Feeling much refreshed from his bath, Smoke went to the Depot Hotel.
“Yes, sir, we have the finest rooms in the city,” the desk clerk said. “A gentleman of your stature will find nothing better.”
“I would like a room overlooking the street,” Smoke said as he signed the register.
“I can do that. I do have a drummer who is a regular and who will come in on tonight’s train. He normally gets the room overlooking the street, but I’ll be glad to let you have it.”
“I wouldn’t want to put one of your regulars out.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, sir. As I said, he is nothing but a traveling salesman. I will accommodate a gentleman over a common drummer any day.”
The hotel clerk was a small, unctuous man whose obsequiousness was beginning to get on Smoke’s nerves.
“Will you be staying through Friday, sir?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You should make it a point to stay through Friday.”
“Why? What is so important about Friday?”
“Oh, sir, did you not see the gallows down at the end of the street? We are going to have a hanging here on Friday. It’s grisly business to be sure, but it should be a very exciting spectacle nevertheless, and something you will be able to tell your grandchildren about.”
“Have you ever seen a hanging?” Smoke asked.
“No, sir. I’ve never been present when an execution was conducted.”
“Conducted?”
“Yes, you know, as the legal extension of a court mandate.”
“I see,” Smoke said. “Well, I have seen hangings, and it isn’t the kind of story you want to tell your grandchildren about.” Smoke stopped short of telling the desk clerk that he had not only seen hangings, he had conducted more than one in his mostly violent life.
“Yes, sir, I suppose it could be gruesome, all right. But the man being hanged is a killer after all. And it isn’t as if they are lynching him. He was given a fair trial and found guilty by a jury of his peers. We had a judge and lawyers and everything. Besides, the man he killed was a husband and father. ”
“I heard the man who actually did the killing was Frank Dodd.”
“Yes, so they say. But Bobby Lee Cabot was present during the train robbery, and according to the law that makes him as guilty as if he had actually pulled the trigger.”
“You have read for the law, have you?”
“No, sir. But I have followed this case with some degree of interest, and I know that the judge instructed the jury to base their decision, not as to whether Cabot actually did the killing, but on the fact that he was there at the time of the killing. That makes him …” The desk clerk paused for a moment, looking for the word, then smiled when he thought of it. “That makes him compilicit in the murder. ”
“I’m sure,” Smoke said. He gave the clerk a dollar. “This will cover my stay for tonight. If I decide to stay longer, I’ll give you more money.”
“Very good, sir,” the clerk said. Reaching up beside him, he pulled down a key and gave it to Smoke. “Your room is two-oh-one. It is at the top of the stairs, the first door on the left. I’m sure you will find it quite satisfactory, but should you have any problems, please don’t hesitate to let me know. ”
Nodding, Smoke picked up his saddlebags and, throwing them over his shoulder, climbed the steps.
The room was typical of many hotel rooms that Smoke had occupied in his life. The bed was high, with a curving iron head and footboards. Sitting beside the bed was a table with a kerosene lantern. On the wall at the foot of the bed was a brown chifforobe upon which set an empty basin and pitcher of water. There was no carpeting on the wide plank floor, and the boards, which had once been painted a deep brown, were now faded in spots. The wallpaper was cream colored, and emblazoned with baskets of purple irises.
Smoke walked over to the window and raised the green shade so he could look out onto Fremont Street. The window afforded him an excellent view of the gallows that stood in front of the jail, and as he stood at the window, he saw that an arriving stagecoach had to maneuver around the gallows because it took up so much of the street. Once clear of the gallows, the driver snapped his reins against the team, and they broke into a trot so that the coach was moving rather quickly as it passed beneath Smoke.
Hooking his saddlebags over a rung in the chifforobe, Smoke left his room and ambled down the stairs. It was time for him to find the Gold Strike Saloon and talk to Miss Minnie Smith.
