Lance leaped to his feet but he was too late to do anything about it. He caught the complete picture in a single glance: Chiricahua Herrick’s rage-contorted, snarling features as the man came plunging in, his six-shooter high in the air, already swinging down to bear on Lance!
Lance knew he’d be too late even as he started to lift his own gun. Then he saw Oscar’s lanky, scarecrow figure flash in between him and Herrick. Oscar’s left hand swept up to clutch Herrick’s right wrist. Herrick’s gun exploded harmlessly in midair. There came a swift glint of gun metal as Oscar’s six-shooter barrel crashed down on Herrick’s head. Herrick’s legs slumped, and he pitched on his face.
Sheriff Lockwood’s stern words cut in, “Back, everybody! Ordway! Keep your hand away from that gun!”
“Ain’t figured to draw it a-tall,” Ordway replied sullenly.
Others of the Herrick crew were near now, but none of them made movements toward weapons. A crowd was gathering swiftly.
Oscar had shoved his gun back in holster and stood looking down at Herrick, one fist doubled menacingly. “Get up, you low-lifed varmint,” Oscar was promising, “and I’ll give you some more!” Herrick didn’t stir. Oscar looked disappointed. “Hell! You ain’t as tough as I reckoned you were.”
A man in the crowd commented laughingly, “That deputy can sure coldcock ’em. I’ll betcha Herrick’s lamp is put out for an hour.”
Oscar came ambling toward Lance. Lance said, “Much obliged, Oscar. You sure moved fast. That was nice work. Herrick would have got me.”
“You did some pretty nice work yourself—dropping Kilby,” Oscar replied calmly. “You were sure shellin’ out lead faster ’n I ever see before. Is he dead?”
Lance shook his head. “Just fainted from the shock of the slugs. I reckoned to get him in the leg and shoulder.” He added meaningly, “I didn’t want him dead, you know.”
He again dropped at Kilby’s side. Kilby had a wound in his right thigh, and his right shoulder had been smashed. His eyes were closed. “Oscar, get me some whisky, will you?” Lance requested.
Oscar left the circle of men around Kilby. Lance asked the crowd to get back and give the man air. The crowd backed reluctantly. Lockwood took a hand in the proceedings. “Go on, get back!” Lockwood snapped. “ ’Way back! Show some speed before I throw half a dozen of you hombres in the cooler on a charge of defying an officer. Go on, scatter!” The crowd commenced to move back. Lockwood added, “And take Herrick’s carcass with you. Lay him over there near the sidewalk.”
The crowd moved well back out of earshot, a couple of men taking Herrick with them. Now only Lance and the sheriff stood near the unconscious Kilby. Lance said, “Much obliged, Ethan. When Kilby comes to maybe we can make him talk. I’d just as soon too many folks don’t hear what he has to say.”
Oscar came hurrying back with a flask of whisky. Lance knelt again at Kilby’s side and forced a few drops of the fiery liquor between the man’s lips. Kilby swallowed convulsively. Then he choked, gagged. His eyes opened. For a moment he gazed vacantly at Lance, then a look of mingled fear and pain swept his features. “You—you——” he mumbled, and shrank back. A mask of sheer terror replaced his look of fear.
Lance said quietly, “I reckon I didn’t get to make that arrest, after all, Kilby, but it was your own fault. I was willing to give you a chance and a fair trial. You see, your pals didn’t come to your rescue. They left you to go it alone. You don’t owe them anything. How about ’fessing up? We’ve got the evidence we need to prove you killed Bowman but we want the whole story. Who helped you?—Herrick, Ordway, some of that crew?”
Kilby shook his head. “Didn’t have nothin’ to do with it——”
“Don’t lie, Kilby. We want the truth.”
Kilby said weakly, “You’re right. I killed Bowman. We took his body out—to that wash. It was—too dark for us—to notice that peyote he had——Gimme another drink, eh?”
Lance held the flask to the man’s lips. Kilby swallowed deeply. When he had done his voice came strong. “Hey, how about getting me to a doctor?”
“We’ll take you to a doctor when you’ve finished talking.”
