by Monty McCord
“Where you boys gonna be?”
“Oh, uh, okay.” Luther looked at Cookie. “Ya’ know that little shack the hermit died in last summer?”
“Before my time.”
“Oh, uh, it’s out behind the undertaker’s. A lean-to off the shed he keeps his wagon and horse in,” Luther said. “He lets us use it when we come in.”
“Let’s hear it,” Joe said.
Luther and Cookie looked at each other. Luther commenced to telling how he was standing right beside Carlson when he was killed.
“Sheriff Canfield and his deputy killed him? That’s your story? You two drunk?”
“Ha! I asked Cookie that same thing when he said we should tell you about this. God’s truth, Marshal, ’cept the sheriff didn’t kill Carlson, he told his deputy to do it . . . and he did, just like that!” Luther snapped his finger to emphasize the point.
“I was there, too, when it happened, Marshal,” Cookie added. Joe felt like shooting them for being too ignorant to live. What kind of fool did they take him for? Maybe the cell they were standing behind would be the place for them until he sorted out their tale.
“I believe the story is more likely to be they came to arrest you fellas for rustling others’ cattle, ain’t that right?”
“Arrest us?” Both men looked at each other and laughed. “If they had come to arrest us, we’d be arrested, but we ain’t. Been workin’ for ’im for nearly two year, why would he arrest us? He was mad at Carlson for him and Darnell causin’ the ruckus here in town—”
Cookie interrupted. “And Carlson kept sayin’ dumb things that plum angered the sheriff. I think that’s why he killed ’im.”
“Shut up, Cookie, I’m the one—”
“Well, ya’ wasn’t tellin’ every—”
“Enough!” Joe said, derailing the squabble. “What do you mean you was workin’ for him?”
“Well, we come from the Gracie Flats jail, let out by the sheriff once we had an agreement. We’d swipe some critters out a ways and drive them to the holding pen. Sometimes horses, sometimes cattle, or maybe both. We’d get a corral full and sell ’em. The sheriff would get a cut for letting us stay clear of jail.”
“What were you locked up for?” Joe was trying to figure if anything they said was true. One thing, though, if Canfield and his deputy had gone to arrest them, he supposed they’d be in jail.
“Well, we had a little fight at the Hoover saloon, with a feller from back east who thought he was gonna be a boxin’ champ or something. In the alley, he wanted to take on all four of us, and things got out of hand, and we knocked him around some. Seems he wasn’t so tough. The feller died, and that’s how we ended up in jail,” Luther said.
“Who’s the fourth one?” Joe said.
“That was Tyler. He lit out right after they kilt Carlson ’cuz he didn’t want to end up that way, neither. That’s why we come to you,” Cookie said. “We don’t want them killin’ us for no reason. Fact has it, we lean toward them not killin’ us at all.”
“We’re more afraid of Canfield than we is of you, Marshal,” Luther said.
“So you boys are admitting to rustling cattle?” He knew he wasn’t able to identify those at the hideout, except for Carlson.
“Marshal, all due respect and all, but you’d need proof, and there ain’t none. Them critters are gone. It’s just what we said, betwixt the three of us here. And if you arrest us, we’d say we never said any such thing, ain’t that right, Cookie?” Cookie nodded, his eyes on Joe.
“So you figure that if the sheriff and his deputy are put away, you don’t have to worry about them killin’ you?”
“That’s it! Ya’ hit the nail right on the head,” Luther said.
Joe didn’t think these two were smart enough to come up with any schemes, but wondered if they were actually telling the truth. That could explain a few things, like Canfield’s lack of properly tending to the county. And Jarvis sure seemed to be on his side. Could Jarvis be involved with his little side business? Someone in his position could profit from some low-cost livestock.
“That’s what they told you?” Siegler sounded flabbergasted.
“What they said,” Joe said. “I decided to play along and see if they went back to their shack like they said they would. They did. Waited around in the alley for an hour to see if they stayed. Canfield has my letter about finding Carlson’s body. Be interesting to see what he does.”
They leaned against the long counter in Siegler’s store, with only one lamp burning. Earl hadn’t arrived yet, so they were able to talk privately.
