Harry just said, he was sweet and honest and a good boy. Not smart, but decent despite his blood. His mama was a whore. This was in the early days, back when the cow herds were trailing through. No one knows who his papa might have been. Some Texas cowboy with a loaded gun between his legs, likely. Cloretta Dinklemann had the boy and was taking care of him proper. She died when Dinky was, oh, nine or ten, I’d guess. Since then he’s just kind of lived all over. Slept in sheds or on cold nights someone was sure to take him in. He’d do odd jobs, whatever was needed, and the folks here made sure he had a mite to eat and hand-down clothes to wear. We all of us raised him, you might say. Everybody knew him. He was a good boy, Longarm. A good boy.”
“Not so good that he wouldn’t try and kill me today,” Longarm insisted.
“I can’t explain that,” Brown said. “I surely can’t.” He motioned for his young deputy Jeremy to come closer. “Son, I want you to take this gun around town. Talk to everybody here first, then carry it around and show it to everybody you can find. I’ve never seen Dinky with a gun and I doubt anyone else has either, but I want you to ask them. And if they recognize this gun as belonging to anyone else. There aren’t so many of these old models kicking around, especially ones that were converted to take cartridges.”
The sheriff examined the Remington himself before turning it over to Jeremy. He showed Longarm the cylinder. Only four of the six chambers had been loaded. All were rusted, and there were cobwebs in the empty chambers. Brown handed the revolver to his deputy, then pointed to another man standing in the crowd and motioned him over.
“Cy, this is U.S. Deputy Marshal Custis Long. I know of him, and he’s all right.”
“Pleasure t’ meet you, Marshal. I’m Cyrus Cantwell.” He extended a hand to shake.
“Cy, you know what’s happened here. Do you recognize the gun?”
“No, I don’t, Jonas. I’d remember it if I’d ever seen it before.”
Brown told Longarm, “Cy is our gunsmith in town. Also our saddle and harness maker, watch and clock repairer, pretty much anything that can be done with small tools in good hands. Cy also does what little buying or selling of guns that takes place in this end of the county.”
“The conversion is to .44 rimfire,” Longarm said. “Do you stock ammunition for that?”
“Of course,” Cantwell said. “That cartridge fits the old Henry rifles. There are a few of those still around. I have a brand-new one still on my rack, in fact, and two used Henrys that I’ve taken in trade over the past couple years. I still carry the ammunition.”
“Cy, I’d like you to think this over, then write down a list of everybody you’ve sold .44-rimfire ammunition to in the past—oh, hell, let’s just say you should try and remember everybody that’s bought from you in that caliber. You can give the list to Jeremy when he comes around to talk to you later.”
Longarm was impressed. Sheriff Jonas Brown was a small-county lawman who admitted he’d never had to fire a gun in anger at any human soul. But he was a lawman and not a slacker. He seemed to know how to jump into the guts of an investigation and do it right. Longarm was glad to have him in on this. And wished Brown was as keen on learning the truth about Norm Wold as he was about finding out who it was who put the boy called Dinky up to attempted murder.
Brown asked several of the bystanders to take Dinky’s body to the town barber, who apparently also served as the local undertaker. Once the body was gone, the crowd drifted apart as well. The sheriff sent Jeremy off to begin questioning folks about the gun.
“If there is anything else you can think of . . . ,” Brown said.
“Well, yeah, I guess there is,” Longarm replied.
“Name it.”
“You tell me that Dinky was a good boy, honest and decent?”
“That’s right. Every day of his life. I would have sworn to that. For that matter, Longarm, I still think so. I’m not doubting what you said, mind. But I still think Dinky was a good boy.”
“And apparently he was,” Longarm agreed. “Which makes me think it would have taken an awful powerful influence, along with a pack of lies, I’d think, to get him to try and gun me down. Now that I think back on the few things he said, I’d guess he was told to shoot me in the back, like from ambush. But he couldn’t bring himself to do a low thing like that. If he had to kill me, then he’d do it, but he’d do it fair and stand there facing me.”
