by Scott Connor
Lincoln might have been prepared to believe this statement if he’d hadn’t have seen the gun in Alex’s hand, the blood on his jacket, and the startled look in Alex’s eyes.
Alex noticed Lincoln’s interest and started to turn the gun on him, but Lincoln lunged out. He flicked the weapon from Alex’s grasp and then grabbed him.
‘You are under arrest, again,’ he said. ‘This time it’s really serious.’
With an arm firmly clamped around Alex’s shoulders he headed to the door and looked outside. Beyond was deserted countryside with no sign of anyone. He turned to Alex with his eyebrows raised.
Alex darted his gaze along the back of the row of buildings, seemingly searching for the man he had claimed to be following. He sighed and looked at Lincoln with beseeching eyes.
‘The skull man was there, honestly. I was following him and he . . .’ Alex kicked at the dirt and slumped his shoulders. ‘I guess you’ll just have to arrest me again.’
Lincoln nodded and turned to head off for the sheriff’s office. He was minded to continue searching, but he was unwilling to do that with a prisoner in tow. Luckily, Deputy Curtis then arrived.
‘You got here quickly for once,’ Lincoln said.
Curtis shrugged. ‘I heard gunfire and came running.’
Lincoln narrowed his eyes with skepticism. In his opinion the only direction Curtis was likely to run when he heard gunfire was in the opposite direction to the gunfire, but with the situation being urgent he kept those thoughts to himself.
He passed Alex over to the deputy. After they’d set off for the sheriff’s office, he returned to the stables.
His quick search revealed nothing untoward. So he headed outside and made his way along the backs of the buildings on the main drag.
He still didn’t see anybody and when he returned to the main drag the only people outside were the townsfolk who were gathering around the saloon in a silent and somber group.
In a small town like Independence any visitor gathered plenty of attention and a man with a face as distinctive as the face Lincoln had seen would be sure to gather interest.
Lincoln smiled as he connected the evidence in the only way possible.
‘Either I’m seeing things,’ he said to himself, ‘or the skull man is a familiar face around town and he’s wearing a mask.’
Chapter Six
News traveled fast in Independence, especially when the Humboldt brothers were involved. So when Lincoln left the courthouse after talking over the situation with Judge Murphy, the three free brothers were waiting for him.
As always Karl was leading. He pushed himself away from the hitching-rail outside the courthouse and with his younger brothers flanking him followed Lincoln to the sheriff’s office.
‘I suppose you’re pinning the sheriff’s death on him as well as Wesley’s,’ he said, his tone belligerent.
Lincoln stomped to a halt on the hardpan. ‘Now why would you think that?’
‘I know how you lawmen work. You drag in the nearest man to the body and pin his name onto all the crimes you haven’t got a face for.’
‘I haven’t blamed any murder on Alex – yet. Murphy has set his trial for Wednesday and he’ll get a fair hearing.’ Lincoln flashed a smile. ‘So if you know anything that’ll help, don’t keep it to yourself.’
Karl snorted his breath through his nostrils and then paced round to stand before Lincoln.
‘I won’t ever help no lawman.’
‘Then help yourself.’ Lincoln raised his eyebrows. ‘Before he died Wesley told me you weren’t in the Golden Star saloon on the night Ben died.’
‘I can find plenty of live witnesses who saw me in the saloon that night,’ Karl said, looking around confidently as if he could produce those people with a click of the fingers.
‘I’m sure you can persuade plenty of people to come forward, and that’s why I’ve not arrested you. I’m giving you enough space to make a mistake. Then your brother won’t be the only one facing a trial.’
Karl cast a meaningful glance at the sheriff’s office, and then at his brothers.
‘We’ll make sure Alex doesn’t face no trial.’
‘If that means what I reckon it means,’ Lincoln snapped, placing his hands on his hips, ‘I’ll be coming for you before you get that chance to make a mistake.’
Over Karl’s shoulder Lincoln saw Deputy Curtis slowly open the door. Curtis had a rifle held low and dangling, but he held it in a manner that was still menacing enough to make Wilhelm and Heinrich flinch.
