“Have another cup of coffee, George, and stop blaming yourself,” said Rider.
“But he’s all we had,” said George. “We’re right back where we started.”
Rider walked over to George’s desk, picked up the cup, and refilled it with coffee. He placed the cup back on the desk in front of George and took the pot back to the stove.
“I don’t like it anymore than you do,” he said, “but it’s done, and we just have to deal with things as they are. George, if I’d been flat on my back and ole Bean had aimed at me, I’d have damn sure shot him dead myself. Much as I wanted him here alive, I’d have shot him dead. I’d lots rather have dragged his body down out of them woods than yours. Okay? I don’t want to hear no more whining about how you messed things up. Ole Bean done it all himself.”
George sipped at his coffee. His head was beginning to clear a little. It wasn’t just that he had killed the only man they had who might have given them more information. It was more than that. He had never killed a man before, and it had given George an uncomfortable, almost sick feeling. He couldn’t tell that to Rider. But his ears had stopped ringing, and he was starting to think more clearly.
“He didn’t get that gun in his cell all by himself,” he said.
“You’re right about that, George,” said Rider. “Omer Lyons got that to him somehow. I know it. Lyons is behind it all, but I can’t think how to prove it. I just can’t think how.”
“Miss Hunt came by the office this afternoon,” said George.
“Oh, yeah?”
“She, uh, she invited me to have supper with her tonight.”
“You didn’t turn her down, did you?” asked Rider.
“No. I said I’d be there. I guess I will.”
“Well, why don’t you run on to the house and get yourself cleaned up. We’ll call it a day. Go on. I’ll shut down here and be along in a while.”
George pulled on an old slicker that had been hanging in the office, and, ducking his head, went out into the rain.
Rider poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down. George will be all right, he thought. He’s feeling pretty bad right now because he thinks that it’s all his fault that ole Bean got out of jail and then got killed. He’ll come out of it. Going to see Miss Hunt tonight will help. Yes, indeed. He slurped at his coffee. It was too, hot to gulp.
He thought about Omer Lyons. There was no way he could figure to prove any connection between Lyons and Riley, especially now that Riley was dead. Before that unfortunate event occurred, Rider had thought that he might sweat the information out of Riley. Now, as George had said, they were right back where they started. I’ll just have to dog Lyons’s trail, he thought. Just keep nipping at his heels. See if I can’t make him slip up, give himself away.
Then he decided that he might as well get started. He took one more slurp of coffee, stood up, picked up the Colts from his desktop, and tucked them into his waistband. He moved across the room to the wall pegs where his hat was hanging, as was another old slicker, and he put those on and walked outside, locking the door behind him.
At the Capital Hotel, Rider found Troy Anglin behind the counter. Anglin was a young man, a halfbreed no more than twenty, who sometimes worked for Riley. Rider knew his family and knew that they were related to the Rileys. Young Anglin had apparently taken over the duties at the hotel following Riley’s arrest.
‘“Siyo, Troy,” said Rider. He stopped just inside the door and shook the water off his hat and slicker.
“Hi, Go-Ahead,” said Anglin. “If you come to tell me about Bean, we already heard. You all killed him. I guess you had to.”
“He didn’t give us no choice, Troy. George Tanner actually did the killing. If he hadn’t, ole Bean would have killed him. News travels fast.”
“Well,” said Anglin, “you bring a dead man into town, it don’t take long for the news to get just three blocks down the street.”
“More like five blocks,” said Rider.
“Well, whatever.”
“What’s going to happen now with the hotel?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I’ll hang on here and run it for a while and just kind of wait and see. Bean had a wife once, I guess, but she run off some time ago, and they didn’t have no kids. He’s got a brother somewhere down in Canadian District. That’s what I’ve heard. Maybe he’ll come up here and take it over. I don’t know. But there’s people staying here, and someone’s got to look after the place.”
“Well, we’ll try to get word down to his brother and get this thing settled one way or another. You see if you can find out for me what the brother’s name is and where I can get ahold of him. You do that?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Is Omer Lyons still here?”
“Yeah,” said Anglin. “I think he’s up in his room right now. He’s in number three.”
“Thanks, Troy.” Rider pulled off the slicker and hung it on a coat-rack in the corner of the lobby. Then he walked down the hall to room number three. He knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” came Lyons’s voice from behind the door.
“It’s Go-Ahead Rider. I want to talk to you.”
There was a pause, then Lyons jerked the door open.
“What do you want?” he said.
“Can I come in?” said Rider.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
Rider shoved Lyons to one side and walked into the room. There was an open suitcase, half packed, lying on the bed.
“I won’t stay long,” said Rider. “I wondered if you’d be staying around any longer. The railroad boys probably took you off their payroll after the vote went bad for you. That right?”
