by Bobbi Smith
Wily tilted his bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a deep drink. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, he eyed the lawman for a minute. "What kinda questions?"
"Can I come in? We can sit and talk about it."
Cornered, he knew he had no choice. "I suppose." He went back inside, moving unsteadily, and Macauley followed him.
The interior of the shack was in worse shape than the outside. Dirt and dust were everywhere. One window had been broken out and not replaced. The fireplace looked like it hadn't been used for years, and what furniture there was was in an advanced state of disrepair-the single, narrow bed sagging and dirty-looking, the table and two chairs looking downright rickety.
"Come here often?" he asked conversationally.
"No" was his only reply.
"How come you decided to come up here now?"
Wily eyed him nervously as he slumped down in one of the chairs. "I needed to get away for a while."
"Any particular reason?" he asked as he sat down opposite him.
"Why're you askin' me all this? You didn't ride all the way up here just to see how I was doin'."
"You're right, Wily. I need to talk to you. You're the only one who can help me."
"What d'ya mean? Help you with what?"
Macauley decided to get straight to the point. "I want to know why you left town so suddenly."
The old man puffed up with indignation, not wanting him to know of his cowardice. "I didn't leave suddenly. I just decided it was time to check on the cabin, is all."
"Right after you'd paid Mrs. Johnson a month's rent?"
Wily colored at having been caught, and he took another big swig. He wished with all his heart the sheriff would just go away. He had enough trouble already. He didn't want to make it worse.
"What happened, Wily? What happened that night at the saloon? Who started all the talk about hanging O'Keefe?"
His eyes were shifty as he sought some way of escaping telling him the truth.
"Wily," Macauley pressed urgently, "if you're worried something's going to happen to you, I promise, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe. A man's life is at stake here - an innocent man."
"Well, I ain't guilty of nothin' either!" he exploded. "What if I end up dead?"
"You won't if you tell me everything, right now. Let me help you. It's my job to handle this."
"It was Stevens! Charley Stevens! He's the one who started it all that night. He's the one who wanted to string up O'Keefe. He was rantin' and ravin' real good, and the rest of 'em were just all drunk and went along with his rabblerousin'."
"Go on."
Wily needed reinforcement and once again took a slug of liquor. "He was mad later on that night back at the saloon. I don't know why he wanted O'Keefe to hang so bad. Hell, I didn't even know that he and Santana were that good friends."
"They weren't. Not that I know of," Macauley said tersely, angrily. Charley Stevens... it fit. He knew the young man was no good, but he'd never caught him at anything before. He'd arrest him for disturbing the peace as soon as he got back to town and take him in, but he still didn't have any direct proof of him being involved in Santana's murder. "Go on, what happened next?" he asked, hoping that he might know something more.
"Well, anyway, he was sittin' there and saw me at the bar. I guess he figured out that I was the one who warned you. He told me to get outta town, so I did. He's a mean cuss, and I didn't want nothin' to do with him."
"Why would he want you to get out of town?"
"I didn't ask." He gave him an incredulous look. "I just left."
He nodded in understanding. "Do you want to come back with me now?"
"Now?" The old man's eyes widened at the thought. "No. I think I'll stay right here for a while."
"You can rest easy, Wily. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."
"I hope so, Sheriff."
Macauley mounted up and started straight back for Monterey. It was a long, tiring ride. He knew he should probably spend the night and give his horse time to rest, but he felt this was too important. He wanted to get his hands on Stevens while he could.
All the way back to town, he pondered the pieces of the puzzle that was Santana's death. The rancher had been shot in the back and robbed. O'Keefe's medallions had been found out there, and a large sum of money had been found in his belongings. After weeks of having the bounty hunter in custody, Stevens riles up a mob and tries to get him lynched. Why? It couldn't have been out of moral outrage. Stevens and Santana barely knew each other. There was more to it, and he was determined to find that last, missing piece that would answer all the questions that were plaguing him. When he picked him up in town and brought him in, he was going to make him sweat for a while. Then maybe, just maybe, he'd get the answers he was looking for.
