Benedict and Brazos 17

by E. Jefferson Clay

  “That’s a lie!” Brazos grated. “You were sneakin’ out. I seen you.”

  Darlington went on, talking directly to Holloway. “The barn was alight when we got there, Sheriff. We saw the Moons hightailing it and we opened up. They swapped a few shots, then disappeared. We were just heading back in to see if we could do something about the fire when this pair galloped up and began to shoot without a word of warning. Naturally we didn’t want to stay around to swap lead with a pair of gun-sharks, so we did the only thing we could do—we took to our heels.” The catfish mouth turned down bitterly. “And they gunned Jim Hurd down like he was a dirty dog.”

  In the stunned silence that followed, Duke Benedict could see doubt begin to take hold of Frank Holloway as he turned to stare at them. Brazos still looked as scornful as before, but Benedict felt the stirring of doubt within him as the seconds ticked by. Was it possible that it had been as Darlington said?

  “Well,” Frank Holloway got out finally, “it is something different. What have you two got to say about Darlington’s story?”

  “It’s a pile of pure fat,” Brazos declared. “I seen ’em sneakin’ out of town like thievin’ dogs. How come they’d leave like that when he says they went chargin’ off to help somebody?”

  “You say we left that way, Texan,” Darlington snapped. “I say we didn’t, and I have Rife to back my word.” The man’s eyes hardened. “You killed an innocent man, mister, and I’m gonna see you swing for it.”

  “Nobody swings,” Benedict said firmly. “At least not yet.”

  “Is he running this office now, Holloway?” Cantrell asked sarcastically.

  “You’ve got a job to do and you’d better damn well do it, Holloway,” Darlington said. “I want these two killers arrested and I want it done now.”

  Full of uncertainty now, Frank Holloway moved slowly around his desk. He started to speak, but Benedict overrode him.

  “There’s one simple way of establishing the truth, Sheriff. The Moons obviously hold the key. All we have to do is—”

  “The Moons, Yank?” Brazos chipped in. “You ain’t startin’ to swallow this bastard’s hogswill, are you?”

  “There’s a slender possibility that it might be true, Reb. But, as I say, the Moons will be able to—”

  “How stupid can you get?” Darlington said harshly. “You think for one second that those crackers would own up to what they did last night? Forget it, Benedict. It’s odds on they’re holed up someplace and won’t show up again until this has blown over.” His agate eyes cut at Brazos. “After you two are hanged.”

  “You’ve just about used up that line, Darlington,” said Brazos. “I reckon you’d better start unbucklin’ that gun rig. hardcase. You’re goin’ in.”

  A gun barrel angled through the window. “You ain’t lockin’ the boss up, killer.” Ed Rife’s voice, muffled behind the glass, carried conviction.

  It was a stand-off.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” Holloway said, finally mustering up some authority. “I suggest everybody holsters down and we sit down and talk this over quietly and see if we can’t get to the truth of it.”

  “Forget it, Holloway,” Darlington said grimly. “I’ve got Hurd’s killers under the gun and I’m not taking any risk of them talking you around and hightailing it.” His voice cracked. “You’re going to arrest them, Sheriff. Now!”

  Benedict felt a cold current run through him. Darlington meant it. He wasn’t going to back off. Sure, he and Brazos could cut loose. But with those four on the porch, there was the stink of suicide about that course of action. And, running through his mind in those electric moments of silence, was the nagging thought: what if Darlington was telling the truth? It would be a bloodbath, and it was just possible they were in the wrong. If only he could get a chance to see the Moons.

  The idea seemed to slide into his brain unbidden. He baulked at it at first, staring hard across the room at Brazos. No, he couldn’t do that. But what was the alternative? A room full of gun smoke and corpses. Maybe it was the only way ...

  “All right,” Benedict said suddenly, and they all turned to stare at him.

  “What do you mean—all right, Yank?” Brazos asked.

  Benedict sucked in a deep breath. “If compromise is the only bloodless way out of this situation, then compromise we must. You’ll have to let the sheriff lock you up, Reb.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the only way.” Benedict forced coldness into his voice. “After all, it was you who shot Hurd, not me. Correct, Darlington?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then you have your man.”

