“You did the proper thing, letting me know right away,” Bob said now, in response to Peter’s remarks.
“Dang me for failin’ to recognize Larkin as soon as I walked in that saloon,” Ollie lamented. “We’ve all heard the talk about how he was comin’ back. That raggedy beard of his and the fact he’s gotten a lot skinnier than he used to be threw me off, I guess. If I’d’ve recognized him right off, I could’ve let you boys know even sooner and maybe stopped the trouble a-fore it ever started at all.”
“You did fine as it was, Ollie,” Bob told him.
“That’s right,” Vern added. “If you hadn’t come and found me and Peter when you did, that situation likely would have turned a lot uglier. From what I saw when we got there, another minute and it would have busted out into a full-scale brawl.”
“I agree,” Peter spoke up. “You saved a lot of damage, Ollie.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Bob, “to show our appreciation for the help you’ve been, how about you go up the street to Bullock’s and have a couple drinks on me for the ones that got interrupted at the Grand. Tell Mike I’ll be around tomorrow to square the tab.”
“Aw, you don’t need to do that, Marshal.”
“I know I don’t need to. But I want to. So why don’t you run along and take advantage of my generosity before I change my mind?”
“Okay. If you insist.” Ollie grinned. “Hate to put you to the trouble of switching your mind back and forth.”
As soon as the door closed behind Ollie, Bob turned to his deputies and said, “Okay. Give some details.”
Peter shrugged. “If not for Larkin being involved, it was just another saloon fight. An argument over a pool game.”
“From most reports,” Vern added, “Ray Monte, one of the workers from Angus McTeague’s McT #3 mine, was the main instigator. Him and Jimmy Russert.”
“Those McT boys generally aren’t troublemakers,” Bob mused.
“True,” Vern agreed. “But tonight seems like it was an exception. Sam Kingston was also with ’em. He didn’t engage in the fight with Larkin but he held a gun on Roy Cormier to make sure him or none of his staff interfered.”
Bob frowned. “Hell. Sam oughtta know better than that. What’s Cormier saying about it all? What kind of charges does he want to make?”
“Surprisingly,” said Peter, “he was pretty calm about everything. I guess because there wasn’t that much damage done. A broken cue stick, some tipped-over chairs, and spilled drinks . . . oh, yeah, and a very eye-catching shotgun blast pattern in the ceiling where Mr. Law-and-Order got in a hurry to bring things to a screeching halt.”
Vern scowled, his face reddening some. “Hey. Like I said before, it looked to me like everybody in the joint was about half a second away from throwing fists. I didn’t want that to get started.”
Peter smiled. “And you made sure it didn’t. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Getting back to Cormier,” Bob said. “He going to press charges or not?”
“He said he’d stop by first thing in the morning and talk to you about that,” Peter said. “He wanted more time tonight to finish checking for damages and whatnot.”
Bob jabbed a thumb toward the heavy door at the rear of the room that led back to the cellblock. “I trust you’ve got all the ones involved back there?”
Vern nodded. “We figured you’d at least want to hold ’em overnight for drunk and disorderly . . . Although, truth to tell, none of ’em are all that drunk.”
Bob skirted the end of the desk and headed for the heavy door. “Let’s go find out what they’ve got to say for themselves.”
* * *
There was a surprise waiting for the three lawmen when they walked into the cellblock area. It came from Ray Monte, who’d sprung to his feet as soon as he heard the door bolt sliding back. From the cot he’d been sitting on, he moved to the wall of bars that ran floor to ceiling across the front of the cell into which he’d been locked along with Russert and Kingston. John Larkin occupied the adjoining cell by himself. He also sat on the edge of a cot, but he neither looked up nor stood when the visitors came in.
“Marshal, I’m glad you’re here,” Monte said, a tone of urgency in his voice. He wrapped his big hands around the bars before him and squeezed them tight. “There’s been a big mistake.”
Bob smiled somewhat wearily. Like he hadn’t heard this spiel before.
“Yeah, and you made it,” he told Monte. “Saloon fighting pretty clearly qualifies as disorderly conduct, and that automatically earns you the right to spend a night in these cozy accommodations of ours. In the morning, if Roy Cormier decides he wants to press charges for whatever damage you caused, you might be staying a little longer.”
Monte shook his head. “That’s not the mistake I’m talkin’ about. I know me and my buddies here—mostly me—deserve this. The mistake is with this other fella over here.” Monte tipped his head to indicate Larkin in the other cell. “He don’t belong behind bars. He didn’t do nothing but defend himself against us . . . well, again, mostly me.”
Bob cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“That’s not the song you were singing a little while ago,” Peter was quick to say. “You were mighty loud about accusing him of cheating at pool and being the one who started the fight.”
Monte loosened his grip on the bars and looked away. “I was wrong. I wasn’t telling it straight.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?” Bob wanted to know.
By now, Larkin had risen to his feet and moved closer within the confines of his own cell, paying tighter attention to what was being said.
