Surprised that their bushwhacker had not taken a shot at him, he peeked over the top of the mound. When there was no reaction from the ridge, he took a deep breath and ran to another mound, this one closer to the row of laurels at the foot of the ridge. As before, there was no shot. He dived behind the second mound and paused there until his breathing slowed down again. He found it hard to believe the sniper took that one shot, then left. Who was he? Likely some relative of an outlaw he had arrested, seeking revenge for his hanging. Will wondered if the shooter realized he had shot Billy and not him. Probably not, and thinking he had gotten the man he came after, he rode away. But Will had to make sure the sniper was gone.
With one last dash to gain the cover of the laurel, he took off, and again there was no shot. By this time, he was convinced that the assassin had run, so he kept going, climbing the ridge to the top to find no one there. A quick look around turned up a footprint that led him to the spot where the rifleman had lain. Will looked back toward the oak trees beside the river as the shooter would have seen them. It was a clear target area and in Will’s opinion, open enough to have given the shooter time for a second shot—had he wanted it. You shot the wrong man, he thought, still finding it hard to believe the assassin didn’t take the second shot.
Half a dozen yards down the back side of the ridge, Will found the spot where the shooter had left his horse. And tracks down the slope told him he had hurried down the back of the ridge in a direction that would lead him to the trail north toward Fort Smith. His thought was to go after him, but first he had to go back to help Billy, so he hurried back down the ridge toward the trees where he had left him.
Billy was lying right where he had left him, never having moved or shifted his body. Will guessed his prisoner was dead, even before he knelt beside him. There was no response to his efforts to revive him and the blank gaze of his open eyes confirmed there was no life left in the body. A little wave of sorrow swept over Will for a moment. In the short time he had been exposed to Billy Cotton, he had come to the opinion that the guileless young man was no more than an innocent bystander and was probably guilty of no crime. And now to die because he had been mistaken for him was really hard luck. “I reckon that cancels the trip to Texas,” he said aloud. The decision to be made now was whether to bury Billy, or take him back to Fort Smith. And that led to the question of the shooter. He preferred not to waste any more time before going after him, not sure he wouldn’t make another attempt if he found out he had shot the prisoner and not the deputy.
Another thought struck him then, one that seemed too twisted to consider, but could not be discounted right away. What if the shooter had not killed the wrong man? What if he was so sure he had shot the man he came after, that he saw no need for a second shot? Who would stand to gain by the killing? The first answer that came to mind was Alvin Greeley. It was outrageous to think a man would go to that extent, but if Will returned Billy Cotton’s body to Fort Smith with a bullet in his back, Greeley would tell the world, “I told you so.” It would go a long way in justifying his claims that Will killed for the convenience of not having to transport prisoners. It was still hard for Will to believe that even Greeley was not above such a murderous act. On the other hand, Greeley might have been shamed enough by the incident between them in the Morning Glory to seek revenge. And it might seem better to Greeley to see Will saddled with the reputation of a cowardly back-shooter. He thought of the satisfaction Greeley would enjoy if Dan Stone would demand Will’s badge. It made more sense, the more he thought about it. Greeley might like to see him dead, but he wanted him disgraced more and that’s why he didn’t take that second shot.
His mind made up, he stood Billy’s body up and got his shoulder under it, then he lifted it and settled it across the saddle. He took pains to tie it on firmly before it got too stiff to bend, knowing that he needed to start after the bushwhacker as soon as possible. And he felt he was getting farther and farther behind every minute. Deciding his horses were ready to travel, he stepped up into the saddle. If he could pick up the shooter’s trail, he might be able to catch up with him, if not right away, then maybe when he camped for the night. At the backside of the ridge, he found tracks coming down the slope and they clearly headed toward the wagon trail he had followed from Fort Smith. Upon reaching the trail, he dismounted to study the fresh tracks that led onto it. Even though there were traces of other travelers on the road, his own tracks among them, he found that the freshest tracks led toward Fort Smith. They had to be those of the sniper, so he headed back to the city.
