by Steven Grey
Cobb said, ‘The why might be easy. I doubt it was anything to do with you personally. But it gave Steadman another reason to kill Bannister. Or at least another excuse for people to believe he did.’
‘Yes, that’s quite likely.’ Amy thought about that for a moment or two then burst out, ‘Oh, Mr Cobb, I can’t tell you how angry and distressed I am at being used in such a way to hurt Tom. It’s simply not fair.’
Greg put his arm around his sister and scowled at Cobb as if this was his fault.
‘Is there anything else you can tell me that might help?’
Twisting her hands together, Amy shook her head. ‘Marshal Jackson already came round asking the same thing, didn’t he, Greg? But there was nothing we could tell him. I wish there was.’
‘Look, Miss Mallory, there’s not much time till the hanging. I can only do so much. Can you and your brother ask around town, try to find out who started the rumours? That could be important.’ It would also give Amy something to do, keep her mind occupied.
‘Yes, all right. What are you going to do next?’
‘I thought I’d visit Mr Rowlands. Discover what the Cattlemen’s Association thinks about all this.’
‘His place is easy to reach,’ Amy said. She went to the door of the stables and pointed. ‘Follow the trail out of town towards the foothills and when you come to a fork in the road, take the left-hand one. It’ll take you a couple of hours to reach the house.’
‘OK, thanks.’
Amy held out her hand for Cobb to shake. ‘Good luck, Mr Cobb, I’ll be praying you succeed.’
Although the marshal said people were already starting to arrive for the hanging, Cobb managed to get two rooms in Mrs Penrose’s boarding house, which Jackson had recommended as clean and cheap. He was pleased because Mr Bellington didn’t like his detectives to spend more money than was necessary and he didn’t want to share with Neil, who snored. His room was on the first floor and the other much cheaper one was in the attics. For a few cents more Mrs Penrose offered breakfast and an evening meal.
That evening Cobb sat alone at a small table under the window of the pleasant dining-room, eating beef stew with potatoes and onions followed by a huge portion of apple pie. There were several other guests: a couple of ranchers and their wives and two drummers who sat together and discussed stagecoach timetables and the difficulty of travelling in the West.
After Mrs Penrose brought him over a mug of steaming coffee, he sat back in his chair and thought over the little he’d learned.
He had already made up his mind that Steadman was innocent. The evidence against him wasn’t up to much. No one had actually seen him pull the trigger. And anyone, for whatever reason, could have killed Bannister and put the blame on Steadman, knowing it would be easy to do so. More importantly Steadman’s character was such it seemed impossible to imagine him shooting someone from ambush.
But, of course, unless he found some evidence, what he believed wouldn’t convince the judge to reopen the case.
He liked Amy. She was genuine and genuinely in love with Steadman. But what was behind the rumour about her and Bannister?
As well as visiting Hugh Rowlands he hoped to find the time to talk to a couple of the homesteaders. This Fred Warren for one. Discover what they felt about Steadman and Bannister. And he must speak to the two Double D witnesses.
There was a lot to do and little time in which to do it. He had a bad feeling about this case. He thought he might fail and an innocent man be hanged while the real killer escaped.
And there was the attack on him and Neil. Was that connected to all this or was it, as the barn-owner believed, a robbery gone wrong? Perhaps Neil would be able to find out.
By the time he went to bed, Neil still hadn’t put in an appearance. He hoped the young man hadn’t got lost but wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he had.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Watched by a couple of idlers and the curious barn owner, who said his name was Lenny, Neil went through the saddle-bags on the two horses. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for or what he would do with it.
‘So, son, you say this Cobb fella is some sorta lawman?’ Lenny pushed his hat to the back of his head, scratching hard.
‘Yeah. He’s a private detective. He works for a very famous agency.’
‘And you’re his assistant?’
‘That’s right.’ Neil was glad Cobb wasn’t there to hear him say that, not that he’d have said it if Cobb was nearby.
‘So you’re a detective too?’
