The Killing Season (48 page)

Silver was shown into Daniel Hankins's office, where he waited almost half an hour before the banker made his appearance. Hankins eased himself into his big leather chair and glared at Silver from behind a polished walnut desk. Silver shifted his Colt, crossed his legs, and glared back. Without a word, Hankins passed Silver a sheet of paper, and Silver quickly scanned it. He then asked Hankins a pointed question.

“Are these the names of everybody associated with this bank at the time your son was killed?”

“As nearly as I can recall,” said Hankins stiffly.

“What about your wife? Do you have a daughter?”

“I have a wife
and
a daughter,” Hankins said, “neither of whom work here, and they have never worked here.”

“They've never been in here? Neither of them?”

“Of course they have!” Hankins roared. “What the hell is this? I resent being hounded in my own office by a ... a damned cow country counselor who wouldn't know a law book from a mess of horse droppings.”

“One more thing,” said Silver quietly, ignoring the insult, “who is Old Charlie?”

“Charlie Ekert,” Hankins said sullenly. “He use to clean up, sweep floors, burn trash.”

“He was here at the time your son was shot?”

“He was,” said Hankins.

“Where is he now?”

“Living with his daughter, somewhere in Kansas City.”

“I need an address.”

“I don't have one,” Hankins snarled.

“Then get one,” said Silver. “I want it tomorrow.”

“Damn it,” Hankins bawled, “are you finished?”

“For now,” said Silver. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

When Silver arrived at the jail, Sheriff Peeler was waiting for him.

“You're gettin' on the bad side of Mr. Hankins,” Peeler warned.

“I get on the bad side of a lot of people,” said Silver. “The man leads his temper on a short fuse, and one day, it's going to get him in over his head.”

“He's just got the word you aim to move the trial to Kansas City,” the sheriff said, “and he says it ain't gonna happen. What's Kansas City got that we ain't got?”

“Some jurors that won't squat and jump when Daniel Hankins hollers froggy,” Silver replied, “and you can tell Hankins I said that.”

“Anything you want Hankins told, tell him yourself,” said the sheriff. “Are you here to talk to Stone?”

“I am,” Silver said. “Lock me in and take a walk.”

“Have you made any progress?” Nathan asked, when the sheriff had gone.

“Oh, yes,” said Silver, and he laughed. “Mr. Daniel Hankins says I don't know a law book from a mess of horse droppings.”

“Do you reckon you can convince him otherwise?”

“Ah reckon ah can,” Silver said, in his finest Texas drawl. “Tomorrow, the court here will be receiving a telegram from the Missouri attorney general's office, in Jefferson City. We've been granted a change of venue. The trial will be held in Kansas City, on August thirty-first.”

“Damn it,” said Nathan, “that's five more weeks. Why are you stalling?”

“Intimidation,” Silver said. “If you're fightin' Comanches, outlaws, or bankers that's too big for their britches, you do it on your ground, not theirs. Once you're in Kansas City, I can go before the judge and get you out on bail until the trial. Wouldn't you be a mite more comfortable at Eppie Bolivar's than in jail?”

“God, yes,” said Nathan, “but I didn't know I could be released on bail, when the charge is murder.”

“It depends on the court, on the judge,” Silver said. “I have friends in places that Mr. Daniel Hankins can only dream about. You've sided me when I needed you, without asking for anything. Now you're going to fight, and you won't be alone.”

“I'm obliged,” said Nathan. “Who have you talked to at the bank?”

“Only Hankins,” Silver replied, “but I'll get to the others. Some of them have moved away, but Hankins knows where they are. One of them—Charlie Ekert—is in Kansas City with his daughter. Would you believe I have telegrams from Foster Hagerman of the AT and SF, and from Joel Netherton of the Kansas-Pacific?”

“But how did they know ...”

“I sent the entire story to the
Kansas City Liberty-Tribune,”
said Silver. “That's just another reason for delaying the trial. The newspapers will pick up on your story, accusing Bart Hankins and his bunch of murdering your family. That should lessen the impact of Daniel Hankins's charges of murder. Hagerman and Netherton are offering you the railroad's lawyers, if you need them. This is going to be some hell of a trial.”

