by Scott Connor
Jack tipped back his hat. ‘All right. When did Wesley die?’
‘This morning.’ Lincoln smiled. ‘You left town this morning.’
‘I did, but it was before Wesley died.’
‘How do you know when exactly this morning Wesley died?’
Jack glanced away. ‘The town was quiet when I left, and I heard no gunshots.’
‘I never said that Wesley had been shot.’ Lincoln raised his eyebrows. ‘Your attempts at being open aren’t convincing me that you’re innocent.’
Jack tapped a knuckle on the bar with an irritated rhythm.
‘I was surmising,’ he snapped. ‘You aren’t tricking me into revealing anything because I have nothing to reveal. Besides, the train passed through Independence this morning. When I left town a whole mess of people were heading for the station and one of them must have seen me leave.’
‘I’m sure a man with twenty-five thousand dollars to his name can find plenty of friendly witnesses.’
Jack accepted Lincoln’s sarcasm with barely a flicker to his level gaze.
‘Quit the snide comments and just tell me why you reckon I’m responsible. Then I’ll explain why you’re wrong.’
When Lincoln didn’t answer immediately Jack smiled and beckoned the bartender over. He ordered another two whiskeys, his voice regaining its earlier calm tone.
Lincoln leaned on the bar until the bartender had poured the drinks.
‘Some people have waited years for an opening in Independence’s monthly poker-game, and yet you get to play at the first opportunity. And gamblers who bet five thousand dollars on a single hand of poker don’t ride into Independence too often, but such a man just happens to be available on the night that Wesley isn’t available.’
‘That was my luck.’
Lincoln took a steady sip of his drink and placed it on the bar before him. He fingered the glass, pushing it round in a circle, and then turned to Jack.
‘Perhaps it was, but the man whose place you took got himself a whole heap of bad luck, as did the man whose place I took.’
Jack swirled his whiskey and sipped it, his shoulders hunching.
‘If that’s the best you can do, I’ll just have to come with you and answer your allegations.’ Jack provided a resigned smile. ‘It won’t be hard.’
Lincoln spread his hands. ‘Then we’ll be going just as soon as—’
Lincoln flinched back as Jack’s hand swirled round, the movement swift, but Jack was only clutching the whiskey glass. The whiskey spouted from the glass and splashed into Lincoln’s face, burning into his eyes.
Lincoln backed away for a pace, batting his face and shaking his head to regain his vision before Jack could act again. But footfalls pattered past him as Jack ran for the door.
With his eyes still watering and his vision blurred, Lincoln headed after him. He saw Jack run past the saloon window. Then he pushed through the swinging batwings and held on to them as he shook the last of the whiskey from his eyes.
Jack had already disappeared from view and the few people outside were all going about their business serenely.
Lincoln hurried past the window and down the boardwalk. Jack had had only a few seconds on him and he hadn’t had enough time to cross the main drag or reach the nearest alley, a hundred yards away. He must have slipped through the door in one of the next two buildings, the hotel or the church.
Lincoln noted that Jack’s horse was still standing outside the mercantile, adding further weight to the possibility that he hadn’t had enough time to leave town. So he took a pace backwards to place his back to the saloon wall.
For the next few minutes Lincoln waited for Jack to make a run for his horse.
Jack didn’t appear and so Lincoln had to accept that a man with $25,000 on him might not feel a need to return to his horse. As the hotel was the nearest building, he headed there first.
A smiling man behind the reception desk greeted him. Even before Lincoln had completed his question as to whether he’d seen Jack, the man reported he hadn’t seen anyone enter his hotel all day, all the time nodding and smiling with a desperate desire to please.
His response was too quick and enthusiastic, but Lincoln still thanked him politely for his help in a loud voice, feigning that he believed him, and left the hotel. He slipped into the church doorway and waited.
Several minutes passed before Lincoln’s hunch paid off.
Jack looked out of the hotel door and darted his gaze around. Then Jack rolled his shoulders and paced out on to the boardwalk and across the main drag, heading briskly for his horse.