About halfway back to Fort Smith, he reached a point where he wanted to make sure of his chase. At a shallow bend in the Poteau, an old Indian trail forked off to the west. If the man he followed did not intend to ride on to Fort Smith and chose to ride west into Indian Territory instead, he would likely take the Indian trail to avoid having to ford the Arkansas River. He dismounted and made a careful search of the ground beside the road. The light was beginning to fade away to evening, but there was still enough to examine any tracks he found veering from the wagon road. He found none that were new enough to be the man he followed and after a few minutes, he mumbled, “The son of a bitch is headed to Fort Smith.” No longer concerned with finding tracks, he stepped back up into the saddle and headed Buster straight toward Fort Smith.
He had no proof that Alvin Greeley was the sniper who put a bullet in Billy Cotton’s back, but he felt that was the case without doubt. While it was debatable whether Greeley had intended to kill Billy, just the bullet hole in his back would be enough to cause speculation about the truth behind Greeley’s accusations. At this point, it was his word against Greeley’s and he had to make sure of his suspicions before he charged Greeley outright. The first thing he wanted to know was if anyone was sure that Greeley had been in town all day. If he was, it would be easy enough to prove. Someone would have seen him at the Smith House Saloon, the stable, or maybe Dan Stone’s office. One sighting by anyone during the day would be enough to prove Will’s hunch wrong. He decided his first stop upon reaching Fort Smith would be Vern Tuttle’s stable, since Greeley kept his horses there—this, even before taking Billy’s body to the undertaker.
“Howdy, Will,” Vern Tuttle sang out when Will pulled up in front of the stable. “What are you doin’ back here? I thought you was on your way to Texas.” He looked past him at the body lying across the sorrel. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Billy Cotton,” Will answered as he wasted no time stepping down. “He’s the young boy I was transportin’ down to Texas, but somebody shot him. Have you seen Alvin Greeley today?”
“Greeley?” Vern responded. “Yeah, matter of fact, he brought his horse in a while back, that gray he rides. Why?”
“I was just wonderin’. Is it in the corral?”
“Yep,” Vern replied, and walked around the front of the stable with him to the corral. “Yonder,” he said, pointing. He watched Will then, his curiosity aroused by the young deputy’s interest in Greeley’s horse. Will walked over to the side rail where the gray was standing, watching him approach. The horse was calm and peaceful, unlike his owner. Still studying Will’s curious manner, Vern commented, “He looked pretty much wore out when Greeley brought him in, looked like he’d been rode hard. I gave him a portion of grain and watered him good.” He waited for an explanation, but when it didn’t come, he asked, “How come you’re so interested in Alvin Greeley’s horse? You ain’t never had much use for him or his horse.”
“Still don’t,” Will said, not ready to make any accusations, but convinced more than ever that Greeley had shot Billy. The cold facts only proved that Greeley had ridden somewhere that day, and returned with a tired horse. He could have gone anywhere. How the hell am I gonna put him at that camping spot on the Poteau? He knew he was going to face Greeley with the accusation, but for now, he figured he’d best take poor Billy Cotton to the undertaker. So he left his packhorse there and told Vern he’d be back to leave the other two
horses later.
Ed Kittridge was just before closing up for the day when he saw Will pull up at the front of his building. “Five minutes later and you’da missed me,” he said when Will walked in. “Who’s the corpse?”
“Young fellow named Billy Cotton,” Will answered.
“Gunshot?”
“Yep, right between the shoulder blades.”
“You shoot him?”
“Nope. He was in my custody when he got shot, though, so I reckon that makes him my responsibility.”
“Who did?”
“Can’t say,” Will replied. “But I’ve got a pretty good idea who it looks like. I’ll tell Dan Stone you’ve got the body. I’ll see if I can still catch him in his office.”
“All right,” Kittridge said. “Give me a hand gettin’ him down off that horse. Looks like rigor mortis has already started settin’ in.” Rigor mortis had indeed progressed from the organs into the limbs, rendering Billy bent and stiff. They lifted the awkward corpse up off the saddle and carried him inside where they laid him on a table. “He’ll be all right till mornin’,” Kittridge said. “I’ll straighten him out then. I’m goin’ to supper now.”
