by Corba Sunman
‘Evening, Captain,’ Yelding greeted. ‘Mind if I sit down for a couple of moments?’
‘You look as if you’ve got something on your mind,’ Moran commented. ‘Sit down and ease your weight.’
Yelding dropped into the seat opposite and placed a whiskey glass on the table. He glanced around the saloon, which was filling up, and then leaned across the table to speak in an undertone.
‘That friend you met at Shorten’s place earlier today asked me to come in and find you. He wants you to know that he’s of a mind to trust you. So if you want to talk to him he’ll meet up with you anywhere you care to see him. Just tell me the time and place and he’ll be there, raring to go.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’ Moran nodded. ‘Let’s say Shorten’s ranch at noon tomorrow.’
Yelding grimaced. ‘He says if he gets just one sniff of another soldier around, you’ll never see him again.’
‘That’s fine. I’ll be alone.’
Yelding nodded and slid out of his chair. He went to the bar and stood alone at the far corner. Moran finished his beer and departed. A stray thought slid into the forefront of his mind, and he was faintly surprised when it was followed by an image of Ruth Sandwell’s face. He was thoughtful as he walked along to the hotel, hoping to see her, and his breathing quickened when he entered the hotel restaurant and saw her seated alone, eating a meal. He moved in and sat at a nearby table. She caught his movement and looked across, a smile coming instantly to her face.
‘I was just thinking about you, Captain. Have you the time to talk later?’
‘I was hoping to see you,’ he admitted.
‘Please join me,’ she responded. ‘I’m almost finished here. Are you making any progress with your investigation?’
He joined her, sitting opposite. She continued with her meal and he took the opportunity to look at her. She was a beautiful woman, and he frowned when his thoughts seemed to slip out from under his control, despite his efforts to contain them.
‘Do I pass scrutiny?’ she asked quietly, and Moran realized she had caught him gazing at her.
‘You passed earlier, with flying colours,’ he replied. ‘I’m looking at you now because I’m trying to assess your situation in this business.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Your brother was shot and killed by someone who was afraid of being exposed. Now you are on the scene, and it is obvious what you’re doing. The point is, the killer might feel so threatened by your presence he could make an attempt against your life.’ He saw sudden fear spring into her eyes, but she controlled it quickly. ‘I’m telling you this not to frighten you but to warn you to be very careful. The men involved in this trouble have no scruples when it comes to dealing with women. If you take my advice, you’ll leave here and seek a safer place to stay. I doubt if you’ll be able to do anything to help my investigation, and with you gone I won’t have to worry about you.’
‘I assure you that I have considered all the angles, and I should be lying if I said I’m not afraid. But my brother’s killer must be brought to justice, and that knowledge will keep me here until I have seen the guilty man punished for what he did.’
‘I’ll make a special effort to expose him and bring him to justice.’ Moran inhaled deeply, aware that an intangible frisson of her perfume was invading his sense of smell, and he breathed as if he could not get enough of it, the almost illusory fragrance invading his mind and freeing some of the deeply covered instincts he had been forced to bury below the surface when first he decided to follow the path his career had to take. For years he had led a lone existence, emotions lashed down under control. Initially he had been bothered when he’d had to kill in the execution of his duty, but he had become accustomed to dealing out death and bloodshed, and eased his conscience with the knowledge that he was doing his duty.
‘I can’t leave,’ she said firmly, ‘although I’d like to accept your advice and go. But I have to see justice done, no matter the cost, for I’d not be able to live with myself if I gave up now.’
He nodded. ‘I understand, and I’ll help you all I can. But I’m just idling at the moment. I want to be back at the fort just before sundown and be in the shadows watching for trouble as darkness falls.’
‘That sounds like it will be highly dangerous.’ She frowned. ‘Do you have any help?’
‘I like to work alone. I took a sergeant with me yesterday and he was killed.’
‘So you’re already attempting to unravel this mystery!’
‘I never stop. It’s that kind of a job. I usually plunge in and muddle along until I get my teeth into some proof or other, and then try to arrest the guilty men. So far I’ve been lucky and managed to come out on top, but the cases seem to be getting harder and harder as I go on, and I expect my luck will eventually run out.’
