The Marshal of Whitburg

by E. R. Slade

  “No, but that’s what the evidence says. I have some expert testimony to it, as well as my own judgment. The man he killed was Bud Ames, the brother of the man Everson shot from under me.”

  “Bud Ames,” Tuft said in disgust. “He was no loss. Why would you worry about him?”

  “Whatever you think about Bud Ames—and I didn’t care for him, either, since it was he and his friends who tried to beat me up—whatever you think about him, the point is, why would Everson shoot him when he could as easily have jailed him?”

  “Wanted to save the taxpayers the bill, maybe?” Tuft was having trouble worrying about this.

  “Wanted to keep him quiet is more like it. We had just found him trying to break into Everson’s house. I was there for that. They had a long talk in Everson’s office—and Everson wanted me elsewhere. Then he marched him around the corner, hands up, and there were shots. Claimed Ames tried to escape, didn’t want me to look at the body. But it was plain Ames hadn’t been escaping, unless it was into the jail. He was facedown, hands still over his head, aimed right at the jail a few steps away from the doorsill. One of the bullets was fired with him lying there in that spot on the ground since it went all the way through him and into the dirt.”

  “I don’t see what your point is about all this.”

  “Bud Ames and his pards tried to retaliate against me because they thought I was the one who killed Jack Ames. Turns out, Vern told them that.”

  “Vern?” Tuft was starting to look bewildered.

  “Vern, if you will recall, wasn’t even in the room but, though he denies it, he told Bud Ames he saw me kill his brother. I believe Everson told him to tell Ames that knowing Ames would want revenge. He was hoping that would be the end of me.”

  “You’re trying to tell me you think Everson wants you dead?” Tuft was astonished. “Pike, you’re not making a lot of sense.”

  “I wondered why. Then I wondered why Ames would break into Everson’s house. And I wondered what Jack was so angry at Everson for that he wanted to call him out.”

  At that moment Lon heard the front door open, then Egbert Wescott’s irritating voice, and Zinnia greeting him in a more friendly fashion than he cared to hear.

  “It’s wonderful to see you, darling,” he said, and she said, “Hello, Eggy, how are you?”

  “You were saying?” Tuft prompted.

  “I think Jack knew what Everson was up to and maybe was involved in it. At least he’d been promised something and Everson hadn’t come through. Then when he was killed, brother Bud did some thinking—once he realized it wasn’t me but Everson who’d shot his brother—and ...”

  “I have something to tell you and your father,” Wescott was saying. “Is he here?”

  “Yes, but—” Zinnia said, and then there were footfalls approaching down the hall.

  Lon could see what was coming but couldn’t think how to counter it.

  In the doorway appeared Wescott, a triumphant smirk on. When he saw Lon, his eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then he looked even more pleased with himself.

  Tuft stood when Wescott came in, holding out his hand. Lon got heavily to his feet also, resigned to the scene about to follow, trying to figure the best way to handle this.

  Wescott puffed up and delivered himself. “Mr. Tuft, sir,” he began, “are you aware that you’ve been talking to a thief?”

  That made Tuft’s eyes pop.

  “Yes,” Wescott went on, “that’s what I said. I was present when Marshal Everson confronted him.”

  Zinnia, in the doorway, put her hand to her throat, her mouth dropping open. It appeared whatever else she might think of Wescott he was in her eyes a man never to be doubted.

  “I was just going to tell you about this little trick of Everson’s,” Lon said, “when we were interrupted.”

  Tuft turned on him. “I think perhaps you’d better explain,” he said.

  But Wescott continued: “He stole the marshal’s grandfather’s heirloom, prize, silver-handled, monogrammed dueling pistols. They were found under his bed.”

  Zinnia’s chin was quivering as she looked with growing horror at Lon, as though she’d suddenly realized she knew nothing at all about him, had been taken in. Lon didn’t care much about the rest, but that look of hers cut him where it hurt the most.