“I don’t have much faith in Sheriff Canfield, as you know, but he’s no murderer. And his unimpressive deputy, good God. When you walk into a room, you fill the place. If he walked in wearing a cowbell, no one would notice.”
“My impression, too,” Joe said. “Those two idiots were right about one thing, though, I don’t have anything to arrest them on, so we’ll just see what Judge Worden wants to do. They’re not the most credible witnesses we could have.”
The sun was about to peek over the horizon and was filling the store with a golden hue. Siegler blew out the lamp. He walked toward a front window, hands on his hips, and looked out. Joe could tell he was deep in thought. Then something caught his eye, and he leaned closer to the window. Coming from the north were two riders. They crossed the intersection and tied up in front of the hotel.
“What is it, Mister Siegler?” Joe asked.
“I’ll be damned. I think hell just froze over,” Siegler said. “Canfield and his deputy just rode in.”
They started for the door and heard a crash upstairs. “It’s Fern, she hasn’t been feeling well!” Siegler said, and hurried out the back door to the stairs on the rear of the building. Joe followed in case he needed help.
When they entered the Siegler’s living quarters above the store, they found Fern lying on the floor next to an overturned parlor table. She had vomited and was trying to get up.
“Mother, what are you doing out of bed?” Siegler asked.
Joe placed his hand on her sweaty forehead. “She’s burning up. We need to get her to the Doc’s.”
“Will you help me? I can’t lift much. It’s my damned back.”
“Get the door.” Joe scooped Fern up in his arms and with a grunt lifted her up. Siegler threw a blanket over her as Joe carried her out.
At Doc Sullivan’s, Siegler knocked frantically on the door. They heard screaming and crying inside and exchanged glances before entering. Sullivan was holding Missus Sanderson, who was wailing and pounding her fists against his back. Joe and Siegler looked at each other.
Sullivan noticed them. “Put her in that chair for a moment, please.”
Joe sat Missus Siegler in the green padded chair, and Siegler pulled the blanket up around her. Fern was mumbling and turning her head from side to side.
Sullivan was able to seat the sobbing lady in a chair at the table. He went into the patient room and a few moments later came out with a wrapped blanket. He placed it on the examining table and pulled the curtain across.
The picture became painfully clear to both Joe and Siegler. Joe remembered seeing Missus Sanderson wiping her daughter’s forehead, the crying, and the conversation with the doctor about influenza. “Complications” he’d said. Joe’s stomach tightened, and he turned his attention to Fern.
As he squeezed Fern through the door into the room, he noticed a young boy in the other bed. He lay on his side quietly crying and rocking back and forth. His hair glistened with sweat. Joe laid Fern on the other bed.
Sullivan came in, sat down on the bed, and felt Fern’s forehead. “Marshal, would you get Pastor Evans for me?” He looked up, and Joe saw dark circles around his eyes. It was obvious the doctor hadn’t slept much. Joe was shocked at how much older he looked than the first time they’d met.
“You bet,” Joe said.
After delivering Evans to the Doc’s, Joe walked up to the judge’s office to talk to him
about Luther and Cookie. When he walked in, he found Sheriff Canfield seated in front of Worden’s work table. His deputy leaned against the wall with a sawed-off shotgun under his arm.
“Mornin’, Judge, gentlemen,” Joe said, and nodded.
“Well, Marshal, we were just talking about you,” Canfield said. He hesitated and held his eyes on Joe’s coat sleeve.Worden and the deputy looked as well.
Joe glanced down and noticed the vomitus on his shoulder. “Missus Siegler took sick. Just carried her down to Doc’s.” Worden nodded.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” Joe said. He studied the two lawmen in a different light and tried to see anything that he might have missed before.
“Well, fact is, Mister Carr brought your letter about the body you found and I thought I better look into it,” Canfield said. “Now we ain’t accusin’ you, but we have information that you had this feller in jail and, well, threatened to kill him. You can see we had to talk to you about it.”
“Of course.”
“Marshal, did you threaten that man?” Worden asked.
“He threatened to kill me when he got out, so I told him, with that in mind, if he came back to town, I’d kill him in self-defense,” Joe said. Worden stared at him a moment with raised eyebrows. “He came back, but was already dead, Your Honor.”
