The Marshal of Whitburg Page 11

  “Actually, I wasn’t,” he said. “It might be safer for you not to know.”

  Now she shook her hair back with an irritable flip of her head.

  “That’s just what Billy always said. So here I am, terrified half out of my mind, and I don’t even know what it is that makes him dangerous, exactly.”

  Lon debated, decided maybe it was worth the risk, and said, “All right. I’m going to assume you have sense enough not to let on you’ve ever talked to me, let alone heard what I’m about to tell you.”

  She leaned intently toward him, but there was no hint of the coquette about her now.

  “Today, Everson shot an unarmed man in the back, a man who almost certainly had his hands up and was about to step into the jail.”

  “Oh my god,” she said in a strangled voice, both hands at her throat. “Who was it?”

  “A man named Ames. Bud Ames. Do you know him?”

  “I think I know who he is. Was,” she added, faintly.

  “How do you know who he was?”

  She looked into her lap. “Billy sometimes talked about him.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Just that he was a troublemaker. He and his friends liked to have fights in bars. I think Billy was pretty tired of them.”

  “Did he ever try to jail them?”

  She looked at him quickly, then away. “I don’t know,” she said, and he suspected it might be a lie.

  “It would be the obvious thing to do,” he pressed her.

  “Yes,” she admitted, but though he waited, she said no more.

  “I jailed them,” he said. “Then Everson turned them loose. Said it wasn’t important enough to use up jail space for.”

  “Is that one of the things you came to tell me?”

  “Did you know Ames’ brother?”

  She gave him another sidelong glance. “I don’t think so.”

  “Betty,” he said, “it seems to me we both have reason to be concerned about Everson. If I’m going to have any chance to actually do anything about him, I’ve got to know everything I can find out about him. Anything you tell me will go no further.” He thought a moment and then felt obliged to add, “Until and unless this winds up in court and something you tell me is evidence.”

  By the way she shrunk down he guessed that he’d have been smarter not to add the last statement, though that would have been to mislead, if not lie outright.

  “Do you think Everson has friends who will come after anybody who tries to do something about him?” he asked.

  “How do I know? I’ve told you everything I know. I really have.”

  Though he didn’t quite believe her, Lon decided not to confront her about it. “Stop and think,” he said. “Ames’ brother Jack seemed to think Everson owed him something. He tried to shoot Everson, and I jumped him and knocked the gun away. I was in the process of getting Jack’s arms pinned when Everson shot him dead. Did Billy ever mention any reason why Jack might think Everson owed him anything?”

  “No.”

  “Or why he might want to kill Everson?”

  “No.”

  “Or why Everson would want to kill him rather than arrest him?”

  “No.”

  She was too quick and too emphatic, he thought. He was more sure than ever she knew things she wasn’t willing to talk about, but he was up a stump about how to overcome that unwillingness.

  There were footsteps in the room Lon had entered from, a heavy tread. Betty’s eyes flew wide. She jumped up and hurried to the door, opened it just enough to go out, and pulled it shut after herself.

  By this time, Lon was on his feet. He took a couple of quiet steps nearer the door and listened.

  “... too tired tonight,” she said saying. “I had to wash floors all day. We can talk tomorrow night, I promise. Okay?”

  “All right,” said a deep, slow voice in a low tone. Lon didn’t recognize it. “But I brought you something. Kin we go in where the light is? Just for a minute?”

  “What, for me?” she said. “John, you shouldn’t have. But you know what? If you were to bring it tomorrow night I’d be more myself and I could thank you properly. I wouldn’t be so tired and sore and have this awful headache.” From the tone of her voice you’d have thought she’d been suffering terribly all day.

  “Oh, I guess,” John said doubtfully. “Do you really feel bad?”

  “Like my head is splitting in two.” She yawned loudly enough for Lon to hear it. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, John,” she said, dismissively. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” John said, and shortly there was the sound of a door closing and Betty came back into her room.

  “Sorry to upset your evening plans,” Lon said politely.

  “What, him? He’s just somebody I know.” When Lon didn’t immediately respond, she added, with her sidelong sizing-up glance, “He was a friend of Billy’s. He’s just sorry for me and trying to cheer me up.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “John.”

  “John who?”

  “You’re not going to bother him about all this, are you?” There came an edge to her voice.

  “If he knew Billy, maybe Billy told him something that will help me figure out Everson.”

  “Oh, he didn’t know him that well, I don’t think. Anyway, Billy wasn’t the kind to talk too much about his work. He might complain to me about fights he had to break up, but I don’t think he told anybody else anything.”

  He tried to think how to reassure her, drew a blank, and decided he could come back another time after he’d thought more about it.

  He started for the door but she stepped to it ahead of him and put her back to it.

  “Lon,” she said, “I appreciate you coming to check on me. It makes me feel better knowing somebody cares.”

  “It seems like your friend John cares,” he pointed out. “Have you told him your fears about Everson?”

  “No!” she said. “John is nice, but he’s really not all that smart—do you know what I mean? He’s big and strong but the wheels turn slowly in his head.”