As he had told Kittridge he would, Will then rode over to the courthouse to see if Dan was still in his office. He very much wanted to give Dan his side of the story before Greeley started spouting his accusations. When he got to the courthouse, he hurried up the stairs over the jail to Stone’s office to find the door still open. Dan came out the door, preparing to lock it, just as Will walked up. “Will,” Stone exclaimed, surprised. “What are you doing back here?”
“I brought Billy Cotton’s body back,” Will explained, capturing Stone’s interest immediately. He then went on to tell Stone the whole story of Billy’s assassination. He withheld his suspicions about who the sniper was, preferring to get his boss’s reaction.
“Damn!” Stone exclaimed upon hearing the story. Like Will, his first thought was that the shot that killed Billy was actually intended for Will. “I reckon it was your lucky day. Too bad about your prisoner, though. I reckon his luck ran out.”
Satisfied that Stone had accepted the story, just as he had told it, Will then proceeded to investigate his theory on who the sniper might be. “What’s Alvin Greeley doin’ today? Did you send him anywhere today?”
“Greeley?” Stone responded. “No, I didn’t send him on any job today. He’s most likely hanging around town somewhere, waiting for the trial on those two he brought in. Why?”
“I was just wonderin’.” He had intended to tell Stone why he thought Greeley was the sniper who shot Billy, but decided at that moment to hold back until he could find some means of proving the accusation. Seconds later, he found he was to have no choice, for Greeley suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs.
Will and Stone turned to watch Greeley lumber heavily down the hallway toward them. It was obvious that he had been drinking. “Well, I see you’re already back,” he fired at Will. “Another prisoner brought in with a bullet hole in his back. And this’un supposed to be innocent. By damn, I told you!” This he aimed at Dan Stone. “You shoulda sent me to take that poor boy back.”
While Stone stood astonished by Greeley’s ranting, Will saw it as an opportunity to let him tangle himself up in his story. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, Greeley?”
“You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about,” Greeley sputtered. “That boy, Billy Cotton, brought in, shot in the back, like all them others you were supposed to be bringin’ in for trial.”
“How’d you know I brought Billy in?” Will asked. “And how’d you know he was shot in the back?”
Greeley paused a moment before answering. “Why, they was talkin’ about it at Smith House,” he said. “Musta stuck a gun in his back when he wasn’t lookin’. Couldn’ta been nobody else that done it.”
Will looked at Dan Stone. “I rode straight in to Vern Tuttle’s stable, then I took the body to Ed Kittridge right when he was goin’ home for supper. He said he’d work on it in the mornin’ ’cause he was in a hurry to get home to supper.” He looked back at Greeley. “I didn’t pass a soul on the street. How the hell could anybody know about the body?” He turned back to Greeley. “So how the hell did anybody in Smith House know about it this soon?” Greeley sputtered drunkenly, obviously trying to think of a response. While Stone gaped, still astonished, Will made his accusation. “There ain’t but one person who knew I brought Billy Cotton back tonight and that’s the son of a bitch who shot him in the back. Kinda makes me wonder how you knew about it so soon. Where were you today, Greeley?”
“Why, you . . .” Greeley started, then checked himself. “I was right here all day, in my room at the saloon, catchin’ up on my sleep. It ain’t no business of your’n where I was.” He looked at Stone as if asking for help, but the marshal already saw where this was leading.
“In your room all day,” Will repeated. “Then how come you brought that gray of yours back to the stable this evenin’ plum near wore out, accordin’ to Vern Tuttle?”
Greeley couldn’t answer right away. His alcohol-soaked brain was turning too slowly to think, and the look on Dan Stone’s face gave him more cause for worry. He knew too late that he had tried to spring his trap too soon. He had been too anxious to shine the shadow of doubt on Will. Now he frantically tried to untangle the web he had caught himself in. “Wait a minute. I forgot about that feller that wanted to buy my horse. I told him he could take it for a ride. I reckon he musta run him half to death.” He searched Stone’s face, trying to determine if he believed it. When it was obvious that he did not, Greeley reverted to his aggressive nature. “I don’t like the way this is goin’. What the hell have you two been cookin’ up? Has he been tellin’ you lies about me?”