Monte looked one way, tossing a glance at Larkin through the bars that separated the two cells, then turned his head briefly to look back over his shoulder at his pals Kingston and Russert. Kingston was on his feet, listening with interest, while Russert remained sitting on the edge of a cot, holding a bloody rag to his smashed nose.
Monte’s eyes returned to Bob. “Since I found out this other fella is John Larkin, it’s forced me to do some thinkin’. Reflectin’, you might say, on how all this came about. Reckon I don’t have to tell you that Larkin only recently got released from the pen down in Laramie. Been quite a bit of talk lately about him bein’ on his way back.” Monte paused, cleared his throat. “The thing is, it sets awful hard with me to think that some poor devil who just spent all that time in a prison comes home only to end up right off the bat smack in jail. And me bein’ the cause of it . . . well, I just can’t go with that.”
“That ain’t exactly your call to make,” Bob pointed out. “He joined in the fight, just like you.”
“But that’s what I’m tryin’ to explain, what I already told you about him just defendin’ himself—against me and my accusations and the way me and Russert back here was proddin’ him to where he had no choice. You can’t fault a man for standin’ his ground in a situation like that.”
“What about your claim that he was cheating?” Vern asked. “Wasn’t that the start of the whole thing?”
Monte hung his head. “That’s why I keep sayin’ it’s all mostly on me . . . Larkin was never cheatin’. Not that I saw, not that anybody else did, either. I was just bein’ a sore loser. I take a lot of pride—stupid pride—in bein’ a good pool player. It humiliated me to have this stranger whip me so sound in front of my friends and everybody. Blamin’ that some cheatin’ went on seemed like a way out. That’s all I was lookin’ for, really. But once the words came out of my mouth . . . well, here we are.”
“And we’re supposed to believe that, all of a sudden, a guilty conscience is causing you to change your tune?” said Bob.
“It’s the truth, dammit,” Monte insisted, growing agitated. “Why else would I be sayin’ it? I don’t owe Larkin nothing, never saw him before in my life. And I ain’t paintin’ myself as no saint. Far from it . . . But neither am I so lowdown that I’d cause an innocent man to stand a jail hitch for me makin’ a false claim on account of my
feelin’s got hurt. Way I hear tell, there’s plenty to be found who think Larkin got a raw deal the first time around. I can’t do nothing about that, but I can do something to try and see he don’t do jail time this time around—leastways not on my say-so.”
Bob exchanged uncertain glances with his deputies. Then he looked over at Larkin in the next cell. “You got anything you want to add to this?”
Larkin cut his eyes momentarily to Monte, then regarded the marshal. He came forward a bit more in his cell. “What do you expect me to say? Even if this man wasn’t telling the truth—which he is, by the way—it would still be in my best interest to agree with him, right?”
Bob didn’t respond right away. When he did, he came from a different angle. “How long have you been in town?”
Larkin took the change-up in stride. “Counting my time in here, only a couple hours or so.”
“Since you got out of prison on early release and therefore are on parole,” Bob said, “weren’t you advised you’re supposed to check in with the local authorities when you arrive in a town?”
Larkin nodded. “Yes, I was advised of that. But I understood I had twenty-four hours to do so. I intended to stop by your office first thing in the morning.”
“But first you made time to stop by a saloon. Seems like your priorities might be a little out of kilter, mister,” said Peter.
“Maybe so,” Larkin allowed. “But I just got in from riding all day. And, for a lot longer before that, I was in a place where cold beers were few and far between. So having one or two to cut the trail dust and celebrate making it back home didn’t seem like such a bad idea.”
“And after you had those beers—providing this other hadn’t happened—what were your plans for the balance of the night?” Bob asked.
“An old pal of mine offered to put me up for a few days once I got back to town. I was figuring to drop in on him and take him up on the offer.”
“That old pal be Earl Hines, the blacksmith?”
“It would.”
Bob considered for a minute. Then he said to Vern, “Go find Hines and let him know he’s got a visitor in town, will you? Bring him back here with you.”
Turning to Peter, the marshal then said, “Go ahead and unlock Mr. Larkin’s cell. We’ll discuss this further out in the office.”
When his cell door groaned open, Larkin didn’t exit right away. He paused to speak to Monte. “What happened earlier wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. Not for either of us, I guess. But it was mighty decent of you to speak up for me the way you just did. For whatever it’s worth, I appreciate it.”
Monte gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Least I could do. Maybe we’ll run into each other again someday and shoot some more pool under friendlier circumstances. I’ll be ready for you next time.”
Partway out his cell door, Larkin paused again. “That big fella sitting back there on the couch,” he said to Bob and Peter. “I damaged his nose pretty bad. He could use some attention.”
“I tried sending for the doc but he’s out of town on a house call. Not much more we can do for him right now,” Peter explained.
“Maybe a pan of fresh water and a clean towel at least?”
“We can do that much,” said Bob. “We’ll bring something back.”
