Cole looked at Turner and said, "Let's try this again. Yancy and your son didn't get along, is that right?"
"Rowlett constantly provoked trouble with Arthur. He was a good worker except for that, but we finally had no choice but to fire him. When Arthur carried out that decision, Rowlett warned him that he would regret it." Bleakness settled over Turner's lined features. "The next morning I found Arthur's body in the mine office. He'd been beaten to death, and all the gold we had in the safe was gone. There were over twenty thousand dollars worth of nuggets in that safe."
Cole thought about Rowlett's war bag. He'd never hefted it to see how much it weighed, but he felt sure it was large enough to carry that much gold. Rowlett could have already traded some of it in for coins during his journey from Montana, too.
But to accept that theory was to accept the idea that Rowlett was a murderer, and Cole wasn't ready to do that. He said to Turner, "Do you have any proof Yancy had anything to do with your son's death? Besides that so-called threat, I mean?"
Turner's lip curled in contempt. "I knew you wouldn't give me a fair hearing. This man is your friend!"
Cole placed his hands on the scarred top of the desk and leaned forward. He said angrily, "I asked you a question, damn it. I'm ready to listen to your answer. I don't know how much more fair I can be than that."
"Very well. To answer your question . . . no one saw Rowlett kill Arthur, of course. But he was seen entering the mine office early that morning. We'd given him until sunup to pack his gear and leave our camp. Arthur went into the office before dawn. He was a hard worker, never let me down." Trenches appeared in Turner's already gaunt cheeks. "He was a good son." The man drew in a deep, ragged breath, then went on, "As soon as I discovered Arthur's body, I knew Rowlett must have killed him. Rowlett was already long gone, of course."
"So you hired some hardcases to come with you and set out to track him down?"
"What else would you expect me to do? The man murdered my son!" Turner rubbed a hand wearily along the line of his jaw. "Unfortunately, Rowlett knows the mountains better than me or any of my men. He kept giving us the slip, and any time my men did catch up with him, he killed them. It was like trying to track down some lobo wolf with hydrophobia."
Cole looked over at Rowlett, who was still glaring at Turner. "Well, Yancy, what about it?"
"Hell, it's all a pack of lies!" snorted Rowlett. "I worked in his mine for a little while, sure, but I had my own diggings, too. That's where my gold came from, and Turner knows it."
"Your claim was no good," Turner shot back. "You never took twenty thousand dollars out of it!"
"I don't have twenty thousand dollars worth of gold. You can search my gear, Cole. I did all right, but there's not more than a thousand in my war bag."
Cole nodded. "I'll check on that, all right. What about the trouble between you and Arthur Turner?"
Rowlett's massive shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "We didn't get along. But I didn't kill the little bastard. He wasn't worth that much trouble."
Cole glanced at Turner. The man looked like he wanted to fling himself across the room and choke the life out of Rowlett. Turner wouldn't stand a chance in a hand to hand fight with the big man, of course, so Cole was glad Turner restrained the impulse. He didn't want to have to break up such a fracas.
"Turner says you were seen going into the mine office that morning," Cole pointed out to Rowlett.
"Yep, I did. I wanted to make sure they knew what they were doing by running me off like that. Hell, I was the best worker they had. But Arthur just told me again to clear out, so I did. I never been one to stand around hitting my head against a rock wall."
"Arthur Turner was alive when you left the office?"
"He sure as blazes was. Somebody else must've come in after I was gone and killed him." Rowlett laughed humorlessly. "Shoot, all the men hated him. Could've been any one of those boys who did it. But Turner's got a grudge against me, so he hired him a bunch of killers and came after me."
"That is an out and out lie," Turner said coldly. "My son was well liked by the men."
Cole had his doubts about that, but it didn't really matter. After standing throughout the conversation, he finally sank back into his chair behind the desk and frowned in thought as he looked back and forth between Rowlett and Turner. After a few minutes, he said, "The way I see it, neither one of you can prove your story."
"What I told you is the truth," insisted Turner.
