C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
The logical thing to do would be to have Sheriff Dexter on hand for what Diamond felt certain the, “We got a job to do,” Kenny Lester spoke of might entail. After all, Way-cross was Dexter's town.
Preston had stuck one foot in the stirrup, preparing to mount when a voice that broke from low to high mid-sentence hailed from across the street, “Hi, Mr. McBain! Going for another ride or are you heading to the livery?” Reversing the decision, Preston stepped back on to the street.
“Evening, Lonny, what keeps you up this late at night?”
The lad trotted over to where Preston and his gelding stood, “Oh, just nothin'. Had to get out of the house…”
“Lonny, do you know a lady named Barbara who lives here in Way-cross?”
“Yessir! Mr. McBain, we got two Barbaras. Which one do you want?”
Preston rubbed his chin in thought, keeping the conversation casual, hiding the urgency he felt. “Well, I'm not sure… This Barbara is probably young…”
“Barbara Colter is an old lady, probably thirty or more. The one your lookin' for must be Barbara Kirwin, she works at May-Anne's.”
Preston instantly recalled the waitress; her unsolicited animosity toward him now had a foundation. Barbara Kirwin, sweet on young Lester, would understandably despise the man who killed Kenny's brothers. She must have already known about the jail break this morning because her manner had marginally improved. “Can you tell me where she lives, Lonny?”
“Oh, yeah, I used to play with their dog all the time when I was a kid.” He pointed in a north-easterly direction, “It's a little white house over there.”
Rural and small town directions; there were probably half a dozen little white houses “over there.”Preston grinned. “Perhaps a touch more specific, Lonny, I'm new to Way-cross.”
Lonny rubbed his chin as he'd seen McBain do. “Well,” he said, “there's a porch on the front with one of those swing things that people sits on in the evening. They got a fence with a gate in front. In the back there's a big garden where I sometimes…” He caught himself. “There's a big garden in the back…”
“That should be sufficient, Lonny. I'll be able to find that house… now, how about a place called Joe's old shack?”
“Joe's old shack is the last place on that same street as the Kirwin's, the one farthest east. There's a barn behind it… but it's an empty house, you won't find nobody there.”
“I might need to go there later.”
Lonny shrugged in a 'suit yourself' manner.
Preston leaned closer to the lad, lowered his voice, and said in a conspiratorial hush, “Lonny, I need your help.”
The boy straightened, staring eagerly into McBain's eyes, “What is it, Mr. McBain?” he whispered, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice from cracking.
“Do you know where Sheriff Dexter's spread is?”
“Sure, I help him with his Hairy Fords sometimes.”
“Could you ride my horse out there right now and fetch the sheriff?”
“Mr. McBain! You want me to straddle your bronc?” Lonny asked incredulously.
“I can trust you, Lonny. It wouldn't do to ask just anybody…”
“You bet, Mr. McBain!” Lonny accepted the reins, valiantly suppressing his excitement.
“I'll meet you both at the livery. Wait for me there. Tell Moody it is very, very urgent.”
McBain watched the lad swing easily into the saddle. The stirrups were too long but Lonny sat as though he may have been born there. Realizing the boy lacked nothing for experience, Preston cautioned, “Ride quiet until you are clear of the edge of town, then give him his head. He'll go like the wind if you let him.”
“I'll do it, Mr. McBain. And I'll bring Sheriff Dexter back with me!”
Lonny turned down a side street then disappeared in the total darkness of a back alley. Preston hurried through the shadows, shifting unobserved across the dimly lit main thoroughfare. In the distance he heard the thrum of hoof beats. He grinned; Lonny had put heels to the long-gaited gelding.
Locating the Kirwin home did not entail a lengthy search. A lantern burned above a doorway illuminating the veranda where Preston espied the “swing thing” Lonny had described. It was a low-slung gliding unit suspended on a wooden frame; bench seats faced each other from opposite sides. Two people sat on this porch swing conversing in hushed, angry tones.
Through the pale lamp light Diamond recognized Kenny Lester and the waitress named Barbara.
