by Alan Lemay
"Is that right, Campo?" the sheriff demanded.
Campo Ragland gave a grunt which might have been an affirmative; it did not appear to be a denial.
"Campo Ragland," said Kentucky Jones, "told Bob Elliot that he would kill him before the day was out."
"He's guessing now," said Bob Elliot.
"Yes, guessing," conceded Kentucky Jones.
Campo Ragland said unexpectedly, "Yes, by God but he's guessing right!"
Kentucky Jones nodded. "Sure I'm guessing right! Up here in the Frying Pan country there's an old lion hunter called Old Man Coffee; and he says"
"To hell with Old Man Coffee," said the sheriff. "What happened then?"
"Just at the moment," said Kentucky Jones, "I can't tell you exactly what happened then; but I can tell you something different, of a very curious interest. On the wall of this house used to be a chromo - an enlarged snapshot-of a man sitting on a horse. You'd look across the room at that little picture, and you'd say to yourself, `Why, Campo has hung up a lens study of Bob Elliot.' Then maybe you'd look closer; and you'd see it wasn't Bob Elliot at all but a representation of John Mason."
Sheriff Hopper said, "You mean you're saying"
"Bob Elliot knew that sometimes, sitting his horse in a certain way and at a certain distance, he and John Mason looked strangely alike; and Campo had promised to kill Elliot that day. Elliot knew that Campo did not dare take a chance on what a jury might make out of that."
"You're suggesting that Campo Ragland killed Mason by mistake, taking him for Elliot?"
"I'm suggesting that it could be made to look that way; and that Elliot was able to hold that over Campo-and that that was why Elliot dared swamp the Bar Hook range."
"You mean that he ran a bluff that he could bring Ragland to trial for the murder of Mason?"
"You can call it a bluff," said Kentucky Jones, looking at Bob Elliot, "or you could call it a kind of silent blackmail, if you want."
Bob Elliot jerked forward in his chair as if he would come to his feet. "Why, damn your eyes," he said, "if you think I'm going to sit here and take"
"You'll sit there," Kentucky Jones said coolly, "and you'll take it, and you'll like it. I didn't send for you. You horned in here of your own accord, as I knew you would. But now that you're here, I've only begun."
Elliot exploded, "I'll be damned if"
"You'll take it," Kentucky repeated. "You'll take it because you're yellow, clear down to the roots. And you haven't forgotten the night I knocked you kicking and squalling, in the sheriffs office at Waterman."
Bob Elliot's face went white, and his eyes took on a squinting slant. His lower lip dropped loose away from his teeth. "Why, you"
"Yellow," Kentucky repeated, "clear down to the roots."
An inarticulate blasphemy strangled in Elliot's throat. Sheriff Floyd Hopper made a clutch at Elliot's belt, but missed his hold, as Elliot sprang at Kentucky Jones like a quirted horse.
Kentucky Jones hunched low, then straightened out the whole length of his body behind his left hand. There was a ringing crack, as if a bone had broken, and an instant's confused tangle. Then Bob Elliot was lying on his back, breathing hoarsely, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes; and Kentucky Jones stood over him, nursing his left hand in his right.
Hopper said in a low exasperated voice, "You baited him into that, Jones!"
"I was counting on his temper," Kentucky said. "Lord, I thought it would never break!"
Hopper's voice rose angrily. "If you got me out here to make fools of us all"
"Shut up," Kentucky snapped at him, "we've got work to do I"
"You've talked all around and about, and over the bush," Hopper said bitterly. "And you end up with nothing more to the point than a cheap brawl. You've wasted enough words to"
"Not one single word," Kentucky contradicted him. "I had to go all over all that so that you would understand what is going to happen-what I hope is going to happen now. Campo! Hold this range hog here when he comes to put a gun on him if you need to."
"All right."
Jones caught Hopper's arm and dragged the sheriff after him to the door.
"What are you going to do? You've got the case worse scattered out now than"
"Then we'll try to tie it together again. Here's where we tackle Bill McCord! It's the turn, it's the break, you hear me? I've got to run a bluff. Are you backing me or not?"
"I'm backing you."
"Give me the gun that killed Sanders."
Floyd Hopper obeyed, and Kentucky Jones stuck it in his waistband. "Come on!"
