The Last Buckaroo (7 page)

“
It
’
s
a shame an innocent man is treated that way.
”

“
Is
he innocent, Miss Peck?
”

Obviously,
Woody Clampett hadn
’
t seen her ring
…
him calling her Miss
…
but she let it pass. 
“
In
the eyes of the law he is, until proven guilty.  But Yancey
is
innocent,
sir.  I assure you of that.
”

“
Good! 
Then we should have no trouble obtaining his freedom.
”

“
How
far is it to Terryville, Mister Clampett?
”

“
Forty
miles, give or take.  Why?
”

“
I
was just wondering
…”

“
Wondering
what
…
 
How I got to the prison, then to here, all before mid-afternoon?
”

“
Well,
yeah
…”
 
That wasn
’
t
the reason she
’
d asked, but now that he
’
d
brought it up, how did he?

“
Come
with me, little lady.
”
  He smiled broadly,
reached a hand across the bar, guided her around it and on outside.  There
before them, just beyond the sidewalk, sat a shiny new two tone ivory and black
Packard touring car. 
“
She
’
ll
safely do sixty on a well maintained gravel road,
”
Clampett said proudly.

Katie
was impressed.  It was so big
…
and beautiful. 
“
I
’
m
impressed,
”
she
couldn
’
t
help but say.

“
Would
you like a ride, Miss Peck?
”
 
He put on the infectious smile
again.

“
Oh,
I couldn
’
t
leave the tavern unattended,
”
she said. 
“
Maybe
next time.
”

“
Does
that mean I
’
m hired, Miss Peck?
”

“
Of
course, it does.  I thought I made that clear on the telephone.
”

“
You
surely did, but a gentleman always gives a lady an out, should she choose to
take it.
”

“
You
are the charmer, aren
’
t you,
Mister Clampett?
”

“
Please
call me Woody.  I prefer that from friends.  Shake?
”
 
He put out a hand.

Katie
took it and the agreement was sealed.  Clampett would get one hundred dollars
for his services, from now on through the trial.  Payment contingent upon
acquittal.  That
’
s how sure he was of
the outcome.

CHAPTER
NINE

“
There
ain
’
t
much left of the livery,
”
a regular customer said, coming through
the door. 
“
If there
’
s
a square foot that hasn
’
t been torn apart, or
dug up, I
’
d like to know where it is.
”

“
Where
’
s
the s
heriff, Lester?
”
Katie said from the
bar. 
“
Why
hasn
’
t
he put a stop to it?
”

“
He
’
s
over there
…
him and Striker.  I think he
’
s
hoping somebody will turn up something, so he can confiscate it.
”

“
That
sounds like him,
”
Katie said, then got angry all over
again about what Striker did at the prison.
 
“
Do you want a beer,
Lester?
”

“
After
what I have to tell you, I figure you
’
ll
be giving me a free one.
”
 
He smiled broadly, exposing several
areas where teeth were missing.

Lester
was about Katie
’
s age, and occupied his
time by doing odd jobs around town.  She could never remember seeing the man
clean
 — 
or
even freshly scrubbed up
 — 
and
surprisingly he had a wife. 
“
You have
information on who may have killed Clyde?
”

“
No. 
But I know who didn
’
t kill him.
”

“
Okay,
let
’
s
hear it.
”
 
Katie took a mug from a
stack of them on the back bar and began drawing the beer.

“
Well,
the way I figure it, Clyde was dead a long time before they found him.  I was
one of the ones the sheriff called on to help carry him out.  I know about
rigger, and it takes a long time for a body to stiffen like that.
”

“
Clyde
was in rigor mortis?
”

“
Stiffer
than a cow
’
s tail in the dead of winter
…
 
I grabbed one once and
it broke right off
…
frozen.
”

“
Oh
God!  Spare me,
Lester!
”
 
Katie quaked with the thought. 
“
How
long is a long time?
”

“
I
don
’
t
know exactly, four or five hours, I guess.  It took my mother that long, but
she was in a warm house when she died two winters ago.  I figure in that livery
it would have come a little faster
…
maybe
an hour less.
”

“
And
what time was that
…
when you moved the
body?
”

“
Around
nine thirty
…”

“
Well,
then Yancey couldn
’
t have done it,
”
Katie said, with glee
in her tone. 
“
He was in here until after dark. 
Not enough time.
”

“
Exactly,
”
Lester said with the
toothless smile again.
 
“
I
was here, remember?
”

Actually,
she didn
’
t. 
He wasn
’
t
exactly one of those people that lit up the room with his presence. 
“
Lester,
I want you to write all that down
…
what you just told me
…
and sign it.
”
 
She dug in a drawer and
found a tablet and pencil. 
“
Here!
”
 
She put it before him on the bar.