Lyons didn’t answer. He stood back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, and glared at Rider.
“And, uh, your partner got himself killed while ago. You hear about that?”
“What partner?” said Lyons. “I didn’t have no partner. You talking about Riley? Partner in what? My job was talking to council members. Trying to convince them that the railroad would be good for Tahlequah. Just talking. I didn’t have no partner.”
Rider stared at Lyons. Lyons shifted his weight nervously, then paced across the room.
“I know you killed Riley,” he said, “but he wasn’t my partner. What the hell you kill him for, anyway?”
“Well,” said Rider, “I arrested old Bean for the murder of Mix Hail. I had pretty good evidence, too. The charge would have stuck. He’d have been found guilty. And I think he killed Jess Halfbreed, too, but I didn’t charge him with that one, just only with ole Mix. The only thing is, ole Bean didn’t have no reason to kill ole Mix, not that I know about, he didn’t. Not unless he done it for someone else. Maybe someone he was working for.”
“Wait a minute,” said Lyons.
“Now you had a reason to want ole Mix out of the way,” said Rider. “He was a strong opponent of your railroad buddies. He was influential on the Council. He could swing a few votes one way or the other if he took a mind to.”
“Damn it, Rider.”
“It come to me that you might have hired poor ole Bean. You know, he wasn’t too damn smart. It come to me that he might have been working for you, and that would explain why he killed them two. That makes sense.”
“It ain’t true,” said Lyons. “And you can’t prove anything. You can’t pin it on me. Get the hell out of here now. Get out.”
Rider walked to the door. It was still standing open. He turned back toward Lyons.
“Are you leaving town?” he asked.
“None of your damn business.”
Beehunter’s house was not far, and Rider walked to it in the rain. It was a small log house just at the edge of the woods, barely out of town. Beehunter was at home with his wife and four children. No one in the house could speak any English, so Rider spoke to them in Cherokee. He started with small talk. They talked about the sudden rain and speculated on how long it would last and whether or not it would cause any flooding. Beehunter’s wife gave Rider a cup of coffee and some bean bread to eat. He took it and nibbled at the bread, knowing that if he ate it all, she would give him more. He didn’t want to eat too much, because Exie would have his supper ready when he got home. After a while, Rider began to work his way around to the point of his visit.
“You know,” he said, “George killed Bean today.”
“George did?” said Beehunter.
Rider explained to Beehunter how Riley had escaped, and how he and George had pursued him, and finally how the killing had taken place.
“I think that Omer Lyons got the gun to him somehow,” he said. “I think that Bean was working for Lyons. Lyons paid him to kill Mix and Jess. That’s what I think about it.”
“Well,” said Beehunter, “you’re probably right.”
“I don’t have any proof,” said Rider. “I can’t arrest Lyons on just my own suspicion, but I’m afraid he’s getting ready to leave town. I can’t watch him all the time either.”
“You want me to watch him for you, Go-Ahead?”
That was exactly what Rider had wanted, and in typical Cherokee fashion, he had talked around the issue until Beehunter had volunteered to do the job. Finally Rider got up to leave.
“If he starts to leave town,” he said, “don’t try to stop him. Just find me and let me know.”
Rider had one more stop to make before going home. He found Chief Ross still in his office at the capitol building, and he told the chief about Riley’s arrest, escape, and death. He also told him how he believed that Lyons was involved.
“Let’s go talk to Harm,” said Ross.
They entered Judge Boley’s office just as the judge was getting ready to leave for the day.
“I’m glad we caught you, Harm,” said Ross. “We need some legal advice.”
Again Rider told the whole story. Boley had heard already about the killing of Riley, but he listened patiently to the sheriff give his own account of the incident.
“Riley was the only thing we had,” said Rider. “We had the evidence on him. We could have convicted him of murder. At least the murder of ole Mix. We might even have been able to prove that he killed Jess, too. But what I was hoping for was to get him to tell us about Lyons. We got no evidence against Lyons at all, and I’m damn sure he was behind all this. What I’m afraid of is that he’ll leave town before we can get anything on him.”
Boley paced across the floor, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He stopped and looked at Chief Ross, then he looked at Rider.
“If Omer Lyons tries to leave town,” he said, “arrest him on suspicion. We’ll do what we can to get a conviction.”
“All right,” said Rider. “I’ve got a man watching him.”
The rain had almost stopped by the time George arrived at Lee Hunt’s house, but his slicker was dripping wet and his boots were muddy. He stood awkwardly at her front door.
“Come on in,” she said.
“My boots are awful muddy,” said George. “I don’t want to track up your floor.”
“That’s what the mat’s for. Come on in.”
George stepped carefully inside and stood on the mat. He reached back behind himself and pushed the door closed. He looked down at his feet. The boots were so heavy with mud that it seemed a waste of effort to try to clean them.