HREE pairs of eyes turned upon Kentucky Jones and Floyd Hopper as they came into the kitchen. In the room from which they had come, all four men had been armed; and so accustomed had they become to the sagging gun belts as standard equipment in the last few days that here it was Ted Baylor and Bill McCord, who were unarmed, who looked unusual and conspicuous now. Floyd Hopper was flushed and sharp-eyed; but though it was to Hopper the eyes of the three waiting men turned, it was Kentucky Jones who spoke, his face as unpleasantly cold and ugly as ice on broken rock.
He showed Bill McCord the gun that had killed Sanders the gun that had been in Sanders' hand as Lee Bishop found him dead.
"I don't suppose," he said to McCord, "you ever saw this gun before?"
Bill McCord seemed to consider for a long moment. "Maybe I have," he said at last; "and maybe I haven't."
"Would you care to say where it was when you saw it last?"
A humorless grin twisted one side of McCord's face. "You go to hell," he answered.
Kentucky Jones eyed him sorrowfully. "Is that final?" he said.
"You bet your life it's final!"
"I'm sorry for this," Kentucky said. "I swear to heaven, I believe there's going to be an injustice done. I was afraid of this! But this McCord is a man who means what he says, Floyd; if he won't talk he won't talk. I guess there's nothing to do but follow up what Elliot says-don't it look that way to you?"
Floyd Hopper had no more idea of what Jones was talking about than did McCord. But he was a poker player, and a good one; and he had been in office for a long time. "It sure looks that way," he said.
Kentucky Jones said, "You're under arrest, McCord."
For a moment no one spoke. A hard gleam came into Bill McCord's eyes; his hands, which had been rolling a cigarette, stopped and held perfectly motionless, steady as a rock. "Who says so?" he demanded at last.
Once more the sheriff, completely in the dark as he was, backed Kentucky's play gamely. "I say so," he told McCord.
"Personally," said Kentucky, "I don't think you're guilty, Bill. I'll admit I was kind of hoping that we had closed in on bigger game. Still, I suppose we ought to be glad that we can hang this thing on anybody at all. I guess we better tell you. that anything you say will be used against you, McCord."
Bill McCord spat into the wood box. "What am I charged with?" he demanded.
"The murder of Lee Bishop," said Kentucky.
McCord's face hardened, but he went back to the making of his cigarette. "In the first place," he said, "I wasn't anywhere near it. And in the second place it wasn't no murder. Lee Bishop was killed in a fair stand-up fight."
"That lie is plumb useless," said Kentucky contemptuously, "because I was with Lee Bishop when he was killed. Bishop was knocked out of the saddle with a rifle shot, by a man hidden in the rocks three hundred yards away; and the slug that killed him was poured into him after he was down and helpless, and I was carrying him to cover. And my story is proved by the nature of Bishop's wounds. Fair fight, hell! That's murder you hear me?"
McCord stared at Jones, his face immobile. At last he shook his head, puzzled. "I take all that to be free-hand lying. If you was with Bishop, you'd know that I wasn't there."
"He was shot from cover, I told you," Kentucky said. "I didn't see his killer. I could never have named you as the man-if Bob Elliot hadn't lost his guts."
"Elliot? Him lose his guts?" McCord rep
eated incredulously, "That's a hot one!"
Kentucky Jones shrugged. "I heard different," he said significantly. "McCord, if you've got anything to say for yourself you sure better talk. Unless you can bring new evidence into this, you've got no more chance than a one-legged man at a pantskicking. I tell you, Elliot's gone out from under you, you fool!"
Bill McCord stared again, hesitated. Then he laughed shortly. "That's a lie," he decided. "That's a lie from the ground up! Neither me nor Elliot had anything to do with any of this."
"So be it," said Kentucky. "Floyd, bring in Elliot. Or, here-I'll bring him myself." He flashed a malignant grin at McCord, and went out.
Behind him Hopper said to his deputy, "Watch this guy, Willie!" He followed Kentucky Jones.
Kentucky and the sheriff paused for a whispered conference beyond the door.
"By God, Jones," said the sheriff, "I believe that guy knows something."
"Of course he knows something," Kentucky said irritably.
