Blood on the Hills Page 6

  The return of the sheriff caused a pretty big stir and half the town turned out to welcome him. Shawn was regarded as a prize exhibit and there was some talk of putting a rope around his neck there and then. But Froud, knocked up as he was, soon put a stop to that. Jody saw at once that Froud was no rube sheriff, he was a respected and powerful county official. Jody, as a new deputy, came in for some notice too and when Froud admitted rather grudgingly that the boy had helped him recover the money and even captured the prisoner, a few hands shook his and even slapped him on the back. There was a little talk about a stranger being signed on as a special deputy, but it didn’t amount to much.

  The banker, a stout florid man in a hard hat and a sober store-bought suit came up to receive his forty thousand and the look on his face equaled that of a man receiving eternal life from the gods. He at least was beside himself with happiness.

  Froud was helped by many willing hands into the office and somebody locked Shawn away in the cells down in the basement of the courthouse. Froud then demanded a doctor and told everybody to get the hell out of there. It said much for the man’s power and influence that, after a while of shouting and talking, they obeyed him.

  The sheriff’s office reflected the character of the man himself. It was spartan in its simplicity, yet it was in good order and somebody had flicked the dust that day. There was a rack of rifles against the far wall from the door, all of them held in place by a chain and padlock. To one side of this was a stout door with a small grill in it. Jody reckoned the cells were beyond it. Over to the right was an alcove large enough to take a truckle bed on which the duty man could sleep. On this, Froud now lay, cursing softly at his injuries to himself. He had a bottle of whiskey beside him and from this he had poured himself a generous dose. He didn’t offer Jody any. Whiskey, he growled, cost money and it didn’t do young fellers like Jody to get into the habit.

  In the corner furthest from this alcove was a large desk of polished oak with a book that looked like a large ledger lying on it. Pen, ink and a lamp stood on it.

  At right angles to this desk and against the other wall was a second desk and this looked as if it had been in use that morning. Which meant most likely that there was another law officer around. Jody wondered if he was as ornery a sonovabitch as his boss. But that couldn’t be possible. Two like that couldn’t come in the same generation.

  There was a stove in the middle of the floor and on this stood the ubiquitous coffee-pot. The office was part of the courthouse which rose above the cells at the rear and was reached on the second floor by an outside staircase.

  Jody stood around, looking and thinking.

  “Whose desk is that?” he asked.

  “Charlie’s.”

  “He a deputy?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Why didn’t he take out with you after Shawn and his crew?”

  “Can’t sit a horse. He’s all busted up an’ stove in.”

  “What the Hell’s a feller like that doin’ as a deputy?”

  “That sounds like a good question,” said Froud. “But if you knew Charlie, it ain’t. He’s straight an’ he can shoot. Nobody don’t get past Charlie. You tell him I said that an’ you’re fired.”

  Jody cocked his head on one side.

  “You know what I think?” he said.

  “Who cares what you think?”

  “I think you’re a sentimentalist. You’re all soft inside.”

  Froud snarled—“Go ahead thinkin’ that way. Act on it an’ see where it gets you.”

  Jody asked: “Do I get to havin’ a desk?”

  “Sure. Take Charlie’s.”

  Jody walked around behind Charlie’s desk and sat down. It felt pretty good, sitting behind a deputy-sheriffs desk. He put his feet on its top.

  Froud said: “The floor’s the place for your feet, boy.”

  Jody stared at him a moment and removed his feet from the desk.

  Boot heels sounded on the sidewalk, the door opened and a man walked in. He was to be important in Jody’s life, so here he is in detail. A short man in a big hat, a very old and battered hat that in one place seemed to rest on one shoulder and at another to stand up toward the ceiling. Its crown was high and pointed and had what appeared to be a bullet-hole in it. The rest of him was as shabby. Jody knew it was Charlie because the walk had been the walk of a stove-in man. Whether he had been stove in by a man or a horse, there was no telling. He was maybe fifty-fifty-five—again there was no telling. In one hand he carried a short rifle; he wore no other weapon. His face was all gnarled up and withered brown like an old nut. His eyes were slitted and dark, glittering with a bright observant intelligence. Jody reckoned something had happened to his right hip and right leg. Something similar had happened to his shoulder too.

