Hardcase (20 page)

Ernie grunted sourly. “Wallace says to tell you he's movin' on the Bib M today.”

Beal frowned a little, and Ernie went on, still sourly, “Says it's legal enough, so he's movin' in.”

“Well, I guess it is,” Beal said, nodding. Beal was in a cheerful mood that nothing could destroy this morning, but Ernie was determined.

He said, “I just been down to get Sholto's stuff from the coroner. Lookit what I found.” He pulled out a drawer. In the bottom of it were some coins, some dirty matches, a stockman's knife, a sack of tobacco, and a worn and dog-eared letter.

Beal looked at them without interest and said, “We'll give them to Wallace.”

“I wouldn't,” Ernie said slowly.

Something in his voice made Beal look at him. “Why not?”

Ernie picked up the envelope, held it in his hand, and said, “Read what's inside.”

Beal did. It was a note on a dirty piece of paper. It said, “I'm all right. I'll see you soon. (Signed) Jim. Beal read it and said, “He was likely goin' to send it to his wife before McFee killed him.”

Ernie grunted. “Don't you notice anything funny?”

Beal looked at the letter again, turned it over, studied it, then said, “Why, no.”

Ernie said with seeming irrelevance, “Remember when you and me rode out to the Three Rivers to take a look at Wallace's deed that McFee give him?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Remember Sholto's signature?”

“Sure. It was on the deed as a witness.”

Ernie pulled his feet down, stretched, yawned, cuffed his hat to the back of his head, then said casually, “There was a signature on the deed all right. It said ‘Jim Sholto.' But it wasn't that writin'.”

Beal came to his feet, his good humor suddenly evaporated. Ernie concluded that his little job of writing the note last night and dirtying it and sleeping on it made it look convincing enough.

Beal suddenly groaned softly and stared at Ernie. “You sure?”

“You saw the deed,” Ernie said. “Remember, that writin' of Sholto's was round and kind of shaky-like, like he was drawin' a picture? Well, this ain't like that.”

“But my God!” Beal burst out. “Do you realize what this means?”

“Sure I do,” Ernie said. “It means Wallace has got to prove that the signature on his deed is really Sholto's.”

“But—but dammit, he's movin' today! He'll fight! Why—we'll be in one hell of a mess, twice the mess we've been in.” Beal's face was a picture of panic and dismay. He groaned again and said, “What'll we do?”

Ernie shrugged. “You got me,” he said, immediately cheerful.

“Look,” Beal said. “I got to be here today when McFee's arraigned. You go out and take a look at that deed.”

“Nothin' doin',” Ernie said flatly.

Beal's face hardened. “You want to keep your job, Ernie?”

“Not that bad,” Ernie said cheerfully. “Hell, I ain't goin' to start another damn war in this county. I'll quit first. He grinned at Beal. “Then where'll you be, Harve? You start gettin' tough with Wallace and you won't be able to hire a deputy. No man wants to commit suicide.”

Beal only glared at him. Ernie scratched his head and went on, “I got a way, I think. I been studyin' on it, and I can't see what's wrong with it. It wouldn't make Wallace sore, and you could still find out if Sholto's signature is a phony.”

“How?”

“Send a man out with word to Wallace to bring the deed with him when he moves in to the Bib M today. Tell him it's just protection for the sheriff's office. He takes possession, and you want to be sure it's legal. Tell him you want a look at it, just to protect yourself.”

“What if it ain't legal?”

Ernie spread his hands, palms out, and said, “Turn it over to the U.S. commissioner's office and let them sweat.”

Beal thought a moment and said, “Yeah, that'd be all right. We could look at it without makin' him suspicious.”

“Sure.”

“I'll send a man,” Beal said.

The office door opened just then, and a mild-looking townsman walked in. After the greetings he said, “Harve, someone busted in the office last night.”

Beal frowned. “What would anybody want in the county recorder's office? Is anything missin'?”

“Not that I can find. Books is all in order. Stamps are all there. But still the lock was busted.”

Beal said to Ernie, “Go over and take a look, Ernie.”

