by Abe Dancer
Mattie Bale stepped inside, smiling, still dressed in her dusty clothes from the wild ride into Barberry.
‘Am I interrupting?’
‘Nothing I can’t finish later.’ Cole stood up and walked around the desk, offering her the visitor’s chair. She smiled as she sat down and he went back around to his own chair. He nodded to the window.
‘Getting on for sundown. You’ll be driving in the dark.’
‘I’ve decided to stay over in town tonight. Sammy will enjoy it. He’s playing with Donny Charlton at the livery just now. Well, not playing, more like working. Earl’s promised them two bits each if they fork some hay for him. I suspect they’ll only be moving it from one place to another. But he likes kids, does Earl.’
‘Yeah – a real family man.’
‘Forgive me if I’m prying, Sheriff, but you seem to me like you’d make a good … family man.’
He met her steady gaze. ‘Once, maybe.’ Then without conscious volition, he added, ‘There was a fire. My wife and son – didn’t get out in time.’
She reached across the desk and her small hand squeezed his – a spontaneous gesture of sympathy.
‘I’m sorry if I stirred … bad memories.’
He smiled. ‘No bad memories. I just think about the good times, and the good times that might’ve been.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Well, that’s a fine way to handle such a tragedy.’
‘I’ve only just managed to figure it out. For a long time there I – I lived too much in the past.’
‘I’m glad things are better for you now, then. I want to thank you for saving Sam. It was very brave.’
‘Wish I’d got there sooner.’
‘I’m very grateful. What’ll happen to Winston?’
‘He’s in the cells with another man named Creed. They’ll both be facing the judge in a few days.’
She nodded a little absently, tapping work-worn fingers against the edge of his desk. ‘I didn’t really come to ask about Winston,’ she confessed and his smile grew wider. ‘Oh! You knew! I must be more transparent than I thought.’
‘Well, I figure you for a good woman, Mattie, but I don’t see you as worrying too much about Winston’s welfare.’
She laughed briefly. ‘No. He deserves some time in jail. What I really came for was to ask you … if you’re ever out our way, near the farm, that is, why don’t you stop by and I’ll cook you a meal? I mean, being a bachelor, you must grow tired of buying indifferent food and—’
‘Sure. That’s a good idea. I’ll be coming by to get your statement in a day or so….’
‘I could give it to you now. Oh! Yes, yes do that, Cole. Try to make it about lunchtime.’
He stood and reached down his hat from the wall peg. ‘All this talk about food’s making me hungry. How about I buy you supper at Farrel’s diner? They do a good pot-roast on a Thursday night….’
‘This is Friday.’
‘They serve it cold on Fridays, with a fresh salad. Mighty good on the palate, so they say. Sometimes even have ice cream for later.’
She laughed and took the arm he offered her as they made for the office door.
‘I think we’d better check it out, don’t you?’
‘Best idea I’ve heard today. C’mon.’
McGuire,
Manhunter
Scott Connor
McGuire, Manhunter
Manhunter Jim McGuire hung up his gun and settled in White Ridge aiming to live a quiet life, but his past profession soon called him back. His young charge Billy Jameson was wrongly accused of murder and the only way to save him from the gallows was to take on an assignment from the corrupt Mayor Jake Nixon.
But finding the on-the-run thief Barney Dale wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. Barney was the only witness to a murder committed by Nixon and unbeknown to Jim, the mayor has hired ruthless guns to ensure that as soon as he finds Barney both of their lives will be cut short.
With the manhunter becoming the hunted man, can Jim defeat the many guns Nixon has lined up against him?
By the Same Author
Ambush in Dust Creek
Silver Gulch Feud
Blood Gold
Golden Sundown
Clearwater Justice
Hellfire
Escape from Fort Benton
Return to Black Rock
The Man They Couldn’t Hang
Last Stage to Lonesome
Copyright
© Scott Connor 2009
First published in Great Britain 2009
This ebook edition 2011
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Scott Connor to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
CHAPTER 1
‘The kid’s gone loco,’ Orson Brown said, slamming his fist on the bar.
Jim McGuire winced. He’d dreaded hearing news of this kind all week.
‘I’ll speak to him,’ he said, then pushed the whiskey bottle along the bar as an added encouragement to Orson to listen to his plea.
Orson snorted, but the bottle was just too tempting, so he poured himself a glass, then leaned on the bar beside Jim.
‘There’s no point,’ he said, his tone becoming more reasonable. ‘Billy’s not cut out to work for a newspaper. He’ll have to go elsewhere.’
The two men looked at each other, both avoiding mentioning the obvious point that for the last six months Jim had tried to find work for Billy in just about every possible place in White Ridge. Nothing had worked out. Billy wasn’t cut out to work in Chester Heart’s mercantile, or the saloon, or the hotel. Even shovelling manure in the stables seemed to be an activity he found too taxing.
‘What was the problem this time?’
‘He’s lazy and ornery,’ Orson said, giving a rueful smile. ‘Newspapers require dedication, but he’s been late every day. So I punished him by telling him he’s worked for a week for nothing, but he got so angry I reckoned he might smash up the place and throw me through the window.’
