by E. R. Slade
“In the stable,” said Gordon. We’re alone.”
“How much did you hear last night?” Tower asked.
“Most of it,” Turner said. He didn’t sound happy. His expression, usually plenty dour with that pruned-up face of his, was like he’d just bit into a lemon by mistake.
Gordon sat down on the bunk, then got up again immediately, and fidgeted. It crossed Tower’s mind that maybe he shouldn’t have trusted these two. He didn’t have anything on them. He’d just figured them for loyal hands, and when he’d asked them to hold up the stage, they’d done it. And gotten away with it. He’d given them a hundred dollars apiece each time, in gold, and they’d kept it quiet. But now they looked really bothered, especially Gordon. Those little watery eyes of his kept darting this way and that, looking for trouble to jump him any minute.
Well, giving the boys something to do should help. After all, nobody liked sitting around doing nothing while the enemy was busy making moves.
“I don’t like it, Boss,” Gordon said uncomfortably. “I just don’t like it no way at all. First this Justin fellow shows up and turns out he’s a witness, saw the whole thing. He’s bleedin’ you now—but supposin’ he comes to want somethin’ you can’t deliver? And if that ain’t enough, ’long comes this dang blasted Dolan feller lookin’ for his brother. I didn’t know Pete had no brother that’d come lookin’ for him. But here he is. We come too danged close to being jugged for tryin’ to run him off. That time Sam believed us, but maybe he won’t next time. And then where do you reckon we’ll be? And now Dolan shows up here askin’ did anybody see road agents ridin’ down out’n the pass, like he figures maybe they came from here. Next thing, he’ll be back with Sam Underwood, askin’ all kinds of questions. Maybe Sam’ll even change his mind and figure we did chase Dolan out of town, and he’ll want to know why.”
“Things ain’t that bad,” Tower told him sharply, “long as you don’t let your knees go to jelly. There ain’t anythin’ that can be proved. Far as anybody can tell, the road agents rode on through here. Could have done it at night and rode by the doorstep, and we wouldn’t have taken any notice.”
“That stage driver’s seen us three times,” Pole Turner pointed out soberly. “A jury might believe him even if he is a drunk.”
“You wore your bandannas, didn’t you?”
“Sure we did. But there ain’t that many folks as tall and thin as me. It’s got to set in Underwood’s craw when he thinks about it.”
“Relax, that still don’t prove anythin’. Not a danged thing. Maybe there ain’t many men tall like you, but all it takes is one other man like you. There ain’t any saying there’s nobody else as tall as you. It won’t hold up in court, and Sam’ll go by the rules. Now, as for Dolan, I got a plan for him. I’ll tell you about that later. Right now, I want you to go to church.”
“To church?” Turner was mystified.
“Buckshot Justin is going with Maria. I want you to follow. Try not to let him know you’re watchin’. See where he goes, who he talks to. It’s my guess this is when he’ll tell his lawyer that everything’s fine. What we want is to see who the lawyer is. You catch my meanin’?”
Turner nodded, face relaxing into an almost-smile. “If we can get our hands on that sealed envelope, that’s the end of Mr. Justin. We can send ’im packin’.”
“Not packin’. To hell on a shutter.’
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Turner agreed reluctantly.
“That’s it then. Tell me who the lawyer is. Don’t try to get the envelope until I’ve had a look at his office myself.”
They’re loyal hands, Tower thought with satisfaction. They’ll keep hold until we’ve bulldogged this thing.
~*~
From the window of the bunkhouse, Turner and Gordon watched Buckeye Justin try to give Maria a hoist into the buckboard, and get waved away impatiently.
“She’s goin’ to church like that?” Gordon said incredulously.
A weary grin cracked Turner’s careworn face. “She’ll give old Father Simms plenty of competition for attention. Wouldn’t be surprised if he forgits what he’s about altogether.”
They watched with interest as Maria, dressed more like a fancy-painted woman in Madame Hastings’ parlor than a modest churchgoing girl, got herself settled on the buckboard seat.
“Sure wouldn’t mind being Buckshot Justin about now,” Gordon commented.
