Sheriff on the Spot

by Brett Halliday

  Ezra squinted his one eye upward with mock seriousness, then let out a whoop of laughter at sight of Pat’s face. “Danged if you don’t look plumb funny, Pat. Where-at did you fly from?”

  Pat Stevens slid off the limb and let himself down full-length holding on with his hands for a moment, then dropping lightly to the ground.

  “You boys are as funny as a pair of busted crutches,” he ground out. “Slide off them cayuses an’ we’ll have a powwow.”

  They stepped down from their saddles, still chuckling gleefully, and Sam gave Pat a hard hand-grip while Ezra almost bowled him over with a mighty blow on the shoulder. “How’d you git here, you ol’ son-of-a-sheriff?” Sam exploded. “We shore wasn’t expectin’ to see you no more. Thought you’d be busy chasin’ around an’ huntin’ bank robbers an’ sech.”

  Pat said quietly, “I am.”

  “You am what?” Sam glanced swiftly at Ezra.

  “Chasin’ bank robbers. You damn fool, Ezra! What’d you do that for?”

  “Why’d I do what, Pat?” Ezra tried to look innocent but his scarred face was so guilty and contrite that Pat couldn’t repress a grin.

  He stifled his grin and said soberly, “Break in the bank. You might of known I’d have to be on your trail for that.”

  “How-come you think Ezra broke in the bank?”

  Pat snorted his disgust. “I saw him when he went out the door. Who’d you think it was shootin’ over your head an’ givin’ you a chance to slip away?” he asked Ezra scathingly. “Who do you think it was that sent the posse ridin’ off in the wrong direction?”

  “Gosh a-mighty, Pat. Was that you inside the bank when I come out?”

  Pat nodded. “I had the place surrounded airtight. Hell, you stayed in the vault half an hour with the light shinin’ out the window.”

  Ezra said defensively, “It took a long time to get the money. I’m shore obliged to yuh for helpin’ out.”

  “But why in tarnation did you ride out here to stop us?” Sam Sloan interjected. “That don’t make sense. Lettin’ us get away las’ night an’ then ridin’ after us.”

  “I aim to take that money back to the bank.”

  “I reckon not, Pat.” Sam’s voice was gentle but decisive. “We’re keepin’ it.”

  Pat said, “I’m still sheriff of Powder Valley.”

  “That’s too bad.” Sam’s voice was inflexible. “We’re still keepin’ the money.”

  “We cain’t stand here talkin’ too long,” Ezra put in. “There’s some fellers after us—one at the least. He smoked us out of the Windrow cabin awhile back, an’ then tried to ride over the mountain an’ cut us off. He’ll be turnin’ back when he sees that rockslide, an’ll be on our trail again. Sam an’ me wanted tuh keep ahead of him because we feel like there’s awready bin too much killin’.”

  Pat moved back to squat down by the side of the trail with his back against the trunk of the oak. He began rolling a cigarette and said, “That was me.”

  A little moment of silence followed his statement. Then Sam drew in a long breath and asked disbelievingly, “You mean that was you back at the Windrow cabin—you that rode over the mountain?”

  “That’s right.” Pat didn’t look up from his cigarette.

  “An’ you rode down over that shale slide to get here ahead of us?”

  “How else could I head you off?” Pat asked angrily. “You’d never of let me come up to you behind.”

  Sam let out a long sigh and said wonderingly, “I don’t see why you didn’t break yore fool neck.”

  “It’s done an’ I didn’t,” Pat reminded him. “There ain’t no one else on your trail an’ we got lots of time to talk. An’ lots to talk about,” he added grimly.

  Sam and Ezra looked at each other, then squatted down and also began to roll cigarettes.

  “I dunno how much you know about things,” Sam began unhappily. “We had a real good reason for robbin’ the bank an’ takin’ the owl-hoot for the Border.”

  “I know the reason.”

  “Then you know we cain’t go back.”

  “I’m not so sure of that.” Pat lit his cigarette. He cleared his throat and explained, “Nobody but me has seen the knife that killed Fred Ralston.”

  “That the name of the dude from Denver?” Ezra put in, his single eye blazing with interest.

  “That’s his name.”

  “How-come they didn’t find my knife?” Sam asked slowly.

  “Because I got to him first,” Pat snapped. “I hid it inside my bootleg an’ didn’t tell anybody. There’s only Kitty’s story to hook you up with that killin’,” he went on soberly.

