The crowd dispersed and the traffic thinned as Vince Gale escorted Frank Skimmer across the street and through the door to the sheriff’s office. The surveyor and his pals drifted off along the boardwalk grumbling among themselves. Sam walked over to Roundhead and Bobby Vane with the shotgun draped over his forearm. Stooping, he picked up Roundhead’s pistol-grip shotgun, unloaded it, and handed it to the big moon-faced detective butt first. He handed him the shotgun shell.
“You’re not arresting us, Ranger?” Vane asked, his hands still chest high.
“No, I’m not,” said Sam. “You two didn’t do anything. I saw that you were with Skimmer, I just didn’t want you turning the odds in his favor.”
Vane lowered his hands. “I’ve got news for you, Burrack,” he said stiffly. “Frank Skimmer doesn’t need anybody stacking his odds for him. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Aren’t we all?” Sam said quietly. He looked at Roundhead Mitchell, seeing the shotgun shell in his thick hand, and said as the detective started to break open the gun to load it, “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave it empty right now.”
“Oh, all right,” said Roundhead, stopping immediately and putting the shotgun shell in his pocket.
“What was Skimmer talking about, his brother being missing?” Sam asked them both.
“Yeah, he’s been talking about his brother catching up to us and going to work for the colonel,” said Vane, easing his attitude a little. “He spotted his horse when we rode in. But nobody in the saloon has seen him. The horse looks ready to fall over.”
“I’ll take him over to the livery barn, get him tended to,” Sam said. “Skimmer can claim him when he gets out of jail. Or maybe his brother will have shown up by then,” he added.
“Frank Skimmer won’t be in jail long enough to have to change socks,” said Roundhead. “Soon as the rest of the posse catches up to us, the colonel will pay whatever it costs to get his top gunman back on the job.”
“I hope you’re not thinking anything is over between you and Frank, Ranger,” Vane put in. “He ain’t likely to forget what happened here.”
“It’s over,” Sam said with finality.
“No, it’s not.” Vane grinned and continued. “It ain’t over between you and Jack Strap and Bloody Vlak either, for you taking their horses and shaming them in the eyes of the posse.”
“That’s over too,” Sam said, “as far as I’m concerned.”
Vane chuckled and shook his head. “What you want doesn’t cut any ice with these men. The colonel and all of us have a mad-on at you anyway, for not cooperating and giving us Memphis Beck when you had him by the tail feathers.”
Roundhead asked curiously, “Yeah, what is it with you anyway, Ranger? We’re all lawmen. You with the territorial court, us with the railroad. You could help yourself a lot, getting on the colonel’s side in this Hole-in-the-wall crackdown.”
“I don’t work that way. If Beck is guilty, I need to hear it from a territorial judge before I go on the prod for him.”
“Meaning you’ve got no respect for the railroad’s judgment?” Vane asked.
“Not enough for me to go dogging a man on just their say-so,” Sam replied. “As soon as Beck gets himself on my wanted list, I’ll hound him like I would anybody else. But not until somebody can prove he was involved in a crime.”
“Nobody ever comes up with hard evidence against a man like Beck,” said Roundhead.
“Then he’ll never have to worry about me,” Sam replied. “I don’t take the law into my own hands.”
“Not ever?” Vane grinned. “Because I’ve heard tales that say otherwise.”
Sam ignored him.
Roundhead asked, looking back and forth along the street, “Where is Memphis Beck now, Ranger? You’ll tell us that, won’t you?”
“I haven’t seen Warren Beck since I arrived in Little Aces,” Sam said truthfully.
“And if you had, would you have told us so?” Vane asked pointedly.
The ranger didn’t answer. Instead he said, “I expect you two will want to be getting on back along the trail and telling the colonel what happened here.” He touched the brim of his sombrero toward them, turned, and walked away. He was through in Little Aces as far as Memphis Beck was concerned. He felt no need to tell these two his plans, but it was time for him to get on the trail. He hoped he could take down Bennie Drew and Tom Cat Weaver before the railroad posse caught up with them.
“So, that’s the man who killed Junior Lake and his gang?” Roundhead said quietly.
“Yeah, can you believe that?” Vane replied. “He don’t look like all that much to me.”
“Really?” Roundhead looked at him.
“Yeah, really,” said Vane with a testy snap to his voice. “For two cents I’d be tempted to take him on myself.”
Roundhead said flatly, “If Skimmer had known that, I bet he’d have given you the two cents.”
“Meaning what, Roundhead?” Vane asked with a sharp stare. “Are you trying to say that I’m afraid of that ranger?”
