Shoot Him On Sight (7 page)

"Just a minute, Larry." It was the bartender's slow, heavy voice. "I've been trying to get a word in edgewise, but everybody gabs so much I can't get to be heard. Larry,"—to the deputy—"you got no call to arrest Willets. He didn't do the shooting—"

Cal put in, "I was sitting right next to Willets. I know damn' well he didn't shoot the marshal."

I shot him a grateful glance. Hub and the deputy were both trying to speak, when the doctor arrived, a spare elderly man with rimless glasses. Silence fell while the doctor made an examination of the unconscious Jordan. Finally, he rose, wiping his hands on a bandanna.

"Looks pretty hopeless," he announced, "but get him down to my office and I'll see what can be done when the slug is probed out. I don't figure there's much hope, though."

He beckoned to a couple of men, who picked up Jordan's body and carried it out the doorway, the doctor following.

Immediately the babel of voices recommenced and again Hub's slow heavy tones cut through. "Larry, you're just a-wastin' time here. If you got the sense Gawd give you you'll get after that Hondo hombre—y'know, Hondo Crowell, he calls hisself—"

"What's Crowell got to do with this?" Larry, the deputy demanded. "I ain't even seen him around here—"

"You'd best keep your eyes open, then," Hub said, exasperated. "He was in here before supper time with them two pals of his. They left, but I seen Hondo again, all right, all right. It was him that fired the shot that downed Jordan."

"You sure of that, Hub?" the deputy asked.

"Certain, I'm sure," Hub growled. "Wouldn't go to the trouble of talkin' 'bout it, if I wa'n't. I'd looked up when Jordan came in, had my eyes on one of them bat-wing doors at the doorway. One of them doors has been sort of stickin' lately and don't swing complete closed as it should, on occasion. Reckon some oil is needed. Anyway, I was watching that door and it closed all right, and then I see a Colt barrel shoved over the top. Before I could do anythin', it was fired."

Again came the hubbub of voices. Men had crowded in from the street. Someone stated that he'd seen Hondo and his two pals down near the T.N. & A.S. railroad station a short time before, but the words were lost in the noise.

The deputy finally managed to make himself heard. "So, what are you proving, Hub?" he asked caustically. "You saw a gun barrel shoved over the top of your swingin' doors. Are you telling me that you recognized Hondo's gun?"

"Didn't have to," Hub grunted disdainfully. "When the flash of the explosion come it lighted up Hondo's ugly features. Now, is that good enough for you, Larry?"

"You could have been mistook, Hub," the deputy commenced lamely.

The Senator cleared his throat. "Mr. Hub may be right," he said quietly, when the voices had died down. "Though it is easy to make an error of recognition in the brief flash of a gunshot, as I think well all concede. On the other hand, on my part, I saw Mr. Willets reach for his gun the instant he saw the Deputy U.S. Marshal come in—"

Hub demanded, "Senator, did you see him draw the gun?"

Whitlock hesitated. "No, I can't say that I did. I'd turned toward Marshal Jordan when he spoke my name and started to reach out to shake hands with him." He turned to Cal who stood near. "You saw Mr. Willets reach for his gun, didn't you?"

"Well, er-" Cal stalled.

"I know you did," the Senator stated. "You saw his movement and looked surprised. There was a suspicious look on your features as you asked him some question. Surely, you won't deny that."

Cal shrugged. "I don't remember," he said lamely. Then added, "But I do know damn' well Willets didn't fire his gun."

"And can you be certain?" the Senator asked. "You looked away a moment later. A fast man with a gun could fire and reholster in mighty swift time—"

"I'm not that fast," I put in. "Anyway, look here, why don't you consider the angle from which the shot came? Jordan was plugged right between the shoulderblades and from where I was sitting—"

"Yeah, yeah," Hub nodded, "Willet's has got a point there. And I know what I seen."

"And I know what I saw," the Senator said. "I've witnessed enough court trials in my time to know that the unexperienced—you'll note, gentlemen, that I say
unexperienced-witness
is always prone to error. A dozen men witness to a calamity will provide a dozen different stories. I think you all know me well enough, know my reputation, to be convinced that I never judge a man unfairly. I'm always ready to go to extremes in the other direction."

Several men nodded agreement to that. The deputy said finally, "Hub, I'll keep what you say in mind. Meanwhile, I'll just have to take Willets along for further questioning. I want to look into his story a mite." My heart sank as he added, "Is it going to be necessary to put the cuffs on you, Willets?"

