by Burt Kroll
There were some shadowy figures moving around, heading towards the law office, and Merrill kept to the darker spots, wanting to remain anonymous. The door of the jail stood open and a bunch of men was gathering there. When he reached them, he called for them to let him through, and men turned, exclaiming at the sight of him, for most of them thought he was still out of town. They parted for him and he went into the office to find Si Kester seated in the chair at the desk, his hat off, and the sheriff standing over the town marshal, massaging Kester’s head.
“What happened?” Merrill demanded.
The sheriff glanced up at him and grimaced. “I was along the street when I heard the shot,” he said. “I came back here and found Si stretched out on the floor. Someone had hit him with a gun barrel.”
“And the shot?” Merrill persisted, noting that the door to the cell block stood open.
“Go take a look.” Oakley jerked his head in the direction of the cells.
Merrill tightened his lips and moved into the cell doorway, and when he looked at the cell where Chet Wood had been locked in he saw the man stretched out on his bunk, arms outflung, mouth agape, and a spreading stain of blood on his shirt front. He was obviously dead, and Merrill heaved a long sigh as he turned back to face Kester, who was shaking his head and trying to recover from the blow he had taken.
“Any idea what happened, Si?” he demanded.
“Not a thing,” came the dazed reply. “I was sitting at the desk, reading that magazine, when the roof seemed to fall in on me. The next thing I remember, Walt was in here lifting me up. I didn’t even hear the shot that killed Wood.”
“He’s got a bump on the back of his head the size of an egg,” the sheriff commented. “He’s lucky he’s got such a hard head or his skull would have been cracked. The back door is unlocked, Ward. Whoever did this sneaked in the back way and hit Si over the head, then beefed the prisoner on his way out.”
Merrill went into the cell block again and looked at the back door, which was closed but not locked. He went back to the office, frowning.
“Why would anyone wanta come into the office to hit Si if all he wanted to do was shoot Wood?” he demanded. “If he found the back door open he would have fired a shot then made a run for it instead of risking getting caught by coming into the office.” He paused and thought for a moment. “How come the back door was unlocked, anyway?” he asked.
“That’s a mystery we’ve got to solve,” Oakley said grimly. “That door is never unlocked under any circumstances. I alius check it myself as a matter of course.”
“Who has been in the cell block today? Anyone come in to see the prisoner? You don’t have any other prisoners in there. What about cleaning? Who does that?”
“I’ve already thought of that, and I’m gonna have a word with Chuck Harper, who does the cleaning around here. It’s likely that he unlocked the door to get rid of some dirty water, or something, and forgot to lock it afterwards.”
“And we’re a prisoner short and no chance of getting evidence against the man I’m after,” Merrill observed. He sighed heavily.
“I’m sorry, Ward,” Kester said contritely. “But I never expected this to happen. I always keep the street door locked after dark and ask who’s there if anyone comes calling. I never thought to check the door in the cell block. Hell, I know it’s always kept locked.”
“Someone unlocked it, and today,” Merrill retorted. “When did you check it, Sheriff?”
“This morning, early,” Oakley replied. “But it was before Chuck Harper finished his cleaning. I’ll go have a talk with Harper and see if he can throw any light on this.”
“It’s a mighty big coincidence if Harper accidentally left the door unlocked just when someone wanted to get in here to kill my prisoner,” Merrill said harshly.
“What are you trying to say?” Kester demanded, getting unsteadily to his feet and stifling a groan as he lifted a hand to the bump on his head.
“I’m not trying to say anything,” Merrill retorted. “I’m just trying to work out what happened here. A prisoner is dead, shot in his cell, and that’s bad law practice no matter how you look at it. The fact that the prisoner was my only link with a man trying to get me killed makes it all the more important.”
“Let’s go talk with Chuck Harper,” Oakley said. “I’ve been waiting around for you to wake up, Ward. The first of those two trail outfits has showed up, and they report that the other outfit is a couple of days behind but coming up fast. I’ve seen the trail boss, a man by the name of Burt Freeman, and I asked him to hold the pay his hands are due until they start back to Texas. He’s refused to do that, saying he ain’t got no right to, and some of those cowboys will be in town tonight. But the real trouble is gonna happen if they’re still around when the other bunch shows up.”
“Let’s worry about that when the time comes,” Merrill said. They were walking along the street towards the saloon. “Where will we find this Chuck Harper now?”
“In the big saloon. He works for Maitland.” Oakley walked on steadily, unaware of the effect his words had upon Merrill, who almost halted in midstride, so great was his surprise.
Maitland again, Merrill thought as he resumed his steady pace at the sheriff’s side. He was always cropping up, and if he had been the man who hired the gunmen in the first place then he would most certainly want to shut Wood’s mouth. He must have been scared that Wood might start talking. Was it possible that he had got Chuck Harper to deliberately open the back door of the jail so he could sneak inside and shoot the prisoner?”
His musing was interrupted when they reached the bat-wings of the saloon, and Oakley paused and looked in over the twin doors.
“Yeah,” he said, pushing through them. “There are some of those trail-hands here. Look at them, acting as if they own the town already.”
