William MacDonald - The Battle At Three-Cross

Johnny Quinn’s watery eyes bulged. “Whut?” he demanded in horror-stricken tones. “Ye ain’t meanin’ to tell me they’re aimin’ to stuff Aunt Minnie and keep her in the house?”

“You’re being hardhearted about the whole matter,” Lance said in mingled sadness and indignation. “Uncle Obadiah would miss Aunt Minnie something fierce if she wasn’t around the house to keep him company. Just put yourself in Uncle Obadiah’s boots. See how you’d feel!”

“I—I guess you’re right,” Quinn stammered weakly.

Lance made as though to brush a tear from his cheek. “I’m glad you understand,” he said in broken accents. “Now, if you’ll just send that tele gram right away——”

“I’ll do it to once, Mr Tolliver.”

Lance turned and left the station. Johnny Quinn gazed after him, shaking his head. “Thet redheaded Tolliver jasper sure must have some mighty peculiar kinfolks,” he muttered.

Oscar was sitting on the corner of Lockwood’s desk talking to the sheriff by the time Lance returned. He glanced up disappointedly as Lance strode through the open doorway.

Lance nodded philosophically. “Don’t say it, Oscar. I can tell from the length of your face you didn’t have any luck.”

“Not none,” Oscar said gloomily. “I was sort of pinning hopes on them missing garments, too—or would you say overalls was a garment?”

“I’ll tell better when we locate ’em,” Lance said.

“Just what do you expect to find?” Lockwood asked.

“It’s this way,” Lance replied. “There was fresh creosote on Frank Bowman’s hand. I was hoping that when the murderer lifted Frank to his horse some of that creosote might have rubbed on the killer’s clothing. You know how such things go—a man can hardly pick up a paint brush without getting some on his clothing.” He smiled. “That’s always been my experience, I’ve noticed…. Anyway, George Kilby did suddenly get new overalls. When I mentioned the fact to him he sure got riled. He was drunk, of course, but——”

“You figuring Kilby killed Bowman?” the sheriff asked.

“I’ve got hunches that-a-way.” Lance nodded. “Day before yesterday when I found the body and you rode up with Kilby, Herrick and the others I don’t remember Kilby having new overalls then. Things like that stand out sometimes. At the same time, maybe he had ’em then, and I just overlooked it.”

“There’d be no reason for you noticing new overalls then,” Oscar put in.

“Look at it this way,” Lance continued. “Bowman was killed at night. The creosote on his hand wouldn’t be seen in the dark. But in the daylight, when I found the body, it was seen plain enough. All those hombres saw it. Let’s suppose Kilby noticed some on his overalls and figured somebody might tie the two together. He’d want to get rid of his overalls, wouldn’t he?”

“By cripes!” Oscar exclaimed, “maybe you’ve hit on something.”

“It’s no good without the missing overalls,” Lance pointed out. “Besides, it wasn’t me hit on it. Give Professor Jones credit for that.”

“Who?” Lockwood frowned. “Did you say Jones?” Oscar’s eyes widened.

“I said Jones.” Lance smiled. “I took a chance last night and told him part of the story—confidentially. Maybe he’ll keep it to himself, maybe he won’t. I don’t much care. I just wanted to watch his reactions, and damned if he didn’t suggest overalls to me. Pointed out that a man who would leave part of his clothing on Bowman’s spur might make other mistakes. That Jones is one shrewd customer whether we like him or not, and I’ve got to admit to a sneaking liking for him.”

Oscar drawled, “His niece wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would she?”

“Not a thing.” Lance felt his face color. He went on, “I had a hunch that Kilby might have left his old overalls wherever he bought the new ones. He’d want to get rid of the old ones as soon as possible. By the same reasoning he wouldn’t want to be caught carrying them down the street when he was wearing the new overalls. That might attract attention.”

Lockwood cut in, “Speaking of Jones reminds me of that friend of his—Fletcher. Last night I was walking along Main, seeing that all was quiet, when Fletcher came tearing out of the street entrance of the hotel bar. He was in a hell of a hurry, looked like——”

“What time was this?” Lance asked quietly.

“ ’Tween eight and eight-thuty, I should say.”

Lance’s gray eyes hardened. “That’s just about the time he overheard me tell Jones about finding that peyote in Bowman’s hand. He didn’t even ask about the rest of the story. Maybe he didn’t think there ’d be more. Anyway, he lit out of the bar like a bat out of hell. Where ’d he go, Ethan?”

“Down to the Pozo Verde Saloon. He was almost running by the time he got there. I dropped in a few minutes later and looked around. Fletcher was standing at the bar alone, drinking whisky. He looked worried and didn’t even hear me when I spoke to him.”

Oscar said, “Herrick and his gang usually hang out in the Pozo Verde Saloon—if that means anything.”

“It might,” Lance said, “again, it might not.”

Lockwood continued, “Fletcher stayed in the Pozo Verde for some time. I know because I kept an eye on the place. Quite a while after Fletcher went in there I saw Chiricahua Herrick go in. Well, it was about second-drink time of the evening anyway, so I followed. When I came in it looked like Fletcher suddenly broke off talking to Herrick, though I couldn’t swear to that. While I was in there the two men might have been total strangers as far as appearances went. Later Kilby and Ordway and some more of the gang came in, and I drifted out.”

Oscar leaped to his feet suddenly and exclaimed, “Dreben’s! Cripes! I forgot Dreben’s! If my brains was dynamite there wouldn’t be enough to blow my Stet hat off’n my head.”

“What you talking about?” Lance demanded.

“Ike Dreben’s Clothing Store,” Oscar explained. “Mostly he carries shirts and neckties and Sunday-go-to-meetin’ togs, but I just remembered he carries a line of overalls too. Don’t sell much. Hereabouts folks likes the regular brands, and Dreben stocks a kind of cheap line——” He broke off and dashed through the doorway, calling back, “I’m heading for Dreben’s plenty pronto! ”

Neither Lockwood nor Lance said anything for a couple of minutes while they waited for Oscar’s return. Lance finally broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking something, Ethan.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Lance said slowly, “If Oscar does bring back Kilby’s overalls it looks like we’ve got the deadwood on him. Either he killed Bowman or he was an accomplice.”

“Right,” the sheriff agreed.

“That first day Bowman was found a lot of folks in this town reckoned I killed him. Herrick and his crew probably did their best to spread that report. What I’m getting at, I’d like the chance to make the arrest.”

Lockwood nodded. “I get your slant: but you don’t want to do it in your own official capacity. I reckon that can be arranged.” He drew out a drawer of his desk and fumbled among papers, pencils, a number of forty-five cartridges and other miscellaneous articles until he had found a couple of deputy sheriff badges. He polished the face of one on a pants leg, slid it across the desk to Lance and tossed the remaining badge back into his desk. “Hold up your hand,” he commenced. “Do you solemnly swear and promise to uphold and enforce the laws of Sartoris County to the best of your ability…?”

The sheriff had scarcely finished deputizing Lance when Oscar came rushing in, a newspaper-wrapped parcel under one arm. “We got ’er!” he announced jubilantly. “Dreben had——Hey, what you doing, Ethan? Swearing Lance in?”