Horror filtered into her eyes and she compressed her lips. He smiled to reassure her and prepared to leave.
‘Do you have to go yet?’ she asked.
‘I’d like nothing better than to remain in your company but I have a very harsh mistress, and I’m completely under her thumb.’
‘My brother had the same mistress, but he called it duty. I shall be worried about you until I see you again.’
‘Don’t worry on my account.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘For the most part my job consists of waiting around, observing, which is all very boring, and when a case is successfully closed, the action is swift, and usually enacted with surprise on my side.’
‘You make it sound so straightforward, but I know that isn’t so.’
‘I’ll be in town again tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll make a point of calling on you, if I may.’
‘Please do,’ she said eagerly, ‘at any time.’
‘I have an appointment at noon tomorrow, and if that goes well I’ll be in town early in the afternoon.’
She looked up at him as he got to his feet, and opened her mouth to speak again, but he smiled and pressed a hand lightly on her shoulder.
‘Until tomorrow,’ he said gently, and turned away to leave without looking back.
A sigh escaped him as he walked along the sidewalk in the direction of the stable.
He collected his horse and rode steadily back to the fort. By the time he entered the stockade, shadows were already gathering in the low places and night sentries were on duty. He handed over his horse to a groom and went directly to his quarters, staying there until full darkness arrived. When he judged it time to get moving, he removed his yellow neckerchief, checked his .45 Army Colt and put a handful of extra shells into a pocket.
He took care leaving his quarters, locking his door on the inside before opening the window and climbing out to the veranda. He stood in the shadows for some moments, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the night. A deep silence lay over the fort. He saw shadows moving around – sentries on patrol, some guarding certain points. He moved around slowly, pausing frequently, probing the dense shadows.
There was a lighted window in the store at the end of the administration block, and he approached a window to sneak a look inside. Three men were standing at the desk by the door. He recognized Bruno Reinhardt, the fort sutler, and Marshal Bowtell, from Cactusville. The third man was a stranger to him, a sergeant with the insignia of a farrier on his sleeve.
Moran edged closer to the window, which was ajar. He could hear their voices clearly, loud enough to enable him to understand what they were saying. He saw Reinhardt reach into the inside pocket of his coat and produce a thick wad of paper money, which he passed to Bowtell. The marshal grinned and thrust the wad into his breast pocket.
‘I’m suspending our business until Captain Moran finishes his investigation,’ Reinhardt said. ‘We can’t be too careful. I met him in town earlier, and he looks a tough character to me. I’ve heard of his reputation, and seeing him, I can believe every word. So I’m closing the business until he’s gone.’
‘What the hell!’ Bowtell exclaimed. ‘He’s on
ly one man, and I could soon put him out of the way if he proves to be troublesome.’
‘That’s the last thing we need, another murder on the scene,’ said Reinhardt angrily. ‘Just do as I say and we’ll soon be back to hauling in money.’
‘I’ve got used to the extra dough,’ Bowtell protested. ‘I’ve got expensive tastes, and I can’t afford not collecting every month. I’ll get rid of Moran if he bothers you.’
Moran leaned his right shoulder against the wall beside the window and pressed his ear closer to the pane of glass. He dimly heard the sound of a boot scraping on the hard ground behind him, and recoiled from the window, turning to meet what he knew was a threat, but before he could get into a position to defend himself, he was seized in an iron grip and the muzzle of a pistol was jammed painfully against his spine. He was faintly aware of a man at his side, and then a heavy object struck him behind his right ear and lights exploded inside his skull as he pitched to the ground. . . .
CHAPTER EIGHT
Moran did not lose consciousness but the blow temporarily robbed him of his ability to move and think. He was dragged to his feet and supported, his toes dragging on the ground as he was taken in through the doorway of the big store room. His thoughts were chaotic and dense, as if his head had been filled with river mud. He was thrust to the ground and he lay blinking in the bright light, his head filled with throbbing pain. He heard voices but could make no sense of them. He raised his head, looked for faces, and saw Bowtell coming to check him. His hearing returned at that moment and the town marshal’s voice hammered against his ears.
