Rex Stout (18 page)

Ken Chambers got up from his chair, went and stood directly in front of the county attorney, and scowled down at him. “I’m not talking to him,” he said, “I’m talking to you. Do you want me to whisper in your ear, goddamn it? What he says couldn’t be true, and I know it couldn’t be. For the past year and a half, since that pie-eyed jury turned him loose, he never got a cent from Dan Jackson. Jackson wouldn’t have anything to do with him. I tell you I know every move he’s made—”

“Go back and sit down. Much obliged.” Baker lifted his brows at the prospector. “Well? Do you want me to repeat—”

“I heard him.” Hurley’s squint, as he returned Baker’s gaze, became so pronounced that his eyes were all but buried. “And now I guess I’ll tell you something. I’ll tell you and Ken Chambers will hear it, and that would make a coyote laugh. That’s right that Jackson wouldn’t stake me after I got out of jail over in Silverside County. I always suspected Ken Chambers set him against me and I still do. I damn near ate my boots. Finally Bert Doyle down at Sheridan gave me a stake, but I didn’t have any luck and when that was used up it looked bad. I tried around, but when it
seemed like I would have to sell my tools or go on relief, and I didn’t like one idea any better than the other, I worked up a plan. I got a lift to Cody, and Tuesday morning I went to the office and said to him, look here—”

“To who, Jackson?”

“Yes. I said, two years ago I was down in the Silverside Hills on Charlie Brand’s stake and I got word to meet him at the canyon cabin on a certain day, and I got held up by a bad leg and got there a good many hours late, and when I got there he was laying on the cabin floor dead with a bullet through his heart. Now, I said, Ken Chambers, the sheriff down there, hates me because I testified against him once on a claim—”

“That’s a damn lie! I never carried—”

“Shut up, Chambers. Go on, Hurley.”

“I said, he hates me and he carries a grudge, and as far as that goes it wouldn’t surprise me any if it was him that shot Charlie Brand himself. Anyway, I would as soon’ve shot my own eye out as shoot Charlie Brand, and I’ve only got a rifle and never a popgun which is what he was shot with, and anyway whoever shot him took thirty-two thousand dollars from him and where is it? But, I said, in spite of that Ken Chambers arrested me the first thing and kept me in the coop, and him and that knock-kneed wart of a lawyer tried to convict me. And to make it short, I said, one result of the way they acted was that I hung onto a piece of paper that I found under Charlie Brand’s body that day when I turned him over, and I never said anything about it and this is the first time I’ve mentioned it. And I mention it to you now because Charlie Brand was your partner and I know you’d like to know who killed him, and it might help if you had that piece of paper because it has writing on it, so I—”

“You dirty rat! Or else you dirty liar! I don’t believe—”

Baker said sharply, “Haul him back, Bill! No, hustle him out! Go on, out with him!”

From the standpoint of the majesty of the law it was a deplorable sight, one sheriff giving another sheriff the bum’s rush; or, rather, starting to, for Chambers jerked away from Tuttle’s grasp and stood panting with indignation. He growled, “You can’t expect—”

“On out, Chambers. I mean it.”

“But did you hear—?”

“I say beat it! Didn’t I tell you to keep your trap shut? On out!”

Bill Tuttle made a move. Chambers backed up a step with an inarticulate growl, wheeled, and tramped to the door, which he pulled to with a shattering bang as he disappeared. Tuttle went back to his chair and sat down. Squint Hurley said in an uncommunicative mumble, “By all hell, some day I’ll take my rifle and put a peephole in his belly.” Then he glanced as in startled surprise from Tuttle to Baker and said in apologetic explanation, “Excuse me, I was talking to myself.”

“All right, Hurley. You were telling Jackson about a piece of paper with writing on it which you found under Charlie Brand’s body. Why had you kept it for two years without mentioning it to anyone?”

“Because I saw it wouldn’t do any good. Was I going to show it to Ken Chambers and let him take it away from me when he had me in jail and keeping me there was all he wanted?”

“Didn’t he search you?”

“I had it put away.”

“Where? Under a rock somewhere? Why?”