Between the hotel and the saloon, he passed the Homestead Hardware Store, and he saw a little knot of people standing on the street just in front of the store, staring in through the window. Curious as to what could be drawing their attention, he made a point to walk close enough by the store to look in the window.
There, lying on a table that was pitched up at about a thirty-degree angle, just high enough to elevate the head, was the body of Andy Emerson. Both of Emerson’s eyes were open, though on one, the eyelid was half shut. He had been shot in the back, so there were no visible wounds on the front of his body. His boots had been removed and his toes stuck through one of his socks. There was a hole in the bottom of the other sock. A hastily hand-lettered sign stood up alongside the body.
Andy Emerson
Shot by Sheriff Wallace
In the Line of Duty
The saloon was easy to find. The sign advertising it was a life-sized cut-out and painted figure of a smiling miner. The miner had a pickax slung over his right shoulder, while in his left hand was the reason for the smile. Holding the hand out in front of him, palm up, he was exhibiting a sparkling gold nugget. There was a somewhat smaller sign beside it of a mug of beer, gold at the bottom and white foam at the top.
Smoke pushed his way through the batwing doors, then stepped quickly to one side so that his back was to the wall as he looked the place over. The bar ran perpendicular to the door from the front to the rear of the building along the right side of the room. There were several bottles of spirits sitting on glass shelves behind the bar, their numbers doubled by the mirror at their backs. Nearly a dozen customers stood at the bar, a few of them engaged in animated conversations, but most nursing their own drinks in privacy. Several of the tables had two or more customers, and at least one table had a card game in progress. A group of young women were standing next to the empty piano in the back. One of them was crying, and the others were trying to console her.
“He never did nothin’ but get drunk a few times and get into fights. But he never really hurt nobody, he never stole nothin'. He was a good man, a hardworking cowboy,” the sobbing woman was saying. The others in the saloon looked toward the girls now and then, the expressions on their faces indicating some sympathy for the plight of the one who was crying.
Smoke selected an empty table near the center of the room.
Seeing him sit down alone, one of the girls who had been standing by the piano came over to talk to him.
“Hi, cowboy,” she said. “Something I can get you?”
Smoke nodded toward the weeping young woman. “What’s wrong with her?”
“That’s Janet Ferrell. Her boyfriend was just killed,” the girl said.
“Would her boyfriend be Andy Emerson?”
The girl looked surprised. “Yes. Did you know him?”
Smoke shook his head. “I didn’t know him, but I was an accidental witness to the shooting.”
“What do you mean you were an accidental witness to the shooting?”
“I had just arrived by train, was seeing to my horse being offloaded from the stock car when it happened. The man Emerson ran up onto the track just behind the train. That’s where he was shot.”
“Oh, that’s right. I heard that the train was still standing in the station when it happened,” the girl said. “Tell me this, mister. Was Andy shooting back at the sheriff?”
“No. He didn’t have a gun.”
“I knew it. Andy never carried a gun. But I know just as sure as God made little green apples that Sheriff Wallace is going to try and claim that he shot Andy in self-defense. Andy wouldn’t walk away from a fight. Fact is, he sometimes started them,” the girl said. “But not once, in all the time I knew him, did I ever see him with a gun.”
“I got the idea from the sheriff that he was always in trouble.”
“He was never in any real trouble, and anyone you ask will tell you that. It’s just that Sheriff Wallace is a man who likes to boss people around, and Andy didn’t take all that kindly to it. The sheriff hated him for that.” The girl looked back toward the weeping woman. “Janet is taking this really hard. She blames herself for it.”
“Why does she blame herself?”
“Janet was always trying to get Andy to be less belligerent around the sheriff, but Andy wouldn’t listen to her.”
“She has no reason to blame herself,” Smoke said.
“I know it. We all know it, and that’s what we’ve been telling her.” The girl looked toward the street. “And now they’ve got poor Andy trussed up in the window of the hardware store like he’s a side of beef or something. If you ask me, what that sheriff did by shooting him when he wasn’t even carrying a gun wasn’t much more than outright murder.”