Karl glanced back to see what had worried them. He slumped his shoulders a mite as some of the fight went out of him. Karl still fixed Lincoln with a firm gaze for a moment and then turned on his heel.
‘Later,’ he said. Then with slow arrogance he and his brothers loped off down the boardwalk.
Lincoln watched the brothers leave. Then he followed Curtis into the office.
‘They’ve been out there for the last hour goading each other on to say something,’ Curtis said, gulping.
‘I’m surprised they got themselves the courage to almost say something this time.’
‘Oh they will.’ Curtis lowered his voice. ‘Did the judge believe Alex’s story?’
‘He’d like to, but right now Alex is our only suspect.’ Lincoln swung round to consider Alex, now sitting in the same cell as he’d occupied the day before. He raised his voice so that the prisoner could hear him. ‘He’ll have to give me more before the judge will believe him.’
Lincoln had hoped that after he’d been to see the judge he’d see some sign that Alex was prepared to talk openly, but Alex still had the same hunched posture and firm-set jaw as earlier. With a heavy tread to command Alex’s attention, Lincoln headed across the office and looked through the bars at him.
‘I’ve told you everything,’ Alex said, staring at the floor. ‘I followed this man. He disappeared.’
‘How did you get the blood on your clothes?’
‘My brothers gave me a whupping,’ Alex whined. He looked up and met Lincoln’s eye for the first time.
Alex did have several bruises on his hands and face, but Lincoln still shook his head.
‘Was that a whupping for setting fire to the saloon, or for getting caught?’ Lincoln waited for a reply that didn’t come. ‘Put an end to this. Either admit you did it or give me the name of this man with a face like a skull.’
‘I don’t know no name.’
‘That attitude will get you a stretched neck some day soon. If you’re hoping Karl will break you out of there before that day comes, I don’t reckon he’s got the nerve to do it.’
Alex gulped. His hands began to shake.
‘He wouldn’t try to break me out, would he?’
Lincoln noted Alex’s response and it helped to firm up the gut-reaction he’d had ever since he’d heard of Karl.
He gestured for Curtis to throw him the keys to the cell. Then he opened the door and went inside.
Two cots were in the cell. Lincoln sat on the one opposite to Alex and considered him with his hands resting on his knees.
When he spoke, he lowered his voice, hoping that speaking to him close to and without the bars between them might help Alex to accept what he said.
‘Despite the evidence against you, I don’t reckon you’re the kind of man who’d kill. But twice you’ve been the only person close to a crime, and both times you acted suspiciously.’ Lincoln raised his eyebrows for emphasis. ‘So tell me what you were doing and prove to me that you’re innocent.’
‘I can’t.’
Lincoln noted Alex’s choice of words. He hadn’t said that he didn’t know what had happened; he just couldn’t talk about it.
Lincoln leaned forward. The cell door obligingly creaked open a few inches, offering its own inducement.
‘The only reason a man might risk getting the noose is that he’s more scared of something else happening than he is of death. As you won’t speak, I’ll tell you what I reckon h
appened. Someone killed Ben to settle an old grudge. Then he told Wesley to give him an alibi. You and that someone threatened to burn down his saloon if he didn’t comply. You didn’t intend to carry through with your threat, but you accidentally dropped the lamp and the fire started anyhow.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Alex said, his downcast eyes and low tone suggesting Lincoln was close to the truth.
‘You both panicked and ran, but when the flames got out of hand you went back for Wesley. The flames beat you back and so you tried to dispose of the evidence. After I arrested you, you covered up for your accomplice because he was someone close to you – your brother Karl.’
Alex gulped and darted his gaze around the cell, his shock implying Lincoln’s assumption was correct.
‘It wasn’t Karl who did it,’ he said.
Lincoln again noted Alex’s choice of words. He couldn’t tell him who had killed Ben and Wesley, and it wasn’t Karl who did it either, but one thing was sure – he was protecting someone.
