Sundown, p.6
Sundown, page 6
His brother saluted with his cuffed hands. “Thanks, Little Brother. I’ll be back soon.” He picked up his clothes and soap. “Stone and I are going to the hotel to have a bath.”
“You wish.” The deputy slipped the razor in her pocket. “Wouldn’t want you taking the easy way out.”
When the door closed behind them, Wyatt chuckled. “Got yourself quite a deputy there.”
“She’s young, but she can outshoot, outride…”
“I heard all that.” He found her skills hard to believe. “How did you come to hire a woman deputy?
I figured you to be the last public servant to embrace women's suffrage.”
Sheriff Black pulled a bottle of whiskey from a drawer and poured a splash in the coffee cup on his desk. He held the bottle toward Wyatt, who shook his head. Did everyone in Sundown start drinking before noon?
The sheriff took a sip. “Couple years ago, the mayor and town council started pushing me to hire a deputy. Some say I’m slowing down.”
“I haven’t seen any evidence of that.”
“You’re layin’ the flattery on thicker than jam on bread, a bit much even for an attorney.” He toasted Wyatt with his cup. “I finally agreed as long as I could have a strong and fearless deputy. Anyway, politicians being politicians, they complicated the process. The mayor put an ad in the Gazette and came up with a test to measure certain skills, shooting, riding, handling drunks. Only three applied, Jeb Colfield…”
“Jeb Colfield!”
“There’s a saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. That applies to Jeb. The other applicants were Tiny Jackon, the blacksmith, and a girl who worked for him.”
“Stone.”
“Half the town turned up in the park to see who’d become the town’s new deputy. There were balloons, taffy pulls, a tug-of-war pit. Well, Stone outshot, outrode… you get the picture. The council didn’t want to hire a woman or a man of Jackson’s skin color, and I didn’t want Jeb.”
“What about the mayor?”
“Mayor Hook is in favor of anything that will keep him in power, so he’s embraced women’s suffrage. To him, women are voters, so he was pulling for Stone. His motives are consistent: greed and power. Anyway, we argued it out in private in the town hall and came up with a final test, a race.”
“The council didn’t think a woman could beat a man, and Tiny’s a bit hefty. They thought Jeb was a shoe in. They measured out fifty yards and held out a ribbon at the finish line.”
Sheriff Black took a long gulp. “I fired the starter’s pistol, and Tiny stumbled and fell, but Jeb took off like they were giving away French postcards at the finish line. Stone gained on him and at the end of the run, she had Jeb by ten feet. The whole town erupted in cheers and carried her on their shoulders to the start line. The mayor shook her hand like they were family. I hired her then and there because I had little choice. But she works hard and never complains… rarely complains.”
“So, she’s a good deputy.”
“As good as any man, but don’t tell her I said that.” The sheriff finished his cup and set the whiskey on his desk. “Not much she can’t do ‘cept whittle.”
“And from what I hear, she can’t dance.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
He stared at the door to the cells. “I’m in a pickle, Wyatt. Your brother is a good friend. We’ve spent more time over whiskey and women than any two people I know, but I became a lawman because I thought it was time this town respected the law. I have a job to do, and I’ll do it, even if it means Travis hangs.”
Wyatt nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Sheriff Black waved his hand. “You look ready to bust. Let’s get this over. Ask your questions, counselor.”
Wyatt slipped a leather-bound book from the burlap bag. He opened it to a blank page and pulled a pencil from his pocket. “Start from the beginning.”
“I was playing poker at the saloon with Travis and the regulars. Around seven-thirty or so, Silas Thorn‐ ton, a bounty hunter from New Orleans, came by and asked Travis whether he was playing with greenbacks or Confederate coins. Wyatt jumped to his feet. I thought he was going to flatten Thornton, but he just scooped up his winnings and took off about eight. Thornton had a drink and left about ten minutes later. I didn’t think much about it, but a half hour later, Tommy Gracia, the hotel clerk, burst in and shouted, “Someone’s been shot behind the hotel. I think he’s dead.”
