Hardcase (26 page)

“I didn't do anything,” Thornton said. “He probably wouldn't have showed up if I did.”

“Well, we got him now, anyways,” Beal said. “Come on up to the courtroom and see how he takes it.”

After much more shouting the lines stiffened, and Beal went into the jail. As he was going in Tate Wallace, standing by the door, said, “Be damn careful, Sheriff. He's dynamite.”

Beal nodded and went inside. Three minutes later he and Dave Coyle, handcuffed together, stepped out between the waiting lines.

Dave walked with an arrogant, cocky tread. His lean face was shaded by a dark beard stubble, which turned his eyes an even paler gray. The old sneer was on his face, and he looked at the crowd contemptuously. He carried his jeering arrogance like a banner. To an uninformed onlooker it would have appeared that Dave was the confident lawman leading Beal, the prisoner, to trial. The crowd shouted and hissed, but Dave paid no attention.

They mounted the steps, and the crowd streamed in after them. The courtroom was small, containing benches for seats. In a cleared space at the rear of the room there were two tables and some chairs in front of a raised stand on which the judge's bench sat. The prosecuting attorney, a mild-appearing, studious man, was seated at the table talking to the judge when Dave entered.

Afterward there was a fight to get seats. Ernie and Beal sat on either side of Dave, and now his handcuffs were removed. Presently Senator Maitland took a chair at the table behind him; the crowd was seated, and the hearing was about to start.

Dave looked at the crowd. He picked out Wallace in the front row near the window and Lacey Thornton and Carol back in the mob.

The judge rapped the desk and called the court to order. He was an old man, kindly and frail-looking, and Dave liked his looks.

When the courtroom quieted the judge cleared his throat and picked up a paper.

Dave suddenly stood up and strolled over to the judge's bench.

Beal came to his feet, as did Ernie, and pulled his gun. Dave turned his back to them and said, “Judge, I want to ask some questions.”

“All in good time,” Judge Warburton said gravely.

“No, now!” He turned to face the courtroom, which was hushed now. He said to the prosecuting attorney, “What'll I be tried for?”

“If you'll sit down,” the attorney began, “we'll conduct—”

“What am I?” Dave rapped out.

“For the killing of Jim Sholto, if you want to know!”

Dave turned to Judge Warburton. “You know who killed Sholto?”

Judge Warburton said patiently, “My good man, sit—”

“I didn't kill Sholto. But the man who did is in this room. And I can prove it!”

There was utter silence.

Beal came up and said quickly, “Let him talk, Judge. We'll get it straightened out later.”

“Do you want to know who he is—with proof?” Dave asked Beal.

Beal said swiftly, “I do.”

“Do you want me to prove to you that McFee's been swindled, that Wallace is a crook, that the man backin' Wallace is a killer?”

There was uproar in the courtroom.

Dave raised his voice and called, “Ernie, go guard that back door.”

Ernie lunged for the aisle and hurried down it to the back door. Judge Warburton whacked his gavel on the bench, and slowly the room settled into silence. Someone in the crowd called, “Pin him down, Harve!”

When there was silence once more Beal said, “If the court will let him talk we may find out something of value.”

Warburton nodded.

Beal said, “Go ahead.”

Dave said, “Sheriff, this whole thing hinges on one letter. That letter is in the post office below. It's addressed to George Bemis. There ain't any George Bemis. I wrote the letter. If you go get it you'll learn somethin'.”

Beal looked perplexedly at Warburton, who said, “This whole thing is against any known rules, so we might as well break another one. Go get the letter, Sheriff.”

“Get McFee too,” Dave said. “I need him.”

The judge nodded at Beal again, and Beal went out with two men. Dave stood in front of the judge's bench, hands on hips, arrogantly facing the crowd.

Soon Beal returned with McFee and the letter, which he gave to Judge Warburton.

“And now what?” Judge Warburton asked. The crowd was utterly quiet.

“I'll start out with the night me and McFee broke jail,” Dave began, talking to the crowd. “We was bein' held for killin' Sholto, me for shootin' him, McFee for payin' me to do it. Sholto wasn't dead. You know that now, because we brought him back to town.”