“Somebody killed him,” Canfield said. “Anyone else threaten him besides you?”
Joe studied Canfield and tried to read what was going on behind his dark brown eyes. The sheriff didn’t give anything away. “Wouldn’t know about that,” Joe said. “Did you find them fellas I told you about at the soddy?”
Canfield looked at him. “Seems like luck wasn’t on our side. Didn’t find squat. In fact, it didn’t look like anybody’d been there in quite a spell, ain’t that right?” He looked at his deputy.
“That’s right.” The deputy spoke in a monotone.
It seemed to Joe that the sheriff was attempting to cast doubt on his word. “That’s a shame. Well, if you’re done with the judge here, I’ve got some business with him.” Joe thought he was a bit stymied by his dismissive attitude but the sheriff recovered quickly.
“We’ll head back later, after we visit the deceased. Told Judge Worden here that I’ll be talking to the county prosecutor, see what he thinks.You won’t be goin’ anywhere will you?” Canfield said.
“I’ll be here. You know where my office is, Sheriff.” Joe struggled to maintain an air of friendliness.
After the two walked out, Joe related to Worden the story he had gotten from Cookie and Luther. The judge let the rest of his cigar burn down without another puff.
“God almighty, son. You’re not one of those fellows that troubles follow everywhere they go, are you?”
Joe almost smiled at that. “Not ’til recently, it seems.”
“I don’t know Canfield. Be real disappointing if he’s a rotten apple,” Worden said. “Know anybody that would vouch for him?”
“Budd Jarvis thinks highly of him, but don’t know anyone else that knows him much,” Joe said.
“You’re not saying you think Jarvis is involved somehow?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think Canfield is bein’ truthful. Luther and Cookie are hidin’ out here, two are dead, and one maybe run off. But he’s downplayin’ the rustling like it didn’t happen. Think his story is taller than it is wide,” Joe said.
“Well, I don’t want you thinkin’ I won’t act on anything, but those two sound like the dregs of society, not the best witnesses. Do you have anything other than their story?”
“Nothing, Judge. That’s it.”
“All right, I want to talk to them. Bring them to my back door at midnight.”
After darkness enveloped the town, Joe slipped down the alley and made his way to the lean-to behind the undertaker’s, half expecting Luther and Cookie to be gone. But they were still there. He told them to be ready at midnight for a visit with Judge Worden.
Joe found Adam waiting for him. “Sheriff’s trying to blame you for what they done, sounds to me,” Adam stated. He was leaning against the cell with a coffee cup in his hand. Joe had finished telling him of the recent events.
“That’d be a pretty good supposal,” Joe said. “What’d he have to say when you gave him the letter?”
“He looked at his deputy and said, ‘Looks like we got a killin’ on our hands,’ and that they’d come to town straight away. It almost seemed like it wasn’t the first they’d heard of it, but put on like it was. Know what I mean?”
Joe nodded. “You and Mister Siegler were the only ones here when I told Carlson I’d kill him if he came back.”
“I didn’t tell anybody,” Adam said.
“I know you didn’t,” Joe said. “And Mister Siegler hasn’t seen him, so that about adds up to Carlson tellin’ the sheriff himself. Maybe Canfield thought that was an interesting whit of information for future use.”
“You mean like tryin’ to hang his killin’ on you?”
“That’s what I mean,” Joe said. “You know everyone here. You think Jarvis could be involved with Canfield?”
“Hadn’t never suspicioned him on anything, but he seems to pull for Canfield at times. Budd’s kind of a disagreeable sort, but I guess I would be too with his wife.”
“What about his wife?” Joe said.
“Doc Sullivan visits Rosella, uh, Missus Jarvis, out at the ranch, kinda’ regular. She’s of a fitful nature, and Doc gives her medicine for it. It seems to have gotten worse the past year,” Adam said. “Maybe that’s why Budd stays in town a lot.”
