All the notables in Dead Hawk came to see the shootist that Sheriff Derekson had brought in. Gawping at Crow through the heavy bars of the single-cell jail. Chattering A about him as if he was a specimen in a zoological garden. The peace officer himself hadn’t bothered. He’d marched Crow to the jail at the wrong end of the Tranter, taking his Purdey. Adding the Peacemaker from the back of the belt. And tossing the honed-down saber on top of the desk. Looking at it with particular interest.
‘Army, huh? You in the Army, Crow? Cavalry man, maybe? Even a runner from the pony-soldiers? Could just be.’
‘I was a Lieutenant in the First Squadron of the Third Cavalry, out of Fort Buford. Commanding Officer was Captain Menges.’
‘Not now?’
‘No.’ Crow ventured a rare smile. ‘Not now, Sheriff. The Cavalry and me decided that we’d seen just about as much of each other as we wanted.’
‘Now you’re a killer.’ Derekson eased himself very slowly and carefully on the padded cushion that covered his revolving wooden chair. Looking up at the tall man in black with a puzzled expression. ‘Yeah. I seen the killers before, Crow, and you got the stamp.’
‘If I hadn’t then it’d be me with my blood muddying up your street, Derekson,’ replied Crow calmly.
‘Could be. Bart was always like a body just lookin’ for somewheres to die. Had to come. What kind of trade are you in, Crow? Bounties?’
‘Could be. I guess I see myself as a kind of alchemist. I turn lead into gold.’ But he saw the reference was lost on the lawman.
‘You get locked up now, Crow. In there,’ Derekson had told him.
‘You goin’ to charge me with killing that little bastard?’
‘Town like this, Crow,’ explained the Sheriff with great patience, ‘has currents flowin’ beneath it that you might not see when you first take a look. If’n it was down to me then I’d either kick you out of Dead Hawk or maybe hang you from the nearest tree. Depends on how I was feeling. Right now this pain in my butt’s so God-damned hurting that I could lynch you up there on my ownsome. That way it’s neat and tidy.’
Crow nodded.’ I understand that. Might do the same in your place. You wasn’t ever stung by a dead bee, was you, Sheriff?’
‘What?’
‘Just that a man takes care like you do. I wondered if you’d ever been bitten by something you figured was no more threat?’
Derekson laughed. ‘See your point, Crow. By God but I do. Stung by a dead bee. Like it. Like it a lot. You ain’t a half bad old boy, Crow. Tell you that. Surely hope the folks that matter tell me to let you go on free. I surely do. Dead bee.’ ·
He’d still been laughing when he slammed the cell door shut on Crow.
For a small township like Dead Hawk, there seemed to be an awful lot of folks who considered themselves to be important. First along was the banker. Jacob Verity. A dried husk of a man whose spirit burned like a flame through some dreadful illness. He was close to six feet tall yet Crow doubted that he weighed in at more than a hundred and ten pounds. Lines of pain were ground in around the thin-lipped mouth and his hand H constantly pressed against his stomach in a gesture of discomfort that had become a habit.
He looked at Crow without speaking for several moments, then sniffed and walked out.
He was a cousin of the Brown who owned the saloon. Who in turn was a cousin of Sheriff Derekson.
‘Lot of kin around,’ commented Crow to the lawman when he brought him a plate of grits and steak for his evening meal. Outside the shadows were stretching across the gray acres beyond the back of the jailhouse and the light was beginning to fade.
‘Sure is. You ain’t met the Mayor yet.’
‘Mayor?’
‘Yeah. Abe Verity. Brother of the banker. He runs this town. Got a small spread a mile off north. Lives with a couple of local boys to help out and his wife, Martha. They run Dead Hawk.’
‘He comin’ in to see the prisoner?’
‘If he is, he will. If he ain’t … ’
‘He won’t,’ completed Crow. ‘That the kind of man he is?’
‘Yeah. Worth a whole lot of money, the Veritys. Land down Missouri way. This is their town. They look after it. t looks after them. You get the picture?’
‘Yes. I see. And if he says hang him then you hang him?’
Derekson laughed. ‘Damn right, Crow. You sure are a sharp old boy. I’m goin’ … Damn it!’
‘What’s up?’
‘Hell! It’s this boil on my ass. I swear I never had pain like it, Got a Comanche spear in my shoulder once. Broke off and they had to dig out the point. Bit clean through a leather strap while they was doin’ it,’ he said, with obvious pride. Remembering his present pain. Touching his backside with reverence. ‘But this son of a bitch is the best yet.’ They both heard steps coming their way. Two lots.
Crow spotted them as a man and a woman.
‘The Mayor?’ .
‘Guess’ so.’ Going to leave the small corridor outside the cell. Hesitating and returning to whisper through the bars. ‘Listen and listen good. If’n it was down to me I’d turn you loose. That boy, Bart Wells, was a mean bastard. Maybe started with good intentions, but went wrong. Like a crazed wolf. But it ain’t to me.’ There was a call from the office. ‘Coming!’ Dropping his voice again. ‘You want to end up danglin’ like strange fruit from yonder tree, then give Abe plenty of lip. You understand me.’
‘Sure do. Thanks for the word, Sheriff.’
‘Derekson! You sleepin’ in there, you lazy bastard! Come on.’
It had to be the Mayor. Crow guessed that nobody else would talk that way around a town. It was a voice that had y. spent too long saying ‘jump’ and people jumped. The sort of voice that would not be pleased if anyone didn’t jump on the word.
The office door closed and all he could hear was the murmur of voices. He could pick out Ben Derekson’s as the deferential one. A louder one that would be Verity.
