Phil Sherman shouldered his way past Amos Cranford the moment the judge opened the door of his neat, white-painted house. Cranford closed the door and walked down the passage, entering the room he used as his office. He ignored Sherman while he closed the door, crossed the room and seated himself behind his desk. Leaning back in his large leather armchair Cranford surveyed the panting, sweating sheriff calmly.
‘Something wrong, Phil?’
‘You better believe it, Amos,’ Sherman almost yelled. He pulled a crumpled sheet of buff paper from his hip pocket and waved it under Cranford’s nose. ‘I said things had gone too far. This time we went and hung ourselves!’
‘Calm down, Phil, before you wet your goddam pants. Just tell me what it is that’s got you excited.’
‘I told you I was worried about that Angel feller. More I thought about him the worse it got. So I did some checking, Amos. Sent a couple of wires to people I know.’ He shook the paper he was holding. ‘I got this back from a feller I know works in the federal building in the capitol. He owed me a favor and by God he’s paid me in spades! Frank Angel, the man you sent out to Trench’s camp, the man you figure to have killed—he ain’t no drifting hard case, Amos! He’s a special investigator for the Justice Department. Works out of Washington for the goddam Attorney General! Jesus Christ, Amos, we’re way out of our depth this time!’
Cranford remained silent while he absorbed Sherman’s news. He glanced across the desk, smiling inwardly as he studied Sherman’s wet, flushed face. The man was coming apart, he thought. Sherman was close to absolute panic. Cranford realized that his earlier decision to get rid of Sherman had been the right one. The matter was even more urgent now. Sherman could split the whole damn affair wide open if he was left to his own devices. Scared the way he was Sherman might simply walk out and start talking to the first person willing to listen. Critical as the situation might appear, Cranford still considered it possible to come out on the winning side. But not with Sherman around.
‘Well?’ Sherman demanded. ‘You just going to sit there and play games?’
‘Just thinking ahead, Phil.’ Cranford smiled. He stood up. ‘Look, Phil, let’s just take things easy. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.’
‘Is that supposed to make everything all right? Because you figure we ain’t got problems?’ Sherman laughed harshly. ‘Let me give you the news, Judge. We’ve got more trouble than you ever saw. This time it ain’t some saddle tramp we framed and tossed in jail. This time it isn’t going to be so easy to forget. Christ, Amos, this is the government we’re playing with. Angel’s a federal agent!’ Sherman’s voice began to rise. ‘Anything happens to him this town’s going to be crawling with Justice Department people. I seen those boys at work once before an’ they don’t ever let go once they got you tabbed!’
‘Give me a chance to think this out, Phil,’ Cranford suggested. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll work on something. You go back to your office. Just carry on like it was a normal day. Later tonight come back. Take the back way. Fewer people know what we’re doing the better.’
‘We’ll have to be smart to get out of this, Amos,’ Sherman said, slightly calmer now that Cranford seemed to be taking control of the situation.
‘Leave it to me, Phil. I won’t let you down. We’re not finished yet.’ Cranford came around the desk. He put an arm across Sherman’s shoulders as he guided the sheriff out of the room, towards the front door. ‘You leave this to me. I’ll see us through.’
Cranford closed the door after Sherman had gone and leaned against the frame, his face set, eyes cold, his thin lips drawn in a bloodless line. Damn the man! Sherman was a stupid animal! Ready to cut and run at the first sign of trouble. It always boiled down to the same thing. You could never trust people. Get involved and you had to depend on the strength of those around you. All it took was one weak link in the chain and everything was suddenly threatened. Cranford made his way back to his office. He sat down behind his desk, staring at the blank wall on the far side of the room.
First, see to it that Sherman was silenced. That was a matter to which Cranford would attend personally. After that it would be Angel’s turn. And then … ? Cranford didn’t plan any further ahead. He considered it better to take one step at a time. Once he had Sherman and Angel out of the picture he could sit back and decide on his next move. One thing he did know. Eventually he would leave this place. He’d come to hate Liberty. It was a dirty little town in the middle of nowhere and he’d had his fill. It had served his purpose over the last few years. His set-up, in partnership with Sherman, had brought in a steady flow of money. Nothing spectacular but it had built up slowly. The unexpected bonus of seventy-five thousand dollars from the man called Harry Culp had been like a gift from the gods. With that kind of money Amos Cranford could go far. And he intended doing so.
Throughout the rest of the day Cranford followed his usual routine. He took his midday walk to town and ate lunch. Later he visited a number of Liberty’s businessmen, discussing various legal matters. Halfway through the afternoon he stopped off at the barbershop and had a trim and a shave. He only saw Phil Sherman once during the day. The sheriff was crossing the street as Cranford came out of a store. Sherman almost gave himself away but managed to control his jangled nerves and mutter a quick response to Cranford’s hearty greeting.
It was a couple of minutes off five o’clock when a dust-lathered rider reined in before the judge’s house. Cranford had returned only a while before. He spotted the rider through the parlor window and went quickly to open the front door. He had already recognized the rider as one of the guards from Trench’s camp.
‘What’s wrong?’ Cranford asked.
‘We got trouble out at the camp,’ the rider told him. ‘On the way to the construction camp this morning three prisoners made a break.’
A sense of unease washed over Cranford. Even as he asked the next question he was certain of the answer.
‘Who were they?’
‘Feller called Birdy. Hard case named Capucci. And the new one who came in yesterday. Angel!’
Cranford almost chuckled out loud. Of all the men at the camp Angel had to be the one to escape. You had to hand it to the man, Cranford thought. He was no fool.
‘How’s Trench handling it?’
‘He’s got the camp locked up tight. Every man he can spare is out looking for those three.’ The rider grinned through the dusty mask caking his face. ‘Hell, Trench is even out himself! I reckon we’ll get ’em ’fore they get far, Judge. They’re on foot and they don’t have a gun between the three of ’em!’
Cranford considered the facts and came to the conclusion that the lack of facilities weren’t going to deter Angel. The man would improvise every step of the way and if the opportunity arose he would furnish himself with whatever he needed to complete his task.
Whether on foot or horseback, armed with a gun or his bare hands, the man named Angel would also stick rigidly to his predetermined line of travel, which would bring him ultimately to Liberty.
To that end, Cranford decided, he would have to prepare himself. One way or another, in the not too distant future, Liberty was going to have a rude awakening.