"I'll come along peaceful," I told him hopelessly.

We stepped out to the street, followed by a crowd. Cal walked next to me. "Look here, Joe, if you'll point out your hawss, I'll lead him down to the jail for you and tether him at the hitch-rack."

I said, "Thanks, Cal," and indicated my pony in the line of broncs at the pole-rack before the saloon.

The crowd following us fell off as we entered the office of the jail. "Y'know, Willets, that story of Hub's won't stand up. Everybody knows he's got a grudge against that Hondo hombre. Oh, sure, Hub's honest as the day is long, but he's biased in his judgment, ever since he and Hondo had an argument a few days back. Hondo was drunk and had broken a bottle of liquor—in here," indicating a dark passageway leading from the deputy's office.

In the gloom I couldn't be sure where I was going, and before I could realize what was happening he'd shoved me into a cell and clanged the door shut behind me.

I said, "What the hell—!"

"Take it easy now, Willets. No use you gettin' riled. My night-man will be around shortly and bring you some supper—"

"But you said you were just bringing me here for questioning."

"I've had a long day. Too doggone weary to start that now. In the mornin', mebbe. For sure at your trial, anyway."

He left me in darkness, after slamming shut the door that led to his office.

I yelled after him, but he paid no attention. Then I indulged in a fit of useless imprecations. Realizing that wasn't doing any good, I finally calmed down. Fortunately, the deputy hadn't made me empty my pockets. I scratched a match and found an oil lamp on a shelf in one corner. Now I could have some light. The cell was the usual type. A bunk and straw mattress at one side. Two buckets in a corner, one filled with drinking water. A door of strong steel bars. In the outer wall, high up, an open barred window. For the rest, walls, ceiling and floor of cement and rock. It all looked escape-proof.

I rolled and lighted a cigarette, and dropped wearily on the cot to think things over. Now I was really in a hell of a mess. Any story I told wouldn't stand up under investigation, even if Hub and Cal did back up my story that I'd done no shooting at Jordan. And I wondered about Jordan's condition too. Had he died yet? That and a thousand other thoughts passed through my mind, as I paced back and forth in my cell. Once I reached up and grasped the bars at the window, tried to shake them. No dice. They were imbedded solidly in a rock foundation.

I returned to my cot and sat down. I had to admit that Hub had done his best for me, but I was afraid it wouldn't go far, that "best," when stacked up against the prestige carried by the word of Senator Cyrus Whitlock. Whitlock, the great philanthropist. I uttered a short bitter laugh. Whitlock called it as he figured was correct, so perhaps I couldn't blame him for that. Just the same this was one time when I was wishing he'd stayed in Washington and minded his politics, instead of dashing all around the country trying to help the little man.

And right now I felt they didn't come any littler than one Johnny Cardinal. Hell and blast! I just had to get out of this place. But how? I was on my feet again, pacing back and forth. The rest of the cells were empty, I guessed. Leastwise I hadn't heard any signs of life. It was all dark along the corridor fronting them.

Then an angle of light appeared, as the office door opened. I waited, expecting to see the deputy. Instead a middle-aged, brown-haired man appeared at my cell door, bearing a small bucket of coffee and a plate. He didn't seem too steady on his feet, and I guessed he'd been drinking.

"You want some fodder, Willets?" he asked in a complaining sort of voice.

"Sure, bring it on in."

"Uh-uh!" A negative shaking of the head accompanied the words. "You don't catch Hoot-Owl Tanner on that old trick. You go on back to the far corner of your cell, then I'll set this food inside. I been night-man here too long to be fooled. Go on, get back now."

I stayed where I was. "Where's your deputy?"

" 'Round town someplace I reckon, or maybe he's gone home to bed. Larry's had a long day. Ain't no use askin' for him. He won't be back here tonight. Allus leaves early, Larry does, less'n he's got a immediate job in hand. Now, you want this food or don't you? Well, get on back there then, y'hear?"

I still hesitated. "What's the news on that marshal who was shot?"

"Dead, I reckon. Ain't heard nothin' to the contrary. You goin' to get back, or ain't you?"

I moved to the back of the cell. Tanner placed the bucket and plate on the floor, near the door. He was pretty bulky about the middle and his six-shooter hung sloppily low against the right leg. A bit tipsy as he was, there was a mean look in his pale eyes, and I wasn't yet ready to take any chances.