For a moment, the possibility that O'Keefe really was guilty occurred to him. He wondered if he could be wrong in his judgment of the man, but remembering Denton's escape attempt and how O'Keefe hadn't tried to run even now, he knew he was right. O'Keefe was innocent. He just had to find the man who wasn't.
"Charley, ain't you getting nervous about it? I mean the word's out that Sheriff Macauley's trying to find the man who started all the trouble the other night," Bucky asked a bit excitedly as he chugged another beer.
"Hell no, I ain't nervous. Why should I be nervous? There wasn't no violence or bloodshed," Charley swore easily as he studied his cards with care. The three of them had been drinking and playing poker at the Golden Horseshoe for the better part of the evening. Their general mood had been good up until Bucky had started to talk about the ill-fated lynch mob.
"But the sheriffs a stubborn man," Rex warned. "He ain't gonna quit lookin'."
"Let him look," Charley said tersely.
"What if someone tells him it was you?"
"And just who's gonna talk? Wily was the only stupid, weak one around. Everybody else is smart enough to keep their mouths shut."
"Guess you're right" his companions agreed, relaxing a bit.
"Damn right, I am. There ain't nobody gonna tell the sheriff, unless one of you is thinkin' about it."
"Hell, no!" they quickly denied.
"That's good, 'cause you two know what'll happen if either one of you does, don't you?" He looked up from his cards, his gaze cold and threatening.
Rex and Bucky nodded, thoroughly intimidated. The day he'd bushwhacked Santana, they had been along. He'd made it clear, then and there, that they were just as guilty of murder as he was, even though he did the shooting. If he was turned in, he'd vowed that he would make sure they were arrested, too. They believed him.
"We ain't about to talk, Charley. You know us better than that. We're just afraid somebody else might say somethin'."
"Well, if they were going to, they would have done it by now, wouldn't they?" he asked sarcastically. "Don't worry. Things'll be fine. All we gotta do is sit tight."
It was midnight when Sheriff Macauley entered the Golden Horseshoe. He was tired from riding all day, but he didn't care. He was too intent on what he had to do. His expression was as deadly serious as the shotgun he carried.
"Evenin', Sheriff," Abel called out.
"Abel," Macauley nodded in his direction, his gaze focused on his prey where he was playing cards near the back of the saloon.
"You expectin' trouble?"
"Not if I can help it," he answered, moving slowly in Charley's direction.
Charley had seen Macauley enter the bar and wondered what he was up to. He didn't start to worry until the lawman looked to be making his way deliberately toward him. He glanced around, judging his distance to the back door, but knew immediately that he had no hope of making it out. Deputy Carter had just come in that way and was standing sentinel there, watching him. Realizing there was nothing he could do right now, he slumped back in his chair as if he hadn't a care in the world and picked up his drink.
"Charley Stevens, I'd like to talk to you over at the jailhouse," Macauley st
ated in a friendly tone, as he came to stand a few feet away from their table.
"Oh? What about?" He cast the lawman a sidelong glance as if his presence was unimportant.
"You tell me," the sheriff returned. "Come on. Let's go. Put your gun up on the table real easylike." He had the scattergun pointed directly at his chest.
"All right, Sheriff, but I don't know what this is all about, or why you need all the guns," he pleaded innocently. "Me and the boys here were just having a friendly little game of chance."
"Don't try to humor me, boy, I'm dead serious about this. Now, shut up and move, Stevens," he ordered a little more brusquely. "And don't try anything funny or of Carter there might just have to shoot you...that's if I miss."
Charley did as he was told, not wanting to irritate the sheriff while he was holding the shotgun on him. "Whatever you say, Sheriff. You're the boss."
"You're damned right I am," Macauley said angrily. "Now, move it."
Charley was forced to lead the way out of the Golden Horseshoe with the sheriff following right behind him. Carter paused only long enough to pick up his gun from the table, and then he went after them. When they reached the jail, they put Charley directly in a cell and locked the door.