‘Yeah’ Neil closed his eyes for a moment. Please, God, don’t ever let Cobb find out what he’d said!
‘And he thinks these two weren’t just out to rob you but were actually gunning for you?’
‘Mr Cobb don’t like coincidences.’
‘But, son, how did they know you were coming in on the train?’
Neil didn’t know the answer to that, after all he wasn’t really a detective, so he didn’t reply. He couldn’t blame Lenny for being doubtful, it did seem unlikely that their attackers knew about them. But Cobb’s instincts were usually right.
There wasn’t much in the saddle-bags. No papers to identify who the men were, not that Neil would have been any the wiser if there had been, as he couldn’t read or write. No spare clothes. It didn’t seem that the men had been travelling on to any place from here. It did begin to look as if they had ridden here for a purpose, which was to kill him and Cobb, and with the deed done they intended to ride back to wherever they came from. But had they done it for themselves or because someone paid them? If the latter then that someone was likely waiting for their report right now and would have a long wait if so!
Neil went up to the horses that Lenny had unsaddled and was in the process of rubbing down. He ran his hand over the brand on each. It was the same.
‘D’you know what this brand is and who owns it?’
Lenny scratched his head again. ‘Let’s looksee. Two Ds. Double D. No, don’t mean nothing to me.’
One of the idlers came closer and stared hard at the brand. ‘Hell,’ he said, some excitement in his voice. ‘Yeah. There’s a Double D ranch over near Newberry.’
Newberry! Where Cobb and Neil were going.
‘D’you know who it belongs to?’
‘Yeah, to a couple of brothers. They’ve only been there for a few months, what’s their name? Um, let’s see, yeah, Drake, that’s right.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lenny asked.
‘Sure I’m sure.’
‘So it’s a new ranch?’ Neil said.
‘Not really, son. It used to be owned by a family from back East but they sold up and went away when the wife got took sick. It was empty for a while, then these two brothers bought it. Heard tell they were boasting about how they were goin’ to make a real go of it and become rich and famous.’
‘Those men Mr Cobb shot weren’t the Drake brothers were they?’
‘Nope.’ The man shook his head. ‘At least I don’t think so. I didn’t never see the Drakes but someone said they were young guys. In their mid-twenties.’
‘Does the name mean anything to you, son?’ Lenny said. He finished with the horses and set them free in the corral.
‘No.’
‘Well, those two musta worked for ’em, ’lessen of course they stole the horses.’
‘I’d better be off. Tell Mr Cobb this. It might be important.’
‘You leave now it’ll be dark by the time you get halfway to Newberry,’ Lenny warned. ‘Why don’t you stay here for the night and have a drink and something to eat? Leave first thing in the morning.’
‘There’s a gal works in the saloon will suit a good-looking lad like you,’ the other man added.
Neil was tempted. He gave into temptation.
‘OK,’ he said.
*
It was late when Reggie Drake decided he ought to ride back to the Double D. He’d enjoyed himself with Madam Josephine’s new girl and would have liked to stay
the night, but Allan would be cross if he did and it was foolish to annoy Allan unnecessarily. He wandered down to the livery stable to collect his horse. He was sorry Amy Mallory wasn’t there and decided it would be pointless to ask Greg about the stranger. Greg’s conversation usually consisted of grunts and mutters, especially with those he didn’t like. And Reggie knew he came well down on the list of Greg’s friends. The stable-owner would never answer any questions he didn’t want to.
The brothers had purchased their ranch five months before. It was large, spreading up into the foothills, and they both intended it should soon become even bigger. A stream ran through it, although they’d found that after the last couple of years with such little rain this had dried to a mere trickle. The grass was already browning and Allan had decided that the cattle would soon have to be moved up into the foothills.
In good times they could probably run twice as many cows as they had now. But times were bad and things weren’t working out quite as they – both ambitious to make money and a mark on the world – hoped and planned.
