CHAPTER 7
The sound of horses banging against their stalls woke Dalton, the smell of coal oil filling his nostrils. Even before he could get his boots on and find a bucket for bailing water, several neighbors had arrived and were beating at the flames with brooms and blankets. Ben, ignoring the pain in his rib cage, joined Keene in pumping water and splashing it against the large front doors of the building.
In short order it was over as only smoke lingered, floating lazily into the darkness and disappearing. The only damage had been to the entranceway.
While Duke thanked those who had rushed to help, Dalton busied himself calming the animals.
He returned to the front and found Keene sitting on a hay bale, dressed only in his long johns, his face buried in his hands. He looked up as Ben sat next to him and smiled. “First time my neighbors ever seen me without my britches on,” he said. “Downright embarrassing.”
“You okay?” Dalton asked, draping an arm across Duke’s slumped shoulders.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Been needing new doors anyway.”
By first light, Dalton was already dressed and had saddled Dolly. With tweezers he normally used for removing splinters from the legs of the horses, Duke plucked the stitches from Ben’s nose and cheek. The bruises, once dark purple, were turning to the shade of river water.
“Danged if you ain’t gonna be half handsome before this is over,” Keene said.
Dalton was seated on a bench in front of the sheriff’s office when Otto Langston arrived, wearing a freshly ironed shirt and his trademark bow tie. He bent to smooth a pants leg and wipe dust from his boots before acknowledging his visitor’s presence.
“Still here, I see,” he said.
“Could have used your help last night,” Dalton said as he stood, allowing Langston a good view of his badge.
“For what?”
“Somebody attempted to burn down Duke Keene’s livery.”
The sheriff’s eyes were focused on the gold star on Dalton’s belt as he replied. “Nobody hurt, I hope.”
“Nope, I’m here. Fit as a fiddle.”
“And that’s supposed to mean what?”
“My guess is that their purpose was directed at me, to get my attention, just like the other night in back of the laundry. Doesn’t seem I’m welcome here.”
“Last time we spoke,” Langston said with a thin smile, “you failed to mention that you’re law. Got any suspects for these events you’re describing?”
“Can’t say I know who did it, but I’ve got a strong suspicion there’s someone who does.”
Langston ignored the not-so-subtle suggestion and walked past Dalton toward the door to his office.
“Lawman to lawman,” Ben said as he moved to block the sheriff’s way, “I was hoping you might share with me what kind of evidence you have that John Rawlings did the murder he’s accused of.”
“All I need,” Langston shot back. “Plenty. But nothing I’m of a mind to share.”
“You got an eyewitness? Was there a gun left behind? Somebody’s footprints? Maybe Rawlings broke down and confessed. That why he hasn’t even gotten himself a lawyer?”
The first signs of anger showed on the sheriff’s face. “I’ll ask the same thing I did the other day: What’s your interest in a matter you’ve got no call to involve yourself with?”
It was Dalton’s turn to smile. “Just interested in what’s happening to an old friend. Any chance I can come in and say hello to him?”
Langston’s attempt at a calm demeanor vanished. “You already did, against my instruction that he was to have no visitors. You need to know that your little stunt forced me to fire a fine young jailer. Now, why don’t you move along before I think of something to arrest you for?”
Dalton tipped his hat and stepped off the porch. As he climbed into the saddle, the sheriff glared at him.
“One favor you can do for me,” Dalton said. “Tell your friends the next time they think about sneaking up at night to burn down the livery, they might consider the risk of getting themselves shot.”
“According to the law book I read from,” the sheriff said, “that’s an outright threat to commit bodily harm.”
“Defending one’s property’s not a violation of the law where I come from.”
“And I again suggest that’s where you should be heading,” Langston said as he entered his office, slamming the door behind him. Inside, he cursed and threw his hat against the wall.
It was not difficult to learn the name of the fired jailer. At a small food stand just down the street from the sheriff’s office, Dalton struck up a conversation with the elderly lady who stood behind the sweet-smelling strips of sizzling beef. He ordered breakfast and as she prepared it he explained that he was looking for the young man who used to work nearby. Recalling how he looked during their brief meeting days earlier, he attempted to describe him. She began to nod even before he’d finished.
“A nice young man,” she said. “He ate here all the time. But I haven’t seen him in the past few days.”
