George was sitting at his desk, the Starr revolver with its holster and belt lying on the desk before him. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, about half finished. The coffee in the pot on the stove was low, and George was thinking about making a fresh pot. Since the Council had adjourned and the council members had all gone home to their respective districts, the special deputies had also been dismissed. Rider had gone to the capitol to talk to the chief, and George had been left on duty at the jail.
There was nothing much to do. Bean Riley was the lone prisoner. The paperwork was all caught up. George knew that Rider planned to question Riley later on in the day, although they had already questioned the man briefly. They had implied that they knew that he had done the murders either for or with Omer Lyons. They had told him that he would surely hang for his part in the grizzly affair, and that, the vote of the Council having gone against the railroad, it had all been for naught.
Yet nothing fazed Riley. He was still nervous, anxious, obviously worried about his future, yet he said nothing to implicate Lyons or anyone else and stoutly maintained his own innocence. He swore that the bloodstain in the springhouse had resulted from fresh hog meat, which had long since been eaten, and he said that Mix Hail had come to him on the day of his disappearance to purchase whiskey. When Rider had said that he knew Mix Hail and Mix Hail did not drink, Riley had said, “That just shows what you know.” Mix, Riley had said, must have dropped his hat on that occasion. Riley had not noticed at the time, but come to think of it, he had said, he did seem to recall Mix Hail walking away hatless. Yes. He was sure of that.
Rider had not given up. He was going to question Riley further, but until that time came or until Rider gave George further instructions, George really had nothing to do except sit in the office and wait. He swallowed the rest of his coffee and made a face. It had gotten cold. He got up to put on a fresh pot. He had refilled the pot and dumped the grounds into the water and was just stoking the fire when he heard someone come in at the door. He looked over his shoulder to see Lee Hunt walk into the office.
“Oh,” he said. “Hello, Miss Hunt.”
“Hello,” she said.
George moved rapidly to place a chair for her near his desk.
“Please sit down,” he said.
She took the chair and thanked him.
“I just put on fresh coffee,” he said. “It’ll be ready soon.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I can really only stay a minute.”
“Well,” said George, “what, uh, what can I do for you?”
“I was just wondering if there was anything you wanted me to sign. You know, some kind of statement about what I saw.”
“I don’t know. Rider hasn’t said anything. I guess if there is, we’ll let you know. I don’t think it’s anything you need to be concerned about. But thank you for stopping by. You’ve already been a big help to us on this investigation.”
George nervously got up and checked the coffee. Of course it wasn’t ready yet. The water wasn’t even boiling. Lee Hunt stood up and turned toward the door.
“Miss Hunt,” said George. Then he paused. He didn’t have anything to say. He felt foolish.
“Mr. Tanner,” she said. “I’ll make a bargain with you.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll call you George if you’ll call me Lee.”
“All right.”
“There is one other reason I stopped by.”
George just looked at her, waiting for her to say more.
“I came to invite you over for supper tonight. That is, if you’re free.”
“Oh,” said George.
“Please don’t feel obligated. If you have something else to do, it’s all right. I realize that I haven’t given you much time.”
“Oh, no,” said George. “I’ll be there. Thank you. It’s just that I’m surprised. I wasn’t expecting such a—welcome invitation. I’ll bring some of my books. Some of the new ones I brought from the East. If you’d like.”
“I’d like that very much,” said Lee. “About six?”
“Six is fine.”
Lee Hunt left the office, and George stared after her for a long moment. He could scarcely believe his good fortune. He had been wondering how he could approach her, and she had come to him. Of course, he thought, her interest might be purely literary. She was an educated woman, a teacher, and he was recently returned from college in the East with some of the latest books. He could understand that. He would have to be careful. If that was the only interest she had in him, he would certainly honor and respect that. But he hoped and longed to find out that her interest would go beyond that. George felt like shouting out his joy, then he heard the water behind him boiling rapidly. He turned quickly and moved the pot over so that it was not directly above the fire. Then he heard Riley shouting from his cell.
“Hey, Rider. Rider, come here. Come in here, damn it.”
George stepped through the door into the hallway that led to the cells.
“Rider’s out,” he yelled. “Quiet down.”
“Well, where the hell is he?”
“You don’t need to know where he is,” said George. “Just shut up.”
“Come here. Is that you, deputy? What’s your name? Tanner, is it?”
“It’s Tanner,” said George. He stepped further into the hallway. “What do you want?”
“My throat’s dry,” said Riley. “I need a drink.”
“Of water?”
“Yeah, water. I know you got nothing else. Wouldn’t give it to me if you did. A man’s got a right to a drink of water, ain’t he? Even in jail?”
George walked on down to the cell, and he pointed to a bucket in a corner behind Riley.