"But he got through the loop on you," Hopper said. "He's too cool and tough to stampede. You've played your ace, and never took a trick. What are you going to do now?"
"Lead the jack," said Kentucky, unperturbed. As he moved on to the room where Campo was holding Bob Elliot he no longer believed that he could lose. He was humming a familiar song:
"You jack o' diamonds, I knowed you of old Knowed you of old, baby mine, long ago..."
A dissension was beginning in the little room where Campo was presiding over the now conscious Elliot Jean and Campo did not appear to have moved; but the boss of the 88 was sitting up in a chair. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms, and glowered at Ragland with eyes that seemed not quite able to focus accurately. "Put down that gun," he was saying. "There's no damn "He checked as Kentucky and the sheriff appeared.
"Tell him," Kentucky whispered sidelong to Hopper, "he's under arrest."
"You're under arrest, Elliot," said the sheriff.
"Tell him," Kentucky prompted," `McCord has spilled the beans.'
"McCord has spilled the beans," the sheriff repeated to Elliot with convincing emphasis.
Bob Elliot stared at them vaguely for a full quarter of a minute. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said finally.
Kentucky nudged Hopper, but this time the sheriff did not wait for his whispered instructions. For the first time, Hopper seemed ready to go forward under his own power. "You're charged with murder, Elliot," he said. "McCord has told it all."
Elliot stared at the sheriff for a long moment more. "I'll talk to McCord," he said at last, his voice harsh. "Let me talk to McCord."
"I should say not," said the sheriff.
"I should say yes," said Kentucky Jones. "McCord's in the kitchen, Elliot. Just step this way." He pushed the sheriff ahead of him. Bob Elliot rose, swayed for a moment uncertainly, and followed as they returned to the kitchen. Campo trailed along; but Jean stayed where she was.
"Here's your friend, McCord," said Kentucky. "Look him over and ask yourself what you've been depending on, all this time."
In the doorway Bob Elliot stood, swaying on his legs like a drunken man. The muscles about his mouth twitched, and his eyes were red in a bloodless face.
Looking at the boss of the 88, Bill McCord's jaw sagged. A moment before, McCord had perhaps believed that he knew Bob Elliot; but no one, looking at Elliot now, could say that this was the same man he had known. Elliot might have been sick, or he might have been insane; certainly he bore no resemblance to a man who could be expected to stand firm and steady in a pinch. For the first time Bill McCord was shaken.
"Look each other over," said Kentucky Jones. "A fine pair to draw to or to build a hanging around."
Bill McCord cried out, "Bob, what the hell you been telling these bastards?"
"What the devil you talking about?" said Elliot. ''l),
Kentucky Jones offered Elliot the butt of the gun that had killed Sanders. "Here's your gun, Elliot. They've matched it with the bullets that killed Zack."
A light flared up in Bob Elliot's eyes and he turned on Bill McCord. "If McCord says this is my gun," he exploded, "he lies."
"Ask Ted Baylor," Kentucky said. "Ted, tell the gentlemen where you last saw this gun after you won it at craps from Joe St. Marie."
Ted Baylor glanced at the gun again, and he hesitated. Kentucky Jones waited, balanced in suspense. He believed that one of the two McCord or Elliot - would break under the one last straw that Baylor might perhaps provide. But he had not talked to Ted Baylor had found no chance to talk to him and he did not know what this man would say.
"I guess you can remember when I saw this gun last, yourself, Bob," said Ted Baylor at last.
"You're crazy," said Elliot.
"I won that gun from Joe St Marie, in a crap game, one night last fell," Ted Baylor said; "but I didn't have it an hour before I sold it to you, Bob, for two dollars and a half, and the band for a hat."
Bob Elliot said savagely, "You were so damn drunk that night you don't remember what you did!"
"So that's what you relied on?" said Kentucky Jones. "You thought Baylor was so drunk that the gun could never be traced?"
"I never saw that gun before in my life," said Elliot.