“Yeah, I suppose I am,” Roundhead said, returning the stare.
Vane turned his eyes away from the big man and spat and cursed under his breath. “There’s no sense in us arguing the point. When Skimmer gets the chance, he’ll eat that ranger alive.” He grinned thinking about it. “That is, if he beats Jack Strap and the Romanian to him.” He spat again and wiped a sleeve across his lips. “I think we ought to get ourselves properly liquored before we ride back and tell the colonel.”
“I can’t argue with you on that,” said Roundhead, turning toward the batwing doors. On the boardwalk a bartender had already started cleaning up broken glass with a broom and shovel.
Inside the sheriff’s office, Sam looked back along a bleak hallway at three jail cells. A ray of afternoon sunlight shone through barred windows and lay in stripes on the dusty floor. The iron-barred cell doors stood wide open on two of the empty cells. In the third cell stood Frank Skimmer, only his hands visible, his fists wrapped around the bars of the locked door.
Speaking in a lowered voice to keep Skimmer from hearing him, Sam said, “The surveyors headed out of town. The two detectives were going back into the saloon when I looked back.”
“Obliged, Ranger,” said Gale. “I expect that’s that, at least until the railroad posse gets here.” He looked closer at Sam and asked, “Have you seen Beck around anywhere? If the detectives run into him on the street, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I haven’t seen him since he walked his horse to the livery barn,” said Sam. “I’ll take Skimmer’s brother’s horse to the livery and check on Beck’s horse while I’m there.”
Having heard their voices but not the content of their conversation, Frank Skimmer called out from his cell, “I want my brother found, Sheriff! Do you hear me out there? And if I find he’s met with foul play, I want the man who done it.”
“I hear you,” Gale called out in reply. Then in a lowered voice he said to the ranger, “I don’t know what to tell him about his brother. I’ll ask around at the saloon first chance I get. What else can I do?”
“Want me to ask around some before I leave town?” Sam asked.
“No, no, that’s all right, Ranger,” Gale said quickly, maybe too quickly, Sam thought. “It’ll keep for a while. He might have gotten dog drunk and crawled up under something, for all we know.”
“You’re right,” Sam said. “I thought I’d make the offer.”
“Obliged again, Ranger,” said Gale. “You’ve been a great help. But you’ve done enough.”
Sam noted that the sheriff suddenly appeared distracted. He watched Gale open a drawer, then idly pick up Skimmer’s revolver from where he’d laid it atop the desk. But instead of putting the gun in the desk drawer, he shoved it back down behind his belt.
“Everything all right, Sheriff?” Sam asked.
“What? Oh yeah,” said Gale, catching himself, seeing the ranger glance down at the pistol. “I expect it might have rattled me some, a man like Frank Skimmer pointing a gun at me.” He took Skimmer’s pistol from his belt once again; this time he put it in the desk drawer and closed the drawer quickly.
Sam considered his words. He’d watched Gale out in the street. He’d seen fear in his eyes, yet no more than normal for a man taking a stand and staring down death. But rattled? He didn’t think so. There was something else concerning the sheriff. What is it? he asked himself.
Seeing the look on the ranger’s face, Gale seemed to take exception. He stiffened a bit and asked, “Haven’t you ever been rattled?”
“I understand,” Sam said, dismissing it without further question. Changing the subject, he said, “If you need me to stay for a while, I will. Otherwise, there’s still three good hours of riding before dark. I’ll get back up on the high trails.”
“I’m all right, Ranger,” said Gale. “I suppose when the posse gets here, the colonel will manage to throw around enough weight to get Skimmer out of jail.”
“Will you press an assault charge on him, make him have to go before the circuit court judge?” Sam asked, thinking he already knew the answer.
“Why go through all that?” said Gale. “We both know the railroad can afford to buy off anything a town sheriff like me can try to do to him.” He glanced down the hall toward the jail cell, where Skimmer’s hands rested around the bars. “I’ll hold him here as long as I can, let him go as soon as I have to.” He shook his head and said with regret, “That’s all the justice we get from big business these days.”
“I don’t envy you, Sheriff,” Sam said, “having to put up with the colonel and his bunch.”
Giving a thin, wry smile, Gale pushed his fingers back through his hair, nodded down at the badge on his chest, and said, “Hell, it’s all a part of being pinned to a star, I reckon.”
