Jim Hume sat listening as Clay Nash related what had happened in the swamp. Across the room, Trace Hollis fidgeted in his chair, stirring restlessly, gazing at the floor.
“Lew Hackett’s got him in a cell now,” Nash concluded and touched a finger gingerly to the bullet gouge on his cheek. His neck was caked with dried blood and part of his shirt was stiff with it. His clothes were mud-spattered and torn for he had not yet had time to wash or change. “He still claims he was nowhere near Squirrel Creek.”
“But he admits to robbin’ this place, eh?” Hollis asked. “You said he admitted to that, didn’t you, Clay?”
Nash looked soberly at Hollis as he nodded. “Yeah—I said that.”
Hume frowned. “You don’t sound as if you’re too sure about it.”
Nash made a hesitant gesture. “I just don’t know, Jim. There’s something—fishy—about Mantell. I dunno. Can’t put my finger on it. But I’ll tell you this, I couldn’t get any details of the depot robbery out of him. And, come to think of it, all he’s confessed to is what Liz Garrett told him. If I could figure it out, I’d say—Aw, hell, it’s too stupid.”
Hollis was sitting tensely in his chair, frowning at Nash. Hume looked perplexed, too, and motioned to Nash to continue.
“Go on, Clay. You know I respect hunches.”
Nash still hesitated. Finally, he began his theory. “Well, seemed to me he kind of admitted to this robbery sort of—blind. You can’t get him to talk much about it. He won’t say how much was in the payroll, claims the breed took it and hid it in the swamp. Of course, I killed Buckskin—so there’s no chance of checkin’ that out. The mail sack was dumped, he reckons, after goin’ through it to check if there was any money in it.”
“Well, hell, that’s normal procedure for outlaws,” Hollis said. “What’s the worry, Clay? He admits to the robbery, then nail him with it!”
“Sure. Take his story and the company’s out ten thousand dollars in replacement money for the payroll,” Hume said grimly. He nodded to Nash. “I’ll question Mantell myself. You follow through on your hunch, Clay. There’re a few queer things about that depot robbery. Not the least bein’ why that female, Ruby Dow, was strangled.”
“Mightn’t’ve had anythin’ to do with it at all,” Hollis said. “I mean, she was a saloon tramp. Dealt with all kinds o’ scum.”
“But she asked Harmer for her time,” Hume said. “Or so he claims.”
Hollis frowned, then shrugged. “I figure if Mantell says he pulled the depot robbery, then there’s no big deal. We charge him with it and that’s that.”
“Not quite,” Hume said, grim-faced. “Like I said, there’s the recovery of the money for one thing, and I’d like you to work some on that, Clay. That leaves the Squirrel Creek massacre with one big question mark; who in hell pulled it—if it wasn’t Mantell’s bunch?”
“Well, you’re gonna have a hard time provin’ anythin’ against him on that score, Jim,” Nash said. “His bunch is dead. Crazy Catlow’s dead. He was never actually seen. We got some kinda evidence—but if he insists he did the Red Rapids thing, then he couldn’t’ve done the other. The law was huntin’ him miles away. And he was spotted on the run a few times.”
Hume waved that aside. “He was spotted in seven different States. But that’s nothin’. But how ’bout if he’s admittin’ to the Red Rapids deal—just so he won’t be saddled with Squirrel Creek? It’s a lot more serious and he’d get a hangman’s noose for sure. This other way, he has a chance of gettin’ a stiff prison term. Sure, he’s wanted for other things in other States and maybe he’ll get the death penalty on some of those charges. But it’ll be months before he goes through all the courts that want a piece of him. He’ll be alive all that time. And don’t forget he’s escaped from prison before.”
“Which is likely why he claims he don’t know where the money is from the depot,” Hollis added swiftly. “I reckon he pulled the robbery here and he aims to break out and get to that payroll money later. That’s why he ain’t talkin’ about it, makin’ you fellers think exactly the way you are thinkin’.”
Nash pursed his lips, glanced at Hume and raised his eyebrows. “Trace could have something there, Jim.”
Hume was still doubtful, but willing to admit there could be some truth in it as a possibility. “Thing is, we got Mantell behind bars right now. I’ll go see him and we’ll work on him. Meanwhile, Clay, get yourself cleaned up and so on. Meet me back here in a couple of hours and we’ll figure a plan of action.”
Nash nodded and Hollis stood, stretching. “Okay. I’ll get one of my clerks to handle things at the depot.” Hume gave him a deadpan look. “Why?”
Hollis blinked. “While I come back here in a couple of hours like you said.”
Hume shook his head. “Not you. Clay. You’re out of this, Trace. You’re depot manager. Clay’s the detective.”