“She’d make you look like a hoss’s ass inside of five minutes, you tried to perk her interest, Frank. Remember how she did for that fast-talkin’ patent medicine salesman from back east?”
“Yeah, I remember. But I reckon I’m not likely to let no woman pull a trick like that on me.”
“Ain’t so hard to let it happen’s you think. You’re splashin’ around in the water with her, thinkin’ you got the world right where you want it, and your eyes is full of stars and you can’t think straight nor see straight. And next thing you turn around, your clothes is gone from the bank, and she’s gone, and you’re left to take a hike up to the house in nothin’ but your own thin hairs.”
The buckboard was pulling out of the yard.
“Let’s go saddle the hosses,” Turner said.
They stayed well behind the buckboard, but it was impossible not to be seen, unless the people on the buckboard never looked back. Outside the valley the land was empty and not very hilly, getting flatter all the way to town. Unless they waited until the buckboard got clear to the church before they left the valley, they were bound to be seen. Turner and Gordon figured it was useless to stay that far behind, and not that risky to be noticed, as long as they didn’t let Justin see them in town.
They got there in time for the service. From not far out of town they saw the buckboard pull to a halt in front of the church. Justin and Maria got down and went in.
“Sure seems like a funny thing, him goin’ to church,” Gordon said.
“Ever hear what the priests—priests, mind you—did in the inquisition?”
“Naw. What’d they do?”
“Kilt people right and left. Burned ’em at the stake. Said it would save their immortal souls.”
“That so? When was that? I bet they was Mexicans.”
“They was Spanish.”
“Comes to the same thing.”
“Happened quite a while ago now.”
“Got that outa one of the books you’re always readin’, I’ll wager. You’ll addle your wits, readin’ so much.”
They pulled into town and hitched at the rack of the hardware store, right across the street from the church.
“What do you reckon we ought to do now,” Gordon asked. “Go inside?”
“He’ll see us, we do that. He’ll know what we’re in town for, and maybe he won’t even try to see his lawyer.”
“Think he’d really skip the lawyer? If that lawyer opens the letter and goes to Underwood, he’s sunk, just like we are.”
“He’d probably try some other time today. But we don’t want to risk it. There ain’t no need to anyhow. We’ll just sit here, shoot the breeze, and take cover when it’s over. We wait and see where he goes.”
“Okay with me.”
So, for the time the service was going on inside the church, Pole Turner and Frank Gordon whittled twigs, smoked hand-rolled cigarettes, and talked about Coe Dolan, what the boss might have lined up for him.
“I think he’ll tell us to shoot him down,” Gordon said nervously. “I don’t keer much for the notion. We already is mixed up in two killin’s, and he’s told us he wants to do another one—Justin. That’s three too many by me. If I’da known we’d be havin’ to kill men workin’ for the XBT, I never woulda signed on.”
“Well, we brought it on ourselves. We didn’t just sling the gold in the brush like we did before. We hung around to bury it. That’s what let Mulberry get so close to us. That and the fact we didn’t have the horseflesh under us we should have. We just took it too casual. We thought it was easy as takin
’ candy from a baby, but that was a mistake.”
“I never thought it was easy.”
“You thought you were mighty clever though. You was puffed up like a turkey gobbler. We both was. That was why we didn’t think. Mulberry gettin’ kilt was our fault—we let him get too close, and then there wasn’t no choice but to ambush him. As for Dolan, we were there, that’s all. We didn’t know until the boss yanked out his gun and set it ablazin’ at Dolan’s chest.”
“All I’m sayin’ is, I don’t want no more killin’. If the boss says go shoot Coe Dolan, I’m takin’ my three hundred and headin’ for the border. In fact, I got a good notion to do that right off anyway, not shoot Justin and wait for Sam Underwood to start catchin’ on and come after us. It makes me nervous, all these troubles, all this killin’.”
