Twelve Dead Men Page 16

“Certainly, Your Honor.” Horton stalked out from behind the defense table, approached Miguel, and clasped his hands together behind his back. “Acting Marshal Soriano, I’d like to know exactly where you were when you allegedly witnessed the incident in front of the jail.”

  “Like I said,” Miguel replied with a trace of impatience in his voice, “I was on the boardwalk headed toward the jail, on the same side of the street.”

  “But where exactly? How far away from the jail were you?”

  “I was . . .” Miguel frowned. “I’m pretty sure I had just passed Miss O’Mara’s dress shop.”

  “Pretty sure?” Horton repeated as he cocked an eyebrow.

  “I’m certain. I, uh, I remember looking in the window as I passed and thinking that was, uh, a pretty dress she had on display there.”

  A few of the spectators chuckled. Judge Ordway frowned but didn’t reach for his gavel.

  “And how far is that from the jail?”

  “I never measured it, but I’d say it’s about fifty yards.”

  “So you were fifty yards away, at night, in poor light—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes, mister, and there was plenty of light in front of the jail because McLaren and the girl left the door open behind them, and light was coming through the window, too.”

  Horton looked over at Ordway “Your Honor, please instruct the witness not to interrupt and to confine his responses to answering questions.”

  “You heard the man, Marshal,” the judge said.

  Miguel looked like he wanted to say something, but he settled for a curt nod.

  “Now,” Horton went on, “where were Marshal Dixon, Miss Redding, and the defendant—exactly.”

  “The marshal was right in front of the office in the street. I’d say fifteen or twenty feet from the boardwalk. McLaren and the girl had just come out the door.”

  “But how were they standing when you first saw them?”

  “McLaren was facing out into the street. Miss Redding was looking at him and had her back to me.”

  “So you didn’t know her identity at the time?”

  “No, not really, but I don’t see what that matters.”

  “You say she was looking at the defendant and had her back to you. If I’m visualizing the scene correctly, that means she was standing between you and the defendant.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, I guess,” Miguel said.

  “So that means your view was blocked and you didn’t actually see Pete McLaren shoot Marshal Dixon.”

  That made talk break out all over the room. Judge Ordway grabbed his gavel and smacked it on the table.

  When things quieted down, Horton smiled at Miguel. “You didn’t answer my question, Acting Marshal Soriano.”

  “You didn’t ask one,” Miguel snapped.

  “Then let me rephrase it. Did you actually see my client shoot Marshal Dixon? You saw the gun in his hand, saw the flame from its barrel when he pulled the trigger?”

  “No, the girl was in the way—”

  “And when Miss Redding was shot, you didn’t see that, either, did you?”

  “She was between me and McLaren. But the marshal went down, and then the girl collapsed, and McLaren was standing there with a gun in his hand, a gun that had been fired several times—”

  “So what you’re saying is that it’s possible someone fired from ambush and killed Marshal Dixon and Miss Redding, and Mr. McLaren merely returned that fire in self-defense—”

  “You know good and well that’s not what happened!” Miguel shouted as he started to stand up.

  “Marshal Soriano!” Judge Ordway’s voice lashed out. “Sit down and control yourself!”

  Miguel sank back into the witness chair, but his chest rose and fell as he breathed heavily in anger.

  “Go on, Counselor,” Ordway told Horton.

  “Let me be sure I phrase this properly, Your Honor . . . Acting Marshal Soriano, in your professional opinion as a peace officer, is it possible someone else fired the shots that killed Marshal Dixon and Miss Redding?”

  “No, it’s not,” Miguel answered in a flat, hard voice.

  “I’d advise you to reconsider that response. As you know, perjury is a crime, and you swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but—”

  “All right, blast it! I didn’t see the gun in McLaren’s hand when it went off until he was shooting at me. But he did shoot at me.”

