by Noel Loomis
On the street once more, they paused at the edge of the sidewalk to roll and light cigarettes. Quist said, “Well, Lish, you’ve had your orders from the coroner’s jury. Just when do you aim to start apprehending that criminal?”
“The minute you or Fred tell me where to start,” Corliss stated dolefully. “You two have had more experience with this sort of thing than I have. I just don’t seem to have an idea of my own—” He broke off, a frown creasing his forehead, and pointed along the street. “Here comes Dave Eldred, galloping like a stampeded steer. Now I wonder what in hell has gone wrong.” He started toward the approaching marshal, Quist and Arbuckle following closely on his heels.
Old Eldred came puffing to a stop. “Bin—lookin’—for ye—Lish—” he panted, then paused to catch his breath. The oldster’s lungs were working like a worn-out bellows.
“What’s up, Dave?” the sheriff asked sharply.
“’Nother—’nother body—has been found,” Eldred jerked out. “Gilly Deray—jist brung—it in—on a wagon. Doc’s down to Cromlech’s Undertakin’—Parlors. Said to fetch—you—t’oncet.”
Quist asked quickly, “Who’s the dead man?”
Eldred shook his head. His breath was coming easier now. “Ain’t got the least—idee. Stranger ’round here. I ain’t never seen him before. Somebody plugged him in the back and—and Doc is swearin’ to beat all git-out. Says he wishes somebody—would bring in a fresh body for once—”
“Goddamit,” Corliss swore fluently. “This means another inquest I reckon. Don’t wonder Doc’s riled.”
The men were walking swiftly toward Cromlech’s place now. Arbuckle asked, “Dave, where did Deray find this body?”
“On L-Bar-D holdin’s—so Deray claims. Couple of miles north of the ranch house, just a short way off the trail that runs north to Kingboro and joins the L-Bar-D road into Clarion City.”
Quist scowled. “I’m blasted if I like the way the L-Bar-D keeps coming into things around here. Porter was known to be friendly to the L-Bar-D. Went there to play poker. Ferris—an L-Bar-D man—claims to have talked to Porter yesterday. Lish, you said there was bad feeling between the L-Bar-D and the Rocking-T. And now Deray, an L-Bar-D man discovers a dead body on L-Bar-D property—and Deray’s word I wouldn’t trust any farther than I could throw a brick house. I’ve got a hunch there’s some sort of explosion due right soon, and it wouldn’t surprise me a-tall if it centered right on L-Bar-D holdings!”
CHAPTER 12
POWDERSMOKE
A crowd had gathered about the undertaker’s by the time they arrived. The three men pushed on through, entered the building and made their way to Cromlech’s back room. Cromlech had thrown wide his rear doors to admit air. Quist’s eyes ran quickly over the caskets on wooden horses at one side, and beyond near the open doorway the glassed-in hearse with the plumes at each corner. Near the center of the room, Doc Ingram, Cromlech, Deray and Luke Ferris stood talking near a table on which the dead man lay with a canvas sheet covering the body. Another crowd just beyond the rear doorway stood peering inside and talking excitedly.
Ingram looked up and nodded as the men entered, and growled to Corliss, “Lish, you’d best start rounding up another jury for an inquest. This is your chance. You said you were going to get only personal friends this time.”
Deray nodded to Quist and Arbuckle. Ferris didn’t say anything. Quist asked, “How long’s he been dead, Doc?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Ingram snapped.
“Won’t the rigor mortis—?”
“Hell’s fire!” Ingram said testily. “Rigor mortis has come and gone sometime since.”
“Condition of the body bad?” Quist asked.
Ingram’s nose wrinkled and he jerked his head in the direction of the body. “Do you have to ask?” Then, “Well he’s in better condition than Porter was, anyway. On my preliminary examination I’d say he had been shot a couple of days after Porter.”
Arbuckle said, “Dave Eldred said the fellow had been plugged in the back.”
“That’s right,” Ingram nodded. “My guess is it was done with a forty-five, though I can’t say for sure until I probe out the slug. Where is Dave, anyway? I intended to send him to my house to get some instruments I’ll need.”
“I left Dave out front,” Corliss explained, “to disperse that crowd that gathered.”