"I don't understand any of this, Sheriff Macauley. Why did you arrest me? What have I done?"
"Right now the charges are disturbing the peace. If I think of anything else, I'll let you know."
"What? When was I supposed to have done that? I've been playing cards all night, ask anybody at the saloon!" Charley was just barely keeping a hold on his temper.
"How about the other night, Stevens, when you tried to overrun my jail?" Macauley snarled.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he responded stubbornly.
"I know you're the one who fired them all up, and I'm gonna see that you pay a nice price for that and a few other things."
"Whoever told you that is lying, Sheriff!" he argued hotly.
"Well, now, we'll just see, won't we?" He walked away without looking back, ignoring the man's howls of indignation.
Meanwhile, back in the saloon, Bucky and Rex were very worried.
"What are we gonna do?" Bucky asked worriedly. "He arrested him!"
"There's nothing we can do."
"We have to do something!" he demanded. "Charley's been arrested, and you and I both know why! That means they'll be coming after us, too!"
"You don't know that,"` Rex was trying not to get frightened, but he had a feeling Bucky was right. Hadn't Charley just warned them minutes before what would happen to them if he was arrested?
"I do know that!" he insisted as he leaned across the table toward his companion. "Look, he just told us he wouldn't let us get away if he was taken in! You know we're next!"
Rex was nervous. He didn't mind a little excitement now and then, but he had never really been in trouble with the law before. The thought of spending years behind bars just because of Charley didn't sit well with him.
"Well?" Bucky forced the issue.
"You're right," he finally admitted, scared and shaking. "We didn't shoot Santana. Charley did. I ain't takin' the blame for him."
"We gotta talk to the sheriff now, before Charley does." Bucky was convinced that they had to come clean to save themselves. He glanced at Rex, hoping he would go along with him. Even if he didn't, though, Bucky knew he would do it on his own.
"All right, let's go see him," he consented. "Charley ain't the forgivin' type. Even if he does get back out, he ain't gonna believe it wasn't us who turned him in."
"I know."
They fell silent, finishing off the last of their drinks for courage, then got to their feet. They were frightened and unsure as they left the saloon, but they knew they had no other choice. They refused to be dragged down with Charley.
They went straight to the jail, but hesitated outside for fear that Charley might overhear them. Tapping on the window, the two men motioned for the sheriff to come out.
"Carter," Macauley called his deputy who was in back with the prisoner.
"Yeah, what d'ya need?"
"I'll be out front for a while. Seems I got somebody who wants to talk in private" He didn't know what was going on, but he intended to find out. He felt good about arresting Stevens, for he'd found that his gun was the same caliber as the one that had been used to kill Santana.
Macauley was cautious as he emerged from the jailhouse. He carried the shotgun with him as he went to meet with Stevens's two friends.
"You gentlemen wanting something?"
"We need to talk to you, Sheriff. It's real important. I think you'll want to hear what we have to say"
Macauley studied them silently for a minute and, reading the terror in their eyes, knew this might be the break he'd been waiting for. "Who are you? What are your names?"
"I'm Bucky-Bucky Porter" he answered quickly, skittishly.
"And I'm Rex Jones"
"Well now, what can I do for you?" he asked, eyeing them suspiciously as he maneuvered himself into a position that, if the need arose, he'd be able to get off a clear shot at them. He didn't put it past them that they just might try to break their friend out.
"We got somethin' to tell you," Bucky began anxiously.
"Like what?"
"Like we didn't have nothing to do with shooting Santana! No matter what Charley says!" he blurted out.
"It wasn't us, Sheriff! We didn't do it!" Rex added.
Macauley couldn't believe his ears. Excitement burst through him, but he contained it. He kept his expression emotionless as he regarded these two. They obviously thought Stevens had told him something, and they wanted him to know their version of what had happened. He allowed himself a small smile. One thing about killers, they generally weren't too bright, and many of them were just plain stupid.
"Why don't you tell me your story, and we'll see?" he led the conversation.
