William MacDonald - The Battle At Three-Cross

“Ethan,” Lance proposed, “let’s not arrest Herrick. I’ve got a hunch we may learn more by letting him run loose. You know, give a man enough rope and he’ll hang himself.”

Lockwood looked surprised. “We-ell, sure, if you want it that way. But s’help me I’m going to give him a talking to and warn him that next time…” Muttering angrily, the sheriff started toward Herrick.

Oscar groped in a pocket for his sack of lemon drops. “Me, I never believe in givin’ a sidewinder a second chance—but maybe you know best, Lance.”

“I’m hoping I do. After all, Herrick didn’t do me any damage—thanks to your quick work. Maybe, if we let him run loose, I’ll meet him again with drawn guns. I have a hunch I will—and the sooner, the better!”

XII “You’re Covered!”

The remainder of the morning was consumed by Lance, Lockwood and Oscar in an attempt to discover some clue regarding the person who had fired the rifle, ending George Kilby’s life. Men on the street were interviewed, shop-and storekeepers talked to, but without result. Lance made another more thorough examination of the earth back of the rear entrance to the hotel, but without success. It was nearing noon when Lance made a trip to the railroad station to learn whether or not an answer to his telegram had arrived, but Johnny Quinn had nothing to give him as yet. Quinn would have liked to detain Lance to discuss Aunt Minnie, but Lance managed to break away and directed his steps toward the Pozo Verde Savings Bank.

At the bank, after waiting a few minutes, he was admitted to the private office of Gillett Addison, owner of the bank. Addison was of medium height, fat and bald, with small, squinty eyes. He appeared to be very busy, and Lance gained the impression that Addison felt valuable time was being wasted on the inquiry.

“No, no—sorry, I can’t help you,” Addison said brusquely. “I wouldn’t have any idea of the direction from which that shot was fired. Matter of fact, I wasn’t paying too much attention when the shot came. Oh yes, I was out on the steps of the bank, watching the excitement. To be frank with you, Tolliver, if I had to place a bet on the matter—though I want you to understand I’m not a betting man—I should say the shot came from over near the railroad tracks somewhere.”

“And,” Lance said dryly, “the bullet passed right through the Pozo Verde Saloon building, I suppose, and struck Kilby in the chest. Kilby, of course, was stretched on the ground when the shot came.”

“I’m not arguing the matter,” Addison said stiffly. “I’m simply giving you my impressions. Perhaps the shot came from the saloon.”

Lance said ironically, “Thanks a lot,” and, after a few more words had been exchanged, left the banker’s private office, closing the door behind him.

On the way through the bank proper he stopped at the cashier’s window. Behind the grill was a tall, thin young fellow with a pale complexion. Lance approached the cage. “You’re Elmer Manley, I take it. Sheriff Lockwood was telling me about you——”

“I’m Manley, Deputy Tolliver.” The young fellow smiled. “I hope you or the sheriff aren’t after me for anything?”

“Not at all.” Lance laughed. “I’m talking to as many folks as possible, trying to get an idea from which direction the shot was fired that killed George Kilby. Did you happen to be on the street when that happened?”

Manley nodded. “It sounded to me as though it came from the direction of the hotel. Of course, I couldn’t be certain. I’m not supposed to leave my cage here at all but I did dash out to take a look for just a second. Just as I reached the doorway I heard the shot. I really haven’t much idea of what happened, except what I’ve gathered from others…. You don’t remember me, do you, Mr Tolliver?”

“Should I?” Lance scrutinized the man more closely. There was something vaguely familiar about Manley’s features.

“Think back about five years,” Manley suggested. “The Dankerker counterfeiting case in St Louis——”

“Sure enough,” Lance exclaimed, his brow clearing. “You were a witness for the prosecution. You helped us convict——” He paused suddenly. If this man knew him…

“Trust me, Mr Tolliver,” Manley said. “I’ve an idea what brought you here and what brought Frank Bowman here. I haven’t said a word to anyone—and I don’t intend to.”

“That’s a relief,” Lance said ruefully. “You could upset a lot of plans.”

“I don’t intend to,” Manley repeated, and somehow Lance felt he could put faith in the man. Manley went on, “You wouldn’t want two five-dollar bills in exchange for a ten, would you?”

“I might at that,” Lance said slowly. What was the fellow up to? Lance drew a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and passed it through the grill.

Manley reached below his counter and secured two fives which he exchanged for the ten. Lance glanced at the numbers on the bills. Then he looked up, his eyes meeting Manley’s. Manley nodded slowly. Lance tensed. “Where ’d you get these?” he demanded.

“I can’t talk now,” Manley said, low voiced. “If I could meet you someplace after work——?”

“Anywhere you say. How about the sheriff’s office?”

Manley shook his head. “Somebody might see us. I wouldn’t be able to meet you until to night. It’s getting along toward the end of the month, and I’ll have to work fairly late. Do you know where Tony Pico’s saloon is? How about meeting me there? That’s the last place anybody would expect to see me——”

“Who do you mean by anybody?”

“Can’t tell you now. I’ll see you there to night around nine o’clock——” He stopped abruptly.

The door of Gillett Addison’s office had opened suddenly, and the banker emerged with his hat on. He frowned upon seeing Lance at Manley’s window.

“I doubt Manley can tell you anything, Tolliver,” he stated coldly, crossing over. “He scarcely stuck his head out the door.”

“I just learned that much, Mr Addison,” Lance said quietly. He still held in his hand the bills Manley had given him.

Addison spied the bills. His features tightened a bit, then he forced a cold smile. “Transacting a little business?”

Lance laughed. “Two-dollar bills are bad luck. I was just exchanging one for a couple of aces.” By this time Lance had thrust the two fives out of sight. He said much obliged to Manley and started toward the door with Addison by his side.

Addison said, “I’m just going out to my dinner. Have you tried the hotel yet? I’d be glad to have your company. I’d like to get better acquainted with the town’s new deputy.”

“Thanks, no,” Lance refused. “Some other time. I’m going to be right busy for a spell.” He wondered what had made the banker suddenly grow so genial. Probably the man wanted to question him, pump him. Or maybe it was just his imagination, Lance considered. On the street he said good-by to the banker and headed toward the sheriff’s office.

Lockwood and Oscar were waiting there when he arrived.

“Looks like you didn’t learn anything new?” Lockwood said.

“Regarding that shot, I didn’t,” Lance replied. “Did you two?”

“Nary a thing,” Lockwood stated gloomily.

Oscar shook his head. “From the various yarns I’ve listened to, I’m commencin’ to think that shot come down from the clouds.”

Lance asked, “Ethan, who is Elmer Manley? I know he’s cashier at the bank, but what do you know about him?”

“We-ell,” Lockwood said slowly, “I always figured Elmer was a right nice hombre. I can’t say I know much about him. He came to Pozo Verde about four years back—came out here for his health, he claimed. I reckon he was by way of becoming a lunger back in St Looie. That was his home. He told me one time he used to work for the First National Bank there. I’d be willing to take his word for that.’ Bout the time he arrived out here Gill Addison needed a cashier. Elmer landed the job. I don’t figure Gill pays him much, but I do think Elmer does most of the work around that bank. That bookkeeper they got in the bank—well, Elmer just about taught him to run the books from what I’ve heard. Yep, I figure Addison would miss Elmer was the boy to leave sudden. What about him?”