  “Perhaps he was startled by the ambush that took the lives of Marshal Dixon and Miss Redding and believed you were attacking him. In that case, he would have fired in defense of his own life.” Before Miguel could say anything about how ridiculous that was, Horton said, “No further questions at this time, Your Honor,” and turned away.

  “Redirect, Mr. Buchanan?” Ordway asked.

  The prosecutor shook his head. Buchanan looked grimmer than he had earlier.

  Ace could see why Solomon Horton had a reputation for being slick. He watched Miguel leave the witness chair looking angry and a little confused.

  “That didn’t go as well as we figured it would,” Chance whispered.

  “No,” Ace agreed, “it didn’t.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  As soon as Miguel had vacated the witness chair, Timothy Buchanan stood up. “The prosecution calls Donald Barr, Your Honor.”

  A middle-aged, medium-sized man with thinning brown hair stood up from his chair in the spectators’ section and moved forward, but not before glancing down at the pale-faced woman in the next chair.

  He tried to smile at her, but it was a pretty feeble attempt, Ace thought.

  When the clerk swore him in, Barr had to clear his throat a couple times before he was able to get out the words he was supposed to say. He sat down, and his fingers knotted together as he held his hands in his lap.

  Ace saw that, too, and thought that Barr was nervous about something. Actually, nervous might not be a strong enough word. In Ace’s opinion, the witness was downright scared.

  Buchanan approached Barr. “For the record, please state your name and occupation.”

  Barr cleared his throat again. “Donald Barr. I own the Apex Mercantile Store here in Lone Pine.”

  “How long have you been in business here, Mr. Barr?”

  Horton said, “I fail to see what significance that question has, Your Honor.”

  Buchanan turned his head to look at the defense attorney. “I’m establishing the witness’s credentials as a longtime member of the community.”

  Judge Ordway said, “That seems reasonable enough to me, but don’t belabor the point, Counselor.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.” Buchanan turned back to Barr and waited.

  “I’ve, uh, lived in Lone Pine and operated the store here for eight years,” Barr said.

  “What are your business hours, specifically on Friday?”

  “I open at eight in the morning, and I stay as late as folks need me to. I usually close down around eight in the evening.”

  “So this past Friday, three nights ago, your store was still open at the time of the incident in front of the jail.”

  Barr swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Where is your store located in relation to the jail?”

  “It’s across the street and, uh, one door east, I guess you’d say. Although the buildings don’t line up quite that exact. Almost, though.”

  “So you have a good view of the jail from your store.”

  “Yes, sir, I suppose. If you were on the porch or at the front window.”

  “Where were you at the time of the incident?”

  “I was . . . standing at the window.” Barr sounded like he had to force the words out, but he went on. “There was only one customer in the store . . . Mrs. Gertrude Stevens . . . and she was looking through some bolts of cloth. I was looking out the window to see if anybody else seemed to be on their way to the store because I was thinking about closing up as soon as Mrs. Stevens was done.”

>   “So you were watching the street.”

  “Well . . . I was just sort of looking around all over, you know.”

  “Did you see Marshal Hoyt Dixon?” Buchanan asked.

  “Yes, sir. He was walking toward the jail, carrying a tray from the café.”

  “And what happened then?”

  Ace glanced at the woman who’d been sitting next to Barr, who he assumed to be the storekeeper’s wife. She had her lower lip caught between her teeth and was leaning forward slightly in her chair, ramrod stiff with tension.

  “I, uh”—Barr cleared his throat again—“I don’t rightly know. I was looking off down the street when I heard some shots, and when I looked around again, Marshal Dixon was lying in the street and there was a girl lying on the boardwalk in front of the jail, and a man was standing there beside her shooting at Deputy Soriano.”

  Buchanan seemed to be taken aback. He stared at the witness for a couple seconds before saying, “Wait just a minute, Mr. Barr. Are you saying that you weren’t looking at the area directly in front of the jail when the shooting started?”

  “That’s right. I was looking down the street.”

