by E. R. Slade
“Maybe so. I tell myself that. But it still bothers me the way he did it. Anyway, I’d sure like to know more about Justin. There’s a funny kind of relationship he has with Tower, like he has him saddle broke.”
“I don’t like this much,” Underwood said. “I don’t like any of it.”
Sam Underwood allowed Coe to break the news to Lynn. That was one thing Underwood didn’t make any objection to. Underwood said he was going to hunt up XBT hands and ask them questions.
Coe found Lynn at Kittie’s, getting out the linen for Sunday dinner.
“Hi, Coe,” she said brightly. “You’re back! Did you find Uncle Gerry?”
“I thought you might be about to go off to church,” he countered, to gain time. This was going to be even harder than he’d figured.
“I believe in God, but I’m not a churchgoer,” she said. “Anyway, I have to help get ready for the big dinner. Kittie likes to put on all the best linen and silver for it. She makes everybody wear their best.” She stopped. She must have seen it in his face. He hadn’t thought he was letting it show. “What’s wrong, Coe? What happened?”
“Well,” he began, and fished his pockets for the wallet, the watch.
“Uncle Gerry. He’s dead, isn’t he?” Her voice was calm. The life had gone out of it.
“I’m afraid so. He was ambushed by the road agents. We buried him just the other side of Slash Pass.”
“Why didn’t you bring him here so he could be buried in the churchyard?”
“Would it have made a difference to you?”
“No, I guess not. He would have liked being buried up in the mountains. I guess you couldn’t be slowed down by carrying a body, anyway. I’m sorry. I’m sure you did the best thing. I’m just upset.” She looked away.
For a moment, neither of them said anything or moved. Then tears welled in her eyes and he stepped over and held her while she shook with sobs. After a moment, she pulled away and firmly wiped her eyes.
Coe remembered the letter then and gave it back to her. She fingered it.
“Those road agents will pay,” she said softly. “They will.” She looked up at him. “Do you know what that letter was? It was to introduce you to him. I wanted him to help you. But ...”
She looked for a moment as though she would start crying again, but instead she said, “Do you think that your brother ... could what happened to him have something to do with the road agents?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve finally got Underwood to let me work with him to try to find out what’s been going on around here. The more looking I do, the more questions I come up against. I can’t rightly figure who’s mixed up with what, or why, right now, but I’ll know before I leave Killer Ledge.”
Her eyes were clear and intense as she looked up at him. “We’re really both in the same bog hole,” she said. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you tell me. Meanwhile, I’m going to keep my eyes open. If I hear anything helpful, I’ll let you know. Uncle Gerry was a good man. He didn’t deserve what he got.”
“I’ll appreciate hearing anything you find out, but don’t do anything dangerous. There’s no telling who may decide you’re getting in the way.”
~*~
Coe, still having seen no sign of Whittaker and guessing he slept late, relaxed a little on that account. But not much. He felt as though he were living on borrowed time, and he couldn’t help the feeling that at any moment the well-dressed card and gun handler would step into view and challenge him.
Coe found Underwood in the Dizzy Lizzy, where he had a bunch of XBT hands gathered around him. At the moment Coe pushed through the batwings, they were just stirring from the chairs where they’d been sitting. Coe looked for Pole Turner and Frank Gordon, saw neither, and waited while the men filed out through the fluttering batwings into the morning sun. A hot wind was blowing from the southwest, kicking up dust devils in the street, making people bend their heads into it.
“Anything?” Coe asked Underwood.
“Most of them didn’t even see it. Couple fellows did, and said it looked like self-defense, but weren’t sure. They was just ridin’ up.”
“There were only Maria and myself that saw the whole thing. Have you found Pole Turner or Frank Gordon?”
“Do I look like it?” Underwood’s temper was rawed up. “I wouldn’t be standin’ here, I’d be down to the office gettin’ answers out’n ’em.”
“Or trying to. They may have already gone back to the XBT.”