“I reckon I could appreciate it more,” said Nathan, “if my neck wasn't at stake.”

Sheriff Roscoe Peeler had been sent for, and that irritated him as much or more than what he was likely to face when he arrived. He took a chair outside Daniel Hankins's door, prepared to wait until Hankins chose to see him, which could range from a few minutes to half a hour. He didn't like the look on Hankins's face when the banker finally opened the door and beckoned him in. Hankins didn't even wait for him to sit down.

“What the hell is this about a change of venue, of moving the trial to Kansas City? Am I suddenly without influence in this town?”

“The court believes you have too much influence in this town,” Peeler said. “A change of venue is granted when the court believes a man can't get a fair trial because the jurors are prejudiced. Nobody's faulting you, but as the town banker, there ain't a man in thirty miles that ain't beholden to you in some way.”

“Well, by God, I consider it an insult,” said Hankins. “You sure there's nothin' can be done about it?”

“Try to block it,” Peeler said, “and you'll come off lookin' like you're afraid to go to court where you can't influence the jurors.”

“What do you know about Silver, this damn down-at-the-heels cowboy that's shown up to act as Stone's attorney?”

“I think he's a hell of a lot more than a down-at-the-heels cowboy. Was I you, I'd be on the trail of some damn good lawyers for the prosecution. I know he's made all the right moves to transfer Stone to Kansas City, and once there, he'll go before the judge to ask for bail.”

“No, by God,” Hankins shouted. “Not against a charge of murder.”

“It's been granted before,” said Peeler, “and I expect it will be this time. Now unless you have some further need of me, I have things to do.”

Hankins just sat there gripping the arms of his chair in frustration, and Peeler took that as dismissal. He got up and stepped out the door, closing it behind him. Secretly, he was enjoying Hankins's frustration. For too long the old devil had used his position and influence to destroy anyone who stood in his way. Bart, the long-dead son, had been just like his father, and outside the family, few in Nevada had mourned his passing. Just for a moment, Sheriff Peeler had considered telling Hankins that Silver, the “down-at-the-heels” cowboy, had been summoned from Washington, from the attorney general's office. Now he was glad he had not; let Hankins learn
that
the hard way, the same way he learned everything else.

 

The trial was still four weeks away when Silver brought Nathan recent copies of the
Kansas
City
Liberty-Tribune.

“I think you'll find the stories interesting,” said Silver. “They've printed all Hankins's charges against you, but they've printed your charges against Bart Hankins and his renegade friends.”

“Then I'll have no choice except to admit I shot Hankins and plead self-defense.”

“Damn it, you have no other
sensible
choice,” Silver said. “Old man Hankins has spent a king's ransom proving you shot Bart, and denying it would brand you a liar. Somebody in that bank heard the shots, and somebody took that sleeve gun. By the time this case comes to trial, I'll have some answers.”

Nathan settled back to read the papers. To his surprise, there were quotes from Joel Netherton, of the Kansas-Pacific, Foster Hagerman of the AT and SF, Sheriff Harrington in Dodge City, and many of the trainmen with whom Nathan had ridden the rails as railroad security. There was evidence of Silver's work behind the scenes, for the newspaper had revealed the fact that Hankins and his six companions had deserted the Union army. Daniel Hankins had retained Kritzer and Dilworth, two of the state's most expensive attorneys, but there was no mention of Silver as Nathan's attorney.

Having received authority from the court in Kansas City, it became Sheriff Peeler's responsibility to see that Nathan arrived there. Nathan and Peeler, accompanied by Silver, set out at dawn. Keeping a steady gait and resting their horses often, they reached Kansas City before sundown. Of necessity, Nathan was turned over to the sheriff, relieving Sheriff Peeler of his responsibility.

“Good luck, Stone,” said Peeler. “I'll be here for the trial. I wouldn't miss it for six months' pay.”

“Thanks, Sheriff,” Nathan said. “I'm obliged to you for feeding my dog.”

