Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale)

by James D. Best

  It took me several minutes of rummaging through Sharp’s things to find the rest of the items he had requested. I shouldn’t have forgotten his request. He’d probably been fuming at me all day. I stuffed everything in a burlap sack, including the newspapers and my copy of Roughing It. Along the way to the jail, I stopped at the Palace and bought a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey.

  At the courthouse, the watchman took my gun and carefully examined the contents of the burlap bag. Then he held out his hand for the bottle. Instead, I handed him one silver dollar, then two. Two was the magic number that got him to unlock the staircase door. Next, he did something that made me less than happy. He yelled, “George, visitor. He got a bottle and paid only half the toll.”

  I had two dollars out before I reached the bottom of the staircase.

  After again examining the bag, George said, “Here are the rules. Ya stay against the wall. He reaches out as far as he can through the food hole for these things and to fill his cup. Ya keep that bottle away from him. I’ll be watchin’, like always.” He handed me an enameled tin cup. “No glass. Ya got any glasses in yer pocket?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then go on down. Ya know where he is.” He grabbed my elbow. “Hold it. There’s one more rule. That bottle ain’t goin’ back upstairs. Wanna guess where it goes?”

  “To you.”

  “That’s right. Make sure ya don’t drink more than half.”

  After I walked down the aisle, I found Sharp standing at the bars. It was early in the evening, so all the other cells but one were empty.

  “Hi, Jeff.”

  “Took yer damn sweet time.”

  “Been busy trying to get you out of here.”

  “I want to be mad, but I’m too glad to see ya.”

  “Before I tell you about our day, let’s get this stuff inside the cell.”

  I handed over the items I had bought or scavenged from his belongings, one at a time, with both of our arms fully outstretched. The last thing I pulled out of the bag was the bottle of Jameson. I turned it so he could read the label.

  “Ah, Steve, ya do know how to say yer sorry.”

  Chapter 32

  I arrived back at the dungeon-like cell a few minutes prior to eight the next morning to find McAllen and Maggie already there.

  “Good morning,” I said cheerfully.

  “Not as good as I had hoped,” McAllen answered. “Jeff doesn’t know who bought him drinks that night.”

  I looked quizzically at Sharp.

  “Lew Davis bought my first drink, an’ then Holliday bought me one. Then Davis told me my drinks were free all night. Someone who didn’t want his name out there would make good on my chalk at the end of the night.”

  “Damn.” I turned to McAllen. “Davis or Holliday surprise you?”

  “Hell, Holliday’d buy Sharp a drink just for providing entertainment, and it would be natural for Davis to buy him a drink.”

  I turned back to Sharp. “No idea who footed the bill for the rest of the evening?”

  “Nope.”

  I paced around a bit before expressing my thoughts out loud. “This might kill our two-man theory. If the murderer set up a drink purchase, he could leave the saloon to steal the rifle and kill Campbell. Damn, two men working together would’ve been easier to find.”

  I turned back to Sharp. “Did you see Blanchet, Locklear, or Winslow in the Palace that night?”

  “How the hell would I remember?”

  For some reason, McAllen found my question amusing. Then he reached into his pocket and handed Sharp some photographs. “Recognize any of these men?”

  Of course, Sharp had only met Blanchet, and McAllen had already figured that out. I noticed there were more than three.

  “Where did you get those?” I asked, as Sharp examined them.

  “Borrowed from the Arizona Daily Miner. Newspapers always have photographs of prominent citizens.”

  Sharp handed them back through the bars. “Naw, don’t think I saw any of those people.”

  I reached out and took them. There were photographs of Blanchet, Locklear, and Winslow, and another of Mrs. Potter standing outside her café. There were also group photographs of men. I handed them back to McAllen. “What are the group photos?”

  “Masons, territorial legislature, governor’s staff.” He directed the next question at Sharp. “You looked at those group photographs?”

  “Yep. Kinda small of each person, but nobody jumped out.”

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “We try to find out who’s been meeting at that old livery, but first let’s start with Lew Davis at the Palace. He knows who bought those drinks.”