‘Tell me the truth,’ Lincoln said, lowering his voice. ‘A man can take ten minutes to die dangling on the end of a rope.’
Alex didn’t reply for a full minute. When he did speak he looked at the floor between his feet and his voice was gruff and faded to a whisper several times.
‘The truth is I did set fire to the saloon. This man paid me ten dollars to throw an oil-lamp through the back door. I didn’t think it’d burn the saloon down though and I did go back to try to get Wesley out. But I sure didn’t kill him and I don’t know nothing about Sheriff Pringle.’
‘I’d like to believe you, but you’ll have to give me more than that. Who was this man?’
‘He didn’t give me no name. He kept in the shadows.’ He looked up and met Lincoln’s eyes. ‘Like I said, Marshal, he had a face like a skull, all cold and white. I saw him again this morning and I followed him, but I couldn’t catch up with him.’
‘Why did you follow him?’
Alex gulped and provided a shame-faced grin.
‘I wanted to get more money off him in return for not talking to you.’
This had the ring of truth, making Lincoln smile.
‘When he paid you he must have said something that’ll help me find him. If you think of what that is, tell me.’
Lincoln fixed Alex with his firm gaze and then rocked forward, preparing to leave him to mull on his words, but Alex coughed, halting him.
‘He mentioned a name when he paid me the money. I don’t reckon it was his own name but someone else in his pay.’ Alex closed his eyes and under his breath he whispered a name.
Lincoln considered Alex’s answer. He judged it as being just expected enough to be a lie, but just bizarre enough to be the truth.
‘You’ve done the right thing, son,’ Lincoln said, placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder before he left the cell.
Curtis was watching him, clearly not having heard Alex’s response, but Lincoln didn’t feel minded to reveal what he’d said.
‘Curtis, I’m leaving town,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow if I get lucky. Longer if I don’t.’
‘Do what you want,’ Curtis said, shrugging, as they walked to the door. ‘You’re not my boss.’
‘While I’m gone keep probing Alex’s story and keep those brothers under watch.’ Lincoln stopped and glared at Curtis. ‘Most importantly – work on that attitude of yours.’
‘What attitude?’ Curtis snapped, slapping his hands on his hips and leaning forward to glare back at Lincoln.
Lincoln ground his hands into tight fists to keep his rising temper under control and merely returned Curtis’s annoyed gaze.
‘It’s like this – when I get back I’ll be closer to finding Ben’s killer and I’ll need the help of someone with dedication, not someone who just wants to argue with me.’
Lincoln let the rest of his threat remain unsaid, trusting that Curtis would understand he could always find another deputy, and sure enough Curtis sneered.
‘I’m a deputy sheriff in a town that hasn’t got no sheriff. I’m not a deputy marshal. You can’t do nothing to me.’
‘I can’t, but you’ve had a problem with me since the moment I arrived. So just tell it to me straight. Why?’
Curtis hitched up his belt while glancing around, his furtive eyes showing he was debating whether to speak his mind.
‘All right. The sheriff isn’t here no more and I want to be the next sheriff. I had a chance except you being here makes me look bad.’
‘You look bad because you are bad. If you had found Ben’s killer, Mayor Ellison wouldn’t have called me in.’ Lincoln sighed. ‘But it doesn’t have to be that way. When I find the killer, it’ll look good for you, too, and it’ll teach you something about being a lawman. Think about that while I’m gone instead of looking for reasons to argue with me.’
Curtis bunched his jaw, his wild eyes reflecting his angry thoughts before he got his temper under control with a firm slap of a fist against his thigh.
‘Any other orders, boss?’ he grunted.
Lincoln ignored the contempt in Curtis’s tone.
‘Tell Judge Murphy I’m following a lead on the murders and make sure he doesn’t start Alex’s trial until I get back.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Curtis said, delivering a forced smile. ‘You can trust me.’
Chapter Seven
With sundown an hour away, Lincoln rode into Carter’s Creek, a run-down cow-town along the trail which, without the benefit of a railroad, was now not faring as well as Independence was.