Lincoln let him get half-way there and then followed, placing his feet to the ground carefully, but the moment Lincoln left the boardwalk, the alert Jack turned on his heel and saw him. He broke into a run, as did Lincoln.
Jack pounded across the ground, ignoring his own horse and heading for the nearest available mount.
On the run, Jack reached the hitching-rail and unlooped the reins. He moved to swing himself up on to the horse, but was too slow and couldn’t avoid Lincoln slamming into him.
Lincoln grabbed his hips and tugged while Jack kicked out. His foot whistled through the air and missed Lincoln, the action letting Lincoln get a firm grip of his leg and bodily yank him off the horse.
Jack squirmed as he fell, managing to unbalance Lincoln and the two men fell to the ground, entangled. Jack fought his way to his knees and clawed himself to his feet, knocking Lincoln on his back in the process, but Lincoln braced his back against the ground and kicked Jack’s feet from under him.
Jack went down, landing heavily on his chest. He lay winded and then rolled over, but by the time he looked up, Lincoln was standing over him with his gun drawn and aimed down at his chest. Lincoln shook his head.
‘It seems as if you’re coming with me, after all,’ he said.
Chapter Eight
‘You wasted your time arresting me,’ Jack said, glaring at Lincoln while clutching the reins with his bound hands. ‘I didn’t kill Wesley or Sheriff Pringle.’
Jack was now bound and secured to his horse as they headed back to Independence, so Lincoln turned to him.
‘Then why run?’ he said.
‘I play poker for money and I took plenty off Billy last night. I just wanted to keep my money.’
Lincoln didn’t speak for a while, letting his silence pray on Jack’s mind.
‘You have one chance to convince me you’re not involved,’ he said eventually, his voice low. He drew his horse to a halt. ‘Tell me who hired you to get into the poker-game.’
Jack snorted. ‘I’ve never needed no encouragement to get into a poker-game.’
‘Perhaps not, but I reckon someone hired you to come to Independence and play poker with Billy on the day the Golden Star saloon burnt down, the only time there’d be a spare place at the table.’
‘You got that wrong. I arrived in town a week ago.’
Lincoln chuckled. ‘A week! Now that sure is interesting. Ben died a week ago.’
Jack sighed as he turned away from Lincoln’s firm gaze. Long moments passed in silence.
‘If someone did hire me, will you let me go?’ he said, his tone sounding defeated.
‘Nope. You’ll just get my gratitude, and a man who’s facing a term in prison could do with a lawman for a friend.’
‘Then can I keep the money I won?’
‘I can’t promise you that either, but I can promise you that if you don’t give me a name, you’ll face charges that are one hell of a lot more serious than cheating at poker.’
Jack stared straight ahead, rocking his head from side to side. Then he turned to face him.
‘I can’t give you a name or a description. I didn’t see his face. He was in the shadows. I reckon he was wearing a mask to disguise himself.’
‘And he hired you to kill Ben and Wesley?’
‘Hey,’ Jack said, waving his bound hands. ‘He just hired me to get in that poker-game. You’ve got no re
ason to think I was behind their deaths. If that’s the way you’re conducting this investigation, I’m not telling you nothing else.’
Jack jutted his chin with a mixture of mock indignation and possibly genuine annoyance. As promised, he ignored Lincoln’s subsequent questions and so Lincoln relented from his questioning and hurried his horse on.
He now faced the problem of getting his prisoner back to town. As he wouldn’t be able to get back to Independence during daylight hours, Lincoln looked for a good place to stop for the night.
Ultimately, he chose a spot beside the river. Lincoln acted cautiously, never letting Jack out of his sight, but as it turned out, Jack gave him no trouble.
Despite the gambler’s quick reactions and quick mind, he didn’t make the break for freedom that Lincoln expected him to try, or even looked as if he were waiting for a chance to run.
With Lincoln aiming to reach town quickly the next day they set off early.
The sun was at its highest when they rode back into Independence. By then Lincoln had resolved to stop giving Karl enough leeway to make a mistake and just throw him in a cell alongside Alex and Jack.