‘What the hell have you done, Wilbur?’ Bowtell demanded.
‘This guy was sneaking around in the shadows,’ a hoarse voice replied. ‘I watched him look through several lighted windows, and when he peered through the end window here, I decided he was up to no good and gave him a whack with my gun.’
‘You fool,’ Bowtell replied. ‘He’s Captain Moran, and he gets paid to sneak around and catch anyone who is up to no good. He’ll have your law badge off you for this.’
‘I didn’t know who he is. Heck, I was only doing my job. There are a lot of bad men in this fort, and I figured he was one of them.’
Bowtell helped Moran to his feet and brushed him down. Moran pushed him away and straightened. He staggered, and put a hand on Bowtell’s shoulder for support. He looked at Reinhardt, who was gazing at him with a harsh expression on his face. The farrier sergeant was gazing at Moran, his fleshy face showing a mixture of despair and guilt.
Reinhardt pulled out a chair at the table. ‘Sit him down here, Marshal,’ he rapped. ‘He looks like he could do with a stiff drink. I’ll get a bottle.’
Bowtell helped Moran to the seat. Moran looked for the man who had hit him, and saw he was wearing a law star on his red shirt. His eyes were shifty. He looked like a bully to Moran, who was an expert at reading character at a glance and was seldom wrong. The deputy was still holding his pistol, and he grinned as he holstered it with a fast, experienced movement.
‘Sorry, Captain,’ he said in a leering voice. ‘No hard feelings, huh?’
Moran did not reply. Reinhardt returned, carrying a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He poured a generous tot and set the glass before Moran.
‘Drink that, Captain. It’s the best whiskey. It will do you good. How are you feeling?’
‘Not good,’ Moran replied. He did not touch the whiskey. ‘That blow has put paid to my work for the evening. It’s the second time I’ve taken a blow on the head since I arrived, and if I’m not careful I might get some sense knocked into me.’
‘I’ve tried that treatment on Wilbur, but it doesn’t work.’ Bowtell grinned. ‘You haven’t been introduced to him, Captain. This is Wilbur Giddings. He’s not much to look at, and not any good at his job.’
‘I said I was sorry,’ Giddings snarled in a low voice, his eyes glinting momentarily as he regarded Moran through half-closed lids.
‘We have to be getting back to town,’ said Bowtell abruptly. ‘Fetch the horses, Wilbur.’ The deputy left immediately. ‘I guess I’ll see you around town some time,’ continued Bowtell, looking at Moran. ‘I guess you’ll keep Shorten here behind bars until he’s been charged, huh, Captain?’
‘That’s the way it will go,’ Moran told him. He got to his feet and walked unsteadily to the door.
No one spoke as he left, and he stepped into the shadows beyond the doorway to stand with his shoulders pressed against the wall. He had no intention of calling off his night’s duty, and was prepared to go to hell and back to gain proof of wrongdoing. He watched Bowtell leave the store and disappear among the shadows surrounding headquarters. A few moments later, two saddle horses passed him, one of them being ridden by Giddings. He watched Giddings halt. Bowtell appeared, climbed into his saddle, and both lawmen rode to the gate and departed.
When the farrier sergeant emerged from the store and went his way, Moran entered and confronted Reinhardt. The sutler was seated at his desk, and he looked up at Moran with unchanging expression.
‘Feeling better now, Captain?’ he asked.
‘I’d like an answer to a question that’s bothering me,’ Moran said.
‘I’ve told you I will help in any way I can.’
‘Why did you give the town marshal a wad of notes? I saw you pass them over just before the deputy struck me, and I heard what was said. What’s your crooked game, Reinhardt?’
‘That blow you took on the head must have been harder than Giddings thought,’ Reinhardt replied. ‘I gave Bowtell some papers needed at the bank, and he’ll deliver them for me in the morning. No money changed hands.’
