Bowdrie's Law (Ss) (1983) (12 page)

"Will you have the money they need?"

"I've sent to Maravillas for it. We lost eight thousand dollars," he added.

"'Payroll money? Somebody must have known it would be there. ""

"Everybody knew. We've been supplying ranchers with payroll money for years."

"Eight thousand? That could hurt to lose. Can you make out?" "You mean, will it break the bank? No, it won't. That bank belongs to Mary Jane now, and I won't let it break."

He spoke with cool determination, yet there was something more in his tone. A warning?

"You should make out," Friede commented, "as long as no rumors get started. What if there was a run on the bank?"

Jim Cane turned his eyes to Friede. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like to see Mary Jane broke and me thrown out."

Bowdrie watched the two men. Hadley had tightened up, ready to avert trouble if it began. Out of such a quarrel might come something revealing.

Friede put down his glass. "I've no trouble with either of you. If Hayes wanted to take in a saddle tramp, that was his business, and if Mary Jane wants to marry a drifter, that's hers."

Cane balled his fists. "Why, you--!"

"Easy does it!" Hadley interrupted. "Kent, you watch your tongue. I've seen men killed for no more than that."

Friede shrugged contemptuously. His face was white and drawn, but not with fear.

This man when cornered could be deadly. "Don't start anything, Cane, or I'll have my say. Some people don't like wet stock."

Jim Cane looked as if he had been slapped, but before he could reply Kent Friede turned away, an ugly triumph in his expression. Cane stared after him and his hand shook as it lifted to the bar as if to steady himself. Then without a word he walked out.

Hadley stared after them. "Now, what did he mean by that?" Hadley glanced at Bowdrie.

"Friede seems to know more than he lets on."

Bowdrie made no comment, but behind his dark, Indian-like features his mind was working swiftly. The deep, dimplelike scar beneath his cheekbone seemed deeper, and his face had grown colder. Leaving Hadley in the saloon, he crossed to the bank.

There were things here he must check before the bank was permitted to reopen, but more than that he wanted to be alone, to think. Letting himself in, he closed and locked the door behind him, then stood looking around.

It was late afternoon and the sun was going down. Most of the townspeople were at home preparing for supper. Only hours before, two men had died here, killed by a man they trusted, but who was the man?

For almost an hour he sat in the banker's chair reconstructing the crime by searching through his experience and what little he had learned for the motivation. After a while he went to the old filing cabinet and rummaged through the papers there and in the desk. Finally he stepped out on the street, locking the door behind him.

The Hayes house was just down the street and he turned that way. In answer to his knock the door was opened by a slender, dark-haired girl with lovely eyes. Eyes red from crying. "Oh. You must be the Ranger? Will you come in."

Bowdrie removed his hat and followed her through the ornate old parlor with its stiff-collared portraits of ancestors to a spacious and comfortable living room. He realized then that he had come to the wrong door. The parlor entrance or "front door" was rarely used in these houses. The kitchen door was the usual entrance. The table, he noticed as he glanced into the dining room, was set for three, although but one plate was in use.

"Please don't let me interrupt your supper," he protested.

She glanced at him quickly, embarrassed. "I . . . I set Dad's place, too. Habit, I guess."

"Why not? And the other is for Jim Cane?"

"'Have you seen him? I've been so worried. He's taking this awfully hard. He . .

. he loved Dad as much as I did."

Her voice was low and he caught the emotion in it and changed the subject.

"I hope to finish my wdrk tomorrow and be riding on, but there are some things you could tell me. Was Kent Friede sweet on you? I mean, was he a suitor?" Bowdrie could not recall ever using the expression before, but believed it was the accepted one.

There was so much he did not know about how people talked or conducted themselves.

So much he wanted to know.

"Sort of. As much as he could be on anyone. Kent's mostly concerned with himself.

Then... well, he's not the sort of man a girl would marry. I mean . . . he's killed men. He is very good with a gun. The best around here, unless it is Sheriff Hadley."