"It was a good idea of yours," said Kentucky, "to throw Bill McCord to the wolves. And it worked good enough so that we'll hang McCord all right; but"
Bill McCord took a step toward Elliot, his face contorted. "You dirty sneak! So that's your game, is it?" He swung crazily upon Sheriff Hopper. "He's lied to you," he almost shouted. "He's lied to you like he lied to me! I knew he was crazy to get Bishop killed, and I tried to pick a fight with Bishop for that reason. But it never went through. He told me he killed Bishop himself in fair fight. If I'd known he laid for him on the rim and plugged him with a rifle, without fight, I'd have walked out on him the minute that I knew!"
Bob Elliot's voice rose violently. "You fool, will you shut your damn mouth before"
"I suppose," said Kentucky to Bill McCord, "you didn't even know that Bob Elliot killed Mason."
"No, I never"
"What did you suppose he wanted Bishop killed for? You didn't know he hired you to kill Bishop because Bishop saw him at the Bar Hook the day Mason died?"
Bob Elliot began, "Bill, don't you let these"
"You lousy streak of yellow," Bill McCord snarled at him, "I see it now! I don't wonder you disown your damn gun! If I'd known when you killed Lee Bishop that you lay off and plugged him with a
"It's a damn lie!" said Bob Elliot again.
"Is it?" McCord snarled at him. "I suppose it's a lie that you strapped on that gun and rode after Mason, that day when he laughed in your face"
"By God, McCord "Elliot shouted.
"Put it off on me, will you?" McCord shouted back at him. "I thought maybe you killed Mason, when you told me you knew he was killed with Campo's rifle. Why, you dirty side-winder -"
Bob Elliot's voice broke into something almost like a squeal. "You damned" Suddenly he turned, lurched crazily at the door behind him, and was gone from the room.
Willie Helmar cried, "Shall I get him? Shall I get him?"
"McCord," roared Sheriff Hopper, "is this true?"
"Sure, it's true!" McCord frothed. "I can see it now and I can prove it on him every step of the way! Hang me in his place, will he? Why, that"
Suddenly Bill McCord's face changed as if it had been struck with a whip. He whirled like a cat, snatched at the holstered gun of Willie Helmar; and though Helmar seized McCord's arm as the gun came out, McCord wrenched free. In that instant Jean, in the next room, screamed, "Kentucky, look out!" And Bob Elliot's first shot spoke from the door.
The next moment was one of those which witnesses afterward describe conflictingly, so that it is difficult to know the truth.
Kentucky Jones shouted, "Jean, get out of line!" and though he fired in the direction of Bob Elliot, he seemed to fire at the floor. Elliot dropped to one knee. Kentucky instantly
fired again, his second shot smashing Bill McCord's gun wrist, so that McCord was spun half about. Almost in accord with Kentucky's second shot Bob Elliot fired again. Kentucky Jones stepped sideways as he once more fired on Bob Elliot. This time Bob Elliot went forward onto his face; and his gun, slamming from his relaxed hand, skidded half way across the floor toward Kentucky Jones. Then gun and man lay still, and the room was still, heavy with the peculiar unforgettable smell of smokeless powder.
ENTUCKY," said Sheriff Hopper, "what's happened here?"
The debris had been cleared away, by now. Elliot, not as seriously hit as, under the circumstances, he might himself have wished, was officially in custody, as was Bill McCord; and Floyd Hopper was four miles up in the air.
"You don't need to watch Bill McCord so close," Kentucky said; "he's ready to tell you enough to convict Elliot before any Wolf Bench jury, without any more trouble. Your case was clinched the minute you found out that Sanders was killed with the gun that was found in his hand. It's been plain all along that Sanders was killed because he witnessed the killing of Mason; and you've heard McCord identify the gun that killed Sanders."
"But look here," Hopper insisted. "Up to the time that you got Elliot and McCord all crossed up, you hadn't even talked to Ted Baylor."
"I didn't have time to get hold of him," Kentucky explained, "in the little time after I found out from St. Marie that the gun had passed through Baylor's hands. But then that wasn't necessary, hardly. Elliot had to have full information before he dared to flood the Bar Hook range. And he couldn't have got all those cattle on the move as quick as he did unless he had started working them the next morning after Mason was killed. He could hardly have got such full information so quick unless he had killed Mason himself"
"But you didn't know how many hands that gun passed through besides Ted Baylor's. Ted Baylor might have passed it on to almost anybody. You couldn't count on him to name the gun as Elliot's gun."