“Looks like most of ’em came around to the rear,”—Ingram gestured toward the grouped faces looking curiously in at the wide doorway. “Get rid of that bunch, will you, Lish? They’re just blocking off a lot of air.”
“And you’ve no idea who the man is, eh?” Quist asked. Ingram shook his head. “Nobody’s come up with an answer yet. You take a look, Quist.”
Quist, followed by Corliss and Arbuckle, moved closer to the long table, and drew away the canvas sheet. Cromlech offered, “Tall feller, light hair, ’round thirty-five, I’d say. We just got the clothing off him. Now I got to get some ice—”
Quist cut in, drawing back the sheet. “I never saw him before.”
“Nor I,” from Arbuckle. “Naturally I’m not well acquainted hereabouts, so—”
“He’s a stranger to me,” Corliss frowned. He left the table and went to the doorway at the rear, telling the crowd to “scatter and be quick about it.” Reluctantly the assembled men began to move off.
Quist started to say something to Deray about the L-Bar-D, then paused. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said to Arbuckle and Corliss. Without waiting to explain he turned and hurried from the front of the building.
Deray scowled, “Now what in hell got into the railroad dick? He acted as if he was ready to start an argument with me.”
“Maybe he was, Deray,” Arbuckle said quietly. “Just remember, if he does, he’s likely got a good reason—and he’s a bad man to argue with. I’ll be interested to see what he has to say.”
Leaving Cromlech’s place, Quist cut diagonally across the street toward the Clarion House and entered the lobby. At the desk he asked the clerk for the number of Kate Porter’s room. “…or Gene Thornton’s room,” he added. “It doesn’t make any difference.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Quist, they’ve both checked out.”
“You mean they’ve gone to the Rocking-T?”
“I believe I heard them say something to that effect. I know I saw Mr. Thornton when he brought the horses from the livery stable. Mrs. Porter waited in the lobby until he’d tied them at the hitchrack out in front. I heard Mr. Thornton tell her that there was no need to stay in town any longer, now that the coroner’s jury had delivered its verdict.”
Quist nodded. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll see them out at the ranch when I get time. Thanks.”
Turning, he left the hotel and walked slowly back toward the undertaker’s. Two or three men nodded to him. Quist returned their greetings in absent-minded fashion. In front of Cromlech’s place he saw Deray and Ferris just about to climb to the seat of a wagon waiting at the derail. “Just a minute, Deray,” Quist called, and quickened his step.
The two men moved back, leaning against the hitchrack. “What’s on your mind, railroad dick?” Deray asked insolently.
“Where you heading?”
“Back to the L-Bar-D, if it’s any of your business. Doc and Lish Corliss both said it would be all right. Ferris wants to get back to the ranch and get to work again. He’s nigh broke. It’ll save him hirin’ a bronc at the livery.”
“And he’s sure of getting a job with Lombardy, I suppose.”
“Sure. Why not? The boss always takes care of his boys.”
“That I can well imagine,” Quist said caustically. “Probably covers up for you whatever happens.”
“Now, you look here—” Ferris started.
Quist snapped, “Shut up, Ferris. I’m talking to Deray.” Ferris “shut up,” and looked appealingly toward Deray. Deray’s pale blue, marble-hard eyes stared steadily at Quist. His swarthy features tightened. “I don’t like what you said about cove
ring up,” he stated harshly. “What you meaning?”
“Put any meaning you like on it,” Quist said evenly. “I want to ask you a few questions.”
Deray said, “You’ve got no authority to question me, Quist.”
“I’ve got a hell of a lot more authority than you think. And if I need more, I’ll get it from Lish Corliss or Ranger Arbuckle. Whose word carries the most weight with them—yours or mine, Deray?”
Deray considered, then shrugged his shoulders. “All right, have it your way. What’s your questions?”
“That body you brought in—who killed that man?”
“I ain’t got any idea.”
“How’d you happen to find the body?”
Again, Deray shrugged. “Just luck—maybe bad luck—you might say.”
“I’m not saying it. I’m waiting for you to tell.” Quist’s steady gaze bored against Deray’s eyes. That was the word. Against. Hard eyes. No fathoming what lay behind them. It was even difficult to see the pupils, and at no moment was Quist absolutely certain the man was looking at him. It was, Quist admitted to himself, rather frustrating.