“You’ve got water, Riley,” he said. “There’s a whole bucket of water, and it’s fresh.”
Riley turned toward the bucket, took a couple of long strides, and kicked it over, spilling water over the cell floor and out into the hallway.
“This?” he said. “It stinks. I want some fresh water.”
“Damn you, Riley,” said George. “You’re going to mop that up, and if you want anymore, you’d damn well better quiet down.”
George stalked down the hall, got a mop and the cell keys, and went back to Riley’s cell.
“Bring me that bucket,” he said. “Get it.”
Riley picked up the bucket.
“Put it here by the door.”
Riley dropped the bucket by the cell door.
“Now get back over there against the wall,” said George.
Riley backed up to the far wall, and George unlocked the cell door. He swung the door open, tossed the mop inside, and reached for the bucket. Riley produced a Colt .45 from somewhere, cocked back the hammer, and then aimed the gun at George in one sweeping motion.
“Don’t move, you son of a bitch,” he said.
George was caught bent over, reaching for the bucket. He stayed that way, his eyes on the barrel of the .45 that was pointing right at his face. Riley began working his way around the cell, keeping to the wall.
“Get in here,” he said, and he gestured with his revolver toward the wall opposite the one against which he was creeping. George slowly straightened himself up and stepped into the cell.
“Go on,” shouted Riley. George stepped in further, and Riley got quickly out the door. He slammed the door shut and locked it, removed the keys, and rushed down the hallway. At the end of the hallway, he stopped and looked back toward the cell.
“I ought to kill you,” he shouted. Then he was gone. George banged the heels of his hands against his forehead.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Damn.”
He had been suckered. His prisoner was gone, and he was in the cell, locked up tight. It was humiliating. It would be even worse when Rider got back. Damn, he thought. What will I tell Rider? What can I tell him? He dropped heavily onto the cot in the cell to wait.
Outside the front door of the jail, Bean Riley stopped. Probably everyone in town knew that he had been arrested. He couldn’t afford to be seen. And Rider had made him change his trousers for those damned striped ones. Even if he was too far away to be recognized, people would see those damned stripes. He thought about going back inside to find his own trousers, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He was out of the jail, and he didn’t want to go back in. But those stripes. He would have liked to kill Rider, but Rider wasn’t around. He would have killed that damned deputy, but the shot would have attracted attention. He was glad of the tall board fence running around the jail, but he had to do something. Rider would come back sooner or later. He couldn’t simply stand there in the jail yard.
There were horses and saddles in the sheriff’s barn. He could probably make his way there without being seen—if he was careful. He started to make his way around the building. He felt a lump in his throat when he passed by the gallows out back. Finally he reached the barn, and he rushed inside. He grabbed the first saddle he came to and threw it on the back of the first horse. Then he climbed into the saddle and raced away from town, heading south. He saw a wagon coming toward him and panicked momentarily. He jerked the reins of his mount to the right and rode down into the field and toward the woods. The driver of the wagon, a black woodcutter, hauled back on his reins.
“Hey,” he shouted. His eyes opened wide as he stared after the rider in the striped pants who was racing toward the woods.
“Hey.”
“Don’t feel bad, George,” Rider was saying. “It could have happened to me. No way you could have known that ole Bean had a gun in there. You done the right thing. If a man’s got a gun on you, do what he says. Now run on and get us a couple of horses saddled. We’ll try to find out which way he went.”
George almost ran into a black man as he hurried out the front door of the jail. The man stepped aside, then entered the building and made his way to the office.
“Hello, Go-Ahead,” he said.
Rider turned away from the cabinet from which he was gathering ammunition to see who had come in.
“Hello, Isaac,” he said. “Sorry. I’m in a hurry. Just had a prisoner escape on us.”
“I know,” said Isaac. “I seen him.”
Rider stopped what he was doing to give Isaac his full attention.
“Where?” he said.
“Man on a horse wearing striped britches,” said Isaac. “Just on the edge of town. He was headed south on the road, but when he seen me headed towards him, he turned west off the road. Headed into the trees off to the west. I think he had a gun in his hand. Six-gun.”
“Good, Isaac,” said Rider, slapping the woodcutter on the shoulder. He turned to stuff the bullets he had been gathering into his vest pockets. “Thanks for stopping in. Have a cup of coffee. I got to go.”
Rider ran out of the building and toward the barn, but George was already on his way back with the horses. Rider took the reins of one from George and swung into the saddle.
“Inena,” he said, and he kicked the horse in the sides and started riding south. George mounted up and followed. They rode hard just a little ways out of town, then Rider slowed his mount to a walk. Then he halted. George did the same. Rider looked off to his right. Not more than a hundred yards across a field, a hollow ran more or less parallel with the road. On the other side of the hollow, a large hill rose sharply and abruptly. The thick growth of brush and trees that covered the hill began in the hollow.