“I scooped my winnings into my hat and hightailed it after the boy. In the alley, I saw Thornton with two bullet holes in his chest. He was deader than a politician’s heart.”
“A bounty hunter. Who was Thornton after in Sundown?”
“Wasn’t after no one. He was after something, specifically Confederate gold your brother stole at the end of the war.”
Wyatt signed. “I can assure you, Sawyer, there’s no Confederate gold.”
The man shrugged like it didn't matter. “That’s what Travis always says whenever someone brings up the topic, but, being a lawman, I’ve had my doubts about his denials.”
“Any witnesses?”
“One man heard them fighting, heard Travis threaten the man.”
“What do you mean threaten?”
The sheriff looked at his notes. “The witness recalled Travis saying...” Sheriff Black swallowed hard, “I'm going to kill you.”
Sawyer closed his eyes. For a moment, the two men didn't speak. It was tough for Wyatt hearing the account of that night.
Sheriff Black cleared his throat and glanced at the notes. “After hearing shots fired, he went into the alley and saw Travis running from the scene.” He rubbed his chin again. “There’s some area of dispute there. The witness described a tall man dressed in black who looked a lot like your brother.”
“Besides a lawman, who goes into an alley after hearing gunshots?”
“A preacher or a doctor. In this case, it was Reverend Ezekiel Taylor.”
Wyatt shook his head. The evidence sounded rock solid against Travis, and the key witness was the impressive preacher he'd just met. “In a dark alley, there might be a dozen men or more in Sundown who answer that description.”
“Tracked ‘em all down. They all had alibis, but no one could find Travis. We searched the town all night.”
“I don’t suppose…”
Before he could finish the question, the sheriff handed over a slip of paper with seven names on it. “You can find most of the volunteers at the saloon nearly every night.”
Wyatt studied the names. He knew them all except for Reverend Taylor. He stuffed the list in his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Your brother must have hidden out, or someone was hiding him.”
“You got any ideas?”
“Has to be a woman, but in the past year, your brother stopped hanging out with saloon girls. He probably met some gal at the train station or the hotel café, but if he did, I'm not aware of anyone.”
Again, someone mentioned Travis had changed. He didn’t seem different to Wyatt, just the same old wise-cracking brother he’d always known, yet…
“By the time I found him, it was nearly dawn. Travis was in the livery stable putting a saddle on his mare and fixin’ to skedaddle out of town back to the ranch.”
Wyatt rubbed his forehead. “Did you ask where he’d been all night?”
“‘Course I did.”
“What did he say?”
“I’ll probably clean it up when I testify, but that night, he answered with just two words. The second word was ‘you.’”
CHAPTER 8
The door opened and Travis and Deputy Stone came in laughing like he’d just told the latest farmer’s daughter joke.
His brother looked like the Travis of old, freshly shaven and wearing clean duds. He spun slowly around. “All cleaned up for a hangin’.”
No one laughed.
“Your brother has a few questions for you.” The sheriff nodded to his deputy, who took Travis to his cell.
Wyatt took the final item from the burlap bag, Travis’s guitar.
Sheriff Black shook his head. “A bath, clean clothes and now a guitar. Not sure if this is a jail or a hotel.”
Wyatt followed Stone, who unlocked Travis’s cell, took a stool from the end of the hall, and set it in his cell.
A broad grin swept across the deputy’s face when she noticed the guitar. She pulled a harmonica from her pocket. “We’re gonna play some music.”
Travis took the guitar. “Thanks, Wyatt.” He sat on the cot and tuned the instrument, played a few chords, then began to sing. “A man done come a long way, and stabbed me with a knife, and as I laid there bleedin’, he took my dog and took my wife…”
“That’s just awful.” Stone stuffed the harmonica in her pocket, then turned and headed for the office door.
“I’m locked in a jail cell; what do you expect, Camptown Ladies?”
