by Corba Sunman
They left the house and went back to the hotel. On the way Bowtell gave the doctor some details, and then they entered the hotel. Arnott examined Moran, who was still unconscious, and his face was expressionless as he reached into his bag and produced a small bottle. He removed the stopper and held the bottle under Moran’s nose. Moran was breathing deeply and evenly. For some tense moments he did not respond to the doctor’s ministrations and Bowtell thrust out his bottom lip when there was no reaction. Then a shudder ran through Moran’s frame and his head moved spasmodically. His eyes opened a crack and his lips moved silently.
‘Take it easy, Captain,’ Arnott advised, ‘you’ve had a heavy blow to the head. Just lie quiet until I’ve finished my examination.’
Moran glanced around and animation seeped into his expression when he saw Bowtell in the background.
The lawman said, ‘I was doing my round of the town and fell over you in the alley next door. Did you see who hit you?’
‘No,’ Moran mumbled, and closed his eyes wearily.
‘You shouldn’t go to sleep after a blow to the head,’ Arnott said. ‘Are you staying in town?’
‘I certainly don’t feel up to riding back to the fort,’ said Moran hesitantly.
‘You’d better come with me and I’ll let you sleep in a cell in the jail until tomorrow morning,’ said Bowtell.
Moran agreed, and Bowtell helped him to his feet. The doctor departed and Moran moved unsteadily. Bowtell escorted him along the street to the jail, opened an empty cell, and Moran flopped on the bunk and lay motionless, his body quiescent but his aching head churning with questions to which he could find no answers. He fell asleep eventually, and did not stir until the sun next morning was well over the horizon. When he opened his eyes and came back to reality, his head felt as if it had been split open by an axe.
He sat quietly in the cell, recovering slowly from the murderous blow that had rendered him unconscious. He recalled nothing about the incident and finally gave up trying to remember.
Bowtell came through from the front office, his face careworn, eyes peering from their wrinkled sockets.
‘How you feeling this morning, Captain? I didn’t expect to see you sitting up. You must have a thick skull. Do you have any idea who struck you?’
Moran refrained from shaking his head. The pounding beat of the agony tormenting him was almost too much to bear.
‘I didn’t see anything,’ he replied.
‘I reckon someone is out to get you. Could it have been Clark getting worried about your presence in town?’
Moran pushed himself to his feet, and grabbed the bars of the cell to remain upright. He closed his eyes while a bout of dizziness assailed him. When the movement ceased, he picked up his hat and set it gingerly on his head.
‘I need some breakfast and coffee,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll start looking for the men giving me trouble.’
He went to the diner, which was crowded, and shared a table with Bruno Reinhardt, the sutler from the fort. Reinhardt took one look at Moran’s face, saw a blood stain on his forehead and uttered an ejaculation.
‘You look like you got in the way of a stampede, Captain,’ he observed. ‘What happened to you?’
‘It was a bad dream that came true,’ Moran replied. ‘In my line of business it happens more often than I care to think about.’
He felt easier after eating breakfast and drinking two cups of coffee. He sat back in the turmoil of the busy mealtime and ran his thoughts over what had happened to him so far. He had been shot at before he reached the fort, and then someone had put two slugs through the windows of his quarters. He had been shot at on Main Street, and considered the incident on the roof of the bank without finding a glimmer of enlightenment. Ruth Sandwell had added another dimension to his investigation, and her arrival into his calculations brought a whole host of questions into being, a number of them personal. Ruth seemed to have entered his mind like a spirit, and he felt possessed. He found it almost impossible to nail down his conjectures, and answer all the questions passing through his mind. He should have known exactly what had gone on around the fort before his arrival, but the end result of his musing was strangely missing.
He went back to the law office, wondering what had happened to his horse.
‘We’ve got a barn out back,’ Bowtell told him. ‘I put your horse in there, and your blanket roll is in the cell you used.’
Bowtell collected the blanket roll and accompanied Moran out to the barn. He saddled Moran’s horse and tied the blanket roll to the cantle.
