“Holstrum’s place. That’s why they called it that. He owns most of this land aside from the right-of-way. He has a nice little cabin over there. Dick and I used to ride by sometimes, when we were younger. But since that mean Mr. Moorhouse has been there, we don’t go anymore. Dick made me promise I wouldn’t even ride this way.”
“He’s mean, you say. What’s he like?”
“He’s awfully big. Hulking. He has a mustache and he’s always unshaved. He wears bib overalls, not the western kind, and he’s dirty. He’s very strong. I saw him pick up a whole barrel of vinegar once and put it on a wagon.”
“A barrel of vinegar? Must weigh five hundred pounds!”
“I know. It took two very strong men to lift it off when we got it home. He was helping Mr. Holstrum in town then.”
“Do you know Holstrum well?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” Jan said. “He’s a nice man, but lonely, I think. He still thinks of me as a little girl. I’d be uncomfortable around him if he didn’t, I mean, from the way he looks at some girls.
“But…I don’t know. A few months ago there was a girl came to town…Not a very nice one…I think she worked in saloons and places like that. She tried to make up to him and he would have nothing to do with her.”
Shanaghy chuckled. “He’s got his sights set higher. He wants a lady, a real lady. He told me once about one…the kind he liked…smelling of nice perfume, and very ladylike and…”
He stopped abruptly and they looked at each other. “Tom? Do you think—? Could it be? That girl. The one you saw in the restaurant? She looks like a lady, and she does use very good scent. I mean—”
“Jan…don’t look now, and don’t stop. Just keep riding but bear off a little to the north.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s somebody there…at the water tower. He’s watching us!”
Chapter 16
*
THE WATER TOWER was no more than two hundred yards off and the man had a glass. Shanaghy could see the reflected light from it. He was watching them. Fortunately they had not been riding straight toward the tank but a little north of it, planning to turn when they reached the trail.
“Keep right ahead until we reach the trail, then turn north.”
“But who could it be?” Jan asked.
“I’d like to know, but I suspect this would not be a good time to go nosing around.”
“You’d ride right down there if I weren’t here,” she protested.
“Maybe…But I want them all, not just one man. I want the man who killed Carpenter.”
“If it was a man.”
“What?” He glanced at her. “What do you mean by that?”
“Women can commit crimes, too. Carpenter was in somebody’s way, and I don’t think it was only because he was about to find the horses. I think he was in the way anyhow.”
Shanaghy glanced out of the corners of his eyes toward the water tower. The man was no longer using the glass but had picked up a rifle.
They rode down a slight bank into the trail and turned north, away from the water tank. Desperately, Shanaghy wished to look back, but he forced himself not to turn his head even the slightest. The trail was one rarely used and showed no recent evidence of travel, so those at the water tank must have come in along the tracks or from the south.
“A little faster,” he said. How far were they now? Three hundred yards? No, not quite so much.
They topped a rise and dropped over into a small hollow through which ran a stream. There, at the edge of a clump of willows, a man sat on a boulder.
He was bearded and old, wearing a moth-eaten coon-skin cap, fringed buckskin pants and a checked black and white shirt. In his hands he carried a rifle, and over his back a pack in which there was a blanket and poncho.
“Howdy, folks! Nice day!” He noted the badge. “Ha? Marshal, is it? Well, it’s about time some of you fellers picked up their sign.”
They drew up. “Whose sign?”
“You mean you ain’t seen ’em? I mean that triflin’ lot who’re down yonder by the tank. Lucky this here stream’s here or a body couldn’t even fetch hisself a drink.”
“What d’you know about them?”
“Know? I know all I need to know. They’re rough folks. Kill you soon as look at you. They done shot at me.”
“When?”
“Three, four days back. Some city feller down yonder by the water tank, he said I was to git away an’ not come back.
“I ast if’n he was the railroad, and he said he wasn’t but he spoke for them. I ast him if he spoke for Big Mac and he said that made no difference, I was to git. I told him Big Mac said I could have all the water I needed, and he said he was tellin’ me I couldn’t.