Recalling Lonny's mention of a dog, Preston tried to balance the scale of extra caution to avoid having his presence announced by the family pet with the desire to overhear the conversation. No lamps illumed this side street so the eavesdropper took advantage of the light from the porch hoping it would impede the vision of anyone attempting to stare beyond its glow. If a dog lay on the veranda, or somewhere nearby, it either did not yet sense the intruder or did not bother to sound an alarm. Preston edged closer, leery of a canine outburst.
His luck held.
“…Barb” Kenny Lester was saying in a pleading tone, “We got us a stake; Muley and I can find a new start somewhere. I want you to come with us.”
“You are wanted by the law! How could you have been so stupid, trying to hold up the freight office?” Barbara Kirwin's voice retained the anger Preston detected before drawing near enough to hear the words.
“It wasn't my idea! They was my brothers, Barbara! I had to go along with 'em.”
“You should have been shut of those two ages ago, Kenny. Now you are a branded man.”
“It'll all blow over around here. Folks know I wouldn't do anything that bad, I…”
“But you did do something that bad! And then you broke out of jail!”
“Well, Muley let me out. What was I supposed to do? Stay in that damn cell 'til I rotted? Look, Barb, we got a little chore to take care of tonight… Muley and I got to take care of that McBain fella… By morning we will be gone; you, me and the baby. We'll have…”
“There is no baby,” Barb broke in quietly, a marked tone of sadness trembling in her words.
“What?… What do you mean there ain't no baby? You said we was gonna have a baby…”
“We were… we aren't now… Doc Stohl… he took the baby.”
“Doc Stohl took the baby?” Kenny asked incredulously. “How could he do that?”
“For pity's sake, Kenny! I had an abortion!”
“You killed our baby? You gotta be lyin' to me, Barb! That was my baby too!”
Preston detected the anger rising as the pitch in Lester's voice went higher.
Barbara Kirwin's tone became shrill, defending her own actions by shifting the blame. “You were in jail! How could I know when you were ever coming out? Maybe the judge would have hanged you, for all I knew!”
Kenny Lester leaped to his feet, sanity sinking. “You brainless bitch!” he yelled, “I oughtta kill you, just like you done to my baby!” He reached across the swing and grabbed at the girl but she slid off the end of the seat, came to her feet and rounded on him. In a vicious, throaty purr she growled, “Don't you come near me, Kenny Lester. You get off this porch and out of my sight. I don't ever want to see your face around here again!”
Preston, ready to spring to the girl's defence, relaxed momentarily. Barbara Kirwin could handle herself.
The house door was jerked open. A bare headed, middle-aged man wearing slippers and evening attire angrily stepped onto the veranda. In a level but authoritative tone he said, “That's enough shouting, you two! You'll have the whole town awake and I don't need the publicity.” Motioning with his hand he said, “Barbara, you git inside here… Kenny, beat it, before Dexter comes alookin'.”
The girl obediently slipped past her father. By the lamplight Preston saw the shine of tears on her cheeks.
Kenny Lester offered no resistance. Diamond drew himself deeper into the shadow as the harangued young man strode stiffly down the walk. Upon reaching the street, he turned east, away from Preston. Shoulders slumped, the young man shuffled miserably into the darkness.
Diamond waited until Kirwin had re-entered the house before proceeding in Lester's wake. Trailing the fugitive posed no strain; a locomotive could have whistled past without his observation. The rhythmic drum of hoof beats, in all probability Dexter and Lonny hurrying to town, could be heard in the distance by the time Kenny Lester climbed over the broken gate at the derelict shanty previously referred to as Joe's place. No light showed from within; Muley hadn't made the appointment as yet. Kenny Lester, his plans of romance thwarted, had arrived ahead of schedule. Preston considered there would be plenty of time to rendezvous with Dexter.
“I brung him, Mr. McBain!” Lonny pridefully announced when Preston entered the lighted livery stable.
Dexter was edgy as a three square file, “You got a damn good reason for getting' me outta bed, sore hip aplaguin' me, to go gallivantin' off on a midnight ride?”
Ol' Ross, the hostler, had wakened to the sound of horses being led into the barn. He paused while packing a wad of tobacco in his cheek, “Do ya good to have some late night exercise, Moody.”