  “A box containing a pair of what looked like dueling pistols were indeed pulled from under the bed in the room I’m staying in at the hotel,” he said, “but I certainly never put them there. The window opens easily. Anybody with a ladder could get in. I believe Everson did, or possibly Vern. Maybe you’d like to explain why you were in my room at the hotel at that point, Wescott?”

  “What he means is I was there to protect Miss Tuft’s honor,” Wescott said firmly.

  “Zinnia’s honor?” That was Tuft, glancing first at Zinnia uncertainly, then fixing Lon with a look of ferocity Lon wouldn’t have guessed Tuft capable of.

  “Zinnia’s honor has absolutely nothing to fear from me,” Lon said, giving Tuft a direct, unwavering gaze, straight in the eye. He held it until Tuft looked away at Zinnia again.

  “Mr. Pike has been a perfect gentleman,” Zinnia said, but her tone was faint and wavery.

  “I would never trust this man around my daughter,” Wescott said.

  “Everson,” Lon said, “framed me so he could kick me out of the deputy’s job and tell me to leave town before sunup.”

  “And very generous of Marshal Everson that was, too,” Wescott said. “If it had been me you wouldn’t be standing here, you’d be in jail awaiting trial.”

  “And why do you suppose Everson was so generous, as you put it? I think it’s because he intends to follow me out into the dark of night and shoot me.”

  Zinnia gasped.

  “Sorry, Zinnia,” Lon said. “That was why I didn’t want to tell you more.”

  Tuft was swelling with rage.

  “Pike,” he said. “Get out of my house. I’m tired of your lies. You stay entirely away from my daughter, you understand? I catch you near her, I’ll shoot you myself before Everson gets a chance.”

  Zinnia screamed and ran away down the hall, hands over her ears.

  Lon lost his temper.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Tuft,” Lon said, his voice, low, hard and even, “the next time you see me I’ll have proof in hand of Everson’s guilt and you are going to do some apologizing.” He turned on Wescott. “As for you, I’d suggest you stay out of the way or you’re liable to get killed. Everson plays for keeps.” He paused, tried to resist saying what he wanted to say next, failed, and said, “And so do I.”

  He turned on his heel and went out, jamming his hat on as he yanked open the front door. As he stepped out he was in a mood not to care if Everson wanted to confront him. Though of course that wouldn’t be the way it happened. Everson was a back shooter.

  As far as he knew, he only had one ally left in this town, assuming he didn’t try to involve the doctor until he had more solid evidence to work with. That was Scott Warner. It seemed wise to compare notes with him before he decided exactly how to proceed with the thing he needed to do now, so he went around the back way to the hotel and inside through the woodshed.

  Warner was doing some paperwork in his little inner office. Lon looked out into the lobby, such as it was, saw nobody.

  “Were you too late? Warner asked.

  “Late?” Lon was so full of his own thoughts that he couldn’t immediately retrieve what this might be about.

  “You said you thought you’d better check something.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. Everson claimed Glen Bednor broke into his house on my behalf, stole the pistols and brought them to me. Said he had caught him and had him in jail. I was worried that he might be killed before I could warn him. The jail was empty, the door open. Now I’m inclined to doubt Bednor had anything to do with it. I’d still like to ask him some things. Whether he’s dead or in danger, I don’t know. You didn’t see h
im come here with dueling pistols, I assume.”

  “No. You going to try to find him tonight?”

  “I’m not sure. Vern’s been shadowing me around lately and he’s pretty good at staying out of sight. Don’t want to make Everson think he’s got to kill Bednor if he hasn’t yet. Maybe you could try to quietly get word to him to watch out for himself?”

  “I think so. There’s a boy I have do things around here who’s pretty sharp. I’ll have him slip out and find Bednor and give him the warning.”

  “That would help. I’ve got to try to find those bandits’ lair. Tuft is sending valuables on tomorrow’s stage. Comes in at noon, I understand.”

  “It does.”

  “Tuft plans to send his own guards along. But I need to know where the road agents’ hide-out is because I think Everson must parley with them there. Anyway, somewhere not too far off. I’ve got to catch them all in the act. I intend to nail Everson.” The last statement came out with considerable feeling and Warner gave him a close look.