‘That’s all I can do for you, Captain. You’re own your own now. If I were in your boots, I’d head back to fort and hit the sack for a couple of days. You look so bad I’ve got a feeling that I should escort you.’
‘I’ll be OK now.’ Moran led his horse outside and swung into the saddle. The movement set his head spinning and he sat for some moments until it resettled.
Bowtell stood watching him, arms akimbo. Moran finally shook his reins and gripped his horse with his knees as the animal went forward. He headed back to the fort.
It did not take him long to sense that he was being followed. He stayed off the trail and left the town, regaining the trail to the fort when he judged he was out of sight of prying eyes. He rode at a lope and did not look around. His head ached and he closed his eyes from time to time, but he had a tingling sensation between his shoulder blades, and could not ignore it. He rode into a stand of trees, halted, and drew his pistol, his chin on his chest. Several minutes later two men came into view, riding at the pace he had employed, and one of them was gripping a pistol in his right hand. The sight of the drawn gun warned Moran that he had trouble on his hands, and perversely, he welcomed it.
The two riders approached the stand of trees. They were looking around intently at the ground, searching for tracks.
‘I don’t see him anywhere,’ one of them observed. ‘Do you think he’s got wise to us?’
‘I’ve done better than that,’ Moran rasped, kneeing his horse out of cover. ‘I’ve got you dead to rights.’
The pair reined in quickly and the man holding the gun flipped it up to cover Moran, who squeezed off a shot. The bullet took the man in the chest. The crash of the shot echoed and Moran clenched his teeth as his head protested at the noise. He covered the second man, who was frozen in shock in his saddle until the first man slid sideways out of his saddle and thumped on the ground.
‘Get rid of your gun,’ Moran directed, ‘and be careful how you handle it. I’m hair-triggered.’
The man plucked his pistol out of its holster and let it fall to the ground. Moran steadied himself by placing his left hand on the saddle horn and stiffening his elbow. The man raised his hands shoulder high and remained motionless. He was rough-looking, wearing range clothes. His Stetson had seen better days. It was pushed to the back of his head and his brown hair showed, lank and long. His face was lined with shock and his eyes took on a haunted expression.
‘Have you got a name?’ Moran demanded.
‘Dick Coe. What’s the idea attacking us?’
Moran laughed. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ he demanded. He glanced at the dead man. ‘Who’s he?’
‘Lobo Watson; we ride for the Lazy S. We came into town to report a bunch of steers were rustled from the ranch last night.’
‘So why did Watson try to shoot me as soon as he saw me?’
‘I guess you startled him when you came out of the trees. You could have been a rustler.’
‘I don’t like your story.’ Moran waggled his gun. ‘Get down and put Watson across his horse. Then we’ll go back to town and see what the marshal makes of you.’
Coe protested strongly as he dismounted. He threw the dead man across his saddle and then remounted, and protested all the way back to Cactusville. Moran was pleased with the incident. Watson had tried to kill him, and that indicated involvement. They rode into town and proceeded to the law office. Moran had his pistol in his
right hand and was fully alert. As they reined up at a hitch rail, the law office door opened and Bowtell appeared.
‘It looks like you found some more trouble,’ Bowtell observed.
Moran explained before dismounting, and as he eased himself out of the saddle, Bowtell drew his gun and covered Coe.
‘You did a good job,’ Bowtell said. ‘I know this man’s face. There’s a wanted notice in the office. He’s Dick Coe – wanted for bank robbery. Why was he after you?’
‘That’s what I need to find out,’ Moran told him.
‘Let’s get him into the office.’ Bowtell looked around. Several townsmen were coming towards the office, drawn by the sight of a man face down across his horse.
Moran slid off his horse and walked unsteadily into the office behind Coe and the town marshal. Coe was pushed into a chair before the desk and Bowtell stood over him.
‘So what’s the story, Coe? What did you and Watson want with Captain Moran?’ Bowtell demanded.