“But—but I might bleed to death.”
“You’re not hit that bad,” Lance said grimly, “but it’s up to you. The sooner you decide to talk the sooner you’ll get medical aid. And we want the truth. No stalling. Why did you kill Bowman?”
“We had him figured for a dick,” Kilby answered, apparently anxious now to give Lance the desired information. “He was always asking questions about the freight shipments that came to—that came in——”
“Came in to who?” Lance asked quickly. “What were the freight shipments?”
“Peyotes—mezcal buttons—for the Yaquentes. That night I killed Bowman he kept hangin’ around the box at the depot. Later we caught him opening it. I had to stop him. Then we——”
“Who’s we?”
Kilby’s eyes shifted uneasily. “I don’t dare tell——”
“Yes, you do. We’ll see you get protection. Talk up, Kilby. It’s for your own good. What sort of game have you been playing here? I want the name of every man that’s behind you.”
“All right, I’ll give you the whole damn story,” Kilby said suddenly. “They haven’t helped me none, so——” He stopped abruptly.
Lance saw the sudden hole appear in Kilby’s breast even before he heard the report of the gun. A cry of anguish was torn from Kilby’s lips. Blood seeped swiftly into his shirt front. His eyes closed, then opened again, already growing glassy.
“Like hell you’ll protect me,” he muttered. His eyes closed again, and his head fell to one side.
Lance was already on his feet, looking right and left. A startled row of onlookers were ranged along the sidewalk on either side. A confused clamor filled the air.
“Where ’d that shot come from?” Sheriff Lock-wood bellowed.
“That’s what I want to know,” Lance snapped.
“Sounded like it come from over that-a-way,” Oscar stated, jerking one hand toward the hotel.
Lance glanced at the hotel building. A line of men were ranged along the porch, looking above the heads of the men crowded on the sidewalk. High up above the top of the building Lance glimpsed a vagrant wisp of smoke. Powder smoke? He couldn’t be sure. Even while he looked it disappeared in thin air. The smoke may have come from farther down the street. Lance studied the second-story windows in the front of the hotel. There were five of them. All windows were lowered to keep out the heat of the day.
“Ethan”—Lance spoke swiftly—“I’m going over to that hotel. You see can you bring Kilby back to consciousness, though I’m afraid it’s too late. Oscar, you question that crowd standing in front of the hotel.”
Turning swiftly, Lance ran across the street. On the porch of the hotel he found the hotel clerk. “C’mon, you,” Lance snapped, “get your house keys. I want to examine those front rooms upstairs.”
“You certainly won’t,” the clerk stated indignantly. “Some of those rooms are occupied. I can’t——”
“I figure one of ’em must have been,” Lance cut in. “I’m going to have a look at all of ’em.”
“I can’t have strangers entering guests’ rooms——”
“Damn it, march!” Lance growled, impatient at the time being wasted in meaningless bickering with the stubborn clerk. He tapped the deputy sheriff badge on his chest. “Maybe you’d like to face a charge of obstructing justice, mister. Either you do as I say or I’m putting you under arrest——Oh hell!” He seized the angry clerk by the coat collar and forced him into the hotel lobby. “Now you get your keys. You and me are going upstairs, and I don’t want to lose any more time.”
The clerk was quite pale by this time. He secured the necessary keys from behind his desk and led the way to the second-floor hall. “Who’s occupying these front rooms?” Lance asked.
“Miss Gregory has the corner room—number 201,” the clerk replied. “Professor Jones is in 202, Mr Fletcher has 203——”
“I have 204,” Lance cut in.
“And 205 is vacant,” the clerk finished. “There are only five rooms facing on Main Street——”
“I guessed that from the number of windows. Get a move on, will you? Is the professor or Miss Gregory or Fletcher in this morning?”
“Miss Gregory and the professor are out in the hills. They left word, in case you called, they’d be back by dinnertime. Mr Fletcher is in, I believe. At least, I didn’t see him go out, though he may have by this time——”
“Open up Fletcher’s room.”
