the Iron Marshall (1979) (19 page)

He peered at Shanaghy. "Can't figure out why they ain't kilt you."

"They've tried."

"I should reckon." The old man bobbed his head. "You get through this night ... you're shot with luck. Up to now they been foolin'. Now they got to git shut of you."

He looked around at Jan. "You're wishful to see Rig Barrett? I'll take you to him."

"Thanks," Shanaghy said, "I was going to ask-"

"Hey, there! Pull up, now! Nobody said nothin' about takin' you to him. It was her. She done asked an' she's worried about him. I'll take her. Not you."

"But-"

"It's all right, Tom," Jan said. "I'll be all right."

"All right? I should reckon!" The old man peered at Shanaghy. "Jealous, are you? Jealous of old Coonskin, are you? Well, I don't blame you! Here a few year back I used to cut quite a figure amongst the gals! Nobody could dance the fandango like ol' Coonskin Adams! Them gals ... why, they was all just a'pantin' around after me!

"Looks I ain't got, but I do got style] Yes, siree-bob! I got style!"

He turned to Jan. "You come along with me, young lady. I'll take you to Rig. This here marshal, he can do whatever he's of a mind to, but he should watch hisself because tonight's the night! They'll kill him tonight. They don't want nothin' to mess with their big day. An' Rig, he's in no shape to fetch 'em." "Coonskin," Shanaghy said seriously. "I need to talk to Rig. I need his advice.

Look, I don't know what I'm walkin' into."

"You're a'doin' fine. Just you don't trust nobody. Nobody, d'you hear?" They rode away, and Shanaghy watched them go, torn with doubt. That young, beautiful girl, going off with a rough, dirty-looking old man ... to where? Turning his horse, he started back to town. As he rode he slowly reviewed what he knew and what he suspected.

The projected robbery had begun either in the mind of someone in town who knew about the money that would be arriving, or someone who had access to the information from other sources. Shanaghy knew enough about crime and criminals to know that no information is really secret. There is always somebody who knows, and there is always somebody who will talk-in the strictest confidence, of course, but talk they will. And if one talks, another will. A quarter of a million dollars is a lot of money. Vince Patterson's herd would bring him perhaps sixty thousand dollars, but there were other herds not far behind. The money would be needed to cash checks, to pay off hands, and to keep the wheels of trade turning at their proper speed. A large portion of that money would be spent right in town ... if it wasn't stolen. How many men were involved? There was at least one man at the water tower, but there had been all those others, too. George, the man on the train, the two men shackled to the hitching-rail ... and a woman.

There had to be somebody in town. No outsider had smuggled those horses away so quickly.

Turning his horse he cut across the prairie away from the railroad, riding northwest. The prairie was not as flat as it seemed from town, being gently rolling in places with a good many dips and hollows. Here and there was a streambed, most of them dry. Standing in his stirrups and looking back, he could see nothing of Jan or the old man. They had vanished as if they had never been. He rode into town from the north. As he entered he saw Mrs. Carpenter shading her eyes at him from her door, but when he made as if to ride toward her she went inside and closed the door.

A man whom he recognized as one who worked for the lumberyard was standing in the street as if waiting. Shanaghy pulled up. "Something wrong?" he asked. "Miz Carpenter wants her horse. That there one you're ridin'."

"Carpenter loaned it to me. He said-"

"Maybe he said. Anyway, Carpenter is dead, as you mighty well know. That there horse belongs to Miz Carpenter, an' she wants it back." There was no friendliness in the man. "She wants it back, an' she wants it now."

"I'll leave it at the stable."

"Mister, I said she wants it now. Right here ... now." Surprised and irritated, Shanaghy dismounted. "Why, sure. Although I don't see what she's in such a hurry for."

"You don't? Mister, there's folks around askin' themselves questions about how Carpenter comes to be dead, and you with the body, and all. "You come in here out of nowhere and start workin' with him. You see he's got him a nice business there. You start ridin' around on his horse, in a saddle belonging to him, and you even work there when he's not around, collectin' money for work and materials and all. Then suddenly Carp, who didn't have an enemy in the world, is found dead."