  He looked at Froud, limped across to him and said: “So you’re back, you old fool.”

  “A welcome,” said Froud. “Jesus, that’s a real welcome that is.”

  Charlie said: “Goddam idiot. Didn’t stand a snowball’s chancet in Hell.”

  “If I waited for you, I’d still be waitin’.”

  As though the sheriff hadn’t spoken, the deputy jerked his head in Jody’s direction—“Who’s he when he’s at home?”

  “Name’s Jody Storm.”

  “He’s wearin’ a badge,” Charlie accused.

  “Deputies do.”

  “Depitty, huh?” Charlie hobbled across and stood in front of his own desk. “You git out from behind my desk, boy.”

  Jody measured him slowly. Stove-in or not stove-in, this was a man to be reckoned with. He knew quality when he saw it.

  “Yessir,” he said and stood up.

  Froud said: “You take my desk, Charlie.”

  “I got all my things in my own desk,” Charlie said.

  “People see him behind my desk an’ they’ll think he’s actin’ sheriff.”

  “Who cares what people think?”

  “All right.”

  Charlie gestured toward Froud’s desk. Jody moved over. Charlie sat behind his desk and put his feet on its top. Froud didn’t stop him.

  Charlie said: “He ain’t actin’ sheriff, is he? If he is, I re-sign.”

  “No,” said Froud. “He ain’t. I’m still here, ain’t I?”

  “All shot up.”

  “They didn’t blow my head off.”

  “You’re flatterin’ yourself.” He found a bottle in a bottom drawer and took a long pull from it. Then he jerked his chin at Jody: “Play cards any?”

  “No, sir,” said Jody. “I cheat too much so I gave it up.”

  Charlie gave him a hard stare.

  “That figures,” he said. “Froud, I hear tell you have Shawn in jail back there.” Froud nodded. “I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

  “You mean he has friends.”

  “He had friends.”

  Charlie frowned, looked at Jody and then back at Froud.

  “You mean?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “You ‘n’ this kid?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That why you signed him up?”

  “Did that before we started out.”

  That gave Charlie a lot to think about and he thought while he took large sips from the bottle. Finally, he twisted himself around in his chair and stared at Jody through his slitted eyes.

  “So,” he said finally, “you’re the killer kid with a rep. You’re the law in Dufane now.”

  Quietly, Jody said: “I ain’t a killer, Charlie. An’ I’m the hired help like you are an’ I’ve taken just about all I’m a-goin’ to take from you.”

  “Sass huh?” said Charlie, bridling.

  “No,” said Froud. “Sand. Don’t push him, Charlie.”

  That fueled Charlie’s thought a little more. He pushed his hat on the back of his head, thrust the bottle out at arm’s length and said: “Drink, boy?”

  Jody took the bottle, said “thanks” and took a pull. It was like
swallowing molten fire.

  “Hell,” he said, “that sure is somethin’.”

  “Ain’t she?” said Charlie in self-admiration and chuckled. The door opened and a small man with a paunch came in, carrying a leather bag. He had large pouches under his eyes and he looked like a horse-doctor. Maybe he was. This was Doctor Raymond Walsh. Men went west because they were bold enough to face a raw land, or because they couldn’t stand up to the rigors of civilization, or because the law in the East was after them. It certainly wasn’t boldness that had brought Walsh here. Just the sight of him made Jody scared for Froud.

  But the man didn’t seem to worry Froud. He allowed himself to be prodded and bandaged, watching with cool interest as the doctor worked on him. When he was through, Walsh straightened up, wheezed and said: “There could be complications. Sheriff, you had that lead in you for too long. The human body is not too partial to lead, as you well know.”

