11
Slocum and Holbrook rode back out to Bill Jackson’s spread with Charlie Roberts, and they found just what Roberts had said. The place was a total loss. The corral had been built up against one side of the barn. When the barn had burned, the corral had collapsed, and the horses that Jackson had kept in there had all run off. The house and barn were nothing but a pile of rubble, a charred wreck. Jackson and some of the other small ranchers were rummaging through the mess, but they were finding very little to salvage. As the three riders approached, Jackson tossed aside what he held in his hands and looked up at the sheriff.
“You’re a little late, Cyrus,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Bill,” said Holbrook. “Charlie said you seen someone.”
“Not very good,” said Jackson.
“Can you remember anything about the man?” asked Slocum.
“He was riding away from here hell-for-leather,” Jackson said, “on a dark horse. That’s all I know. I looked at him, and I looked at the fire, and I run to try to put the fire out. Damn fool. I just as well have chased the bastard for all the good I done here.”
Holbrook dismounted and let the reins drag on the ground. “Where did it start?” he asked.
“You can’t tell too much now,” Jackson said, “but when I first seen it, there were four brush piles up against the walls. Right over here, and there, and there, and there.” He pointed as he spoke.
“No question that it was set deliberate?” Slocum said.
“No damn question at all,” said Jackson.
“What are you going to do now, Bill?” Holbrook asked him.
“Hell, I don’t know. I ain’t decided yet. I feel like getting out, but I—Well, I just ain’t decided. That’s all.”
“Charlie told me that him and some others has promised to help you rebuild,” Holbrook said. “That’s good neighbors. You ought to think about that.”
“I’m thinking about it all right,” Jackson said, “but hell, Cy, I lost everything in that fire. If I get another house, I won’t have nothing to put in it. And what if the bastard just comes around and does it again?”
“I’d say you’ve got more here than anywhere else,” Slocum said. “You got your land and some cattle scattered over it.”
“I could sell it all and have something to start over with—somewhere else.”
“Yeah,” said Holbrook. “You could.”
“Jackson,” said Slocum, “that fella you saw ride outta here—which way was he going?”
“He was headed toward town,” Jackson said. Slocum looked off in the direction Jackson had indicated he saw the man ride. He turned his Appaloosa and headed that direction. He rode slowly, milling around till he found some tracks. He was pretty sure they belonged to the arsonist. They indicated that the rider was in a hurry to get somewhere. Slowly, watching carefully, Slocum followed the trail. It led eventually to the road and on toward town. He kept going.
In a few minutes, Holbrook came riding up behind Slocum. “What’s your damn hurry?” he shouted.
“I want to follow this trail while it’s sort of fresh,” said Slocum.
“You got the man?”
“I got his trail. I’m pretty sure.”
“He’s headed for town,” Holbrook said. “Let’s go.”
They followed the tracks almost into Guadalupe, but when they found themselves on the edge of town, there were so many tracks that the set they were following was obscured.
“Damn it,” said Holbrook. “We lost him.”
“Yeah. There was nothing distinctive about those tracks either,” Slocum said. “He’s in town somewhere though. Let’s check out the Hogback.”
“Okay.”
They rode to the saloon and tied their horses in front. Walking in, they looked the place over. There were several strangers in the place. Slocum and Holbrook bellied up to the bar and ordered a couple of drinks. Slocum picked up his glass and turned his back to the bar, leaning on it with his elbows. He studied the room full of cowboys and range bums. He noticed one man who seemed to be particularly nervous. He was seated at a table alone. The man finished his drink and got up to leave. To do so, he had to pass right by Slocum and Holbrook. As he was about to pass them by, Slocum reached out an arm to block his path.
“Hold up there a minute, partner,” he said.
The man stopped and looked at Slocum. “What do you want?” he said.
Holbrook turned around then. “What’s your name, mister?” he said.
The man looked at the star on Holbrook’s vest. “I ain’t done nothing, Sheriff,” he said. “You got no call to go quizzing me up like that. I’m just on my way outta here.”
“What’s your name?”
“Harrington,” the man said. “Abel Harrington. Okay?”
“You don’t live around here, do you?” Holbrook asked.
“I’m living around here now,” Harrington said.
“Where?”
“Just outside of town.”
“Where might that be?”
“Look,” Harrington said. “I don’t have to—”
“Where?” asked Holbrook.
“Me and my partner, we got us a camp out by the creek. Out south.”
“How’d you come to be camping outside of Guadalupe?” said Slocum.
“We’re just traveling. Had to stop and rest a spell. Anything wrong with that?”
“You said that you lived here now,” Holbrook said.
“Well,” said Harrington with a nervous laugh, “I ain’t dead.”
“You just come into town for a drink, did you?” asked the sheriff.
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“You just ride straight in from your camp?” Slocum asked.
“That’s right.”
“You sure you didn’t come from the opposite direction?”
“Sure I’m sure. What are you getting at?”
“We just had a little trouble out at one of the ranches,” said Slocum.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Holbrook. “One of the small ranches was—”
Slocum elbowed Holbrook to shut him up. “Someone was out there deliberately causing trouble. We followed his trail back here.”
“Well, it wasn’t me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Course, he had plenty of time, Cy,” said Slocum. “He could be telling the truth. I mean, about where he came from. He had time to go back to his camp, stay awhile, hell, even wash his hands and face, change his shirt maybe, and then ride back in here. He could have come in here straight from his camp.”
“Yeah,” Holbrook said. “You’re right about that.”
“Why don’t we all go over to the jail to finish talking this over?” Slocum said.