They went out into the street, split up, and made a systematic search of all the saloons, asking for the two XBT men. For Coe, it was a nerve-wracking business. But when he got done, he felt safer, not having seen any sign of Whittaker. When he and Underwood met again, in front of the Big Time Hotel, Coe said, “You know, I couldn’t find a single saloonkeeper who even saw them this weekend.”
Underwood looked at him, fingering his jaw. “Funny you should say that. Had the same result. Thought you said Tower told you that all the men were in town last night?”
“That’s what he said. Seems he was wrong.”
“We’d best get out to the XBT,” Underwood said, and headed for the livery.
As they rode along, Coe said, “What did the stage driver say the road agents looked like?”
Underwood stared straight ahead over the rolling countryside.
“One tall like a bean pole, t’other short, kind of stocky.” He was distant, as though his mind was far off, thinking about how he’d like to be fishing in the mountains, or sitting in the Estes’ parlor taking his ease.
“That fits Turner and Gordon perfectly.”
Underwood didn’t comment.
“You ever think of them as suspects?”
Underwood shrugged.
“Almost couldn’t be anyone else.”
“I left all the investigation to Mulberry. He was the one after them agents. I never thought about it. And it doesn’t have to be them. Plenty of short men and plenty of tall men in the world.”
“That tall?”
Underwood shrugged again. “The stage driver drinks, like they mostly all do. He’s been known to roll into Beavertail singing bawdy songs, and into Tucson wavin’ an empty bottle of red-eye and talkin’ about wild Injuns and how he shot half a dozen along the way. And all when the passengers say they never heard a single shot nor saw a single Injun.”
“Were there passengers?”
“Not on the runs that was robbed.”
“That makes it sound like the holdup men were in town when the stage left, followed, and then stopped it. They only did it when there were no passengers, because they knew the stage driver’s testimony would be open to question.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Turner and Gordon would do that, particularly with Turner so uncommonly tall.”
“That makes sense, too. But it don’t prove anything.”
“No.”
“Look, Coe,” Underwood said in a different tone, glancing sideways at him. “I’m just the deputy. I ain’t even been a deputy that long. I’m all right clearin’ out a brawl from a saloon. But this here ’tective work is a lot of strain on my brain. Mulberry was the man who could do that sort of stuff. He was smart. He caught One-handed Zeke and his gang. Done it all himself. But me, I don’t always think so clear, you know? Sometimes I think what to ask, and sometimes I don’t.”
“I thought I heard you were planning to run for Mulberry’s job. Didn’t Tower mention that?”
“I was thinkin’ of it. I tried the idea out on a few people. But I ain’t thinkin’ of it no more. Not me.”
Coe said, “Sorry I’ve been riding you, Sam. But things haven’t been going my way at all since I got here.”
Underwood was obviously feeling out of his depth, and he admitted it. There was no point to trample all over a man who admitted his weakness to you like that. Besides, the main thing wrong with Underwood was his lack of confidence. The best way would be to help him get some. Then he’d be more u
se in this business, and to himself and his town.
They rode into the XBT yard towards noon. Things were quiet. A few of the hands were out under the cottonwoods fixing equipment, doing repairs of their clothing, daubing grease on their boots.
The deputy and Coe pulled rein in the yard, and were waved to the corral. They turned their animals loose there, saddles slung over a rail. Underwood was determined to stay a while and find out some things, that was clear. Coe admired the man’s gritty determination to try to investigate in the face of his idea that he wasn’t good at it.
They asked for Pole Turner and Frank Gordon.
“Ain’t here,” was all the information they could get from the few hands within earshot.
They climbed onto the porch.
“This where it happened?” Underwood questioned Coe.
“Right here.” He went on and described the whole incident in detail. As he finished, the door opened, and there stood Bert Tower, looking seedy, Coe thought. There were bags under the fierce eyes, deep creases in his forehead and in his leathery cheeks at the corners of his mouth.
“Howdy, Sam,” he said quietly. “What brings you out to the XBT?”
Underwood opened his mouth to explain, but Coe interrupted. “Why do you think?”