  “What kinda story did Kitty tell?”

  “I’d like to hear yours first. Then I’ll know better what to do.”

  “You ain’t gonna like it,” Sam warned him. He shook his head with a disgusted scowl. “I reckon I’ve been all kinds of a fool.”

  Pat agreed. “I reckon you have.”

  “Damn a woman anyhow!” Sam exploded angrily. “Allus messin’ a man up. I thought Kitty was diffrunt. I thought, by Gawd, she loved me. She said so. An’ I was fool enough to believe her.”

  “That was before you knowed she was married,” Ezra told him.

  “Yeh.” Sam’s lips curled back from his teeth in a bitter smile. “She was married all the time—an’ makin’ up to me.”

  Pat said, “I know about that. Fred Ralston was her husband.”

  “Yeh. That’s what I—found out las’ night.”

  Pat moodily smoked on his cigarette and waited for Sam to go on.

  “I better give you the straight of it—so you’ll know you cain’t help us none. I was in Kitty’s room with her. I reckon I was purty drunk. An’ she was sweet-lovin’. I—ast her to marry me,” Sam ended miserably.

  “We was kissin’,” he went on doggedly, hanging his head and avoiding Pat’s eyes, “when the door busted open an’ that feller walked in.”

  “Do you mean he busted the door open?” Pat asked with interest.

  “Naw. I reckon it was unlocked. He jest walked in. An’ when Kitty saw him she let out a scared scream an’ said, ‘My Gawd, it’s Fred.’ An I ast her who the hell was Fred an’ she said it was her husban’ from Denver. An’ he cussed me for makin’ over his wife an’ started to’ards me.”

  Sam paused to catch his breath and take a long pull on his cigarette.

  “I was plumb drunk,” he confessed. “I pulled my gun an’ tol’ him to stand back but he kep’ on comin’. So I shot at him twicet. But I reckon I musta bin awful drunk. I didn’t even hit him. An’ he kep’ comin’. I pulled my knife an’ went after him. Jest about the time I hit him, I passed plumb out. Whisky never did hit me like that before. Like I was hit on the head with a ax. I bin thinkin’. You reckon that bottle of whisky was doped, Pat?”

  “I shore bet it was,” Ezra rumbled. “I bin tellin’ Sam I figger it was a put-up job. I’ve seen Sam dead drunk before, but he never acted like that. I’d of swore he got hit on the head and knocked out, but there ain’t a mark on him.”

  “Your head isn’t sore at all?” Pat asked sharply.

  “Nope. Not no more’n a hell of a headache.” Sam put his hand up and felt the back of his head tenderly. “I thought ’twas gonna split off, but it’s easin’ some now. That’s why I think the whisky was doped.”

  Pat said, “I took two big drinks out of the same bottle. Tasted all right to me.”

  “Anyhow, that’s what happened. All I remember is goin’ after him with my knife. When I come to early this mawnin’, Ezra had me tied into the saddle. He tol’ me about the feller bein’ dead an’ about him robbin’ the bank. So we flggered on cuttin’ west acrost the range an’ down into Mexico. You got any better idee?” he ended savagely.

  Pat said, “I’d like to hear Ezra’s part of it.”

  Ezra twisted his big face into a morose scowl. “There ain’t so much for me to tell.” He took a last puff on his cigarette and threw it away. “
I tol’ Sam he was playin’ the fool with that woman. I figgered she was after his money. But he wouldn’t listen to me a-tall. He swore she was on the square an’ he was gonna marry her.”

  “Awright,” said Sam angrily. “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with last night.”

  “He drunk a lot of whisky in the afternoon,” Ezra told Pat. “But I didn’t think he was tumble drunk. Then Kitty come in an’ had a drink or two with him, an’ they went out an’ upstairs together. I follered after a time, and knocked on Sam’s door but he didn’t answer. I could hear people talkin’ in Kitty’s room, an’ I figgered it was them. But Sam’s old enough to know better, so I didn’t do nothin’.

  “I went in my room an’ stretched out on the bed. I remember thinkin’ how damn glad I was that the Pony Express started today an’ Sam would have to git away from the hotel an’ Kitty to ride his stretch. An’ I reckon I sorta dozed off layin’ there.”

