The Plains of Laramie (11 page)

Toby, the aging hostler, was limply parked upon a horseshoe keg just inside the door where coolness lay. Upon both sides of the runway inside the barn were box stalls and tie stalls; from these gloomy slots came sounds of horses munching, stamping at flies, or rubbing.

Parker halted near Toby and considered him from a blank face. The hostler spoke up huskily at once, saying: “Hones’ t’gawd, Mister Travis, I had no hand in Ace McElhaney goin’ after you this morning. I can’t make you believe that, but it’s gospel truth.”

“That’s interesting,” said Travis mildly. “You knew who I was when I came in here this morning.”

“I wasn’t the only one, Mister Travis. Hub Wheaton figured it out, too. So did Lew Morgan of Lincoln Ranch.”

“Morgan wasn’t in Laramie this morning before sunup, was he, Toby?”

The hostler heard skepticism in Travis’s voice. “No, sir,” he answered right back. “But Hub was, an’ so was McElhaney. I don’t know this, mind you, an’ Sheriff Wheaton probably wouldn’t like it if he heard me say it, but him and Lew Morgan saw your thoroughbred last night an’ they talked about it.”

“What of that?” asked Parker.

“Well, there’s only one other thoroughbred in the country, and they suspicioned who you was from
that. An’ the first thing fellers do under circumstances like them is warn everybody else, ain’t it?”

Parker thought on this, and after a moment he nodded. “It’s possible, all right. Now tell me when you saw McElhaney the last time and who he was with?”

“I seen him last night over at Johnny Fleharty’s saloon. Him and Johnny was talkin’.”

“No one else, Toby?”

“On my honor, Mister Travis, just them two.”

Without another word Parker strode out of the barn, across the hot roadway, and into Fleharty’s Great Northern Saloon.

Fleharty was standing listlessly behind his bar, picking his teeth and gazing drowsily over at a poker game, the only source of interest in his place at this suppertime hour of the day. He saw Parker Travis come in and became at once alert and apprehensive. When Parker crossed to the bar and leaned there, looking over at him, Johnny said quickly, with a false smile: “Ale? I recollect you as an ale man.”

“Who told McElhaney who I was?” Parker softly asked, cutting out the preliminaries.

The poker game had suddenly gone flat; those quiet-faced men over at the table were all looking straight up where Fleharty and Parker Travis stood. The saloon was quiet enough to hear each outside sound throughout its big barn-like room. Johnny Fleharty killed time drawing a glass of ale. He shot a look over at the poker players and turned red under their blank stares. He put the glass in front of Parker, made a mechanical sweep of his bar top with a rag, and lifted his eyes. Parker was watching him still; he was obviously awaiting his answer.

“Sheriff Wheaton knew who you were,” he said at last, his voice scratchy. “I reckon a lot of folks knew, for that matter.”

Parker pushed the ale aside. He shook his head at Fleharty. “Until last night they didn’t. Who did McElhaney talk to last night?”

“How would I know, mister? Ace didn’t spend all his…”

“I want a straight answer from you,” said Parker, drawing back a little from the bar as he interrupted. “Make it easy on yourself, Fleharty, or make it hard. It’s up to you.”

Johnny, who was a little man in many ways, screwed up his face in pure agony. If he answered, those listening poker players would hear him surrender. If he didn’t answer, the killer of Ace McElhaney probably would do something about that. Johnny was at that crossroad many men face in a lifetime—he had either to sacrifice self-esteem and local respect, or perhaps his life. He wasn’t sure this was so but he had to make his choice now, and the wrong decision could be dangerous. But Johnny was a small man so he made the safe decision by saying: “Sheriff Wheaton and Lew Morgan talked to Ace.” He left off speaking, his breathing hurried, as though he was out of breath now.

Parker nodded. “One more question. Charley Swindin was in town a little while back. Did he come in here?”

“He usually does when he’s in town,” Johnny said, groping for some way to salvage some of that respect by seeking to evade another question. “Charley’s been comin’…”

“Was he in here this afternoon?”

There it was again, the blunt question from that
unreadable, strong, and weather-darkened face. Johnny made another prolonging swipe with his bar rag. This time, though, like all men who have once given in, he had less difficulty answering.

“Yes, he was in here a little after noon.”

“What did he say?”

“Well. He said you’d killed Ace. He said he knew who you were, because Lew Morgan told him last night at the ranch Frank Travis’s brother was in town.”