A harsh laugh twisted Deray’s lips. “Let’s put it this way, Quist. I was ridin’ north, this morning, from the ranch. Had a houn’-dawg with me. We were followin’ the trail that runs north. Looking ahead I see a flock of buzzards circling low. So I figgers there must be a cow down at that spot and I moved in to investigate. The buzzards took off when I got there, and I couldn’t see a damn’ thing. But the houn’-dawg kept a sniffin’ and whinin’ in some thick brush. Well, there was the body, covered with rock. Satisfied?”
Quist shook his head. “Who put the body there?”
“How the hell you expect me to know? There it was, that’s all. Somebody had dug a shallow grave, rolled the corpse in, and piled loose rock a-top of it. So then I come back to the ranch and got a wagon—”
“You expect me to believe that yarn?” Quist asked quietly.
Deray’s features worked angrily. His words took on an aggrieved tone. “Why in hell not?”
“I don’t think there’d be a whole flock of buzzards hovering over a grave that was piled with rock and was underneath thick brush. Generally buzzards go for anything dead out in the open—now, wait!”—sharply—“I don’t doubt the body was as you say you found it—but I don’t think the buzzards led you to the spot.”
“You calling me a liar?” Deray demanded.
“I haven’t yet, but it’s not a bad idea,” Quist said scornfully.
“By God, Quist! You act like you wanted trouble,” Deray flared and one hand moved down toward his holster.
Quist’s left hand flicked to his coat lapel, his right hand flashed to his shoulder holster. Here he paused, saying, even-voiced, “Yes, I do, Deray. Do you feel like taking part of it?”
Deray hesitated, eyes more opaque than ever. Quist cast a swift glance at Ferris who had shrunk back against the derail, face white. There were horses and wagons on either side of the three men and no one happened to be passing at the time, so the scene went unnoticed. Slowly, Deray’s right hand moved well out from his holster. Reluctantly he muttered, almost to himself, “Yeah—but not now. The time’s not ripe. So you use a hideout gun—”
Quist’s short contemptuous laugh cut in on the words. “Let me know when the time is right, Deray, now that we both know where we stand. Meanwhile, what’s the trouble between your outfit and the Rocking-T?”
Deray hesitated. “Who said there was any trouble? Porter used to come visiting, friendly-like—”
“I don’t consider Porter as a real part of the Rocking-T. Corliss has mentioned there’s bad blood between the two outfits.”
“All right, so there is, but it started before I went on the L-Bar-D payroll. You’d better ask Judd Lombardy about it. All’s I know, old man Thornton wants to hawg all the range in these parts—him and his daughter. Porter was willing to give Judd a break, but old Thornton and Kate they said no. They act so high and mighty like they was—”
“All right, I’ve heard enough,” Quist said shortly. “You can get going now.”
“You think I got to wait for your permission to leave?” Deray demanded hotly.
“I note you stayed until I got through questioning you,” Quist jeered, and turned away.
Goaded by his anger and the taunt in Quist’s tones, Deray threw discretion to the winds, reaching for his six-shooter with one hand while with the other he seized Ferris and swept the unsuspecting man in front of him as a barrier.
But the maneuver with Ferris occupied Deray to an extent that slowed his draw, and before he quite realized what had happened Quist had whirled completely around and sent a shot winging from his .44 Colt gun. Powder-smoke swirled in the air.
Ferris emitted a wild yelp of pain and slumped down, twisting loose from Deray’s grip, and partly jerking Deray off balance. The man cursed, but his gun wasn’t yet out of holster, when Quist spoke:
“Get it out and go to work if you think you’ve got a chance, Deray,” Quist said, tones icy-cold, .44 level on Deray’s body.
Deray’s mouth sagged open. Slowly he shook his head and held his hands level with his chest. “No,” he said, and again, “No—I’ve had enough, Quist,” the words coming hard.