Bowdrie's black eyes met hers. His expression was mildly amused. "You wouldn't marry a gunfighter?"

She flushed. "Well, I didn't mean that.., exactly."

Bowdrie smiled, and she was startled at how warm and pleasant it made him look. He had seemed somehow grim and formidable. Maybe it was because she knew who he was. "Your coffee's good." She had almost automatically filled his cup. "Even a gunfighter can enjoy it. But I know what you mean. You want to be sure when you cook supper there's somebody there to eat it."

The door opened suddenly and there was a jingle of spurs and Jim Cane stood framed in the opening. His face was drawn and worried. His eyes went sharply from Bowdrie to Mary Jane. "You here? Why can't you let this girl alone? She's lost her father, and--"

"Jim!" Mary Jane protested. "Mr. Bowdrie has been very nice. We have been talking and sharing some coffee. Why don't you sit down and we will all have supper?"

"Maybe the Ranger won't be able to. There's been a killing. Kent Friede was found dead just a few minutes ago."

Bowdrie put down his cup. He had been looking forward to a quiet supper. It was not often he ate with people. "Who found him?"

"I did." Cane stared defiantly. "He was lying in the alley behind the bank, and if you think I killed him, you're dead wrong!"

"I didn't say . . ." Bowdrie got to his feet. "Thank you, Miss Hayes."

Kent Friede lay on his face in the alley back of the bank with a knife between his shoulder blades, a knife driven home by a sure, powerful hand. His body was still warm.

A half-dozen men stood around as Bowdrie made his examination. Chick was thinking fast as he got to his feet.

This was all wrong. Kent Friede was not the man to let another get behind him. Nor was there any cover close by. The alley was gravel and not an easy place to creep up on a man unheard. This was cold-blooded murder, but one thing he knew. It had not happened in this alley.

He withdrew the knife and studied it in the light of a lantern. He held it up. "Anybody recognize this?"

"It's mine!" Tommy Ryan's eyes were enormous with excitement. "It's my knife! I was throwin' it this afternoon. Throwin' it at a mark on that o
l
' corner tree!"

Bowdrie glanced in the direction indicated. The knife would have been ready to anyone's hand. He balanced the knife, considering the possibilities.

Kent Friede was dead, the body found by Jim Cane. Only a short time before, the two had almost come to blows before a dozen witnesses, and Friede had made his remark about wet stock. Bowdrie heard muttering in the gathering crowd, and Cane's name was mentioned.

Sheriff Hadley joined them. "This doesn't look good, Bowdrie. People are already complainin' that I haven't arrested Jim Cane for the bank robbery. Now this here is surely goin' to stir up trouble."

"Have you any evidence? Or have they? A lot of loose talk doesn't make a man guilty." i "No evidence I know of," Hadley agreed. "I'd never have suspected anything was wrong at the bank without you bringin' it up. What gave you the idea?"

"Tobacco smoke. Somebody was inside the bank before the outlaws got there. After tipping me off to the robbery and its time. Whoever it was figured I'd come a-shootin' and kill all or some of them and maybe get killed myself. In fact, I think he counted on that.

"'Then during the gun battle outside he finished off the two inside and got away with the money. If I'd been killed too, there was just no way anybody could figure out what happened. He'd have the money and be completely in the clear."

"Looks like he is anyway," Hadley agreed ruefully. "This Friede, he might have known something."

"He knew a lot, a lot too much. You see, Sheriff, he knew who that other outlaw was.

Ie knew the fifth man. He followed somebody to that outlaw camp and he crouched down in the mesquite and heard them planning it."

Bowdrie arranged for the body to be picked up and then walked back to the hotel, where he had taken a room. In the hotel he bundled the bedding together to resemble the body of a sleeping man; then he unrolled his blankets and slept on the floor.

The gun's report and the tinkle of falling glass awakened him. The bullet had smashed into the heaped-up clothing on the bed, then thudded into the wall. He got up carefully and eased to a position near the door. Outside somewhere a light went on and he heard an angry voice. He looked into the alley. It was dark, empty, and still.