One a woman’s voice. Asking a question. Then the door opened again, and they all trooped in to look at him. While they peered at him in the cell, Crow took the opportunity to stare back at them. Weighing them up. Noticing the way that the Sheriff kept silently in the background, nervously picking at a spot on the side of his nose. Curling his lip and shuffling his feet.
Abraham Verity was tall, like his brother. It was hard to figure which was the older. Jacob had looked twenty years the elder. But he was clearly a dying man. Maybe been dying for ten years. Maybe go on dying for another ten. But he was living on borrowed time and one day the old man with the scythe was going to call in all the chips. Probably Abe was the older. Mayor was more important than banker.
There were lines around the Mayor’s mouth and eyes too. But they were the fleshy lines of good living and quick obedience to his wishes. The cheeks were so red they came close to purple and even through the cell bars Crow could smell drink. Not cheap whisky. Brandy. What smelled like good French brandy.
His wife was pretty and about fifteen years younger. Blonde hair peeking under the bonnet. Heart-shaped face and blue eyes. Eyes that never looked anywhere except at her feet. Crow guessed that Abe Verity’s insistence on getting his own way extended to his own wife. Maybe it even began with her.
After a few seconds of mutual inspection, the Mayor cleared his throat and spoke.
‘You called Crow?’
‘And you’re Mayor Verity. Guess the Sheriff’s been talking ‘bout both of us.’
At the sound of his voice, Martha Verity finally looked at him. A startled glance, eyes wide with surprise at his soft, gentle voice. A glance that was as quickly withdrawn. Verity himself was clearly surprised by the voice, but he covered it with bluster.
‘You seem mighty proud for a man facing a hanging party tomorrow.’
‘I don’t figure a Mayor of a nice town like Dead Hawk is the kind of man to allow a lynching.’ He paused until Verity was about to reply and-then went on. ‘Specially when the whole town knows that man’s innocent.’
‘Sheriff figures you could be a hired gun.’
Crow laughed. ‘Sure! I’ve been paid by a wealthy mad man in Tuscaloosa to ride all the way down into Arizona and allow Bart Wells to push me into a fight just so that I could murder him.’
There was a muffled cough from the Sheriff that might have been a laugh, and Verity’s face finally crossed the border from red into deep purple. Breath rasping in his throat with anger.
‘You’re a damned smart-ass, Crow!’
‘Maybe. But I’m not a hired killer. I’m not a wanted man anywhere in the country and you and the sworn lawman here are breaking that same law by holding me. Ask anyone in the saloon. Ask the ‘keep, Taggart. Ask the Sheriff. He saw it.’ He nearly pointed out that Derekson could also have stopped the fight if he’d wished, but he didn’t say it. It was a good idea to try and keep well in with the lawman.
Verity turned to stare at Derekson, who shrugged his broad shoulders. Crow noticed that rage had caused the back of the Mayor’s neck to swell and hang over the tight collar.
Crow continued talking. ‘I told Derekson there that I was passing through. Told him my name. Told him I was I leaving in the morning. Man can’t do more.’ Again he paused until Abe Verity turned back to face him. ‘All I did your town a favor.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Killing that boy. Least nobody else gotten hurt. Quick and easy.’
‘You blasted the child down with a scatter-gun, I hear.’
‘You hear right.’
‘He had no chance.’
Crow was becoming angry. ‘Listen, Verity. You hold me for a night, I don’t give a damn. I spent a whole lot of nights in a whole lot of worse places. You hang me and I have friends who’ll be here in a week and they’ll nail you to the tree. Cut off your cock and shove it down your drunken throat.’
He hadn’t got a single friend but Verity didn’t know that. And the quiet voice had never changed, making the bitter fury more frightening.
‘You can’t talk like that in front of my wife, Crow!’ exploded the Mayor.
‘Sorry, Verity. Didn’t know it was her turn,’ Crow replied.
This time there wasn’t any doubt about it. The Sheriff did laugh, looking away when Verity spun around and glared at him.
‘Martha! Go wait outside until I’ve finished in here.’
Crow watched her leave, seeing her half-turn in the doorway and glance sideways at him, before walking out of sight. They were all silent, hearing the outside office door close.
‘Well?’ asked Crow.
The Mayor had managed to regain most of his control and the color of his cheeks had re-crossed the border back to red. But he was still breathing hard. Crow was willing to bet nobody had spoken to Verity like this for years. And he didn’t know how to handle it. Anyone with that much confidence must have the muscle to back up his threats.
‘I don’t rightly know. Seems that there might be … just might be … a little doubt about this. I’m going to ask around, Crow. Meantime, you stay here. If’n folks back up what you say, then you’ll ride free in the morning.’ He attempted to reassert his position. ‘And you better ride on and not come back to Dead Hawk.’
‘It’d take wild horses, Mayor,’ smiled Crow, leaning back on his bunk.
‘Just who are you, Mister?’ asked the Mayor.
‘Told you. Crow.’
‘Yeah. But what are you? Hired gun?’
‘I’ll hire out anything if’n the price is right.’ He paused. ‘Well, most anything. Long as it’s close to being inside the law. But the money’s what matters.’
‘You ride alone?’
‘Most times.’
‘There’s Apaches all over.’
‘Yeah.’
Sheriff Derekson spoke for the first time. ‘And Mex bandits.’
‘I know it.’
‘And there’s some whites around you better watch out for.’
Crow stood up and stretched, nearly banging his knuckles on the rough stone wall. Man could spend his whole life just watchin’ for danger. That’s not living. That’s plain surviving. You just have to take a little care.’
‘A little?’ asked the Mayor.
‘A little. And then some.’
After some discussion behind the closed door of the office, Derekson reappeared and gave Crow a conspiratorial nod. Wiping sweat from his face as he told his prisoner is that Abe Verity had agreed to call in first thing in the morning and that Crow would be freed then. It was what he’d expected.
But things turned out very different. ·