“I’m told he was dismissed from his job,” Ben said.
“Oh, poor Lanny . . .”
“You know Lanny’s last name?”
“I think,” she said, “it was Bailey . . . no, Butler. Lanny Butler. Such a nice boy. He lived on a farm with his mama and daddy.”
Dalton found him, not back on the family farm, but drowning his sorrows in the first Hell’s Half Acre saloon he visited.
The young man was not pleased to see the stranger who had caused him to be unemployed. “I’d appreciate your leaving me be,” he said. “You’ve done enough to foul up my life. I can’t even go home and face my pa, tell him I lost my job for taking a dollar bribe so somebody I didn’t even know could visit a murderer.”
“I offered, you accepted,” Dalton said as he took a seat next to the boy. “If you can get yourself sober and presentable, I’ve got a paying job that might interest you.”
Lanny Butler sat up straight and ran a hand through his hair. He wiped his mouth on a sleeve and cleared his throat. “I ain’t really that drunk,” he said. “Can’t afford it. Sheriff didn’t even give me my last wages. What’s the job?”
Dalton explained that the owner of the livery needed someone to fetch new lumber and replace his doorway.
“I reckon I could do that,” Butler said.
“And,” Dalton said, “it’ll give us a chance to talk.”
Lanny Butler proved to be a good carpenter. In short order he had replaced Keene’s doors and, without prodding, set about tidying up the livery. Oat buckets were refilled, fresh hay was spread in the stalls, and the watering trough was wiped clean and refilled. Saddles and halters were lined up in a neat row and he had built a small fire in the forge to make fresh coffee.
“Looks to me your sign outside needs repainting,” he told Duke. “I’d be glad to do it.”
Dalton watched as Lanny climbed a ladder, paint bucket in hand. “Seeing as how I still can’t pull my weight around here,” he told Duke, “maybe I could hire the boy to help out for a spell. He seems to be hardworking and a pleasant sort.”
“You’re just feeling guilty for causing him to lose his jailing job.”
“Not really,” Ben said. “Truth is, I figure I might have done him a favor.”
As soon as the Keene’s Livery sign was repainted, Dalton offered Lanny the job. “You’ll serve as the owner’s assistant,” he said. “Your new boss will instruct you about what needs doing. And he says you can bed down in one of the stalls if you’re still not inclined to return to the farm and sleep in your own bed. Your pay will be fifty cents a day.”
The youngster smiled and quickly accepted. “Didn’t much care for working at the jail anyway,” he said.
“Let’s talk about that for a minute,” Dalton said.
They walked outside and sat on a bench to enjoy the sun. The warmth felt good on Ben’s aching ribs. “Can’t even tell there was a fire,” he said as he admired the new entrance doors.
“You’re wanting to know about your friend,” Lanny said.
Dalton nodded. “He being treated okay?”
Lanny dug his boot into the dirt before answering. “Mostly, he’s just left alone,” he said. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “I seen the sheriff hit him upside the head with the butt of his pistol once. That was soon after he was brought in. Sheriff Langston was yelling and cussing at him. About what, I don’t know. Likely trying to make him admit what he was supposed to have done.”
“You ever have any conversation with Rawlings?”
“Only when I took him his dinner. He would always ask me to contact his wife and tell her he was innocent. Same thing every time I saw him. Kinda got me to believing him. That’s why I let you go back and see him that evening, that and the dollar you gave me. To me, Mr. Rawlings just didn’t look like a man who would do a killing.”
“To me either,” Dalton said.
While LANNY went back inside the livery to see if Duke had any more chores for him, Dalton remained seated on the bench, closing his eyes as he lifted his face to the warm, cloudless sky. Soon he was dozing.
When he heard a woman’s voice, he thought for a moment he was dreaming. Until he opened his eyes.
“That looks painful,” Mandy Rawlings said as she reached out and gently touched his face. A brightly colored sunbonnet framed her face.
“How’d you know I was . . .”
“I didn’t,” she said. “I got so tired of being cooped up that I asked my neighbor to sit with Alton for a bit while I took a walk to the library.”
“I see some things don’t change.”
“What do you mean?”
“I recall a time when you visited the library like it was your second home.”
She smiled, silently pleased that he remembered. “Anyway, I was just passing by, and there you sat. I wasn’t even sure you were still in town.”