Jack Porter, the gambler who had won $25,000 off Billy Stone, had ridden out of town after he’d collected his money. As Black Point, the next nearest town, was a day away, Lincoln reckoned that Jack had to have headed here.
So firstly he looked over the batwings of the town’s only saloon and sure enough Jack was playing poker with three cowboys at the back of the saloon. The other players were rough-clad and wouldn’t provide Jack with the sort of return he’d gained last night, but Lincoln reckoned that gamblers like Jack practiced their skills at every opportunity.
Lincoln nudged through the batwings and wove through the tables until he stood behind Jack.
One of the cowboys looked up at Lincoln, but his gaze caught on Lincoln’s star and he drew the brim of his hat down.
Jack followed the cowboy’s gaze and glanced over his shoulder. A huge smile spread.
‘Howdy, Marshal Lincoln Hawk,’ he said, his voice loud and contented. ‘Do you want to play real poker with me again? The stakes aren’t as good as they were last night, but we’re all having a mighty fine time.’
‘Nope. I just want to ask you some questions.’
‘Not yet.’ Jack glanced around the table, smiling. Then he leaned to his side and placed a hand beside his mouth. ‘You’ll have to wait until I get dealt some worse cards than these. My luck just isn’t changing today.’
The cowboy opposite Jack snorted and threw his cards down while Lincoln raised his eyebrows and leaned down to place his mouth beside Jack’s ear.
‘Now, at the bar,’ he said, keeping his voice loud enough for the other players to hear. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I know what you did.’
Lincoln stood back and exchanged long stares with Jack. As the cowboys muttered amongst themselves, Jack threw his cards on the table.
‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said, delivering a short bow, all sign of his former jovial mood gone. ‘Perhaps my cards aren’t as hot as I claimed, and I have some business with the lawman.’
Jack smoothed his jacket and then headed to the bar. Lincoln joined him and tapped his foot on the rail as Jack ordered two whiskeys.
When they arrived, Jack hunched over his drink and stared deep into the whiskey. He swirled the liquor and then placed the glass down without drinking.
‘What do you reckon you know?’ he said, his voice low.
Lincoln matched Jack’s posture as he hunched over his whiskey.
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‘It’s like this – a gambler takes Billy Stone for twenty-five thousand dollars in front of a lawman, a judge and a mayor. A man who can do that is either skilled, lucky, or was just doing something so brazen that nobody spotted what it was.’ Lincoln sipped his whiskey. ‘Until afterwards when we got to talking and comparing notes about we’d seen.’
Jack frowned. ‘Have you got proof? Because you can’t go accusing people like that.’
‘I don’t need no proof.’ Lincoln gulped his whiskey and slammed the empty glass down beside Jack’s full glass. ‘Because until five seconds ago, I didn’t know I needed to prove anything.’
Jack swirled round to face Lincoln, his eyes blazing, but as Lincoln met his gaze, a smile invaded the corners of his mouth.
‘Well played, Marshal. With that level voice and stone gaze, you’ll make a fine poker-player one day.’
‘I like to gamble, but you’re wrong. I’m too fair-minded.’
‘Perhaps you are and that forces me to tell you that you called my bluff too early.’ Jack raised his whiskey and took a long gulp. ‘So unless you’ve got proof I cheated Billy, I’d be obliged if you’d leave me to finish my game.’
Jack gulped back the last of his whiskey. He tipped his hat and turned to walk past Lincoln, but Lincoln grabbed his arm, halting him.
‘Trouble is, I’m not investigating Billy’s losses at the poker-table. I’m investigating the death of Sheriff Pringle and now Wesley Jameson. I reckon I have enough on you already to take you back to Independence to face trial.’
Jack blinked hard, his mouth falling open and his eyes opening wide in what, if Lincoln didn’t know what a consummate poker-player Jack was, would have been a convincing representation of shock.
‘I’ve never met either man and I didn’t even know Wesley was dead.’
With a snap of his wrist, Lincoln released Jack’s arm.
‘Then you’ll have nothing to fear from me. Be open with me and I won’t take you back to Independence.’