The girl dabbed her eyes, then added, quietly, so quietly that Smoke barely heard it, “And he is about to do the same thing again, come Friday.”
“You are talking about the hanging?” Smoke asked.
“Yes. Bobby Lee Cabot is innocent. And I could have proved it, if the court had let me testify.” She wiped her eyes again, then put on a smile for Smoke. “But I know you didn’t come in here to listen to me prattle on so,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m new in town,” Smoke replied. “And I need a friend.”
The girl smiled, then leaned over, putting her hands down on the table in such a way as to afford him a very generous view of the cleavage exposed by her low-cut dress.
“Honey, as I am sure you can tell by the way that I am dressed, that’s what I do for a living,” she said, now completely back in character. “I am always friendly to handsome men.” She laughed, a self-deprecating laugh. “The truth is, they don’t even have to be handsome. All they need is money. It just works out nice when they are handsome, like you are.”
“Then tell me, my new friend. Where can I find Minnie Smith?”
The smile left the girl’s face, and she looked around the saloon anxiously before turning her attention back to Smoke.
“What do you want with her?” she asked.
“I received a message from her,” Smoke said without providing any more information.
The girl gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God, I didn’t think you would come. You are Buck West, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Smoke answered. At the moment, he thought it would be easier to say that than to explain who he really was. “Am I correct in assuming that you are Minnie Smith?”
“Yes, I’m Minnie Smith.”
“We need to talk.”
“All right. Buy me a drink, Mr. West,” she said. “That way I can sit and talk with you for a spell without anyone wondering what’s going on.”
“I’d be glad to. And I’ll have a beer,” Smoke said. He took a dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her.
Minnie started to the bar to get the drinks, but on her way she stopped at one of the other tables and spoke to the two men who were there. Smoke saw her nod toward him then, and as she continued on toward the bar, the two men got up and, bringing their mugs with them, came over to Smoke’s table.
“You would be Mr. West?” one of them asked.
Smoke nodded, but did not speak.
“May we join you?”
“Yes, please do.” He would have said that he wanted no company, had he not seen Minnie talking to them. But he was certain that if she had spoken to them, then she had probably invited them to join in the conversation. And conversation was good, because he needed as much information as he could gather before he made his move. Whatever that move might turn out to be.
The two men sat down as Minnie got a couple of beers at the bar.
“I’m Doc Baker, this is Nate Nabors. He owns this saloon,” the older of the two men said.
“Pleased to meet the both of you,” Smoke said. He wasn’t sure where this was going, so he was keeping his own comments to a minimum.
“I hope you don’t mind, Mr. West. I told these two gentlemen that you were here,” Minnie said as she returned with the two beers and sat down as well. “They know all about the telegram I sent to you, and they know that you are one of Bobby Lee’s friends. They want to help you if they can.”
“Help me with what?”
“Whatever it is you plan to do, Mr. West,” Nabors said.
“What makes you think I’m going to do anything?”
Minnie had a confused and rather disappointed look on her face.
“I don’t know, maybe I misunderstood,” she said. “I thought that being one of Bobby Lee’s friends you might—uh, well, that is, you did come in response to my telegram, didn’t you? The telegram I sent you?”
“I did.”
“And you are a friend of Bobby Lee’s?”
“I am.”
“Here is the thing, Mr. West. You are here, and we don’t believe you would have come if you didn’t plan to do something,” Doc Baker said.
“And if you do have something planned, we want to help, because we don’t believe Bobby Lee is guilty,” Nabors added.
“Are there many in town like you? By that I mean, people who don’t believe Bobby Lee is guilty,” Smoke asked. He thought of the old white-haired man he had spoken to in front of the drug store.
The others exchanged glances for a moment. Then Doc Baker answered for all three of them.
