Defiant (39 page)

“I wanted to talk to you about Mary Jo.”

The sheriff motioned him inside. “What about Mrs. Williams? Is she hurt?”

“I'm leaving soon, and I wanted to make sure someone was looking out for her.”

“Leaving?” Matt Sinclair looked none too sorry about the news.

Wade shrugged. “I'm no help here.” He looked around the small office. There were two small cells, taking up half the office. The rest contained a desk, a cot the sheriff apparently used, a cookstove with a coffeepot on it, and a locked rifle rack. In one of the cells, a man rose from the cot as Wade came in and was now leaning against the bars, watching. Wade recognized him. He wondered if Shepherd had similar recall, but doubted it. Wade had had a beard then, but none now. Shepherd still had his. And cold black eyes Wade remembered well.

Sinclair had not taken his eyes from Wade, though. He was a competent man, Wade thought regretfully. “There's something else,” Wade said. “I saw a couple of men yesterday who looked out of place. I remembered what you said about strangers and thought I might check your wanted posters.”

Sinclair nodded. “They're in the desk. I'll get them.” He turned his back and that was all Wade needed. He slipped the gun from the sling and struck Sinclair with it, blocking the man's fall with his own body, then lowering him with his left arm to the floor.

Wade looked toward Shepherd. “The keys?”

“Top desk drawer. Who are you?”

“An acquaintance from years ago.”

The man's eyes narrowed, concentrating, and Wade put his gun on the desk drawer, found the keys and unlocked the cell. “Consider this a favor from a friend of yours.”

“Kelly?” the man said as he left the cell.

Wade nodded. “For a percentage of the bank payroll. Now get the hell out of here.”

“I'm going to shoot that goddamn sheriff first.”

“And let the whole town hear? Hell, no.”

The man glared at him for a moment, then nodded. He took the keys and unlocked a drawer in the desk and took out his gunbelt.

Wade went to the door and opened it slighdy. “It's safe. There's a bay next door. Take that.”

“I think I'll take that gray in front.”

“You try it, and he'll throw you to hell and back. And then I'll kill you.”

The man suddenly grinned. “I do remember you. Allen?”

Wade nodded.

“You'd do it too, wouldn't you?” Shepherd asked. “Kill me if I took your damn horse. You always cared more for your horse than any of us.”

“They're worth a lot more. Now get out of here.”

“What about you?”

“I'll use the knife on your friend. Then slip out quietly. People in town know me. They won't think anything of me riding out.”

“You going to meet up with us?”

“In a couple of days. I have my own hiding place.”

Shepherd nodded. “I owe you,” he said, taking one last look, then sprinting out the door, slinking down a few steps and then quietly unhitching the bay.

Wade watched him ride away. He leaned over the fallen sheriff and unbuckled his gunbelt, then pulled him into one of the cells and locked the door. He tugged down the cheap shade on the window, sat in the chair and picked up the gun, wondering idly how much time he had.

It wasn't long. Within minutes, he heard a groan, a muttered curse. He saw a bucket of water with a ladle on the table in the corner next to a stove and coffeepot. He filled the ladle and went over to the bars. Sinclair was half sitting, leaning on one arm. He glared at Wade from within the cell. “What in the hell …?”

He looked toward the front door, which was closed again, and then around the room. He took in the fact that he was now in the cell that had previously housed his prisoner. He shook his head as if to clear it, wincing as he did so. “Shepherd?”

“Gone.”

“Why?”

Wade had to admire him. Sinclair didn't waste time with curses or threats. He got down to the heart of the matter. There was obviously a reason Wade had remained behind.

“Water?” Wade said as he tried to judge the man inside the cell.

Sinclair rose slowly, painfully, and moved to the bars. He held out his hand for the ladle, took a couple swallows, then used the rest to dash on his face. His hand fingered the back of his head.

“Sorry about that,” Wade said. “I didn't think you would let him go on your own.”

“Damn right I wouldn't.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Ignore it,” Wade said, picking up the gun from the desk and pointing it at the sheriff.

Matt Sinclair stared at the gun, then his face. “What in the hell do you want?”

