Twelve Dead Men Read online

  “We didn’t want that to happen,” Ace said.

  “A varmint like that needs to be locked up,” Chance added.

  The door opened and Lee Emory came in. “Miguel, I’m sure sorry about what happened,” the lanky newspaperman said. “Marshal Dixon was one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”

  “Yes, I felt the same way about him,” Miguel said with a nod. “He took a chance hiring me, you know. I’d had a few scrapes with the law myself.”

  “You were just a kid. You needed a reason to grow up, and the marshal knew that.” Emory paused. “Do you know yet exactly what happened?”

  “Not really.” Miguel nodded toward the sofa. “We’re waiting for Norm to wake up and tell us that.”

  As if he’d been waiting for a cue, Deputy Sutherland let out a little moan and shifted around on the cushions. He blinked his eyes open, tried to lift his head, moaned again, and let it fall back.

  Miguel stood up and went to his side. “Take it easy, Norm. The doc says you almost got your head stove in.”

  “Y-yeah,” Sutherland said hoarsely. “Who knew . . . a little gal like that . . . could hit so hard?”

  Miguel hunkered next to the sofa. “You mean it was Dolly who knocked you out?”

  “Yeah . . . She came in with a tray . . . said the marshal asked her to . . . bring the prisoner his supper. I figured she . . . might be lyin’ . . . so I had her set the tray on the desk. I was gonna . . . take a look under the cloth . . . but she had a gun hid under there . . . and got the drop on me.” Sutherland groaned, but it didn’t seem to be from the pain in his head. “I’m sorry, Miguel. I never shoulda . . . let her fool me like that.”

  “It sounds like you tried to do the right thing, Norm. She was just too fast and tricky for you.”

  “Yeah. The marshal’s gonna be . . . disappointed in me.”

  Ace saw the indecision on Miguel’s face. He didn’t know whether to tell Sutherland about Marshal Dixon or not. After a moment, Miguel made up his mind. “I hate to tell you this, Norm. Pete McLaren shot the marshal while trying to escape. He . . . didn’t make it.”

  Sutherland looked confused. “You mean, McLaren didn’t escape, or . . . or . . . Aw, no! Hell, no! You can’t mean it!”

  “I’m sorry. McLaren was throwing lead around and killed Dolly Redding, too.”

  “Aw, hell!” Tears rolled down Sutherland’s cheek. “The marshal . . . I can’t believe he’s gone.” He started to get up again. “We got to get after McLaren—”

  Miguel touched his shoulder. “Take it easy. McLaren didn’t get away. He’s safely locked up in his cell again.”

  “You stopped him.” Sutherland sighed in relief. “Thank God for that, anyway.”

  Miguel nodded toward Ace and Chance. “Actually, it was the Jensen boys who pitched in and caught him before he could get away.”

  Sutherland looked at them. “Thanks, fellas.”

  “I’m just sorry we weren’t able to save the marshal and Miss Redding,” Ace said.

  “Why in blazes did she help McLaren, anyway?” Sutherland said, his voice rising in anger. “I know she must’ve been sweet on him, but hell, he treated her like dirt!”

  “Who knows why people feel like they do sometimes?” Chance said. “Life’s a mystery, and a damned hard one, at that.”

  Lee Emory had been standing back, taking notes on a pad of paper with a pencil as Sutherland explained what had happened. He glanced up and asked, “Can I quote you on that, Mr. Jensen?”

  “Sure, but I don’t know why you’d want to,” Chance replied with a shrug. “I didn’t really say anything.”

  “On the contrary, you summed up the random senselessness of life that plagues us all at one time or another. Are you familiar with a man named Nietzsche and his theory of the competing Apollonian and Dionysian drives?”

  “We’ve worked on a couple cattle drives, but I don’t recognize the names of those spreads and don’t see what it’s got to do with this.”

  “Never mind,” Emory said. “I’m not sure philosophy ever really solved anything, anyway.”

  “It usually takes a bullet or a hang rope to do that,” Ace said.