It was dark and the place quiet when Reggie arrived at the ranch house. The few men they could afford to employ were asleep in the bunkhouse. He left his horse in the corral and walked across the dusty strip of land to the house which he and Allan wanted to enlarge and improve. The light of an oil lamp showed in the parlour window. Allan was still up.
Reggie took a deep breath before going inside. Allan wouldn’t like what he had to say.
‘Well?’ His brother stopped pacing as soon as Reggie closed the door behind him. ‘What happened? You’ve been a long time. I expected you back before this.’ Allan sniffed. ‘Did you stop off in the saloon? You did, didn’t you? How could you? You knew how anxious I was.’
Allan was twenty-seven, the older of the two brothers, Reggie being three years younger. He was also the worrier of the two. Reggie seldom let anything much worry him or for long. Despite their different temperaments it was obvious from their looks that they were brothers. Both had the same cleft chin, brown eyes and dark-brown hair, although Allan’s had a bald spot in the middle and Reggie’s was long and curly.
Deliberately keeping his brother waiting, Reggie went over to the cupboard and poured himself out a whiskey. He turned, raising the glass. ‘Want one?’
‘No! What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I think the private detective arrived in town.’
‘Hell!’ Allan sounded as if he couldn’t believe it and he clutched at the back of the nearest chair as if his legs wouldn’t support him. ‘Don’t drink so much. You’ve had enough already. What do you mean think? You might be wrong. Didn’t you find out for sure?’
‘There was a stranger in with Marshal Jackson. I saw him. I guess it was the detective, but I couldn’t very well go in and ask who he was, could I?’
‘You should have found some way to find out.’
‘Well, I didn’t.’
‘Hell, what are we going to do?’ Allan passed a hand over his thinning hair.
‘Don’t think there’s much we can do.’
‘We must do something.’
‘Don’t fret, Al. It’ll all be over in a few days. No one’ll ever guess all we’ve done. How can they? They ain’t as clever as us.’
Allan sighed. If only life was as simple as Reggie believed. Of course Reggie was right when he said they were cleverer than anyone else around here, but all the same he could think of several things that might go wrong before they were home and clear. Especially as it looked as if something had already gone wrong. It just proved that if you wanted anything done it was best to do it yourself and not rely on others.
‘Did you see Miss Mallory? he asked.
‘Unfortunately not.’ Reggie grinned and added slyly, ‘I expect she was at the jailhouse, holding Steadman’s hands through the bars.’
‘Shut up!’ Allan took a deep breath and clenched his fists by his sides, determined not to let his brother ruffle him. Besides, he told himself, it was only natural Amy would visit Steadman. He also reassured himself it was a situation that couldn’t last much longer. Time to change the subject. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
Reggie sighed. That meant more hard work.
‘Why don’t we move some of our cows on to Bannister’s land?’
‘What! Do you think so?’ Reggie was shocked at the suggestion and for once was the one sounding caution.
‘Why not? All the water over there is just going to waste.’
‘Supposing someone sees?’
‘Who? Everyone’s too busy in town waiting for the hanging. And if our cows should be found by the waterhole we can say we know nothing about it and they must have got there by accident. I think it’s worth the risk.’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’
‘You know I am.’
‘OK, Al, we’ll start tomorrow.’ Reggie downed his whiskey. ‘I’m off to bed. You should go too. Get some sleep. Everything’ll turn out all right, trust me.’
Allan watched him go. Then he poured himself out his own drink and drank it quickly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Although it was early when Cobb finished his breakfast and left for the stables, the stores were already opening up and sidewalks being swept clean, while three women gossiped on the corner before starting their shopping. Greg Mallory was at work and he saddled Cobb’s horse and managed to say enough to wish him good luck.
Following the directions Amy had given him, it wasn’t long before Cobb rode by a tall arch of horns in the middle of the trail, a sign over the top announcing ‘The Flying R’. It soon became obvious he was on a prosperous ranch. Bunches of cattle grazed here and there, becoming more numerous the further on he rode. In the distance he glimpsed a couple of cowboys driving more cows up towards the foothills.