“I’ve been meaning to pay you another visit,” he said. “I just . . .”
Her expression turned solemn and she leaned closer. “Ben, I’ve recently learned some things that I’d like to discuss with you. But not here. Is there a chance you could come around this evening? Alton would be delighted to see you again, and I’ll gladly cook you supper.”
Ben stood and nodded. “As long as it’s not rabbit chili and corn bread,” he said. “That’s about all I’ve been eating since I got here.”
For the first time since their younger days, he heard her laugh as she turned to leave.
As he watched her walk away, he was unaware of Duke standing in the doorway until he heard his familiar chuckle. “A mighty fine-looking woman, if you don’t mind my saying. I wasn’t aware of you having made yourself a lady friend.”
Dalton ignored the observation. “Reckon you could give me a haircut?”
“Going courting, are you?”
“She’s just a friend, old man. In fact, she’s the wife of John Rawlings.”
“Still, sounds like courting to me,” Duke said. “I can give you a haircut, but I got nothing sweet-smelling for you to splash on that beat-up face.” His chuckle erupted to full-blown laughter as he walked inside to check on his new assistant.
Mandy urged him to have a second helping of her baked chicken and sweet potatoes before leaving the table to put Alton to bed. To the youngster’s delight, Ben had arrived with the same hard candy he’d purchased earlier for the little girl at the laundry. Obviously pleased to have a man in the house, the child had pleaded with Dalton to play games and read to him as he climbed into his lap.
“He seems quite taken with you,” his mother said as she returned to the dining room. “Even included you in his bedtime prayers. Something about making your face get well.”
“Must be hard on him, with his daddy away.”
Mandy only nodded as she began clearing dishes from the table. “I’ve got pie if you’re so inclined.”
She waited until they had moved to the living room before explaining her invitation. “A couple of days ago, Shelby Profer showed up at my door. I hadn’t seen him in ages. He told me that you had visited him, asking about John. Apparently, he was pretty guarded in his response, which is his nature.
“But he told me your concern had made an impression on him, got him to thinking. Shelby’s a lovable old coot who likes to give everyone the impression that he’s something of a past-his-prime hermit. The fact is, he still gets around and is on a first-name basis with everyone of importance in town.
“He’s been discreetly asking questions about Thomas Cookson’s murder and has heard things that he thinks you should know. He asked that I pass them along rather than him speaking with you directly and getting more involved than he’s comfortable with.”
“Let me guess,” Ben said. “Your sheriff’s doing some things that a righteous lawman shouldn’t.”
She seemed surprised that he already knew part of what she was going to tell him. “There’s more to it. What Shelby has been hearing is that Sheriff Langston’s not the only one. A rancher named Ray Abernathy—people call him the Colonel—is apparently involved in all kinds of illegal dealings and has the sheriff on his payroll.”
“But what does any of it have to do with John’s situation?” Dalton said, hoping he was able to hide his sudden concern that Mandy might be aware of things that could threaten her well-being.
“Some of Shelby’s lawyer friends have told him that the banker had become suspicious of some of the transactions the Colonel was making and got worried that he might be breaking the law himself. Apparently, he went looking for a lawyer to discuss the matter with.”
“And wound up talking to your husband,” Ben said.
“It looks that way. Shelby says he’s never seen people so nervous about speaking with him about this matter.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“He said I should tell you to be very careful, that these are dangerous people,” she said. “Ben, I’m worried that I’ve gotten you into something I shouldn’t have. I would think no less of you if you left this very evening and headed back to Aberdene. I’ll find another way.”
He was shaking his head before she completed her sentence. “We can’t just leave your husband to rot away in jail. I’ll be careful. Pass that along to Mr. Profer. Thank him kindly for the information and tell him I think it would be best if he doesn’t involve himself further. You either.
“Just stay at home and tend to that boy. And tell him I’ll be back to see him soon—and when I do my face will be all well, thanks to his prayers.”
She walked with him to the door and her last words were almost whispered. “Since seeing you the other day, I’ve been wondering . . . are you happy?”
He thought for a moment before answering. “I get by,” he finally said. Honesty, he decided, was sometimes too painful.
As he walked into the quiet, cool evening, puzzled by her question, he didn’t notice the figure standing in the shadows across the street, watching him.