Merrill followed Oakley into the saloon and looked around the brightly lit interior. There were some thirty men inside, and about ten of them were strange cowhands, evidently from the herd that had been put into the cattle-pens outside of town. It would be the job of these men to load the cattle on the cattle-cars before their work was done, and if the train was ready to move out next day then it was likely the men themselves would start drifting south again. But if there were any hitches at all then they might still be around when their rivals showed up, and Merrill found himself hoping that there would be no trouble. He had no desire to start shooting at cowhands who were only out for boisterous good fun after months on the weary trail.
He saw Frank Maitland along the bar, dressed in an immaculate store suit and silk shirt, with a gaily colored cravat at his neck set off with a glinting diamond stickpin. Maitland’s eyes were alert, roving around his establishment, and he soon spotted the two lawmen. A smile came to his face and he approached them as they crossed to the bar, and Merrill, watching the big man closely, saw no signs of uneasiness at all in the smooth manner. If Maitland knew anything at all about the trouble then he was an accomplished actor.
“Have a drink on the house,” Maitland boomed in his chesty voice. “Chuck, serve our good friends with the best in the house.” The saloon man’s eyes moved to Merrill’s composed features. “Glad to see you back, Ward. You didn’t have any trouble on the trail from Birch Creek, then?”
“None that I couldn’t handle,” Merrill replied carefully. “Have you heard that I ran into a gun trap and had to kill two more men?”
“Talk of that is all over town,” Oakley said before Maitland could reply.
“I hadn’t heard about it,” Maitland said. “But then I haven’t left this place all day, and I’ve only just come into the saloon itself. I haven’t had time to listen to the talk that’s going on. I have noticed that we’ve got the first of the trail-hands in. Do you figure you’ll be able to handle any trouble that might come up?”
“It’s a bit late to ask that question now,” Merrill retorted. “It should have been asked at the town council meeting when it was decide
d to let Portville be turned into a trail town.”
“Don’t let’s go into that again,” Oakley said hastily. He turned to the bar, where a tall, thin, middle-aged man was serving drinks. “Chuck, I wanta word with you. Come here for a moment, will you?”
Maitland excused himself and went off along the bar, and Merrill looked at the tender, who set a couple of glasses before them and poured whisky with a steady hand. He seemed absorbed in his work, and did not look up until he had finished pouring. Then he looked at the sheriff with untroubled gaze.
“What’s on your mind, Walt?” he demanded.
Oakley questioned him about the back door of the jail, and Merrill watched the man intently, looking for uneasiness or hesitation, but Harper merely shrugged.
“Hell if I can remember, Sheriff,” he replied at length. “I swabbed out the cells, like I always do, and the pump is in the backyard, as you know. Sure, I unlocked the door this morning. I had to so I could get the water. But I can’t remember if I locked it afterwards.” He glanced at Merrill for the first time and his eyes were steady. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s all right, Chuck,” Oakley said softly. “Forget about it.” He turned and looked around the saloon. “Are these trail-hands behaving themselves?”
“They ain’t no worse than any other man who’s been starved of excitement and drink for several weeks,” came the terse reply. “But when they get likkered up is the time we can expect trouble from them.” The tender grimaced. “I don’t see your special deputies standing up to them. These are real hard men.”
“We’ll handle any trouble in the town,” Merrill said flatly, and turned towards the door. He glanced at Maitland along the bar and saw the man in conversation with a sallow-faced individual who was dressed in a black store suit. Without breaking his stride, Merrill gave the stranger the once-over, and saw that he was wearing twin sixguns on crossed cartridge belts under his black jacket. The man had all the earmarks of a gunman, unless he was a gambler, and Merrill caught his breath as he figured that Maitland had brought in a real professional to finish off the job he had started with the other six hard cases.
Oakley followed him to the door, and when they were standing outside on the sidewalk, Merrill paused and peered back into the saloon.
“What’s wrong, Ward?” the sheriff demanded. “Anything building up?”
“I think so, although I hope I’m wrong,” Merrill replied through his teeth. “Just take a look in there again, Walt, and tell me if you’ve seen that man in the black suit with Maitland before? Got any idea who he is?”
Oakley looked in over the batwings, then shook his head. “I ain’t seen him around town before,” he announced. “Where in hell did he blow in from? Once upon a time I used to see every stranger who showed up around here. Now some men pass through and I don’t even get to see them.”
“That’s a sign of the times, but we’ll keep a tight rein on the town tonight, Walt. I’ll stick around and see what’s doing, and if those trail-hands start getting too rowdy I’ll cool them off.”
“Okay, and thanks. I respect your attitude towards the situation, Ward, don’t think I don’t. But you’re about the only man around here I can really trust.”
Oakley turned and went back towards the law office and Merrill stared after him, noting that the man’s shoulders were bowed slightly, as if he was feeling the burden that had been thrust upon him. Oakley was past fifty now, and deserved an easier time than he was going to get.
Boots stomped the boardwalk and Merrill glanced up to see a big, broad-shouldered man coming towards him with jingling spurs. It was a cowman, tall and arrogant, and he paused in midstride when he saw Merrill’s figure outside the saloon. Then his keen gaze caught the glint of Merrill’s star, and his teeth showed in a grin as he came forward.