About an hour later, a rider topped the slope of a nearby hill and came galloping towards him. As the man got closer Cobb saw he already had his rifle out and held in front of him, ready for action.
Cobb pulled his horse to a halt and waited.
The man proved to be in his early forties, thickset with a handlebar moustache. His working clothes were covered with dust. He stopped a little way away, looking at Cobb with hard and wary eyes.
‘You’re on private land,’ he said. ‘All this hereabouts belongs to Mr Rowlands. Didn’t you see the sign?’
‘It’s Mr Rowlands I want to talk to.’ Cobb kept his hands clear of the saddlehorn, wanting the other man to know he wasn’t about to make any sudden moves.
‘Oh, yeah? What about exactly?’
‘I’m from Bellington’s Detective Agency. Here to help Tom Steadman.’
The man relaxed a little, although he still kept a tight grip on his rifle.
‘Oh yeah, Tom said he’d sent a message to his old employer. OK.’ He decided to trust Cobb. ‘It’s this way. It ain’t far now. You’re lucky Mr Rowlands is home at the ranch headquarters today. He’s expecting to talk to you, although I ain’t sure what help he’ll be. He don’t know anything about the shooting. I’m Sam Porter, Rowlands’ foreman, by the way.’
Cobb introduced himself.
‘Sorry about the rifle but the way things are none of us can afford to take any chances.’
‘I understand.’ Cobb never took any chances either. He kicked his horse forward and the two men rode side by side up the slope.
‘Did you know Steadman?’
‘Yeah, but not well. He had his job to do and I had mine. He mostly dealt with the ranchers not their men.’
Porter sounded as if he didn’t approve of Steadman, or his job, and Cobb didn’t bother to ask him anything more. It was clear the foreman couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help either. Instead he changed the subject and said, ‘You’re running a lot of cattle here.’
‘Not as many as in the past. There ain’t enough grass left. Damn weather!’
It was only a short while until they were riding down to the ranch headquarters.
Porter said, ‘I’l
l introduce you to Mr Rowlands and then be about my business.’
Cobb looked round. It appeared to him that, despite the worry over the lack of rain, Hugh Rowlands was doing well.
There were two corrals, surrounded by well-cared for work buildings, a long bunkhouse and a couple of shacks. Several cowhands wandered around, all looking busy. The horses were sleek and well fed. And halfway up a slope shaded by cypress trees was the house itself. It was a handsome building, two storeys high, with large windows and a porch running all the way round.
Hugh Rowlands was a big man, too. He had black hair, greying in places, and dark eyes. He invited Cobb to sit on the porch with him and his wife brought out a tray with glasses and a jug of homemade lemonade. Giving Cobb a shy smile she poured them some before disappearing back inside. Rowlands sat in a rocker, feet up on the rail.
‘You’ve got a nice place here,’ Cobb said, nodding at the activity round the corrals.
‘That I have,’ Rowlands said in self-satisfaction.
‘Have you been here long?’
‘My wife and I came out to Arizona just after the Civil War ended. I’d fought for the North and could’ve gone back to my folks’ farm in Maine, but I don’t know,’ he shrugged, ‘I felt dissatisfied. I wanted something different, something more challenging, probably to take my mind off the terrible things I’d seen in the fighting. Luckily my wife agreed with me. We decided to settle here as soon as we saw the land. Good land. It was difficult at first what with the Indians and damn outlaws, and I know it can be difficult at times now, but on the whole it’s a decent place to bring up a family. Have you got a wife? Children?’
‘No.’ Cobb shook his head. ‘One day maybe.’
‘They’re both a worry and a pleasure. Wouldn’t be without any of ’em.’ Rowlands smiled and looked back out at his land. ‘Be even better if it’d rain.’
‘Everyone seems to mention that.’
‘It’s only natural. We’re all affected. Ranchers and farmers alike. But look at the sky, not even the sign of a damn cloud.’ The man paused. ‘Still you’re not here to listen to our woes. You’re here to talk about Tom Steadman.’