“The shooting,” Tower said in a flat tone. “Guess I should have expected you. Mind is on other things. Bodies are in the root cellar. Cooler down there, you know. Figured to take them in this afternoon.”
“Where’s Turner and Gordon?” Underwood asked.
Coe saw the eyes move quickly back and forth between the two visitors, but that was all the reaction Tower showed outwardly.
“Went to town this morning, I think. Ought to be back around noon, maybe later. Soon. They done something’?”
“While we’re waiting, how about if we take a look at the bodies and talk to Buckeye Justin?” Coe said.
“Ain’t here either. In church with Maria.”
In church?
A faint ghost of a smile crossed Tower’s features. “What’s the matter, never heard of goin’ to church before?”
Underwood was looking at Tower in blank astonishment, his mouth hanging open like an untended barn door.
“The bodies then,” Coe said.
They spent some time looking at them, Underwood examining the wounds and admitting that Coe had been right about the coolness with which Justin must have fired. They were just coming out of the cellar when they heard a hand comment laconically, “Buckboard comin’.”
When it rolled into the yard, Maria let one of the hands help her down. She seemed pleased with herself. Justin got down and a hand lead the team towards the stable. Buckshot Justin was duded up like a mining tycoon. Coe didn’t believe he was paying for that with the proceeds of honest ventures, yet exactly what he had paid for it with, Coe couldn’t figure at all.
He and Underwood stepped forward to confront the man.
“You’re quite a gunman, I understand,” Underwood said. He sounded authoritative, as though he were dealing with a drunken saloon crowd.
“I take it this here’s about them two that tried to kill me,” Justin said.
“You take it right,” Underwood said. He’d started off fine, but now he seemed to have run out of questions. He eyed Justin blankly.
“Ain’t much to it,” Justin said. “They tried to kill me, I shot ’em. Self-defense. Ask them that saw it.” He gave Coe an icy glance.
“That’s the way it looked to me,” Tower said.
Maria was watching Coe with calculated interest. He decided it was because he was one man who didn’t fall all over himself in an effort to get her attention.
“Justin,” Coe said, “I’ll bet the deputy is just as curious as I am where the money came from to pay for that slick suit.”
“I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”
“I’m makin’ it official business of the Killer Ledge sheriff’s office,” Underwood said challengingly.
The flat cold eyes swung from Coe to Underwood. “I hunt rewards.”
“And you’re hunting for one here?” Underwood followed up.
“I’m interested in what happened to the money stolen from the stage.”
“Got anythin’ yet?” Underwood pressed.
“Not yet.”
“You get anythin’, you be sure to let me know,” Underwood told him.
Coe swung suddenly on Tower. “How is it you let Justin tramp all over you?”
Tower was startled, and his eyelids flickered like candles in a draught.
“Him?” he asked stupidly. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“You don’t seem to have much fire, Tower. You act like you just lost everything and don’t give a damn—except you really do. What’s going on here?”
Tower roused himself. Even the ghost of his belligerence seemed forbidding. “Look, Coe Dolan,” he said sharply, “you come on my range, you’re here at my pleasure. You open your mouth sideways and start chewin’ on things you ain’t got no right to, you get run off. That clear enough?”
“You ain’t the law, Bert,” Underwood said firmly. “Right now, I am. And I’m directin’ you to tell me what’s been goin’ on. This fellow Justin here, has he got somethin’ on some of your hands? If he does, why don’t you just let the hands go? I know you’re loyal to your men, just the way you expect them to be with you, but if they’ve been pullin’ stage holdups and if they kilt Mulberry, you don’t owe them a dang thing. And whether you help or not, I gotta go after ’em. My job. Now then, straight out, what’s the tale?”
Tower eyed them both a moment, and then said, “Believe me, if I had somethin’ to tell you, I’d have told you. Now, I’ll lend a couple of my boys, and the buckboard, and you can take them two hands from the Lazy Eyeglass back to town. If you want witnesses, Maria and me’ll be glad to tell how it happened. It was self-defense. Clear and simple.”
“You’ll swear to that?” Underwood asked. “On a Bible?”