“What else?”

“Well, he said you weren’t goin’ to slip up from behind and get him like you got Ace.”

Parker looked over at the poker players. There were six of them and they solemnly returned his look. “If any of you believe that’s how McElhaney died, go look at him. Go see whether that bullet hit from behind or from in front.”

None of the card players spoke. They sat on, though, appraising Parker. Johnny Fleharty looked at his fingertips. At this moment he despised himself, could not bring himself to look out at the man who had made that kind of a coward of him.

Parker wheeled about, left the saloon, and turned southward toward the hotel. He almost at once collided with Sheriff Wheaton. Hub stopped dead still. He was sweat-dust stained and red-necked.

Parker beat him to it. He said: “Have a nice ride to Lincoln Ranch, Sheriff?”

Hub shook his head, looking more mournful than ever. “No,” he replied quietly, “it’s hotter’n the hinges of hell on the plains today.”

“Yeah,” grunted Parker. “In more ways than one. What’s on your mind?”

“I was looking for you.”

“I can see that. What for…to arrest me?”

Hub Wheaton was not like Johnny Fleharty; he did not scare easily. “No. Not yet anyway. To tell you there’s a man in the hall outside your hotel room waiting to talk to you.”

Parker’s mind selected a name and dropped it down. “Morgan?” he asked.

“Yes, Lew Morgan. He rode back with me. Are you going to see us?”

“I’ve already seen you, Sheriff. I’ll see Morgan alone.”

Parker started past. Hub Wheaton turned slowly to watch him progress southward. Once, he parted his lips to speak, then he closed them again and stood undecided while Travis swung in and passed beyond his sight at the hotel doorway.

Several men came out of the Great Northern Saloon. They saw Hub standing there and came to a rough stop. Johnny Fleharty also pushed through and saw Hub, but Johnny didn’t hesitate at all; he rushed at the sheriff.

“Hub, that feller Travis was just in my place makin’ me tell him about you warnin’ Ace about him bein’ in town an’ that he was that other Travis’s brother.”

Wheaton swung back. Over Fleharty’s shoulder he spied those rough range men standing together by the saloon’s doorway. He read their faces and their stances correctly.

“What’re you tryin’ to do,” he asked Johnny, “start a fight?”

Fleharty looked bewildered “What are you talkin’ about? I was in my own saloon mindin’ my own business…”

“I’m talking about those riders back there…those
six men who just came out of your place. Who got them on the prod?”

“I didn’t. It was Travis. They heard him pumpin’ me about Charley Swindin an’ you talkin’ to Ace last night. You an’ Lew Morgan. They…”

“Lew Morgan wasn’t in your place last night, Johnny.”

Fleharty blinked. His agitation was considerable. “Wasn’t he with you when you talked to Ace?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“I thought…I guess there were too many fellers in there for me to be sure last night.” Johnny’s eyes widened. “I thought he was with you ’n’ Ace. That’s what I told Travis.”

“No,” growled Hub Wheaton. “You’re not tryin’ to stir anything up. Hell, no, you’re just tryin’ to get Lew killed along with Swindin.”

Fleharty said protestingly: “But, Hub…”

Wheaton, however, was passing northward toward those six grim-faced cowboys up the sidewalk. He left Fleharty standing helplessly, with new sweat bursting out upon his face, feeling more degraded than ever.

When he was close to the motionless range riders, Wheaton said: “Forget it. There’s enough trouble here without you fellers butting in.”

One of those cowboys, a gaunt, battered man, hooked both thumbs in his shell belt, looked coolly at the sheriff, and growled: “You folks here in town afraid of that Travis feller?”

Hub’s long face settled into tough lines. He said sarcastically: “Yeah, we’re scairt to death of him. We’re also scairt to death of men like you. We’re so scairt I’m going to lock the lot of you up in my jailhouse unless you climb on your horses right damned
now and hightail it out of town and back wherever you belong.”

Another rider, broad, swarthy, raffish-appearing, looked around. He made an elaborate shrug with his shoulders and said gruffly to his friends: “To hell with it. Come on, let’s get goin’. These here folks don’t want no help.” This man turned his back upon Hub Wheaton, stepped down into roadway dust, and trudged over where six saddled horses were drowsing. His friends went along after him, one at a time, until only the gaunt, battered man remained behind.

