Her voice was harsh, and she knew it. She didn’t want to see any more innocents die.
Wellman’s face flushed, and Lucinda realized to her surprise that he was angry. He was so mild-mannered she didn’t recall ever seeing him lose his temper.
“Your husband thought there was a good reason to oppose Dav,” the newspaperman said. “It’s called the truth.”
“And the truth got him killed,” Lucinda responded bitterly.
“He knew he had to take a stand—”
“What is it you want from me, Edgar?” Lucinda interrupted. “You want me to come to one of your clandestine meetings and make a speech? You want me to urge the townspeople to take up their guns and fight back against Dav and his men?” She shook her head. “I won’t do it. I’ve seen enough blood to last me, and we both know that if the town stages an uprising against Dav, the streets will be running red.”
“Your mind’s made up, then?” Wellman asked in a clipped voice.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
The newspaperman smiled thinly.
“In that case, I suppose I should just say that I hope you won’t lock yourself away in a prison of grief. Milton wouldn’t want that, nor would any of your friends.”
She felt a surge of anger again, anger that he would presume to try to tell her what her own husband would have wanted, but it lasted only a moment. Even that was too much emotion for her to maintain. It was easier to retreat into dull, unfeeling nothingness.
“Thank you for coming to see me, Edgar,” she said.
“I’m being thrown out, is that it?”
“I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other, do we?”
“I suppose not,” he answered with a sigh. He put on his hat and started toward the door.
“You can show yourself out,” Lucinda said.
He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he went to the door and opened it.
But instead of stepping out onto the porch, he paused in the doorway and said in what seemed to be genuine surprise, “I wonder what that’s about.”
Curiosity was just about the last thing Lucinda wanted to give in to, but something impelled her steps into the foyer. She came up beside Wellman and looked along the street, as he was doing. Main Street sloped up slightly to the mansion at the end of it, so from here they had a good view of everything.
Several of Dav’s deputies were riding toward the impressive, two-story stone building that housed the sheriff’s office and jail. A stranger rode in their midst, surrounded. Even though his hands were free, it was obvious he was a prisoner, at least for the moment.
“Who can that be?” Wellman asked. “We haven’t had any strangers in town for a while.”
“Not since those three who disappeared.”
“I have a strong hunch they were sent here by Governor Wallace,” Wellman said. “Maybe this man is another agent working for the governor.”
“If he is, God help him,” Lucinda said. “Because he’s probably as good as dead already.”
Chapter Ten
Sheriff Dav was sitting at the desk in his office, nursing a cup of coffee and going through the latest batch of WANTED posters that had arrived in the mail. In what he regarded as a magnanimous gesture, Dav allowed the mail rider in and out of Chico without having to pay a toll to use the road through the pass. The man worked for the government, after all, and so, in a way, did he.
Dav liked to keep track of the reward dodgers. For one thing, he wanted to know if any of them showed up with his men pictured on them. All his deputies claimed not to be wanted in New Mexico Territory, but Dav wasn’t sure they were all telling the truth. He wanted to know if there was a chance some bounty hunter would show up looking for any of them.
For another, if some other outlaw with a reward on his head happened to drift into Chico, Dav wanted to know about that, too. When that happened, he could offer to provide a safe haven for a time . . . in return for a price, of course.
Nothing in this life was free, after all.
One of the deputies opened the office door and stepped inside. He said, “Carl and some of the boys are bringin’ in a prisoner, Sheriff.”
Dav pushed the stack of WANTED posters aside and leaned back in his chair.
“I thought Carl was taking a ride up to the pass with the boys who were supposed to relieve Price and Hoffman.”
“He was. But they’re all with him now.”
Dav shot to his feet angrily and said, “Blast it! If they all came back down here, then who’s watching the pass? Anybody could ride through there!”
“I dunno, boss,” the deputy said. “I’m just tellin’ you who I saw comin’ up the street.”