“Well, I could see he didn’t know Big Mac, and he surely had nothin’ to do with the road, an’ I told him so. He ups with a six-shooter and told me to hightail it, and I done so.
“Right then I knowed somethin’ was almighty wrong, because Big Mac is division superintendent of this line an’ ever’body knows him. Nobody who works for that road would speak slighting of Big Mac…He’d skin ’em alive. An’ Mac is a friend of mine. Me an’ his pa prospected together.
“So I kept nosin’ around an’ they seen me. I surely wasn’t hidin’…No reason to…An’ one of them waved me off, then this city feller…My eyes is still good for distance…He ups with his rifle and killed my burro. He killed ol’ Buster…Buster, he been with me nine, ten year. Killed him…creased me.
“Well, Marshal, I ain’t about to leave. Not until I get me one of them. Hopeful, it’ll be that city feller. I had him true in my sights the other day, an’ then that woman come between us. She—”
“What woman?”
“Her who brings ’em grub sometimes. I seen her come over there a time or two, sometimes with a rig an’ sometimes a’horseback.”
“Young, pretty woman?”
“Sort of. Depends on what a man calls purty an’ what he calls young. But attractive, I’d say, mighty attractive.”
The old man peered at Shanaghy. “You’re that there new feller I’ve heard talk of. Come right in and come to be marshal right off.”
“Nobody else wanted the job.”
“I reckon not. Not with Rig hurtin’ like he is.”
Shanaghy had been about to ride on, but the words pulled him up short. “Rig hurting, you say?” He studied the old man. “You talk like you know where he is.”
“I should smile, I do! Nobody knows no better!” The old man chuckled. “Him a’frettin’ an’ a’sweatin’ over all this here, an’ me tellin’ him not to worry, that you got it under control!”
“Where is he?”
The old man cocked his head. “Where? Now wouldn’t you like to know? I reckon them fellers down to the tank would give a purty penny to know just where he’s at.”
He chuckled again, looking very wise. “They had him. Had him dead to rights. All lashed up like one o’ them Christmas packages, an’ I snuck in an’ fetched him away!”
He chuckled again. “You should have seen ’em! Like chickens with their heads off, runnin’ all over, here an’ yonder! An’ that woman, she was fit to be tied! Read ’em the riot act, she did!”
Tom Shanaghy held very still. He glanced over at Jan. Her eyes were wide and she was caressing her horse’s neck, fooling with the mane. “I’d like to see him,” she said. “Is he all right? I mean, wasn’t he hurt?”
“Hurt? You’re darn tootin’, he was hurt! They figured they had him killed, but they didn’t want him found. They figured to have him disappear, like. I reckon so’s they’d figure him still around. That way the folks in town wouldn’t latch onto somebody to take his place. Like they done you.”
He chuckled. “That must’ve upset ’em! Upset ’em plenty! You comin’ in out of nowhere, actin’ like you was sent!”
He peered at Shanaghy. “Can’t figure out why they ain’t kilt you.”
“They’ve tried.”
; “I should reckon.” The old man bobbed his head. “You get through this night…you’re shot with luck. Up to now they been foolin’. Now they got to git shut of you.”
He looked around at Jan. “You’re wishful to see Rig Barrett? I’ll take you to him.”
“Thanks,” Shanaghy said, “I was going to ask—”
“Hey, there! Pull up, now! Nobody said nothin’ about takin’ you to him. It was her. She done asked an’ she’s worried about him. I’ll take her. Not you.”
“But—”
“It’s all right, Tom,” Jan said. “I’ll be all right.”
“All right? I should reckon!” The old man peered at Shanaghy. “Jealous, are you? Jealous of old Coonskin, are you? Well, I don’t blame you! Here a few year back I used to cut quite a figure amongst the gals! Nobody could dance the fandango like ol’ Coonskin Adams! Them gals…why, they was all just a’pantin’ around after me!
“Looks I ain’t got, but I do got style! Yes, siree-bob! I got style!”