  “How much?”

  “Two dollars.”

  “You damn thief. I always pay you one dollar.”

  “Then why ask? This is a serious case. This is going to cost you, so don’t fool yourself.”

  “I oughta throw you in jail for extortion.”

  “Then you’d likely die.”

  The unclean hand was held out. The sheriff found a couple of dollars. Walsh folded them into a pocket, closed his bag and said: “Keep the patient warm. Light liquid diet. And by that I do not mean whiskey.”

  Froud sneered. The doctor walked out. When the door closed behind him, Charlie said: “That sonovabitch scares me worse’n a cocked gun.”

  “Me, too,” said Froud. “Now I’m goin’ to get me some sleep. You lose that prisoner an’ you’re both fired. Hear?”

  He turned over, pulled the blanket over his head and soon they heard his snores.

  Jody said: “I feel like I ain’t slept in days.”

  “Maybe that’s because you ain’t slept in days.”

  “If it’s all the same to you I’ll go check in at a hotel and sleep the clock round.”

  Charlie said: “It ain’t all the same to me. While Shawn’s inside there you an’ me we don’t leave here except to get in chow.”

  “He’s behind bars.”

  “He has friends.”

  “They’re dead.”

  “Don’t fool yourself. Shawn ain’t just any old thief. He has connections. All over. Even here in town. We keep that door barred an’ we sleep light. An’ it ain’t just his friends that scare the pants off’n me, boy. It’s the folks. He shot a kid. You know that? How do you feel about him shooting a kid? You don’t take too kindly to it, huh? So how do you think they feel about it? If they don’t aim to hang Shawn, some smart Alec’ll put a slug in him for sure. I know this town. They talked it over already. They know Froud an’ they know me. They seen us in action. They know I’d as soon throw a load of buckshot into them as into a cow-thief. They don’t like me an’ I don’t like them. So they have to shoot him or kill him some other way. Boy, you don’t know how riled up this place is. Now, go git some chow, then sleep some. On the floor yonder.”

  “Where do I put the horses up?”

  “Livery one block down.”

  Jody walked out, mounted and rode in search of the livery. In charge he found a man who had the look of an undertaker. He wanted to know all about the man-hunt and the fight. All the town was talking, he said. But Jody wasn’t talking. He wanted a hot meal and sleep. When he left the livery, he was stopped by citizens who wanted to know about the fight with the outlaws. Jody asked one man the nearest eating place.

  The man said: “You want good grub or good grub an’ a pretty girl?”

  “Good grub an’ a pretty girl,” said Jody without hesitation.

  “Turn left at the intersection an’ it’s called The Cattleman’s Rest. Folks mostly call it The Rest.”

  Jody thanked him and tramped through the dusty ruts. He found the Rest to be a large establishment: a saloon, hotel and eating place. The restaurant was off to the right and when he walked in he could hear the buzz of conversation from the saloon. There were two long tables at which a half-dozen men sat eating. There was a counter on the right-hand side and behind it a fat man with a cowlick and a mustache that reached up for his eyes.

  The man said: “Howdy, mister.”

  “Howdy.”

  “What can we serve you?”

  “Steak an’ all the trimmin’s.”

  “How d’you like your steak?”

  “Just allow the heat to kiss it hello.”

  The man flicked a grin and said: “You the young feller that helped the sheriff bring in the killer?”

  “Yep.”

  “Eat on the house.”

  “That’s nice.” said Jody and sat at a table. Men turned to look at him. Jody looked around, but he couldn’t see the pretty girl. He reckoned he’d been conned.

  As he expected, the questions started. Yes, he admitted there was a little shooting. Him and Froud had some luck. Play it modest, Jode—heroes do. He felt a little good. They all reckoned the whole county would be in to see Shawn hang. Yes, sir, that would sure be a red-letter day for this town. One fellow with a squint eye reckoned on the contract for building the scaffold. A hanging was always good for business.

