by Robert Knott
“Not changed much,” I said.
“Just bigger,” Hawkins said. “More people.”
“Same lot,” Virgil said.
We rode past a few working girls sitting on the porch of a green-painted brothel called Lucky’s. We passed, paying them little attention as they whistled and lifted their dresses.
We rode down Main Street and found the sheriff’s office at the edge of town. A young deputy was waiting for us. He came out the door and onto the office porch when we dismounted.
He was a slim, clean-cut fella with tidy clothes. His sandy hair was cut short, tight to his scalp, and he looked to be no more than twenty. His belt buckle was a leftover emblem of his days in the service, and judging by his youth, it was obvious he’d spent a limited time in uniform.
“Come in,” the young deputy said with a Southern twang. “Been waiting on y’all.”
We followed the deputy into the office.
“Got y’all some fresh coffee.”
Once we were inside the light of the office, I could tell the young man was upset about the death of Vernon, and it was obvious to us he’d been doing some crying. He introduced himself as Lesley Bright and after we made our introductions and Bright got us a cup, Virgil wasted no time with the pressing question that had been on our minds since leaving San Cristóbal.
“Where’s Dalton McCord?”
37
“I don’t know,” Bright said, shaking his head.
“When was the last time you saw Dalton?” Virgil said.
“I saw him the day before yesterday, in the morning,” Bright said.
“Where?”
“The sonofabitch was eating breakfast at a café on Second.”
“With who?”
“The bunch of ’em.”
“How many he run with?” I said.
“Off and on, there’s about ten of ’em. They’ve been getting more and more swagger. Think they own the place.”
“Dalton have a woman with him?” I said.
“He always has women with him,” Bright said.
“At the café?” Virgil said.
“We’re looking for one woman,” I said. “A pretty, young woman?”
“Don’t know,” Bright said. “Maybe, can’t say for sure. Fact is I wasn’t in the café, I just walked by, but I saw Dalton for sure.”
“Where does he stay?” Virgil said. “Dalton?”
“Them boys stay at hotels and with whores,” Bright said.
“Dalton?” Virgil said.
“Him, too, I reckon. Don’t think one place. Least I know.”
“How many hotels are here?” I said.
“La Mesilla is a big place. There’s a lot of people and a bunch of places to shack. There’s a bunch of hotels. A few are fairly decent, none of them are too nice. Don’t know if Dalton stays in ’em or not. Got two of the nicest on Third and one here on Main. There’s other, smaller hotels all over, a bunch of flophouses, though, too, and whoring establishments that shack fellas up regularly. There are also outlaying little houses all through the brakes.”
“How did Vernon get shot?” Virgil said.
“Late last night there was a ruckus at Lily’s, a pool hall down the street here,” Bright said. “That ain’t unusual—there’s a ruckus damn near ever’ hour ’round here, generally harmless, and nobody ever gets into the spit with Vernon and Shep, least not until last night.”
“Shep Walker,” Hawkins said, looking at Virgil and me, “been with Vernon for years.”
Bright nodded.
“That’s right,” Bright said. “He might be little, but nobody messes with Shep Walker.”
“So what happened?” I said.
“Vernon and Shep went down there,” Bright said. “There was seven Dalton McCord hands in there, and they was drunk and slapping a couple of coolies around, said they was going to hang them. The bartender cut ’em off and told them to leave the coolies alone and to get out. They got mad, said they’d hang the bartender instead. They got a rope, threw it over a beam, and was gonna hang the bartender, but Vernon and Shep stepped in and stopped ’em. Nobody had the cojones to stand up to Vernon and Shep, and them boys left. Vernon and Shep was walking back up the street, and one of them shits shot Vernon in the back. Shep chased ’em. Cornered two of ’em behind the feed store, but they took some shots at Shep and got away. They all scattered.”
“Where are they now.”
“Don’t know,” Bright said. “We got word y’all was coming and for us not to stir up the pot.”
“Was Dalton one of them at the pool hall?” Virgil said.
“I don’t know for sure,” Bright said. “Don’t think so. So much has happened. You’d have to ask Shep.”
“So you’ve not seen any of the hands since?” I said.
“No, sir, I ain’t, no. Shep told us deputies to just keep our eyes and ears open.”
“Where are the other deputies?” I said.
“They’re around,” Bright said sadly. “I sure hope y’all get these fellas that done this. We’re all sure tore up ’bout this, ’specially Shep.”
“Where is Shep?” Hawkins said.
“He’s been with Vernon’s wife,” Bright said. “They’re at Vernon’s place. There’s a bunch of folks there with Vernon’s wife and all. She’s taking it awful hard.”
Bright looked down, not wanting to cry, but the young man couldn’t keep from it. A few tears rolled down his cheek, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.
“Like to kill all them,” Bright said. “Vernon was like a dad to me. Like a dad to a bunch of us.”
Bright got to his feet. He pulled a Winchester from a gun rack and snugged his hat down tightly on his head.