The clerk halted before number 203, thrust a key into the door and turned the knob. “Mr Fletcher,” he called. There was no answer. He flung the door wider, and Lance stepped inside. The room was empty, furnished about as his own room was with a bed, dresser, two chairs and a small washstand. There were curtains at the window which was shut tightly.
Lance stepped back to the corridor. “Try 205 next.”
The vacant room also was empty and didn’t appear to have been occupied for some time. Dust was heavy on the dresser and washstand. Lance led the way back to the hall. “Now, my room.”
The clerk thrust the key into the lock, then paused. “Why, this door is unlocked.”
“It could be,” Lance agreed. “I might have left it unlocked.”
Nothing in that room to furnish a clue to the mysterious shot either. Lance and the clerk next entered Professor Jones’s room. Here the table was littered with books and papers. A trunk stood in one corner, but there was no sign of a human having been in the room within the last ten minutes at least.
Once more in the hall, the clerk said, “That leaves only Miss Gregory’s room. Surely you don’t intend to enter——”
“Open it up,” Lance said grimly. He could feel his face growing warm. A trunk stood in one corner of the girl’s room, as in the room occupied by Jones. Articles of apparel hung on a clothes rack. There were some ribbons on the dresser. The room seemed faintly scented. But no clue here. Lance backed out as swiftly as he could, the clerk right after him. The door was re-locked.
“Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” the clerk said righteously. “The idea! Entering a young lady’s room——”
“You make another crack like that,” Lance threatened, red faced, “and I’ll mop up the floor with you.” He left Katherine’s door and swung at right angles into another corridor. At the end of the corridor he saw a stair well. “Where does that lead to?” he demanded.
“That’s a back entrance from the alley at the rear of the building.”
“Door unlocked?”
“It’s left unlocked during the day.”
Lance hurried down the steps and opened the door on the alley. He scrutinized the earth in the vicinity of the door, but too many people had passed there to leave any definite sign. Slowly he retraced his steps up the stairway, his keen eyes looking for some evidence of the killer’s having come this way, but again the search was without result.
“Is that all?” the clerk asked when Lance had rejoined him.
“I reckon that’s all,” Lance said disappointedly. He followed the clerk along the corridor and descended the stairs to the lobby once more. As they stepped into the lobby Lance saw Malcolm Fletcher just entering. Malcolm nodded and started to pass.
Lance caught his arm. “Where you been?” he asked.
“Out on the street,” Malcolm said in surprised tones. He smiled. “I guess the rest of the town is out there too. Nice bit of shooting you did awhile back, Tolliver.”
“Somebody else did some shooting, too,” Lance said grimly. “That’s the hombre I’m looking for.”
“Mr Fletcher,” the clerk put in, “this fellow insisted on entering your room. I told him——”
“What’s the idea?” Fletcher demanded of Lance.
“Looking for the man who fired that shot,” Lance said coldly. “I figure it came from the direction of this hotel. I looked in all the front rooms. I wasn’t overlooking any bets.”
Malcolm laughed shortly. “I guess there was no harm done. I see you’re wearing a deputy’s badge. You won’t have to go after Bowman’s job, after all.”
“Fletcher, I never intended going after Bowman’s job. I got this badge for the purpose of arresting Bowman’s murderer. That part is accomplished. Somebody killed Kilby——”
“Who is Kilby?”
Lance stopped. “Kilby is the man who finished Bowman—just in case you don’t know.”
“Surely you’re not suspecting me of having a hand in the affair?”
“I’m suspecting damn near everybody until I get to the bottom of things. Just where were you before that shot was fired?”
“Which shot—yours or the one that got Kilby?”
“Mine got him first,” Lance growled, “but you know damn well I’m talking about the shot afterwards—the one that came from the direction of this hotel.” Lance felt himself growing angry.
“Oh, I see.” Fletcher looked amused. “In other words, you want to know what I was doing at the time and so on.”
“Exactly.”
“Here goes. I had finished my breakfast and was sitting in my room when I heard some shooting. I looked out of the window and saw one man down and you running toward him with your gun in your hand. I jumped up, ran downstairs and went out to the street——”
“Wait a minute.” Lance turned to the hotel clerk. “Did you see Fletcher leave?”