He turned on Jan. “You come along with me, young lady. I’ll take you to Rig. This here marshal, he can do whatever he’s of a mind to, but he should watch hisself because tonight’s the night! They’ll kill him tonight. They don’t want nothin’ to mess with their big day. An’ Rig, he’s in no shape to fetch ’em.”
“Coonskin,” Shanaghy said seriously. “I need to talk to Rig. I need his advice. Look, I don’t know what I’m walkin’ into.”
“You’re a’doin’ fine. Just you don’t trust nobody. Nobody, d’you hear?”
They rode away, and Shanaghy watched them go, torn with doubt. That young, beautiful girl, going off with a rough, dirty-looking old man…to where?
Turning his horse, he started back to town. As he rode he slowly reviewed what he knew and what he suspected.
The projected robbery had begun either in the mind of someone in town who knew about the money that would be arriving, or someone who had access to the information from other sources. Shanaghy knew enough about crime and criminals to know that no information is really secret. There is always somebody who knows, and there is always somebody who will talk—in the strictest confidence, of course, but talk they will. And if one talks, another will.
A quarter of a million dollars is a lot of money. Vince Patterson’s herd would bring him perhaps sixty thousand dollars, but there were other herds not far behind. The money would be needed to cash checks, to pay off hands, and to keep the wheels of trade turning at their proper speed. A large portion of that money would be spent right in town…if it wasn’t stolen.
How many men were involved? There was at least one man at the water tower, but there had been all those others, too. George, the man on the train, the three men shackled to the hitching-rail…and a woman.
There had to be somebody in town. No outsider had smuggled those horses away so quickly.
Turning his horse he cut across the prairie away from the railroad, riding northwest. The prairie was not as flat as it seemed from town, being gently rolling in places with a good many dips and hollows. Here and there was a stream-bed, most of them dry. Standing in his stirrups and looking back, he could see nothing of Jan or the old man. They had vanished as if they had never been.
He rode into town from the north. As he entered he saw Mrs. Carpenter shading her eyes at him from her door, but when he made as if to ride toward her she went inside and closed the door.
A man whom he recognized as one who worked for the lumberyard was standing in the street as if waiting. Shanaghy pulled up. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“Miz Carpenter wants her horse. That there one you’re ridin’.”
“Carpenter loaned it to me. He said—”
“Maybe he said. Anyway, Carpenter is dead, as you mighty well know. That there horse belongs to Miz Carpenter, an’ she wants it back.”
There was no friendliness in the man. “She wants it back, an’ she wants it now.”
“I’ll leave it at the stable.”
“Mister, I said she wants it now. Right here…now.”
Surprised and irritated, Shanaghy dismounted. “Why, sure. Although I don’t see what she’s in such a hurry for.”
“You don’t? Mister, there’s folks around askin’ themselves questions about how Carpenter comes to be dead, and you with the body, and all.
“You come in here out of nowhere and start workin’ with him. You see he’s got him a nice business there. You start ridin’ around on his horse, in a saddle belonging to him, and you even work there when he’s not around, collectin’ money for work and materials and all. Then suddenly Carp, who didn’t have an enemy in the world, is found dead.”
The eyes were cold and accusing. “Found dead by you…And you say you escaped from a burning barn that somebody set afire.
“Now does that make sense? Who would lock you in a barn and set it afire? Who would kill Carp? Who stood to gain by it?”
“You’re mistaken, my friend,” said Shanaghy. “I liked Carp, and he liked me, we—”
“You say. But who stood to gain? You’re the only smith around. Hear you been cozening up to Miz Carpenter, too.
“Mister, you may think you’re some shakes, walkin’ around with that badge and all. Well, let me tell you…”
Shanaghy fought down an angry reply. “Take the horse and saddle to Mrs. Carpenter and thank her for me. I guess I’ll just have to find another horse.”
“Not in this town, you won’t.”
Angrily, Shanaghy strode up the street to the hotel. What in God’s name was happening? Had she gone crazy?