  He paused and scowled angrily. “Fust thing I heard was the shots. Then a poundin’ on my door. I got up an’ Kitty was there. She was cryin’ an’ plenty scared. She said somethin’ awful had happened an’ for me to come in a hurry. So I went across in her room an’ there they were. Sam an’ a feller I’d never saw before. Dressed up fancy in city clothes. An’ there was blood all over an’ Sam’s knife with blood on it. An’ that pore feller starin’ up at me like he blamed me for him bein’ dead.

  “Kitty was wringin’ her hands an’ cryin’, an’ she begged me to get Sam outta there in a hurry. She said the feller was her husband an’ Sam’d knifed him when he come in an’ caught ’em. An’ him not even with a gun or knife.

  “I seen ’twas a bad mess, so I carried Sam into my room. He was limp as a drowned rat, but there wasn’t a scratch on him an’ I knowed he musta jest passed out.

  “An’ Kitty come in an’ began talkin’ fast. She recollected that Jeth Purdue was takin’ over the sheriff’s badge, an’ she’d heard some things about Jeth that made her figger that he could be bribed to quiet the whole thing down. She pointed out how it’d go hard with Sam if it got out that he’d killed a man who’d caught him kissin’ his wife, but she promised to help hush it all up, sayin’ she hated her husband anyhow an’ was glad he was dead, an’ now she could marry Sam mebby, if we’d use some of our money to pay off Jeth Purdue.

  “Well, it sounded all right to me.” Ezra paused to draw a long breath, and he squirmed under Pat’s direct gaze. “What would you of done?” he asked defensively. “You know a jury wouldn’t take kindly to that kinda killin’. I didn’t blame Sam none, but other people wouldn’t look at it that way.”

  Pat said, “I reckon not.” Then he added, “Did Kitty give any particular reason why she thought Jeth could be bribed?”

  “She acted purty shore he’d do it.” Ezra wrinkled his brow. “Best I recollect, she said somethin’ about knowin’ him before she an’ him come to Powder Valley. I didn’t ast her much about it. I jest tol’ her to see could she fix it, an’ told her Sam an’ me’d foot the bill with our money we got from sellin’ the ranch.”

  “All right. That much of it is perfectly clear,” Pat told him. “What happened to make you take out down a rope through the window an’ then do such a crazy thing as robbin’ the bank?”

  “That was all yore fault,” Ezra told him sorrowfully. “If you’d turned the sheriffin’ over to Jeth like you was s’posed to, everything woulda bin awright.”

  “How did you know I hadn’t?”

  “I heerd you arguin’ with Joe Deems down to the foot of the stairs—about comin’ up. An’ I heerd you tell Joe you was still sheriff. So I ducked in my room an’ locked the door. An’ when you come knockin’, I kept quiet an’ didn’t answer.”

  “Why not?” Pat asked impatiently. “You knew I’d help you—an’ you wouldn’t have to pay me like you would Jeth.”

  “You know damn well I couldn’t ast you to do that, Pat.” Ezra shook his big red head earnestly. “You take yore sheriffin’ too serious. That woulda put you plumb in the middle of bad trouble. Sure, yo’re Sam’s best friend. That’s why I couldn’t drag you into it. If you did help us cover it up, you’d hate yourself for doin’ it. You kin see that, Pat.”

  “I can see how you figgered, but it was the wrong way to do it,” Pat told him. “Go ahead with the rest of it.”

  “With you still sheriff, I figgered it was best to get Sam outta town in a hurry. So I throwed a slip knot round him and lowered him out the winder of my room, then tied the other end to the bed and clumb down. I saddled our hawses fast an’ led ’em aroun’ to the jail and writ you that note. I left Sam there, still passed out, an’ went around to the bank an’ broke in the back door. I didn’t know anybody saw me.”

  “Why did you have to add bank robbin’ on top of everything else?” Pat demanded wearily.

  “We had to have money.” Ezra looked at him in surprise. “All our cash money ’ceptin’ a few dollars was in the bank. We couldn’t take out on the owl-hoot trail broke. Hell, Pat, that wouldn’t of bin a mite sensible. An’ we couldn’t wait till the bank opened this mawnin’. I didn’t see no other way but to take it out my own self.”

  “All right. I don’t blame you for getting your own money. But I’m takin’ all the rest of it back. Every cent.”

  “All the rest of what?”

  “All the money you stole that didn’t belong to you,” Pat told him firmly.

