by E. R. Slade
Then the noise stopped, and presently Lynn returned. She said, “Why don’t we go into the parlor,” and led the way.
They took two of the several chairs around the hearth. There was no fire in the grate and it was too hot to want one, but there was something about a hearth that was comfortable and homey whether there was a fire in it or not.
“So tell me all about it,” Lynn prompted. “What happened?”
He paused a moment or two, gathering his thoughts, and then told her the whole business, from the moment he had last left her, right up through the conversation with Underwood.
“It sounds dangerous,” she said, referring to his plan, which he’d outlined for her. “I wish there was a better way.”
“If you can think of one, I’ll use it.”
“I guess I can’t. But I want to help. Uncle Gerry was good to me. I want to help you get Tower.”
“I understand. But there’s not much you can do,” he said.
“I suppose not.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” he said. “I need a rest from it.”
They spent the remainder of the evening discussing a variety of things, none remotely connected with what was going to happen the next day. One thing led easily to another as they explored each other’s feelings about their hopes and dreams. He told her how he hoped one day to own a ranch in some valley out of the way of things where the grass was green and there was lots of water. She told him she didn’t really want to work at Kittie’s forever, and had kept thinking maybe someday just the right man would come along.
Time went by faster than either of them expected and he left for the hotel at nearly midnight, having planned originally to be in bed by ten.
“You be careful tomorrow,” she said, her bright clear eyes clouding a little.
“I just hope we’ve got Tower where we want him before the day is out.”
Impulsively she kissed him on the cheek. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d died and gone to heaven.
Leaving Kittie’s, his mind was so far off drifting among the clouds that he forgot completely about having to keep an eye open for Whittaker, and not feeling ready to go to sleep yet, wandered to the far end of town. On the way back he stopped in at the Fine and Dandy for a sip of something before going to his hotel room. He had bellied up to the bar and asked for a shot of whiskey before he remembered.
Involuntarily his eyes jumped around the room—and met Whittaker’s squarely.
The warm residue of having spent a relaxed evening with Lynn disappeared like a patch of delicate desert flowers before a cattle stampede.
For a moment or two they just looked at each other. There was no place he could escape to now. He had to face this, however far Whittaker felt like going with it. What different people had said about Whittaker’s reputation as a gunfighter crossed his mind, not helping his nerves much.
Whittaker left the game he was playing. His face was expressionless as he approached. Coe drank off the shot of whiskey to steady his nerves, aware that the speed with which he had done so merely served to give away his fear.
Whittaker stepped to the bar next to him, raised one eyebrow at Coe and said in his smooth, calm, cultured voice, “Whiskey?”
Buying the dead man his last drink.
Coe said, “I guess I could take another shot.”
“One for me, too,” Whittaker said to the apron, and then, when they’d been poured, he said to Coe, “Perhaps you may recall our little difference of opinion of a few days ago,” just as if he wasn’t sure if Coe would recall it or not.
“I believe so,” Coe said, watching Whittaker carefully.
“As you may remember, I said I would see you paid for your conduct—a commitment to dispatch you to the pearly gates, as one may say. In the past, I have never failed to follow up on such a commitment. Unhealthy for my reputation not to, you understand?” Whittaker paused to let it sink in. He was not speaking loudly. It was doubtful anyone could overhear him.
“I don’t really see the point, but if you insist, let’s go outside, and I’ll put some lead into you.” Coe was playing it as cool as he knew how to. He knew that men like Whittaker respected only those who were as tough as or tougher than themselves. The sole edge Coe had was having bluffed Whittaker out of some money.
Whittaker waved a hand regally. “Such a contest will be unnecessary in this case. You see, I have since realized you are a relative—the brother in fact—of Pete Dolan.”
Coe was so startled that he forgot himself long enough to say with open astonishment, “You knew Pete?”
Whittaker smiled, and Coe could detect no sarcasm in it. “Yes, I knew him. Your brother was an impatient, overambitious idiot, and I never would have worked with him at any price, but he had a heart of gold. A heart of gold, Coe. He saved my life.”
“Is that right?” was all Coe could think of to say.
“It’s a long story and the details aren’t important anyway. But the point is, when I realized you were his brother, and especially when inquiring around made me aware that something had happened to him and you were looking for him, I realized I would never be likely to have a chance to repay the favor to him directly, and had better do you the favor. It might help Pete, but even if it doesn’t, I’ve done the best I could by helping you. Mr. Dolan, I always pay my debts.”
Later, when Coe headed for the Big Time Hotel, he was in a state of agitation.
He realized that in a roundabout way Pete had saved his life, having put Whittaker in debt by saving his. Coe wasn’t even going to try to fool himself into thinking he could have survived a fight with Whittaker. The thing was, all this reminded him that Pete had had his good points. It had been in Pete’s heart to help a man out of trouble. Coe recalled Pete had always been capable of that, though the trait was usually well hidden.
It put a different complexion on things: Coe saw that should the plan to be put into effect tomorrow fail, it couldn’t be the end of the matter. Pete deserved having the truth known, the guilty ones punished, and there was going to be no quitting until this had been accomplished, however long it took, whatever it might cost.
