Sheriff Gale had returned to his office; but after considering Emma’s sharp attitude for a few minutes, he’d decided that whether she liked it or not, he needed to speak his mind to her. He still felt if she’d only listen to him he could convince her of just how perfect they were for each other. He a sheriff, she the widow of a sheriff. What could be better…? He rehearsed the conversation in his mind.
Closing the office door behind him, Gale had started walking along the boardwalk in the direction of the Vertrees cottage when he’d heard the single muffled gunshot. At that time a few heads along the boardwalk turned toward the sound, but only in reflex. A raised hand from the sheriff let the townsfolk know he had matters in hand.
Since the gunshot came from the same direction in which he was headed anyway, Sheriff Gale hastened his step a little, knowing that it never hurt for townsfolk to see how seriously he took his job. Besides, he reminded himself, loosening his Colt in its holster, with a man like Memphis Beck in town, who knew what sort of trouble Beck might have conjured up?
But the closer Gale drew to the Vertrees cottage, the more he began to realize the possibility that the shot could have come from there. “Easy now…” he cautioned himself. Stopping out front and looking the cottage over for a few seconds, he continued forward quietly, stepped onto the front porch, and sidled up to a window instead of knocking on the front door.
Peeping inside the house, he saw the gray haze of gun smoke drifting lazily into the parlor from the next room. That gave him every right and reason to slip inside and see what was going on without announcing himself and putting his life in danger. Here goes…. He crept over to the front door, turned the knob silently, and, finding the door unlocked, slipped inside, his Colt out of its holster, cocked and ready for anything.
In the kitchen, Emma had wasted no time. She’d gone to a closet and brought back two blankets and a ball of heavy twine. From a kitchen drawer she’d taken out a long, sharp butcher knife. As Sheriff Gale eased into the doorway behind her, she stood over Mills’ body, rolling up her dress sleeves.
“Oh my God, Emma!” Sheriff Gale said in a hushed tone, staring at the body.
Emma spun toward him, startled, her knife coming up in a defensive position until she saw the Sheriff’s Colt raised and cocked. Then she lowered the knife and said in a tearful voice, “Oh, Sheriff, thank God you’re here! I was afraid no one had heard the gunshot. I didn’t know what to do!”
“You—you did this?” Gale asked, stepping sideways for a better look at the body, Mills’ boot soles facing him from the back-turned chair.
“Yes, I did, I had to, Sheriff!” Emma said with a trapped look in her eyes. Yet, even as she spoke, she began getting herself collected, ready to say whatever it took to keep herself from going to jail. “He—he came in here while I was gone shopping! He stole money from my purse.” She pointed at the spread-armed corpse. “Look in his pocket, you’ll find it there! He went through my things, stealing whatever he—”
“Take it easy, Emma,” Sheriff Gale said, cutting her off. “Are you saying he’s a burglar?” His voice sounded skeptical.
Hearing the sheriff’s dubious tone, Emma said, “Yes. Maybe. Why, don’t you believe me?”
“I don’t know what to believe, Emma,” Gale said. “Most burglars don’t stay for breakfast.” With a wag of his pistol barrel Gale gestured for her to lower the butcher knife and lay it on the table. As she did so, he kept a close watch on the pistol already lying there.
When she stepped away from the table, the sheriff looked relieved and continued. “Are you saying he forced you to fix his breakfast? Because, if you are, that sounds a lot more believable.”
“He did force me to fix breakfast for him,” Emma said quickly. “It was terrible. He—he threatened me!” She grasped for what to say next. “Look at my face, where he slapped me! I was afraid he was going to kill me.”
Gale looked closely at her swollen red cheek. “How did you get his gun from him?”
Emma froze for a moment, not wanting to say that the gun and holster hung from her bedpost. “It’s all so confusing,” she said finally, holding her hand to her forehead. “But it was self-defense. You do believe it was self-defense, don’t you, Sheriff?” She gave him a look of desperation.
“I’m trying hard to believe you, Miss Emma,” said the sheriff, looking back at the body on the floor, then letting his eyes follow the streak of blood and brain matter up the wall. “I know how things can happen. But whether or not a jury would believe—”
“A jury!” She looked stunned. “Oh no, please, you’re not going to arrest me for killing him, are you?”
“Arrest you, no,” said the sheriff. “But any time something like this happens and there’s no witnesses, I have to take a full statement from you and turn it over to the circuit court judge. He decides what to do, if anything.”
