The Marshal of Whitburg

by E. R. Slade

  Lon had hoped praise would at least get Vern to preen a little, make him more human. But he just shrugged again as though the question were of no particular concern to him.

  “You know,” Lon went on, “from now on I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t follow me around unless I ask you.”

  “That’s not for me to decide,” Vern said.

  “Let’s take it the other way around. Suppose at some point I do ask you to help me. Will you?”

  “As long as Marshal Everson says to.”

  “But not until he does say so?”

  “If it’s according to my standing orders I will.”

  “Which are?”

  “It’s like I told you. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you and help out if you get into trouble.”

  The man had his story and he was sticking to it. Lon decided to try something else.

  “How well did you know Bud Ames and his brother?” he asked.

  “I knew they were troublemakers. You saw that.”

  “I sure did. Did Jack Ames have doings with Everson?”

  “Doings?”

  “Jack seemed to think Everson owed him something. What was that about?”

  “He owed him nothing at all that I know of.”

  “Odd. Why would he come in waving a gun and get himself shot if he didn’t think he had some sort of difference with the marshal?”

  “He was drunk. He did all kinds of crazy things when he was drunk, like lots of other people.”

  “Don’t mind all these questions, Vern. I guess it’s being a deputy makes my mind run on questions that don’t seem to have good answers. Obviously, the man thought he had some sort of reason or he wouldn’t have done what he did. But, like you say, the reason likely came out of a bottle. We might as well ride back to town, I guess.”

  For the first time, Vern started to look nervous. He was clearly unhappy at the prospect of riding into town with the man he was supposed to have been secretly watching. He was no doubt worried about having to make explanations to Everson, but he didn’t actually object. Lon thought he’d like to be on hand when Vern faced Everson about the thing and so made a point of riding straight to the office with him.

  “I’ll just step in with you,” he said, “so as to thank him for looking out for me so well.”

  Vern shifted back and forth from one foot to the other, his eyes bigger than usual. Lon could finally see why Vern hadn’t been made deputy. The man was loyal and solid so long as he knew exactly what to do. But otherwise he was none too sharp.

  Lon ushered Vern in ahead of him and Everson’s brow wrinkled at the sight of them.

  “This is supposed to be your day off,” Everson said.

  “So it is. But I just stopped in to thank you for looking after me so careful. Vern here says you’ve assigned him to make sure I don’t get into any trouble.”

  Everson’s eyes narrowed momentarily at Vern, then he said, “Billy died. I’m not making that mistake again.”

  “I appreciate it,” Lon said. “But how about not sending along help unless I ask for it?”

  “If you stay in town.”

  “What’s the big hazard outside of town?”

  “Lon, you ought to know the answer to that. Those bandits are out there. They see you, there’s no telling what they might do. And at least one of them’s a gun handler who can hit a man straight between the eyes. As you saw yourself. We can’t take chances.”

  Lon shifted his hat. “Don’t be too hard on Vern for getting caught. I played a little trick on him so I could find out what was going on. He’s a good man.”

  Vern looked grateful for the good word put in on his behalf. Lon could see nothing much was going to go on between them while he was on hand himself, so he went out.

  Though Vern was obviously dead loyal to Everson it still wouldn’t hurt to be on his good side. You never knew when it might come handy.

  Full of his further plans for the day, Lon actually rode in front of Tuft’s house without thinking about Zinnia for once.

  And then, there she was, bustling out the front door, tripping down the steps and along to the sidewalk, waving and calling to him. He drew up.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Marshal Pike—oh, excuse me,” she interrupted herself ruefully, “it’s Deputy Pike, isn’t it? I’m afraid I have trouble keeping track of things like that. You always look so dignified and all I just think of you as our new marshal.”

  She was looking a little uncharacteristically flustered and prettily redder than normal.

  “You can call me Lon, you know,” he said, feeling some heat in his own face. “What can I do for you, Miss Tuft?”

  “If I am to call you Lon you must call me Zinnia.”

  “Sure,” he said, trying to keep his head on straight.

  “I suppose you have important things to do,” she said animatedly. “But I saw you coming along and ... You see, I was going to go for a drive, but Parks—that’s the man Pa hires to look after our horses and haul firewood and so on—you see, he’s off for the day and I’m having trouble figuring out how I should hitch up my mare. Have you time to help me?”

  “I have the day off myself,” he said. “Where is your rig?”

  “Oh, thank you, M— Lon. This is very kind of you. The stable is around back.”

  He left Blacky at the hitching post in front and accompanied Zinnia around to the rear of the house. There was a very clean and well kept stable with an accompanying paddock in which were five very handsome horses. Several rigs of different kinds were backed into a shed to one side.

  “I was going to use the buggy,” she said. “But I can never seem to get straight which straps go where.”

  “This the harness you plan to use?” he asked.

  In a few minutes he had the horse she indicated out of the paddock and hitched to the buggy.

  “Do you drive alone often?” he asked.

  “Hardly ever,” she admitted, and she stood looking up at him as though she were inviting him to say something.

  All through this he had worked hard to keep himself from thinking this was anything more than she said it was, but something in her expression—or maybe it was something in him—made him decide to take a risk.