Dav stalked out of the office, snagging his hat from a peg in the wall near the door on the way. He stopped on the boardwalk and glared at the men who were reining their mounts to a halt in front of the office and jail.
The six deputies had a lone rider surrounded. The stranger was a fairly young man with ruggedly rough-hewn features and dark hair under a tan hat. His high cheekbones and the reddish tint to his skin made him look a little like an Indian, but clearly he wasn’t a savage.
“Carl, what’s going on here?” Dav asked. “A couple of these men are supposed to be up at the pass, guarding the road.”
“I know that, Sheriff,” Miller replied, “but I thought it might be a good idea to have them come back down here with me, to make sure we got here all right with the prisoner.”
“Who the hell is he? Jesse James?”
“No, sir.” Miller nodded toward the stranger. “This is John Cobb.”
The name was familiar to Dav. After a moment he placed it. He said, “The outlaw and gunfighter John Cobb?”
“That’s right, Sheriff.”
Dav’s eyes narrowed as he studied the stranger. The man didn’t really look like a cold-blooded killer, but Dav knew that appearances could sometimes be very deceptive, especially where gunmen were concerned. Some of the deadliest men looked completely mild mannered.
“I reckon there’s a story behind this,” Dav said. “From the looks of the scrapes and bruises on Hoffman and Price, I’d say they must have tangled with Cobb and come out second best, despite having him outnumbered.”
“It wasn’t our fault, Sheriff,” Hoffman said. “The bastard tricked us—”
Dav held up a hand to stop the deputy.
“I don’t care how he did it,” Dav said coldly. “I care about results. You two get back up there and guard that pass.”
Price said, “But our shifts are over.”
“Not anymore, they’re not,” Dav snapped. “Get going.”
The two deputies sighed and turned their horses around. They knew there was no point in arguing with Dav. That could only cause them more trouble in the long run.
“As for the rest of you,” Dav went on, “bring the gentleman in.”
“Gentleman?” Miller said, sounding surprised.
“That’s right.” Dav had remembered where he’d seen John Cobb’s name just recently. “He and I have business to discuss.”
Chapter Eleven
John Henry wasn’t sure what sort of “business” Samuel Dav had in mind, but at least it was a somewhat promising beginning. Dav hadn’t had him thrown in a cell or killed outright. A business discussion was a definite improvement on either of those two possibilities.
As he swung down from the saddle, he studied Dav. The man was tall and lean, with a narrow dark mustache. John Henry thought the sheriff had a vaguely foreign look about him, although he wasn’t sure about that. Dav’s voice was flat and hard, with no discernible accent.
Once his boots were on the ground, John Henry glanced up at Miller and said, “I suppose it’d be too much to ask to have my guns back.”
Miller snorted.
“I’ll bring ’em in. If the sheriff says for you to get ’em back, that’s when you’ll get ’em back. Not before.”
; John Henry shrugged. Outnumbered and outgunned the way he was, there was nothing he could do except play out the hand he’d been dealt.
With Miller and one of the other deputies close behind him, he stepped up onto the boardwalk and followed Dav into the office. It was a large, well-appointed room with a big desk, a polished wooden gun cabinet full of rifles and shotguns, and a heavy, leather-upholstered sofa as well as several armchairs and a swivel chair behind the desk.
A set of stairs on the right side of the room led up to a landing with a thick door that opened off of it. The door had a small, barred window in it, which led John Henry to assume that the second floor was taken up by the cell block. This was the sort of sheriff’s office and jail you’d find in a prosperous town . . . the sort of town Chico had been before Samuel Dav took it over and began the process of bleeding it dry.
Dav went behind the desk and said to John Henry, “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Sheriff Samuel Dav, the law in Chico.”
“I reckon that would make me John Cobb, the outlaw in Chico,” John Henry said.
A flash of mingled irritation and amusement flickered through Dav’s dark eyes. He took off his hat, dropped it on the desk, and jerked a nod toward a red leather chair.