From one pocket he produced a big key and inserted it in the lock. Then he drew his six-shooter and kept it leveled on me, while he edged the door inward about a foot and with the toe of one scuffed boot shoved the bucket and plate within the cell. Then he closed the door again and turned the key. I hadn't dared to make a move with that gun bearing on me.

I crossed the cell floor and started for the food. "Hey, you forgot to bring a knife and fork."

"Didn't forget. You think you're at some swell hotel? I'll get 'em for you, but we don't furnish 'em regular. It'll cost you extra, though. Say, half a dollar. How 'bout it?" I told him to go to hell and he snickered, "Eat hearty, Willets. You might not get too many more meals, remember. There's them 'round town is already thinkin' up a necktie party." He snickered some more and returned to the office.

I picked up the plate and bucket and returned to my cot. Well, fingers were invented before knives and forks anyway. The fried potatoes were greasy, the beef tough, the slice of bread dry and the coffee only lukewarm. Half-way through the meal I paused. The sudden impact of a prospective necktie party struck me. Had Tanner been speaking truth, or was it just his type of humor? And if a gang did raid the jail I couldn't see Tanner standing it off long—if any. My appetite suddenly disappeared. With the deputy home sleeping, perhaps, I wouldn't have much chance. I could feel the beads of sweat starting out on my forehead.

I commenced to pace the cell again. Once I stopped at the bucket of drinking water to moisten my suddenly dry and parched lips. The stuff was undrinkable, having probably been standing in the cell since the last prisoner left.

I stretched out on the cot, hands folded beneath my head, trying to figure some solution that would get me out of this fix. Some time passed, my ears alert for the noises of an approaching mob, but nothing of that sort could be heard. Instead, the sounds of the town were quieting down and I judged it must be getting along toward midnight. Well, perhaps they wouldn't lynch me tonight, after all. I forced a short laugh at the thought. There wasn't any humor in it. I was damn thirsty by this time but couldn't bring myself to go to the bucket again. I thought, suddenly, if he was willing to get me a knife and fork for half a buck, he might bring me some fresh water for the same.

It was an idea that got me thinking. Dammit, if I only had a gun. The deputy had left me my cartridge belt, but cartridges were no good without something to shoot 'em. Nor had he made me empty my pockets. I did some more mental planning, probably all useless, but I'd gone crazy if I didn't have something to try. I was about to shout for the night-man, when the office door swung open and he approached my cell door. He stood looking through the bars at me a minute.

"I was just going to yell for you," I told him.

He didn't reply at once, just looked at me, eyes narrowed. I began to feel uneasy. I said, "Hope you know me the next time we meet."

He laughed slyly. "Oh, I know you all right.
Now
."

I didn't like his tone of voice. "What do you mean—
now
?"

He shrugged fat shoulders. "Nothing special. Say, I been lookin' over that .44 hawg-laig Larry took offen you. Right nice gun. I been needin' a new gun, too. Trigger in my old .45 has worked sort of loose. Thanks for the gift, Cardinal."

Even in my swelling anger I managed to keep my head. "You thieving cow-thief," I snapped. "You steal my gun and —" I stopped, assuming a sort of blank expression. "What did you say?"

"Cardinal—John Cardinal."

"What's that mean?" I said dumbly.

"Aw, you know what it means, all right. That Willets name don't go down, Cardinal. There's a nice reward—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded impatiently. "What's all this slop about Cardinal? I know it's a color, or a sort of churchman—look here, why don't you try to make sense? You been hitting the bottle?"

"Not so much that I can't use my head." At that he did seem more sober than when I'd first seen him. That was disappointing too. He seemed somewhat taken aback, but persisted, "Come on, you're John Cardinal. Own up. It'll go easier on you in the long run."

I laughed shortly. "Never heard of anybody of that moniker. I think you must have gone loco. Yes, sir, Tanner, you sure better lay off the red-eye. You'll be seeing snakes, next. Got me all mixed up with some former prisoner I'll bet. Why don't you take a good nap and sleep it off."

Uncertainty, edged with anger, crept into his tones. "I don't believe you. Hell, I can read, and when a pal o' mine come to the office a spell back and told me he'd seen a reward bill that fitted your description, I dug out one of them bills and it fits you to a T. Yessiree! I don't fool easy. You're Cardinal, or I'm a splay-hoofed mule."