“I don’t like it neither, but we been seein’ it through this far, I think we ought to stick by the boss, at least give him a chance to get it straightened out. Tower’s a square-dealin’ man to work for, and I like this range. I’ve lived here all my life, under the shadow of them Calicoes. I got no hankering to leave. Maybe things ain’t so bad as they look. I got a notion the boss won’t want any more killin’ than he can help. I think he might try to hang the killin’ of Pete Dolan on Justin, after he’s dead. You see why we got to get rid of Justin, don’t you? If we don’t, he’ll be able to point us out to the law any time he wants. I don’t figure to live with that. I say we stay at least long enough to nail him. After that, we see how it goes. We started this thing, and now we got to finish it, you see that?”
“I guess so,” Gordon said doubtfully.
“If we don’t like what the boss plans for Dolan, we can always ride then.”
“I guess.”
“Stay in your saddle, Frank. We’ll get clear yet.”
Church finally let out. The double oak doors swung open and people in clothes nobody felt comfortable in came pouring out like water through a sluice gate. Turner and Gordon ducked down the alley between the hardware store, which was closed, and the livery. From behind a pile of empty beer and nail kegs they watched the churchgoers emerge, blinking in the bright hard glare of the sun. They scattered, some going up the sidewalk towards the middle of town, some getting into the various conveyances parked at the side of the street.
“Here they come,” Turner said in a low voice.
They moved in the center of a group of men and boys, all keeping their distance, but eyeing Maria wistfully. Wives and girlfriends tugged at men’s elbows, old ladies looked with fierce disapproval at Maria’s very exposed ankles, very tightly corseted waist and very low neckline. Buckshot Justin looked cocky, a crooked little smile playing on his lips, as he guided Maria down the steps and towards the buckboard. Maria was enjoying every second, judging by the carelessly proud and suggestive way she walked. She smiled enticingly at the men, and challengingly at the women.
Turner and Gordon watched as they got onto the wagon seat, any number of men gathering round to lend her a hand up. Justin made sure to do the handing up of Maria himself before climbing aboard, and then people cleared out of the way.
Justin swung the buckboard smartly around in the street, and cracking his whip, sent the team into a brisk trot, heading out onto the open ground.
“He’s going back to the XBT,” Gordon marveled.
“I guess he is,” Turner allowed.
They watched until the buckboard was small and insignificant, unnoticeable but for its plume of dust.
Then they looked at each other.
“It don’t hardly figure,” Turner said softly.
Chapter Ten
Moving carefully around town, one eye open for Whittaker, Coe Dolan looked for Deputy Sam Underwood. He finally found the deputy asleep at home. He lived with the Estes family as a paying boarder in a faded one-time mining magnate’s house three doors south of his office. Saul Estes owned the lumber company, which he’d just bought and hoped to make a fortune with. So he informed Coe, as they waited for Sam to get himself waked up and dressed and downstairs.
When Sam Underwood saw Coe, his sleepy-eyed expression cleared right away, leaving an irritated alertness.
“What the hell are you doing in the Ledge?” he demanded. “I told you to look for trouble in somebody else’s town.”
“Mulberry’s dead, ambushed,” Coe told him bluntly. As Underwood’s eyes first widened, then narrowed, Coe went on. “Found his bones up in Slash Pass. Buried them in a meadow just over the other side.” He handed over the wallet, the star, the gun, and the pocket watch.
Underwood fingered the star, looked at the wallet, turned the watch over in his hand thoughtfully, hefted the pistol, and then stared silently at Coe as though trying to figure out what to say.
“I had a couple of hands from the Lazy Eyeglass along,” Coe said. “Ready Quait and Joe Yolen. They showed me the pass and guessed us along the route the road agents took. Seems the outlaws thought Mulberry was getting too close, being about an hour behind, and they ambushed him in the pass. Then they rode on down the far side and left tracks crossing a stream on the Rocker L, and it was Quait and Yolen’s guess that they went back over the Calicoes through Goat Pass. We stopped at the XBT to see if anyone had seen anything of the road agents there, and the Lazy Eyeglass boys got themselves into a difference of opinion with Buckshot Justin over Maria Tower. Justin shot them dead. Tower denied that anyone had crossed his range, since he had standing orders out for his hands to report any strangers they see. Nobody reported seeing anybody. Deputy, I think it’s time you and I come to an understanding. There are things going on in your town that don’t look good. I’m mostly interested in finding out what happened to my brother. But it’s possible it’s all mixed up together, part of the same tangle.”