  The talk went on. Jody almost forgot food and started to yearn for sleep. He was tired right through.

  A soft voice said at his elbow: “Your dinner, mister.”

  He looked up and knew he hadn’t been conned. He was looking at the plumpest, fairest, prettiest girl he’d seen in many a year. Her eyes were an invitation, her lips a request and her figure a downright challenge. Jody noted every detail.

  “I’m obliged, ma’am.”

  She smiled. He smiled. Maybe he teetered on the edge of a conquest. But as she walked away and all the men smiled, he reckoned many a man before him had thought the same thought. Just the same, when his belly was full and he was rested up ... why, maybe Dufane wasn’t such a bad town.

  The steak filled the large plate. The trimmings were no more than potatoes fried. But it tasted wonderful. He filled his mouth. Pretty soon, he filled his belly. All the time, he listened to the talk. Some of the men had been drinking in the saloon and the talk was getting pretty big. Some of it was meant for him. Some of it wasn’t but the men had drunk enough not to care.

  It went this way. Sure, Shawn was as guilty as hell. Yeah, they knew there was other fellers in the bank-raid, but Shawn was the killer. Everybody knew Shawn was a killer. He hadn’t been proven guilty, but the judges would see he got what was coming to him. But how about a tricky lawyer? Feller like Shawn would have the best that money could buy. Everybody knew what kind of people Shawn was acquainted with. There would be help coming. He was sitting in that jail, sweating and thinking about hanging. He was thinking of the smart city lawyer who would come here and talk him out of there.

  Jody wasn’t so green he didn’t know there was some truth in that. Everybody knew of men who were walking free today who were as guilty as hell just because there was some loop-hole in the law. These men weren’t concerned with law, they wanted justice. And that meant a scaffold right out there in front of the courthouse and Shawn hanging by the neck until he was dead.

  One man said: “It don’t make no never mind. They don’t find Shawn guilty, that feller’s sure goin’ to meet his comeuppance. There’s enough men in this town of a like mind ...”

  And so it went on. There was always this kind of talk at a time like this. Maybe it meant something and maybe it didn’t. Jody finished eating, rose, nodded to the men, thanked the fat man with the mustache and cowlick, looked around for the pretty girl and didn’t see her.

  When he arrived back at the courthouse, he found the door barred from the inside. Charlie opened at his call. The deputy had a sawn-off shotgun in his hands.

  “From here on out,” he said. “I don’t take no chances.”

  Jody thought that made sense. He made up a bed on the
floor with blankets Charlie gave him and lay down. He no sooner closed his eyes than he was asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  He awoke to the delicious smell of bacon frying on the stove, opened his eyes and saw Charlie at the stove. Daylight filled the office.

  “Smells good,” said Jody.

  “Take a look at Froud,” Charlie said. “He ain’t so good.”

  Jody threw off the blankets and went into the alcove. One look at Froud was enough to tell him that the sheriff was in a bad way. He was in high fever and he was talking in a strange language. His eyes stared past Jody at some distant object in another world.

  “What’s that he’s talkin’?” Jody asked.

  “As if it matters,” Charlie said. “Navaho. Traded with ‘em for years.”

  Jody was suddenly scared for the wounded man. He was surprised how scared.

  “We gotta do somethin’,” he said.

  “I et,” Charlie said. “This is for you. Git it down you an’ I’ll go fetch a Mexican woman we know. She’s the on’y one that can fix him.”

  “That doctor,” Jody said, “he scares the pants off’n me.”

  “You ain’t the on’y one. Drop the bar after me.”

  He fetched his sawn-off shotgun from the table and walked out. Jody dropped the bar behind him. When he went back to look at Froud, the sheriff was no longer pouring sweat. He was ice-cold and he was shaking. Jody’s scare grew. It didn’t seem possible that a man like Froud would give in to a simple thing like death. Suddenly, he saw himself with Froud dead. The county in the hands of himself and the cripple Charlie.