  * * *

  When Sutherland had recovered enough to stand up without being dizzy, Miguel told him to head on home and get some rest.

  “Sometimes that ain’t easy to do with five younguns in the house, but I’m sure my wife’ll try to keep ’em quiet and look after me. I feel bad about leavin’ all the responsibility on you, though.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Ace said. “My brother and I will be glad to help out for a while, won’t we, Chance?”

  With a slight frown, Chance said, “I suppose . . . as long as it doesn’t mean pinning badges on us and swearing us in. I never had any hankering to be a lawman, and I reckon the fella who raised us might roll over in his grave if we started packing stars.”

  “Doc Monday’s still alive,” Ace reminded him.

  “Yeah, but if he was dead, he’d roll over in his grave.”

  Miguel said, “We’ll consider you unofficial deputies, then, if you’re sure you want to volunteer.”

  “We might as well,” Ace said. “We have to stay for McLaren’s trial, anyway, so we’ll be here.”

  “Did either of you see him shoot the marshal and the girl?”

  “No, I was talking to Miss Emory on the boardwalk across the street when I heard the shots. But I looked over there just a second later and saw the bodies, as well as McLaren standing there with a smoking gun in his hand.”

  “That’s more than I saw,” Chance said. “I was in the saloon. But I heard the shots, too. I looked outside to see what was going on, and then dashed into the street to get in on the action.”

  Miguel nodded. “I saw it happen, but I was too far away to stop it. Quite a few people were on the boardwalks. It won’t be hard to round up some other witnesses. It ought to be an open-and-shut case against McLaren for those two murders. He’ll swing.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Ace said. “You want us to take a shift here at the jail tonight?”

  Miguel shook his head. “I’m used to being up all night. I might need you to help out some during the day until I get used to doing things the other way around. Maybe it won’t be too long before Norm can start working again, too.”

  “Are you going to take that acting marshal job the doctor was talking about?” Chance asked.

  Miguel sighed. “It looks like I may not have any choice. Somebody’s got to do it.”

  With that settled and with McLaren safely behind bars again, Ace and Chance left the marshal’s office. Ace looked along the street and saw lights burning in the newspaper office. Emory and his sister might be putting together an extra. The murders and the attempted escape warranted one, especially in a town like Lone Pine where usually not much happened.

  It was a shame that couldn’t be said anymore.

  “Head for the Melodian and get a drink?” Chance asked.

  “You go ahead. I thought I might go across the street and keep an eye on the jail for a while.”

  “Deputy Soriano said he’d be all right for the rest of the night.”

  “I know what he said. But I also know McLaren’s got at least four friends who aren’t accounted for right now.”

  “And you think they might be planning something?”

  Ace gave a short shrug. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

  * * *

  José set a jug of tequila on the bar and licked his lips nervously. “You hombres ain’t gonna hold any of this against me, are you?”

  “I reckon maybe we should,” Perry Severs said with a grimace. “If you hadn’t been about to give away where Pete was hidin’, he wouldn’t have shot you, and then he wouldn’t have been locked up. The judge would’ve just fined him and let him go.”

  Larry Dunn frowned darkly for a moment as if he were thinking so hard it hurt his brain, then his expression cleared. “Yeah, that’s right! And if Pe
te hadn’t been in jail, he wouldn’t have killed the marshal and that whore, and then they wouldn’t be fixin’ to hang him.”

  Lew Merritt and Vic Russell nodded in solemn agreement.

  “They’re not fixin’ to hang him,” Severs snapped. “Hell, the trial won’t be until next week, and they can’t hang him until after the trial.” Severs paused. “Who knows? Maybe Pete won’t even be convicted.”

  “I don’t see how you figure that,” Merritt said. “Had to be a dozen or more people who saw him shoot Dixon and the gal.”

  Severs poured some tequila in a glass and threw it down his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. “It don’t matter what people saw. All that matters is what they’re willin’ to testify they saw.”