But if the plan failed it was going to get very difficult. Therefore, it couldn’t be allowed to fail. All the philosophical equanimity about whether it succeeded or not had vanished.
The fact was, Coe was now motivated by more than just a sense of obligation. For the first time he really cared about what had happened to his brother.
Chapter Nineteen
The following morning he ate breakfast at a cheap feed bin, so he could think undisturbed. Then he went and hunted up Underwood, who was just leaving the Estes’, yawning widely and still buckling his gun belt.
“Ready?” he asked Underwood.
“I guess so.”
“Let’s get saddled up then.” Coe had decided not to see Lynn before he went. If something went wrong and he got killed, he wanted her to have last night as the final memory of him—there would be no improving on it this morning.
They rode for the XBT. Some distance before they came in sight of the buildings, they stopped.
“That looks like a good place, behind that rock,” Coe said, pointing up at the ridge which overlooked Freemont Valley. “I’ll let you get a start before I go.”
“No need. You’ll never fetch the yard before I get settled.”
They rode for their separate destinations.
Coe hadn’t gone far when he passed Maria coming the other way, driving a buggy. She was in a demure white dress that made her look pure and innocent. She gave him a frigid glance and didn’t return his polite greeting.
Coe found Tower just about to ride out with some of his hands. Coe drew him aside.
“What’s up, Coe?” Tower was still in his jovial, friendly mood. He acted like he had the whole world at his feet, and saw himself as its benevolent dictator.
“I’ve got a new development to try out on you. I don’t know if it’s a hoax or not. I thought I’d
get your reaction.”
Tower’s bushy eyebrows lifted slightly, but otherwise there was no change in his expression. “Sounds interestin’. Go ahead.”
“Well, last night as I was going along to my hotel, a medium-sized fellow who kept his face hidden pretty carefully back in the shadows called out my name from an alley. I stopped, and he asked me, did I want to know what happened to my brother? I told him yes, and he said my brother was dead, had been murdered, and that he’d seen it happen. I said, if that was so, how come he hadn’t told Underwood, and he laughed. I said, what was he telling me now for? He said, because his pard Buckshot Justin was dead. He said that a plan he and Buckshot had been working up together couldn’t work now, since it took two people to make it happen. He said, since it was my brother that was dead, did I want to get something from the man who did it? He said if I did, and would go in with him, he’d guarantee he’d make me rich, on account of the fact that the killer had a lot of money.”
Coe paused, watching Tower’s face, which had turned thoughtful.
Tower waved a bear paw of a hand and said, “Go on. What else did he say?”
“He said he and Justin had seen the killing, and he knew right where the body was. I asked him, who was the killer, but he said he’d rather not say, since I might go warn him, and lose our advantage. He said he wanted me to see the body, since any man who really looked at it could tell who did the killing, and then I’d believe him and know he was telling a straight story. He said he thought if he told me who it was, I might not believe it, and would let the cat out of the bag.”
Coe paused again. Tower was frowning slightly now, and gazing off across his ranges into the distance.
“You know, Bert, it seemed to me kind of odd, this fellow coming out of nowhere like that. Wouldn’t show his face, wouldn’t tell me his name, wouldn’t say anything but what I just told you, and that he wanted me to make an X on the doorpost of the livery stable, big enough to see it at least across the street, and cut into the wood so it couldn’t be rubbed out, if I was interested. He said he would contact me. I asked him what the bottom line was, how much money he was after. He said he wanted half of whatever we could get together from the killer, and that he figured it would work out to quite a pile for each of us.”
Tower was still staring off across his ranges. Coe waited a moment or two, and then asked, “What chance do think there is of Justin being mixed up in this thing? He always seemed kind of closemouthed and strange to me. But he was staying here. You knew him—or know him, if he isn’t dead, which is another question. But you know or knew him better than most around here. Could there be anything in this business?”
Tower gestured impatiently, but didn’t say anything.
“After all,” Coe went on, “I don’t see how the body could tell us who killed Pete, unless the killer carved his name and a confession on his chest. Do you?”
“It don’t hardly seem likely,” Tower said. “I don’t see it. I think it’s just a hoax. If I was you, I’d forget about that character. Ten to one he’s after your money, not the killer’s.”
“That’s what I thought. Still, it’s all the lead I’ve got. It seems foolish not to follow it up.”
“Don’t bother. It really ain’t worth it. No tellin’ what kind of trouble it might cost you. Look, who else knows about this?”
“Underwood. I told him right after it happened. He thought it was a hoax, just some scum working an angle. But you can see how it is from my point of view. Pete’s missing. I’ve got to follow the thing up. I’ll just be careful, that’s all.”
“You’d better watch your back,” Tower advised. “See you later. Got work to do.”
Coe bid him goodbye, swung around and rode away down the valley.
Tower hadn’t tried to shoot him at least. Yet. So far so good.
~*~
Maria Tower pulled to a halt and looked up the ridge after the man on horseback. For a moment she seemed undecided, then she swung the buggy to follow.
In a short while, the man on horseback halted, swinging around to face her, and not long after she pulled up next to Underwood.