"All right..." Bucky stepped farther back into the shadows and Rex moved with him. "We were out riding, and we came to Santana's ranch. He was alone, and we knew he had some money."
"One thing led to another, and he ordered us off his property," Rex went on. "Charley got mad and shot him down like a dog when he was walking away from us. We took the money and split it up. Charley got the biggest part 'cause he did the shootin', but he told us if he was ever arrested that he'd see that we got blamed, too."
"I see," the sheriff replied, nodding. He needed more information, and so he asked, "How does O'Keefe figure in all this? Was he with you?"
"O'Keefe?" Bucky looked puzzled. "No, we don't know the man. I don't know how he even got involved in this, but he ain't the one who killed Santana. It was Charley."
"So Stevens riled up the crowd over at the saloon thinking to get O'Keefe hung, so nobody would be asking any more questions about Santana's death?"
"That's about it," Bucky confirmed.
"Right. He was gettin' worried, 'cause you hadn't hung O'Keefe yet. He was wantin' to help things along a bit," Rex added.
Macauley was thrilled to hear this and proud that his instincts had been correct. He still didn't know how O'Keefe's medallions had gotten out to Santana's ranch or where the money in his saddlebags had come from, and it didn't matter any more. He had the real killer locked up all nice and tight in his jail. It had been a very rewarding 24 hours, and well worth the ride out to see Wily. He'd have to remember to reward the old man when he came back to town.
"Will you two be willing to testify in court to this?" he pressed, wanting to be sure of his case.
"What would happen to us?" Rex balked.
"Nothing. I'll see to it. Well keep Stevens locked up until the trial, so you won't have to worry about him. As far as a hanging goes, you can be sure there'll be one soon, but it won't be O'Keefe's."
"Then you ain't arresting us?"
"No, just stick around. Stay in town so I can find you if I need you."
"We got rooms over at the hotel."
"
All right. Don't get any ideas about leaving, boys. I need your testimony, and I'll track you to hell and back if you try to get away."
"Yes, sir. Don't worry. We'll stay put."
"I'll be speaking to you soon."
Bucky and Rex rushed off, disappearing into the shadows of the alley. Macauley watched them go, his smile broadening. O'Keefe was innocent. He'd been right all along.
It was near dark, but Dev lingered on in the barn not yet willing to go back inside. He'd had enough of being walled up. He needed open spaces and fresh air. He paused in the last of the failing light and surveyed his handiwork, noting with pride how much he'd accomplished in the short time he'd been working. The old building would never be a showplace, but it was sturdy enough now to withstand use. He could easily visualize some healthy breeding stock taking up residence here, a growing herd of cattle out in the field beyond and maybe even a dog or two running around the place. He'd always wanted a dog of his own for some reason, he mused distractedly.
When Dev realized the direction of his thoughts, he sighed dispiritedly. He didn't know why he kept daydreaming about a future that was forbidden to him. It only made it that much more painful to accept the reality of his situation when he kept fantasizing about a life of loving Molly, of taking care of her and her family.
Thoughts of the Magees would not be so easily put away from him, though. He'd become inordinately fond of Jimmy, having worked side by side with him in cleaning up the barn. He was a good, quick-learning, intelligent boy, and Dev knew he could go far in life if he got the chance. He'd met Molly's mother the day before when she'd finally felt good enough to venture from her sick bed. The woman was as kind and gentle and fair-minded as her daughter. He'd been grateful when, even after Molly had told her the complete truth, she'd accepted his presence without question. And then there was Molly.. .always nearby, always smiling, always enchantingly lovely.
Ah, Molly.. .Despite his mood, he smiled bittersweetly into the gloom that was slowly surrounding him as the sun sank lower in the western sky. She was the brightness in his existence. Her faith in him never wavered. If anything, her belief in his innocence had only grown more strong with each passing day, and it amazed him. She never doubted he could eventually be released. She kept reassuring him, telling him that the sheriff believed in him, too, and that he would soon be free.