“Suckered into it, weren’t you?” Quist said contemptuously. “Thought when I turned away, you had me just where—”
Excited yells along the street drowned the words. Men came running and gathered at the hitchrack. Ferris was prone on the earth, moaning. Arbuckle and Lish Corliss came plunging from the undertaker’s doorway, followed by Doc Ingram. Quickly they made their way around the hitchrack to reach Quist’s side.
“What in the devil’s happened, Greg?” Corliss exclaimed.
“I had a little discussion with Deray, and he objected to what I had to say. When I turned away to leave, he didn’t figure on me making a circle so’s I could face him again and draw at the same time. What I didn’t figure on the bustard doing was jerking Ferris in front of him to shield himself from my fire. At the same time he was so busy with Ferris he couldn’t get his own iron out. And it was too late to hold my fire—”
“A doctor,” Ferris groaned, “get me to a doctor.”
“I don’t think he’s bad hurt,” Quist said. “When I saw what was happening I shifted aim at the last instant. And then”—Quist laughed shortly—“Deray just lacked guts to get on with what he’d started.” Deray cleared his throat but he remained silent.
Quist added various details while Ingram bent over Ferris. In a minute, the doctor rose and said disgustedly, “I don’t figure Ferris is damaged much. Get him into Cromlech’s and I’ll see if I can’t glue him together again.”
Deray had been standing without saying a word, though he still kept his hands high. Corliss started toward him, “I reckon you’ll be better off in a cell, Deray—”
“Let him go,” Quist said. “I’m making no charges.”
“But, Greg,” Arbuckle protested, “you say he was going to plug you in the back. He’d best be in jail.”
Quist shook his head. “Let him go,” he said again. “I don’t want him cooped up. He’s talked bad medicine. I’ve won this hand. I want to see if he has the guts to try again.”
Corliss looked dubious. “We-ell, if you say so.” He turned to Deray. “Get going, mister. Climb up on that wagon and get back to the L-Bar-D as fast as that team will haul your dirty back-shooting carcass.”
“And the next time you show your face in town—” Arbuckle threatened, but the words weren’t finished. Ferris had started to groan again. Deray without another word climbed to the driver’s seat, backed the horses and headed them at a fast gait out of town. Quist plugged the empty shell from his gun cylinder, inserted a fresh cartridge from the handful in his pocket, and shoved the gun back in its holster. Arbuckle eyed him curiously.
“You sure must have got that underarm gun into action fast,” the ranger said.
“Not so fa
st, considering,” Quist replied. “I half expected Deray to act as he did the minute I turned my back—”
“For God’s sake,” Ingram interposed, “will you men get Ferris into Cromlech’s so I can stop that sheep-bleating of his? Lucky Eldred got back with my instruments. Looks like I’ll have another slug to remove now.”
The crowd was dispersed and Ferris led to the back room of Cromlech’s place. Ferris’ wound proved to be slight: Quist’s bullet had lodged just under the skin below the left ribs, and the man was more frightened than hurt. To escape the sound of his yelling while Ingram extracted the slug from Ferris’ side, Quist, Arbuckle and Corliss once more made their way to the street and stood smoking at the hitchrack.
Quist said, “Didn’t learn anything more about that man’s identity, did you?”
“A little,” Corliss said. “Fred and I went through his clothing. We figure he was somebody named Mead Leftwick—but I don’t think anybody around here knows him.”
“How’d you get the name?” Quist asked.
Arbuckle said, “The butt of his six-shooter, that was still in the holster, had initials stamped M.L. There were two old receipted bills in his coat pocket from hotels—one from the Menger Hotel in San Antonio and the other from the Driskill Hotel in Austin—made out to one Mead Leftwick. Also three letters were found in the pockets of the clothing, one each to Mead Leftwick addressed to the Menger Hotel, the Driskill Hotel and the Hotel Palace in Denver.”
Quist said dryly, “Sounds like the dead hombre’s name must be Mead Leftwick. Letters give you any information?”
Corliss shook his head. “Not much. One each addressed to Leftwick at the Hotels Menger and Driskill stated simply that ‘shipment has been received. Your check being forwarded today.’ Both letters were signed by Uhlmann Wholesale Company, Chicago, Illinois.”
“No particular name signed?” Quist asked, frowning. Corliss shook his head. Quist said, “How about the third letter?”