  “But you were there shooting like a damned fool yourself,” Darlington argued as Brazos stared at Benedict, dazed. “You’re at least halfway guilty.”

  “You get Brazos or you get nothing but a bullet in the guts.”

  He meant it. And they knew he meant it. Darlington looked at Cantrell, then brought his gaze back to Benedict’s cold face.

  “All right,” he said at last. “If that’s the only way—”

  “It surely is.” Benedict walked across to Brazos. “Give me your gun, Reb.”

  Brazos shook his head. “I don’t believe it. You’d throw me in to save your own neck?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m riding out to see the Moons. We need time, and this is the only way to buy it.” His voice snapped. “The gun.”

  Brazos stared past Benedict at Darlington, Cantrell and the four dim figures at the windows. Then he searched Benedict’s face. He badly wanted to believe the Yank was on the level, but deep down was a twinge of suspicion about the man who frequently boasted that the most important thing in life was looking out for Number One. Then Benedict snapped his fingers and he had to make his choice: hand over the Colt and put his trust in Benedict, or use the gun. It was a lousy choice ...

  His face was haggard as he reversed the Colt and thrust it at Benedict butt first. Benedict took the weapon and moved back to place it on Holloway’s desk. He looked at Darlington.

  “Satisfied?”

  “I suppose I’ve got to be.”

  “Correct.” Benedict gestured at the door. “After you—gentlemen.”

  They trooped out, Benedict standing tall in the doorway before he closed the door behind him. Low voices drifted in from the porch, followed by the sound of receding steps.

  It was very quiet in the jailhouse.

  Finally Frank Holloway stirred.

  “Sorry about this, Brazos,” he said, “but it’s the only way. I guess we’re all lucky that partner of yours thinks so quickly on his feet.”

  “Oh, he does do that,” Brazos said bitterly, turning towards the familiar corridor. “When it comes to fancy thinking that bird has got just about everybody else licked hollow.”

  “What’s that fool hound barkin’ at?” Zeke Moon said irritably.

  “How’n the hell would I know?” retorted Connie, his face shining like a wet knife blade in the greasy oil light in the ramshackle house. “Pass the bottle.”

  “Reach for it yourself. You’ve got two healthy arms and I ain’t.”

  Connie snatched for the brown bottle of whisky and held it up to the light. “You mightn’t have two healthy arms, but your greedy belly is healthier than ever. You done went and lowered her by about two inches in two swallers.”

  “I got pain, damn it!”

  “You ain’t on your lonesome, brother. I got me a bellyache just settin’ here lookin’ at your face and listenin’ to you carry on about one little bullet hole.”

  They wrangled, just as they’d always done, only it seemed to be much worse of late. They didn’t stop until the old man lifted his crutch and brought it smashing down on the table.

  “Shut up, goddamn and blast your squallin’ hides! I been sittin’ here listenin’ to you carp and cuss until I’m ready to puke. Zeke, you quit gutsin’ that likker the way you been doin’. And Connie, get out there and see what the crack-brained dog is
carryin’ on about before I get my rifle and shoot the critter.”

  The barking reached a crescendo as Connie Moon lumbered to his feet. He spat a curse at his brother, then turned to the door. And froze.

  “Just relax, Moon,” Duke Benedict said quietly. “I’ve come to parley.”

  With Connie standing rooted to the spot, old Moon snatched up his crutch, struggled to his feet and whirled as Benedict stepped in.

  “Who the hell is this? By God, mister, you’d best—”

  “It’s Benedict,” Zeke Moon breathed, his hand going under the table.

  Benedict touched the pearl butt of his right-hand gun with his fingertips. “Get your hands up where I can see them, mister. I said I’m here to talk.”

  Zeke Moon’s hand lifted slowly. Then the room shook to the fierce old man’s angry voice:

  “Benedict! Is this the dude who whipped you down at the Rockin’ T, Connie? The devil take you, boy, what are you waitin’ for? Get him!”

  “Shut your mouth, old man!” Benedict rapped. “Nobody is getting anybody, at least not yet.”