Joe walked to a front window. The buildings he could see were all dark except for the hotel. He thought how easy it would be for someone to shoot him down while he walked the streets at night. Someone like Canfield or his deputy, or Lute Kinney. But Kinney seemed to enjoy killing and didn’t mind broad daylight. Wondering when Kinney would appear was starting to wear on Joe. Maybe that was the plan. Any stranger to town would be noticed, so he was fairly certain that Kinney hadn’t yet arrived.
“Marshal?” Adam said. That brought Joe back from a stream of runaway thoughts.
“Oh, what’d you say, Adam?”
“I was saying that Canfield and his deputy just quit a card game with Jarvis and a couple others at the North Star when I went by a little bit ago. I waited out of sight and watched ’em ride out headed north. Looked like they was headed back to the Flats.”
Adam sat down on a chair next to the stove, and Joe leaned back in his swivel chair and perched his boots on the desk. It was almost eleven o’clock. They didn’t have much longer to wait. Joe had instructed Adam to be on lookout when Joe crossed the east end of Main Street with Luther and Cookie.
“Did you hear about Sanderson’s little girl passing down at Doc’s?” Adam asked after several minutes of listening to the Regulator tick.
“Yeah, terrible thing. Missus Siegler and a young boy are sick, too,” Joe said.
“Abe Barton went down tonight, sicker’n a dog with that inflenza. Doc gets anymore, he’ll have to lay ’em on the floor,” Adam said. “What is that stuff, Marshal?”
“I don’t know, disease, I guess. Seems to be as bad as typhoid,” Joe said. “Pastor Evans and Sarah are down there lending Doc a hand.”
The tapping was soft. Luther looked at Cookie in the dim light. They kept the lantern turned low while they played cards waiting for Marshal Mundy to escort them to see the judge. Cookie pulled out his pocket watch and read 11:10.
“It’s early,” Cookie whispered.
“Marshal, that you?” Luther asked. He got up and stood by the door.
“Yeah,” was the whispered reply.
Luther slid out the bolt that served as a makeshift lock, and slowly pushed the door open. A pistol barrel appeared instantly on the end of his nose. Behind the gun, he could see the bulging eyes of Canfield’s deputy. He pushed Luther inside and closed the door behind him.
“Wha, wha, what do you want?” Coo
kie asked. Luther was afraid to make a sound.
“Sheriff wants to talk. He’s waitin’ outside kinda’ unhappy. Says you don’t deserve to look him in the face, so turn around,” the deputy ordered. He pulled their pistols and threw them in the dirt behind him. They stood still and stared at the deputy.
“Wa, we, don’t want no trouble. . . .” Luther said, finding his voice.
“You won’t have any, ’less you don’t do what I say.” The two men looked at each other and turned away from the deputy.
“Kneel down so I can bring in the sheriff,” the deputy ordered. They kneeled down as they were told.
Cookie heard a bang and saw Luther fall onto his face. He didn’t hear the second one.
“Did you hear something?”
Adam opened his eyes and waited to reply. “Just that damned dog of Farnham’s barking again.” They were quiet and listened to the dog.
Joe got up and took his cup to the stove. “More coffee?” Adam shook his head. Joe could see his heavy eyelids.
“Be good to have Judge Worden hear what they got to say. What ya’ think he’ll do?” Adam asked.
“Could sign arrest warrants for Canfield and his deputy, so they stand trial. But he’ll want to be damned sure, since we’re talkin’ about the county sheriff and his deputy,” Joe said. “Or, he might do nothing.”
“Not supposed to get away with killin’ folks,” Adam said. “No matter if they was trash.”
“You have a good head for justice, Adam. Hope you ain’t disappointed as events develop.”
When the Regulator struck the quarter hour, Adam raised his head and opened his eyes. Joe was standing beside his desk.
“Time to rise and shine,” Joe said. Adam saw it was eleven forty-five. “Bar the door after I go out the back. Take your position beside MacNab’s so you can see the street. Give a wave when it’s clear to cross.”
Adam nodded.
Joe slipped into the darkness and headed north through the alleyway. Behind the main street buildings were privies and sheds. A narrow walkway ran between the Palace and the corner building. He crossed the street and walked down the alley of the next block. Behind the undertaker, Joe went out and around the wagon shed to the lean-to. He knocked gently on the door.