“What’re you doing out here, Maria?”
“I want to report a ... an ... assault,” she said, making it sound upset and hesitant.
“That so?” Underwood frowned at her.
“Sheriff,” she said, though she knew he was only a deputy acting as sheriff. “Oh, Sheriff Underwood ...”
Underwood did not correct her. His idea of himself needed all the help it could get just now.
“What’s this about an assault?” he asked, keeping his eye on her. “Who was assaulted?”
“I ..I was.”
“Oh? By who? Come on, I haven’t got all day.”
She bent her face into her hands and began sobbing.
“Oh, now,” Underwood said uncomfortably. “Come on, don’t go blubberin’. Just tell me what happened.”
She went on sobbing. Underwood sat his horse helplessly, looking around as though he wanted a way out. Finally he climbed down and got into the buggy next to her. But he didn’t seem to know what to do afterward, keeping his distance as though she were a hot stove. Her sobbing was so violent that the whole buggy quaked with it. The sorrel in the traces looked around and perked up its ears.
“Now now, don’t take on so,” Underwood said awkwardly. “I can’t do nothin’ about it, if you don’t tell me what happened.”
Presently she looked up, daubed at tears with a dainty white handkerchief and then sat clutching it and looking down into her lap, hard.
“It was ... Dolan. Coe Dolan. He ... just ... he just came into the house last night, and ...” She let loose with more sobs, as though the thought of what had happened was so awful that there was no way to express it.
“Now hold on a minute. You say Coe Dolan assaulted you? You mean he tried to ...”
“Yes ... I fainted. When I woke up ... he was gone.”
“Lordy,” Underwood breathed, sounding confused. “Are you sure it was Coe Dolan?”
She looked at him as though she was wondering if there was something wrong with him, that he didn’t understand.
“Dolan,” Underwood mused, sounding dazed.
“I want to ... I want him to be punished.”
“Yeah, I guess you would,” Underwood said heavily. He climbed out of the buggy and onto his horse. “Come on,” he said.
~*~
When he’d put a knoll between himself and the ranch buildings, Coe allowed himself a glance back. He saw no one. But Tower might well be setting out about now. It wouldn’t do to risk joining Underwood yet. Underwood would keep track of Tower’s movements.
Coe rode on.
He came around another knoll twenty minutes later, and there was Maria in her buggy, with Underwood aboard his horse beside it—what the hell was he doing here? He caught a flash of satisfaction in Maria’s eyes as he approached.
“Hold on there, Dolan,” Underwood said. He had his gun out.
Coe pulled up. “What’s going on?”
“You’re under arrest for attackin’ Maria last night.”
“What?” Coe stared. For a moment he was blank. Then he realized that Maria was trying to get him disposed of. That was why the attempt to perk his interest. She had probably planned to get him worked up over her and then scream when he tried something. Since he hadn’t conveniently cooperated with that plan, she had been forced to resort to the simple telling of a story. Presumably she was trying to protect her father. What a fine time for her to pick to do that.
“You heard me,” Underwood was saying.
“She’s trying to get rid of me,” Coe said.
“It could be that way,” Underwood agreed. “But it could be her way, too, and I want this sorted out before anything else happens. I want some facts.”
Underwood looked harried. Coe had the definite impression that what Underwood really wanted was an excuse to back out and not deal with the thing at all
. Coe wouldn’t be surprised if he planned to do little more than mark time until a new sheriff was elected. According to posters Coe had seen up around town, an election was supposed to be held on Friday. Undoubtedly Underwood would like to put the whole thing in the new sheriff’s lap, and just follow orders. Then whatever happened wasn’t his responsibility.
“All right,” Coe said, aware that Tower could be well on his way to the location of the body by now, but forcing himself to be calm and deal with the thing reasonably. It would do no good to follow Tower to the body alone, since it would be just his word against Tower’s. He had to have another reliable person’s testimony. The only such person within reach was Underwood. “When did this happen last night?”
Underwood looked at Maria.
“I don’t know what time,” Maria said. “It was sometime in the night, that’s all I know. I woke up, and there you were. You ... you ...” She cringed, seemingly at a loss for words. Coe wondered that Underwood didn’t see through her transparent act, but he reminded himself that Underwood wasn’t in the mood to question it. It was a good excuse to hold off and not get involved in Coe’s doubtful scheme.
“Was it before or after midnight? Certainly you ought to recall that much,” Coe said, letting a little sarcasm creep into his tone.
“I ... I guess it was before midnight. I couldn’t get to sleep, and I was up all night. It was a long time.”
“Before midnight.” Coe turned to Underwood. “You heard her say it: Now go talk to Lynn Haskell at Kittie’s. She’ll tell you—and so will Kittie, I’m sure—that I was there until midnight, sitting by the hearth. Then you can ask Whittaker what time it was that he and I had our little talk. Then Berger at the hotel saw me come in, about one, I’d guess.”
“Fine,” Underwood said. “Let’s go to town and find them.”
“It could have been a little after midnight, or even as late as two in the morning,” Maria put in. “All I know is that it seemed like a long time until morning. It might not have been that long, really.”