Orson gulped his drink, then raised his eyebrows, inviting a response.
‘I’m sorry, and I can’t offer much in the way of inducement.’ Jim topped up Orson’s glass. ‘But if you change your mind, I’ll do everything I can do to make sure he’s on time and works hard.’
Orson sighed. ‘I know it’s hard for you, Jim, and I don’t blame you for Billy’s actions. Bringing up a kid who ain’t your own can’t be easy.’
‘It ain’t,’ Jim said, letting his voice become wistful. ‘Billy’s father was a good friend and I promised him before he died that I’d give his boy a good start in life. That’s all I’m trying to do.’
Jim only called upon this form of emotional blackmail when he was desperate. So far he’d used this tale on five different employers and each time it’d worked, but only the once.
Orson sipped his drink while shaking his head, but, with Jim smiling at him, he gave a reluctant nod.
‘All right. He’ll get that second chance, provided he’s on time tomorrow and provided he apologizes, then shows some enthusiasm.’
Jim patted Orson’s back and moved to refill his glass, but he noticed that further down the bar Chester Heart was listening to their conversation. So before he had a chance to join them and relate some tales of the three traumatic days Billy had worked for him, Jim ushered Orson outside.
On the boardwalk Orson urged Jim to stay there for now to avoid inflaming the situation, then headed across the road to the newspaper office. Jim watched him leave, then cast his gaze down the road, already resigned to this assignment not working out and wondering where else he could try to get permanent employment for his unruly charge.
It wasn’t that Billy was bad: he was just young and he didn’t seem prepared to do any work at all. Maybe if he w
as his real father, Jim mused not for the first time, he’d know what to say to get through to him.
But the wise words of his kin was something Billy would never receive again and so, as he had done the previous times, Jim told himself that it was just a matter of letting Billy work through his problems. For his part, he’d continue to support him until he found work that suited him and then….
A gunshot tore out, the sound muffled.
The few people out on the road stopped in their tracks, ducking and cringing while looking around for where the shot had come from. It had been some time since Jim had last drawn his own gun, so he merely lowered his hand towards his holster while looking around.
Then he saw that several people were looking towards the newspaper office, torn between rushing to investigate and scurrying away. Jim had no such qualms. He broke into a run and reached the office door before anyone else had stepped up on to the boardwalk; then he threw open the door.
Inside Orson Brown lay on his back clutching his chest, blood oozing through his fingers. Billy was on one knee beside him, shock contorting his young face. That shock deepened when Orson uttered a choked-off gasp, then arched his back and flopped down to lie still. Billy looked up at Jim.
‘It wasn’t me,’ he murmured.
Jim looked around the office, seeing nobody else inside, but his gaze fell on the open and swinging back door.
‘I know. Who did do it?’
‘I don’t know. One moment he was shouting at me, and then….’ Billy uttered a sob and lowered his head as the horror of the situation finally took control of his emotions.
Jim would have consoled him but the open door at the back and his old instincts were beckoning him.
‘I’ll deal with it,’ he said. He moved off, but he had taken only one step towards the door when the loud but shaking voice of Sheriff George Price spoke up from the door behind him.
‘Reach or die!’
Jim stomped to a halt, then slowly turned with his hands raised slightly.
‘Every second we waste,’ he said, ‘gives whoever did this another second to get away.’
‘Wrong. I’m looking at that man right now.’
Jim glanced at Billy. Blood coated the young lad’s hands and he was hunched over the body. He had to admit that even for a lawman who was as incompetent as Price was, this did appear to be a clear-cut situation, and one which was bad for Billy.
‘He didn’t do this. He doesn’t even wear a gun.’
‘He does. Look! He’s going to shoot again.’ Price’s eyes opened wider as behind him on the boardwalk people began muttering and peering around him to see what was happening inside.
Billy wasn’t holding the gun that Price reckoned he was holding, but there was a simpler explanation for Price’s confusion. It was common knowledge that since the sheriff had given up the whiskey his judgement had become poor. Worse, he hadn’t been particularly competent when he had been drinking, and in his darting eyes Jim could see his customary indecision. A wrong move from anyone could panic him into pulling the trigger.
Jim put on a calm expression he didn’t feel and took a long pace towards Price to put himself between the lawman and Billy.
‘Sure. Do your duty, Sheriff, and you’ll see this situation ain’t what it seems.’
Jim’s closeness made Price gulp before he firmed his gun hand.
‘Then stand aside and let me arrest Billy before he shoots up anyone else.’
Jim saw the sudden and rare flash of determination in Price’s eyes. So he moved as if to step aside, but then swung round and with lightning reflexes hammered a powerful uppercut into Price’s jaw that sent him spinning away to thud into the wall.
With his back against the wall Price slid downwards until he came to a halt in a sitting position. He shook himself, but by the time he’d gathered what passed for his senses, Jim had moved in and taken his gun.
He held the weapon high along with his own so that the townsfolk looking in through the door weren’t alarmed.
‘Sorry I had to do that, but I couldn’t risk you shooting Billy. He’s an innocent….’ Jim trailed off when he saw the surprise in Price’s eyes, his hand rising to point past him.
