Gableman was still outside when Kenton and Alex emerged. Straker was gone, but clumps of people remained, talking among themselves and looking with great interest at Kenton when he reappeared.
One man approached. “Mr. Kenton, my name is Allen, with the Lake County Reveille. I overheard the exchange a few minutes ago. Have you anything to say about Mr. Straker’s charges?”
“I don’t think yelling on the street should receive the honor of being called ‘charges,’ Mr. Allen. And as I said earlier, I don’t make back-room accusations. Anything I have to say I will say in print, when the time is right.”
“In the Illustrated American, you mean?”
“I don’t want to talk any more about it, sir. Good day to you.”
Allen touched his hat. “Thank you, Mr. Kenton. If you ever wish to say more, please call on me.” He turned and walked away.
Gableman stepped forward. “If you’ll allow me, Mr. Kenton. I’ll carry your bags for you.”
“No need, Gableman—I can handle them well enough. I hope our coming will be no imposition on Mrs. Chrisman.”
“I think she will be glad to see you, sir.”
They walked together toward Chestnut Street. As they were about to round a corner, another yell reached them.
“Kenton! Kenton! Wait!”
Kenton grimaced. “Not again!” he said beneath his breath as he turned.
This time it wasn’t Straker or a newspaperman but Perk Starlin. He pounded up, breathing hard, his face flushed. “Kenton, I’m durned glad I saw you. You got to come.”
“What is it, Perk?”
“This will take a little while, in case you’re doing something else,” Perk said. He let his eyes flit over to Gableman and back again. The message was clear.
Kenton turned to the black man. “Gableman, would you mind going on without us? I’ve seen Mrs. Chrisman’s house, so we can easily find it later.”
“Very well, sir. When can we expect you?”
“I honesty don’t know.”
“Then at your convenience will be fine. As I said, I have no doubt Mrs. Chrisman will accommodate you now that you’re without shelter.” Gableman took the bags, said his good-bye, and walked away.
“Who was that?” Perk asked.
“His name is Gableman. He’s a butler for Ella Chrisman.”
“Ella Chrisman! How did she come into things? And what did he mean by you being without shelter?”
“I’ll explain all that, but first I want to know what’s got you so worked up.”
Perk glanced around and spoke surreptitiously. “The police are trying to keep it quiet, but there was a hanging and burning last night.”
“What?”
“You heard me right. Up behind a mine storehouse just outside town. A man strung up to a pulley beam and set ablaze. The fire burnt the rope in two, and he fell. The mine watchman never saw a thing when it happened, but at first light he found the corpse all heaped up and smoking. And when he kicked him over, you’ll never guess what was under him.” Perk paused dramatically.
“Go on, Perk, go on!”
“A sign, handwrit on a piece of board. It said Briggs Garrett done the hanging. The police is all in a dither over it, and not just because of the sign and all. The man who was hung was Clance Sullivan.”
Kenton and Gunnison looked at each other in horror. “Are you sure, Perk?”
“I just came from the very spot myself—I was there even before the police were. I know that watchman, you see, and I was the first he told when he found the body. I went up and seen it, then took off before the police come around.”
“They’re still there?”
“Indeed they are.”
“Take us there, then. Or at least tell us the way.”
“Come on—I’ll get you close enough to find it and let you go on up alone. I don’t go around much where policemen are.”
Marshal Kelly glared in displeasure when he saw Brady Kenton and Alex Gunnison coming around the corner of the mine storehouse. He stomped over and cut them off.
“Who the devil steered you up here?” he demanded.
“Never mind that. Is that Clance Sullivan’s body lying yonder?” Kenton asked.
“Now it’s my turn to tell you to never mind. Turn your tail and get out of here, both of you!”
“Come on, Kelly. Let us try to help you. We’ve been cooperative with you so far, haven’t we?”
Kelly glowered at Kenton in silence, then sighed deeply. “What does it matter? You’ve already seen it now. Come on—if your stomach’s not too weak.”
Gunnison could hardly bear to look at the blackened remains that had been Clance Sullivan.
Kenton stared at the still-smoking corpse wordlessly, a grim expression on his face. “Do you have a theory as to who did this, or why?” Kenton asked Kelly.
“Are you asking that for publication, or your own information?”
“The latter.”
“Well, I don’t know why I should tell you anything at all, but…here. Take a look at this.”
He stepped up and took something from one of the three pale-faced officers. He handed it to Kenton.
It was a board. On it was scratched the following: DONE BY BRIGS GARRAT.
“Interesting,” Kenton said.
“Disturbing is more to the point,” Kelly replied. “I can hardly doubt now that Briggs Garrett is alive, after all.”
Kenton shook his head. “If alive he is, that board certainly doesn’t prove it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Briggs Garrett, I happen to know, was a reasonably educated man. He knew how to spell his own name at the very least.” He waved over at the corpse. “And he also knew how to tie a proper hangman’s noose. I can see from here that the knot yonder is only a slipknot.”
“So what are you saying?”
“That whoever did this was certainly not Briggs Garrett. It was someone trying to cover his guilt by making it appear that Garrett did it.”
Kelly thought that over. “Perhaps you’re right, Kenton. But it’s hardly going to matter if word of this gets out. All of Leadville will take this as final proof that Briggs Garrett is alive and killing again, just like he did in the war.”
“Word, I’m afraid, will get out,” Kenton said.
Kelly faced him with a frown. “Is that some sort of threat?”
“No—just an observation. Take a look.” Kenton pointed toward a clump of brush behind which a group of boys hid, watching the entire scene from only a dozen yards away.
“Hey, you boys!” Kelly shouted. “Come out of there!”
Come out they did, but they did not linger. They turned on their heels and scampered away.
Kelly swore and stomped his feet. “Now,” he said, “all hell really will break loose.”
The woman was one of those fortunate few who had not lost beauty along with youth. She sat in a small room, her eyes fixed on a face in a portrait hanging on the wall before her. Her lips were tightly shut, the pressure whitening the skin immediately around them. A soft knock on the door of the little room caused her to look away from the portrait a moment, but her eyes returned to it as she said, “Come in.”
Gableman entered. “I did as you asked, Mrs. Chrisman. Mr. Kenton accepted your invitation very readily.”
“Good,” she said. “Thank you, Gableman. I’m eager to hear whatever he has to say.”
“There were some events that happened while I was with Mr. Kenton that you need to know of. I took a liberty I hope you will find acceptable.” Gableman succinctly described what had happened between Mark Straker and Kenton, and his tentative offer of lodging for the journalists.
“You presumed correctly, Gableman,” Ella Chrisman said. “It would be useful indeed to have Mr. Kenton and his associate under this roof. Tell me—did Kenton deny the things this Straker man said about Squire Deverell?”
“Not directly. He said only that any accusations he made would be in print. Of course, I didn’t question him myself.”
“Of course. Perhaps I’ll be able to clarify the matter with him personally. Where is he now?”
“He and his partner were called aside by a man while we were coming here. I don’t know what the business was, but it seemed urgent, and the two of them left with him.”
“I see. I’ll have to be patient, then. And patient I can afford to be, as long as I’ve waited.” She stared more deeply at the portrait. “I can feel it, Gableman—a great sense of anticipation. Answers are coming that I’ve wanted so many years now. At last I’m going to know the truth.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gableman watched her a moment as she stared at the portrait on the wall. When he saw a tear roll down her cheek, he looked away.
“I’ll leave you alone now, Mrs. Chrisman.”
“I’m not alone,” she said. “I’m never alone when I’m with my Jerome.”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course.” Gableman turned and left the room.