He waited. A few people came out on the street, and he heard more complaints about drunken cowboys and disturbed sleep.

He studied the line the bullet must have taken to break the window, penetrate the heaped-up bedding, and crash into the wall. It was, he reflected, the thud of the bullet into the wall that had awakened him, almost the instant of the report.

From beside the window he studied the situation. The bullet could have come from a dark corner of the livery stable, a place where a man might wait for hours without being seen. At night there was very little activity in town. Even the saloons closed by midnight.

Pulling on his clothing, he went into the street, moving toward the livery stable.

The door gaped wide. There was a lantern hanging from a nail over the door, but nobody was around. A hostler slept in the tack room at the back of the stable during the busy times.

Stepping inside the door, he glanced around. He saw no cigarette butts, although when he squatted on his heels he detected a little ash. Taking a chance, he struck a match. There was some ash and a few fragments of tobacco. He scraped them together and put them in a fold of a sheet torn from his tally book.

Standing on the corner in the shadow of the barn, he saw he was no more than fifty yards from Jim Cane's cabin. He walked past the cabin, staying in the dust to make no sound. No light showed.

He walked past the sheriff's office and back to the hotel, passing the tree where young Tommy Ryan had been practicing throwing his knife.

Morning dawned bright and clear. Bowdrie went out into the street, feeling good.

He knew the killer was both puzzled and worried.

A well-laid plan had backfired. Too many things had gone wrong, and now the killer did not know but what something else, something he had not thought of, might also have gone wrong. One way out remained. To kill Bowdrie. The Ranger knew more than he was expected to know and at any moment he might achieve a solution that would mean the collapse of all the killer's schemes and his own arrest.

That he had been marked for death on the day he rode into town, Bowdrie was well aware. That he survived the initial shootout had been the first thing to go wrong.

Of course, even before that, Kent Friede had spied on the outlaw eamp, but of that the killer had no knowledge at the time, and that situation had been remedied. Bowdrie remained.

He walked across the dusty street to the restaurant. Every sense was alert. What happened must take place within the next few hours. His hands were never far from the butts of his pistols. When he reached the restaurant door he looked around. Jim Cane stepped out of an alley and crossed the street toward him.

Bowdrie went inside and sat down. He knew the killer. He knew just who the other outlaw was and what he had done. The difficulty was that he had no concrete evidence, only several intangible clues, things that weighed heavily with him, but nothing he could offer a jury.

Jim Cane pushed open the door and strode across to his table. "How about the bank?

Hadley says it's okay to open."

"How about a cup of coffee?" Bowdrie suggested. Then, as Cane seated himself, he added, "Sure, you can open up, and good luck to you. However"--he leaned closer--"you might do something for me." He went on, whispering.

Cane stared at him, then swallowed his coffee and left the
c
af
e
. Chick Bowdrie stirred his coffee and smiled at nothing.

Tommy Ryan came to t
h
e door and peered in; then he crossed to the table. "Mr. Bowdri
e
," he said, "I got somethin' to tell you. I seen who took my knife!'"

Bowdrie glanced at him sharply. "Who have you told besides me?" . "Nobody. On'y Pa.

He said--"

!"Tell me later. Why don't you sit over at that table, drink a glass of milk and eat a piece of that thick apple pie? On me."

Sheriff Hadley entered. He was a strapping big man and as usual he walked swiftly, his gray hat pulled down, the old-fashioned mule-ear straps flapping against the sides of his boots.

He dropped into the chair across from Bowdrie. "Bowdrie, I figured it only right to talk to you first. I got to make an arrest. It's no secret who done it. I've got to arrest a thief and a killer."

"Why not leave it to me?" His thick forearms rested on the table and his black eyes met those of the sheriff. "You see, I've known almost from the start who the guilty man was. Things began to tie up when I first saw those bodies lyin' on the floor in the bank. That dead outlaw? That was Nevada Pierce." "Pierce? You sure of that?"

