Robert Randisi - Bullets & Lies

“What brings you back here?” Parnell asked as they shook hands.

“I’m tracking a man who escaped from the Denver pen,” Roper said. “John Sender.”

“I never heard of him. What’s he look like?”

Roper described Sender—tall, broad-shouldered, forty, with black hair—but didn’t know if he’d have his silver-plated Peacemaker with him this time.

“He might just be wearing a gun he managed to put his hands on.”

“Well, that description matches a lot of men, but I haven’t seen any strangers around here in the past few days.”

“Well, I was tracking him and the men who broke him out. One of them told me he was headed here.”

“Maybe you beat him.”

Roper remembered Bill Tilghman saying the same thing to him the last time he’d tracked Sender, but this time he didn’t think Sender was hiding in the cell blocks.

“Well, I’m going to take a look around town,” Roper told him. “And I’ll probably spend the night.”

“Better spend a few days, if you’re expecting him,” Parnell said.

“You’re probably right.”

“Wanna get a steak later?”

“Add a beer and you got a deal.”

“I’ll meet you at Billy Joe’s Café in two hours, down the street. Best steak in town. That should give you time to look around.”

“Okay.”

Roper headed for the door, then stopped and turned back.

“How’s Tina?”

“McCord’s woman? Still around. How did that go anyway?”

“Turned out to be a mess, with a lot of dead people,” Roper said.

“What was it all about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Roper said, “over that steak.”

Roper stopped at the livery to put up his palomino and make sure he got the right treatment. He also talked to the livery man about strangers in town.

“Ain’t seen nobody looks like that,” the old man said. “Fact is, you’re the first stranger to stop here with a horse in a few days.”

“Okay, thanks. I’d like to leave my rifle, saddle, and saddlebags here until I get a room. That okay?”

“Sure thing, mister. I ain’t never seen a saddle like that, with a holster sewed to it.”

“Comes in handy sometimes.”

Roper started his walk around town. It was probably too much to hope for that he’d run into Sender on the street. He poked his head into some of the stores, the cafés, stopped in saloons to talk to bartenders. Nobody knew more than they did when it came to strangers in town.

In a little saloon called the Corral, a bartender named Benny said, “I know John Sender.”

“You know him?”

“Well,” the man said, “I mean, I heard of him.”

“You know him on sight?”

“I guess,” Benny said. “I saw him a few years ago. Yeah, I guess I’d know him.”

“And you haven’t see him?”

“Not in Saint Joe.”

“Well, I’m going to be staying in town. If you see him, find me or Sheriff Parnell as soon as possible.”

“What hotel you gonna be in?”

“Recommend one.”

“The Parker. Ain’t the best, but it ain’t the worst either.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Benny.”

Roper left the Corral and walked to the Parker Hotel to get his room.

“What’d you find out today?” Parnell asked.

“Nothing,” Roper said. “I walked around town, talked to some people, and came up empty. Sender’s not in town.”

“I told you that.”

“I did find a bartender who knew him on sight,” Roper said. “If he shows up, at least I have another pair of eyes.”

“Who was that?”

“Benny, over at the Corral?”

“Ah, Benny.”

“What’s wrong with Benny?”

“I just wouldn’t trust everything he says, Roper,” Parnell said. “Just be careful around him.”

“Yeah, okay, I will.”

Their steaks came and Roper discovered Parnell was right. The steak was excellent.

“You were gonna tell me about your case,” Parnell reminded him. “What was his name?”

“Westover.”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Not my finest hour,” Roper said. “I should have stayed away from that one. They were lying to me from the start.”

“About what?”

Roper really hadn’t discussed the case with anyone since he’d gotten back to Denver. He didn’t have any friends in town that he had those kinds of discussions with. He had some close friends around the country, but hadn’t seen any of them in some time. Maybe this was the time to talk it over with a lawman.

“Westover and his ‘friends,’ ” he started, “McCord, Quinn, Wilkins, Hampstead, and Templeton, were separated from their unit. It was near the end of the war. In fact, this incident might have taken place after Lee surrendered.” Roper was telling Parnell things he’d read in the file Lieutenant Prince had given him.

“They came across a group of Confederate soldiers in a similar situation, but these soldiers had something with them. They had a wagonload of gold bars they’d apparently stolen from the Union. Well, there was a skirmish, Westover and his men won. They killed all the Johnny Rebs and recovered the gold.”

“And got a medal for it?”

“Well, only Westover got the Medal of Honor because he was the ranking soldier.”

“So the others were mad they didn’t get a medal?” Parnell asked. “That’s what it was all about?”

“Not quite,” Roper said. “The United States government decided that only half the missing gold was recovered.”

“Decided?”

“Decided, claimed, whatever,” Roper said. “Anyway, they suspected that Westover and his buddies hid half the gold and recovered it after the war.”

“Did they?”

“I don’t know,” Roper said. “They’re all dead. If they did, and they each got away with a share, they sure did different things with it. Westover—or his wife—parlayed his into a fortune. The others seemed to have wasted it. Except for McCord.”

“Why McCord?”

“Well, you said he was killed soon after he got back from the war,” Roper said. “I’m assuming he didn’t have time to spend his share. In fact…” Roper paused as something occurred to him.

“In fact, what?”

“When I was here last time and you took me to see Tina, I noticed she had good furniture in her house. Old, but good. And the same with her rifle. Somebody—her or Vince McCord—bought that stuff when they had money.”

“And you think the money came from the gold?” Parnell asked.

“Maybe he kept the gold behind for her.”

“Does she look like she had a fortune in gold?”

“If she did, it looks like she spent it well,” Roper said.

“It looks to me like she didn’t spend it at all.”

“Or spent it smartly, so that people wouldn’t know.”

Parnell frowned, then asked, “Do you think she’d have any of it left?”

“I don’t know,” Roper said. “I don’t really know how much they each got.”

“Or if they got any,” Parnell said. “You don’t know for sure, do you?”

“Well, they fell out over something,” Roper said. “What, if not gold?”

“You know,” Parnell said, “after the bank robbery that got McCord killed, they never did recover that twenty thousand.”

“So you’re thinking Tina had the money?”

“Makes as much sense to me as her having the gold.”

“Maybe,” Roper said, “we should go and ask her.”

Just as last time Tina greeted them at the door with her rifle.

“Whatcha want?” she demanded.

“Tina, remember me?” Roper asked. “A couple of months ago maybe?”

She didn’t answer.

“Twenty dollars?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, lowering the rifle. “Come on in.”

Roper and Parnell approached the house as Tina turned and walked inside. As they entered, she was putting on a pot of coffee.