“A few more maybe, but I’m afraid there aren’t too many of us who feel this way,” he said. “The problem is, Bobby Lee was brought in by passengers who were on the train when it was held up and the express man murdered. That means he was obviously there.”
“Did anyone testify that he saw Bobby Lee shoot the messenger?” Smoke asked.
“No. Nobody testified to that, because nobody saw him do it,” Nabors answered. “And the reason nobody saw him shoot the messenger is because he didn’t do it.”
“But Bobby Lee was there?”
“Oh, yes, he was there.”
Smoke nodded. “Yeah, I was afraid of that. If he was there, then he bears some of the guilt.”
“Whose side are you on, Mr. West?” Minnie asked, surprised by the way the conversation was going.
“I’m just trying to find out as much as I can about what happened,” Smoke replied.
“What happened is Frank Dodd and the others got away. Someone has to hang, so it’s going to be Bobby Lee,” Doc Baker said.
“No!” Minnie said, biting her fist as tears sprung to her eyes. “He can’t hang.”
“He sure as hell can,” Doc Baker said. “And if Mr. West here isn’t able to do anything about it, Bobby Lee damn well will hang.”
“No!” Minnie said again. “No!”
Minnie spoke so loudly that several others in the saloon looked over toward the table she was sharing with the three men, to see what was going on.
“Shh, Minnie, there’s no need for everyone in town to know our business,” Doc Baker said.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Minnie responded quietly and contritely.
“Did Bobby Lee present any defense?” Smoke asked. “I mean, did he say why he was there?”
“Yes,” Nabors replied. “He said he was a railroad detective and he had worked his way into the gang to find out about them.”
“And he told the sheriff about the robbery,” Minnie added. “The sheriff and his deputies were supposed be waiting in the car when the robbers arrived. That way the sheriff could catch them in the act.”
“What went wrong?” Smoke asked.
“He trusted the sheriff. That’s what went wrong,” Minnie replied.
“The sheriff wasn’t in the car,” Doc Baker added.
“Did he say why he wasn’t in the car?”
“He claims that he never got the letter, and that there was no such plan between him and Bobby Lee,” Nabors replied.
“But there was a letter,” Minnie insisted.
“How do you know?” Smoke asked.
“Because he told me,” she replied. “In fact, he told all of us.” She made a circular motion with her hand, which included the other two.
“He told all three of you about the plan?”
“Yes,” Doc Baker answered. “He told us before the robbery ever happened what he was planning to do.”
“Did you three testify to that in the trial?”
“We tried to,” Minnie said. “But they wouldn’t let us testify. They said it was hearsay.”
“They wouldn’t even swear us in as witnesses,” Doc Baker said.
“Are you a special friend of Bobby Lee?” Smoke asked Minnie.
“What do you mean by special friend?” Minnie replied.
Smoke looked over toward the woman Minnie had identified as Janet Ferrell. Janet was still crying about the death of Andy Emerson.
“I mean are you that kind of special friend?” he clarified.
Minnie smiled sheepishly, then nodded. “I am as special a friend as a girl like me can be,” she answered. “What about you? How does he know you? He asked me to send the telegram to you, but he wasn’t sure it would even get through, and he wasn’t sure you would come even if it did. Evidently he hadn’t seen you in a while.”
“That’s right. We haven’t seen each other in a very long time,” Smoke said, validating her observation. “And the reason I know him is because I was once married to his sister. ”
“Once married?” Minnie asked.
“She’s dead,” Smoke said without further elaboration.
“Oh, Mr. West, I’m sorry.”
Suddenly, someone barged in through the batwing doors, hitting them so hard that the doors slammed noisily against the walls. Looking toward the disturbance, Smoke recognized Dawes, the man with whom he had had an altercation back at the barbershop.
“There you are!” Dawes shouted angrily. “You’re the son of a bitch that hit me from behind!” He had a pistol in his hand and he pointed it toward Smoke, which meant he was also pointing toward the three who were sitting at the table with him.