‘They gave me some story about riding for the Lazy S ranch,’ Moran said. ‘They were coming into town to report a rustling loss to you, but when I first saw them they were riding in the opposite direction to town, and Watson was holding his gun. When I confronted them Watson tried to shoot me.’
‘So they were lying!’ Bowtell holstered his gun, grasped Coe’s shoulders and dragged him upright; slapped him several times across the face before thrusting him back into the chair. ‘Let’s have a taste of the truth now,’ he rasped. ‘There’s been a posse out for you and your gang all day. So what’s going on? Why were you after the Captain?’
Coe shook his head. Blood dribbled from a corner of his mouth. Moran watched him intently, his mind flitting over the salient points he had already gleaned, but there was nothing solid to work on, and he controlled his impatience and let Bowtell handle the questioning.
‘Your gang has been in the county for some time,’ Bowtell continued. ‘Where have you been hiding out? You’d better come clean and tell me what I want to know. You killed a man in the bank this morning, and a townsman was shot dead as you left town. Feeling is running high around here, and as soon as word of your arrest gets out there’ll be a lynch mob outside my door, yelling for me to hand you over to them. So you’d better make up your mind now and talk.’
‘You got the wrong men,’ Coe replied. ‘I’ve never robbed a bank in my life, and we weren’t in on the one in this town.’ He looked into Moran’s eyes with unblinking gaze. ‘If you tell the truth about what happened out of town when we met, then you’ll admit that I didn’t do anything to break the law. It was Watson holding his gun, and he tried to shoot you. But I don’t know why. He never said a thing about attacking an Army officer.’
‘Perhaps he had a thing about the military,’ Moran said. ‘Lieutenant Sandwell was killed on the parade ground in the fort by an unknown killer.’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’ Coe shook his head.
‘And is it true about you and Watson riding for the Lazy S ranch?’ Moran persisted. ‘Were you on your way to town to report the loss of a herd?’
‘That was a lie, but Watson was a dyed in the wool liar. He wouldn’t recognize the truth if it blew into his face.’
‘So what have you been doing around here when you weren’t robbing banks?’ Bowtell asked.
‘We did some work for a horse rancher named Shorten, collecting horses to be sold to the military at the fort.’
‘When did you last see Shorten?’ Moran asked.
‘We finished the round up yesterday and he paid us off.’
‘Where did you spend last night?’ Bowtell cut in.
‘Here in town. We had some money in our pockets and had us a good time.’
‘Where did you sleep?’
‘We hit the sack in the livery barn, and lit out before sun up. Watson had a thing about hanging around folks. He was afraid someone might recognize him.’
‘And you met up with some of your pards this morning and came back to rob the bank here in town,’ Bowtell said. ‘You better level with us, Coe, if you want to keep your neck out of a noose.’
‘That’s all I can tell you,’ said Coe, shaking his head.
‘I’ll put him in a cell for a couple of days,’ Bowtell said. ‘He’ll change his story plenty when he hears a mob out on the street yelling for his neck. Come on, Coe, empty your pockets on the desk and then I’ll get you settled behind bars.’
‘I’ll drop in later,’ Moran said. ‘I’ve got some items to check on before I go back to the fort.’
He left the office, mounted his horse, and rode back along the street, his mind seething with conjecture.
When he saw Ruth Sandwell emerging from the hotel he caught up with her. She looked around at the sound of his voice and smiled a greeting.
‘I was thinking about you, Captain. I’m pleased to see you.’ She paused and a shadow crossed her face. ‘You’ve had some trouble since last night,’ she observed. ‘I see bloodstains on your forehead, and you look as if you’ve been attacked.’
Moran stepped down from his saddle and hitched the animal to a rail in front of the boardwalk.
‘Are you feeling all right?’ Concern sounded in her voice. ‘What happened to you?’ He explained and she put a hand on his arm. ‘I’ve recalled some things my brother told me before he was killed, and you should know of them before you go any further. You look all in, Captain. Could you do with a coffee? We need to sit down and talk and I’ll show you the notebook my brother kept on what he had learned at the fort.’
