Rex Stout - Death of a Dude

"How old are they?"

"Oh, around forty."

"What's she like?"

"Five feet six, hundred and twenty pounds. Fairly lookable. Hair dyed red, and I doubt if she brought a supply along. Tries to pretend she likes it here, but she came only because he needed to get away from the grind and he loves to ride and fish."

"What's he like? If that Brodell laid her and he found out, what would he do?"

"Brodell would have had to move fast. He had only been here three days."

"We've got a bull that doesn't even need one day."

"Yeah, I've met that bull, as you know. Brodell wasn't that type, but I admit it's possible. I also admit that I had that idea Tuesday, four days ago, and I asked some questions that Bill Farnham resented. I got a couple of facts that didn't hurt, but they didn't prove anything. One, Dr Amory has no alibi for that Thursday afternoon because he was upriver alone, and two, he can't shoot worth a damn. I was hoping for a fact with juice in it, for instance that he had taken a gun along that day in case he met a bear, but Farnham said no."

"Of course he said no. He wouldn't want one of his dudes corralled for murder."

"Sure. I'm just telling you what he said. As for believing him, I believe damn little of what a lot of people have told me the last six days. Even you. You told me day before yesterday that you never saw Philip Brodell. Do I have to believe that?"

"It's true."

"He was here six weeks last summer. Just four miles from this spot."

"It might have been four hundred miles. I wish it was. Bill Farnham has a dude ranch and this is a working ranch, and Harvey and Bill have had some words, you know that. You were here the time a few cattle found a bad spot in the fence and made it to the woods and one of his dudes shot a steer. We don't visit. The only way I know Alma met that Brodell at a dance at the hall, that's what she told me. She never mentioned him once last year, but if you don't want to believe I never saw him it's your rope. Are you quitting on that doctor?"

"I'm not quitting on anybody. The only reason you're not on the list is that it wouldn't help any to tie it on you. Trading you for Harvey would be no improvement, even if you would shoot a man in the back."

"If I did I wouldn't hit him in the shoulder."

"Unless you wanted to." Our eyes were meeting. "I don't think I've asked you, have I?"

"Asked me what?"

"If you shot him."

"Nope. Twice. You haven't asked me and I didn't shoot him. You must be awful hard up for a meld."

"Certainly I am. You know I am. But I'm not just talking to hear myself. Let's see if we agree on a couple of points-three points. First, you're not Harvey, you're you, and you're a woman, and you might shoot a man in the back. Second, you're a good shot, and the bullet would go within half an inch of where you wanted it."

"Not half an inch. It would go where I wanted it."

"Okay. Now the third point. A lot of people, probably including Haight and Jessup, are saying that Harvey got him in the shoulder to turn him around, and then in the neck because everyone knows he can shoot and he wanted it to look as if the man who did it couldn't shoot. The trouble with that is that Harvey simply hasn't got that kind of a dodge in him. Granting that he would shoot him in the back at all, which I don't, it would never enter his mind to kink it like that. But your mind is different. It would enter your mind. Do you agree on the three points?"

A corner of her mouth was twisted up. "Lily," she said.

"What about Lily?"

"She thinks I shot him, huh?"

"If she does she hasn't said so. This is just you and me. Even if Lily thinks that and has told me so, I do my own thinking. Do we agree on the three points?"

The corner of her mouth stayed up. "Suppose I say yes, then what? You said yourself that trading me for Harvey would be no improvement. Maybe you didn't mean it?"

"Certainly I meant it. It's obvious. But I asked Alma to do some supposing, and now I ask you to do some. Suppose you shot him, but I go on as if you didn't. In that case, where am I? I can't dig up evidence that would pin it on somebody else, because there isn't any. I'm hog-tied, and anything and everything I do will be crap. But if I knew you shot him maybe I could do something that wouldn't be crap. I've had some experience helping with tough problems, and I have been known to come up with an idea now and then. Strictly between you and me, let's talk turkey."

Her look was a squint, the squint that had made the wrinkles. She said, just stating a fact, "So you do think I shot him."

"I do not. I only realize it's possible. Alma's saying you were both here all afternoon that day doesn't prove anything, because of course she would say that. I admit you would be a damn fool to tell me you shot him if there was the slightest chance that I would pass it on, and I guess you don't know me well enough to be dead sure of me. There are a few people in New York who do, but nobody here does except maybe Harvey. As you know, I can't get to him. If you tell him that I'll give you my word that I'll pass it on to no one, not even Lily, no matter what happens, I think he would tell you to open up."

"So you're sure I shot him."

"Damn it, I am not! But I'm hobbled and I've got to know. Don't you see the fix I'm in?"

"Yeah. I see. Well…" She looked around. "We haven't got a Bible." She got up and sent her eyes around again, and crossed to a corner where a saddle, not much used, hung on a wooden peg. "You know about this saddle," she said.

I nodded. "A hand-made Quantrell, with silver stirrups and rivets and studs, and you won it at Pendleton in nineteen forty-seven."

"I sure did. My biggest day, that was." She cupped her palm over the horn and aimed her eyes at me. "If I shot that Brodell toad may this saddle mold up and rot and stink and get maggots, so help me God." She turned to pat the cantle and back to me. "Is that good enough?"

"I wouldn't ask for any better." I was on my feet. "All right, you're out, we cross you off, and it's a job. Tell Harvey I hope I'm as good as he thinks I am. I'll need to be." I pointed. "The tobacco is for Mel and the fly swatters are for Pete. I won't wait until they come in because I want to take a look at something. You heard what I said to Alma?"

"Most of it."

"She was here with you that afternoon? All of it?"

"I've told you, yes."

"And Gil Haight wasn't here?"

"I've told you, no."

I started out, turned, and said, "Still on the saddle."

"It's still yes and no," she said.

Chapter 3

If the way I spent the next three hours seems not very brilliant, I haven't made it clear enough how tough the situation was. I went to have a look at the scene of the crime.

The road from Lame Horse to the turnoffs to the Bar JR Ranch and Lily's cabin doesn't stop there. It keeps going for three more miles and stops for good at the Fishtail River, and there, on the right, is Bill Farnham's dude ranch. It's small compared with some, and deluxe compared with almost any-not counting Lily's cabin. Farnham's limit is six dudes at a time, and a few days before Brodell was killed a guy from Spokane had broken an arm and gone home, so now there were only four-Dr and Mrs Amory and the pair from Denver. There was no Mrs Farnham, and for help there was a female cook, a girl who did the house chores, and two wranglers named Bert Magee and Sam Peacock. There were no dude cabins and only one building of any size, a combo of log and frame with ells in the middle and at the ends, taking about half an acre. The barn and corrals were away from the river, beyond a stand of jack pine.