Quinn swung off his horse, tying him to the hitching post. This wasn't going to be easy. He and Tuckett had proven opponents in almost everything from land ownership to saloon brawls to just plain decent manners. Quinn stepped up to the boardwalk in front of the jail and pushed the door open.
"Well, I'll be plumb sniggered. Never expected you ta come here right peaceable." Tuckett dropped his feet from his desk to the floor boards.
"Tuckett, don't make this into no fight. I come ta ask ya what ya know about Albert's murder."
"Well," Tuckett drawled, taunting him. Tuckett casually skirted the desk. "Plenty nuff to wire the circuit judge."
Quinn stuffed his interest down. It was possible that Tuckett was just baiting him. He squared his shoulders, moving to the center of the room just in case he needed to move fast. "And?"
"Cain't say." Tuckett inched to Quinn's left. Quinn, refusing to give Tuckett the benefit of his weaker side, repositioned himself.
"Cain't or ya don't know nothun? Wouldn't be the first time ya got old Fairbanks off his porch fer yer own entertainment."
"What ya wanna know for, anyway?"
"He's my brother. I deserve to know."
"An' as his brother ya had the best motive. I have half a mind ta lock ya up." Tuckett sidled closer to the front door of the jail, blocking it. Quinn recognized his error in judging Tuckett.
"I didn't murder my brother."
"Says you. I figure ya got jealous of his livery, his land, an' his wife."
Quinn bristled, clenching his fists.
Tuckett continued, "Right pretty thing, that Mrs. Jackson. You got an itch for her?"
"You tryin' to get me to fight? Here? I ain't that loco."
Tuckett's sneer broke into a chuckle. "That depends on yer perspective, don't it?" Tuckett bellowed, keeping his eye on Quinn. "Come on in, Jed."
Jed pushed his bulking frame through the door behind Tuckett. Had he been anyone other than Jed Turner, Quinn would have lunged at Tuckett, knocking both men to the floor before bolting out of the jail. Jed stood six-and-a-half feet tall, his shoulders as wide as an oxen's with the strength to match. A silver star dragged the dirty fabric of his shirt low over his heart. He had little need for the Winchester in his hands. Hands so big they made the rifle look like a child's toy.
"Quinn here just saved us the trip of chasing 'im down. Came in right peaceful. Take his knife and lock 'im up."
Quinn gawked at Tuckett in surprise, only raising his hands away from his body when Jed jerked his head.
"What's this all about?" Quinn demanded.
"Sorry, Quinn, gotta foller orders." Jed apologized while herding Quinn into the only cell.
"Tuckett--"
"Careful, Quinn. I got plenty of evidence. Maybe not for one murder but ya got to admit. It's perty near strange fer a feller to go missin' about the time of a murder. Add to that the fact that that there new whore's gone missin' as well." Jed handed Quinn's knife to Tuckett. Tuckett held the knife, blade up and tested its sharpness with his thumb. Quinn glowered. Maybe he'd cut Tuckett’s throat with it. Tuckett sauntered around the desk and opened one of the deep drawers. He bent over depositing the knife and still rambling. "Bailey, ya know Bailey, don't ya."
"I'll take care of his horse," Jed interrupted before exiting the small jailhouse.
"Right good tracker, that Bailey. He came down Pass Creek this mornin' with this." Tuckett withdrew a tattered remnant of faded reds and browns from the same drawer he'd placed Quinn's knife in. Had Quinn not already been practicing his gambler’s façade, his expression would have broken into stunned surprise. Instead, he placed his dangerous reaction with the rest of his emotions, hidden deep in his soul. "Don't look like much, does it? But Old Curly wore it around town here for quite a while this last spring. Was right proud of it, in fact. But ya wouldn't know 'bout that, would ya? Naw, ya was over in Little Lost workin' cattle."
Quinn's knuckles went white as he clenched the cell bars. He mentally relaxed, hoping Tuckett wasn't observant enough to notice. "What's that got to do with me?"
"Nuthun if you aren't a tracker." Tuckett eased his frame onto the desk chair and put his feet up on the desk. "You gotta love Albert. Best smithy I've ever had shoe a horse. Bit arrogant when it came to his own horses, though. Always had to make 'em shoes just a bit different for his animals. Guess you made it clear in the saloon awhile back that what's his is yorn and what's yorn is his. So he likes to stamp a shoe for his horses while it's hot. Ain't never seen no other smithy do that, but then Albert ain't any ole smithy. He does a right perty job on hooks and hinges. Put one of them there designs here in the desk handle last fall. Bit much for shoes, don't ya think?"
Quinn refused to give Tuckett even a hint at his concern over Tuckett's assumption. He and Albert had talked about needing the unique mark due to the horse rustling in the valley last year. They intended to have proof should one of their horses be stolen. "Yer a ramblin'."
"Bailey didn't find a single hoof print of that mule of Curly's anywhere in Pass Creek. Found a few tracks with Albert's special touch, though. You and the little lady sell one of yer horses? She didn't seem ta think so. But ya already knew that, didn't ya."
Jed pushed through the door, carrying a horseshoe in his monstrous hands.
"You get that horse taken care of?"
"Sure I did. An' this is one of them shoes." Jed handed the shoe to Tuckett. Tuckett turned it over.
"Yep. This one like the rest?"
"Nope. The others don't have no marking on them like that one." Jed indicated the shoe in Tuckett's hands.
"Good. You see, Quinn? I got all the proof I need."
"Pullin' my horse's shoes don't prove anythin'." Quinn squinted at Tuckett, wishing he'd pulled the shoes when the horse thief had been hung.
"It proves ya were the horseman that Bailey saw at the bottom of the cliff a couple days back. I got all the proof I need." Tuckett chuckled, slamming the drawer shut and dropping his feet to the floor. He stood, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Finally, I win one. It's well past time. Jed, ya better start gatherin' supplies for buildin' them gallows."
Chapter 40
The Talisman - Crisscross Page 53