The first thing Lincoln noticed as he approached the sheriff’s office was that few people were about. The second was that Karl wasn’t lurking outside.
He hadn’t expected the Humboldt brothers to give up on their vigil so quickly and so he was already on alert for something to be wrong when he dismounted. He led Jack inside and immediately noticed that all the cells were empty.
Deputy Curtis was standing before his desk and talking in low tones with Judge Murphy who was sitting with his feet on the desk.
When the door creaked open both men fell silent and looked at him. Then with a grunt of acknowledgement to Lincoln, Murphy rocked his feet down to the floor and stood up.
‘Why did you bring him back?’ he asked, nodding at Lincoln’s prisoner.
‘Jack was the man I went to find.’ Lincoln looked at Curtis. ‘Where’s Alex?’
‘He isn’t here,’ Curtis said. He flashed a self-satisfied smirk. ‘We had his trial this morning.’
‘This morning! I told you to . . .’ Lincoln sighed. ‘Well, I’ll just have to drag him and his no-good brother back in.’
Lincoln shoved Jack towards the cells and collected a key.
‘You won’t be questioning Alex no more,’ Curtis said, following him.
‘I know his brothers will reckon I’m hassling him after he was released for the second time in two days.’ Lincoln placed Jack in a cell and locked it. ‘But I can’t worry about that.’
He turned to see that Curtis was smiling, his lively eyes drinking in Lincoln’s stern expression in an eager way that sent a tremor of concern rippling through Lincoln’s mind.
‘I didn’t find Alex innocent,’ Murphy said with a sorry shrug. ‘I found him guilty of killing Wesley and Ben. We hanged him this morning.’
Lincoln swayed, his shock making him light-headed and nauseated.
‘Why did you go ahead with the trial?’ Lincoln demanded, swinging round to confront Murphy. ‘I told you to wait until I returned.’
The judge beckoned for Lincoln to follow him outside. Out on the boardwalk he looked around, confirming that nobody was nearby before he replied.
‘You never told me to delay the trial.’
‘I told Curtis to give you the message.’
‘I didn’t get that message.’
Lincoln winced. ‘Then what in tarnation was the reasoning behind that decision?’
‘I don’t have to explain my decisions.’
‘You don’t, but I sure as hell would appreciate one when I’m sure you’ve hanged the wrong man.’
‘I convicted based on the evidence and your statement, and they were damning.’
‘There was no evidence, or at least nothing that Alex couldn’t explain away.’
‘Except Curtis searched Alex more thoroughly and found another copy of the photograph Wesley brought out the fire. It had Ben’s name on the back. Alex wouldn’t explain how he got it and so I concluded he took it off Ben when he killed him. With him admitting to burning down Walter’s saloon, I also concluded he killed Walter.’
Lincoln conceded that this interpretation of events could be correct with a curt nod.
‘Show me the photograph.’
‘There’s no need, not now the matter is closed.’
‘The matter isn’t closed. Despite your reasoning, I’m not convinced you found the right man guilty. I have Jack in a cell, and I need to question him about Wesley’s and Ben’s deaths. That picture might tell me who’s really behind this.’
Murphy glanced away at the courthouse. He tapped a foot on the boardwalk, perhaps as he considered and then dismissed the thought that he might have convicted the wrong man. He got himself under control with a rolling of the shoulders.
‘It’s now irrelevant. Alex has been hanged for the crimes and the matter ends there. You will release Jack, and you will stop harassing Karl.’
Lincoln opened his mouth, aiming to continue arguing his case, but then closed it.
Murphy had acted with atypical haste in dealing with Alex, and Lincoln was getting the feeling that other members of the poker-group would be in the photograph, and so would be involved in whatever was happening here.
If that were the case, one of those men would be Murphy. It was unthinkable that the judge was covering up for his own actions, but then again the members of the poker-group were tightly-knit.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Now that Alex is dead Jack goes free.’