“
I
don
’
t
spell well,
”
Lester co
nfessed.
 
“
Here,
you write it
…
then I
’
ll
sign.
”

Katie
took that to mean Lester was illiterate. 
“
Okay,
”
she said, and took the
pencil from him. 
“
So, who all was there,
when the body was removed, that can verify your story?
”

With
that, Lester perked up and rattled on for near a half hour. Katie took every
word of it down, filling several sheets of paper.  Lester then signed it:
Lester
Kingsley
.  Sort of.  Katie, upon seeing the almost illegible
signature, signed below it as witness, then got it into the safe, just as the
evening crowd started coming through the door.

“
After
all that, I should get two beers,
”
Lester said.

“
Lester,
if you
’
ll
tell that same story in court, I
’
ll
give you ten beers.  How
’
s that?
”

“
That
’
s
a deal!
”
 
He tossed out a hand to
shake on it.

“
Deal!
”
Katie said, and took his mug for a refill. 
“
Here
’
s
another.  You earned it.
”

“
All
right! 
Thanks, Katie.
”
 
He
smiled as if he
’
d just gotten away with
something.

“
And
Lester, let
’
s keep this just between the two of
us, okay?
”

“
How
about Gracie
…
can I tell her?
”

“
Who
’
s
Gracie?
”

“
My
wife.
”

“
Oh,
yes
…
 
No.  Especially not
her,
”
Katie said and went off
to wait on the new arrivals.  She
’
d
just remembered Gracie was the daughter of Marta, the woman that ran the
telephone office.  Oh God!  If that woman got ahold of it everyone in town
would know in a matter of hours.

A
half hour later Preston Ames came through the door.  At this point, Katie, with
a near full house, was busier than a one armed wallpaper hanger with crabs.  No
way was she going to take time out from her paying customers for him.  Besides,
she was afraid of what she might say, as furious as she still was about what
happened to Yancey over at that prison in Terryville.  The shotgun under the
counter came to mind again.

“
Katie!
”
 
Preston pushed his way through to the bar.

“
I
can
’
t
talk right now, Sheriff.  Maybe later, okay?
”
she said as pleasantly
as possible.

“
I
saw Woody Clampett in town today,
”
Preston continued as if
he hadn
’
t
heard a word of what she
’
d just said. 
“
He
was in here, wasn
’
t he?
”

“
So? 
We get out-of-towners on a regular basis.  Now that we have the automobile,
people get around more,
”
she said while filling
mugs at the tap and sliding them down the bar.

“
Woody
Clampett can smell a mark further than a coon dog can smell a skunk.  He
’
s
a hack, Katie.  You don
’
t want him representing
your friend Yancey Burke ... take my word on that!
”

“
Why
should I take your word on anything, Sheriff?
”

“
You
sound like you have something to say, Katie!  If so spit it out, so all these
good folks can hear it.
”

“
Okay,
Sheriff,
”
she replied and went to
be in front of him.
“
You promised me Yancey
would be kept safe, where you moved him.
”

“
He
is, Katie.  I assure you, nobody can get to him where he is.
”

Suddenly
the normally loud tavern was stone silent.

“
Nobody?
”
she shouted. 
“
Then
why is he lying on a bunk over in that Terryville prison with his face bashed
in
…
 
Why, Sheriff?
”

“
Did
Woody Clampett tell you that?
”

“
Are
you calling him a liar?
”

Everyone
in the place then ganged around and watched as Preston Ames
’
face turned beet red
with rage.

“
Is
he,
Sheriff?
”
somebody from behind
said.

“
Yeah! 
Is he,
Sheriff?
”
others joined in until a low roar consumed the silence.

Finally
Preston pushed his way through the crowd and out of the tavern, slamming the
usually open door, this time of year, behind him.

At
closing time, fearing retaliation, Katie took the shotgun as she left out the
back.  There would be no lantern to give her location away this night.  But
once underway it soon became evident she wasn
’
t
alone.  An automobile sat in the alleyway to her back
…
 
And another was at the
intersection ahead, she noticed.  Then to her right on the main street, she
spotted three more.  As she moved, they moved with her.  It soon became evident
she was getting an escort home.  And with that realization, the usual spryness
returned to her legs; the familiar spring that caused the dangling ringlets of
her uplifted hair to dance as she walked went back into her steps.

Once
she was home, shadowy figures, some noticeably with guns, surrounded the
house.  Then after the last lamp was extinguished, she was lulled to sleep by
the comforting sound of an occupied rocking chair, moving to and fro over
squeaky boards on the front porch.