“Your cooperation.”

“You have a damn strange way of going about getting it.” Sinclair's eyes narrowed to slits. “Mary Jo?” It was the first time Wade had heard him use her given name and that deadly jealously started playing around inside again.

“Mary Jo doesn't know anything about this,” Wade said. “But she's why I'm here. She's in trouble.”

“How?”

“Because of me. I'm not who you, or Mary Jo, think I am.”

“Then who are you?”

“Later,” Wade said. “First, your bank's going to be robbed.”

Sinclair stared at him, his dark eyes guarded. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I want you to stop it.”

Matt Sinclair didn't blink, didn't show any surprise at all. “I suppose you're going to explain.”

Wade found himself smiling. He wondered what it would take to ruffle the man in the cell. The sheriff certainly used a minimum of words. Wade nodded. “It's complicated.”

Sinclair's eyebrows furrowed in question. “Then start from the beginning. Why did you free Shepherd?” The sheriff was trying hard to focus. His head must hurt like crazy, and Wade felt momentary sympathy for him.

“Because the men with him would have gone after Mary Jo if I hadn't. I can't protect Mary Jo and her son with this arm. Neither can Tuck or Ed.”

“Who are they?”

“Their leader is a man named Clay Kelly.”

The sheriff's head jerked up in recognition of the name. His hands went around the bars. “Kelly?”

“You know the name?”

“I don't know a lawman around that doesn't. I have a bunch of posters on him, every place from Kansas to Texas to Wyoming. He's a killer.”

Wade winced at the word “Kansas.” His was probably there, too. He nodded, bracing himself for the next question.

“He's the one who's been doing the killing, the rustling?”

Wade sighed, then decided to let Kelly take the blame for the killing of those miners. There was some justice to that. “He's been around,” he said, allowing the implication to sink in.

“How do you know all this?” Sinclair's eyes were on the gun, even as the knocking on the door continued. A gesture from Wade kept him silent.

“I saw him in town a while ago, and went looking. I found him.”

“Why aren't you dead?”

“I rode with him twelve years ago,” Wade said flatly.

Sinclair's mouth thinned as he obviously thought back. “Where?”

“That's not important now,” Wade replied shortly. “Mary Jo is. And your bank.”

The sheriff didn't respond. He was too busy thinking. Wade could almost see him trying to figure out where he had seen Wade before meeting him at the ranch. A wanted poster perhaps? He was also wondering how to get out of that cell alive and take Wade.

“Why didn't you just come to me?”

“Because I wasn't sure whether you'd let Shepherd go, and I wanted him to think it was a jailbreak.”

“It is a jailbreak,” Sinclair said bitterly, his hand going back to the lump on his head again. “And you'll pay for it.”

The knocking on the door stopped, and Wade lowered his six-shooter. He shifted his position against the desk, his gaze never leaving Sinclair.

“I fully expect to,” Wade said, finally acknowledging Sinclair's last comment.

The sheriff's hands tightened around the bars. “You gonna let me out of here?”

“Maybe. If you're reasonable.”

“Damn you. I don't feel reasonable.”

Wade grinned wryly at the honesty. Mary Jo had liked Sinclair, had disliked lying to him. Wade was beginning to understand why. He was a direct, honest man. “I don't expect you do,” he replied.

“Just what do you want?” The question was low and bitter.

“I want you to listen to me. Try to believe me.”

“Why should I?”

“A lot of lives could depend on it. And this whole town.”

“I would listen a whole lot better out there.”

Wade considered. He would have to trust Sinclair sooner or later. He'd already put his life—and Mary Jo's—in Sinclair's hands. Shepherd would be long gone now. The question was, would Matt Sinclair listen, or would he just lock Wade up and throw away the key? Wade had taken measure of Sheriff Sinclair, and, if nothing else, Wade believed Sinclair would do what he could for Mary Jo and Jeff Williams. It was all Wade could ask for. All he wanted.