  Buchanan’s face began to turn red with anger. He opened his mouth as if to ask another question, then seemed to think better of it. His jaw snapped shut. Another tense moment went by before he said, “No further questions.”

  “Mr. Horton?” Judge Ordway said.

  “Certainly, Your Honor,” Horton said. “I have questions for the witness.” He walked toward Barr. “Do I understand you to be saying that you actually didn’t witness Marshal Dixon and Miss Redding being shot?”

  Barr’s face was as pale as milk, but he nodded. “That’s right. I didn’t see them get shot.”

  “So you can’t testify as to who shot them, can you?”

  “No, I . . . I suppose I can’t.”

  “That’s all.” Horton smiled and swung around toward the defense table.

  Buchanan stood up. “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”

  “Of course,” Ordway said. “Mr. Horton, please join us.”

  The two lawyers bent over to the table to talk to the judge. Their voices were pitched low enough that no one else in the room could understand what they were saying. However, the vehemence with which Buchanan spoke made it clear he was angry. Horton just looked smug.

  Chance leaned over and whispered to Ace, “What do you reckon this is about? That witness lied, didn’t he?”

  “That’s the way it looked to me.” Ace had seen the relief on the woman’s face when Barr said that he hadn’t seen the actual shooting.

  It was pretty clear what had happened. Somebody—most likely Pete McLaren’s friends—had paid a visit to Barr and warned him to change his testimony. They must have threatened the storekeeper’s family. Buchanan was complaining about that to the judge, but Ordway could do nothing about it. Barr either told the truth or he didn’t, and under the circumstances there was no way to prove he was lying.

  Barr was just one witness, Ace reminded himself. Miguel had talked to several more who had witnessed the shooting.

  Unfortunately, all of them were in the room at the moment. They had all seen an obviously frightened Barr change his testimony.

  Ace gave thought to what had just happened. If the prospect of telling the truth made Barr that afraid, they would be asking themselves what might happen to them if they told the truth. They probably had families, too, he mused, and would do almost anything to protect them.

  Buchanan and Horton straightened up from their discussion with Judge Ordway. Buchanan still looked furious.

  Ordway said, “The prosecution has requested a delay. In accordance with that, I’m going to adjourn for the day. The trial will resume at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  The bang of the gavel punctuated that declaration.

  Mutters of disappointment came from the crowd. They had come expecting to see a speedy trial that ended with Pete McLaren being found guilty and sentenced to hang. Instead, the trial was going to take longer, and its outcome wasn’t a sure thing anymore.

  The members of the jury started to stand up, but Miguel motioned them back into their chairs. “Stay there until the place clears out.” Then he and a couple volunteers marched McLaren out of the town hall at gunpoint to take him back to the jail and lock him up.

  “What in blazes happened?” Chance said.

  “McLaren’s bunch got to that witness,” Ace said. “That may be enough to scare the other witnesses into changing their testimony. And with what Horton was able to do when Miguel testified, there may not be anybody to come right out and say they saw McLaren shoot Marshal Dixon and the girl.”

  “But that’s crazy! Everybody in town knows he did it. What’s to stop us from voting to convict him even if nobody’s willing to tell the truth?”

  Ace frowned. “Our votes are supposed to be based on the evidence presented by both sides. If there’s no real evidence—”

  “Now you’re talking crazy. You can’t tell me you’d really vote to set McLaren free.”

  “I sure don’t want to,” Ace said.

  “Then don’t.” When Ace didn’t say anything, Chance blew out an exasperated breath and went on. “You’ve got to be stubborn about everything, don’t you? How is it you were raised by a professional gambler and turned out so blasted honest?”

  “Doc’s a square dealer and always has been,” Ace protested.

  “Yeah, but he knows sometimes you’ve got to bend the rules a little when the deck’s stacked unfairly against you.”

  “We can argue about this later.” Ace shrugged. “Maybe it won’t even come to that. Maybe the rest of the witnesses will tell the truth.”