Cole held up a hand. "Hold on there. I'm talking about proof. You admit there aren't any witnesses to your son's killing. Now, I intend to check Yancy's war bag and look for that gold you say he stole, but I'm inclined to believe it won't be there. If it's not, I want you to take your men and get the hell out of Wind River, Turner. You're not a lawman. You don't have any jurisdiction here or anywhere else."
"You're letting him go," Turner grated. "You're letting him get away with murder because he's your friend."
Cole shook his head. "I'm just saying there's no proof. I don't care who Rowlett is, I couldn't arrest him just on your say-so. And I'm damn sure not going to allow you to ride in here with a bunch of gunmen and carry out some sort of vigilante justice! That may work in Montana, but not in Wind River."
Turner pointed a finger at Cole. "You'll regret this, Marshal. Mark my words, you'll regret this! The Good Book says to take an eye for an eye, and that's what I intend to do!"
"Then you're the one who'll wind up in jail." Cole stood up and jerked his head toward the door. "Go on back to the hotel, and you and your men get ready to ride. I've got a hunch you'll be pulling out before the day's over."
Turner stared daggers at him for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Cole watched him go past the office window, heading for the hotel. He shook his head and said to Rowlett, "That hombre really doesn't like you, Yancy."
Rowlett grunted. "Tell me something I don't know, Cole."
Cole swung toward him, and his own tone was a little angry as he said, "You could have told me what was going on. I had a hunch there was some sort of trouble following you, but I didn't know it was this bad."
"Hell, I was hoping Turner would give up and go home once he figured out I didn't have anything to do with killing his boy." He shook his shaggy head disgustedly. "Reckon I should've known better. He's got his teeth in that damn-fool idea, and he's not about to let go."
"I'm afraid you're right." Cole stood up. "I reckon your war bag's still over at the boardinghouse since you were staying with the Paines before you got shot?"
Rowlett nodded and said, "Yeah. You really going to take a look at it?"
"I said I was."
"Fine with me. I'll go over there with you." Rowlett pushed himself to his feet. "Cole . . . thanks for backing me up. I couldn't have asked for more, even from Drago."
"Just doing my job," Cole said. "I don't figure you'd lie to me, Yancy."
But as they left the office together, he hoped Rowlett was right about not having twenty thousand dollars worth of gold in his war bag.
* * *
Polly Dillon and her family had been waiting anxiously on the porch of the general store, watching the marshal's office, and when Rowlett emerged with Cole, Polly couldn't stop the children from rushing over to him. They bubbled over with worried questions. Polly approached more slowly, but she was looking intently at Rowlett as she did so, and when he looked up and met her eyes, she saw the regret there.
"Please," she said as she came up to Rowlett and the marshal, "will someone tell me what's going on? I think I have a right to know—"
"You sure do," Rowlett said, reaching out to put his big hands on her shoulders. "But there's something else I got to do first."
Cole spoke up. "You go ahead and talk to Mrs. Dillon, Yancy. I can go over to the boardinghouse by myself."
Rowlett glanced at him and asked, "You sure?"
"Yeah. Turner won't cause any more trouble right now, not with Billy standin
g down there in front of the hotel with that greener." Cole looked up at the second story of the Territorial House and added, "But it might be a good idea if you got these folks off the street, just in case one of Turner's men decides to try a potshot at you."
Rowlett nodded. "You're right. Come on, Polly. You too, young'uns. Let's go back over to the general store."
He led Polly and the children back across the street and into the big, high-ceilinged emporium. When they were inside, Polly shushed the youngsters and faced Rowlett. She said, "I think you had better tell me what this is all about, Mr. Rowlett."
"Thought you were calling me Yancy," he said with a sheepish grin.
"That was before my children and I nearly wound up in the middle of a gun battle."
He nodded. "I know, and I sure am sorry about that. It's like this, Polly . . ."