He looked at Warburton, and Warburton nodded.

“The night after we broke loose we stopped at the Bib M. We gave Mrs. Sholto a note to give to Miss McFee. Is Mrs. Sholto here?”

Lily, sitting next to Carol, stood up. Dave said; “Did McFee give you a note?”

“He did,” Lily said.

“Do you know what was in it?”

“No.”

Dave waved her down and said, “Sheriff, you followed Miss McFee out to the Bib M with Lacey Thornton and your deputy. When you went into the house, did Miss McFee have a letter in her hand?”

Beal looked blankly at him and then pursed his lips. “She did. I remember.”

Dave saw Thornton. “Did she, Thornton?” he asked.

Thornton said, “Yes, I think so.”

“Did she, Ernie?” Dave called.

“I never saw it,” Ernie said truthfully.

Dave turned to Maitland. “Did she, Senator?”

“She did,” Maitland said.

“All right,” Dave went on. “Beal wanted to search the house. Miss McFee put the letter she hadn't had time to read on the hall table and helped the sheriff search the house for us. When you came back downstairs what had happened to the letter, Miss McFee?”

Carol said faintly, “It was gone, stolen.”

“Now remember,” Dave said, “only five people could have stolen it. Only four, really. Lily Sholto didn't steal it, or she would never have given it to Miss McFee. That leaves Sheriff Beal, Lacey Thornton, Ernie See, and Senator Maitland.” He turned to the judge and said, “Is my count right, Judge?”

Warburton nodded. He was leaning forward now, listening closely. Beal only looked puzzled.

“Now,” Dave went on, “I want McFee to tell what was in that letter he'd written to his daughter.”

McFee was puzzled, too, but he stood up. “Why, I told her I was safe. I told her I'd see her the next night, because Dave Coyle and myself were bringin' Sholto back to the sheriff's office the next night. Sheriff Beal would naturally free me, because I was being held on the charge of helping to kill Sholto.”

Dave nodded and McFee sat down. Dave said, “Then whoever stole that note—one of those four men—knew Sholto would be brought back to town the next night.” He looked at the judge again. “Am I right?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Dave turned to the crowd again. He said flatly, “Beal said McFee killed Sholto there in the street. But when he caught me he claimed I killed him. So he's not sure who did. But he's got to admit that four other men could have killed Sholto, because they knew he'd be brought into town.” He looked at Beal. “That right, Sheriff?”

“It could be, except you did,” Beal said.

Dave shrugged and turned to the crowd. “Wallace, you feel like answerin' questions?” he asked.

“No,” Wallace said meagerly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, which was next the window.

Dave smiled. “I don't blame you, so I'll answer my own questions. I knew Wallace three years ago. He was a tinhorn gambler that couldn't pay his debts back in Dodge City. That right, Wallace?”

Wallace didn't answer.

“And now, two years later, he had fifty thousand dollars to buy the Three Rivers outfit. Where'd the money come from, Wallace?”

Wallace didn't answer. People were looking at him now, and he was squirming under their curious gaze.

Dave said jeeringly, “He doesn't want to answer. All right, it's his own business, he thinks. But since he won't answer, let's suppose somebody loaned him the money to buy the place, somebody backed him.”

“You're guessing now!” Warburton said sharply.

“I'll prove my guess,” Dave said.

“Go ahead then, only stick to facts. You have so far.”

“This is a guess, then,” Dave said flatly. “Somebody backed Wallace. McFee is bringin' a suit against Wallace because McFee claims he never signed a paper deedin' his place over to Tate Wallace. He claims it was forged. You all know that. Wallace claims it wasn't forged, and he had a witness to prove it. But this witness was kidnaped. McFee was jailed for helpin' in it.” He paused, for effect, then said, “Now listen careful, you people; you're the judge.”

There was a murmur of interest. The crowd really was listening, some against their will and their better judgment, but nevertheless, they were listening.

“
If
that deed was forged, as McFee claims, then it proves that Wallace wanted McFee's range and his place. He turned to the judge. “Don't it, Judge?”

“It would seem so—
if
the deed was forged.”