“Have a seat,” he said.
John Henry took off his hat and sat down. A glance over his shoulder told him that Miller had taken a seat on the sofa and pulled out the makin’s. He was rolling himself a quirly while the other deputy lounged in the doorway with his right hand never straying far from the gun on his hip. John Henry knew that stance; he practiced it most of the time himself.
Of course, his gun belt was lying on the sofa next to Miller right now, along with his Winchester, so he couldn’t get his hand anywhere near them.
Dav sat down, looked through some papers on his desk, and selected one of them. He tossed it onto the front part of the desk, close to John Henry, and asked, “Look familiar?”
John Henry leaned forward. He saw that the paper was a WANTED poster, and the printed name “JOHN COBB” jumped out at him. Above the name and a recitation of Cobb’s crimes was a drawing of the gunman’s face. John Henry was glad it wasn’t a photograph; in a drawing like that, one dark-haired man with rugged features looked pretty much like another.
“Not a very good likeness,” he commented, just in case Dav was thinking the same thing. He hoped that would disarm any uncertainty Dav might be feeling.
“I disagree,” the sheriff said. “I believe I would have known you anywhere, Cobb. What brings you to Chico?”
John Henry shrugged and said, “My horse. The wind. Who the hell knows?”
A smile curved Dav’s thin lips.
“I was like that myself once,” he said. “Just drifting wherever life took me. I’m more ambitious these days.”
John Henry looked around the office and nodded.
“I can see that.”
“Oh, I’m not talking about just being a small-town sheriff. I have other plans—” Dav stopped and shook his head. “But that’s not important. Tell me about your run-in with Price and Hoffman. They’re pretty good men. It’s not often someone gets the drop on them.”
“Then anybody who wants to just isn’t trying hard enough. All I had to do was flip a five-dollar gold piece in the air, and they both watched it instead of my gun hand.”
Dav grunted in displeasure. He said, “I’ll have to have a talk with them about that. I take it you objected to paying the toll to come through the pass?”
“I thought it was a public road,” John Henry said.
“It used to be. Not anymore.”
“Since you became the sheriff in these parts?”
“That’s right. What happened after you pulled your gun?”
“I didn’t cotton to the idea of trouble coming up on my back trail, so I took their guns and horses. And their boots.”
Dav smiled again, and this time he appeared to be genuinely amused.
“Their boots,” he repeated. “That’s pretty good.”
“I thought so. Kept ’em from running after me, at least for a while.”
From the sofa, Miller put in, “But then me and the other fellas came along, and that sort of ruined Cobb’s idea.”
“How did Price and Hoffman get those bruises on their faces?” Dav asked.
John Henry used a thumb to point at Miller.
“That was Deputy Miller’s idea. He didn’t want a shoot-out, so he decided to let Price and Hoffman settle their grudge against me with their fists.”
“Only you whipped them both,” Dav guessed.
“I’m not claiming it was easy,” John Henry said. “They’re pretty good scrappers. But I’ve been in a few brawls in my time, too.”
“I’ll just bet you have,” Dav mused as he leaned back in his chair. His long arm reached out and picked up the WANTED poster. “Says here there’s a reward of $500 for your capture.”
“You intend to turn me in and collect it?” John Henry asked. He didn’t think Dav was likely to, but if the sheriff decided to go that route, it might mean the end of John Henry’s plan.
“I mean to collect,” Dav said, “but not necessarily a reward.”
John Henry frowned and said, “Sorry, but I don’t follow you, Sheriff.”
“If you want to stay here in Chico . . .” Dav held up the WANTED poster. “You’ll have to pay.”
“Ah,” John Henry said as understanding dawned. “What if I don’t have $500?”
“That would be a real shame.” Dav let the poster fall back onto the desk.