“Wait a minute,” Underwood said, looking around for a chair and sitting down. “Let’s take this one thing at a time.”
“Would you like something hot to drink?” Mrs. Estes said from the doorway.
“Coffee, Linda,” Underwood said. “Black and strong.”
“Same for me,” Saul said. “You, Mr. Dolan?”
“Black coffee is fine.”
Saul Estes sat down, looking stunned by all the news of violence. Hadn’t been too long in the west, Coe decided, as he took a seat facing them both.
“Now then,” Underwood said. “You say Sheriff Gerald Mulberry’s dead?”
“You’re looking at his stuff right in your hand.” Coe was disappointed in Underwood. The man wasn’t too quick. No wonder he had sent Coe packing. Trying to figure out who was telling the truth was far too much for him, and he wasn’t anxious to try to deal with trouble. Only now, he was all the law there was in Killer Ledge. Mulberry wouldn’t be back to take over and make life easy again.
“How was it you went lookin’ for Mulberry?” Underwood asked suddenly, as though he had only just thought of the question.
Coe decided to tell the truth. It was time to lay it all on the line.
“Lynn, Mulberry’s niece, told me she thought he would give me the benefit of the doubt, maybe help me look for Pete. It was all the choice I had left after you ran me out of town.”
“You thought you was going to get close to Mulberry by makin’ friends with his niece?” Underwood was irritated.
“Don’t be taking the wrong trail, Deputy. I’m sure Mulberry wasn’t the kind of man to be influenced. Let’s get on to what should be done next, shall we? The fact is, Mulberry was ambushed, and he’s dead, and it’s up to you to do something about it. I want to help, because I think it’ll help me find out what happened to Pete. But if you want to go it alone, then I can’t stop you. Just remember though, the folks in this town’ll be wanting you to do something. I suggest you do it without getting tetchy about it first. You might lose your job.”
Harsh words, but Coe wanted to shake the man out of his lethargy, get him to come out ready to do battle.
Underwood looked as though he wanted to take Coe by the shi
rt collar, but he did have some sense, and he controlled himself.
“Guess you got a point,” he said in a subdued voice. “I’m not committin’ myself to trustin’ you, or to countin’ you out of any possibility of bein’ guilty. But for now I won’t worry about it.”
Linda Estes brought a platter on which were three cups and a pot of steaming hot coffee. She served it out, and then said she was going off to make sure the children were ready for Sunday school.
“Who’s this Buckshot Justin?” Underwood asked.
“That’s a very good question. Claims he’s a sort of jack of all trades. Wanted me to go halves with him in hunting for the road agents, split the reward fifty-fifty. When I told him to keep the reward, but tell me if he found out who the road agents were, he looked kind of dark and dangerous and said if I didn’t let on to think him shooting those two hands was self-defense, then I couldn’t expect any information from him.”
“Was it self-defense?”
“I don’t know. They provoked him, that was clear enough, but it started out a fist fight. He shot them dead, clean perfect shots. Cool, is the word. The two of them were interested in the girl. They might have tried to pound him up a bit, but I doubt they would have killed him. He wasn’t really having all that much trouble when he backed off and shot them. It wasn’t his last gasp or anything. He wasn’t even down. He was handling them well. He could as easily have shot them in the legs. But I think killing just comes naturally to him. I don’t think he even considered doing anything else, like a man who’s used to having to kill opponents.”
“Sounds like self-defense to me.” Underwood said.
“Maybe it was. All I told him was, I thought it ought to be decided by a court.”
“In this town, the law can make that determination.”
“And you’re making it now?”
“No, I guess not,” Underwood admitted. “I’ll have to look at the bodies, talk to all the witnesses. But from what you’ve said, he was within his rights. For all he knew, they might have been out to kill him.”