Leading his big Appaloosa and the weakened horse he’d brought along from the hitch rail, Sam walked into the open front doors of the livery barn, out of the afternoon sunlight. At a feed bin, he saw the blind man straighten up and turn toward him. On the ground sat Little Dog only a few inches away, watching Clay’s feet, poised to hop out of their way at any second. “The livery manager ain’t here, but I help him some,” said Clay, holding a feed scoop in his hand, his big revolver shoved down behind a length of hemp rope that served as his belt. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got one here that needs graining and watering bad,” Sam said. He stepped over and hitched the dusty black gelding to a stall rail. “He’s been left too long at a hitch rail.”
“I’ll say he has,” Curtis said, tapping the side of his shoe out gently until he found Little Dog. He followed the dog toward the ranger, his walking stick in hand. “That horse has been sweated and dried so many times, he smells like ten sweaty horses.”
“Yes,” said the ranger, “and that’s not the worst of it.”
“It never is,” Clay commented, shaking his head as he walked up to the horse. His outstretched hand located it, yet his other senses had sought it out. “Whooie,” he said, running a scrutinizing hand along the emaciated horse’s side. “I’m going to have to feed and water him a little at a time, else it’ll kill him.” He took his hand from the horse’s side but held it close. “Who does this black horse belong to, anyway?”
His observation stunned Sam, and caused him to look closer at Clay’s clouded eyes. “How do you know he’s black?”
“This time of day, this kind of weather, only a dark horse gets this hot in the sun.”
“I see,” Sam said, curiously skeptical. “But you didn’t say he’s dark, you said black.”
Clay grinned. “The darker the horse, the hotter he gets. I can tell it by the palm of my hand.” His grin broadened. “But you can’t, can you, mister?”
“No, I can’t,” Sam replied. “It stands to reason that a dark horse left in the sun might feel warmer.”
“But you don’t know if you believe I can tell a dark horse from a black horse, now, do you?” Clay grinned.
“No offense,” Sam said, “but it is a little hard to believe.”
Clay tapped himself on the forehead. “You think maybe I can tell it’s dark and just play the odds on it being black?”
“Maybe,” Sam replied, wondering where this was going.
Clay stepped closer and ran a hand along the Appaloosa’s side. “Suppose I told you I could tell you what color this horse was, for a dollar? Would you bet with me?”
“No,” Sam said. “I would say either you’re not blind, or else you’ve got some kind of trick up your sleeve.”
Clay chuckled. “I’m Curtis Clay, mister. I see I can’t interest you in anything.”
“I don’t gamble much,” said the ranger. “I’m Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack.”
“Are you sure enough?” Clay said, impressed without appearing impressed. “I have heard of you, Ranger.” He stepped back from the Appaloosa. “Tell me now, what was those two shots in the air about a while ago?”
Again, his words surprised Sam. But this time Sam wouldn’t comment on it. “Sheriff Gale broke up a fight with a couple of warning shots.”
“I see,” said Clay. He drifted back to the black gelding, ran his hand down its reins, and unhitched them as he spoke. “Being a lawman, you’re right handy with a gun, I know.”
Sam didn’t answer; his silence spoke for him.
“No, I don’t mean fast using one,” said Clay. “I’d never ask a man something like that. I mean handy, putting one together that’s laid out in pieces before you.”
Sam looked at the shiny clean revolver in Clay’s waist and said, “Not as handy as you are, I’m going to guess.”
Clay shook his head and laughed. “You don’t give a man a chance, Ranger.”
Sam smiled. “I bet you don’t either, Mr. Clay.” Without pause, he asked as he looked toward Beck’s dun standing in a stall, “How’s the dun with the stone bruise doing?”
“He’s going to be all right,” Clay said. “Do you know the owner?”
“We’ve met,” said Sam, never one to release much information. He took a gold coin from his pocket and held it out. “Here’s some money for taking care of the horse. The sheriff’s office will pay anything else it costs. Obliged, Mr. Clay,” he added.
Hearing the ranger turn with the Appaloosa to leave, Clay said, “It’s chestnut-colored, Ranger.”
Sam stopped. “What?” he asked.
“That horse of yours. He’s a chestnut with dark stockings,” said Clay. “That’s what I say he is.”
“Then you’re wrong, Mr. Clay,” said Sam, before turning and leaving. “He’s an Appaloosa.”
“Ah, see?” Clay pointed out. “I was wrong. You would have won, had you bet with me.”
“I get the feeling you wouldn’t have been wrong if I had bet with you,” Sam replied.
Clay laughed again and shook his head. “You sure don’t give a man a chance, Ranger.”
“Good evening to you, Mr. Clay,” Sam said respectfully, touching the brim of his sombrero in spite of Clay’s blindness.
“And to you, Ranger,” Clay replied.
Outside the livery barn, Sam stepped up into his saddle and nudged the big Appaloosa toward a trail leading out of town.