For the next five minutes, she listened as the tale unfolded from him. A mixture of emotions surged through her. She felt sympathy for him, of course, as she would feel sorry for anyone who had been unjustly accused of such an awful crime. But there was also anger, anger that he would bring his trouble down on the rest of them.
"You knew those men were after you, didn't you?" she said when he was finished. "You knew when you were wounded that it was some of Mr. Turner's men who shot you."
"Yep, I'm afraid I did. But I never meant for anything to happen to you or the kids, Polly," he went on quickly. "You got to believe that. I know I should've just kept on running and never stayed here in Wind River so long, but I just . . . I found something I never figured I'd find."
She felt a flush creeping warmly over her face. She knew what Rowlett meant. She had seen the way he looked at her, and she would have had to be a fool not to realize what he was feeling. There had been moments when she had allowed herself to begin feeling the same thing.
Polly couldn't stop herself from reaching out to touch the sleeve of his bearskin coat. "Oh, Yancy," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I know it must have been difficult for you."
"Wasn't no excuse," he muttered, his eyes downcast. "I had no right—"
"I understand."
He lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers squarely. "So what do we do now?"
From the doorway of the general store, Cole Tyler said, "I don't know about you, but I just stopped at the hotel and told Turner and his men to ride out of Wind River. They're going back to Montana."
Rowlett turned and looked at the marshal. "You didn't find all that gold Turner was talking about, did you?"
"Like you said, there was less than a thousand dollars worth of nuggets and coins in your gear."
Rowlett sighed. "So you believe me, too, Cole?"
"Sure. I reckon Turner's just so blinded by grief over his son's death that he can't see straight anymore. But that doesn't make him any less dangerous."
Polly said, "Marshal Tyler is right, Yancy. It doesn't matter what you do or say, that man is always going to hate you."
"I reckon you're right," Rowlett said, nodding solemnly. "That means there's only one thing I can do." He drew a deep breath and looked at Polly. "I'll be leaving Wind River."
Chapter15
There was no talking him out of it, and to tell the truth, Cole thought leaving town was probably the best thing for Rowlett to do.
"I always figured I'd head for St. Louis once I reached the railroad," Rowlett said a few minutes later when he and Cole were standing on the boardwalk again, in front of the marshal's office. They had left Polly Dillon and her children at the general store, where they would finish the shopping that had brought them to Wind River today in the first place.
The youngsters had all been upset at Rowlett’s decision to leave, and Polly wasn’t happy about it, either. But she seemed to realize that they would all be in danger as long as Rowlett was around. For the sake of the children, it was best that he go. Cole felt sorry for all of them.
He nodded toward the hotel, where several men were leading a dozen horses up to the hitch rack. “There’s Turner’s bunch,” he said as more men came out of the Territorial House and got ready to mount up.
“And there’s Turner himself,” Rowlett commented. The tall, lean mine owner was the last man to come out of the hotel. He cast a glance at the marshal’s office, and even across the street, Cole could feel the venom in the stare that Turner directed toward him and Rowlett.
Billy Casebolt strolled over to the office, the shotgun tucked under his arm. “Looks like those boys are about to pull out,” he said. “Want me to follow ‘em a ways, Marshal, just to make sure they’re really leavin’?”
“That’s probably a good idea, Billy,” Cole agreed. “Trail them for a few miles and see if they head north toward Montana Territory. If they don’t, light a shuck back here and let us know.”
“I’ll sure do it,” Casebolt said with a nod, then started toward the livery stable to saddle his horse.
Cole turned to Rowlett and said, “I think there’s an eastbound train due through here the day after tomorrow. We’ll go over to the depot and check the schedule to make sure, maybe go ahead and get you a ticket.”
Rowlett nodded. “All right. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Cole.”
“I reckon my pa would’ve wanted me to give you a hand.” Cole smiled thinly and gestured toward the row of saloons at the end of the street. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink right about now.”
“Damn right. And I’m buying.” Rowlett held up a hand to forestall any protest from Cole. “Just figure I’m saying so long, even though I’ll be here for a while yet.”
“What about Mrs. Dillon?”