Hollis flushed and his muscles knotted along his jaw line. His fists balled up down at his sides as he glared at Hume with narrowed eyes. He turned to Nash and spoke tightly. “Sure. I forgot. You did a fine job, Clay.” He threw Hume one last bleak look and stormed out of the room. Nash frowned at the door as it trembled in its frame. He moved his gaze to Hume.
“That was kinda rough on him, Jim.”
Hume shook his head. “He’s kinda sensitive, that’s all. Still wants to be the big detective.”
“And you won’t give him another chance?”
“He doesn’t deserve it, Clay. He’s done nothing to make me change my mind about him. As a depot manager, Trace is fine. As an agent, I’ve got to give him the thumbs down. Aw, sure, he’s a trier, but that’s not good enough in this game as you know. Most times, you only get one shot at things. You foul things up first time round and that’s it. I figure Trace Hollis is the kind who’d go off half-cocked and foul up too often.” His eyes and voice hardened a shade. “Anyway, that’s my view.”
Nash nodded slowly. “You’re the boss.” He started to turn towards the door but changed his mind and faced Hume again. “What is it that don’t set right with you about this depot robbery, Jim? There’s something. I can tell.”
“Still tryin’ to put my finger on it. And if I get the same impression as you about Mantell lying—I just might have a theory.”
Hume walked to the door and held it open for Clay. “Clean up. We’ll talk about it later.”
Nash nodded and went out.
~*~
Sheriff Lew Hackett was against letting Liz Garrett talk to Mantell but was persuaded by Nash. After all, he thought, there could be nothing to worry about with Mantell in a cell.
Hackett, an old man, wanting only his last years to be peaceful, had shrugged. He didn’t intend to argue about it. If Wells Fargo wanted to more or less take charge, then it was okay with him—long as they took any kickbacks that might arise, of course. All he wanted to do was see out his term of office so that he qualified for the small pension promised by the citizens of Red Rapids. He was too old to exert himself much, and he didn’t have much faith in his only deputy. For instance, he knew the man took money from Tex Harmer to look the other way when Harmer wanted to get around a town ordinance. He didn’t blame the deputy, there had been times when he was younger when he had succumbed to temptation, too. It was hard not to in his kind of job. Only the hardnoses, the obstinate, puritanical types like Wyatt Earp ever got through their term of office without taking bribes of some sort.
Hackett was dozing in his front office, unconcerned about the girl talking to Mantell back in the cell block. He had the keys and the girl’s gun and there was no reason why she would try to slip Mantell a weapon or help him to escape, anyway. If anything, she probably wanted to see him hanged.
But Hackett would have been surprised at what was being said only a few yards from where he dozed.
Mantell had cunningly pumped the girl and had been told all the information he needed about the Red Rapids robbery. He also gleaned how desperate she was to prove her brother’s innocence. He was shrewd enough to see that he could use this girl to his own advantage. Her own preoccupation with getting her hands on that mail sack tended to blind her to everything else. Mantell aimed to cash in on this. He looked at her pinched face through the bars and took a brief turn around the cramped quarters of the cell, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.
“I can see how that mailbag’s important to you, ma’am,” he said quietly. “Been thinkin’ hard—wrackin’ my brains about it. I think I know where Cherokee got rid of it now.”
Liz Garrett gripped the bars and stared at him, not daring to speak.
“Yeah,” Mantell went on thoughtfully. “I seem to recollect we were ridin’ through Carbine Canyon, after we’d camped in the sierras. That was where we’d gone through the mail and taken out the money. Yeah. Mitch tossed the bag to Cherokee and said to toss it away. But Cherokee said no. It had to be hid prop’ly. If the posse found the bag, they’d know they were on the right trail, and we wanted to go to ground. He said he knew a good place to hide it in Carbine Canyon.”
“D’you know where it is?”
Mantell looked doubtful. “Didn’t actually see the place. Cherokee rode off by hisself, see. The rest of us kept movin’, ’cause we wanted to put as much distance between us and this place as possible. But I know where he quit the trail and when he came back he said he’d put the bag down ...” He broke off abruptly and gave the woman a crooked grin. “But that’d be tellin’, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, why not?” Liz asked. “It’s of no earthly use to you. Even if you were free, there’s nothin’ in it that could be of any interest to you. Tell me where he dumped it. Please.”
Mantell’s grin widened. “You sure want it bad, don’t you, little girl. I’d say real bad.”
She looked at him levelly. “Please, Mantell. It’s my only hope. My brother’s only hope. You got to tell me where that bag is.”
His face hardened. “Who says I gotta?” He sat on the edge of his bunk and looked up at her. “I don’t ‘gotta’ do nothin’ ’less I want to. What the hell’ve I got to lose by keepin’ somethin’ like that to myself? I got nothin’ to gain by tellin’ you where that bag’s hid.”