  “You sound like you did at that meeting. You’ll do it, too, I believe.”

  “Yes, I will. I’ve had enough of Everson, and of a lot of things around here. But Scott, there’s a bit more to the story which I want you to have from me rather than hear some other way. I had a picnic lunch with Tuft’s daughter Zinnia and Egbert Wescott thinks he owns her, it seems. That’s what he was here about, to tell me to stay away from her. When Everson came in and accused me of theft, it gave Wescott some ammunition which he has used to turn Tuft against me. I’ve just come from there. He doesn’t believe Everson’s a crook, says he’s too incompetent and unambitious for that, and when he heard Wescott’s tale he told me to get out and stay away from Zinnia. The point is, I can’t count on any help from him. Right now, you are the only man in town that believes me. If you do.”

  The cigarette was yanked out as Warner fixed him with a fierce look of determination. “I do believe you. I always thought Everson was just scared of them, but that explanation never quite made sense to me. Now I know about Bud Ames and these other things, your way of figuring it adds up better. You want me to side you in this, you just say the word.”

  “I appreciate that. Could be a dangerous business, though, and there’s no use becoming a target until and unless there’s no alternative. I’m thinking of going up the trail to where Billy was killed so as to be ready to take a look for the hide-out as soon as it gets light enough to see in the morning,”

  “You plan to get back in time to be ready at the place the stage gets held up?”

  “Maybe. On the other hand, if I find the hide-out, and I’m sure it’s theirs, it might be better to wait there. What do you think?”

  “What do you plan to do if you find the road agents there?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. It’s certainly tempting to try to make sure they don’t get a chance to pull the holdup. But that could cost me Everson.”

  “If Everson goes up to see what happened to them, you could catch him then. But unless you ambush and shoot them all, you’ll have quite a time of it, and could get yourself killed real easy. Even if you manage to get the better of them you won’t have any evidence unless you can find loot. It does seem best to catch them all in the act if you can, with the loot from the stage in their hands.”

  “That’s the conclusion I came to, too. So that leaves following them after the holdup, or following Everson. Everson goes to see them after dark, and trying to follow without being noticed seems a risky method—if I can hear him, he’ll be able to hear me, also. Following the holdup men looks tricky, as well. But if I can find their hide-out, without them knowing I have, I can wait for them all to show up.”

  “So you let the holdup happen,” Warner mused, and the end of his unlit cigarette went up and down several times as he worked his lips thoughtfully. “What happens if they don’t meet at the hide-out, assuming you find it? You won’t get Everson then.”

  “Only if they don’t go back to the hide-out first to wait for night. I think they will.”

  “Sounds reasonable. But if you’re going to wait there, maybe I ought to be waiting where they pull their holdups.”

  “You’d make a good witness. Don’t try confronting them, though. Remember, at least one of them knows how to shoot. Billy got a piece of lead straight between the eyes.”

  “If I’m there and they try a holdup, I’m not going to do nothing.”

  “And foul up my plan?”

  “No. If I punch a few holes in them they’ll be easier to handle when the time comes. In fact, if we’re both there we can do a better job of it. Then we let them think they’re safe in their hide-out and we wait there, hidden, for Everson to show up. But this assumes there’s time to find the hide-out first. Which means we’d probably better find it tonight in the dark. Seems a long shot.”

  “I had thought in terms of being up there ready to start hunting at first light. Are you saying you can get away tonight to go up there?”

  “I can easy roust out somebody. It ain’t like doing this is work, you know. I’ll tell him I’m not feeling up to par and don’t disturb me. I’ve got a horse in my own stable and can slip off pretty quiet, I think. I’ll meet you in the woods at the bottom of the trail outside town. That okay? We’ll get out of town quiet if we go separately and in different directions. I’ll come back down sometime in the morning to cover the holdup spot. How’s that sound?”

  “You sure you’re up to all that?”