“I said I had it put away.” Hurley’s squint buried
his eyes. “Listen. Don’t waste time trying to jump me. I’m telling you exactly how it was because for one thing I’m glad of a chance to and for another thing I’ve got to have a friend somewhere. I’ve got to get away from all these crowds that keep bumping into you and all these damn buildings and this damn grass they keep watering all the time. I’m going to die if I don’t get back where I belong. I know you won’t let me go till this thing’s finished because you said so, and anyhow maybe you know someone that might stake me, or maybe you might. I had that piece of paper in my boot lining. I didn’t show it to Ken Chambers or that lawyer that was working with him because they would only of tore it up. After I was let loose I thought I might show it to Jackson who was Charlie’s partner, but he wouldn’t even talk to me. I thought I might even show it to Lem Sammis, but he had me kicked out. Ken Chambers was back of all that. So I just kept it, until finally it got to the place where I would have to sell my tools, and then I decided to try Jackson again, and that’s what I did Tuesday morning.”

“Did you show the paper to Jackson?”

“That’s what I went there for. I showed it to him and gave it to him. I told him all about it and about Ken Chambers having that old grudge and how I felt about Charlie, and I said for instance where in the holes of hell have I cached the thirty-two thousand dollars? Am I saving it till they bury me and I go there? So I gave him the paper and he believed me and he staked me. Three hundred dollars. I was going down on the Cheeford range again, and then like a goddamn jackass I let Slim Fraser—”

“It was the money Jackson gave you that you lost at The Haven?”

“Yes it was.”

“Was anybody there when he gave it to you?”

“There was that girl, Charlie Brand’s girl, in the other room. The door was shut, but he called her in and gave her a receipt I signed.”

Bill Tuttle put in, “Could she have heard your talk with Jackson?”

“I don’t think so, not through the door, and her running that printing machine that I could hear.”

“Printing—?”

“Typewriter,” said Baker. “Now, Hurley, that piece of paper. Was it a single sheet of paper?”

The old prospector made no reply.

“Well, was it?”

Still no reply.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing really the matter.” Hurley looked at Tuttle and back at the county attorney. “You see, I’m not so young maybe, but I’m as strong as I ever was and I’m an old hand and my eyes is good. You didn’t exactly reply to what I said about you might know someone who would stake me or maybe you might do it yourself.”

“I’m not in the grubstaking business. What has that got to do with that paper?”

Hurley only squinted at him.

Baker glowered at the squint. “Are you trying to extort a promise that I’ll see that you get staked?”

“I wouldn’t try any extorting, no, sir. But a man naturally considers this and that. It came in my head that Jackson was killed pretty soon after I gave him that paper, and maybe there was a hitch-up, and maybe the news about the paper would help you about who killed Jackson, and maybe you’d be glad enough to get it so that you’d be willing to risk a little—not that
there’s any risk to speak of, because I know that Cheeford range and I know a certain tumble back—”

“Can it!” Baker leaned forward for emphasis. “Listen to me. You removed evidence from the scene of a crime and concealed it. How would you like to be turned over to your friend Chambers and let him work on that? As for your getting staked, that’s your problem. The county will see that you don’t starve as long as you’re held in Cody. I won’t lock you up, at least not now. Provided. I want to know about that paper.”

“I won’t live much longer if I’m locked up again. I couldn’t breathe.”

“Then don’t get locked up. Was it a single sheet of paper?”

“It was a piece about as big as my hand, folded up so it was maybe three inches square.”

“What color was it?”

“White.”

“Was the writing on it in ink or pencil?”

“It was black ink.”

“What did the writing say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you mean to say you kept it two years and never read it?”

“Well, naturally I looked at it, but I never read it because I can’t read.”

Baker stared. “Hurley, you’re lying.”

“No, I ain’t. Would I lie to you when you’d lock me up if I did? I can read reading but I can’t read writing.”

Baker turned to the sheriff. “What about it, Bill? Do you believe it?”

“Search me.”

“Go downstairs and use your phone. Get Clara Brand and ask about Hurley’s visit to Jackson’s office Tuesday morning. All about it. Whether she could hear
what they said and about the three hundred dollars, was it entered on the books as a grubstake, and does she know if Hurley can read and write, and did she see any paper that Hurley gave Jackson—wait a minute! I don’t like all that on the phone. Just ask her—Let’s see, Mrs. Cowles is due at nine. Ask her if she can come here for a talk at ten o’clock. On your way out ask one of the boys to get hold of Quinby Pellett and have him here at eight—and hey! Ask another one, Ray if he’s out there, to get me a couple of hamburgers and a pot of coffee.”

The sheriff lumbered out. Baker swiveled, leaned back and gazed at Hurley. “So you can’t read, huh?”