“It would help me get my brother free.”
“That don’t help me none,” Mantell said shortly. Then he looked up sharply, stood, and walked very slowly over to the bars, scratching at his stubbled jaw. The girl moved back apace. “Unless—mebbe we can do some sort, o’ deal.”
She frowned. “What d’you mean? If you want me to get you legal help to fight your case, I’ll gladly do it, Mantell. Is that what you want?”
He smiled crookedly. “I want more than that, Liz Garrett. A helluva lot more.” He came right up against the bars, still smiling, eyes staring into her puzzled face. “You gimme what I want—and I’ll guarantee to put that mailbag right in your sweet little hands. You interested?”
Liz frowned, threw a glance towards the closed door at the end of the passage that led through to Lew Hackett’s office. Then she nodded slowly.
“I’m interested,” she told him soberly. “I’m interested in anything that’ll help get Ben out of prison.”
Mantell laughed shortly; he couldn’t help it. He knew he was on a winning streak now.
~*~
When Nash returned to Jim Hume’s room, he felt and looked a lot better. The hot water had eased most of his aches and pains and had put new life into his body.
Hume poured two drinks and they saluted each other before tossing down the whisky. Hume gestured to chairs and carefully lit a cigar. Nash got out the makings and built a cigarette.
“How do you figure Mantell?” Nash said. “I mean really figure—deep down?”
“Well, he knows plenty of details about the depot robbery.”
Nash arched his eyebrows in surprise. “He sure didn’t say much on the way in. It’s one reason why I had a hunch that he hadn’t actually pulled it at all.”
“He knows just about everything,” Hume said. “How the office looked, where the safe was, how much was in the payroll, and how many packages and sacks were in the safe.”
Nash shrugged. “Guess my hunch was wrong, then.”
“Mebbe not,” Hume said and gave a faint smile. “Liz Garrett was just leavin’ when I got to the cells to see Mantell. Sheriff said she’d been in there for nigh on an hour.”
“Talkin’ with Mantell? Judas, she don’t waste no time.”
Hume nodded. “Mantell’s smart. Could’ve pumped her. Gotten the information about the depot and the robbery out of her without her even realisin’. He didn’t hesitate to tell me when I questioned him. Made it sound like he’d done it, all right.”
“You don’t think he did?”
Hume hesitated briefly. “Well, no reason not to think he did by what he told me. All those details and such. But, like I said, he could’ve pumped them out of the girl.”
Nash nodded. “Did he tell her ’bout the mailbag?”
Hume shook his head. “She said not. But she didn’t stick around once I showed. Got out of there fast. Looked kinda upset, on edge, so I guess she didn’t get what she wanted.”
“Too bad. She wanted to find that letter real soon.”
“Yeah. But that’s her worry. We’ve got some bigger things on our plate, Clay, because if Mantell pulled off Red Rapids—who jumped Squirrel Creek? And if he’s only admitting to the depot deal so he can’t be blamed for the massacre up north—then who the hell cleaned out this depot?”
Nash sighed. “I think maybe I’ll have another talk with Tex Harmer. Ruby Dow and him somehow link up to this, I’m sure of it. She didn’t just dope me to get my wallet.”
“No, Clay. You turn in and get some rest,” Hume said. “I’ll go see Harmer, or, leastways, take a quiet look into his affairs. I want you fresh.”
“What you got in mind?”
“You’ll have to get on up to Squirrel Creek. I’ve been pushing you pretty hard lately, not givin’ you enough time to rest up between things. You get an early night and ride the stage to the Creek tomorrow. It’s time you had a good look-see up there. We might’ve missed somethin’—and if that somethin’ ties in Mantell, he’s as good as hung. Likewise, if we can prove someone else robbed this here depot, then Mantell’s gonna have to change his story.”
Nash nodded. It was sure one hell of a mixed-up deal. Here they had a man behind bars who readily admitted to a robbery and somehow, they couldn’t believe him. They didn’t know why, but when both Wells Fargo men had the feeling he was lying, despite his supply of details of the robbery, then something had to be done to get proof that would satisfy them both—and the judge.
Hume had been a long time on the administrative side of things and, though he kept his hand in with pistol practice, and he did some exercise, he was nowhere near as fit as he had been as a field agent, enforcing the Fargo code with fists and gun.
He was a hard man, and there wasn’t much that Hume was afraid of, but those long years behind a desk, using his brains instead of his muscles, had taken their toll. They sure hadn’t prepared him for his meeting with Tex Harmer, upstairs in the Palace.
Right from the start, Harmer resented Hume coming to his office at all and trying to involve him in the robbery.