  “Zinnia,” he said, “are you going anywhere in particular?”

  “Not really,” she said sweetly, still giving him that look, only more intensely.

  “In that case,” he plunged ahead blindly, “would you like some company? I could ride my horse along, or ...”

  “That would be lovely,” she interrupted. “Actually, I’m not a very good driver,” she said. “It would be nice to have someone do that. Then I can just enjoy the beautiful day.”

  After further discussion, the trip turned into a picnic, with Zinnia going to get them something to eat from the house while he took Blacky back to the livery. All this while he had the odd sensation that he didn’t weigh anything and was floating from one place to the other. Vaguely, he thought this might be dangerous, and he also had a distant recollection that he’d been intending to do something important with his day off but right now he couldn’t think what it was. If he couldn’t remember whatever it was, how important could it be, anyway?

  He handed her into the buggy after setting the basket containing their lunch under the seat, climbed in himself and took the reins. He drove the short lane to the street, then drew up.

  “Where would you like to go?” he asked.

  “How about the rise beyond the church? The view is wonderful from there.”

  So they went. They picked a place on a grassy knoll and let the horse graze while they spread a blanket Zinnia had brought. By now Lon had reclaimed enough of his wits to remember what he’d planned to do—but time enough for it later.

  He’d also remembered Vern and was keeping an eye in the direction of town. But since he had a pretty good idea of the real reason Vern had been sent to watch him, and he could easily be seen from town sitting here with Zinnia, he dou
bted Vern would ride up after him.

  “How do you like your new job?” Zinnia asked.

  “It’s all right,” he said noncommittally. “It’s mostly breaking up fights when things heat up in the saloons in the evenings.”

  “What are you doing about those holdup men?”

  “So far, Everson only wants me to patrol. Maybe he wants to make sure I get some experience before we tackle them.”

  “Oh.”

  So this was why she’d wanted to talk to him. And him jumping to conclusions. He decided to change the subject.

  “So what is your beau’s name?” he asked.

  “You mean Egbert? He’s just a friend.”

  “Oh,” he said, “yes.”

  “Of course,” she added carelessly, “I’m pretty sure he imagines it’s more. But he’s such a snob, don’t you think?”

  “I hardly know him,” he said carefully.

  “I shouldn’t be too hard on poor Eggy,” she said. “But sometimes he does make me quite impatient with him.”

  “His father is the lawyer on the council? Wescott?”

  “That’s right. Lon, can we talk about something else besides him?”

  “Sure.”

  “Lon, will you tell me something honestly? What do you really think of Marshal Everson?”

  First Betty Logan, now Zinnia. And he hadn’t expected it any more this time than last. He had to stop and think what to say. What he didn’t want to do was somehow inadvertently involve her in the mess he believed he saw coming. He didn’t know whether she’d keep her mouth shut; if she was as likely to confide in her friends as he thought she might be, and knew his suspicions, it could get her into trouble.

  “In what way?” he asked, finally, to gain more time to think.

  “Do you think he’s competent?”

  “With some things,” he said cautiously.

  “Lon,” she said earnestly, “I really wish you had taken the marshal’s job. I understand how you might feel if you hadn’t ever been one before, but I’ve got a bad feeling about Marshal Everson. I can’t explain it. I just do.”

  She had their lunch out but so far neither of them had touched it.

  Lon looked out over the town and the valley beyond. This place sure did have a prime view. What might it be like to build a house up here? And come home here to Zinnia? Futile thought.

  “Zinnia, I might as well tell you something. I never wanted to be a lawman and I still don’t. But somehow I got myself talked into it and now there are things I want to find out about. I can’t tell you any more than that, and don’t go telling everybody I said even that much.”

  She studied him with the most lovely hazel eyes. He was still stunned by how perfect her beauty was. The difference between her and Betty Logan was the difference between a gloriously beautiful day, and the reflection of it in a mud puddle.

  Now, abruptly, horror dawned in her face and she turned momentarily away as though to gather her thoughts.

  “It was because of me that you took a job you didn’t want, wasn’t it?” she said. “And now it’s gotten dangerous somehow.”

  She certainly had perceptive instincts, that was for sure. He was still trying to figure out what to say when she went on: “You’re an even finer man than I imagined,” she said. “But if you get hurt I shall never forgive myself. I did a thoughtless thing and now I wish I hadn’t.”

  “No, no,” he protested, an overwhelming new feeling for her welling in him. “It’s nothing that’s any fault of yours. I got myself into this and I’ll see it through.”

  Now she was looking off across the beautiful valley. “It was so easy to see you as our savior. To say it outright like that makes it sound foolish and melodramatic. But, Lon,” she said earnestly, looking into his eyes, “there’s something about you that inspires confidence, trust. It isn’t just me. Pa felt it, too, or he wouldn’t have wanted you to have the marshal’s job. It’s only fair to tell you he’s disappointed and hurt that you decided not to take it. He doesn’t even want to talk about you now.”