  “After what we just saw, you really think so?”

  Ace didn’t have an answer for that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The four men reined to a halt. The lights of Lone Pine lay in front of them, less than a mile away.

  Stocky Vic Russell leaned forward in his saddle and frowned. “I still ain’t sure why we came back here tonight, Perry. That camp up in the hills was plenty good. We could’ve laid low there until the trial was over.”

  “Yeah, we could have,” Severs answered, “but what if things don’t work out right for Pete? We don’t want the next thing we hear to be that they’ve stretched his neck, do we?”

  “José said things were goin’ just fine for Pete,” Larry Dunn said. “That’s what you told us, anyway.”

  Severs suppressed the impatience he felt. Sol Horton had made a fool of that greaser deputy. Horton might be a weasel, but he was a damn good lawyer, Severs thought.

  To top things off, Donald Barr had done the smart thing and testified that he hadn’t seen Pete shoot the marshal and the whore. With any luck, the other witnesses were smart enough to catch on and realize they’d better do the same thing.

  After everything that had happened, José was desperate to regain favor with the McLaren bunch. He was more than happy to serve as a spy and his report had been a good one, telling Severs everything that had happened at the trial when he had slipped into town earlier. He didn’t doubt the fat cantina owner was telling the truth.

  But there was never anything wrong with a little insurance.

  Knowing that, after his surreptitious conference with José in the cantina’s back room, Severs had returned to the camp. Along the way he pondered everything José had told him, and by the time he got there, he had reached a decision.

  They would go back to Lone Pine after dark.

  As they regarded the settlement’s lights ahead of them, Severs said, “Even if some of those witnesses don’t get the message, all it takes is one juror to upset the applecart. We need to throw a scare into them, just like we did with the witnesses.”

  “How do you figure on doing that?” Lew Merritt asked. “The ones who’d scare off easy never volunteered to be on the jury in the first place.”

  “Most of ’em are just towni
es,” Severs said with scorn in his voice. “Nothing special or tough about them. We’re going after the ones who have caused us the most trouble—those damn Jensen boys. If we beat the hell out of them, the others will get the idea they’d better deliver the right verdict.”

  “Why not just kill ’em?” Merritt suggested.

  Severs shook his head. “What we’ve wanted all along is for Pete to be found not guilty. Otherwise those charges will be hanging over his head from now on.”

  “What about him shootin’ José?”

  Severs scoffed. “José’s never going to testify against Pete. Dixon’s dead, and Ace Jensen is the only other one who saw what happened in the cantina. When we get through with Jensen, he’ll know he’d better toe the line if he knows what’s good for him.”

  Severs could sense that the others were dubious of his reasoning. He went on angrily, “Well? Do any of you have any better ideas?”

  “No, I reckon not, Perry,” Russell admitted. “And I got to admit, whalin’ the tar outta them Jensens sounds pretty good.”

  “Where do we find ’em?” Merritt asked.

  “Lone Pine’s not that big a place,” Severs said. “We’ll find them . . . and they’ll be mighty sorry when we do.”

  * * *

  Ace and Chance went into the marshal’s office.

  Miguel Soriano looked up from the chair behind the desk and scowled. “Mr. Buchanan told me I shouldn’t be talking to you fellas, now that you’re jurors. I know Judge Ordway likes to keep things informal, but some things just wouldn’t be proper, according to Mr. Buchanan.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Ace said with a smile as he set the tray he was carrying onto the desk. “We didn’t come to talk about the trial. We just brought you a bowl of Mrs. Hilfstrom’s stew and a cup of Lars’s coffee.”

  A grin replaced Miguel’s frown. “I can use both of those.”

  Chance thumbed his hat back. “We won’t ask you any questions about what you’ve been doing since Judge Ordway adjourned the court for the day. We know that if you’ve got any sense, you and Buchanan have been talking to the rest of the witnesses you lined up and making sure they’re not going to change their story like Barr did.”