McBain hedged, “We need to go up to your office, Sheriff.”
Turning to Lonny, Preston reached in a pocket and extracted a small leather change purse. He sorted out eight-bits and passed the money to the stable hand, “You did a fine job, Lonny. There is a little extra for you to tend to my horse, if you don't mind.”
The lad studied the coins, “A whole dollars worth!” he exclaimed. “That's too much, Mr. McBain.”
“I figure you're worth it.” Preston said, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Besides, it's late and the horse needs a good going over.” Adjusting his keen gaze to the hostler, he added, “He had a bad reaction to the tether this afternoon.”
Ol' Ross shrugged, laid out a stream of tobacco, then grinned his innocence.
“Tie him in a stall with a rope behind his ass for tonight,” Preston ordered the hostler, then turned back to Dexter. “Sheriff, I have to get in your office. It's a matter of utmost importance.”
Dexter and McBain started up the street but McBain soon steered the sheriff across the avenue. “Where the hell are you taking me?” Dexter growled. “You're actin' like one of them goddamn Union Pacific Railroad dicks.”
“Muley and Lester have returned to town… they are meeting at Joe's shack in a few minutes. The pair of them are up to no good so you best arrest them… before someone takes a bullet.”
“Where in hell do you get these hi falutin' notions, McBain? Muley and Kenny wouldn't shoot anybody. They just got tangled up in a little misdemeanor, that's all. Now you're telling me they're a couple of killers.”
McBain didn't answer. By now they were close enough to see a pale light, probably a candle, burning through a broken window at the shanty Kenny Lester had entered. Soon they could hear low voices emanating from within. Muley had arrived from the saloon.
Inexplicably and without warning, Moody Dexter felt old; tired and very old. He swallowed audibly and drew the worn out Navy Colt. McBain sensed a tremor run through the sheriff.
“What do you figure is the best way to sort this out?” McBain breathed.
Diamond considered that Moody must have learned to whisper in a packed saloon as the Way-cross sheriff''s tobacco-smoke-tempered voice grated on the stillness. “I'll talk to 'em. They'll come out of there, hands in the air.” He spoke with more confidence than he possessed.
“You want me to cover the back?” Preston asked.
The sheriff didn't answer, instead he bellowed, “Kenny, Muley, this is Sheriff Dexter… I know you boys are in there… Shuck them pea shooters and come on out here where I can see you.”
Preston hoped the hesitant quaver he detected in Moody's voice did not reach the ears of the miscreants.
The candle immediately became extinguished. A short, hushed argument erupted in the shack, then Muley shouted, “Now Moody, we ain't lookin' for no trouble and we don't want you gitten' hurt. But you can't handle the two of us by yourself. Why don't you just let us alone for tonight? Tomorrow we promise to be gone clear out of your bailiwick.”
Preston noted Muley's speech held no threat, in fact, it sounded quite congenial. The big cowboy must be one of the few who actually grow mellow with raw whiskey.
“You been in the saloon, Muley,” Dexter called back in a friendly tone. “You couldn't shoot your way out of a…”
“He's keeping you occupied while Lester slips out,” McBain warned in a low voice.
“Kenny, you don't be slipping away! For your information, I ain't alone out here.”
McBain groaned hearing this revelation.
Lester's derangement surfaced in anger as he almost squealed, “You got that bastard McBain out there with you, Dexter?”
Without awaiting response, the incensed jail breaker suddenly erupted through the window hole taking the remainder of the wooden frame and glass with him. He landed on his feet, gun in hand. Before Dexter could aim, Kenny Lester espied a target and commenced firing.
Dexter grunted, his gun going off in the general direction of the assailant. Beside the sheriff another Colt spoke authoritatively.
Once.
Lester took the slug high in the chest on the left side. His body spun in a half circle counter-clockwise. In slow motion he sank to the earth, life's last blood gushing horribly from a ghastly hole in his heart.
Preston swung the Colt toward the shack covering Muley who stumbled through the doorway. He hadn't even drawn his gun. “Don't… Don't sh-sh-shoot… Don't sh-shoot,” he bawled. “I'm coming out. Moody, don't shoot me.”