  “I’m sorry he feels that way,” Lon said, struggling to grasp what she was saying. The hardest thing to swallow was that anybody would have ever had any great amount of confidence inspired by Lon Pike. Betty Logan’s trust he could lay to some ulterior motive, but when Zinnia talked of it, his head spun.

  Tuft, at least, seemed to have recovered from that strange estimate of his abilities—now that he could use Tuft’s confidence and help with what was likely to come next.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They had their lunch and enjoyed the view for an hour or so afterwards and found they were in no great hurry to go back to town. They talked of all sorts of things, she telling him comical stories about eccentric family members, he admitting that his plan had been to get together some sort of stake and go gold hunting. To his surprise, she thought that romantic and wanted to hear all about it. She said she wished sometimes she were a man so she could ride off and do exciting things like that.

  “I’m glad you aren’t a man,” he said.

  She reddened very prettily and said, “Well, you know what I mean,” and they fell apart with laughter.

  In the middle of the afternoon Zinnia began to fret that her father would worry where she was and Lon was starting to feel uneasy around the edges thinking of the thing he’d planned to do today, so they returned to town and he unhitched the horse and turned her out, put the buggy away.

  “Thank you for a lovely afternoon,” she said.

  “Tell me,” he said, grinning at her, “did you really need help harnessing your horse?”

  “Why, Mr. Marshal Deputy Lon Pike, don’t you know a woman has to keep some things to herself?’

  She turned and tripped lightly away, her merry laughter still audible after she’d gone into the house and shut the door.

  He stood a moment looking after her, trying to get his bearings. If there’d been an earthquake, a tornado, and an avalanche all at once he didn’t think he’d feel any more shaken up and poured out inside.

  He went and got his horse and rode again out of town, this time in the opposite direction. It was dawning on him now that he had real reason to settle the Everson question. This was Zinnia’s town. It was her welfare at stake here, directly or indirectly. For the first time he felt committed regardless of the obstacles. And it was a funny thing: along with that commitment came a sort of fearlessness.

  It wasn’t really a complete lack of fear, he realized on thinking about it. But that the fear somehow got converted into determination.

  Though there wasn’t time to do much of what he’d originally intended for today, he was of a mind to do at least a little piece of it. He rode up the cliff trail, surprised at how much less it intimidated him, despite the danger. At the place where Billy had been killed, he dismounted and went over the area very carefully. If there was some clue here he was determined not to miss it.

  He expected Vern would either appear any minute, or spy on him from the woods. But he didn’t care about it now since he was pretty sure Vern wouldn’t be entrusted with killing anybody. Vern had too high an opinion of Everson for Everson to risk it that way.

  There wasn’t much to find, more or less as Lon had expected, but he did turn up one or two old hoofprints that might have been left by the road agents, and a few empty shells. The important job, finding the road agents’ hide-out, and if it seemed feasible, asking them questions, would have to wait for another day.

  It was difficult terrain on which to trace anybody since it was so dry and stony; but difficult wasn’t impossible and he thought he recollected places in the trail where tracks should show up. What he couldn’t recall were side trails. Yet it seemed to him likely that the bandits’ hide-out wasn’t too far away. A day’s search ought to turn it up.

  He headed back to town. He still hadn’t seen Vern, but at the bottom of the cliff trail he did find a fresh track from Vern’s horse, headed up. When he reached the edge of the wood
s and came in sight of the town, he stopped in the shadows, just off the trail. The sun was down now and darkness was gathering quickly.

  Sure enough, here came Vern. Lon let him get some distance ahead and then followed him into town, reflecting that if Everson had actually wanted to track the road agents, he already had the man who could probably do it. Seemed obvious Everson didn’t care to find them. All signs appeared to point in only one direction.

  Vern went into Everson’s office, then almost immediately came back out and looked up and down the street. Lon stayed in the darkness outside the reach of the lamplight spilling from windows and saloon doorways. Vern went to Everson’s house and knocked, then disappeared down the side of it.

  Shortly he charged into the street at a run. Lon wondered who was chasing him, but soon saw nobody was. Vern ran along the street looking into saloons, one after the other, quickly. Lon decided to see what this was about and rode quietly around outside town to the rear of Everson’s house.

  The back door was smashed in.

  Ames being dead, was this one or more of his friends?

  Lon left his horse hitched off in the darkness and slipped to the open door, listening. He heard nothing. Whoever it had been seemed likely to have come and gone. This might be a chance to learn something.

  He went inside, carefully, stopped and struck a match. This was the kitchen and it was a shambles, everything pulled out of the closets and thrown on the floor.

  He picked his way forward, the match having gone out, went through an open doorway into a front room. He struck another match, saw the parlor stove on its side, pictures taken down from the wall, chairs and table moved, drawers out and contents strewn around.

  Everson was likely to appear any minute. Would it be better to be found here or not? Probably not, he thought. He decided to forgo a look upstairs. These seemed to be the only rooms downstairs—it was not a large house.

  He was just leaving when something felt or sounded slightly different under his feet.

  He risked another match, saw he was standing on the only rug in the two rooms, a ratty looking thing. But it seemed to him there was more than that to what he’d felt. He thumped lightly with his heel and it sounded hollow.