“What is it?” said George.
Rider shook his head and made a quick gesture with his hand to indicate silence.
“He’s off over there somewhere,” he said.
They sat still in their saddles for another long moment, looking off across the field and listening. George’s horse snorted and shook his head. Rider turned his mount toward the field and urged it forward at a slow walk.
“Come on,” he said.
They rode slowly off the road and into the tall grass of the field, heading for the draw at the foot of the hill. As they rode they gradually increased the distance between them. There was a sudden noise up ahead, a heavy, frantic scurrying sound, followed by a motion visible to them. It was Bean Riley lashing at his stolen horse, trying to ride up the far side of the draw. The thickness of the brush and the looseness of the rocky ground on the steep incline were too much for the horse, and it slipped back down. Riley half fell, half climbed, out of the saddle. Gun in hand, he scampered up the side of the draw and ran into the thicket at the base of the hill. Rider kicked the sides of his horse and hurried across the field. George was close behind. Near the edge of the draw, they stopped and dismounted. Riley’s abandoned mount was fidgeting around down in the draw. Rider pointed forward and off to his left. George understood. They would try to close in on Riley from both sides. As Rider moved off to his right and started down into the draw, George moved left.
George hit loose rock with his first step down and slid on his backside the rest of the way down into the draw. He was bruised, but the worst thing about it was the embarrassment. He knew that no one saw him, but he also knew that his slide had made considerable noise. He got to his feet and picked his way across the draw through the thick undergrowth and began making his way cautiously up the other side. He came out slowly, half expecting Riley to be waiting up there somewhere to take a shot at him. There was no shot. He could see no sign of either Riley or Rider. He moved into the woods on the hillside. He hesitated for a moment, looking around and listening. He might as well have been off somewhere alone. He started forward again, and somewhere above him a blue jay screamed angrily at him. He flinched, stopped again, and then pulled the Starr out of its holster. The ground was getting steeper. He climbed slowly. A low branch scraped across his face. The brush was getting thicker. If he watched the ground to keep from stumbling, he found his arms tangled or his face slapped. It was slow, tough going, and somewhere up there was Bean Riley, desperate and armed.
George was sweating, and he suddenly realized that he was cold. It must be the shade in the thick woods, he thought. But no. It was darker all of a sudden. He looked up, searching through the heavy overhead canopy of branches for the sky, and where he caught glimpses of it, it had turned dark. Heavy black thunderclouds had moved in, causing a sharp drop in temperature. Soon it would rain—a heavy rain. They had to find Riley soon. There was a flash in the dark sky, followed soon after by a loud clap of thunder. Then there was a shot. It sounded from off to George’s right. It must have been Riley who had fired, he figured. Rider would never have fired first at the fugitive without warning. He crouched behind a thick oak tree and strained his eyes, trying to see something through the trees.
“Rider?” he called. Then he heard Rider’s voice, but it was not in answer to his call.
“Bean, this is Rider. Did you hear that other voice? That was my deputy over there on the other side. We’re on both sides of you, Bean. Give it up. We don’t want to have to kill you.”
George heard another shot, and it was followed quickly by Riley’s voice.
“You don’t want to kill me, huh? You just want to save me to hang. You go to hell. Both of you.”
“Bean, you’ll get a trial,” said Rider.
A third shot sounded. George thought that all three shots had been fired by Riley, but he couldn’t be certain. A heavy drop of rain splattered on his forehead. He stood upright and started slowly toward the direction of the gunshot sounds. Then he heard a crashing through the woods. It’s Riley, he thought, coming at me, attacking the weakest point. The heavy raindrops started falling faster. George hurried ahead toward another large tree trunk, but he stepped on wet leaves that had been covering slick rock, and he fell heavily on his back. His breath was knocked out of him, but he managed to hold on to the Starr revolver.
Suddenly Riley was looming over him. Riley hesitated an instant, apparently as startled by the sight of George flat on the ground as George was by the other’s sudden appearance. Then Riley raised his pistol and aimed it at George. He started to thumb back the hammer. George was still out of breath. He wanted to tell Riley not to try it, but he couldn’t speak. He saw the gun moving, leveling at him, saw the thumb on the hammer. He raised the Starr and pulled the trigger, and he heard the loud report, saw the red hole appear in the center of Riley’s chest, saw Riley jerk backward a little, a look of surprise on his face, watched as Riley’s knees began to buckle and his fingers went limp. Riley dropped to his knees, then fell over on his back. It became incredibly quiet and still except for the big raindrops falling and for the loud ringing in George’s ears.
“Ah,” said George, “damn. Damn.”