  It took longer for understanding to dawn on the faces of his three companions, but finally it did.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The atmosphere inside the Melodian was subdued when Chance walked in. People were drinking and having low-voiced conversations, but no poker games were going on and the piano was silent. Chance didn’t even see Orrie. Fontana Dupree and Hank Muller stood at the end of the bar where they usually were when she wasn’t singing.

  Chance joined them and saw how red Fontana’s eyes were. Streaks from dried tears were evident on her cheeks, too. Muller just looked bleak . . . as if he’d been peering through the gates of hell.

  “I suppose that damned murderer is behind bars,” he greeted Chance.

  “Yeah. He won’t be going anywhere.”

  “That’s what we all thought before,” Fontana said. “And now Dolly and Marshal Dixon are dead.”

  “I hear Norm Sutherland is still alive, though,” Muller said.

  Chance nodded. “Yeah, he was knocked out, but he’ll be all right.”

  “Hoyt Dixon was worth ten of him,” Muller snapped. Then he sighed, wearily scrubbed a hand over his face, and shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair. Norm’s a family man and a halfway decent deputy, if you don’t ask too much of him. I’m thinking Miguel Soriano will take over now, though.”

  “That’s what I hear, too,” Chance agreed. “He strikes me as a pretty good lawman.”

  “Yeah. You wouldn’t have thought he’d turn out that way, since he was such a young hellion a few years ago, but I reckon just about everybody around here likes and trusts him now. He’s earned it.”

  Fontana said, “I feel sorry for Dolly. I can’t believe she loved McLaren enough to risk her life for him. What a waste.”

  Chance couldn’t argue with that.

  “You want a drink, Jensen?” Muller asked.

  “Yeah. Beer would be fine.”

  Muller signaled to one of the bartenders, who filled a mug and took it down the bar to them.

  As Chance took an appreciative sip, Fontana asked, “Where’s your brother?”

  Chance lowered his voice. “Keeping an eye on the jail. He’s worried that McLaren’s friends might try something.”

  “You mean Perry Severs and those other three dullards?” Muller made a face. “Your brother’s right. That bunch is liable to do anything.”

  * * *

  Despite Ace’s concerns and Muller’s comment, the rest of the night passed peacefully. When the Jensen brothers went to the jail the next morning, they found Miguel finishing up his breakfast.

  “Lars Hilfstrom figured I was shorthanded right now, so he had his daughters bring over food for me as well as for the prisoner,” Miguel exclaimed. “If you ask me, Pete McLaren doesn’t deserve to be fed that well, but the town’s got an arrangement with the café to provide meals for the prisoners.”

  “No trouble last night?” Ace asked, even though he already had a good idea that was the case.

  “Everything was quiet. Even McLaren didn’t carry on much. He seems pretty subdued this morning, too. I guess he’s starting to realize just how much trouble he’s in. He can’t bluster his way out of murdering two people.”

  “Do you need us to keep an eye on the jail for you?” Chance asked.

  Miguel nodded. “That’d be mighty good of you. I want to ask around town and locate some witnesses who saw the shooting. Then I might go back to my room at the boardinghouse and get a little sleep.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Ace said. “If there’s any trouble in town, one of us can stay here while the other one goes to handle it.”

  “Sure you don’t want some badges?” Miguel asked. “Might make it easier dealing with folks if you had a symbol of authority.”

  “Badges?” Chance repeated, then shook his head. “No, just tell people when you’re talking to them that we’re giving you a hand, and if Lone Pine is anything like other settlements where we’ve been, the word will get around in a hurry.”

  “I’m sure it will . . . especially if I tell Mr. Sawyer at the livery stable and Colonel Howden at the hotel.” Miguel smiled. “Those two old-timers will compete against each other to see who can tell the most folks the fastest.”

  Ace was glad to see Miguel seemed to have recovered somewhat from the shock and rage that had gripped him immediately following the marshal’s death. More than likely, the young deputy would need to be level-headed during the days to come. Ace had a hunch the trouble wasn’t over yet.

  Miguel got up from behind the desk and lifted a stockinged foot. He had taken his boots off so he could walk without limping because of the shot-off heel. “I have an old pair of boots I can wear while I’m getting mine fixed. I reckon that’s the first order of business. If you fellas need me, I’ll be around town somewhere. It’s not that big a place.”