Preston glanced quickly at the sheriff. Dexter was down on one knee.
“Drop your goddamn gun and do it slow, Muley,” he commanded.
Muley complied without hesitation, then stepped down off the broken sill. “Gawd, you killed Kenny… He's got a hole clean through. He… he's dead, Moody!”
McBain took a longer look at Dexter. “You okay, Sheriff?” he asked.
“Well, I ain't hit if that's what you're wonderin'… Maybe too much excitement for the old ticker; I may have blacked out for a second or two there. I'm too old and fat for this rowdy pace.”
Preston grinned his relief. “Your pistol is still intact. That's a step up from last time.”
“Good thing the old girl didn't misfire on me now! God, I shot Kenny Lester!”
McBain allowed the inaccuracy should be buried with the deceased. By way of consolation, he intoned, “Looks like he didn't suffer.”
Samantha Dexter could not go back to sleep after Lonny Fischer had woken the household with his wild pounding on the front door. She coaxed the coals in the wood-stove to flame, then heated a kettle of water. Her mother joined Samantha when the kettle's whistle announced it had come to a boil. They drank that pot of tea, and had started on the second when Moody entered.
Samantha rushed to her step-father. “Dad, you look pale!”
“I'm all right,” Dexter failed nonchalance. He hung his coat and gun belt on a clothes hook near the door then took a chair at the big wooden kitchen table. Edith Dexter reached across to grasp her husband's hand. “You know you cannot keep anything from your girls, Alan, so you may as well tell us what happened.”
Samantha selected her father's special mug from a cupboard, poured the tea and placed the cup in front of him. “Want a dash of brandy in there, Dad?” she asked.
Moody nodded miserably, watched as Sam tilted a healthy two fingers in the mug she had only partially filled. His girls knew him too well. He took his time rolling a smoke, lit it and blew a cloud up at the ceiling. “I don't know how much of Lonny's spiel you heard when he come abeatin' on the door. Anyway, that stranger in town, McBain, he sent the Fischer kid out here to get me. Turns out, Kenny Lester and Muley had come back to town. McBain thought they was up to no good. We found 'em holed up in Joe's old shack…” He paused, drank a swig of the stiff tea, took two more long drags from the quirly, shook his head sadly, then continued in a dull monotone.
“I called to the boys, I says, “Throw down your guns and come on out,” then, like a damn fool I told 'em I wasn't alone; I thought that would stop any notion of gun play. Young Lester, he guessed that McBlaine was out there with me. He'd swore to kill the man and I guess he meant it. Kenny come abustin' out through a window, gun out, shootin' like you'd think he be'n livin' on loco weed.”
Both women gasped but did not interrupt.
Dexter stared at the burning end of his smoke, tears welled in his eyes. “I shot back… I killed Kenny Lester tonight.”
The ladies came to comfort him. Each put a reassuring hand on his shoulders. “Dad, it was self defence. You had to shoot back,” Samantha pleaded. Mrs. Dexter echoed, “Alan, you are the sheriff. You shot an escaped prisoner whom you were attempting to take into custody. You cannot blame yourself.”
Dexter took the soft hands in his rough and calloused grip. “I know that,” he said miserably, “but Kenny Lester was just a wild kid. He had his whole life in front of him… now he's gone.”
“What about that silly Muley? Did he come out shooting at you too?” Edith Dexter asked.
“No, Muley gave hisself up without a fight. He was pretty scared seeing young Kenny lyin' there dead like that.”
“Mr. McBain, is… is he all right?” Samantha asked, not bothering to sound unconcerned.
“Yeah. Yeah, he's okay. That man is a survivor. He helped me escort Muley to the hoosegow.”
“Muley is locked up then?” Dexter's wife queried.
“Ole is keeping an eye on him tonight. An odd thing though: when we reached the office, McBain told me to have Muley turn out his pockets. Muley never had enough coin on him to buy his own whiskey, but tonight he had five Double Eagles. A hundred dollars! Where would a guy like Muley Trippett find that kind of money?”
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