He woke to throbbing pain, his body reacting to the savage beating. He lay on the hard, cold floor of the shadowed cell, staring through the iron bars. At the far end of a short passage he could see lamplight showing beneath a closed door. At last Angel sat up, groaning against the brutal swell of pain. There was a dull ache over his ribs and the left side of his face felt swollen and pulpy. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom Angel found he could make out the shape of a low cot. He struggled to his feet and staggered across the cell. He lowered himself on to the cot, pulling the thin blanket around his body. He lay there and waited for something to happen. There was little else he could do. He’d taken a sound beating and it was going to be a few hours before he was recovered enough to handle any coming situation.
One way and another he seemed to have upset a few people in Liberty. He was curious to see what they might do next. Whoever they were. He was pretty certain that Liberty’s law was involved. The why of it would explain itself in time.
Angel reached beneath the blanket, fingers searching the tops of his boots. A thin smile touched his bruised lips. At least they hadn’t found his pair of knives. The slim, deadly Solingen steel blades, concealed in sheaths that had been incorporated in the linings of his boots, had pulled him out of trouble on more than one occasion. And there was always the thin wire garrotte secreted in a shallow groove in his leather belt. They were the tools of Angel’s trade. If the need to use them ever arose he wouldn’t hesitate. It was a lesson Angel had learned early: in a life or death situation there was no room for hesitation.
He slept lightly through the long night, waiting and watching, but no one came until the morning. Angel had seen the darkness evaporate, graying as pale fingers of sunlight trickled in through the barred window of the cell, edging slowly across the stone floor. In the cold, lonely pre-dawn hours Angel had slipped off the cot, moving silently back and forth across the floor, flexing and testing the bruised, stiffened sinews of his body. His muscles ached and it felt as if each joint was about to lock solid. But for fifteen long minutes he endured the discomfort, knowing that the difference between life or death could easily hang on how swiftly he could respond in a threatening situation.
Angel was back on the cot, motionless, when the door at the end of the passage crashed open, and the two deputies—Duggan and Koch—swaggered towards the cell. They peered in at Angel’s still figure for a minute. Koch produced a key which he placed in the lock of the door. He released the door and swung it open. By this time Duggan had his gun in his hand. He stepped inside the cell.
‘Seems a shame to wake him,’ Koch said. ‘He looks kind of cozy.’
Duggan apparently didn’t share his partner’s humor. He stepped to the end of the cot, caught hold of the end and tipped it sideways, spilling Angel to the floor.
‘Cozy ain’t what this son of a bitch is about to get,’ Duggan snapped. ‘If I had my way I’d stomp the bastard right through the cracks in this floor!’
Shrugging off the blanket Angel climbed to his feet. He stood waiting for Duggan’s next move. The deputy’s face reflected his inner hostility towards his prisoner, and Angel knew enough not to do any provoking.
‘Forget it,’ Koch said. ‘The judge’s waiting, and you know he don’t like being delayed.’
Duggan growled something under his breath. He jerked his gun in Angel’s direction.
‘Out!’ he said. ‘And make it fast!’
They took Angel along the passage to the office. The sheriff was there and so was the man they called the judge. The judge was fiddling with some legal-looking papers. He glanced up as Angel was shoved through the door. Angel took one look at the judge’s hard, lined face, the flinty eyes, and decided there and then that he didn’t like the man.
‘This the prisoner?’ The judge’s voice was as cold as the expression on his face. Sheriff Sherman nodded and the judge asked: ‘He said anything?’
‘No, your Honor,’ Sherman replied. ‘The prisoner has declined to give any kind of statement.’
‘I don’t like uncooperative prisoners,’ remarked the judge. ‘Seems to be a sign of non repentance.’
‘Seems to me a man might be willing to repent if he knew what he’d done in the first place,’ Angel observed.
The judge glanced up at the prisoner. His brow furrowed as he studied the face of the young man standing before him.
‘I could almost believe you didn’t know what it is you’ve done. You’ll be telling the court you’ve lost your memory next.’
‘Way the law treats a body in this town that’s quite likely to happen,’ Angel said.
Sherman smiled. ‘Wish I had a dollar for every prisoner who’s come in here with that old tale.’
‘You figure I got these bruises playing the piano?’ Angel turned to face the judge. ‘Humor me, Judge. And tell me what I did.’