Moran nodded and the girl turned and re-entered the hotel. She walked into the dining room and he followed her closely. His head had picked up a relentless throbbing that threatened to turn into a crippling headache, and he was relieved to be able to sit down and relax. When they’d had coffee, Ruth leaned her elbows on the table and gazed at him intently.
‘I don’t think you are well enough to do your duty today,’ she observed. ‘You should return to the fort and rest. You could be suffering concussion. Your eyes indicate that your brain is not functioning normally.’
‘I’ll manage,’ he told her. ‘What can you tell me? I’m still at the beginning of my investigation, and there is little I can accomplish without more knowledge to help push things along.’
He was keenly aware of how beautiful she looked in the light of day. Her eyes were gleaming with excitement and hope. He caught a faint tang of an intangible perfume about her as she moved in her seat, and it remained in his nostrils, lifting him out of his despair. He placed his elbows on the table and supported his chin, for his head seemed too heavy for his neck to support.
He was recalling the briefing he had received at headquarters before setting out in this investigation. Nothing had been mentioned beyond the fact that Trooper Clark had escaped from the fort, having committed murder during his escape. Now he was becoming aware that a great deal more had been going on in the background, and he suspected that someone in higher authority was concealing important facts.
‘My brother said he learned that the Army is being robbed systematically. The sutler, Bruno Reinhardt, is at the heart of it, and Colonel Davis was involved. That was why he was removed from command. The Army is trying to limit the scandal. But my brother was murdered, and I assume the whole business is still proceeding as if nothing had gone amiss.’
‘I’ve met Reinhardt, and I’ll investigate him.’ Moran suppressed a sigh. ‘I heard Colonel Davis was retired because of ill health. I’ll make some enquiries at headquarters about him, and you can bet that I’ll get exactly what I ask for. Now I’d like to see that notebook your brother kept.’
‘It’s in my room. I’ll fetch it. Will you wait here?’
Moran nodded and she left him. He thought about Reinhardt, and questions reared up in his mind. Major Harmon loomed up out of the grey area, with a big question mark over his head, and Moran wondered where he fitted into the business. The Major was handling the remounts, and t
he man contracted to gather the horses was Shorten. Moran suspected that a strong link existed between the two, and he was impatient to get into his stride and dig into the facts.
Ruth returned and sat down. She was holding a notebook, and opened it; flicked through some of the pages before glancing up at Moran.
‘Listen to this,’ she said. ‘Frank says here that he happened to overhear part of a conversation between Reinhardt and Maxwell, the banker. Frank made friends with Cora Maxwell, the banker’s daughter, and he was visiting her home when Reinhardt arrived to talk to Maxwell. Cora drew Frank into another room, and he overheard much of what Reinhardt said before Cora moved him out of earshot of the conversation.’
‘May I read it for myself?’ Moran asked.
Ruth handed him the notebook and he perused the closely written words. Frank Sandwell had a good hand, and Moran felt a strand of excitement unwind in his mind as he read on.
Reinhardt was angry with Maxwell, who became angry in turn but was on the defensive. It seems that Maxwell was reluctant to complete his preparations for the forthcoming bank robbery, and there was trouble with Shorten, who was trying to push up the prices he charged for the horses he was delivering to the fort. The departure of Colonel Davis made life more difficult for everyone involved, so greater effort had to be made.
Ruth reached forward and touched the notebook. ‘That’s the most important entry Frank made, and just a bit further on he had this to say.’ She turned a couple of pages and paused for a moment, and when she started reading a quiver sounded in her voice.
I think I’ve been discovered. I’ve been asking too many questions and someone has become suspicious. I was duty officer yesterday, and when I was checking the stables a knife was thrown at me but missed.
She looked up and met Moran’s hard gaze. ‘He goes on to say he was unable to get a look at the man, but saw him briefly as he disappeared, and is trying to identify him.’
‘Did he say anything more before he was killed?’ Moran looked into her eyes and saw the over-brightness of unshed tears in their depths. He had to take a tight rein on his emotions in order to remain objective. That was the effect she was having upon him.