Chapter Nine
Lincoln held the cell door open for Jack to leave.
‘That must be shortest visit to a cell I’ve ever had,’ Jack said, grinning as he stood up.
‘Quit gloating and get out,’ Lincoln said. He waited while Jack collected his hat and took his time in walking to the door before he spoke up again. ‘Don’t leave town, I’ll be talking to you later.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Jack gave a mocking smile. Then he tipped his hat to Lincoln and left, leaving Lincoln alone with Curtis.
Lincoln paced over to Curtis’s desk.
‘The last thing I said to you before I went after Jack was to make sure the trial didn’t go ahead,’ he said, just managing to keep his voice calm and his temper under control. ‘But Murphy brought it forward. So what did you say to him?’
Curtis leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.
‘Not much. As you didn’t tell me nothing about why you were—’
‘Stop your whining! You made a big mistake and an innocent man is dead because of it.’
‘That’s odd. Sheriff Pringle always told me we don’t decide who’s guilty and who’s innocent. We just bring them in. Well, Murphy looked at the evidence and he decided. So don’t blame me.’
‘Except I am. How come you only found this evidence after I’d gone?’
‘I was only looking for weapons, and a photograph isn’t a weapon.’
Lincoln leaned forward, eager despite his anger to hear the answer to his next question.
‘What did the picture show?’
‘You’d seen half of it already. It had Sheriff Pringle, Wesley Jameson and Sheckley Dolby—’
‘Who’s he?’
‘I’ve never met him, but he used to work for the judge a few years back. He was a good man from what I’ve heard.’
Lincoln noted that the judge had claimed he didn’t recognize this person when they were playing poker two nights ago.
‘What was on the other half?’
Curtis raised his eyebrows and tipped back his hat. He delivered a whooping whistle.
‘Now there was something to behold. It had four more men standing before this hanging man. It sure was a terrible sight, him all dangling there with these men posing right in front of the body.’
‘Did you recognize the hanging man?’
‘Nope, but then again his face was distor
ted. It’s hard to describe what he looked like. His face looked like . . .’ Curtis waved his hands as he searched for the right words. ‘It looked like a skull.’
Lincoln avoided reacting to this piece of information.
‘And the other four men?’
‘There was Lenox Devere . . .’ Curtis paused, presumably because Thoreau had told him that he was the man they’d fished out of the river.
Again Lincoln avoided reacting. In a curious way he was even pleased to hear this revelation.
‘And the other men?’
‘Billy Stone, Mayor Ellison and Judge Murphy.’
Although Lincoln had expected to hear those names, he delivered an irritated snort.
‘All the old poker-group except Doc Thoreau.’
‘Thoreau only joined a few years ago.’
‘And Sheckley and Lenox?’
‘Sheckley used to play, but I doubt the likes of Lenox would be welcome in that group.’
Lincoln resisted the temptation to lecture Curtis about his failings again and after thanking him for the information he left the sheriff’s office.
He headed to the Rising Sun saloon and wasn’t surprised when his guess proved to be correct. Jack Porter was leaning on the bar.
‘Now there was me thinking you’d let me enjoy one drink in peace before you came looking for me,’ Jack said, eyeing the advancing Lincoln.
Lincoln leaned on the bar beside Jack. ‘You’ll never get to enjoy any peace until I prove you’re a killer.’
‘You won’t get far. Now that someone’s swung today for the crimes you want to heap on me, I reckon it won’t be long before people are calling me the new man they couldn’t hang.’
‘New?’
Jack shrugged. ‘You’re full of questions, but I don’t need to answer any of them because you can’t touch me.’
‘That confidence is misplaced.’ Lincoln gave a harsh smile. ‘So watch out. Soon I’ll come looking for you.’
‘You can do that.’ Jack glanced over Lincoln’s shoulder. ‘If I were you, I’d worry more about those who’ve already come looking for you.’
Lincoln followed the direction of Jack’s gaze to see that the encounter he’d dreaded was already upon him. Karl and his two brothers were pushing through the batwings.