“Yeah,” said Holbrook. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Hey. I don’t have to go to the jail with you. I—”
Slocum’s Colt was out in a flash, its muzzle poking Harrington’s belly. “The sheriff said let’s go.”
Harrington turned slowly and nervously and started walking. As he did, Slocum slipped the revolver out of Harrington’s holster and tucked it in his own waistband. The three men made their way down the street to the sheriff’s office and went inside. Holbrook went behind the big desk and sat down. Slocum perched on the right-hand front corner of the desk. Harrington stood nervously in front of the desk, looking from Holbrook to Slocum and back again. Neither man said anything. At last, Harrington broke the silence.
“Listen,” he said, “I don’t know nothing about that fire.”
Slocum glanced at Holbrook.
“How’d you know we were talking about a fire?” Holbrook said.
“Huh? Well, that’s what you said. Ain’t it?”
“We never mentioned a fire,” said Slocum. “We just said that there’d been some trouble.”
“Well, maybe someone else said something. I heard it somewhere.”
“Or maybe you started it,” said Slocum.
“No. I never. Damn it, I never started no fire. Believe me. Look. Give me back my gun and let me get outta here. My partner’ll be looking for me here pretty soon.”
“What’s your partner’s name?” said Slocum.
“His name?”
“I think you heard me.”
“His name is Tor Stark. We’re cowhands. Outta work. We’re just kinda looking the country over. You know? Let me go, and we’ll be on our way. We’ll pull out today.”
Holbrook opened a desk drawer and took out his stack of wanted posters. He began flipping through them casually. “Cowhands, you say?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“Where’d you work last?”
“What?”
“Where the hell was your last damn job?” said Slocum.
“Uh, a place called the Three Corners up in Colorado.”
“How long were you there?” Holbrook said.
“Oh, a few months, I guess.”
“Where else?”
“Uh, the Granite. Up in Wyoming.”
“You and Stark both work these places, did you?” said Holbrook.
“Yeah. Yeah. Both of us.”
“You quit or get fired?”
“Well, we, uh, just decided it was time to move on. That’s all.”
“Tired of working?”
“No. It was just time to move on. Like I said.”
“I think you got fired,” Holbrook said. “You know, I can check up on your story. I can send a wire. We ain’t totally in the middle of nowhere out here.”
“All right. So we got fired. So what?”
“Now maybe you’ll tell us what you’re really doing here in Guadalupe,” said Slocum.
“I already told you,” Harrington said. “We’re just passing through. That’s all. We just decided to stop here and rest up a few days. It was a mistake. We’ll ride on now, and we won’t never stop here again.”
Holbrook hesitated over a dodger. He put it on the bottom of the stack and continued shuffling.
“You didn’t start that fire?” he said.
“No.”
“Give him back his gun, Slocum.”
Slocum gave Holbrook a curious look, but he pulled out the gun and handed it back to Harrington. Harrington took it and shoved it in his holster. He looked at the sheriff.
“Go on,” Holbrook said.
“You mean, I can go?”
“That’s what I said. Your partner will be looking for you.”
Harrington turned and hurried out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Slocum turned to stare hard at Holbrook, who was still shuffling posters.
“You make a pretty good lawman, Slocum,” Holbrook said.
“I’ve had plenty of practice,” said Slocum. “On the other side. Now, what the hell did you let him go for? He slipped up. He knew it was a fire we were investigating, and he didn’t hear someone say something about it in the damn saloon.”
Holbrook tossed a dodger across the desk. Then he shuffled through his stack to find the one he had slipped to the bottom earlier. He tossed it over as well. Slocum looked at them. The first one said, “Wanted, Tor Stark,” and the second was the same for Abel Harrington. The reward was small. They were petty thieves, although they were suspected of a few bigger things.
“You could’ve locked him up,” Slocum said.
“I’da had to send him back to Nevada,” said Holbrook. “I thought that maybe we’d get farther watching him and his partner.”
“What if they just ride on out of here like he said?”
“Then he’s not our man,” said Holbrook. “Or if he is, our troubles are over.”
“You want me to ride out and spy on his camp?” Slocum asked.
“No,” said Holbrook. “Let’s both ride out there and locate it, but let’s not spy. Let’s be open about it. Come on.”
They walked back to where they had left their horses tied in front of the saloon, mounted up and rode south. It didn’t take them long to find the camp. As they rode in, the two men stood up, ready for anything. Slocum and Holbrook stayed on their horses.
“Right where he said,” said Holbrook. He looked at Stark. “Are you Tor Stark?”
“That’s me,” Stark said. “What do you want here?”
“Nothing much,” said Holbrook. “We were just talking to your partner there back in town. He told us you were living here. I like to know where folks are living around these parts. I’m Cyrus Holbrook, sheriff. This is my partner, Slocum.”
“John Slocum?” Stark said.
“That’s right,” said Slocum.
“I’ve heard of you.”
“That’s interesting,” said Slocum. “I never heard of you. Till today.”
“I didn’t know you were a lawman.”
“A man does a lot of things in this life.”
“Why don’t you get down? Have a cup of coffee with us?”
“No, thanks,” said Holbrook. “We came out to see where you was living. We seen it. We’ll be going back to town.”
“You mean that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Holbrook turned his horse to ride out. Slocum sat watching the two men in the camp until Holbrook was a distance away. Then he turned his Appaloosa to follow. The two outlaws stood in silence and watched them go for a while. Then Stark said, “We might have to kill them two.”
“You think so?”
“It’s sure enough beginning to look that a way. I’ll have a talk with the boss about it first chance I get.”
“Tonight?”
“Maybe tonight.”