Ernie hoisted himself to his feet and followed the man out. The county of Yellow Jacket did not have a courthouse. Its business offices were in the front of the second story of Badey's store. The courtroom was in the rear. Both were approached by a wooden stairs on the outside of the store. Ernie followed the county clerk up to the top of the steps, investigated the lock, and scratched his head. “It's busted all right. But since nothin's gone, what's the difference?”

The clerk laughed. “I guess there isn't any.”

“I'll get a new lock,” Ernie said. He went down the stairs, and this time there was a smile on his face. Dave had made a neat enough job of breaking in, and he hadn't left a trace of what he was after. Considering that Sheriff Beal had also fallen for the deed fraud and had ordered Wallace to have the deed at the Bib M that afternoon, Ernie concluded that he and Dave made a good pair.

But he wished, almost wistfully, that his conscience didn't hurt him the little it did. But when he remembered last night, the deafening blast from the shotgun, his conscience evaporated.

The only thing left was speculation as to who shot through the window. Beal, Maitland, Lacey Thornton—or somebody Wallace sent?

He didn't know, and he wished savagely that he did, for whoever it was knew that he'd been talking with Dave.

When Dave saw the first pennant of smoke rise from the chimney of the Bib M after dawn he waited long enough to give Lily Sholto time to dress and then knocked at the kitchen door.

Lily answered and let him in. She even smiled a little as she shut the door behind her.

Dave said quietly, “It was pretty lonely last night, wasn't it?”

“I've got over it, Dave,” Lilly said. “I thought all last night about it, and I know something now. Jim was lucky to be killed.”

Dave didn't say anything, and Lily went on, “I suppose you guessed that Wallace had something on Jim.”

“I figured he did.”

“Well, it was murder,” Lily said. “Plain, inexcusable murder. Jim killed a man once, a good man, when he was mad. Wallace saw him do it. He held that over Jim for three years and brought Jim here from Texas when he came. Every waking hour of Jim's life he thought of that murder. It was never away from him. It rode him and sucked the very life out of him. I tried to help him, but I couldn't.” She shrugged. “Don't you think he's better off now?”

Dave nodded again, admiring this girl's sense.

Lily shuddered a little, as if shaking off the memory. “That's why I'm not very sad about it. I'll miss him, but he's through with all that—through with it.” She smiled again and said. “You'll want breakfast.”

“I could use some,” Dave said. “I'm goin' to look through the house.”

He disappeared in the front part of the house, and Lily set about getting breakfast. She liked Dave Coyle. Carol McFee could hate him and like him by turns, but there was none of that uncertainty in Lily. For Dave Coyle, outlaw or no outlaw, was the only man she could remember who had tried to help Jim, to be a friend to him. It was Dave Coyle who had taken her from Wallace's place, where every drunken puncher annoyed her, where Wallace taunted her daily, where her life had been lived in constant fear that Wallace, when he couldn't use Sholto, would toss him to the wolves without a quiver of conscience. He had tried to help them. That alone was a passport to Lily's liking.

When breakfast was ready Dave appeared and sat down.

He said, “Ernie said the funeral is today.”

Lily nodded, a look of puzzlement in her face. “Isn't Ernie See the deputy sheriff?”

Dave grinned faintly. “Why am I talkin' with him? Well, there's goin' to be a lot of things you won't understand, Lily. But don't wonder out loud. You'll know soon.”

“Are you—going to get the man that killed Jim?”

Dave's gray eyes looked steadily at her. “I am,” he said.

“Then don't worry about me,” Lily said. “I won't ask questions.”

Dave pointed to the door to the front part of the house. “When I walk through that door,” he said, “you forget I've been here. Don't think about me. Don't look for me. Do everything like you usually do. Wallace is movin' in today. Miss McFee will tell you when she comes out. I reckon you'll move some furniture and such. Don't act nervous and don't look for me. Forget me.”

“Then you'll be in the house?”

Dave nodded and went on eating. Presently Lily said quietly, “Dave.”

He looked up.

“When this is over, what are you going to do?”

Dave looked puzzled. “What I always did, I reckon. Just knock around.”

“And leave Carol here?”

Dave looked blank. “Where would I take her?”