“Not writing I can’t.”

“Can you write?”

“I can print pretty good. I never got onto writing.”

“Can you write your name?”

“I can sign it. I don’t guess you could call it writing it exactly. A man showed me how once.”

“You know, Hurley, if you’re lying, I can investigate and find it out. But that doesn’t help me any right now.”

“I don’t hardly think it ever would help you much.”

Baker sat scowling, rubbing his lip. In a little he resumed. “How much writing was there on the paper? Was it on both sides?”

“Only one side. There wasn’t much, maybe five, six words.”

“Goddamn it, what did it say?”

Hurley shook his head.

“What did it look like? What was the first letter?”

“I couldn’t say the first letter. Maybe I could have told one or two letters if I’d worked at it, but I just knew I couldn’t read it, so I didn’t use up any time on it. But about what it looked like, I could tell you one
thing, it wasn’t Charlie Brand that wrote it. Because I’ve seen him write things, like a receipt for me to sign maybe, and it didn’t look like that at all. He wrote sort of a hard trot, sort of up and down, but this was more like … like …”

“Like what?”

“Well, I would say big and round and heavy. Like what the hell, ink don’t cost much. I signed my name once with Charlie Brand’s fountain pen and it wrote thin.”

“You say you found this paper under his body?”

Hurley nodded. “It was there on the floor under him. When I turned him over there it was. I got a habit of keeping little things I don’t want to lose in my boot lining and I tucked it away. Then I lugged him out and tied him across his horse that was outside, and led the horse into Sugarbowl. The first yelp out of Ken Chambers, just to show you, first thing when he got there, he ast didn’t I know a dead body shouldn’t be moved, and I said sure, what I should’ve done was come on to Sugarbowl alone and leave him there for the rats and coyotes to play with and then he would’ve been a pretty looking thing. Next thing I knew—”

“All right, save it. Where was the paper when you saw it last, Tuesday morning?”

“I gave it to Jackson.”

“What did he do with it?”

“He stowed it away in a wallet he had in his pocket.”

“The same wallet he got the three hundred dollars out of?”

“No, he got the money out of the safe. This was a sort of a brown leather wallet.”

“Did he put it back in his pocket after he put the paper in it?”

“Yes, he did.”

The county attorney had reached for his phone and now he spoke into it. After a little wait he spoke again and then waited some more. Finally he said, “Mac? This is Ed Baker. They tell me Frank’s gone home to supper, and I don’t want to disturb him. Maybe you can tell me, did anyone go through Jackson’s pockets Tuesday night? You did yourself? Good! Did you find a brown leather wallet? Did you examine its contents? Was there a piece of paper—no, wait a minute, it was a piece of white paper …”

Five minutes later he shoved the phone back and stood up. Looking down at Squint Hurley, he said shortly, “It wasn’t there.”

Hurley made a noise with his tongue. “By all hell, I saw him put it there. Somebody must’ve took it. Or maybe he shifted it to another pocket—”

“It wasn’t on him. It wasn’t anywhere. I like your first suggestion better. Somebody must’ve took it. By God, Hurley, if you’re stringing me I’ll stake you to something that will make you wish—”

“I ain’t stringing you. What I told you is exactly what happened.”

“It better had be.” Baker strode to the door leading to the anteroom, opened it, looked out, and called, “Come on in here, Clint, and bring Luke!”

Two men entered. When the door was closed behind them Baker said, “This case has been messed up till it stinks and it’s only partly my fault. Where the hell are my hamburgers?”

“Ray ought to be back any minute.”

“All right. Luke, take a fingerprint kit and go to Jackson’s office. You’ll find Mac Losey there with a couple of men. Go over the whole place, and while you’re doing it find a piece of white paper as big as
your hand that has been folded double. It has writing in black ink on one side, five or six words in a round heavy hand. If you find—”

“What does the writing say?”

“I don’t know. If you find it don’t let Mac have it. Find it and bring it to me and you’ll wear diamonds. Clint, go to the Jackson house on Blacktail Avenue and see Mrs. Jackson. The stuff that was found in Jackson’s pockets was given to her, and among it was a brown leather wallet. Get it. Not the contents necessarily, just the wallet, but the contents too if you can. Use diplomacy or anything you’ve got. Then go over it for prints and do it good. It’s probably hopeless now, but we’ll try it anyway. All right, step on it.”