“Howdy, I’m Burt Freeman,” he introduced. “I’m the trail boss of the herd that got in today. You must be one of the sheriff’s deputies. I guess you’re watching my boys for trouble, huh?”
“Not particularly,” Merrill replied easily. “If they give any trouble then they’ll be dealt with. I’m not one to make a special case out of your trail hands, Freeman.”
“You’re a real salty lawman, huh?” Freeman’s grin broadened. “I see. Okay. I’m glad you’re around, mister. The men are likely to get carried away by the bright lights and the booze. They’ve been on the trail for weeks.”
“I spent some time working for the law around Abilene,” Merrill said. “I’ve seen it all. For most of the folks around here, and the sheriff, this is a new experience, but, mister, I’ve been through it.”
“Then you’ll understand that there’s no real harm in my men,” Freeman retorted. “They just need to let off a little steam.”
“That’s all right by me so long as the local folks don’t get hurt,” Merrill said firmly.
“I’ll be around most of the evening to watch points. Your sheriff asked me to do that, and I don’t want any trouble. Apart from that I need those no-account trail-hands to load up the steers on the train in the morning, and that’s gonna be a long, heart-breaking job. I don’t want them to take on too much liquor.”
“Can you get them out of town and heading back south before that other outfit shows up?” Merrill asked him.
Freeman shook his head slowly. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he said. “I guess the minute those steers are on the train and I’ve paid off the crew then it’s none of my damn business what they do. Some of them work on local spreads back in Texas, and they’ll drift on home, but last year in Abilene they left some pards lying in the dust after a fracas with the Big J outfit that’s a couple of days behind us, and my boys would be less than human if they didn’t try to get their own back a little, huh?”
“That’s okay so long as they don’t try to do it here in town. They can do what they like out there beyond town limits, but we won’t stand by and watch the town pulled apart in some private war. You can pass that on to your boys, if you like, but if they don’t do like they’re told then there’ll be some more of them stretched out in the dust.”
“So we’ve got us a real old-fashioned, tough little town here, huh?” Freeman nodded. “Sure thing, mister. I’ll pass on the word. I like a man who can speak right up and say what’s on his mind and have the guts to back his words with play, and I figure you’re that kind of a man. I hope, for your sake and the town’s, and my outfit, that nothing will come of the trouble that’s being planned.”
“You admit that there is some talk about a war between the two outfits?” Merrill demanded.
“I wouldn’t lie to you. Sure, you’re right. The boys have been talking about it. But I’m a peaceable kind of man myself and I’ll do what I can to avert that kind of trouble. Hell, I’ve got to come this way again next year, remember, so I wanta play along with the law.”
“That’s fine, then. It’s all I ask of you. Your boys can come and go as they please so long as local folks don’t get bothered. If there is any trouble then you’ll be short-handed for loading up your steers in those cars come the morning.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” Freeman demanded.
“Thanks, but I’ve just had my quota for the night,” Merrill replied. “I’m on duty now. But I’ll take you up on that some other time.”
“Any time.” Freeman smiled again and shouldered his way through the batwings and entered the saloon.
Merrill watched the interior of the establishment for a few moments, and turned when he heard boots at his back. The light from the doorway fell upon the wrinkled face of Herb Gwynn, the stableman, and Merrill took hold of the gabby oldster’s arm.
“Herb, what can you tell me about that black-suited man talking to Frank Maitland?” he demanded. “You see just about everyone who rides into and out of town. When did he arrive?”
Gwynn had to stand on tiptoe to peer over the bat-wings, and as soon as he caught a glimpse of Maitland and the stranger he backed off, his face setting into harsh
lines.
“Hell, I don’t like him,” he said in an undertone. “Rode in this morning and asked the way to this place. He gave me the creeps. I figure him for a killer, and the worst kind. I reckon he does most of his shooting at the backs of targets. Seems to figure he owned the town, the way he gave me orders and asked me about folks around here.”
“What folks?” Merrill kept his eyes on the two-gun man with Maitland.
“He asked about the local law, but he also mentioned you by name. At first I figured he might be a lawman himself, one of those who don’t wear his star openly. But when I looked into his eyes I knew different. He ain’t got an ounce of compassion in him. I’m sure glad he didn’t want to know much about me.”
“Maybe you’d like to do me a favor, Herb,” Merrill said thoughtfully. “I know you like to gab a lot, and you talk about everyone’s business, but this is a deadly serious game and I need to know some things about that newcomer. Go in there and learn what you can about him. Try to overhear the conversation between him and Maitland. You are good at that kind of thing. Do that and you might prevent a lot of bad trouble around here.”
“You reckon he’s been brung in to kill someone local?” Gwynn shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to get mixed up with his kind. Hell, I think I’ll go along the street to Maitland’s other saloon. But why is Maitland so friendly with him? You was talking about Maitland when you came back from Birch Creek, Ward. Have you got something against him?”
“Maybe you can tell me that, Herb,” Merrill said firmly. “Now go in there and have a drink. Get as close to them as you can and listen to their talk. You’ll find me at the law office later, or I’ll be around the stable to see you.”