"Uh-huh. You see, I sent him to prison once. And his description was in the Rangers'

Bible. Lots of descriptions there, Hadley."

Their eyes clung. "You mean.., you got Jim Cane's description, too?"

"Sure. I spotted him right off. Jim used to run stock across the Rio Grande. That was four, five years ago."

"You knowed he was a horse thief and you haven't arrested him?"

"That's right, Hadley. You see, we live on the edge of lawless times. Lots of men got their first stake branding unbranded cattle. It surely wasn't theirs, but nobody else could prove a claim to it either. Afterward some other boys came along later, so to even things up, they switched brands.

"Now, maybe that's stealin', Hadley. By the book I guess it is. Nowadays it would surely be stealin', for there's no unclaimed stock runnin' around. It all belongs to somebody. It hasn't always been easy to decide who was a crook and who wasn't.

"So you know what I do? I judge a man by his record. Suppose a man who's rustled a few head in the old days goes straight after that? The country is settlin' down now, so if a man settles down an' behaves himself, we sort of leave him alone. If we went by the letter of the law, I could jail half the old-time cattlemen in Texas, but the letter of the law isn't always justice. It was open range then, and two-thirds of the beef stock a man could find was maverick. If a man goes straight, we leave him alone."

"What do you mean?" Hadley kept his voice low. "You call robbin' banks an' killin' goin' straight?"

"Not a bit of it. If Cane had robbed a bank or killed anyone, I'd have arrested him.

He had nothing to do with it."

Their eyes met across the table and Bowdrie said, "That Rangers' Bible of ours, it carries a lot of descriptions, like I said. It has descriptions of all the crowd who used to run with Pierce.

"There was one thing always puzzled Pierce, and that was how the Rangers always managed to outguess him. What he never knew was that we were always tipped off by one of his own outfit."

Hadley pushed his chair back, both hands on the table's edge. "You've got this man spotted, Bowdrie?"

"Sure. He had a record, just like Cane, but at first I held off. Maybe I was prejudiced because of his record. It might have been Cane or Kent Friede, so I waited."

Chick Bowdrie lifted his coffee cup and looked over it at Sheriff Hadley. "You shouldn't have done it, Hadley. You had a nice job. People respected you."

"With eight thousand dollars just waitin' to be picked up? And Jim Cane to lay it on?" His tone deepened and became ugly. "An' I'd have made it but for you."

"You tipped the Rangers to that Pierce holdup, didn't you? We always wondered where the money got to. Now I know. The Rangers got him and you got the money, and now you've tried it again. You're under arrest, Hadley."

.'i Hadley got to his feet, his hands hovering over his guns. "'You iiaake a move, Ranger, an' you die! You hear that?"

"Sure." Bowdrie still held his cup. "I hear."

Eli Hadley backed through the door and ran across the street as Bowdrie got up and tossed a silver dollar on the table. "For the kid's grub, too," he said. ,,H,e glanced at the boy. "It was Hadley you saw, wasn't it?" '" Uh-huh. You lettin' him get away?"

"No, Tommy. I just didn't want any shooting in here. He won't get far, Tommy. You see, I planned it this way. There isn't a horse on the street, nor in the livery stable.

Hadley won't go far this time."

Outside, the street was empty, yet people knew what was happening and they woull be at the windows. Hadley was at his hiding place now, getting out the eight thousand dollars. Soon he would discover there was no horse in his stable, so he would rush to the street to get one.

"Only he knew where the money was, Tommy. The bank has to have it back. He'll get it for us."

Bowdrie walked outside and away from the front of the cafe. Iill Hadley emerged from an alley, a heavy sack in his hand, a pistol in the other. When he saw no horses tied at the hitching rails, he looked wildly about.

"Hadley, you needn't look. There ain't a horse within a quarter of a mile."

"You! You set me up!"

"Of course I did. Just as you set up your partners, time after time.