“Shep told me to wait on y’all and to fetch him when y’all got here, so I’ll do that. He’ll be able to give y’all more details,” Bright said. “Be back directly.”
38
Shep Walker walked into the sheriff’s office with the young deputy, Lesley Bright, just past seven-thirty in the evening. Shep was for sure a short fella, but tough-looking. He was fit and carried himself like he was the largest man in the room. He reminded me of a jockey. After we made our introductions, Shep poured a coffee and took a seat.
“Good of you to come here,” Shep said, looking at each of us.
“Damn sorry about Vernon,” Hawkins said.
Shep nodded a little, then tipped his head to Deputy Bright.
“Lesley here told me he filled you in on what went down last night,” Shep said.
“He did,” I said.
“Was Dalton with them?” Virgil said.
“No,” Shep said. “He wasn’t there, but it was his boys.”
“You know where he is?” Virgil said.
“I don’t,” Shep said.
“Had you and Vernon been looking for Dalton?” Virgil said.
“No,” Shep said. “We was waiting word. We knew he must have stepped into some shit, but we didn’t try and roust him or nothing.”
“How was it you got in a to-do with his men?” Virgil said.
“Those fellas have been causing trouble almost nightly,” Shep said.
“You cornered two of them and they shot at you?” I said.
“They did,” Shep said. “I chased them into the alley. They took a few dark shots and ran. Tried to find them and the others up until late last night, but they scattered.”
“Any idea where they are?”
Shep shook his head.
“They know they fucked up by shooting Vernon,” Shep said. “Vernon was a friend to almost everybody in this town. He’d give the worst drunk his last penny to get something to eat.”
Bright held back his emotions and nodded in agreement.
“They are a brazen bunch, though,” Shep said
. “They’re likely not to stray too far. Plus, the shot that killed Vernon was a rifle shot to the back. They weren’t close. They will rant on, saying they didn’t do nothing.”
“These boys are certain compadres of Dalton’s?” Virgil said.
“They are,” Shep said. “This town has got a lot of troublemakers, but we know who is who. Most are of no account. Seen these boys coming and going enough to know who they are and what they’re about.”
“When did you last see Dalton McCord?” Virgil said.
“I saw him day before yesterday,” Shep said. “But he was not around last night when all this happened.”
“When you saw him yesterday,” Virgil said. “Who was he with?”
“Nobody,” Shep said. “Saw him on his own. He was on a stocky gray, trotting out south on Main Street.”
“You see him with a woman at all?” I said. “Anytime before?”
Shep shook his head.
“Dalton McCord is most often with a woman,” Shep said. “They like him.”
“You look for any of them today?” Virgil said.
“Some, this morning,” Shep said. “But I had to deal with Vernon and the undertaker and whatnot and Vernon’s wife . . . so I got no idea.”
“Either of you seen a man come to town on a skewbald,” Virgil said. “He might have had another horse, too.”
Virgil looked to Hawkins.
“Light bay,” Hawkins said.
Virgil nodded.
“Riding one or the other.”
“He’s also not looking so good,” I said. “Been beat up bad. Face is swollen and cut up.”
Shep shook his head.
“No,” Shep said, then looked to Deputy Bright. “You?”
Bright shook his head.
“No, sir. I have not.”
Virgil nodded a little, looking at the two of them.
“I know I do not have to tell you how mad I am,” Shep said.
“No,” Virgil said. “You don’t.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Marshal Cole,” Shep said. “You, too, Hitch. I know you boys been riding together for a good go of it.”
“We have,” I said.
“Vernon and me were a lot like you and Hitch, Marshal Cole,” Shep said. “Maybe not known for our steady resolve as good gun hands or for being as far in the stretch as you two have been, but we’d been together for long enough. I’m gonna miss the sonofabitch, I can tell you that.”
“You know where Dalton is staying?”
“No,” Shep said, “but we can get to looking.”
39
Shep put together a search list, and we set out from the jail and began looking for Dalton McCord. We divided up the town. Virgil, Hawkins, and Deputy Bright had a list of hotels, brothels, and flophouses on the east side of town. Shep and I had places on the western half of town to look.
Shep and I made our first stop at a big hotel called the Champion, but Dalton had not been there, nor had he ever stayed there. We continued on, making our way from one establishment to the next.
We checked a few boardinghouses and a few boarding brothels but had yet to find anyone who’d seen Dalton of recent.
We met some of the working ladies along the way, and for the most part they had nothing but bad things to say about Dalton. We left a place called Lucy’s, and like a few of the other ladies we’d talked to, Lucy offered disparaging remarks on the way out.
“Tell him when you find him,” Lucy said, “he’s not welcome back.”
Shep and I walked across the street and through an alley to the next block.
“Thought you said the ladies liked him,” I said.
“They do,” Shep said. “Can’t you tell? That’s why they got nothing nice to say.”
When we stepped out of the alley onto the next street, there was a big hotel catty-corner across the way.
“This is the Winchester Inn,” Shep said. “Might be the nicest hotel we got in this town.”
