William MacDonald - The Battle At Three-Cross

“That fat feller is Gillett Addison, owner of the bank,” Oscar commented.

“Queer bedfellows,” Lance said.

“Huh?”

“I mean it’s rather surprising to see a man like Herrick consorting with the owner of a bank.”

“I reckon they weren’t together. Probably just came out the door at the same time. See, Addison is walking down the street alone. Probably headed for the hotel. He always eats his dinner there.”

“And Herrick,” Lance added, “is heading out toward the hitch rack. It sure looks like his pony had been pushed hard. Look at the poor beast. It’s flecked with foam all over its forequarters. I reckon Kilby was speaking straight when he said Herrick had gone to Tipata to check up on my alibi. But why should he go direct to the bank?”

“You tell me,” Oscar suggested.

“I wouldn’t know. Though generally a man like Herrick don’t have many dealings with a bank. I was just wondering if he had gone there to report that my alibi was airtight.”

“Report to who?”

“That’s something else I wouldn’t know.”

“Gosh, you’re sure suspicious, Lance, when you start picking on one of Pozo Verde’s leading citizens.”

“I didn’t say he’d reported to Banker Gillett. But in my game you have to be suspicious of everybody.”

They walked on until they came to the Chink’s restaurant. Across the windows of the building was painted the words: “Jou Low—Restaurant.” They passed inside and found seats at a long counter, where presently they were served with roast beef, pie, potatoes, bread and coffee. They were half through the meal when Chiricahua Herrick entered. Spying Lance seated at the counter, Herrick stiffened suddenly, then, noting the deputy sheriff at his side, relaxed again. He nodded shortly to Oscar and spoke coldly to Lance:

“I want to see you, Tolliver.”

Lance glanced over his shoulder at Herrick. “You see me, hombre. What’s on your mind?” His eyes drilled into Herrick’s.

Herrick opened his mouth to speak; his eyes fell momentarily before Lance’s steely gaze. Finally he turned away muttering, “I’ll see you later,” and passed down the counter to find a seat farther on.

“I wonder what’s eating him?” Lance commented to Oscar.

“He’s prob’ly got liver trouble,” Oscar grunted between bites of food. “He should eat more lemon drops.”

They finished their dinners, drained coffee cups and left the restaurant. On the sidewalk once more, Oscar said, “I’ll get back to the office and see can I help out on the sheriff’s reports. What you going to do?”

“I’m going to stay here until Herrick comes out,” Lance said quietly. “He opened a topic of conversation he didn’t finish. I aim to learn what’s on his mind.”

“In that case,” Oscar drawled, “I reckon the sheriff’s reports can wait a spell longer. I don’t think you’ll start trouble, but you might have it forced on you. It’s my duty to keep the peace when possible.”

“Suit yourself.”

They rolled and lighted cigarettes and stood leaning against the tie rail, waiting for Herrick to put in an appearance. Within a short time he emerged from the restaurant doorway, picking his teeth. His face flushed a trifle as he noted Lance and Oscar standing at the hitch rack, but he made no move to stop.

“Hi yuh, Cherry-Cow,” Oscar said cheerfully. “I hear you been ridin’ across the line to Tipata to check up on Tolliver’s alibi—and incident’ly on Sheriff Lockwood’s word. He already told you where Tolliver was the night Bowman was killed.”

Chiricahua Herrick paused, spun about and crossed the sidewalk directly to face Oscar and Lance. “Who told you I’d been to Tipata?” he growled.

Lance took up the conversation. “I encountered your friend, Kilby, this morning. He spilled the beans.”

Herrick’s swarthy features twisted angrily. “I heard something about that encounter, Tolliver. Taken to beating up fellers when they’ve been drinking, eh? Is that your idea? Get ’em when they ain’t steady on their pins?”

“Frankly,” Lance said quietly, “I didn’t want to do it. I wasn’t looking for trouble. I wasn’t side-stepping any that was forced upon me either. I couldn’t do anything else——”

“That’s your story,” Herrick sneered, deceived by Lance’s quiet manner

“Hell, Cherry-Cow,” Oscar said disgustedly,

“Kilby’s just lucky Lance didn’t plug him. He was asking for it. Lance was decent to him just as long as he dared be——”

“Yaah!” Herrick said scornfully. “That’s why Tolliver hit him. He wouldn’t dare cross guns with George Kilby. Kilby would shoot rings——”

“Oh, cripes,” Lance said wearily, “let’s forget it. There was no powder burned and no one hurt to any extent. If Kilby’s got any sense he’ll be glad I acted as I did when he sobers up. Let’s skip it, Herrick…. I hope you learned that I spent the night at Moreles’ fonda in Tipata the night Bowman was killed.”

Herrick laughed skeptically. “Yeah—that’s what Moreles says, but I wouldn’t believe that Mex on a stack of Bibles. You probably paid him plenty pesos for backing up your play. But we’ll get the deadwood on you yet——”

“If you’re trying to make trouble,” Lance said firmly, “I’ll do what I can to accommodate you——”

“… and square matters for the murder of our old pal, Frank Bowman,” Herrick raged on, the angry words gushing from his lips.

“Herrick,” Lance asked, “you keep talking about your old pal, Bowman. Just how long has he been a pal of yours?”

Herrick paused. “Why—why,” he finally said lamely, “me and the boys have only known him about a month or so, but we were right friendly. We all thought a heap of Frank——”

“I think you’re a liar,” Lance said quietly.

“You can’t call me a liar!” Herrick flared hotly.

“I’ve already done it.”

“That sounds like war talk, Tolliver,” Herrick said menacingly.

“It’s meant to be!” Lance took a step nearer Herrick. “If you don’t like that kind of war talk get out your iron and go to work.”

Herrick eyed Lance unbelievingly. “You’re offering to cross guns with me ?” Again he laughed scornfully. “I reckon you don’t know my rep hereabouts.”

“I’m not even interested in it,” Lance snapped. “I don’t like you or anybody that does. Furthermore, you’re so damned anxious to pin Bowman’s murder on me I’m commencing to wonder just who you’re shielding——”

“Huh? What did you say?” A certain consternation appeared in Herrick’s beady eyes. “Where did you ever get such a crazy idea as——?”

“And I’d also like to know,” Lance interrupted, “just why you have to report to the bank that my alibi was airtight.” This last was largely a feeler to see what it might draw forth from Herrick.

“You—you—you’re crazy as a hoot owl,” Herrick stammered.

“What were you doing in the bank a spell back?” Lance flashed.

“Why, I—I wasn’t at the bank—I——”

“Don’t lie, Herrick!”

“Oh yes, I know what you mean.” Herrick’s words sounded a bit crippled. “Yeah, I remember now. I dropped in to get a ten-dollar bill changed.”

Oscar chuckled dryly. “All the saloons in town out of change, I suppose.”

Herrick directed a look of hate at Oscar and swung back to Lance. He was regaining some of his courage now. “What in hell business is it of yours, anyway?” he demanded. “I got a right to go in the bank——”

“I’m not denying that.” Lance nodded coolly. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t open this conversation. In the restaurant you said you wanted to see me. I waited here until you’d finished your dinner. So far you haven’t had anything to say that amounts to a damn, aside from voicing some threats that sound pretty empty to me.”