Hub took a little forward step, put his palm against this cowboy’s chest, and gave a little push. The gaunt man’s eyes flashed; he dropped both hands from his belt and teetered there, on the brink of action.

From his saddle, out in the yellow brilliance, that raffish-looking man called: “Forget it, Buck! Come on. Let the townsfolk handle it their own clumsy way.”

“That,” said Wheaton quietly to the angry-eyed man in front of him, “is damned good advice.”

Afterward, when the six of them were riding off, Johnny Fleharty came up tentatively, not certain whether to speak or step on past and run into his saloon. He was still undecided when Wheaton spoke without taking his eyes off those moving riders.

“Johnny, I know something about you.” Hub turned and looked down. “I know you were egging McElhaney to find that missing three thousand dollars. Now I’m going to tell you something, an’ you’d better believe me. There never was three thousand dollars. There was only nine thousand dollars. That’s all there ever was.”

“But the express company said they’d been robbed…”

“I don’t care what they said. That nine thousand dollars wasn’t their money. I’m almost positive of that. Likely, at this late date, we’ll never recover their twelve thousand anyway. Whoever got that is hundreds of miles away by now.”

“You mean…Frank Travis really wasn’t the robber?”

Hub Wheaton turned at a slight sound. Amy Morgan was there behind him in a white blouse and a buckskin-colored riding skirt. He forgot Fleharty altogether to stare.

“Where is Lew?” Amy asked.

“At the hotel.”

“Hubbell, why didn’t you tell me, too, what happened this morning?”

“You mean about McElhaney and this Travis feller?” asked Hub. “Well, Amy, Lew asked me not to frighten you with it.”

Amy looked exasperated. “Hubbell,” she said crisply, “I am the one who was responsible for Parker Travis being out on the stage road this morning. It was I who put him where McElhaney found him. Do you know what he’ll think about me for what happened to him out there?”

Hubbell didn’t answer this. He frowned a little and said: “Who told you about McElhaney?”

“Charley did. Right after you and Lew left the ranch this afternoon, Charley came to me with a little note my uncle had left with the cook for him. In the note it said Lew was coming to town with you to see Parker Travis…”

“Yes? What else did it say, Amy?”

“It said for Charley to saddle up and get out of the
country at once, for him to write Lew when he settled somewhere, and Lew would send him money.”

Behind Sheriff Wheaton, Johnny Fleharty made a little sigh of sound. Hubbell swung angrily on him. “Go on, crawl back in your rat hole, an’, if you don’t keep that double-hinged tongue of yours quiet, I’ll personally carve it out of you an’ make a necktie out of it. Beat it!”

Fleharty fled around them into the Great Northern. At the hitch rack out where Amy had tied her animal, several cowboys came up, got down, tied up, and paused to stare admiringly at Amy. Hub Wheaton took her arm and started along southward.

“It’s working out all right,” he told her. “Lew was smart. I just can’t imagine why he didn’t want me to know he was sending Charley away, though.”

Amy looked up at the shadow of trouble mantling Wheaton’s countenance. “Because he wasn’t sure you wouldn’t want to arrest Charley, Hubbell.”

“Why would I arrest him?” Wheaton asked, puzzled.

“For murder,” said Amy as she freed her arm and swept on into the hotel lobby.

Parker recognized Lewis Morgan the instant he saw him in the gloomy corridor outside his hotel room. He nodded without speaking and Morgan did the same back again.

Parker unlocked his door, pushed it back, and motioned Morgan in ahead of him. He afterward closed the door, leaned upon it, and put a considering look forward where the owner of Lincoln Ranch halted and turned about.

“All right,” said Parker. “Sheriff Wheaton told me you had something to say. Say it.”

Morgan removed his hat, tossed it aside, and looked straight at Travis. “I’d like to see that bill of sale Wheaton says you have, before I say anything.”

Parker dug the paper out, wordlessly handed it over, and continued to stand by the door, watching Morgan read it. Parker saw the slackness of Mor-gan’s muscles, the grayness of his lips. He stood waiting for Morgan to speak.

Morgan made a little feeble gesture. “What can I say?” he muttered. “I think this is probably true.”

“It’s true, all right!” exclaimed Parker.

Morgan nodded dumbly. “I wired Arizona the minute I got to town…after Hub Wheaton told me what you’d said and what you’d shown him. The answer’ll be along soon now.”