‘First you savagely attacked two of this town’s duly appointed law officers. You then made a nuisance of yourself over at the saloon known as Jinty’s Palace, terrifying one of the employees before causing damage to the premises themselves.’
‘I do all that?’ Angel asked.
‘Why did you come to Liberty?’ The judge leaned forward to ensure he heard Angel’s reply.
‘Just looking for a friend. I heard he was here.’
The judge stroked his cheek.
‘This friend—what’s your business with him?’
‘That’s my affair, Judge.’
The judge slammed his hand down on the desktop.
‘Smart-mouth me, my boy, and I won’t let you forget it in a hurry! Now who is this so-called friend you say you came looking for?’
‘I figure you already know that. And I don’t think I’d be far wrong guessing it’s why you’re taking such an interest in me. Am I right or am I wrong, Judge?’
‘I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about,’ the judge snapped. He shuffled the papers on the desk before him. ‘Sheriff, there isn’t a name on these documents. Who is this man?’
Sherman’s face reddened visibly. ‘I ... er sorry, your Honor! You, what’s your name?’
‘Angel—Frank Angel!’
The judge hastily filled in the empty spaces.
‘The prisoner is guilty on all charges. Sentence is six months’ hard labor. Deputies, take him away!’
Sherman could hardly wait to round on the judge. He contained himself until Angel had been removed from the office.
‘Jesus Christ, Amos, this is getting crazy! Why in hell pull such a fool stunt with him? Damn it, Amos, he’ll ask his questions at the camp!’
Judge Amos Cranford drew a black leather case from the inside of his coat. With careful deliberation he slid out a fine Havana cigar, which he had imported from Cuba, cut it and lit it. He gazed at Phil Sherman through a cloud of blue smoke and let a smile curl up the corners of his mouth.
‘Of course this man, Angel, will ask his questions. It won’t get him anywhere. When Duggan and Koch take him up to the camp they can have a word with Trench. He can pass the word to the prisoners that no one must talk to this man. You know how Trench runs the camp. Angel won’t get so much as a hello.’
‘I’m not so sure this is wise, Amos. Working the set-up on Culp was all right until we come across that money in his saddlebags. Hell, there’s a difference between screwing money out of the county for prisoners’ upkeep and pocketing it and downright murder for seventy-five thousand dollars.’
‘Phil, only you and I know about that money. Harry Culp is dead, so he won’t be doing any talking. Your two deputies, Trench and his boys, they’re involved in our other little scheme, so I don’t figure any of them to go shouting their mouths off. I dare say that Trench will be willing to undertake staging another accident for us.’
Sherman’s eyes widened with the alarm festered by Cranford’s casual remark.
‘You going to have Angel killed too?’
‘The neatest way out, Phil.’
‘Sure. Will we do the same with the next one who comes looking for Culp? And the next? How many do we have to get rid of?’
‘Don’t exaggerate the problem, Phil.’ Cranford stood up and crossed over to stare out of the window. ‘This man—Angel—is obviously a partner of the late Harry Culp. When Culp offered me a share of that seventy-five thousand to let him go, he hinted that it was money from some unlawful venture he’d been involved in. He was a fool! He was so ready to make a deal to get out of the camp and away from Trench that he forgot I already had the money and that he wasn’t in any position to make bargains!’
‘Yeah,’ Sherman snapped. ‘So Culp’s dead and you aim to kill this Angel. Does that guarantee we’ll be safe?’
‘Got to take risks, Phil. Life’ll pass you by if you don’t have the nerve to grab the opportunity when it shows itself. God, Phil, it’s a lot of money. More than the chicken-feed we’ve been making up to now!’
‘You never complained before.’
Cranford smiled. ‘True. But a man gets to a point where he wants to grow. He pushes his horizon further out and he needs to expand. Maybe you hadn’t noticed, Phil, but there’s a hell of a big world outside of Liberty.’
A scowl darkened Sherman’s face. ‘All I know, Amos, is that even half of seventy-five thousand dollars isn’t going to buy it for you!’
Cranford didn’t reply to that. He gazed out of the window, an odd little smile flickering across his face. A half of seventy-five thousand dollars might not get me all I want, but the whole damn bundle sure will! The thought pleased him greatly, and he turned towards Sherman, beaming expansively. Don’t worry, Phil, he thought again, you won’t have to fret over the matter for much longer. That’s one thing about being dead—all your worries die with you!