Greeley was working himself up into a rage that was plainly boosted by the whiskey he had imbibed and Will decided it was worth a try to give him a little more rope. “Ed Kittridge said he saw right away that Billy was shot from a distance. It doesn’t make much sense to think I’d shoot him at a distance, does it? I’d figure it was someone more like you that shot him, but you ain’t a good enough shot to hit a man square between the shoulder blades—even at thirty yards, like that shot was.”
“Ha!” Greeley grunted contemptuously. “More like seventy-five yards.” A dead silence followed immediately as he realized what he had just said.
“Yeah,” Will said calmly, “that’s about what I made it, seventy-five yards from that ridge you were hidin’ on.”
Rapidly sobering, Greeley took a few steps back. “He’s tryin’ to play some kinda game on me, Boss. He’s a lyin’ son of a bitch. I’ve been the best deputy to wear this badge for over eight years. You know I wouldn’t do somethin’ as bad as what he’s sayin’.”
It was a situation that Dan Stone could not imagine he would ever be in and he was almost at a loss as to how to respond. But clearly Greeley would have to answer for the outright murder of a prisoner in custody and it was all caused by his ridiculous envy of Will Tanner’s reputation. “I reckon I’m going to have to ask you to hand over your badge and your weapon, Alvin.”
“I’ll be damned!” Greeley responded and drew the. 44 before either Stone or Will could react. “Ain’t nobody arrestin’ me for shootin’ a no-account little cattle rustler. Now, both of you unbuckle them gun belts real slow and let ’em drop on the floor.”
“I’m not wearing a gun,” Stone said. “You’re just making it hard on yourself, so hand that gun to me. You’re too damn drunk to know what you’re doing.”
“He’s wearin’ one,” Greeley said, motioning toward Will. “Drop it, or I swear, I’ll shoot you both down.” Will didn’t doubt that he meant it, he was just irritated that he didn’t anticipate Greeley’s reaction to be so quick. With no choice now, he slowly unbuckled his gun belt and let it fall to the floor. “Now, go back in that office,” Greeley ordered and he followed close behind them, his .44 aimed at Will’s back. As soon as the
y stepped inside, he pulled the door shut, picked up Will’s gun, and ran for the stairs. At the top step, he paused, anticipating pursuit and when the door began to open, he fired three shots into it. Then he rushed down the steps to the door. Outside, he ran down beside the courthouse, cursing Will Tanner.
Inside the office, Stone and Will had dived for cover when Greeley starting shooting. Two of the bullets knocked holes in the thin center panel of the door and stuck in the plaster wall behind Stone’s desk. “That son of a bitch has gone crazy!” Stone blurted.
“Where’s your pistol?” Will exclaimed, and rushed to get it from the desk drawer Dan pointed to. “I reckon you’re gonna want me to arrest him now,” Will said as he checked the .44 to make sure it was loaded.
“Well, I reckon so,” Stone drawled, still huddled in the corner behind a leather-covered stuffed chair.
“Figured that,” Will said, and crawled up to the door to peep through one of the new bullet holes in the center panel. After a moment, he reported, “I can’t see much through this hole, but I don’t think he’s still waitin’ for us to open the door.” He reached up and took hold of the doorknob, then eased the door open very slowly, for he was sure that Stone was right. Alvin Greeley had gone crazy, and Will was frankly surprised that he hadn’t shot both him and the marshal when he had the chance. It was not so unusual that a man would ride on both sides of the law. There were quite a few examples of this over the years, but it usually involved large payrolls, or bank shipments too tempting to pass up. Greeley wasn’t after money, and now he had dug himself a hole too deep to climb out of. “He’s gone,” Will said, when the door was open far enough to see the entire hallway. “He’s on the run and I need to catch up with him before he has time to clear out. He’s on foot, so I’m goin’ to the stable. Maybe I’ll catch him there before he gets saddled up.”
Brotherhood of the Gun Page 25