“What then?” asked Parker dryly. “You going to offer me cash, Mister Morgan?”

“Would cash do it, Travis?”

Parker shook his head.

“No, I didn’t think it would.”

“Only justice will satisfy me, Mister Morgan.”

“You mean…with guns?”

Parker shook his head again. “I didn’t have that in mind, exactly, although apparently Ace McElhaney did. I had in mind a fair court trial for every man connected with my brother’s killing.”

Morgan dropped the bill of sale upon the room’s only bed. He brought forth a limp handkerchief and mopped perspiration. “All those men weren’t involved.”

“Yes they were. Every man who rode with you and Sheriff Wheaton’s brother the day my brother was killed is involved. I’ll accept nothing less than a trial for every one of them.”

“Travis, listen to me. McElhaney is dead. Can’t you be satisfied with that? What good can a trial do for the others? They didn’t even see your brother shot. They weren’t even close enough to hear the shots.”

“A lot of them aren’t even close enough right now to serve a court summons on, Morgan.”

Lew looked startled. “What d’you mean by that?” he swiftly demanded, his expression guilty.

Parker didn’t make any immediate reply. A black suspicion sprang through him. “I meant,” he said slowly, watching Morgan’s eyes, “that I sat outside this afternoon and counted nine riders with bedrolls and canteens hit the southward trail out of Laramie.” Parker paused, cocked a wry eye, and said: “But you just made me suspect something else, the way you looked when I said that. Tell me, Morgan, where did you tell Charley Swindin, your ranch foreman, to hide out?”

Lew turned, walked to the window, looked out a moment, turned, and walked back. His eyes were suddenly imploring. “Name what you want as an alternative to all this and I’ll give it to you, Travis.”

“I want Swindin first. After that, I’ll see the rest of you tried for being accessories to murder.”

“Travis, give us a chance. We know now what we did. Give us a chance to…”

“Yeah,” broke in Parker. “I’ll give you the same rotten chance you gave my brother.” Again Parker cocked his head with that same dry expression. “Of course, you can try to compound it by having me murdered, too, Morgan, like your niece did this morning with McElhaney. But I’ll promise you one thing if you try it. You’ll be dead, too, if I’m able to draw a breath afterward.”

Lew was stunned. “My niece? Are you talking about Amy? She has nothing whatever to do with this.”

“One thing at a time,” growled Parker. “Where did you send Swindin?”

“Away. You can’t blame me for wanting to save a man’s life, Travis.”

“No, I wouldn’t blame you for that, Morgan. That’s what Frank was trying to do on that thoroughbred horse I gave him, when your former sheriff and your foreman rode him down and shot him like a rabid dog.”

Lew Morgan was breathing hard; this was the only sound in the room for a little while.

Parker said again: “Where is Swindin?”

“I don’t know. That’s the truth. I told him to get away. To go a long way off. I didn’t say where he was to go, only that he was to leave at once…today.”

Parker stood there dourly considering the cattleman. When next he spoke, his voice had hardened, had turned grim and accusing: “You feel badly about being part of a murder, yet not quite bad enough to see the other murderers tried in court. Morgan, you’re scum. You’re the kind of a man who says he believes in law and order, but, when it affects you personally, you don’t believe in it at all. You’re the lowest kind of a hypocrite. I wish you’d go for that gun under your coat.”

The door was pushed suddenly inward, striking Parker. He side-stepped at once, dropped his right hand, whirled, and faced what he thought was fresh danger. It was Amy. She looked straight at him, ignored his fighting stance, entered the room, and closed the door.

Her uncle said: “Amy, what are you doing here?”

She had an answer for him: “The same thing you are, but also to explain to Mister Travis I didn’t know anything about McElhaney when we talked this morning.”

Lew gradually came to appear puzzled. He watched Amy face Travis.

“I don’t know how he knew you’d be on that road this morning. I have an idea, but otherwise I want you to believe me. I did not know anything about your fight with McElhaney until late this afternoon. I want you to believe that.”

“Why?” asked Parker. “What difference does it make whether I believe that or not?”

Amy went forward several steps; she was now between her uncle and Travis. She turned toward Parker. “So there will be no more senseless killings.”

He gazed at her. She stood before him, cool-looking,
fresh, and crisp in all that wilting heat. Just gazing upon her forced out some of the bitterness. “Was it just coincidence, ma’am?” he sarcastically asked.