  “What about the breakfast trays?” Ace asked.

  “One of the Hilfstrom girls will be around to collect them later.” With that, Miguel left.

  Ace and Chance poured cups of coffee for themselves from the pot staying warm on the stove and settled down to the job of watching the office and jail. Chance sprawled on the sofa with his legs stretched out in front of him while Ace took the swivel chair behind the desk.

  “You look natural there,” Chance commented. “Maybe Miguel should give you a badge.”

  “I don’t think so. Too much responsibility.”

  Chance laughed. “Responsibility is your middle name, brother.”

  Before Ace could respond to that, Pete McLaren yelled from the cell block, “Hey! Anybody out there? I know you are. I can hear you talking.”

  Ace stood up and went to the door, stopping just inside the cell block. “What do you want, McLaren?” He sensed Chance right behind him.

  Instead of answering the question, the prisoner stood at the cell door and asked a question of his own. “What are you bastards doing here?”

  “Keeping an eye on the jail for Marshal Soriano.”

  “Marshal Soriano?” McLaren laughed. “It didn’t take that greaser long to take over, did it?”

  “Well . . . acting marshal. I reckon he’ll get the job if he wants it, though.”

  “No, he won’t,” McLaren said confidently. “Know how I know that?” Without waiting for either of the Jensen brothers to answer, he went on. “Because he’ll be dead! So will the two of you. So will Ordway and Buchanan if they try to put me on trial. When my brother hears what’s happened, he’ll come back here and kill all of you. People will be lucky if he doesn’t burn down the whole town!”

  “You’re crazy,” Chance said. “You don’t even know that your brother’s still alive.”

  A smug smile appeared on McLaren’s face. “Just keep on thinkin’ that, you son of a bitch.”

  Ace said, “This is a waste of time and breath. You’ll get your day in court, McLaren, and then you’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

  McLaren’s grin got even more cocksure and arrogant. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  * * *

  “What’s that Mex doin’?” Lew Merritt asked as he and Perry Severs lounged against an empty hitch rail and watched Miguel Soriano go into the saddle maker’s shop. In
the past hour, Soriano had visited half a dozen businesses along Lone Pine’s main street.

  “He’s looking for people who saw what happened last night. People who are willing to go into court and testify that Pete shot that damn lawman and the whore.”

  Merritt frowned. “Well, that wouldn’t be a good thing, would it?”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Severs replied, reining in his impatience and frustration at his companion’s slowness of thought. Merritt, Dunn, and Russell were all pretty dumb, and denying that wouldn’t accomplish a blasted thing.

  For that matter, Severs was under no illusions about his own intelligence. He knew he was smarter than his friends, but he still wasn’t cut out to be the one who did all the figuring and planning. He’d always been more than happy to leave that to Pete.

  But Pete was locked up in jail, and so far Severs hadn’t come up with any ideas for getting him out of there. It seemed the best thing to do was make sure Pete didn’t get convicted and sent to prison. If the law had to let him go, things could go back to the way they had been . . . before.

  Several minutes later, Soriano emerged from the saddle maker’s shop and headed on down the street. Severs straightened from his casual pose and said to Merritt, “Come on.”

  “Come on where?”

  “I want to talk to Carhart, too.”

  The saddle maker’s name was Royal Carhart. He was a short, wiry man in late middle age who had been a cowboy until a horse had fallen on him and busted him up that he couldn’t handle the work anymore. He’d always been good with leatherwork, so he had gone from sitting all day in a saddle to making them, and he had become quite good at it. He looked up from his workbench as Severs and Merritt came in, ringing the little bell that hung over the door.

  Carhart recognized them immediately. A suspicious frown appeared on his face, but he greeted them civilly. “What can I do for you, gents?”

  Severs smiled, but he wasn’t sure how convincing he was able to make the expression. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We just saw the deputy come out of here. What did he want?”

  “You mean Actin’ Marshal Soriano?”