  Old Moon faltered in the face of Benedict’s show of authority, and he slumped on his crutch, glowering, as Connie spoke with a voice that had ice in it:

  “You’d better have one hell of a good reason for this, Benedict.”

  “As good a reason as you’re likely to hear for a long while, Moon,” said Benedict. “Somebody burned down the Rocking T barn last night. I want to know who.”

  Connie Moon blinked. “That? Why, it was Darlington, of course.”

  “He knows who it was,” Old Moon spat out. “This is just some dirty trick to give us grief like it seems we always get, one way or the other.”

  Ignoring the old man, Benedict said to Connie, “How do you know who it was?”

  “Well, we seen the glow of the fire and heard the shootin’, so I started down to see what was goin’ on. I heard these riders down on the old Injun trail comin’ like crazy, so I hid and watched ’em go by. It was Darlington and Ed Rife. I figured somethin’ was mighty peculiar so I rode over the hill and then I saw the barn just about burned out. You and that big bastard were down there at the house.” Connie shrugged, hard-faced. “I figured there was nothin’ for me down there, so I rode back home.”

  His words had the cold ring of truth. Benedict studied him for a long moment and finally nodded. “All right, Moon. You could be on the level. But Darlington holds that you started that fire, and my partner is in the jailhouse on a charge of killing Jim Hurd. I want you to come to Galloway with me and tell them what you’ve just told me.”

  “Darlington?” Old Moon rasped. “Why that lyin’ mongrel!”

  “Ah, shut your flappin’ mouth, Daddy,” Connie Moon said, not taking his eyes off Benedict. “As for this hogswill about me goin’ to town with you, gun-shark, forget it. There ain’t a man in that town who doesn’t hate my guts. They wouldn’t take the word of a Moon on nothin’.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see about that. You’re coming with me, Moon.”

  Connie Moon’s faded blue eyes flared dangerously. “You don’t hear good, Benedict. There was a barn burned down and a feller was killed on Rockin’ T land last night. If I went into Galloway with you, some big mouth would be hollerin’ that I done it, and then they’d start yellin’ for a rope.”

  “Sons of bitches, every mother’s son of ’em!” Old Moon rapped out, shaking with anger as he started to limp towards the fireplace. “Wouldn’t give a Moon a drink if he was dyin’ in hell. Now you get your high-rollin’ carcass outa here while you can still walk, Benedict, or somebody’s gonna be throwin’ dirt in your face.”

  “Get back!” Benedict snapped, moving to block the old man’s path to the fireplace where a rifle hung over the mantel. “I don’t want trouble with you men, but—”

  “You got trouble!” the old man shrieked. Teetering on one leg, he stabbed at Benedict with his crutch.

  Benedict swept the crutch aside, his attention diverted from Connie for a split second. That was all the time Connie Moon needed. His hand raked for his gun. Benedict caught the blur of movement in the corner of his eye and lunged to the side, his hand streaking down. His gun whipped out in a lightning draw that had the Peacemaker up and beating heavy thunder across the room as Connie Moon’s finger whitened on the trigger.

  Connie Moon fell on his face and didn’t move, the unfired gun beneath his body. His face haggard, Benedict came slowly out of his fighting crouch. He looked at Zeke Moon, but the big man was staring with frozen-eyed horror at the body on the floor.

  Old Moon’s scream went through Benedict like a knife thrust. “You killed my boy! You murdered my little son!”

  Ice in his veins and the taste of dust in his mouth, Benedict watched stonily as the old cripple crawled across to the dead man, then sat, cradling Connie’s head in his arms. Broken sounds dribbled from the scarred old mouth. “You killed my boy. Oh, you murderin’ varmint, you done snuffed out his poor life!”

  “You killed him, you crazy old fool!” Benedict raged. “If you hadn’t made that fool move, he’d still be alive and—”

  He broke off abruptly. Tears were rolling down Jasper Moon’s leathery cheeks. There was no fury in that face now, just grief and a terrible loss as he clasped the head of his dead son to his skinny chest.

  Benedict felt the anger drain out of him. He’d seldom been touched as he was by the sight of this wild, hate-filled old man weeping for his boy.

  “I’m sorry,” Benedict got out at length. “He gave me no other choice, but I’m sorry. I didn’t want to kill him.”