“Please, Sheriff Gale,” Emma said, “I don’t want to go before a judge, or a jury, or anybody else. Can’t you help me?” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m the victim, please don’t treat me like a criminal!”
The sheriff looked into her eyes, contemplating the matter. After a pause he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “I was on my way here, you know, when I heard the gunshot.”
“You were?” Emma said, taking the handkerchief and touching it to her eyes.
“I was,” said Gale. “I wanted to try one more time to see if I could get through to you about how I feel.” He gave her a patient smile. “After the way you cut off so fast this morning, I felt like I needed to say something on my own behalf.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Emma replied. “I haven’t been myself of late.”
“Please, call me Vince,” the sheriff said, more insistently than he had ever said it before.
Emma began to see a way out of her predicament. “Yes, I will…thank you, Vince. I know you might not believe this, but I had been thinking about you all the way home. That may have been what caused me to walk in unsuspecting on this man.”
“Oh, thinking about me?” Sheriff Gale’s eyes brightened with hope.
“Yes,” said Emma, “it’s true. I realized how rude I’ve been with you these past weeks. You must think me a terrible person, Vince.”
“No, Emma,” said the sheriff, his Colt sliding down into his holster. “You put that thought out of your head. I could never think anything bad about you.” He swept his tall Stetson from atop his head. “Sometimes it takes something terrible like this to make two people realize how much they need each other.”
“You are so kind, Vince,” Emma said, feeling less trapped than before. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here, helping me, being strong for me. I—”
“Shhh, wait a minute,” Gale said, cutting her off as he turned toward the sound of a voice coming from the fence out back. Stepping over and opening the back door, he looked out to Bland Woolard, who had heard the gunshot while walking to his buggy out in front of the livery barn.
“Everything all right in there, Sheriff?” Woolard called out. Trailing along the fence behind Woolard, Sheriff Gale saw, Curtis Clay was tapping along with his walking stick, Little Dog walking along in front of him.
“Everything is all right here, Councilman,” Gale called out. “One of the late sheriff’s guns accidentally discharged in the wardrobe. No harm done.”
Hearing the sheriff, Emma breathed easier.
“I understand, Sheriff.” Bland Woolard nodded, waved a hand, and turned and walked way. “You heard him, Curtis,” he said as the blind man walked toward him along the fence, “everything is all right…just an accident.”
“Yes, sir, I heard him,” said Curtis, stopping, turning his blank eyes in the direction of the Vertrees cottage. “I’m glad to hear it.” But Curtis knew from the sound of the sheriff’s voice that something wasn’t all right in there. What had he heard in the sheriff’s voice, tension, a slight deceptiveness? He wasn’t sure, and he wanted to hear more.
Continuing along the fence, Curtis stopped at a point where his shoe touched a small rock he’d placed there weeks ago. Seeing Clay stop on that spot and turn facing straight through the yard to the rear door, Sheriff Gale said quietly over his shoulder to Emma, “Woolard’s gone. But Curtis Clay is standing back there. I swear, sometimes I believe that ole Negro can see as well as the next fellow.”
“Can I do anything for you, Sheriff?” Clay called out, just to get to hear the sheriff’s voice again and further analyze it.
“Obliged, Curtis,” Gale replied, “but everything is all right. I’ve got everything under control.” He smiled to himself with satisfaction, realizing how quickly his standing with Emma Vertrees had changed.
“I hear you, Sheriff Gale,” said Curtis, raising a hand. “If you or Mrs. Vertrees need anything I can do, you holler for me.”
“Will do, Curtis,” said the sheriff, watching Little Dog turn around with a gentle tap of the walking stick on his rump and head back toward the shack. Curtis walked along behind him. “I don’t know who leads and who follows with those two,” Gale commented offhandedly as he turned back to Emma and the body lying with its boot soles facing him.
“Sheriff, what will we do with his body?” Emma asked quickly, not wanting to give Gale time to reconsider helping her cover up her act.
The sheriff shook his head slowly, looking down at the corpse with uncertainty. “What were you going to do before I got here?” he asked, looking at the blankets, the ball of twine, and the butcher knife.
“I was going to cut him into pieces and haul the pieces out into the wilds,” she replied matter-offactly. “Is that the best thing to do?” She wanted to get his involvement in whatever happened from here on in the matter.
“You were going to butcher him like a steer?” The sheriff stared at her with a look of shocked disbelief.
Seeing his expression, Emma said, “Oh, of course not. I must have been out of my head with fear. I could never have done something like that. I’m still horrified at having shot him.”