John Henry wasn’t sure Dav would follow through with that implied threat. Since the sheriff ruled Chico with an iron fist, he wouldn’t want to draw any more outside attention than necessary. Most owlhoots likely wouldn’t know that, however. They would probably be willing to pay just to have a safe place to hole up for a while.
“Maybe we could come to some sort of an arrangement,” John Henry suggested.
“Like what?”
“A man in a position of power like yourself . . . I’ll bet you could always use another good man to help you out.”
“Or another bad man, eh?” Dav asked
“You said it, Sheriff, not me.”
“I already have twenty deputies. Just how many do you think I need?”
“The way I see it, you can never have enough guns backing your play,” John Henry said. “Besides, I think I proved today that I’m better than at least two of your men.”
Miller said, “Hold on a minute. Price and Hoffman are good at their job. You just took ’em by surprise is all.”
“A man who works for me shouldn’t be surprised,” Dav said sharply. “You know that, Carl.” His tone eased as he went on, “But I suspect they’ve learned their lesson, or at least they will have by the time they’re finished with that double shift of guard duty. That doesn’t change the point Cobb made.”
“Wait a minute, boss. You’re not thinkin’ about takin’ this hombre on as a deputy, are you?”
“If I am, that’s my decision to make,” Dav said. His voice had turned flinty again. Clearly, he didn’t like being challenged, John Henry thought.
Miller must have realized that, too, because he said quickly, “Well, sure. Of course it is. You’re the sheriff, after all.”
“And don’t you forget it.” Dav shrugged. “Anyway, Cobb might not be interested. He might be just passing through Chico and won’t want to stay.”
“Actually, it looks like a pretty nice town,” John Henry drawled. “And I’ve spent a lot of time on the trail recently. Might be pleasant to stay in one place for a little while, especially if I knew the law wasn’t looking for me.”
“I’m the only law here,” Dav said. “And if you’re working for me, it wouldn’t make sense for me to give you any trouble, would it?”
“No, I don’t reckon it would.”
Dav leaned forward and pointed a finger at John Henry.
“But it wouldn’t make
sense for you to try to double-cross me, either,” he said. “Because it wouldn’t work, and you’d just wind up dead. If you were lucky. You understand what I’m saying, Cobb?”
“I sure do. And you don’t have to worry, Sheriff. When a man’s outnumbered twenty to one, he’d be a fool to try any funny business.”
“I’m not worried,” Dav said with an arrogant smirk. “I don’t have to worry. I’ve got this town and everybody in it right in the palm of my hand.”
With that, he put his hand out flat, palm up, and then slowly closed it into a fist, as if demonstrating just how easily he could crush any opposition.
“We’ve got a deal,” John Henry said. Dav stood up, and so did he. The two men reached over the desk and shook.
“Give Cobb back his guns,” Dav told Miller.
“Sure,” the stocky deputy said. He handed over the gun belt, and when John Henry had buckled it on, Miller gave him the Winchester as well.
John Henry saw the wary look in the deputy’s eyes, though. Miller didn’t trust him, and he didn’t think that Dav had made a wise move by hiring him. John Henry figured he would have to keep a close eye on Miller.
He might even need eyes in the back of his head.
Chapter Twelve
A few minutes later, John Henry walked along the street with Miller beside him. He had a deputy’s badge pinned to his shirt now. It was a cheap tin star, not nearly as impressive as the deputy United States marshal’s badge that was hidden away safely in his gear, but the sight of it made the townspeople move aside and glance warily at him anyway.
He could still feel the deputy’s hostility, but Sheriff Dav had told Miller to take John Henry down to the Collinses’ place.
“You’ll need a place to stay, Cobb,” Dav had said. “Old Jimpson Collins runs a decent boardinghouse. Carl can show you the way.”
“I’m obliged,” John Henry had said with a nod.
“Yes, you are,” Dav had agreed with a smile, “but you’ll work off that obligation. I’ll see to that.”
Eight Hours to Die Page 6