The clerk shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. I ran outside, myself, when I heard the shot. Naturally I’d——”
“All right,” Lance cut in, turning again to Fletcher, “all right, you’re out on the street now. What happened?”
“I saw another man try to shoot you,” Malcolm said coolly. “Herrick, I understand, is his name. But that other deputy prevented that. Later you’d started to talk to Kilby when that shot came from down the street——”
“From down the street?” Lance frowned. “From this direction, you mean.”
Smiling, Fletcher shook his head. “No, I don’t. That sound seemed to come from west of here, say, in the direction of the bank building. Of course, I couldn’t say for sure.”
“You probably couldn’t,” Lance said ironically. “Then what?”
“I saw you come running over here. I hung around down on the street for a while, then decided to come back to my room. I’d just entered the lobby when you grabbed me and started to ask questions. Now you’ve got it, what are you going to do with it?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Lance replied quietly. He brushed past Fletcher and the hotel clerk and stepped out to the street once more. A few minutes later he found Oscar.
Oscar said, “Learn anything?”
Lance shook his head. “All I know is somebody could have fired that shot from one of those hotel rooms, closed the window—it wouldn’t have to be open very far—and made a getaway down the back stairs of the hotel. Did you pick up anything?”
“Nothing but confusion,” Oscar said wearily. “No two men in the crowd have the same idea regardin’ the direction that shot came from—east, west, north or south. There’s them that claim somebody in the crowd did the shooting. I can’t see that. It sounded like a rifle to me, and a rifle would be noticed pronto. Hell! It all happened so quick! We were all watching you and Kilby.”
“It sounded like a rifle to me too. I talked to Fletcher in the hotel, and he thinks—or claims to think—that the shot came from near the bank building or even farther west.”
“There y’are. Nobody can agree on it.” Oscar scratched his blond head and glanced toward the bank building. “Maybe so,” he commented dubiously, “but I’d bet against it.”
“We’ve got to admit it was damn accurate shooting, anyway,” Lance said ruefully. “I’ve a hunch it was done to keep Kilby from spilling what he knew.”
“Maybe you’ve hit it. By the way, Kilby died almost instanter. Never recovered consciousness. It’s a tough break.”
Lance nodded agreement. He and Oscar joined the sheriff standing near Kilby’s lifeless form. Lock-wood glanced at Lance’s face, saying, “I figure you didn’t have much luck.”
“Not any,” Lance replied. “Jeepers! One minute I thought we had this case all sewed up. The next, it blew wide open.”
“It’s not a total loss, anyway,” Oscar reminded. “Kilby confessed to Bowman’s murder. That’s one scut out of the way.”
Lockwood nodded, then said, “I reckon we’d better get this body off’n the street so the crowd can go about its business. Lance, it looks like Herrick has come to life again. What charge you want placed against him? He might have killed you.”
Lance glanced across the street. Herrick was seated at the edge of the sidewalk in front of the Pozo Verde Saloon holding his head and taking but little interest in his surroundings. Lance smiled. “Oscar, you sure take the fight out of ’em when your gun barrel lands.”
“It takes more than one jolt to take the fight out of Herrick’s breed,” Lockwood growled. “Oscar just softened him up temporary. Wait until we get him in a cell——”
“Ethan,” Lance proposed, “let’s not arrest Herrick. I’ve got a hunch we may learn more by letting him run loose. You know, give a man enough rope and he’ll hang himself.”
Lockwood looked surprised. “We-ell, sure, if you want it that way. But s’help me I’m going to give him a talking to and warn him that next time…” Muttering angrily, the sheriff started toward Herrick.
Oscar groped in a pocket for his sack of lemon drops. “Me, I never believe in givin’ a sidewinder a second chance—but maybe you know best, Lance.”
“I’m hoping I do. After all, Herrick didn’t do me any damage—thanks to your quick work. Maybe, if we let him run loose, I’ll meet him again with drawn guns. I have a hunch I will—and the sooner, the better!”