Wade nodded. He put down his gun, picked up the keys and unlocked the cell, moving back to allow Matt Sinclair to pass, waiting for the sheriff to order him inside. Sinclair didn't. He did pick up Wade's gun and put it in the drawer, then found his own and returned it to the holster, keeping wary eyes on Wade.

“Sit down,” Sinclair said as he took the chair behind his desk.

Startled, Wade obeyed.

Sinclair leaned down and took out a bundle of wanted posters from a drawer in the desk and flipped through them, taking several out. He studied them for a moment, then reached in the top drawer and took out two long, thin cigars. “Want one?”

Wade didn't, not particularly, but he took it, fascinated with Sinclair's reaction. Wary. But encouraged. Maybe he'd underestimated the sheriff. But then he'd never had much respect for the law.

After the sheriff lit both cigars, he leaned back. “Allen?”

Wade was surprised. He had changed a hell of a lot since that old poster. Sinclair had good eyes. Wade shrugged his indifference. He'd known this was coming.

“You're still wanted.” Sinclair sighed. “Suppose you tell me exactly what you intended before I lock you up.”

Wade's eyes never left Sinclair's, willing him to believe. “I hadn't seen Kelly for twelve years until several days ago when I saw him riding through town,” Wade said, sticking to the truth as much as possible. “I heard what you'd told Mary Jo about the slaughtered cattle, and I thought Kelly was probably responsible. That meant he was staying and probably planning a job. And the only thing worthwhile around here is the bank. So I went looking for him.”

“Why did you care?”

“Mrs. Williams has been good to me. I didn't want her and the boy to lose everything they have.”

“Why didn't you just tell her to withdraw her money?” The sheriff was shrewder than Wade had anticipated.

“I would have had to tell her how I knew, and I didn't want her to know who I was,” he said simply. “She thinks I'm Wade Smith.”

“We'll go into that later. Tell me more about Kelly.”

“I found him. He said he was waiting for Shepherd, and that's all.”

“Why do you think differently now?”

“One of his men came for me.” Wade changed the facts slightly to suit his purpose. “They found out where I was staying. You'd arrested Shepherd, and they wanted me to help get him back. Kelly told me they planned to rob the bank, offered me part of the take if I would get Shepherd out of jail. He's the explosives man.”

Sinclair's eyes didn't blink. “Why didn't you just come to me? We could go after them.”

“He moved from the first place I met him, and I was blindfolded the second time I was taken to him. I have no idea where they are now. Kelly was a guerrilla for six years, long before the war started. He knows how to hide and when to strike.”

“How does Mary Jo fit into this? You said she was in danger.”

“They found out I was staying with her. If they knew I came to you, or if I refused to help with Shepherd, Kelly would go after her. That's why I—”

“Assaulted me and broke Shepherd out.” Sinclair's eyes narrowed. “Posters say you both were with Anderson at Centralia.”

Wade nodded. There were no excuses.

“You can still hang for that. It was considered a war crime.”

Wade was silent.

“You knew that when you came in?”

“I guessed as much.”

“I don't get it, mister,” Sinclair said, suspicion alive in his eyes. “You walk in here, let a killer go, assault me, and give me this wild tale. You expect me to let you walk out?”

“No,” Wade said softly. “I want you to get Kelly. Then I don't care what happens.”

Sinclair studied him for a moment. “When do you think he'll strike?”

“As soon as possible. He was getting restless. Now that he has Shepherd, I think you can expect him tomorrow. Certainly by the next day unless he suspects something.”

“And if he does, he'll go after Mary Jo and Jeff?”

Wade nodded. “I told her to go to the Abbots tomorrow if I didn't return.”

“Oh, you're not going to return, Allen,” Sinclair said curtly. He looked at Wade's arm. “How did you really get that busted arm?”

Wade had been waiting for that, too. “A hunting accident.”

The lawman's lips turned down in a frown. “Mary Jo has no idea who you are?”

“No. I ran into the real Smith in Denver during a poker game. He said he was heading this way to see the woman who inherited his brother's ranch. I heard several days later he was shot in the street. When I was hurt, I decided to head this way.”

“A young widow with property,” Matt said contemptuously. “Good place to hide out.”