Amy shook her head. “I don’t think so. You see Ace McElhaney and our ranch foreman Charley Swindin were close friends. I’ve been told my uncle warned Swindin against you. I know also that Sheriff Wheaton, when he suspected who you were last night, also warned McElhaney to watch out for you.”

“So?”

“It’s not hard to understand, Mister Travis. McElhaney was riding to Lincoln Ranch this morning. He evidently intended to discuss the trouble they were in with Charley. On the way to Lincoln Ranch he came upon you. He made the kind of a decision the McElhaneys of this world are capable of making. He saw you and at once thought that, if he could kill you without any witnesses around, he would solve everyone’s troubles.” Amy lifted her shoulders, and let them fall. “He tried and he failed.”

Parker looked past at Lew. Morgan was running this theory through his mind. It made sense to him, Parker could see by Morgan’s expression. In fact, it even impressed Parker, but he showed nothing by his expression as he returned his attention to Amy.

“All right,” he said to the beautiful girl. “That doesn’t really matter any more, though. McElhaney is dead…whatever his intentions, he’s dead. What I want to know now is where your uncle sent Charley Swindin.”

Morgan spoke up. “You’re calling me a liar, Travis. I told you I didn’t send him anywhere.”

“I think you’d lie,” Parker shot right back. “Mor
gan, I think under the right circumstances you’d lie.” He smiled with his lips only. “You can take offence if you wish. You’ve got a gun. Miss Amy, step clear.”

Amy shook her head. “Why do you think I got between the pair of you?” she asked.

Parker looked at her, still with his mirthless smile. “You know,” he said softly, “you’re quite a woman. I knew that when we met this morning. I just didn’t know how much of a woman you are.” He inclined his head. “All right, I withdraw what I said to your uncle. But neither of you is going out of here until you tell me about Swindin. Where did he come from, who were his friends…where would he be most likely to go?”

Amy turned to gaze at Lew. He seemed in an agony of indecision. Finally he said: “Charley’s not a coward, Travis, but neither is he a fool. He won’t go down to Tularosa where he came from. He’ll know you’ll find that much out about him. Most of the saloon girls here in town know that much about him. I frankly don’t know where he’d go…and I’m thankful that I don’t.”

Parker stood there with his head a little to one side wryly watching Morgan. “I’ll find him,” he said. “If I can’t make much of a start here, I’ll ride down to Tularosa. From there, I’ll backtrack every camp he’s ever made. Somewhere along that trail I’ll run across him, Morgan. Maybe you don’t know where he’s gone, but all your ignorance has bought Swindin is a few more months. I’ve got a lot of time, I’ll find him…and for running I’ll kill him.”

“That,” exclaimed Amy forcefully, “is your kind of justice, isn’t it? That’s what you were talking
about this morning. Not genuine justice, as you’d have had me believe, Mister Travis, but jungle justice.” Her words burnt him with scorn, with deepest contempt. Her smoky gaze raked over him. She faced her uncle. “Take me out of here. I need fresh air. Take me home, Lew.”

Morgan, though, looked for a moment past her at Parker Travis. “Listen,” he said, “I can’t change anything, not your brother’s killing or your going after Swindin. And words are one of the cheapest commodities on earth. But nevertheless I want to say this. I want you to remember it, Travis, for as long as we both live. I’m sick inside about what I helped do to your brother. So is Hub Wheaton. If I could give money or cattle, land or anything else I own, to change things back, I’d give them up right this minute. All of them, every damned thing I own.”

Morgan stood still with a little flutter at the nostrils, a hot dryness to his eyes. Then he took an uncertain forward step, caught Amy’s arm, and walked past to the door, looking down.

Parker let them leave. He kicked the door closed after them, crossed to the window, saw Morgan’s hat upon the bed, looked at it briefly, then looked around for the chair he’d left beside the window, drew it up again, dropped down upon it, pushed both long legs out until his heels were upon the sill, and there he sat.

Fifteen minutes later a gentle knocking brought him around, one hand dropping down. “Come in!” he called, then wearily stood up as Amy Morgan entered his room.

She murmured: “My uncle’s hat.”

He handed it to her. She looked at him. He was mute.

She passed over to the door, turned, and said—“Mister Travis, it matters to me whether or not you believe me.”—then she was gone and he stood, looking at the blank place where she’d been.