Wyatt let Travis strum the guitar for a few minutes, then put an end to it. “We need to talk.”
Travis propped the guitar against the end of the cot. “Was afraid you’d say that.”
“I came to Sundown to save your life.” Wyatt pulled out his notebook and pencil. “Let’s talk.”
Travis laid on the bunk and hooked his fingers behind his head. “Figured we’d get around to it.”
“The trial is set to begin in two weeks.”
“Sooner it starts, the sooner I'm out of here.” Wyatt's frustration surged up the back of his neck.
He needed his brother to take this trial seriously or face the consequences. Travis didn’t look like he had a care in the world. “How’s the ranch?”
“I’m keeping an eye on things, and the Freemans stop by from time to time.”
“What about the chickens?”
“I scattered some feed for them, but the mice are eating more than the chickens. You need a cat or two.”
“For someone who turned his back on the ranch, you’re quick to offer advice. Don’t forget to collect the eggs in the morning. If you haven’t checked the nesting boxes, you probably have quite a few.”
“Forget about your damn chickens!” Wyatt let out a sigh. “I met your preacher earlier.”
“Reverend Taylor. He’s a good man.” Travis swallowed hard. “He helped me through some issues I kept inside far too long.”
Wyatt leaned forward on the rickety stool, his eyes fixed on his brother. “Tell me what happened that night.” Travis swung his feet around, and he sat on the cot, his head buried in his hands like a lost child. He looked up with a solemn expression on his face, a stark contrast to the wisecracking effect he showed only a moment ago. Wyatt grasped onto a flicker of hope, as fragile as a soap bubble, that his brother just might take his situation seriously.
“I didn’t kill Thornton. If they hang me, they hang me, but you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t shoot anyone that night. Haven’t since the war. That was enough for one lifetime.”
“I do believe you.” Wyatt closed the notebook. He just wanted to listen.
“Tell you the truth, after you left for college, things were rough. I wasn’t sure if I could keep the ranch running. I don’t know what would have happened without Amos coming around and kicking my butt from one end of the ranch to the other.”
The few letters Travis wrote said nothing about his struggles to keep the ranch. “Amos is a good neighbor.”
Travis nodded. “He’s a better man.”
Travis began to pace the small cell. “Life’s been good the past year. I had friends I never knew I had. The ranch began to turn a profit. Even started going to church.”
And reading poetry.
“Then Silas Thornton came to town. Like others before him, he was looking for a cache of stolen Confederate gold coins. People say he was friendly and polite. Course everyone always wanted to talk about Confederate gold. To me, however, Thornton hounded me to come clean every chance he could.”
Travis sank down onto the cot, clutching the sides and rocking. “The night of the Silas Thornton murder, I came to town around sundown, stopped by the saloon and played a few hands of poker with Sheriff Black, among others.”
“Were you drinking?”
“One beer.”
“Then what?”
“Thornton stopped by the table and started causing trouble. I'd had enough. I stood up and was ready to slam my fist into his face, but I forced myself to act like Reverend Taylor taught me: turn the other cheek. I gathered up my winnings and just left. Apparently, Thornton followed me.”
“Then what happened?”
“I needed to cool off, so I took a walk and ran into Thornton behind the hotel. He accused me of being a liar and a thief. I'd never let him get away with that. He wouldn’t let it go, and I got madder and madder. He offered to split the take with me. I told him to go back to New Orleans or else.”
“Or else what?”
Travis hesitated. “Or else… I’d kill him.”
“Could someone have heard you arguing from inside the hotel?”
“We were kind of loud. Anyway, Thornton didn’t back down. We stood toe to toe for a minute. I don’t remember who threw the first punch, but I know who threw the last. I knocked him silly, then left. I headed back to the saloon when two shots came from the alley. Everyone seemed to like him but me, so I hid out.”
“All night?”
Travis shrugged. “Wasn’t hard hiding from a half dozen civilians. I hid out for two months from Rebel troops before I made it to Yankee lines.”