  As the three of us walked across the town square, Maggie asked, “Did Mrs. Cunningham like the chocolates?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did not. But we had a long talk about you.”

  Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

  “She was upset that you violated her house rules.”

  “What rules?” McAllen asked, suddenly interested.

  “No single females upstairs.”

  McAllen frowned. “What were you doing upstairs?”

  “Waking Mr. Dancy. He was sleeping the day away.”

  McAllen glanced between us and said, “Maybe you ought to find another place to stay. This Mrs. Cunningham sounds finicky.”

  “No, no,” Maggie exclaimed. “She had made her rule clear, but when she wasn’t looking, I snuck up anyway. She has a right to be irritated with me.”

  “Joseph, she’s a hardworking woman, trying to run a decent house. Besides, Maggie is smitten with Mrs. Cunningham’s son. If I move, she won’t have an excuse to see him.”

  “I am not!” Maggie yelled a bit too loud.

  McAllen glanced between us, and for the first time since I had known him, he looked confused. “What’s this about?”

  “Maggie is becoming a young woman,” I said innocently.

  “Mr. Dancy, that is not true.”

  “I’m sorry. I misunderstood. Perhaps you would like to wait out here and play jackstones.”

  Considering the look she gave me, it was a good thing Maggie was unarmed. She had tried to manipulate me. Perhaps now she would think twice before dragging me into her little intrigues. McAllen appeared more confused and then uncomfortable. I had to give my friend an exit, so I said, “Relax, Joseph.” I laughed to show I was kidding. “I told you Maggie was trying to play matchmaker between me and Mrs. Cunningham. I was just trying to show her what it felt like.”

  Now McAllen appeared angry. “She already told me she would desist. You didn’t need to give her another lesson.”

  “Of course not. I apologize. To you and Maggie.” I stopped and put a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “That was mean. I’m sorry. Can we call a truce between us?” I took my hand off her shoulder and extended it. She gave me a dubious look, then grabbed my hand and gave it two firm pumps.

  As we prepared to enter the Palace saloon, four men suddenly shifted position and put themselves between us and the door. They looked hard and smelled like they hadn’t had a bath in months. They all carried Winchesters. One held his rifle with one hand, pointed at the sky, and the others used both hands to hold their rifles across their chests. All of the rifles were cocked, and each man had a finger on the trigger.

  “We don’t wanna kill no girl. Tell her to move aside,” said the scruffiest of the bunch, the one holding his rifle straight up.

  “I will not,” Maggie responded immediately. “If I move away, my pa will kill you, and I don’t want to be responsible for your deaths.”

  Maggie’s bold threat—so sudden and unexpected—gave me time to assess the situation. These men meant to kill us, but they weren’t professional gunmen, or they would have pointed their weapons at us. Instead, they thought a cocked rifle gave them all the advantage they needed. Wrong. At least it was going to be wrong for two of the four. A man quick with a gun can draw and shoot before anot
her man’s brain can register the action. McAllen and I were quick enough to each kill one before they brought their weapons around. Getting the second gunman was a bigger challenge. It depended on how well they were concentrating on the situation. That meant I needed to kill the savviest first.

  I heard McAllen say, “Steve, kill the two on your side.”

  McAllen didn’t bluff, so I drew and put a bullet center-chest in the one who looked the most alert. As I shifted my aim to the second man, I saw his eyes go wide, but his rifle hadn’t moved. Everything had slowed down. It seemed like seconds had passed. I shot my second man before his eyes finished going wide. A rifle report told me he had reflexively pulled the trigger, but the gun was pointed up. I moved my Colt in the direction of the other two. No one was left standing in front of us. I glanced toward McAllen and saw gun smoke and his Smith & Wesson swinging in the direction of my two targets. Maggie was half off her feet behind McAllen, who had grabbed her with his left hand and swung her by the scruff of her coat. Time was still slow, and it seemed forever before she hit the boardwalk and rolled off into the street.