The eyes were cold and accusing. "Found dead by you ... And you say you escaped from a burning barn that somebody set afire.

"Now does that make sense? Who would lock you in a barn and set it afire? Who would kill Carp? Who stood to gain by it?"

"You're mistaken, my friend," said Shanaghy. "I liked Carp, and he liked me, we-" "You say. But who stood to gain? You're the only smith around. Hear you been cozening up to Miz Carpenter, too.

"Mister, you may think you're some shakes, walkin' around with that badge and all. Well, let me tell you ... "

Shanaghy fought down an angry reply. "Take the horse and saddle to Mrs.

Carpenter and thank her for me. I guess I'll just have to find another horse."

"Not in this town, you won't."

Angrily, Shanaghy strode up the street to the hotel. What in God's name was happening? Had she gone crazy?

A man standing in front of Holstrum's turned abruptly away as he approached, and another deliberately walked across the street, away from him. Shanaghy pushed open the door and entered the hotel, starting for the stairs. Suddenly he stopped. His gear ... or, rather, Rig's gear and his few extra clothes, were bundled up at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up to find the clerk smiling at him, a malicious smile. That clerk had never liked him, anyway..

"Sorry, Mr. Marshal-man. We needed your room. You'll have to look somewhere else."

The clerk leaned his elbows on the desk. "We don't want your kind around here, mister. My advice to you is get while the getting is good. They can't prove anything right now, but they will. And when they do, you'll hang. You'll hang! D'you hear me?"

Chapter
Seventeen.

Shanaghy emerged upon the street, shaken by the sudden twist events had taken. He stood for a minute or two, his gear beside him, trying to adjust to the situation.

He had been warned they would try to kill him, and they still might. But what they were doing now was many times more effective, or so it seemed to him. The townspeople he was trying to aid and protect had turned against him. They believed him a murderer, and he had to admit that looking at things the way they were, such a theory was plausible.

Now he had no horse, no place to sleep, and he doubted if he could even buy a meal. Who had started the story? By the time he figured that out, it would be already too late. Whatever was going to happen here would happen within the next few hours.

Taking up his gear he went down the street to Holstrum's store. The store was empty when he entered except for Holstrum himself, who peered at him from over his glasses.

"I need a place to stay," Shanaghy said. "They put me out at the hotel." The storekeeper shrugged. "I have nothing for you." His manner was cool. "My advice is to leave ... while it is still possible. You are not liked here. Since you have come much has happened, and there are many who believe you yourself killed poor Mr. Carpenter. My advice is to go ... before enough men get together to hang you."

A moment Shanaghy hesitated, but Holstrum had turned away. Taking up his gear he walked out to the street again.

It was impossible, and yet ... it had happened. Who had started the rumor? And why?

Maybe it was only an idea that started in the mind of an overwrought and grief-stricken woman. And maybe it was an idea put there by somebody who saw a chance to destroy him ... or at least to get him out of town. Shanaghy thought suddenly of his prisoners. He must have walked right by them, unthinking. He looked again.

They were gone.

Greenwood ... He would go to Greenwood.

One man was finishing a beer as he entered. The man glanced at him, put a coin on the bar and walked out.

Shanaghy stepped up to the bar. "How about it? Are you shutting me out, too?"

Greenwood's features were expressionless. "What'll you have?"

"Beer."

Greenwood drew the beer and placed it before him. "It's a small community, and stories get around. Carpenter's been murdered. Folks start asking who stood to gain by it, and your name came up first. Carp was a well liked man. He'd had no trouble before. You come to town, you work at his shop and suddenly he's dead ... You find his body, but the barn where he was killed burned, and with it all the evidence."

Greenwood glanced at Shanaghy. "You had anything to eat?"

"No ... and I'm hungry."

"Don't have much here, but I can give you a bowl of chili and some crackers." He dished it up. "Lived in Tucson a good many years back. All you could get in a restaurant there in those days was chili, chili and beans or beef. You'd think I'd be sick of it, but I'm not."