“Where does any man take his wife?”

Dave stared at her a long moment, and then he felt his neck begin to get hot, his face too. He looked down at his plate and shook his head. “I'm an outlaw, Lily. It can't happen.”

“Jim was a murderer,” Lily said. “It can happen.”

“She wouldn't have me.”

“She cried the other night when she thought they were going to get you.”

“She was crying over Jim bein' shot, I reckon.”

“Not all of it, Dave. She was crying like her heart was going to break.”

Dave said miserably, “Quit it, Lily. Quit it.”

“All right,” Lily said wisely. “But just remember it.”

Dave got up, his face bleak, and went into the front of the house. There was a noise somewhere up there, and then it was silent. Lily finished her work, then went through the rooms. She was looking for him, like she was told she mustn't. And he was gone, vanished, and yet she knew he was there somewhere.

XIX

Just at dusk Ernie, Beal, and Senator Maitland had helped Lily and Carol load the next to the last trunk into the buckboard. It was then that Lily said, “There's someone coming into the valley.”

Ernie looked. A canvas-covered spring wagon had just topped the ridge, with flanking riders on each side. It was Wallace, all right, moving in. A dozen more riders trailed out behind the wagon.

Ernie looked at Carol and Carol said, “If you'll bring that last bag, please, we'll go.”

Senator Maitland got it from the front door. Beal helped Lily and Carol into the seat, and Ernie loaded the bag while Maitland climbed in and took the reins. Carol handed Maitland something, and Maitland gave it to Beal.

“The key,” he said dryly. “Miss McFee has given him everything else; he might as well have that.”

Beal flushed a little under the gibe and said, “All you got to do is give the word, Miss McFee, and I'll make Wallace wait until the furniture is moved out.”

“Where would I move it?” Carol said dully. “No, he might as well have everything—lock, stock, and barrel.

“I'll see he takes good care of it,” Beal said.

“Why shouldn't he? It's his, isn't it?” Maitland said grimly. He slapped the reins down on the horses, and the buckboard moved off. Beal came back to the porch and sat on its edge with Ernie. Beal watched the two wagons pass in the middle of the valley, neither Wallace nor Carol giving any sign of recognition. Afterward he drew out his bandanna and wiped his face with it. Ernie looked sleepily at him and said:

“Cheer up, Harve. It ain't no worse than a toothache.”

Beal swore. “What if he won't show it?”

“Tell him you'll kick him off then. You act tough if he does. Act plumb pretty if he does.”

Beal said frantically, “Lemme look at that letter of Sholto's again.”

Ernie handed it to him, and Beal studied it as if he was trying to memorize it. Then he handed it back, and they got up to meet Wallace and his crew. A sour-faced cook was in the wagon, Marty Cord driving it. Wallace and Will Usher were riding on either side, and the rest of the Three Rivers crew was strung out in the rear.

Beal came out to the tie rail, Ernie loafing behind him. Marty Cord was going to drive the wagon around in the rear, but Wallace stopped him.

Wallace was clean-shaven today, wearing a black suit, and his boots were polished. Ernie studied him covertly, trying to get a hint of his temper.

Wallace swung down, grinned, and said, “Didn't have any trouble movin' them out, did you, Sheriff?”

Beal saw that Wallace was agreeable and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. This didn't look as if there were going to be any argument.

“No trouble. They left a houseful of furniture for you.” He cleared his throat and said confidently, “All you got to do to take possession is give me a look at that deed.”

“Yeah,” Wallace said carelessly. “I got your message. Seems kind of queer, but then you're welcome to look at it again.”

“I'm playin' safe,” Beal said, with what he hoped was a grim tone. “I don't want McFee claimin' I took your word for the deed. I want to see it.”

“Sure, sure. Hand down that iron box, Marty.”

Marty Cord reached into the load and lifted down a heavy metal box. Wallace put it on the ground, separated a key from the others he carried in his pocket on the end of a chain, then knelt and unlocked the box. Will Usher watched him with apparent indifference as he handed Beal the deed.

Beal unfolded it, and Ernie came over and looked over his shoulder. Beal read the deed, turned it over, and looked at the signatures.