Jim swirled round, then frowned. Aside from them and the body of Orson Brown the office was otherwise deserted.
Billy had run.
CHAPTER 2
The back door of the newspaper office had been boarded up.
Jim kicked the door but the boards held firm, not that going inside again would help him. Last week he’d examined the whole office in his search for clues without success.
He turned to place his back to the door and looked around, trying to picture in which direction Orson’s murderer would have fled so that he would disappear from view quickly. But he failed to come up with any new ideas that he hadn’t considered already.
Ten days had passed since Orson Brown’s death and so far there was only one suspect: Jim’s young charge Billy Jameson.
Hector Pike, one of Mayor Nixon’s personal bodyguards, and Deputy Carter had found Billy within an hour of his running from the scene of the murder. His behaviour both before and after the death, along with Sheriff Price’s belief that Billy had been kneeling over Orson’s body holding a gun, was all the evidence they had on him. But it would probably be enough.
Jim was the only other person to have a clear view of what had happened. He knew that Billy didn’t carry a gun and he hadn’t seen one in his hand, but his admittedly biased word against the sheriff’s might not convince a court of Billy’s innocence. So Jim had investigated on his own, figuring that bringing the real murderer to justice was the best way to get Billy freed.
But every avenue he’d explored had ended in failure. Orson Brown just didn’t have any enemies. Now all that was stopping Billy’s trial from going ahead was the distraction of the forthcoming elections for the new mayor. Accordingly, out on the main road the current incumbent, Mayor Jake Nixon, the man most likely to get elected, was making a speech punctuated with subdued cheers from the watching townsfolk.
Keeping his mind blank to avoid listening to the droning platitudes Jim ran his gaze along the backs of the buildings, then flinched. A face was looking at him from an alley. Then it disappeared from view when the person noted his interest.
Intrigued, Jim hurried to the alley. He slowed a few paces away and turned the corner to find he was facing Sheriff Price, standing with his back against the wall.
‘You’re watching me,’ Jim said in a matter-of-fact manner, then cast his mind back over the last few days, ‘again.’
‘Sure am,’ Price murmured, looking at his feet. ‘I’m wondering what you’re doing.’
‘I’m trying to work out who killed Orson Brown.’
‘That’s my job.’
‘Then do it!’ Jim muttered and advanced a pace on Price, making him slink backwards for a few paces down the alley.
‘Don’t have to. I already know who did it.’
‘You can’t think you have enough to convict Billy, surely.’
‘Mayor Nixon reckons so.’
Jim blew out his cheeks in exasperation, now understanding Price’s lack of enthusiasm for carrying out the duties for which he had been appointed. Nothing happened in White Ridge without Mayor Nixon’s approval, and that included the provision of justice.
‘So Nixon told you to stop investigating, did he? Told you that Billy fitted the crime and you should look no further?’
‘Yeah,’ Price murmured, his voice barely audible.
Jim took another pace towards Price, his hand rising to bat away a fly, but Price mistook the hand movement for an aggressive act. While backing away he raised his arms to ward off a blow, but his feet became entangled and he tripped, then fell to the ground.
‘Price,’ Jim said, looking down at the lawman lying in an undignified heap, ‘you’re not only a sad excuse for a lawman, you’re a sad excuse for a man.’
With that comment Jim s
tepped over Price’s legs and headed down the alley.
When he came out on the main road Nixon was still standing on the podium in front of his office and inflicting a speech on the menfolk gathered in the road. As Jim now knew that to help Billy he would have to tackle Nixon first, he listened to his speech, aiming to speak to him when it ended.
The first words he heard made him grind his teeth.
‘I stand for justice,’ Nixon announced in a clear and authoritative voice. ‘If re-elected my first action will be to ensure that the murderous piece of scum who killed my good friend Orson Brown gets the hanging he deserves.’
Nixon paused to cast a slow look around the crowd. Everyone slowly picked up on his cue that they needed to applaud, and the enthusiastic nature of that applause irritated Jim even more than he had been already. When he’d spoken to people everyone had appeared sympathetic to Billy’s plight and had agreed that he wasn’t a killer.
‘And so I have no doubt,’ Nixon continued, ‘you will elect me in the forthcoming battle between myself and the other worthy candidates.’
Nixon gestured to the three men standing beside the podium. The deadline for announcing an interest in standing for election was sundown the following day, but Jim gathered from the gesture that these men had already stated they would stand. Of the three of them the businessman, Sherman Donner, stood straight-backed and confident, whereas the owners of the two biggest mercantiles in town, Chester Heart and Ronald Malone were standing hunched and unenthusiastic.
‘But whoever you support I hope everyone will take part in the democratic principles that have made this country great, and may the best man for the job win through.’ Nixon bestowed a wide smile and a knowing wink upon a man on the front row. ‘As long as that man is me.’
Everyone but the other candidates uttered an appreciative chuckle after which the crowd started to disperse and return to going about their business. Nixon shook hands with the other three candidates and had a brief word with each. Chester and Ronald weren’t enthusiastic about talking with him and so, as soon as they could, they hurried away towards the saloon. Sherman, however, was keen to discuss something.