Greenwood put the bowl of steaming chili and another bowl filled with oyster crackers on the bar. "You want to know what I think? I don't believe you murdered Carp. I do know he liked you, and I think you did him ... well as you knew him."

"We talked a little. I did like him."

Greenwood lit a cigar. "You've got enemies, and if I feed you they'll be my enemies."

"I'll stay away."

"You needn't." Greenwood puffed thoughtfully at the cigar. "In this case your enemies have to be my enemies. I mean those who aren't just misguided but real enemies."

Greenwood took Shanaghy's beer from the bar and put a head on it. "That's partly my money coming in on the train."

"How much of it is yours?"

"The big part. I've got a hundred and fifty thousand coming in. Other businessmen around town have maybe another fifty. Carp has some and so does Holstrum."

"I don't comprehend. Why is so much of it yours?"

"We wanted the cattle business and I had access to more cash than the others.

Good credit. So I agreed to carry the weight of it." Shanaghy looked at Greenwood thoughtfully, then went on with his eating. He was hungry and the chili tasted good ... very good. Yet there was a feeling that he was missing something, and a feeling of impending doom. "Greenwood," Shanaghy said suddenly, "if I were you I'd close up shop and keep out of sight. I think your number is up, too."

"Mine?"

"You just said most of that money was yours. By coming into the picture I've messed up their plans. I don't think they intended to kill anyone ... Maybe they didn't ... except for Rig. Then when I came into the picture they had to kill me. Well, they haven't done it so far but they'll keep trying. "Now, they're trying to run me out of town. They've taken my room from me. I've no place to eat, and they've taken my horse. I'd lay a bet I can't even get a ticket out of town, although maybe they'd be glad to see me go." "What's happening, then?"

"It's somebody right here in town who is mixed up in all this. I tell you, man, they had it all worked out, until Rig Barrett smelled something rotten." Shanaghy paused, then asked, "Whose idea was it to hire Rig?" "Mine. Judge McBane agreed. So did Carpenter. Holstrum did, then he worried about it, afraid we'd get a worse lawman than we had. He voted against it finally."

"Carp was for it."

"He was."

Shanaghy finished the chili and drank the last of the beer. "You'd better hole up. I can't promise you where I'll be, but they shan't drive me out. I'll find a horse somewhere-" "I have several. Take your pick. And there's all the gear you'll need, right out back." Greenwood reached under the bar and pulled out a shotgun. "I have this, and if you need me-" "You just stay here. I may need a place to come to." He paused, looking up the empty street. It was too empty ... and that worried him. "Greenwood, how well do you know Mrs. Carpenter?" The saloonkeeper looked up the sunlit street where the dust stirred briefly. "Not much." He spoke reluctantly, as one who did not talk about women, at least about decent women. "She kept pretty much to herself ... Didn't socialize a lot. Folks seemed to like her, but ... well, she was standoffish. "Carp was different. He liked folks, enjoyed sitting around talking. He was a serious man, though, and knew what he was about. Sometimes ... " -he hesitated- "sometimes I figure she thought she was a mite too good for all of us, Carp included."

"And her brother?"

"They were close. Saw a lot of one another, but he wasn't a mixer, either. He'd come in here, time to time, and buy a bottle." He scowled. "Come to think of it, here lately he's been buying more. Sometimes two or three bottles at a time." "Becoming a drunk?"

"I never saw him drunk. No ... I don't think so."

"How about other stuff? Groceries?"

Greenwood shrugged. "No ... Holstrum would be the only one who would know about that."

"I was wondering ... Maybe he was buying that whiskey for somebody else?

Somebody who didn't want to show up around town?" Shanaghy got up. Greenwood rinsed out the bowls and his beer mug, then dried his hands on his apron. It was cool and pleasant in the small saloon. Shanaghy looked up the street. Already the buildings looked weather-beaten and old. Sun, wind and blown sand would do that. In the prairie country, towns had a way of aging very fast.