“All right,” Dave said flatly. “If it could be proved that Bruce McFee killed Wallace's witness, Jim Sholto, then McFee would hang. If he was dead he couldn't contest the deed, could he? And Wallace would get the Bib M, wouldn't he?”

There was a ripple of laughing assent through the crowd.

“So,” Dave said, spreading his palms, “Sholto was killed, and it was hung on McFee.”

Wallace came to his feet. “Hung on him? Hell, no, he did it or you did it!
I
didn't do it! Me and my crew was drinkin' in the saloon when it happened.”

“Hear that?” Dave asked ironically. “He didn't kill Sholto. That's a fact. Either I did it—nobody knows why—or McFee did it because he wanted to hang—”

Here the laughter interrupted him, and he waited for it to die, and then went on: “—or—and this is a big ‘or'—one of those four did it—Beal, See, Thornton, or Maitland—because they knew Sholto would be in town.”

He ceased talking and looked around at the judge. “How about it, Judge?”

“I follow you,” Warburton said. “But I still don't see what you're drivin' at.”

“You've got it,” Dave said calmly. “Who stood to gain most by Sholto's death, Judge?”

“Why—Wallace, if it could be proved McFee killed Sholto. McFee, dead, couldn't contest the deed.”

Dave said, “Let it ride there. Wallace stood to gain by McFee bein' hung—Wallace or the man behind him. And since Wallace didn't kill Sholto, would you say the man behind him did?”

Warburton said sharply, “
If
there's a man behind him.”

“There is,” Dave said. “He's in this room with me, with all of us.”

There was a stirring of interest in the crowd, some cries of doubt, some of “Get on with it,” and “Let's hear him out.”

When it was quieted Warburton said, “You've got a lot to prove. This is just guessing. Set about giving proof now.”

Dave nodded and placed his hands on his hips. “I stole the deed from Wallace's place. You all know that. That left Wallace without any legal claim to the Bib M.”

There were nods of assent.

“I knew Wallace had to have the deed back if he wanted to keep the Bib M. I wanted to sell the deed—
but I also wanted to prove there was a man behind Wallace.
”

There was utter silence now. Finally Warburton asked skeptically, “Did you prove it?”

“I did,” Dave said. “There's a letter in your hand, Judge. What day was it mailed?”

Warburton picked up the letter. “The fourteenth.”

“Two days ago,” Dave said. “Remember that. Two days ago. Now open the letter, Judge. Read it out loud.”

Judge Warburton did. When he had unfolded it Dave held up his hand. “Listen careful. This is it.”

Judge Warburton read in a firm voice:

“I didn't kill Sholto. I know that. McFee didn't kill him either because he wouldn't hang himself. Who did? One of four men: Beal, See, Thornton, or Maitland, because they knew Sholto would be in town that night. Because Wallace is the man who stood to gain by Sholto's death, I think one of those men is backing Wallace.

So I'm doing this. I am writing notes to all four of these men. I'm offering them the deed for the sum of ten thousand dollars. They won't show up in person to buy the deed back, because they don't want to be connected with Wallace. Instead they'll send Wallace to get the deed.

So I am sending notes to all four—but each note names a different meeting place. Beal's note told him to meet me at twelve o'clock at the Wagon Mound post office on Tuesday night. Thornton's note tells him to meet me at the Minter's stage station at ten o'clock Tuesday night. Maitland's note tells him to meet me by Alamo Butte at seven o'clock Tuesday night.

First I will go to the Alamo Butte. If nobody shows up with the money I'll ride to Minter's stage station. If nobody shows up there I'll ride in to Wagon Mound.

But one thing I will know. Wherever Wallace shows up to buy back the deed, I can tell by the time and the place he turns up
who sent him
.

D
AVE
C
OYLE
”

Warburton looked up, excitement in his eyes. “And did Wallace turn up?”

Dave nodded.

Wallace lunged to his feet. “I never bought it back!” he shouted.

“At which place?” Warburton asked swiftly.

Dave drew out a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Warburton. “Read it out loud, Judge,” Dave said dryly.

Warburton read, “‘I, the undersigned, received the deed to the Bib M in return for payment of ten thousand dollars on the night of September 15 at the big cottonwood by Alamo Butte. (Signed) Tate Wallace.'”