“Look, Hume,” Harmer snapped after the Wells Fargo man began his quiet questioning. “Nash and me tangled over this. I know nothin’ about it and I told him so. And I’m tellin’ you so. Just leave it be. You got the man responsible behind bars, what the hell else you after?”
“The truth, Harmer,” Hume told him. “Mebbe we’re not convinced Mantell did rob the depot here. Mebbe we’d like to know just what connection Ruby Dow had in all this. And why she put knock-out drops in Nash’s drinks.”
Harmer’s eyes narrowed. “You figure I put her up to it, so Nash’d be out of the way and give me a clear run at the depot safe, huh? And I kept Hollis in a poker game for the same reason. That’s what you’re gettin’ at, ain’t it?”
Hume held his hot gaze easily. “It’s a possibility. Maybe you didn’t actually rob the depot yourself, Harmer, but you’ve a lot of men on your payroll who could’ve done it for you.”
Harmer stood slowly, leaning his hands on his desk top. He glared down at Hume and then strode around the desk to the office door. “You’re right about one thing, Hume. I’ve got a lot of hombres on my payroll who’ll do what I tell ’em.” He opened the door and stuck his head out into the passage, bawling out: “Rocky. Finch.”
Almost immediately Hume heard a door slam and heavy boots pounded down the passage. He started to his feet, hand going under his coat towards his shoulder holster. Harmer whirled abruptly and scooped up a chair from beside the door. It took Hume in the chest and knocked him backwards across the desk, his gun spinning across the floor.
By that time, two hulking bouncers were crowding in through the doorway, guns in hands.
Harmer jerked his head towards Hume.
“Throw him out,” he growled.
Hume began to struggle to his feet while the two bouncers moved in on him.
He brought a fist up from floor level and hooked one man on the jaw. He grunted and his head jerked back but he kept coming. Hume swung at the other man, but his blow was blocked and his arm caught and twisted violently up his back in a hammerlock. He lifted to his toes, grunting at the sudden pain. The first man sank a massive fist into his midriff and Hume jack-knifed. The second bouncer heaved him upright while the other batted him back and forth across the face.
“Not here, damn it,” Harmer snapped. “I said throw him out and that’s what I meant.”
The bouncers nodded and dragged Hume towards the door—working over his kidneys and ribs with heavy blows as they went. He was only semi-conscious and in great pain when they dragged him down the passage to the door that led to the outside stairway. They bustled him out onto the small landing, pummeled him savagely, then grabbed the collar of his coat—and heaved.
Hume cried out in strangled pain as he hurtled down the steep narrow stairs, bouncing and rolling and rattling. His body and head smashing alternately into the brick wall and the edges of the hardwood steps. Just before he hit the bottom, senses reeling, pain hammering through him, he heard a fusillade of gunshots.
His last conscious thought was that they seemed to come from the jail. Then he thudded into the alley and crashed into oblivion.
~*~
Nash awoke to the sounds of the gunfire. It was dark and the hotel window was closed but the sound had reached him all right. He instinctively rolled out of bed and grabbed his Colt.
He crossed to the window, eased the curtain aside and looked out. He couldn’t see anything, but could hear a couple of horses galloping away fast. Then someone was at the door of his room. He swung around, gun hammer coming back to full cock.
“Call out or I’ll blast you through the door.”
“It’s me. Trace.” A muffled voice came through the door panel. “Open up. All hell’s busted loose.”
Nash went across the room fast and silently on his bare feet. He kept the hammer of the Colt cocked back and unlocked the door. He stepped back.
“Okay. Open up. Slow.”
The latch lifted and the door eased open to reveal Trace Hollis, fully dressed. He reared back when he saw Nash’s gun on him.
“You better come fast. Mantell’s busted out of jail and killed the deputy.”
Nash swore as he eased down the gun hammer. “How in hell did that happen?”
“Liz Garrett. She must’ve made some sort of deal with him to get her that mailbag. Anyways, she was waitin’ with a couple of horses and they’ve both hightailed it for the hills.”
“You tell Jim?” Nash asked, groping in the dark for trousers and hopping on one leg as he pulled them on.
“Haven’t had time. I banged on the door of his room but there was no answer. We better get after ’em, hadn’t we?”
“Damn right we had,” Nash gritted. “That stupid, goddamn girl. What the hell she think she’s pullin’?”
“Meet you at the stables,” Hollis called as he ran back down the passage towards his own room. “I’ll get the rifles. You better wait for me, Clay. I know this country better’n you. We gotta stop Mantell gettin’ clear away!”
“I’ll be waitin’,” Nash said grimly. But he was thinking that they had to reach the fugitives fast—before Mantell killed Liz when she had outlived her usefulness.
And now that he had used her to break him out, she couldn’t be of much more use to Mantell. Except, maybe, as a hostage.