“Nathan,” said Silver, when Sheriff Peeler had departed, “this is Sheriff Higdon. He'll have custody of you tonight. In the morning, we'll go before the judge and arrange bail.”

Nathan nodded at Higdon, and the sheriff spoke.

“Silver, if he's being released on bail tomorrow, my taking custody tonight is just a formality. I'll leave you in charge of him tonight, if you'll guarantee his appearance in the morning.”

“He'll be here,” said Silver. “We're going to Eppie Bolivar's boardinghouse, where we aim to stay until the trial's over.”

Nathan and Silver rode out, Empty following.

“I'm obliged for all this,” Nathan said. “Eppie has a stable for the horses, and I can leave Empty with her.”

“Tomorrow,” said Silver, “after your bail has been arranged, I aim to talk to an old gent name of Charlie Ekert. He was a clean-up man at Hankins's bank, and he quit just a few days after Bart Hankins was shot.”

“You think there's some connection?”

“I don't know,” Silver said, “but I aim to find out. Just in case, I'm serving him with a subpoena as a witness for the defense. Whether or not he's of any use to us will depend on what I learn tomorrow.”

Nathan hadn't seen Eppie Bolivar since the spring of 1872, but the old lady hadn't forgotten him. Her eyes lighted when she saw Empty, but he backed away.

“He's one of old Cotton Blossom's pups, Eppie,” said Nathan, “and if nothing else, he has his daddy's appetite. This is Byron Silver. Can you put us up for a month, until the court decides whether to hang me or not?”

“Dear Lord, Nathan,” Eppie said, “don't joke about such a terrible thing. I've read all about it in the newspaper. What are you going to do?”

“He's going to lay low and keep his mouth shut,” said Silver, “until I come up with a few answers to some troublesome questions. I'll have to ask you not to spread the word that we're here. The newspapers have been given all they're going to get until the day of the trial.”

“I'll say nothing,” Eppie assured him. “I have a nice big room in the back, with two beds. I rent to working folks who are gone during the day and mind their business when they're here.”

Eppie won Empty's trust just as she had won Cotton Blossom's, by offering food and plenty of it. Nathan and Silver retired to their room early.

 

Silver rode out immediately after breakfast without promising when he would return. Nathan saddled the grulla, and leaving Empty still eating, headed for town. With nothing better to do, he rode to the bank where he had deposited ten thousand dollars, only to find it closed. There was a notice posted on the door, directing him to the law office of Beal Huffmeyer.

“The Pioneer Bank of Kansas City is insolvent,” Huffmeyer said.

“Broke,” said Nathan. “Damn it, I had money there.”

“That's the correct term,” Huffmeyer said. “Had.”

“You're no help. Why is your name posted on the door?”

Huffmeyer laughed. “Someone has to tell the depositors they're broke.”

“There's nothing you can do for the depositors?”

“I can sue the bank's owners,” said Huffmeyer, “if somebody's willing to pay.”

“What good would that do?”

“None,” Huffmeyer replied. “If they had money, the bank wouldn't be insolvent. Anyway, we don't know where they are.”

“Huffmeyer,” said Nathan, “I'd gut-shoot you, except there's a bunch of little skunks somewhere that would be without a daddy.”

Nathan mounted the grulla and rode slowly back to Eppie's. He wasn't broke, for in his saddlebags was four thousand dollars. If he went to court and was freed, he could then go on to Dakota Territory. Where there was a boom town there would be an abundance of saloons, and where there were saloons there would be gambling. As a means of making his living, he considered it only a cut or two above stealing, but it paid better than any other frontier trade. Thinking back, he recalled something Wild Bill Hickok had said:

Reaching Eppie's boardinghouse, Nathan unsaddled the grulla. Rubbing the animal down with an old blanket, he stabled it and pitched down some hay. Silver's horse wasn't there, and Nathan wondered what Silver was doing. Asleep on the porch, Empty opened an eye as Nathan approached. It was almost suppertime when Silver returned, and he had not a word to say about the success or failure of his mission.