  Old Moon didn’t seem to hear. He sat rocking to and fro, his eyes closed.

  “I never wanted it to come to this,” he murmured, as if talking to himself. “But now I’ve killed him. Only for me, he’d have been content to stay up here just trappin’ and huntin’. But I set him after that gal. She got to mean too much to him, but she wouldn’t pay him no never mind and that made him ornery and mean ...” He shook his head. “My fault he got to fightin’ with a gun-shark ... my fault he’s come and killed him. All my fault ...”

  Benedict moved slowly towards the door. Somewhere in the back of his dulled brain was the awareness that he still needed the testimony of these men to help him clear Brazos. But that would have to wait. He had to get out of this room of death, away from the sound of Moon’s cracked old voice.

  “But I never wanted much,” Moon said, staring down at Connie’s face as Benedict halted in the doorway. “Just a nice piece of land to die on, somethin’ to leave you boys. Never wanted nothin’ more. Wouldn’t have even worried none about the gold if you’d married up with that gal and we all moved down there with you. Just the land ... just a nice pretty place ... not stuck up on the side of a mountain ...”

  Benedict was starting out across the rickety porch before it registered. Gold? What gold?

  He came back to the doorway and looked at Zeke. “What’s this about gold, Moon? Is there gold on the Rocking T?”

  Zeke Moon’s eyes drilled at him. “Go away, Benedict. Just go away ...”

  “Please, Moon, this could be important. Just tell me—is there gold on that spread?”

  “Will you go if I tell you? Will you just go and leave us in peace?”

  “Yes.”

  Zeke Moon rose stiffly. Holding his singed arm, he came slowly across to the door. “There’s gold there, gun-shark. Daddy always said there was, and three months back, Sandburr Sam Wilson found it. Jake Dillon let him prospect around for what he could pick up, then he struck a big seam at Bald Ridge. We know, on account of Connie seen him diggin’ around there for two days. Connie sneaked over one night and uncovered the dirt Wilson had shot back in his hole. It was gold right enough, lots of it. We could never figure out why he never said nothin’, but we kept quiet on account of Connie and me figured the gold’d be ours once Connie married the Dillon gal. And that’s all I’m tellin’.”

  “That’s enough,” sai
d Benedict. He took out his billfold and plucked a hundred-dollar bill from the sheaf of notes. “Take this, Moon. See that your brother is buried properly.”

  “Keep your dirty money.”

  Benedict placed the bill on the floor, then looked across at the dead man one last time, turned and was gone.

  Sandburr Sam Wilson was the key. But Sandburr Sam was not to be found.

  At first, the worthy Mrs. Peabody, roused from her sleep at three in the morning, insisted she had no inkling where her “gentleman friend” had gone, or why. All she would tell Benedict was that Wilson had saddled up his mule and headed out yesterday, immediately after hearing that Lafe Darlington had come back to Galloway with Casey Cantrell.

  But, after a cross-examination of the good lady, Benedict began to suspect that even if she didn’t know why Sandburr had left, she had an inkling where he was.

  As for Mrs. Peabody it was obvious that she suspected this grim-faced man with his hard eyes—so different from the charming flatterer she’d come to know—had serious, perhaps even dangerous business with her Samuel.

  Benedict realized his mistake in time and switched tactics. Suddenly he was all smiles and heady compliments. He held her pudgy hands and told her outrageous lies about her looks, character and cooking. He also told her of the enormous impression she’d made on him, hinting at all sorts of romantic possibilities for Duke Benedict and Abigail Peabody—providing he was free to pursue such frivolous things after locating Sandburr Sam on a matter of urgent personal business.

  She believed him because she wanted to believe that this handsome, dashing man who’d had the female population agog for days, found her plump and matronly self desirable. So she said it was just possible that Sandburr had gone to a favorite old haunt of his along the Trinity River, a fishing spot known as Broadman’s Bend. It was almost thirty miles from Galloway.

  He kissed her hand in gratitude. But that wasn’t gratitude enough. So, manfully he kissed her on the lips, then he pushed free of her powerful and eager arms and headed for the yard at a run.