"I didn't have enough proof, Hadley. Only that there were no cigarette butts, just ashes and sometimes burned matches. You smoke a pipe, Hadley.

"Also, Pierce's old partner was a knife-thrower, and the knife that killed Friede had to be thrown. At first I thought he'd been killed elsewhere, because nobody could have walked up behind Friede over that gravel.

"We just had a few facts, Hadley, never a full description of you, so you could have gone straight and nobody the wiser. You tied it all up nicely, Hadley, you yourself."

Hadley's gun came up and Bowdrie drew and fired before the gun came level. Flame stabbed from Bowdrie's pistol and the sheriff dropped the loot and tried to bring his gun into line. Something seemed to be fogging his vision, for when he fired again, he was several feet off the target.

Blood covered his shir. He went to his knees. "A damn Ranger!" he said. Then he cursed obscenely. '.'It had to be a Ranger." "Our job, Hadley, but you got yours in front, not in the back." Hadley stared up at him; then his eyes glazed and the fingers on the pistol relaxed. Bowdrie bent down and took the gun from his fingers.

People came out on the street. Some lingered, shading their eyes to see. Others came closer. Bowdrie indicated the sack. "There's your money, Cane."

"Thanks. I moved the horses like you said." Then he asked, "How did you know?"

Bowdrie thumbed shells into his gun. He told Cane what he had told Hadley, then added, "It was all of it together, along with those mule-ear straps on Hadley's boots. I saw the marks on the sand made by them when he sat talking in the outlaw camp. Some of those old-timey boots like Hadley wore had loose straps to pull on the boots.

Nowadays they make them stiffer and they don't dangle.

"I had an idea what might have made those marks, but when I saw Hadley, I knew. I had to be around town a mite to see if anybody else around was outfitted like him.

Nobody was.

"All along, he had you pegged for the goat. He even rode one of your horses out there to talk to the outlaws. Hadley said he didn't know I was in the country, but I happen to know headquar- ters told him I was ridin' this way. He was the only one who could have thrown that note tipping me to the raid."

"You'd have thought he would have been sensible enough to go straight, with a good job, and all."

"Yeah," Bowdrie said, smiling at Cane, "the smart ones do go straight."

"You got time for something to eat? Mary Jane's frying up some eggs and she makes the best griddle cakes in Texas!"

"Home cookin'! I always did have a weakness for home cookin'. Although," Bowdrie added, "I never see much of it."

: In the days of westward travel the Pecos River was about one hundred feet wide and four feet deep at the Crossing's deepest. Such figures varied somewhat according to rainfall, of course, but rain was a rarity. There was nothing to indicate the presence of a river until one was close upon it. The riverbed lay eight to ten feet below the level of. the surrounding prairie, and no trees marked its course.' .

The Crossing was namel for the skulls of horses that lay about, said to be the remains of horses stolen by the Comanches, who ran them hard in escaping from Mexico. The horses, arriving at the first water in miles, drank too much. Rip Ford, Texas Ranger, is the authority for this story.

This was the crossing used by the Butterfield Stage. It was also used by a number of cattle drives, including that of Charlie Goodnight when he blazed the Goodnight-Loving Trail. Marcy was here in 1849, when exploring the westward route for the Army, and Bartlett, when he was surveying the U. S.-Mexican border.

Off to the west is El Capitan, over eight thousand feet high, a peak of the Guadalupes that was a noted landmark for travelers.

There were thirteen graves at Horsehead Crossing, most of them the result of gun battles between cowboys over difficulties involved in making the crossing. Here, too, Boy, with his wife, several cowhands, and a large herd, was attacked by Comanches.

Several men were wounded, and the cattle stolen. The group took refuge in the ruins of the abandoned stage station, where they held off the Indians for days until rescued by a gold-hunting party led by Colonel Dalrymple.

It was hot country; it was dry country; it was a country that was hell on horses and men. Patience was limited, and tempers short. It was a wonder there were not more graves at the Horsehead Crossing.

*