  “I’ll have to be. This is important and you need a hand.”

  “I really appreciate this. But you’re going to promise me something. Don’t get yourself killed. I need a witness, remember, since my word isn’t worth much in this town right now.”

  “Anybody does any dying, I don’t plan for it to be me.”

  “I’ll have your word on that.”

  “I don’t think I’ve got a Bible around here to lay my hand on. Will this account book do?”

  After they’d both had a much-needed chuckle, Lon said, “There’s one other thing I haven’t told you yet. I was in Everson’s house after the break-in—or rather, after Everson made it look like one. There’s a rug in the middle of the living room floor, and under it is a trapdoor to a little cellar. In the cellar is a sizable safe. I’m guessing Everson’s share of the goods is in that safe. The problem is to be certain first. Then opening the safe should clinch the deal. If I were to blast it open and be wrong about what’s in it, I’d be the criminal.”

  Warner gave a low whistle and regarded Lon thoughtfully.

  “Let’s go find that hide-out,” he said, and pitched his cigarette into the spittoon.

  Warner was a well-armed man, as it happened, and Lon picked out a Winchester exactly the same as the one he used to have before he’d had to sell it to raise a stake a few weeks ago. With it in a saddle scabbard, he slid around in the dark to the rear of the livery and left it out of sight while he got his horse.

  Nobody was in the livery, but where was Vern? Watching the hotel, he hoped. But he’d check the livery after a while, wouldn’t he? Everson’s horse was not there. Did that mean he was somewhere near, all mounted up, ready to pursue at a moment’s notice?

  Lon led Blacky out the rear of the livery and paused, listening. There was nothing to hear. No hammers going back, no unexplained noises.

  He started for the paddock gate, but from behind him he heard, softly, “Lon, wait.” It was Betty Logan.

  He couldn’t make out much about her in the dark, just a shadow in the shadows. “What are you doing here?” he asked in just above a whisper.

  “Come with me to my room,” she said earnestly. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  He hesitated momentarily, thinking of Scott Warner. Warner should be leaving town headed south by now. It would take him a little time to circle around. He’d wait, in any case. If Betty was ready to tell him something, it didn’t make sense to ride off without hearing what it was. He put Blacky back
in the livery and took the saddle off, returned the rifle to the hiding place he’d found behind the water trough, and went with Betty along to the boardinghouse. She moved nearly silently and he made an effort to do the same. Whether Vern had seen them or was watching where they went he had no way of knowing. But his guess was that if Everson hadn’t tried to kill him yet it was because he wanted to wait for Lon to get away from the town to avoid witnesses.

  When they came in where the candle was burning, he saw that Betty was dressed far differently from before. Her dress was clean and fitted her to advantage, making the most of what she had to offer. Her hair was rather elaborately put up with ribbons and bows. She looked as though she was ready to go to a party. She had also rubbed something red on her cheeks, had darkened her eyebrows and the area around her eyes, and she smelled strongly of lavender water. It was almost enough to make you think she was a sporting girl.

  She sat immediately on the bed and, looking at him with what seemed real concern, invited him to do the same. As before, he did, giving himself some distance from her.

  “Oh, Lon,” she said, “I’ve heard something terrible! Marshal Everson is planning to kill you. Tonight, I think. Please don’t go out into the dark!”

  “Who told you that?” he asked, making it as mildly curious as he could, though he felt anything but mildly curious as to how she knew this.

  “Another girl who works here in the kitchen told me. She is one of these people who seems to know everything that’s going on. She’s usually right.”

  “And did she say why Everson wants to kill me?”

  “I guess he thinks you’re too close to finding out something about him he doesn’t want found out.”

  “Really. And what would that be?”

  “How would I know?” She seemed impatient with the question.

  “I was hoping your friend would have told you whatever it is I’m doing that is getting too close. Because I don’t know. So what else did you want to tell me?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Well, of course it is. And I really appreciate your warning me. Actually, I’ve already figured out Everson would like to get rid of me. I’ve been watching my back fairly carefully.”