Moran slid his pistol out of its holster and covered Reinhardt. ‘You’re lying, and I’m arresting you on suspicion of wrongdoing. You’ll be held while an investigation is carried out. If you have a gun on you then get rid of it quickly.’
Reinhardt reached into an inside pocket and produced a small calibre pistol, which he tossed to Moran, who instinctively grabbed at it. Reinhardt stepped forward a short pace and swung his clenched right hand. His bunched knuckles caught Moran on the chin and sent him staggering sideways, but he recovered quickly and threw a solid punch at the sutler’s jaw.
Reinhardt fell instantly, but squirmed around and surged to his feet. Moran had lost his grip on his gun and Reinhardt made a dive for it. Moran kicked out and the solid toe of his boot slammed into Reinhardt’s face. The sutler hit the floor with his chin, and Moran moved in quickly and retrieved his gun. Reinhardt looked up to stare into the unwavering muzzle. . . .
The guardhouse was silent, and a single lamp burned in the duty room. Moran followed Reinhardt into the office. Sergeant Comer was sitting at a desk, and got to his feet and saluted when he saw Moran.
‘Sergeant, I’ve arrested Reinhardt on suspicion of being involved in nefarious activities with others at present unknown. He’s to be held isolated behind bars until I’ve investigated him. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Captain.’ Comer was surprised but picked up a bunch of keys from a corner of his desk and began to lead the way to the cells.
‘Empty your pockets, Reinhardt,’ Moran said. ‘Check his belongings, Sergeant, and make a list of them. Report to the orderly officer and acquaint him with the charge.’
Moran waited until Reinhardt was locked in a cell and then took his leave. He hurried to the stable and saddled his horse. A charge had been made and he had to get the proof to make it stick. That proof was in the town marshal’s pocket. Moran sent his horse from the fort and rode as fast as conditions permitted in order to reach town close behind Bowtell, and he caught up with Bowtell and Giddings as they reached the barn on the back lot behind the jail. He tethered his mount in an alley, and was waiting for Bowtell when the deputy town marshal hurried off to the saloon and Bowtell let himself into the law office.
Drawing his gun, Moran put a hand on the panel of the door and prevented Bowtell from closing it. Bowtell cursed and pulled the door wid
e, and astonishment showed on his face when he saw Moran with his pistol levelled.
‘What the hell are you doing here, Captain?’ Bowtell demanded. ‘I thought you’d be tucked up in your bed by now, after that whack Giddings gave you.’
‘I’ve got some questions to ask you, Bowtell.’ Moran followed the town marshal into the office and closed the door with his heel. Bowtell started his hand to his gun but Moran beat him to the weapon and snatched it out of its holster. ‘Empty your pockets on the table and then we’ll get down to business.’
Bowtell gazed at him, his face expressionless. Moran did not move. His gaze was intent. Bowtell shrugged his heavy shoulders and emptied his pockets, but kept his hand away from the inside jacket pocket where he had placed the wad of paper money Reinhardt had given him.
‘What the hell is this?’ Bowtell demanded. ‘I ain’t in the mood for games. I’ve had a long day and I need to hit the sack.’
‘You’ve got a wad of greenbacks in your inside pocket. I saw Reinhardt give it to you,’ Moran said. ‘I need them as evidence, and I want a sworn statement from you saying how those notes came into your possession, and don’t give me any lies. I heard what Reinhardt said to you when he handed over the money. Reinhardt is behind bars at the fort, so it will be in your interests to come clean about what’s going on.’
Bowtell looked at him for some moments, his body rigid with tension. Moran could almost see what was passing through his mind. Then Bowtell shrugged and relaxed. He grimaced, sat down at his desk, and produced the money Reinhardt had given him. He threw it on the desk and looked defiantly at Moran.
‘It looks like you got me to rights,’ he admitted. ‘So you heard what was said in Reinhardt’s office, huh? That fool Giddings never did anything right, he should have got to you before you could listen in. OK, so I got some dough from Reinhardt, but I ain’t telling you why. That’s my business. So what happens now? Are you gonna lock me in my own jail?’