Rowlett cast a wistful glance at the wagon. “Better I’m not anywhere around when they come out of the general store. Let’s go, Cole.”
They went down the boardwalk side by side, the marshal and the big drifter in the bearskin coat.
* * *
It was amazing how empty the cabin seemed without Rowlett in it, Polly thought that night as she gazed around the room by lantern light. He had filled it up with his presence, with his laughter, with his stories and his good humor. She missed him already.
So did the children. Andrew, Martha, and Francie had been moping around all evening, and now Andrew said, "I don't see why he couldn't have said good-bye to us. I thought he liked us."
"I'm certain he does," Polly told her son. "He probably thought it was better that he not see us again. He probably believed it would be easier on us that way."
"Well, he was wrong," Martha said. "I wanted to say good-bye."
"Me, too," Francie added. "I don't understand why Yancy has to leave. Can't he come back and stay with us?"
Polly shook her head, her chest tight with her own emotions. "It wouldn't be safe for him here, Francie, and it wouldn't be safe for us, either, if he was with us. Remember those men who hurt him before?"
Francie nodded, her eyes shining with tears.
"Men like those might come back and try to hurt him again, and if he was here, then you or Andrew or Martha might be hurt instead. Yancy doesn't want that, so to protect us, as well as himself, he has to leave Wind River."
"Marshal Tyler ought to just arrest those men," Andrew said stubbornly.
"I'm sure he would if there was any legal way he could."
"Yancy ought to just shoot those varmints who are after him."
Polly didn't know what to say. She hadn't ever thought that she would one day hear her son advocating such a bloodthirsty solution to a problem. They had always been a law-abiding family.
Unfortunately, out here on the frontier the reach of the law was severely limited. Marshal Tyler might try to keep order in town, but that was about all he could do. Most problems, folks had to solve for themselves.
"Nobody's going to do any more shooting," she told Andrew, and she hoped she sounded convincing. "Now, it's almost bedtime for you children."
That announcement brought the usual protests, something not even their sorrow over Ro
wlett's departure could change. Polly told them to get into their nightclothes, then looked up suddenly as the sound of hoofbeats came to her ears. The noise drifted in from outside, and without even thinking about what she was doing, she found herself on her feet, straining anxiously to hear. Maybe Rowlett had changed his mind and come back . . .
The same thought had occurred to Andrew. "Maybe that's Yancy," he said excitedly.
"I'll look," Polly told him. "You and your sisters go on and get ready for bed."
She went to the door and reached for the latch, not realizing until the door was swinging open that there was more than one rider outside. It would take several horses to make that much noise, and as the door opened she saw at least half a dozen men on horseback reining to a halt in front of the cabin.
Polly let out a gasp and stepped back quickly, pushing the door shut. Before it could fasten, something hit it and knocked it out of her grasp. The door smacked against her, and she staggered back a step as Martha and Francie screamed and Andrew let out an angry yell.
The tall man she had seen confronting Rowlett in town—Turner, that was his name, Polly remembered—stood there, his weathered face set in grim lines. He looked at her and said harshly, "You'd be Mrs. Dillon?"
"Get out of here," Polly told him, her voice shaking from a mixture of fear and outrage. "You've no right—"
"I'm sorry about this, ma'am, but I've got every right. A father's always got a right to avenge his son."
Andrew said, "My ma told you to leave, mister. Now get out of here, or I'll—" He broke off his threat and lunged for the rifle leaning in the corner.
"No, Andrew!" Polly cried.
One long, quick stride carried Turner over to Andrew, and the man's gloved hand lashed out. The back of it cracked across Andrew's face and sent him spinning off his feet. Polly ran to his side, dropped to her knees to clutch him, and looked up at Turner. "How dare you!" she screamed. "Get away from him!"
"I'm not out to hurt anybody except Yancy Rowlett, Mrs. Dillon," Turner said coldly. "But I'm not going to let this sprout take a rifle to me, either."
Wolf Shadow (Wind River Book 3) Page 19