  McAllen and I kept our guns at the ready as we reached forward and grabbed each rifle. We let the hammers down on the three unfired rifles before throwing them aside. We removed their pistols and then verified whether they were dead or dying. Satisfied, we turned to check the street in both directions. A few men stared at us stunned, but the shooting had happened so fast that people hadn’t yet spilled into the street.

  “Holster your weapon,” McAllen ordered.

  I did as he said, realizing we didn’t want to appear to be a threat to drunk men charging out of saloons.

  Next, McAllen said, “Keep an eye on the boardwalk.”

  Nothing happened at first. Then men started running out to see what had happened. A few came with guns drawn, but they had waited until the smoke had cleared. Although none of them were a danger to us, I kept my eye on them. I felt, rather than saw, McAllen pick his daughter up off the dirt street.

  I heard her ask, “What happened?”

  Then I heard McAllen say, “Don’t look.”

  I knew that was the wrong thing to tell a McAllen even before I heard her exclaim, “Oh, my God!”

  From behind us, Virgil Earp yelled, “Everyone put your guns away! It’s all over!”

  I relaxed a degree with holstered guns and the constable’s presence. When I returned my attention to the bodies, Earp was checking their condition. He stood, saying, “Four bullets, four dead. Never seen that before.”

  “Do you know them?” McAllen asked.

  “Piddling ruffians from Wickenburg. Disreputable miners pay them to jump claims. To my knowledge, they’ve never gone up against someone who knew how to fight. Still, hell of a feat.” He looked at us both. “You’ll need to go over to the courthouse. The judge will decide if you spend tonight with your friend in the basement. Go on over there now. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

  “What about Maggie?” I asked.

  “We’ll take our daughter.” It was the Schmidts, who had appeared from the other side of the courthouse.

  Mary Schmidt huddled and cooed over Maggie as they led her away. I heard Maggie say, “I warned them.” But instead of bravado, her voice revealed that she had been severely shaken by the experience. Carl Schmidt shook McAllen’s hand and patted him on the shoulder before chasing after his wife and Maggie.

  There were now at least fifty men surrounding us, looking curious rather than threatening. Doc Holliday stood a bit taller than the others on the boardwalk. When our eyes met, he gave me a slight nod. I wasn’t sure I liked it. I wanted to write about men like Holliday, not join their ranks.

  McAllen and I walked over to the courthouse without speaking. He started up the stairs to the second floor, so I followed. Then he took a seat on a bench outside an office. The gold lettering on the hardwood door read “Judge Matthew Carter.”

  “Do you know Judge Carter?” I asked.

  “Met with him a few times. Reasonable man. Earp should be able to find witnesses, so I suspect he’ll let us go about our business until the coroner’s inquest.”

  “Hope so. Difficult to help Jeff if we’re cell mates.”

  “Been thinking on that. The Schmidts aren’t investigators. If Carter throws us in the hoosegow, I’ll send a telegram asking for people from the Denver office.”

  “Why would I throw you in the hoosegow?”

  The man who inquired was dressed in a nicely tailored charcoal suit, a pressed snow-white shirt, and a red cravat.

  “There has been a shooting across the street,” McAllen said.

  “I know. I saw it. Men who threaten a gunfight in front of a young girl deserve to be killed. You’ll be free to go after you answer one question.”

  “What’s that?” McAllen asked.

  “Captain, what is this charade all about? Why have you been pretending that girl is not your daughter?”

  Chapter 33

  The judge had overheard Maggie refer to one of us as her pa and saw that she resembled McAllen. The captain told the judge the entire story, with several references to his position as a Pinkerton team leader. I kept quiet. I had little experience in front of a magistrate, and I knew McAllen would appreciate my silence.

  A little later, Constable Earp returned to say that he had found four witnesses to verify what the judge had seen with his own eyes. Carter released us but said we had to stay in town, which McAllen clarified to include the Earp home out by the sawmill.