Reacting very quickly, Smoke turned the table over so that it was between Minnie, Doc Baker, Nabors, and Dawes. He did it just in the nick of time because Dawes fired, wildly as it turned out, his bullet taking a piece out of the top of the table.
Remaining crouched over, Smoke moved quickly away from the table so as not to draw any more fire that could put the others in danger. When he reached the stove, he called out to Dawes.
“I’m over here!”
Dawes’ second shot hit the stovepipe, sending out a cloud of black dust, the residue from old fires.
Startled by the unexpected shooting, everyone in the saloon was diving for cover. It was not until then that Smoke drew his own pistol. He shot back, hitting Dawes in the hand, causing him to drop his pistol.
With a cry of pain, Dawes grabbed his hand. Then, shouting out a loud string of curses and his face contorted in rage, he bent over to retrieve his pistol. Smoke fired again, this time hitting the pistol and sending it sliding across the floor.
Dawes started toward it.
“I could have killed you either time, Dawes!” Smoke shouted. “If you touch that gun again, I will kill you. Is that what you want?”
Dawes stopped, then turned back toward Smoke, glaring at him, but saying nothing.
By now, with the shooting stopped, the others in the saloon, some of whom had imitated Minnie, Doc Baker, and Nabors by getting behind overturned tables, began to stand up.
“You were lucky,” Dawes said.
“Didn’t look like luck to me,” Doc Baker said. “Looked to me like he was being generous. Come over here and let me look at that hand.”
“It ain’t nothin',” Dawes said.
“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” Doc Baker said. “On the other hand, it could fester and you’d wind up losin’ your hand. Or worse. Now get over here and let me look at it, like I said.”
Dawes walked over to Doc Baker, holding out his bleeding hand.
“Get me a bottle of whiskey, Minnie,” Doc Baker ordered, and within a moment she was back with a bottle. The doctor pulled the cork with his teeth, then poured a generous amount of the whiskey over the wound.
“Ooww, that hurts,” Dawes complained.
“Good,” Doc Baker said. “It serves you right for doing such a dumb thing. What brought all this on anyway.”
Dawes pointed to Smoke. “He hit me from behind for no reason at all.”
“Now, Dawes, I just met this man a few moments ago and I already don’t believe he would have hit you from behind. And I don’t believe he would hit you for no reason,” Doc Baker said.
“I didn’t hit you from behind, Dawes. I tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around and then I hit you.”
“Well, why did you hit me?”
“Because you were about to bring a chair crashing down on the Chinaman’s head, that’s why.”
“That’s no reason. The Chinaman deserved it. That Celestial stole five dollars from me,” Dawes said angrily.
“And you were going to kill him over five dollars?”
“What if I had killed him? Hell, he ain’t nothin’ but a Chinaman anyway,” Dawes said, as if that explained everything.
By now, Minnie had torn off part of her underskirt, and Doc Baker used it to wrap a bandage around Dawes’ hand.
“Go home, Dawes. Go home before you get yourself into more trouble,” Doc Baker said.
Dawes nodded, then started over to pick up his gun.
“I’ll thank you to leave the gun here,” Smoke said. He emphasized his comment by waving his gun, indicating that Dawes should stay away.
“Mister, that gun cost me fifteen dollars. There ain’t no way I am goin’ to just leave it here.”
“You are going to leave it until tomorrow,” Smoke insisted. “I’m sure the gentleman behind the bar will hold it for you until then.”
“How can I trust him?”
“I give you my word, Dawes, that your gun will be here tomorrow,” Nabors said. “That’s right, isn’t it, Paul?” he called out, looking toward the bartender.
Paul, the bartender, was as awed by what he had seen as any of the others. He nodded, but said nothing.
“Yeah, well, it better be,” Dawes said. “'Cause if it ain’t…” He paused, then, with an angry glare, Dawes left the saloon with his gun still lying on the floor behind him.