Wyatt didn’t believe Travis’s account. “People saw someone running from the alley. Someone who looked a lot like you.”
Travis shrugged. “I look like a lot of people.” He managed a smile, “Only better looking.”
“Why did you run?”
“Lots of people witnessed our argument in the Purple Sage. I figured someone might have heard me threaten Thornton and witnessed our fight. I decided to lay low while I tried to figure things out.”
A cold chill swept up Wyatt’s neck, but he couldn’t let his brother see his reaction. His brother’s story didn’t make sense. The sheriff’s did. Why would Travis lie?
“You dodged people looking for you for maybe nine hours before you made it to the livery stable near dawn.”
“That’s what happened.” Travis walked closer to Wyatt and studied his face in the dim light of the cell. “Your look says you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you didn’t shoot Silas Thornton. I’m just not sure of your details. The only people whose opinion matters will be twelve civic-minded citizens. What I think doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t!”
The two brothers stared at each other a moment before Wyatt spelled it out. “It would help if someone could testify about seeing you from eight ‘til dawn. An alibi would set you free.”
“No one saw me, Wyatt!” Travis walked to the cell wall and squeezed the bars in a vice-like grip. He kicked the stool and knocked off one of the legs.
Sheriff Black and Deputy Stone rushed through the door; guns drawn.
“I don’t have an alibi!” Travis grabbed Wyatt by the shoulders.
The sheriff burst into the cell and pushed the two men apart then led Wyatt into the hallway.
Travis, eyes flaring, grabbed the bars of the cell again. “Find out who killed Silas Thornton and why. It’s all you need to do to set me free!”
CHAPTER 9
Outside the sheriff’s office, Wyatt worried about his brother more than ever. Since his arrival, he’d accomplished little to uncover the truth behind the murder of Silas Thornton. He set out for the saloon. He had to talk with the volunteers who participated in the search. Perhaps they noticed something.
Wyatt pushed through the batwing doors, which creaked open like an old man's back in the morning. He squinted through the abruptly dim light, so different from the cloudless midday sun.
The air hung heavy with mingled scents of spilled whiskey, sweat and cheap tobacco. A haze of smoke danced beneath the glow of oil lamps, obscuring the faces of the patrons huddled around tables scarred by countless drunken brawls.
In an ill-fitting tweed suit, the mayor he’d seen flying a kite in the park approached and shook Wyatt's hand. “I’m Orville Hook, Sundown's mayor. I’ve been wanting to meet you. Do you have a minute?” Using his black bowler hat, he gestured to an empty table.
The mayor settled into his chair, and Wyatt sat across from him. The man's friendly, if not practiced, smile played on his narrow lips, well suited for sneering. He was a thin man. His frame swallowed by the suit as if a child had donned his father’s clothes.
His eyes were sharp and shrewd, the kind that hid a person’s true feelings. He’d make a good poker player.
Clint Hackett’s warning about the mayor came to mind. “What can I do for you, sir?”
His voice was smooth and practiced, the kind of voice that was used to making a sale or giving an order. “I’m pleased you’re back in Sundown.”
“Just until the trial is over.”
Hook leaned back in his chair. “Don’t be so hasty. Sundown's grown, as has Wyoming. What we might lack in population, we make up in ambitious men like yourself.”
Wyatt never considered himself ambitious and doubted it showed.
“Wyoming’s going to be a state someday, soon, I hope. A bright young man like you could go a long way to help make us a state.” Hook leaned forward and lowered his voice, “This town has a way of keeping those it finds worthy.”
Worthy? What was the mayor getting at?
The hint of a smile curled from the corner of the mayor’s mouth, “You strike me as a fella of significant potential, a man who could make a real difference. And Mr. McCrea, those who make a difference in Sundown, well, let’s just say they tend to make their fortunes here, one way or another.”
The words hung in the air between them, as heavy as the saloon’s tobacco smoke. Wyatt’s gut tightened, but he wouldn’t let the mayor see his unease.
