Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (3 page)

Utah Elaine turned his glass in his fingers. "Red, you want to do me a favor?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Take all those horses with you and keep 'em away from that line shack for a week.

If the boss says anything, I'll explain it."

Red shrugged. "Sure, I'll do it." He looked curiously at Utah. "Wish you'd let m
e
in on it, though.""

"Later. But don't even whisper it to anybody, you hear? And don't let anybody se
e
you if you can help it. I've got a feelin' we're goin' to make a murderin' skun
k
mighty unhappy!"

The death of Hibbs was amazing to Squaw Creek only because the hotel clerk had bee
n
out of town. The curiosity of the loafers at the barbershop was aroused and the
y
speculated at random on what he had been doing in that dusty wash when he was usuall
y
at work on the hotel books.

Blaine listened thoughtfully. Then he got up and settled his hat on his head. Insid
e
the barbershop, Pickard was stropping a razor. "I figure he was hunting the loo
t
from those robberies," he said, "and he had some idea where it was ... only he wa
s
too late."

"Too late?" Childress looked up. "You mean somebody found it?" The razor stroppin
g
had stopped abruptly.

"Uh-huh," Utah said, weighting his words carefully. "That's just what I mean....

Well"-he stepped down off the walk-"be seem' you."

He walked away, feeling their stares on his back. It was rather obvious bait, bu
t
would Pickard really have the choice not to bite on it? Could he coolly ignore th
e
possibility that all he had planned so carefully for ... killed for, might be gone?

Pickard stared out the window after Blaine. What did he mean by that? He was sur
e
that nobody could find the money. It was still there where he'd hidden it, it ha
d
to be. ... He returned to his stropping of the razor, but his mind was not on hi
s
work. He scowled. How had Blaine found Hibbs's body so soon? He must have been ou
t
in the hills ... he might even have followed Hibbs.

Yet that could not be, for if he had, he would have been close by when Hibbs wa
s
killed ... or ha
d
he been close by? Suppose Blaine was less interested in finding the killer than i
n
finding the loot... and keeping it for himself?

Worried now, Pickard grew irritable and restless. If Elaine found that loot, the
n
all his time here was wasted.
Pickard
would be chained to this barber chair! H
e
woul
d have
killed and robbed and risked his life, for nothing!

Yet suppose it was only a trap? That might be Blaine's idea, but it would not work.

He knew how ... he glanced at the building's shadow. Two hours yet to sundown.

Alone in his shop, Pickard worked swiftly. There was no time to lose. Trap or not
,
he must know whether his loot had been found, and if it was a trap . . . well, they'
d
find out that their quiet town barber had teeth. He thrust a pistol into his waistban
d
and picked up a shotgun.

When it was dark he slipped from the back of the shop and ducked quickly into th
e
bed of the stream. Hurrying along it, he came out near the TO line shack and crosse
d
quickly to the stable. Quickly, he struck a match and picked up the lantern ... an
d
then he stopped. The horses were gone!

Pickard froze where he was and the match burned down to his fingers before he droppe
d
it. He had seen Red Williams in town, but he had no idea ... now there was no othe
r
way. He must go on foot.

Suppose somebody came for him while he was gone? He would have to chance that. Th
e
shop was closed and he had left everything locked tight. He started down the draw
,
moving swiftly. At night and without a horse, it seemed much farther than the thre
e
miles he had to go, yet despite his hurry, he took his time when reaching the are
a
where the loot was concealed. He waited, listened, then went forward.

Quickly, he moved a rock and reached into the cavity beneath. Instantly, his hear
t
gave a bound. The loot wa
s
there! Elaine had been talking through his hat! It was safe! He struck a match, shieldin
g
it with his cupped hands. All there . . . should he take it with him now, or shoul
d
he wait and pick it up, as he had planned, after leaving town?

Much of it was gold, but there was a good bit of paper money, too. It would be
a
load, almost a hundred pounds of it, but he could get it back. No, he changed hi
s
mind swiftly. He would take one sack of gold, just in case. He could always com
e
back after the rest.

Taking the sack out, he carefully replaced the stone, then lit a match and had
a
careful look around to make sure the stone was in place and no damp earth was showing.

As the match went out his eyes caught a flicker of white on the ground and he guardedl
y
struck another. He stooped . . . merely some whitish-gray mud or damp earth. He droppe
d
the match and, picking up his bag, started back.

Pickard hurried, desperately worried for fear of discovery, and his breath was comin
g
hoarsely when he reached the back door of his shop. He opened the door, stepped in
,
and turning, he struck a match and lighted the lamp. Just as he replaced the chimne
y
a shock of fear went through him ... he had left the doo
r locked!
Pickard turned sharply, half-crouched like an animal at bay, a sickness turning hi
m
faint with shock. Facing him from chairs ranged around the room were Tom Church
,
Childress, Hunt, and Red Williams!

Clutched in his hand was the sack of stolen gold, and then Utah Blaine spoke. "Dro
p
your guns, Pickard! You are under arrest!"

His years of planning, working, scheming, his murders and robberies, the hot, stiflin
g
nights when he waited, when he struck with the knife or club, or tossed the noos
e
over a neck, and strangled ... all gone! All for nothing! All because...!

Like a cat he wheeled and plunged for the door. The move was so swift that Elain
e
swung, not daring to shoot toward the other men, knelt, and thrust out his foot.

Pickard tripped and sprawled through the door onto the step. Springing to his feet
,
his hands lacerated from the silvery-gray wood, he grabbed for his gun.

"Hold it!" Elaine yelled.

Pickard's gun swung up ... and he felt his finger close, and then somebody smashe
d
him a blow in the chest. He staggered, trying to bring his gun to bear, and anothe
r
blow hit him, half turning him around.

What... what th-! His eyes blurred and the gun would not seem to come up and the
n
something struck him on the back of the head and he was on the ground and he wa
s
staring up at the stars and then the stars faded and he realized ... nothing more.

Tom Church stared at the fallen man, white-faced. "Dead center, Utah," he said quietly
,
"but you had to do it."

"Yeah."

"That's only part of the stolen money," Childress said. "You reckon he spent th
e
rest of it?"

Utah Elaine indicated the dead man's boots, their soles stained with a muddy whitis
h
substance. "I figure it's cached. He left the rest of it, but those white boots wil
l
lead us right to it."

"What is that stuff?" Church asked. "Never saw any clay like that around here."

"It's white paint," Elaine replied, "I spilled plenty of it inside the door of th
e
TO barn and corral. I knew he'd come there, and that white paint would leave hi
s
marks to trail him by."

Hunt and Williams carefully picked up the body and carried it off down the street.

Elaine stood in the alley while Tom Church locked up Pickard's shop. After a momen
t
Childress swore softly. "What's worryin' me now," he said, "is what are we goin'
t
o do for a barber!"

*