“I know you are. A gentle lovely woman like you shouldn’t have to face this ugliness alone,” Gale said sympathetically. “Leave it to me, I’ll get rid of this rascal. You clean up here and try to put this whole terrible mess out of your mind.”
“Vince, I—I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” said Emma. “I hope you will allow me to thank you properly after we’re through with all this.”
“Oh, I feel properly thanked just being able to look at you and see that you’re finally smiling back at me, Emma.” Sheriff Gale smiled himself. “Now, I’ll go get a pack mule and be right back. We’ll wait until tonight when it’s dark and I’ll haul him away from here.”
“Oh, wait, Sheriff,” said Emma. “I just remembered, he has a horse.”
“A horse.” Gale stared at her. “How would you know that?”
Thinking fast, Emma said, “He told me he had one. He said he’d left it at a hitch rail across the street, out in front of the Little Aces Saloon, so no one would see it while I was out.”
“All right, I can believe that.” Gale nodded, finding it plausible. Seeing the look in her eyes, he quickly said, “I mean, of course I believe it. I’m just wondering if anybody else would.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Emma asked coolly. “It’s the truth.”
“They would,” Gale replied. “Isn’t that what I just said?” He spread his hands, showing her how much he agreed with her. Then he changed the subject and said, “It could take a while to find his horse this time of day with the town so busy. I’ll look for it later. I better go get the pack mule now, and make sure we’ll have it when we need it tonight.”
Inside the livery barn, Curtis Clay caught the scent of the sheriff as soon as the lawman stepped into the doorway. With the midmorning sunlight at Gale’s back, Curtis could make out the lawman’s dark shadowy image, but nothing more. “Yes, sir, Sheriff Gale?” he said, standing up from pouring water into a tin pan for Little Dog. “You thought of something I could do for you after all?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, Curtis,” said Gale. “I’m going to need that pack mule, Delilah, that the town keeps here. Is she available?”
“She sure is, Sheriff,” said Clay. “Delilah is the most available gal in town.” He grinned. “Want me to go fetch her for you? Tell me how you want her rigged, pack frame, saddle, or cart harness?”
“Obliged, Curtis,” said Gale, “but don’t trouble yourself. I’ll handle her. You go ahead and look after Little Dog.” He didn’t want to reveal any more to Clay than he had to. The blind man had a way of putting things together with only a small amount of information.
“It’s no trouble, Sheriff,” said Curtis.
“No, please, I’ve got her,” said Gale. He stepped past the blind man toward the corral where the pack mule would be this time of morning.
“All right, Sheriff,” said Curtis, staring blindly at the ceiling as the sheriff headed out the side door. “The pack frame is hanging over the grain bin where I been keeping it.”
“Obliged, Curtis,” said Gale.
Curtis smiled faintly, noting to himself how the sheriff’s voice revealed a high level of tension. The fact that the lawman tried hard to keep from sounding tense and nervous only made his condition more clear to Curtis’s sharp hearing. Whatever Sheriff Gale needed Delilah for, the blind man was certain the lawman had no need for a pack frame.
When Gale returned to Emma’s cottage, leading the pack mule, Emma had stepped out onto the back porch and down into the yard to meet him. While he’d been gone, she had done little to clean up the bloody mess on the wall and floor, but had used the time alone to change the sheets and pillowcases, straighten up the bedroom, and get rid of any signs of the young cowboy.
Stepping close to him, she looked the mule up and down and asked, “How did it go?”
“It went fine. Why wouldn’t it?” said Gale. “It’s the town’s livery operation. I’m the sheriff.” He smiled at her. “You just try to relax and let me take care of you, Emma. You’re in good hands now.”
Emma put a hand on his muscular arm and squeezed admiringly. “I know that, Vince,” she said softly.
“How is it going, cleaning up in there?” Gale asked, nodding toward the kitchen.
“It’s terrible,” said Emma. “I start shaking when I try to do anything. That horrible scene keeps coming back to my mind.” She touched her wrist to her forehead. “But I will get it done, eventually, I’m certain.”
“You leave it alone,” Gale said gallantly. “I ought to be ashamed of myself, expecting you to do all that. Why don’t you fix us a pot of coffee? I’ll clean his brains off the wall.”
“I can’t let you do that, Vince,” Emma protested weakly. But she only stood back and watched as he hitched the pack mule and started into the house, rolling up his shirtsleeves.