  “Gosh-a-mighty! That’s what I’m tellin’ you. I broke in the bank to get our money. I didn’t take no other. That’s what took me so long in the vault. Countin’ out jest how much we had comin’.”

  Sam began to chuckle at the expression on Pat’s face. “You oughtta knowed that’s all Ezra would take. Jest what was comin’ to us. Did you think he stole all the money in the bank, Pat?”

  Pat said, “All right. Maybe I should of guessed it was that way. I’m glad to know it. But there’s one more thing I still want to know. What about Jeth Purdue?”

  “What about him?” Ezra asked innocently.

  “That’s what I’m askin’ you. Did you see him after you left the hotel?”

  Ezra shook his head with a puzzled look. “Nope. I shore didn’t.”

  “What about you?” Pat asked Sam.

  “Hell, I don’t know nothin’ that happened. I was passed out cold.”

  Pat began to roll another cigarette. Without looking up, he said, “Jeth is dead. Gunned from outside the jail window with a forty-five while I had him locked inside.”

  14

  A long moment of stunned silence followed Pat’s announcement of Jeth Purdue’s death. Then Sam said wonderingly, “You had Jeth locked up?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What for? He was s’posed tuh be sheriff today.”

  “I had a reason to.”

  “An’ he’s dead too?” Ezra broke in.

  “Murdered,” Pat said shortly. “Shot in the face without a chance of shootin’ back.”

  “By golly, there shore was plenty of excitement in Dutch Springs las’ night,” exclaimed Ezra.

  “What you askin’ us about ’im for?” Sam asked suspiciously.

  Pat Stevens shrugged. “You were at the bottom of the other devilment.”

  “An’ you thought we killed Jeth?”

  “It made sense,” Pat argued. “Kitty told me about tellin’ you she’d try to fix it with Jeth. When you decided to take out, I thought maybe you were afraid she’d already told him—an’ decided to gun him too.”

  “I never done it, Pat,” Ezra assured him earnestly. “I swear I didn’t know he was in that jail when I left Sam there an’ went to the bank.” He paused suddenly, staring at Sam with his one eye.

  Pat, too, was watching the small, dark man grimly. Sam blinked at their concentrated attention and asked uneasily, “What you-all lookin’ at me like that for?”

  Pat drew in a long breath. “You sure you stayed passed out all the time till you woke up this mawnin’ tied on your hawse?”
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  “Course I’m shore. I don’t remember nothin’.”

  Pat turned to Ezra. “Was he movin’ around any? Tryin’ to talk or anything like that?”

  Ezra shook his big head. “Nary a bit.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t reckon he moved while I was at the bank.”

  “But you didn’t have him tied up then?” Pat asked sharply.

  “No. I left him layin’ by his hawse. When I left the bank in a hurry, I grabbed him up an’ carried him on my hawse for half a mile outta town. Then I heard the posse take the wrong fork, an’ I stopped to put him in his saddle.”

  Pat asked Sam, “How many times you say you shot at Ralston before goin’ after your knife?”

  “Twict. The way I recollect it.”

  “Have you shot your gun since then?”

  “Nope.” The bewilderment on Sam’s dark features was beginning to give way to anger. “Look here. What’re you fellers thinkin’?”

  Pat held out his hand and said steadily, “Lemme see your gun.”

  Sam glared at him, then reluctantly dropped his hand to the butt of his holstered .45. He drew it out and flipped it in the air, catching it by the muzzle to present it to Pat butt-first. He growled, “Awright, Sheriff. Here you are.”

  Pat broke it and dropped the unfired cartridges into the palm of his hand. The brass cylinders that had been fired remained in the gun, having been swelled by the explosion so they would not drop out without being forced.

  Pat shook his head and extended his open palm for Sam and Ezra to see. “There’s only three cartridges that ain’t been fired.”

  Sam’s eyes became frightened. He wet his lips and said hastily, “That makes it come out right. I generally don’t carry but five—leavin’ the cylinder under the hammer empty so she won’t shoot if I drop her. There’s three in your hand—an’ the two I shot at Ralston makes five.”

  Pat said, “Maybe.” He pushed the plunger that forced the empty brass cartridges out. He shook his head. “This time you had her loaded all the way around, Sam. Here’s three empties.”

  “Tell you what,” said Ezra hastily. “I reckon Sam was too drunk to count good last night. I bin thinkin’ I heard three shots in Kitty’s room ’stead of jest two.”