Robert Randisi - Bullets & Lies

“Okay.”

The next one went to Harwick, in West Virginia. This one said he couldn’t locate Quinn, but was on his way to Helena, Montana, to see David Hampstead. He also asked Harwick to pass the word to Victoria. They’d probably wonder why he’d go from Texas to Montana without stopping in Arizona, but let them wonder.

He couldn’t send a telegram to Donald White in Washington. You can’t just send the head of the United States Secret Service a telegram. But if White had somebody keeping an eye on Harwick and Victoria, he’d know what the telegram said. Hopefully, he’d be confused as well.

Roper wanted everyone but himself confused.

He kept a low profile in Flagstaff, kept an eye out his window for someone trailing him, ate in the hotel, and left early the next morning for Sedona. If he pushed, he could probably make it by nightfall, but that would tax the horse to his limit. He decided to make the ride in two days, and keep a sharp eye behind him.

In Hurricane, West Virginia, Edward Harwick took Roper’s telegram with him to the Westover home and showed it to Victoria.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “He doesn’t say why he couldn’t find Quinn, or why he’d go to Montana from Texas when Arizona is closer.”

“I don’t understand either.”

“Are we sure Mr. Roper knows what he’s doing?”

“He has an impeccable reputation and many good references.”

She sighed heavily and said, “Then I guess we just have to trust he has his reasons.”

“That’s what I suggest,” Harwick said.

“Thank you for bringing this to me, Edward. Stay to dinner?”

He smiled and said, “Of course.”

In Washington, D.C., a man entered Donald White’s office and handed him a piece of paper.

“When was this delivered?” he asked.

“Today, sir, to Hurricane, West Virginia.”

“Okay, thank you. You can go.”

“Yessir.”

After the young man left, White unfolded the message and read it.

“What the hell is he up to?” he asked himself.

34

Roper rode into Sedona the next afternoon with a few hours of daylight left. Jerome was another twenty miles, and he wasn’t sure whether he should rest the horse or push him.

He stopped in front of a saloon, decided to consider the matter over a beer. Ten minutes, he told himself, he had to make up his mind in ten minutes.

The saloon was busy, but he was able to make a space for himself at the bar. He ordered a beer and drank half of it down gratefully. He still wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. Whoever was behind the killing, whoever was trying to pull strings here, he’d cross them up completely if he just went back to Denver. But then he’d be wondering about the last three names on the list, and whether they were dead or alive—even if he sent telegrams warning all of them.

A scuffle started at the end of the bar, and the chain reaction from it caused the guy next to him to bump Roper and spill some beer on him. His own beer, half done, was safe.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, friend,” the man said.

“That’s okay,” Roper said. “No problem.”

“Those asses at the end of the bar—”

“It’s fine.”

“Lemme buy you another beer.”

“It’s okay,” Roper said. “You didn’t spill any of mine.”

“I insist,” the man said, and waved at the bartender to bring two more drinks.

“Thank you,” Roper said when the man handed him the second beer. He quickly finished the first one and set the mug down, then switched the beer to his left hand so that his gun hand would be free.

“Just get to town?” the man asked.

“Yes, just about ten minutes ago.”

“Sedona’s a nice town,” the man said. “You lookin’ for work?”

“No.”

“’Cause I’m hirin’ for my boss, out at the Double-B,” the man went on.

“I’ve got a job, thanks.”

“Oh? Whataya do?”

Roper didn’t answer.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” the man said. “I ask a lot of questions. You probably don’t even wanna talk about your work.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

“Say no more,” the man said. “Enjoy your beer.”

“Thanks.”

The man finished his beer and left the saloon. Roper was glad. He wasn’t looking to make any new friends.

As the man who bought him the beer left, so did two other men. Roper watched them leave, and thought they were paying him some undue attention. He had a feeling that buying him the beer had been a signal of some kind. These were, after all, the two men who had started the shoving match at the end of the bar.

He called the bartender over.

“Who was that fella that was standing here with me?”

“I don’t know,” the bartender said. “Never saw him before.”

“He doesn’t work on a ranch near here?”

“Not that I know of,” he said, “and I know all the hands around here.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Sure.”

“Is there another way out of here?”

“Not for the public.”

Roper put a dollar on the bar.

“Back door, behind the stage.”

The stage was small and, at the moment, empty. Roper walked across the room, went through the door, and walked down a hallway to a back door. He went out the door, looked both ways. There were alleys on either side of the building. He chose the right side, turned down the alley, and took it to the main street.

At the mouth of the alley he stopped and peered out. Sure enough, the fellow who’d bought him the beer was waiting across the street, and on either side of him were the other two men. They were waiting for him to come out the front door.

He had choices. He could go the other way, but his horse was in front of the saloon. He could go looking for a lawman for help, but that went against his grain on solving his own problems. Besides, he needed to know if these men had anything to do with the death of Gerald Quinn in Vega. He needed to find out if they had followed him to Sedona.

He made up his mind. He did go the other way, but only for a block, then he crossed over so that he was on their side.

They were fairly relaxed, probably certain that he was coming out the front door and would be a sitting duck for them.

Who was the sitting duck now?

35

The three men were watching the front door, not looking from side to side at all. It was fairly easy for Roper to move up close to them, about two doors down. It was as close as he wanted to be.

People walking by noticed him and suddenly decided to cross the street. Before long everybody noticed something was going on and started crossing the street. Eventually, the three men noticed the exodus to the other side, and looked around.

“Hello, boys,” Roper said. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t use the front door.”

As they turned to face him, they were standing single file, which meant two of them did not have a clear shot. Besides, Roper already had his gun in his hand, although it wasn’t pointed at them.

“No, don’t move,” he told them. “I like you the way you are. I could probably take all three of you with one bullet.”

“W-What are you talking about?” the man who’d bought him the drink asked.

“I need to know what’s going on here,” Roper said. “Did you follow me here from Flagstaff? Or did you just pick me out when I entered the saloon?”

“We don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, friend,” the man said. “All I did was buy you a drink.”

“Look, the three of you were out here waiting to bushwhack me. That kinda makes me mad. I’m going to give you one chance.” He pointed his gun at them. “Go for your guns.”

One of the other men said, “You’re crazy. You already have your gun pointed at us.”