The hotel was a big place. On one side of the lobby there was a fireplace with sofas surrounding it, and on the other there was a set of doors leading to the Winchester Saloon.
The man behind the desk looked up, seeing us, and offered a sad smile to Shep when we approached.
“Hello, Dave,” Shep said.
“Shep,” Dave said. “Me and Ginny were real sorry to hear about Vernon.”
“Thank you, Dave,” Shep said. “Dave, this is Deputy Marshal Everett Hitch. He’s here to help us solve this crime.”
Dave nodded.
“What can I offer?” Dave said.
“Dalton McCord,” I said. “He staying here?”
“No,” Dave said.
“He ever stayed here?” Shep said.
“He has some in the past a few times, but he’s not here now. Why?” Dave said. “Did he do this? Did he kill Vernon?”
“We don’t know, Dave,” Shep said. “We need to talk with him, got a few questions for him.”
“Sorry, Deputy, Shep,” Dave said. “He’s not here.”
“You seen him?” I said. “Or have any idea where he might be?”
Dave shook his head.
“Ask Roger,” Dave said.
Dave pointed to the saloon across the lobby.
“He knows way more than he should,” Dave said. “Maybe he knows something.”
“Much obliged,” I said.
Shep and I walked across the lobby and into the saloon. For all of La Mesilla’s breach and banner, the Winchester Saloon was quiet and low-key. Right away I could tell this was a place for serious gamblers with money. There were a number of card games happening in the room, and the players paid us no mind as they focused on their respective games.
Roger, the bartender, was a big man with a mustache that went from side to side nearly ear to ear. Like Dave, Roger offered his sympathies to Shep, and without too much talk of condolence we got to our business.
“Looking for Dalton McCord?” I said.
“Not seen him,” Roger said. “Not tonight, anyway.”
“But you have seen him?” I said.
“He doesn’t come in here much,” Roger said. “Unless he’s got money to gamble.”
An old gambler behind me playing stud turned in his chair and looked up to me.
“I saw him,” the old gambler said.
“That right?” I said.
“That’s right,” the gambler said. “He won a bunch of money off me.”
“Where?” I said.
“Mitch’s Room,” the gambler said.
“Mitch’s is a high-stakes gambling room,” Shep said. “On the edge of town.”
“When?” I said.
“Night before last.”
“You have any idea where he is?” I said. “Where he’s staying?”
“I don’t,” the old gambler said. “He took me for a big pot, though. Said it was his lady luck.”
“Lady luck?” I said.
“Yep,” the old man said. “He had a young blond lady with him, said she was his lady luck.”
40
Shep and I went to the east side, looking for Virgil, Hawkins, and Deputy Bright. We stopped at a few places they had visited before we found them walking out of a boardinghouse on the edge of town.
“Virgil?” I said.
He turned, seeing us walking up the boardwalk toward him.
“Find him?” Virgil said.
“No,” I said. “But a gambler saw him night before last. He said there was a woman with him.”
“Catherine?” Virgil said.
“Sounds like it.”
“He said she was young and pretty,” I said. “His description sounded like it was her.”
“He talk to her?” Virgil said.
“He said
he didn’t,” Shep said.
I shook my head.
“The gambler said she just sat there,” Shep said.
“Said Dalton told her to watch and not talk,” I said.
“You think she’s his hostage?” Hawkins said.
“I asked the gambler,” I said. “He said he couldn’t say for certain.”
“Said she just sat there,” Shep said, “with her hands in her lap and did not say a word.”
Virgil nodded a bit.
“Least we know she ain’t dead,” Virgil said.
Two riders came fast into town at a hard gallop. They rode past us, but when they saw Shep they pulled up and circled back. They stopped in front of us in a cloud of street dirt. We could see right off they wore deputy badges.
Both of the riders were on dark bay horses, and the horses were winded. They’d been ridden hard for a while. One of the deputies was a lanky kid with long hair. The other was a young Mexican. The Mexican was carrying a Springfield .55 trapdoor carbine in one hand and the reins of the bay in the other.
The bay horses kicked some street dirt around a bit, trying to get settled. The deputies looked to us. They looked to Shep, then back to us, then back to Shep.
“What’s afoot, Cliff?” Shep said to the tall fella with the long hair.
Cliff’s horse was moving, wanting something other than standing still. Cliff reined the horse in a quick semicircle as he spoke.
“Guess what, Shep?” Cliff said.
“Goddamn, Cliff,” Shep said. “I’m here with territorial marshals. We’re dealing with some very important business here and I got no fucking interest to guess nothing! What?”
“We run into Mosley and Mike McGrew,” the Mexican deputy said.
“What, José?” Shep said impatiently.
“The McGrews,” Cliff said. “Told us they was coming back from moving cattle for Bryson and stopped in at the Last Chance for a beer.”
“Get to it!” Shep said.
“They said Dalton McCord’s hands were in there. They were bragging to a couple of the gals, saying they done away with Sheriff Vernon for good.”