“Yes,” Tower said.
“Maria?”
“That’s how it happened.” Since Coe was ignoring her, she was gazing without interest down the valley, tapping her foot as though silently humming a tune.
“All right,” said Underwood helplessly. “Guess there’s no point in arrestin’ anybody.”
Coe wanted to object, but Underwood was right. If it came to a hearing, there would be at least two witnesses to back up Justin’s version, and only himself to cast a vague doubt. Maybe they were right anyway. Though that didn’t remove any of Coe’s suspicions concerning Justin’s other activities.
“Here come a couple riders,” Maria said. “Looks like Pole and Frank.”
Chapter Eleven
Both men were wary as outlaw steers.
Turner led the way from the corral where they’d left their horses to the group standing waiting for them, Gordon trailing behind, eyes darting around, looking for a way out.
“You’re under arrest, both of you,” Underwood said by way of greeting—he had not, unfortunately, pulled his gun, probably thinking it was unnecessary with these two, since he knew them well.
It was a mistake. Gordon immediately turned and ran for the corral. Turner backed off a step or two, surprised, and then drew his Colt.
“Nobody move,” he said.
“Don’t play this stupid,” Underwood said. “When I catch you, I’ll have to charge you with escape, besides the assault charge.”
Turner’s eyes widened at the word assault, and he looked almost as though he might change his mind, but instead he said, to Gordon, “Bring the hosses here.”
Gordon fumbled with the saddle blankets, with the saddles, with the cinches, the bits, the gate of the corral. He seemed to be terrified half out of his mind. Coe was certain it was guilt of more than just the assault on himself in the hotel room.
Gordon brought the horses, which were shying a little, finding Gordon’s fear contagious.
“
Get aboard,” Turner directed him. “Then hold your gun on them while I get up.”
This was done. Coe kept watching for an opportunity to take them off guard, but it never came. Turner sent Gordon back to the corral, while he covered Coe and Underwood.
“Let loose their horses,” he directed.
Frank Gordon did it. He drove them off down the valley in a scattering fan, the sun glistening on their coats. Mostly they were fine healthy mounts. Tower went in for the best.
When the animals were all a good distance off, and Gordon was back, Turner said, “Don’t nobody try followin’ us,” and wheeled his horse, set his spurs.
Coe dropped to one knee and steadied his pistol, but by that time the range was already too great to be sure of where the bullet would go. Underwood just stood there infuriated, hands working at his sides.
Suddenly he said, “Come on. Let’s get those horses back. We’ve still got a chance.”
It took twenty minutes to get their horses. Some of Tower’s men were still busy chasing XBT mounts when Coe and Underwood were ready to leave.
“Get those bodies into town, will you, Bert?”Underwood said. “I’ll see the town pays the cost.”
“Won’t cost the town nothin’,” Tower said. “Like to get that dead meat out of here anyway. I’m comin’ with you after them.”
“No need, Bert,” Underwood said. They were being very polite to each other. “No need at all. You got a ranch to run.”
“Them’s my hands. I want to know what this is all about. I feel responsible.”
I’ll bet, Coe reflected inwardly.
Almost a half hour after the two men had escaped, the three of them started out. Turner and Gordon were intermittently in sight, as they rode the trail along the valley floor. There were scattered clumps of cottonwoods, and further on, oak thickets, and out where the valley floor became the floor of the desert, and the creek wandered back and forth like a lost sheep and got more and more sluggish until it dried up choked with dust and blown sand, there were clumps of mesquite and saltbush and various kinds of cactuses.
The men swung southwest paralleling the mountain range. For a while the chase went on monotonously, the riders seeming to stay ahead by about the same distance. The sun beat down and the hot dry wind blew right into their faces, carrying a fine grit that powdered their lathered mounts and clogged their noses, and got in their eyes and gritted under their teeth, until it was worse than living downwind of a stamp mill. They didn’t dare run their horses as much as they would have liked because of the heat and dusty wind. Every time they slowed to a walk, so did the escaping men ahead. When they kicked up to a run, the escapees did likewise.