“That sounds like something Dinky might’ve done,” the sheriff allowed.
“Which makes me wonder, Jonas, just who in town was so close to him, who had that kind of strong influence, that they could’ve convinced him to commit murder.”
Jonas Brown grunted and shook his head. “Dinky liked everybody, Longarm. Everybody.”
“He had to like someone mighty strong for it to come to this, though.”
“I can’t think of anybody special,” Brown said. “He worked for pretty much everybody, one time or another. Slept in a couple dozen different places now and then. Would show up just about anywhere, with just about anyone.” The sheriff shook his head again. “I surely can’t think of anyone closer to him than any other. Not that I ever noticed.”
“You might ask around and see if everyone else has that same view,” Longarm suggested.
“I will. I surely will.”
Longarm frowned and pulled out a cheroot, offering it to the sheriff, who declined, then lighting up himself. Longarm sighed. “I was on my way to supper when I ran into Dinky. Care to join me?”
“Thanks. Another time maybe.”
Longarm nodded and said his good-byes, then made his way along to the cafe.
His mood, though, was not so easy as it had been when he’d left the courthouse a little while earlier. Norm Wold was in jail accused of serious crime. And now the town pet was lying dead for no good reason. There was too much here that made no sense, no sense whatsoever.
Longarm’s belly rumbled with hunger, and he lengthened his stride. He hoped Dottie had more of that soon-to-be-famous dried apple pie tonight.
Chapter 15
Longarm took a final look around the saloon, but there still was no sign of the court clerk coming around to collect on Longarm’s promise of a free beer. Longarm felt he kind of owed the fat man for all the help he’d been, but it wasn’t the sort of debt a man had to worry about overmuch. Schooner would come by one of these evenings or he wouldn’t, his choice.
With no reason to remain any longer and the hour growing late, Longarm dragged his stake into a pile and scooped the coins into a pocket without bothering to count them. He knew he was up a little, probably less than a dollar. It wasn’t exactly enough to get excited over. He excused himself, getting no argument from the other gents at the table. They looked like they were commencing to wear down too, and Longarm suspected the game would break up soon. “G’night, all,” he said as he stood.
“Same time tomorrow?” a man named Kyle suggested.
“More’n likely,” Longarm agreed without exactly committing himself to be there. In his line of work a fellow couldn’t always count on what tomorrow would bring.
A blond whore with tits like big pink pillows intercepted him before he could reach the front door. She would have looked a lot nicer, he thought, if she washed her face and neck from time to time. Lines of charcoal-colored grime collected in her wrinkles, showing dark against the rice powder that whitened her skin like soot caught in the wind-ripp
les of a newfallen snow. Longarm found the effect to be more than a little off-putting. Not that he would have been much interested in the aging bawd even without that relatively minor imperfection, but with a woman like this one he couldn’t help but think in terms of little bitty, itchy-crawly things. He couldn’t even see one without his pubic hair and balls beginning to itch.
“Just a dollar, honey,” she whispered by way of sweet talk. Longarm thought it over, and decided it was an offer he could manage to resist.
“Thanks, but not tonight.”
“I’m awful good, honey. You try me and you’ll see. Anybody here can tell you that. I’m worth it.”
Longarm grinned and gave her a wink while he readjusted the set of his Stetson. “I’d bet you’re worth a whole lot more’n that even,” he said.
The whore seemed pleased. She smiled and simpered and rubbed her tits over his arm. Longarm hoped she didn’t have anything that was too contagious.
“You’re a fine-looking woman,” he lied, “but I’m awful tired tonight.”
She gave him a look of instant concern. “Of course you are, honey. I shoulda thought about that.”
Longarm smiled at her again and tried to step away into the night, to a place where there would be clean fresh air instead of the stink of cheap toilet water that surrounded the hooker. She stopped him by grabbing his coat at the elbow. “Wait a minute, hear?”