A man standing in front of Holstrum’s turned abruptly away as he approached, and another deliberately walked across the street, away from him.
Shanaghy pushed open the door and entered the hotel, starting for the stairs. Suddenly he stopped. His gear…or, rather, Rig’s gear and his few extra clothes, were bundled up at the bottom of the stairs.
He looked up to find the clerk smiling at him, a malicious smile. That clerk had never liked him, anyway.
“Sorry, Mr. Marshal-man. We needed your room. You’ll have to look somewhere else.”
The clerk leaned his elbows on the desk. “We don’t want your kind around here, mister. My advice to you is get while the getting is good. They can’t prove anything right now, but they will. And when they do, you’ll hang. You’ll hang! D’you hear me?”
Chapter 17
*
SHANAGHY EMERGED UPON the street, shaken by the sudden twist events had taken. He stood for a minute or two, his gear beside him, trying to adjust to the situation.
He had been warned they would try to kill him, and they still might. But what they were doing now was many times more effective, or so it seemed to him. The townspeople he was trying to aid and protect had turned against him.
They believed him a murderer, and he had to admit that looking at things the way they were, such a theory was plausible.
Now he had no horse, no place to sleep, and he doubted if he could even buy a meal. Who had started the story? By the time he figured that out, it would be already too late. Whatever was going to happen here would happen within the next few hours.
Taking up his gear he went down the street to Holstrum’s store. The store was empty when he entered except for Holstrum himself, who peered at him from over his glasses.
“I need a place to stay,” Shanaghy said. “They put me out at the hotel.”
The storekeeper shrugged. “I have nothing for you.” His manner was cool. “My advice is to leave…while it is still possible. You are not liked here. Since you have come much has happened, and there are many who believe you yourself killed poor Mr. Carpenter. My advice is to go…before enough men get together to hang you.”
A moment Shanaghy hesitated, but Holstrum had turned away. Taking up his gear he walked out to the street again.
It was impossible, and yet…it had happened. Who had started the rumor? And why?
Maybe it was only an idea that
started in the mind of an overwrought and grief-stricken woman. And maybe it was an idea put there by somebody who saw a chance to destroy him…or at least to get him out of town.
Shanaghy thought suddenly of his prisoners. He must have walked right by them, unthinking. He looked again.
They were gone.
Greenwood…He would go to Greenwood.
One man was finishing a beer as he entered. The man glanced at him, put a coin on the bar and walked out.
Shanaghy stepped up to the bar. “How about it? Are you shutting me out, too?”
Greenwood’s features were expressionless. “What’ll you have?”
“Beer.”
Greenwood drew the beer and placed it before him. “It’s a small community, and stories get around. Carpenter’s been murdered. Folks start asking who stood to gain by it, and your name came up first. Carp was a well-liked man. He’d had no trouble before. You come to town, you work at his shop and suddenly he’s dead…You find his body, but the barn where he was killed burned, and with it all the evidence.”
Greenwood glanced at Shanaghy. “You had anything to eat?”
“No…and I’m hungry.”
“Don’t have much here, but I can give you a bowl of chili and some crackers.” He dished it up. “Lived in Tucson a good many years back. All you could get in a restaurant there in those days was chili, chili and beans or beef. You’d think I’d be sick of it, but I’m not.”
Greenwood put the bowl of steaming chili and another bowl filled with oyster crackers on the bar. “You want to know what I think? I don’t believe you murdered Carp. I do know he liked you, and I think you did him…well as you knew him.”
“We talked a little. I did like him.”
Greenwood lit a cigar. “You’ve got enemies, and if I feed you they’ll be my enemies.”
“I’ll stay away.”
“You needn’t.” Greenwood puffed thoughtfully at the cigar. “In this case your enemies have to be my enemies. I mean those who aren’t just misguided but real enemies.”
Greenwood took Shanaghy’s beer from the bar and put a head on it. “That’s partly my money coming in on the train.”
Novel 1979 - The Iron Marshall (v5.0) Page 15