  After we left the judge’s office and were in the corridor, I pulled out my Colt to reload. When I stepped back into sunlight, I wanted a fully loaded pistol in case those four had not been alone. I noticed the captain doing the same. Suddenly a door opened, and Winslow and Locklear came out with their heads bent together. When they looked up and saw us with guns drawn, they were both startled, but Winslow looked terrified. Without a by-your-leave, he dodged back into the office. Locklear didn’t budge until we reholstered; then he visibly relaxed.

  “I heard about the shooting. I’m glad you gents aren’t hurt,” Locklear said.

  “So are we,” I said.

  “Mr. Councilman, did you recognize those gunmen?” McAllen asked.

  “No, sir. ’Course, I only saw them dead, but they didn’t look familiar.”

  “Why did Mr. Winslow run away?” McAllen asked.

  “Mr. Winslow is not from Arizona. He can’t quit talking about what happened in the street right outside the capitol. Then we almost bump into you two … with your guns drawn, for heaven’s sake.” He glanced at the closed door. “You frightened him. Gave me a start as well, I might add.”

  Captain McAllen bent at the waist. “We do apologize. Please tell Mr. Winslow we meant no harm.”

  McAllen took me by the elbow and led me toward the staircase. After we were outside, I asked, “Is there anything to be learned from that encounter?” I asked.

  “Yes. Winslow’s a coward and Locklear is a straight shooter.”

  We stood in the warm sun a few minutes, and McAllen told me that, although he trusted the judge to keep a confidence, there was little reason to continue the charade with Maggie. His top suspect, Jonathon Winslow, already knew, and Goldwater knew as well. There was nothing to be gained by the subterfuge. Besides, he said he agreed with Benjamin Franklin, who always said that three men could keep a secret if two were dead.

  By the time we got back to the Palace, someone had already removed the bodies and scrubbed down the boardwalk. Bloody corpses outside a saloon were bad for business. Evidently, a shooting was not. The Palace was practically shoulder to shoulder as all the men in town came around to hear about what had happened. Davis was frantically serving the men lined up along the bar, when a sudden quiet came over the large room. Every eye was on McAllen and me.

  As soon as Davis spotted us, he drew two beers. With one in each hand, he walked them over and slid them in front of us. “On the house,” he said.

&nb
sp; “Thank you,” McAllen said. “That’s exactly what we want to talk to you about … free drinks. Who—”

  “I’m sure Mr. Brow would be fine with as many as you like.”

  “Not what I meant,” McAllen said. “Can we talk private?”

  “Now?” Davis waved an arm. “I’m busy.”

  “We can wait a bit,” McAllen said. “Got any help comin’?”

  “Two barmen from nights should be here soon. We can talk after they arrive.”

  McAllen lifted his mug and saluted the crowd of men who were still watching us. “Gentlemen, drink hearty.”

  With that, everyone resumed talking, laughing, and tapping glasses in toast. Davis raced down the length of the bar, serving beer and whiskey as fast as he could pour. I normally drank coffee in the morning, but now I appreciated being offered something cold. The gunfight had made all of my senses keen, so my beer smelled and tasted better than ever before.

  After we each had savored a few swallows, McAllen said, “Now, what’s this about Maggie?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.” I hadn’t expected that Maggie would be foremost on McAllen’s mind after what we had just been through.

  “Yes, you do. What was that about her being infatuated with Mrs. Cunningham’s son?”

  “I told you … I was just showing her what it felt like to have someone butt into her business.”

  “Bullshit. Steve, I’m not the greatest father to Maggie, but part of my job is readin’ what’s on people’s minds. I saw the way Maggie reacted. She was rattled, and she doesn’t rattle easy. So what’s goin’ on?”

  I took another swallow of beer, but somehow it wasn’t as refreshing as before. “Exactly what I said. She’s infatuated with John Cunningham. She tried to get me to court his mother so she could have time alone with him.”

  “Damn.” Now it was McAllen’s turn to delay by taking a drink. “I knew this day would come … but so soon.” Then he gave me a harder look than he did the gunmen outside. “You keep her away from this John, you hear me?”