“Look, ma’am, I already told you—”
“No, I . . . it isn’t that. It’s . . . I don’t know just how to say this.”
Longarm shrugged. And waited.
“We ain’t such a much here, I don’t suppose, especially not to a fine, handsome, big-city lawman like yourself. But we got our pride. You know what I mean?”
He didn’t, but he did not think this was the time to discuss it. He continued to wait, giving the old whore time enough to say whatever it was that was on her mind.
“Everybody knows what happened to you this afternoon, and we’re all embarrassed by it. Real upset too because we all of us like that boy Dinky. He was a swell kid. You know?”
Now that was something that Longarm for damn sure did not know. The one sure fact he had about Dinky Dinklemann was that the boy had tried to kill him. In Longarm’s estimation, that was not much of a recommendation for upstanding character.
“Everybody’s been talking tonight and . . . well, what we kinda think is that somebody in town here made Dinky try and do that today. We don’t like that. You see what I mean?”
Maybe. He was beginning to think perhaps he was beginning to understand now.
“Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say, Marshal, is we don’t want anything more bad to happen in our town. We don’t want you hurt nor anybody else. So . . . well . . . you just be careful when you go home tonight. All right?”
Longarm smiled again, truly meaning it this time, and leaned down to plant a very brief and gentle kiss on the old bawd’s forehead. She meant him well. He couldn’t object to that, could he? “Thanks.”
Feeling if anything more puzzled than ever by the people of Crow’s Point, Kansas, Longarm stepped out into the night.
No one shot at him on his way back to Norm’s house. No one seemed to pay any attention to his passage whatsoever.
But somewhere in this town there was a person who—for reasons Longarm could not begin to comprehend—wanted him dead.
That was an annoying thought to say the least, and one he could have done without. Still, he’d been hunted before this. A man would have to be quick, accurate, and almighty lucky if he expected to put lead into Custis Long and walk away from the encounter.
He let himself into the house. This time there was no one waiting for him in the dark. It occurred to him that he would not have minded if Norm’s lady friend Eleanor Fitzpatrick had been waiting for him again this evening.
He felt a little guilty when he realized where that train of thought could take him.
But only a little.
Chapter 16
Longarm slapped the ledger shut with a disgusted snort. Nothing. Two and a half days of effort and he had absolutely nothing to show for it. Not so much as a sniff of a hint of a suspicion of an idea.
But dammit, a whole hell of a lot of lawing was like that. You busted your butt just to find out there was nothing up an alley worth learning. So then you turned around and found another alley to look into.
That, he supposed, was what he would have to do this time too. For sure he was not inclined to give up.
Longarm glanced up at the big Regulator clock on the wall. It was still short of noon. No point in looking for the next step to take quite yet. He stood, stretched, and told Schooner, “I’m gonna go up and visit with Norm for a spell, then go get lunch. See you back here later.”
The fat clerk nodded absently. He was elbow deep in a stack of paperwork.
Longarm got his Stetson from the rack and headed out for the staircase, where he found Jonas Brown’s young deputy coming down from the top floor.
“Marshal,” the youngster greeted him with a nod.
“Hello, Jeremy.”
“I’m on my way to fetch lunch back for the sheriff and Marshal Wold. Can I bring something for you too?”
Longarm considered the offer and liked it. “You bet.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a quarter that he contributed to the lunch. “Bring me whatever looks good.”
“Sandwich be okay? That’s what the others are having.”
“Fine.” Jeremy continued down the stairs, and Longarm went on up. He found Norm and Sheriff Brown sitting on opposite sides of a chessboard laid out on top of the sheriff’s desk. The door to Norm’s cell was standing wide open.
“Be a helluva time for a jailbreak,” Longarm said with a grin as he helped himself to a seat where he could watch the game in progress.