“Can I, uh, just pull them off?” he asked.
“Of course.”
George struggled out of his boots and left them on the mat. He was glad that he had washed himself and put on clean socks before leaving his room at Rider’s house. He was also thankful that the socks were a good pair, ones without holes. He slipped off the slicker, and Lee Hunt took it from him and hung it on a peg in the wall by the front door. She motioned toward a big rocking chair.
“Please sit down, George,” she said. “I’ll have supper on in just a few minutes.”
“I forgot to bring my books,” said George. “I’m sorry. I thought about it when I was almost here. I just forgot.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’d love to see them, but we can do that another time. You don’t need to apologize.”
“Well, I meant to bring them. I know you’d be interested in them. Some of them are fairly recent. It’s just that I—meant to.”
George still sounded as if he were apologizing, so Lee stopped what she was doing in the kitchen and stepped over to face him. She looked at him with an expression of serious concern. George thought that she looked like a mother preparing to console a hurt child.
“George,” she said, “I’m just glad to see you. I really didn’t know if you’d show up tonight. I think I know what’s bothering you. I heard about Mr. Riley.”
“Oh,” said George. “Yeah. I didn’t know if I should come over here tonight after that. I don’t know if I’ll be very good company. I—I am kind of—upset.”
“Well, please try to relax. I know you were just doing your job—and protecting yourself. We’ll have a pleasant meal here in a minute, and then we’ll just relax and chat. And don’t feel as if you have to be entertaining, either. That will be my responsibility tonight.”
She poured him a cup of coffee to sip while he waited for the table to be set. Then she served him roast beef, mashed potatoes with brown gravy, green beans, and fried okra. There were also hot rolls and fresh butter. George drank a large glass of milk with his meal and more coffee afterward. And she had been right, he thought. He did feel better, more relaxed. She was wonderful, this young woman. He had thought that perhaps he shouldn’t even show up for the meal after he had killed a man. He had felt somehow guilty, no longer decent, but she had accepted his deed as something done in the line of duty and had not at all been appalled by it. She was very pretty and well educated, and she was obviously concerned about his own feelings. And not the least of her attractions to George was her mild aggressiveness. She had actually invited him to have supper with her in her home rather than wait for him to make the first advance. It was rather bold of her, and he liked that. Probably her neighbors would soon be gossiping about her, if they weren’t already.
“That was a wonderful meal,” he said.
“Have some more. There’s plenty.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” he said. “I can’t. I’m full as a tick. Oh, excuse me.”
She laughed. And George liked her laugh. It was soft and pretty but not silly, not a giggle or a titter, a soft, pretty, musical laugh. A lovely lady’s laugh. She refilled his coffee cup and carried it to the small table beside the rocking chair.
“You sit here and be comfortable,” she said, “while I clear the table.”
“Let me help you,” he said.
“No. You just sit and relax.”
George walked over to the rocking chair and sat down, and Lee busied herself cleaning off the table.
“You know,” George said, “I started not to show up tonight.”
“I gathered that,” she said, “from what you said earlier.”
“I’m glad that I came.”
“Me, too.” She turned and looked at him and smiled. “I’m glad you came.”
George took a sip of his coffee, set the cup down on the table, and got up. He walked up to Lee in the kitchen.
“I wish you’d let me help you,” he said.
“I’m doing just fine.”
“But I’m not. I don’t feel right just sitting there and watching you work. Especially after all the work you’ve already done fixing this meal.”
She stopped again and looked him in the face, her hands on her hips, and she raised an eyebrow at him.
“All right,” she said, “if it will make you feel better. We’ll have it done in no time.”
When they had finished washing and drying and putting away the dishes, they sat back down, George in the rocker, Lee in a straight-back chair directly across the small room from him, and they talked. George told her how he had killed Bean Riley, how it had made him feel. He told her as well how he had felt at blame for not only Riley’s death but also for his escape before that. He told her how Rider had tried to comfort him by saying that the same thing would have happened had he been there instead of George. He surprised himself by the things that he told her. She made him feel so comfortable. It seemed somehow natural to George to tell her—anything. And then he noticed the time. Again he was embarrassed. He had stayed too long. He stammered an apology and got up to leave.
“I should have watched the time more closely,” he said. “I’ve stayed too late. I’m sorry.”
“Nonsense,” said Lee. “I’ve had a wonderful time.”
George walked to the front door and bent to pick up a boot. Lee opened the front door. It was raining again—hard.
“You can’t walk out in that,” she said.
“Oh, I’ll be all right. Besides, it might go on all night.”
“Why don’t you stay the night?”
George felt his face turn hot.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I couldn’t do that. It would—”
“Of course you can. I’ll make you a nice pallet right over there on the floor. It will be all right.”