CHAPTER 21
As usual, Bob was the first to arrive at the jail the next morning. In this instance, however, due to the policy of someone remaining at the jail when there was a prisoner in the lockup overnight, Vern Macy was there to greet him. The young deputy looked like he’d been up for a while. The cot he’d slept on over against the sidewall of the office area was made up and a pot of fresh-brewed coffee was on the stove. Still, once he’d informed Bob how things stood, he was more than ready to take his leave and head on home.
The only change since Bob had left there himself last night was that Doc Tibbs had shown up around midnight, having gotten back into town and found the note that was left on his door informing him there was an injured man at the jail. He’d treated Russert’s nose, packing it with cotton to prevent any more bleeding and bandaging it to try and hold it in place so it could mend as straight as possible. He’d also left a small bottle of pain pills for the patient. After that, the rest of the night went without incident and even Russert had rested fairly peacefully.
Vern hadn’t been gone long before Fred reported in. Inasmuch as he’d made his usual stop at the Bluebird Café for breakfast, he’d already heard the gossip version of last night’s fight at the Grand, most notably including how John Larkin was back in town and had been involved in it, and how he now was behind bars again for his trouble. It never ceased to amaze Bob how fast the local tongue-waggers could learn about and then spread the word on anything and everything that happened around town.
This time around, though, what the wagging tongues didn’t know was that, after Ray Monte had admitted to instigating the whole incident and Earl Hines had shown up to take responsibility for Larkin, Bob had made the decision not to hold him.
“You mean you let him go?” Fred echoed upon being so informed.
“That’s right,” Bob said with a nod. “After Monte confessed to lying and causing the whole trouble, what grounds did I have to hold Larkin on? Like Monte himself kept pointing out, all Larkin did was defend himself.”
Fred emitted a low whistle. “That’ll set the town to buzzing even more than they already are.”
“I can’t help that. It was the right thing to do.”
Fred nodded toward the cellblock door. “But the other three—the McT miners—they’re still back there?”
“For now,” Bob said. “I expect to let ’em out before too long. Call it disorderly conduct and time served. It’s gonna depend on whether or not Roy Cormier decides he wants to press any charges, though. According to Peter and Vern, it didn’t look to them like there was much damage. The most serious thing, the way I see it, is Kingston pulling a gun on Cormier.”
“That old fool ought to know better than that.”
Bob grinned wryly. “Kinda what I thought. But he did it, nevertheless.”
“Decent of Monte, though, to set the record straight like he did.”
“Yeah. You got to give him that.”
Fred scrunched up his face. “Saloonkeepers ain’t exactly known for being early risers. When do you figure Cormier will be coming around?”
“He told Peter and Vern it wouldn’t be very late. But in the meantime,” Bob said, “I reckon we owe our prisoners some breakfast. How about you make a return trip to the Bluebird and have Mike and Teresa fix up some meals you can bring back with you?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
As Fred started for the door, Bob added, “And Fred? Don’t give the gossipmongers any new news to blab about while you’re there. I don’t know how the hell they find out half the stuff they do, but make sure it ain’t from you. Make ’em work for it.”
* * *
Roy Cormier came by a little before ten. He continued to have a very tolerant attitude about what had occurred in his establishment, stating that the damage done was too minimal to go to any added bother over. When he heard that Monte had changed his story, admitting to starting the trouble on a falsehood and thereby clearing Larkin of any wrongdoing except defending himself, Cormier seemed genuinely pleased.
“Good for Monte,” he said. “He never seemed like a bad sort any of the previous times he’s been in my place. And good for the Larkin fellow, too. I was never convinced he’d done any cheating. Especially after I heard about his past troubles, I was sorry to see him caught up in a sham.”
“Well, he ended up getting out of it okay,” Bob said, marveling once again at how everybody seemed to find Larkin so innately likable and wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. “The only thing that leaves,” he added, “is the matter of the gun that was pulled on you. That’s too serious a thing to just ignore, wouldn’t you say?”
Cormier frowned. “What do you suggest?”
“It would, yes. But that’s a pretty stiff cost to a working miner, isn’t it?”
“I know his employer. Kingston’s a good worker, been with the McT mines for quite a spell. I think Angus McTeague will cover the fine and then let old Sam work it off once he gets back on the job.”
Cormier nodded. “That sounds reasonable. I’m fine with that.”
* * *
An hour later, Bob sent Fred back to the lockup to release the prisoners.
After all three had shuffled out into the front office area, Bob sat on the corner of his desk and addressed them. For starters, he advised Kingston that he wouldn’t be getting his gun back and then informed him of the fine levied against him.
“I figure McTeague will be good for it and then let you work it out with withdrawals from your pay,” Bob said. “If for some reason he won’t, you’ll have to serve some more time. You understand that?”
The old miner hung his head and nodded.
“It was a pretty dumb thing to do, Sam. I can’t just leave it go.”
“I understand, Marshal. You’re bein’ fair as you can,” Kingston said. “Far as bein’ a dumb thing, I can’t argue that, neither. There was a lot of that goin’ on right at the time and I guess I got caught up in it.”
Right between the Eyes Page 12