“Huh,” the sheriff complained. “If this man doesn’t quit beating up on me, I may have to throw him out, never mind what the judge wants. I’m getting tired of this.”
“Now, Jonas, I keep telling you, if you had as much time as I do to study on these things, maybe you could keep up with me,” Wold said. He seemed in a good humor. But then he ought to. The sheriff’s queen, one of his rooks, and three of his pawns were sitting off the board, compared with only a lonesome pair of pawns that Brown had captured in return.
“Something we can do for you, Longarm?” Brown asked.
“Don’t let me interrupt you.”
“Frankly, I’m hoping like hell you will interrupt. Give me a chance to change my luck here.”
Norm chuckled. “It would take more than a little interruption to do that, Jonas.”
“Hush up, prisoner, or I’ll put you on bread and water for the next week.”
Norm laughed, not seeming to be particularly awed by the sheriff’s threat.
“Oh, wait,” Brown said. “There’s something I want you to look at. You too, Norm. See if it means anything to either of you. It sure didn’t to me.”
Longarm lifted an eyebrow, but there was no point in asking questions right now. The sheriff stood and crossed the room to a filing cabinet. He pulled open the top drawer and extracted a piece of brown wrapping paper.
“Fancy stationery the county’s buying you these days, Jonas,” Norm offered.
“It’s called having respect for the taxpayers’ pocketbooks. Actually, what it is, Mr. Outlaw, is the list Cy Cantwell made up of all the people he can remember who’ve bought .44-rimfire ammunition in the past couple years or so. I saw Cy on his way to work this morning. He gave it to me then. I would’ve shown it to you earlier, Norm, but Jeremy had taken you down to the crapper, and by the time you got back upstairs I forgot. Anyway, for whatever it’s worth, you should both look it over and see what you think.” The sheriff handed the list to Longarm first, but it took Longarm only a few seconds to glance at the names listed on the sheet.
There were seven names on the list, but the only one Longarm recognized was that of Norm W
old himself. The others were complete strangers to him. By name anyway, although he supposed it was possible he could have run into one or more of them in town the past couple days without knowing it. Longarm shook his head and handed the paper on to Norm.
Norm studied the names for some time, then shook his head. “I know them all, sure, but I can’t say that any of this means anything to me. Nothing suspicious about any of them. Certainly no reason I could think of why any of these men would want Dinky to shoot Longarm. For that matter, I can’t think of anyone else who would want him dead either.”
The sheriff shrugged. “It was worth a try,” he said.
“Keep rooting. There’s always a chance you’ll turn up an acorn if you dig through enough dirt,” Norm encouraged him.
“I see your name on there, Norm,” Longarm said. “You aren’t still shooting a Henry rifle, are you?”
“Nope. Used to. Back when the Henry was the modern, up-to-date ticket. Traded that old gun in, oh, ‘67? ’68? Sometime along about then.”
“Why would you need the rimfires if you don’t have a Henry?” Longarm asked.
“Got me an old cap-and-ball revolver that I had a fellow in Dodge City convert for me back when I used to work as night marshal there. This was just after the Eastern Unpleasantness, right after Dodge City was formed as a town.” He smiled. “Some town too. A man needed a gun on the streets at night whether he was a lawman or not. And that old loose-powder revolver was a pretty fair gun too. Outmoded now, of course. Has been for years. But I got some memories attached to the old thing. And hell, it isn’t worth anything. Wouldn’t bring two bits if I was to try and sell it, I suppose. So I’ve kept it laying around. I bought those shells off Cy, let me think, a couple years ago it’s been, I’d say. Ran across the old gun and wondered if it still shot as true as it used to, so I got me a couple boxes of rimfires from Cy and took it out one day to play with. Had a pretty good time too, busting clods of dirt out of the air and rolling stones along the ground. It still shot true. I don’t suppose I’ve touched the old gun again since, though. Cleaned it up and put it away and the shells with it. Do you want it for anything, Longarm? Evidence or whatever?”