  “But if you thought you were in danger and went to him, he’d certainly do his best to protect you, wouldn’t he?”

  “Probably. I don’t want to sound ungrateful or something, but if I thought I needed to run for help, I’m not sure I’d run to him.” She paused and looked at him appealingly. “I’d run to you instead,” she said softly.

  “Especially if I was sitting in Everson’s office,” he said wryly.

  “Only if you were alone there. I wish it was your office.”

  “I’ve had several people tell me that.”

  “Where do you live?” she asked.

  “It would be better to stay away from there. Everson’s man, Vern, keeps an eye on me. Besides, I’m only there from about one in the morning until a little after sunup. But if you have to find me then, come the back way to the hotel and ask Scott Warner to come get me. Don’t do it unless you really have to because it’s a big risk. To you, I mean. Vern is pretty good at following people around without being noticed. I think your original instinct not to be seen with me is sound.”

  “I’ll be very careful, you can be sure. But it makes me feel better to have somebody I can really trust to help me. The first time I saw you was right after you got to be a deputy. You were walking past here and I was in the doorway shaking out a mop. There was just something about your face. I thought to myself, ‘He looks like somebody I could trust,’ Of course, I’d heard about what a hero you were and all that, and how people wanted you to take the marshal’s job.”

  Lon was pretty sure the motives for this speech were not entirely as simple as she was presenting them, yet he did think there was honest emotion in it, too.

  “I’ll be doing my best,” he said. “But I need all the help I can get in the way of information. If there are still things you’re afraid to tell me, I hope you will change your mind, or at least explain why.”


  Now she looked hurt. “You think I’ve been lying to you?” she demanded.

  “No, I think you’re scared. And with what begins to look like good reason. I want to help. But it’s not easy to do that if I don’t know all of why you’re scared.”

  “But I’ve told you,” she said, tears starting in her eyes. “Why do you have to be so hard on me?” She looked away, wiped at her tears with her sleeve.

  “I’m not trying to be hard on you,” he said gently. “You say you trust me. I hope sometime you’ll trust me enough to tell me everything.”

  Her chin went up and she gave him a look of reproach such as only a woman can give, and went around him to her dressing table.

  “It’s getting late,” he said. “We both need some rest. Thanks for telling me what you have. It does help. I’ll be going.”

  Just as he was pulling the door shut after himself, she said, “Lon, you be careful, won’t you?”

  He looked back at her standing there watching him in her mirror. For a moment he could almost see her as beautiful.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He got up the next morning gritty-eyed and feeling worse than when he went to bed. Everson, Ames, and Betty Logan had been much on his mind and he’d slept very little.

  “No star this morning?” Warner asked.

  “Day off,” Lon explained.

  “You haven’t worked a week, yet, I don’t believe. Too much the worse for wear?”

  “You hear about Ames?”

  Warner’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I heard something about that, yes,” he said cautiously.

  “You heard how he died?”

  “Got himself shot trying to run away. That true?”

  “That’s what Everson says.”

  “Ah.”

  “We caught him trying to break into Everson’s house. They had a long conversation in Everson’s office. I wasn’t there. Everson sent me back to patrolling. But I saw them when they came out. Everson took him around into the alley where the jail is with his hands up. There were two shots, then Everson coming back out of the alley when I got there. He didn’t like it that I went to see the body, but later he came over all friendly and gave me the day off.”

  “I see,” Warner said noncommittally, watching Lon’s face intently. He could tell there was more and was waiting to hear what it might be.

  Lon decided to trust him with more details and see what he made of it.

  “Ames was on his face on the ground a few steps from the open jail door, hands stretched over his head, two bullet holes in his back. Doc thinks if he was running he was aimed at the door.”

  Warner’s unlit cigarette flicked up.

  “So Everson didn’t shoot him because he was escaping.”

  “Seems hard to make it fit.”

  “Looks to me like your job just got a whole lot harder. What do you aim to do?”

  “Everson makes out there are things about Ames he can’t tell me. Says it was real lucky I caught Ames in the act or things could have turned out a lot worse, but that he can’t tell me why that’s so, either, not yet.”

  “What do think he’s talking about?”

  “I think it’s a smoke screen. Doesn’t want me to be suspicious.”

  “I can’t think of a good reason to shoot a man in the back, even if he was armed. And you say he had his hands up?”

  “He did when I saw them disappear into the alley. But there’s something else. When I started up the alley to look at the body, Everson shouted at me to come back. I turned around, and the way he looked, I didn’t know if we were about to have a gunfight. Then, of a sudden, Everson seemed to change his mind, didn’t care anymore what I did. I got the feeling maybe he made other plans right then.”

  “You really do have your hands full. Now listen, I know I said I’ve had enough of these kinds of doings. But if you get in a bind, I’ll do what I can.”

  “I appreciate that. I may need to take you up on it.”

  After getting himself some breakfast, Lon decided to go for a ride, just to get out of town and do some thinking. Blacky seemed eager to get out of town, also. This time he went west, on past the church. There was meadowland in this direction for some distance before you got to any woods. This way he could more easily keep an eye on his back trail.

