“I want to toss this out. Mannons do the same thing to us tomorrow and where are we?” Herschel asked them.
“Still looking,” Art said.
Yes, Herschel agreed, still looking.
Things appeared to be settling down in town, but his force remained in the courthouse. Mayor McKay came by acting all upset, and wondered if they should ship the prisoners to Helena.
“No, we have to show everyone we can do things civilized here.”
“It’s a big risk. A big risk.”
“There’s been less organized mob activity each night since we busted up the Buckhorn mob.”
“But what if?”
Herschel dismissed him and showed him the door. “We can handle it. You need to hire a police force.”
“It’s the money. Money I don’t have.” He went off mumbling to himself.
Herschel began to feel better about his efforts to prevent a lynching. Various leaders in the community paraded by offering him support. Several offered to stand guard. Politely, he thanked them and said things would be fine. More than anything he wanted his force to be sufficient to handle things, if for nothing else than to show his potential opponents he could handle the job.
His time with Marsha was short, but she agreed his plan was working. All he had left was the interview with the Mannons. He’d have no other suspects in the lynching of Billy Hanks—unless he could incriminate the Mannons.
Rath was in no better a mood than Bert had been the day before. He sat in the chair assigned him and slouched, all humped up like a mad bulldog ready to snarl or bite. His eldest, Earl, sat up beside him, clasping and reclasping his hands on the table. Derrick, Sloan, and Harry the kid whispered to each other until Herschel cleared his throat.
“I want to go over that night at the Sharky Schoolhouse.”
“This a hearing?” Rath demanded.
Herschel shook his head. “Phil’s taking notes for my files. I wanted to thank you for coming. But I need some answers.”
“You heard ours.”
“Except one. Three of you rode by the body hanging there.” He searched their faces, and knew from the shocked expressions he’d hit a chord.
“Who says?” Rath asked quietly.
“The man who saw you ride away.”
“All right, we saw him hanging there in the lightning. I didn’t want the blame. I swear we never hung him.”
“But all of you saw him hanging there?”
“We rode past him when we spotted him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth to start?”
“’Cause you never know about them things. We thought we might be next on their list. I figured at the time them big outfits was out to get all of us small ranchers and outspoken cowboys.”
Herschel nodded.
“Then Sam came home with his saddle and I figured they done that to tell us to get the hell out,” said Rath. “We talked about it for a day before we brought him in.” The others all nodded.
“I want you boys to look at this arrowhead and tell me if you’ve ever seen it before.” He put the piece on the table before them and watched them. “You ever seen it before?”
Harry nodded and raised his blue eyes to look at him. “Sidney had one like that once that he wanted to trade me out of a jackknife for it.”
“Sidney who?” Herschel asked.
“Sidney Cross.”
“They live on Deer Creek,” Rath said.
Herschel recalled the name, but it meant nothing. “He have any others?”
“No, he just had one like that.”
“It’s obsidian,” Earl said, picking it up.
Herschel agreed. “Can any of you add anything to this investigation?”
They all shook their heads.
“Where did you find it?” Earl asked, handing it back.
“In the frog of Billy Hanks’s horse.”
“How the hell—”
“I’ve asked myself the same thing for weeks. You get the answer, tell me.”
Rath stood up. “You see where we were at?”
“I see you had problems, but honesty with me might have helped.”
The rancher slapped on his hat, then stopped and turned back. “I ain’t looking for no forgiveness, but you’ve been as fair a lawman as I ever dealt with.”
“Thanks,” Herschel said, and turned back to his deputies.
“Wonder if Farrel Ralston saw the same arrowhead at school?” Art asked when they were gone.
“We can’t lead him into the question,” Herschel said. “I want the truth.”
“But if one remembered that stone, I’d bet there’s more kids at that school do, too,” Texas added, and the heads nodded around the room.
Herschel looked up at Clare Scopes standing in the doorway.
“Clare? What can we do for you?”
“I need to talk to you.” She swallowed hard and looked ready to cry.
“Fine. Everyone out.”
Texas shut the door as the last one out. Herschel showed her to a chair and sat on the edge of his desk. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, Sheriff, I know who killed Billy Hanks.” She began to sob in her kerchief.
“Who?” He waited.
“Berry Kirk—”
“How do you know?”
“He—he asked me to marry him last night.” She buried her face in the wet cloth.
“And?” He waited.
“He tried to give me Billy Hanks’s grandmother’s ring.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, oh, yes, it’s her ring. I mean, the same one Billy made me try on.”
Herschel looked out the open window at the building across the street. The Cross boys—two of them fled at the sight of him on Mike’s store porch. “Are the Cross boys any kin to him?”
“His cousins.”
“They pal around together with him?”
She made a disgusted face. “They do his beck and call. Why?”
“Clare, what did you tell him?”
“Oh, I said I had to think about it.” She raised her face up. Her eyes glazed with tears. “I knew I had to tell you and I didn’t want him warned that I knew about the ring.”
“Good girl. That ring he might say he bought or traded for, but I have a second piece of evidence we discovered today that is the key.”
“What’s that?” she asked as he stepped to the door to call his deputies back in.
“An arrowhead.” He recalled the day Barley dug it out of the cow pony’s hoof and handed it over. The thought of his friend’s death knifed him in the gut, but he felt secure they at last had the killers to arrest. He went to the door and called for the others to come in the room.
“I’ll have a warrant sworn out for Berry Kirk and the Cross boys,” Herschel said. “Kirk tried to give her Hanks’s grandmother’s ring last night.”
The men around the room looked at Clare in appreciation.
“What’s the Crosses’ names?” Herschel asked.
“Roman and Sidney,” she said to Phil, who was writing it all down.
“Can I go arrest them?” Art asked.
“Take Texas along for a backup. I don’t need to lose another deputy.”
Art nodded and patted her on the shoulder. “Thanks for helping us.” She smiled bravely and thanked him, too.
“What next?” Phil asked.
“Send for Stokes,” Herschel said. “I have a story for him about the last illegal hanging in Yellowstone County, which was a disguised murder.”
Two nights later in his own bed, he snuggled with his wife.
“It’s good to at last have you home with me,” she said.
He raised up on his elbows and looked through the open window at the distant lightning flashing on the horizon. “I hope that isn’t an omen out there.”
She sat up and hugged him. “We won’t answer the door.”
“Good idea.” He settled on his back. Maybe he’d make the grade as a lawman. The
Herald, in their latest edition, had even written a good story about him. Maybe he was settled in—something didn’t seem right. He closed his eyes and listened to the distant thunder—let it rain.
Montana Revenge Page 24