  There was no obvious sign of pursuit or of being particularly observed, but that only meant Vern was being careful. Lon went a mile or more out of town, then trended uphill toward a stand of aspen. As soon as he got in among the trees, he halted and turned Blacky around and sat watching the town.

  At first, nothing happened. But after fifteen minutes or so, here came a rider. Lon wasn’t sure at first, but soon he was: Vern on his handsome roan.

  Lon rode further into the aspens, found a place where they backed against an outcropping maybe fifty feet high. It was cracked and broken up a bit and he found a good spot in some of the fallen rubble for himself and his horse.

  “Now don’t you make any noise,” he admonished Blacky. Blacky was inscrutable as always.

  There was a bit of a wait, and then he could hear the approaching horse. Seemed Vern was a fair tracker since he came right along the way Lon had come.

  When he had passed the spot Lon was hidden, he didn’t go too far before he halted and got down from his horse to look more closely at the ground.

  Lon stepped out, his hand near enough the handle of his gun but not so near as to make it look as though he were planning a gunfight.

  “How are you today, Vern? Seems to me it’s time you and I had a little talk.’

  Vern started around but he didn’t make any move toward his gun. There was still the same unsmiling expression. He just stood there and looked at Lon.

  “How about explaining why you keep following me,” Lon said.

  “Marshal Everson wants me to keep an eye on you, in case you need a hand.”

  “Really. Where were you when Ames and his friends tackled me?”

  “Marshal Everson said he would do it while you’re in town on duty.”

  “I see. What makes you think I’d need a hand going for a ride on my day off?”

  Vern shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “But Marshal Everson knows what he’s doing.”

  “I’ve ridden a good many miles alone through strange country, weeks of it. I’ve managed all right. I guess I can go for a ride of a few miles around this place without needing any help.”

  Vern shrugged again. His expression never changed. The closest thing to an emotion Lon had seen in him so far was when he used a reverent tone to say Everson knew what he was doing.

  “How long have you worked for Everson?”

  “Several years.”

  “And he owns the dance hall?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you keep order in it for him?”

  “I manage it for him, yes.”

  “The place makes a lot of money?”

  “Some. Not that much, really. But Marshal Everson says the town doesn’t pay him enough and the dance hall makes up the difference.”

  “Everson always seems to have plenty of money?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “He pays you pretty well?”

  “Well enough.”

  “How much?”

  Vern finally seemed to take offense. “Why is that your business?”

  “I suppose it’s not. But tell me something else about Everson. Do you think he’s straight?”

  Vern managed a slight look of surprise. “I’ve never known a more honorable man.”

  “Can do no wrong, eh?”

  “Just what is it you’re suggesting?” Vern’s brows were twitching slightly as though they wanted to make themselves into a frown.

  “I’m not suggesting anything. Can you think of a good reason Everson would shoot an unarmed man standing back-to him with his hands up?”

  “Marshal Everson would never do such a thing,” Vern said, with very convincing conviction.

  �
�I believe he did. Just last night. It bothers me and I want to know why.”

  “I know he never would,” Vern said stoutly.

  “You know he shot Jack Ames while I was on top of him on the floor.”

  “I’m sure Marshal Everson thought he was about to get the better of you. He had no way to know at that time what you can do in a fight. As far as he was concerned, you were in danger and it was his job to protect you.”

  “Mr. Everson sure does seem to spare no trouble on account of my welfare.”

  “Billy was sent out alone and they shot him,” Vern pointed out. “Marshal Everson doesn’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

  “How was that, by the way? Why did Everson send Billy alone instead of going with him?”

  “He had a faster horse and was eager to go.”

  “Was it Billy’s idea to go?”

  “I think he was anxious to go after them all right, but it was Marshal Everson who decided to send him.” Vern said this with no discernible hesitation or shiftiness of eyes or any other sign of consciousness he was telling a lie.

  “You were there?”

  “No. Marshal Everson told me afterward.”

  “Why did you tell Bud Ames I killed his brother?”

  “I never told him that.” Flat tone. Unreadable.

  “Vern, are you quite a hand with your gun?”

  “Well,” Vern said cautiously, “I don’t know about that.”

  “If you can’t shoot, how do you plan to protect me from getting gunned down by a person or persons unknown?”

  “I can shoot. I thought you were asking if I’m some sort of professional gunhand, which I’m not.”

  Lon pointed at an eight-inch aspen about twenty feet away. “Can you put a bullet in that tree trunk? The first time?”

  Vern peered at the tree a moment. “I might,” he said.

  “Do it.”

  “All right.”

  He drew and fired, not quickly but deliberately. The bullet hit the tree dead center at chest height.

  “If you can do that,” Lon said, “I’m curious why Everson hasn’t made you his deputy.”

  “If he had wanted me for that, I’m sure he would have told me.”

  “Vern, I think you’d be at least as good a deputy as I am. Better, maybe. Everson overlooking you seems unaccountable to me.”