Bloody Sunday Read online

  “You were resisting arrest. That puts whatever happened on your head.”

  “Sheriff,” Glory said, “you can’t do this. Again, Mr. Jensen was only defending himself from your deputy’s unlawful attack.”

  “Whitey’s wearing a star,” Whittaker said. “Whatever he does is legal.”

  “Is that what you really think, Sheriff?” Luke asked as he pushed himself to his feet. He looked around at the crowd. “Is that what the citizens of Painted Post believe? That just because these men carry badges, that puts them above the law?”

  “You leave them out of it.”

  Whittaker darted a glance at the onlookers, though, Luke noted. While some of them were edging away nervously, obviously unwilling to go against the local star packers, others wore angry, defiant expressions. Like any politician, Whittaker clearly had his enemies.

  “Mr. Jensen isn’t going to jail,” Glory said.

  “He is if I say he is,” Whittaker replied stubbornly.

  “No, he’s not. If you insist on arresting him, we’ll all march down to Judge Marbright’s office right now and the judge can assess a fine, which I’ll pay. Mr. Jensen came to town with me today because I asked him to, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him be locked up just because he stood up to your bullying hulk of a deputy!”

  Glory stood there with her hands on her hips, looking beautiful as she berated the sheriff. Luke had to admit that she cut a mighty impressive figure.

  Whittaker stood there with an angry frown on his face, but then he smiled abruptly and holstered his gun. He said, “I reckon this is all just a big misunderstanding. There’s no need to involve the judge in it.”

  “I can see why you’d feel that way,” Glory said. “The judge is an honest man.”

  Whittaker kept the insincere smile on his face, but his lips tightened. With a visible effort, he controlled his anger at Glory’s gibe and went on: “We’ll just drop it . . . this time.” He turned his head to give Luke a cold stare. “But if you cause any more trouble in my town, mister, you’ll regret it.”

  “I’m not here to cause trouble,” Luke said. He bent and picked up his hat, then slapped it against his leg to get some of the dust off. After he settled the hat on his head, he turned to the wagon and reached into the back to untie the knot in the rope holding the blanket around the body of the dead night rider. He pulled the blankets back to reveal the man’s face.

  “Do you recognize him, Sheriff?” Glory asked.

  Whittaker stepped closer to the wagon and rested his hands on the side as he looked at the corpse. After a long moment he shook his head.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this man before,” Whittaker said.

  Luke addressed the crowd, asking, “What about the rest of you?”

  Whittaker glared. He probably didn’t like the way Luke had asked for help from the bystanders, many of whom crowded forward to take a better look at the dead man.

  One man pointed at the corpse and said, “I think I’ve seen him around town before, but I ain’t sure.”

  “Same here,” another man chimed in. “I couldn’t tell you his name, though, or even where I saw him. Probably in one of the saloons.”

  From the back of the crowd, somebody called, “If you saw him, Riley, it was bound to have been in a saloon!”

  The man called Riley, who had the red-veined face of a heavy drinker, turned sharply and demanded, “Dadgummit, who said that?” His only answer was laughter from some in the crowd.

  Sheriff Whittaker said in an irritated voice, “All right, if nobody knows this man, you can all break it up and clear out. We’re not having a camp meeting here. Go on about your business.”

  As the crowd began to disperse with some reluctance, Glory said, “I’m going to leave my wagon here for now, Sheriff. You’ll have Claude Lister come and get the body so he can take care of it?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Whittaker said in a surly tone. “What are you going to do in the meantime, Mrs. MacCrae?”

  “Mr. Jensen and I are going to get some lunch,” Glory said. “Assuming that he’s free to go.”

  Whittaker nodded, made a curt gesture, and said, “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. Remember what I said, though, Jensen.”

  “I intend to remember everything that’s happened today, Sheriff,” Luke said.

  Let Whittaker make of that whatever he wanted to.

  “Hold on a minute.” Whittaker pointed at the corpse. “Nobody’s told me how this hombre wound up dead.”

  Glory said, “I most certainly did tell you. This man was with a group that attacked my ranch headquarters last night. They shot up the bunkhouse and my house and tried to throw torches in the house to burn it down.”

  “Yeah, but who pulled the trigger on him?” Whittaker asked as his eyes narrowed.

  Without hesitation, Glory answered, “I killed him.”

  “You’re mighty quick to admit that.”

  “He was about to shoot Mr. Jensen, and I fired to save my guest’s life. There’s nothing underhanded about that, Sheriff.”

  “There’ll have to be an inquest into both of these killings,” Whittaker said. “You’ll have to testify.”

  “Let me know when and I’ll be here,” Glory promised.

  “All right, then,” the sheriff said with a reluctant shrug. “I guess you’re free to go, both of you.”

  As Luke and Glory turned away, Whittaker scooped Singletary’s hat from the ground, dipped into a nearby water trough, and dashed the water into the deputy’s face.

  “Wake up, you blasted ox,” Whittaker said. Singletary came up from the ground sputtering and cursing.

  The two lawmen stood there talking in swift, angry voices, but Luke couldn’t make out the words anymore as he and Glory crossed the street toward the Elite Café. He could feel a hate-filled gaze burning into his back, though, and he knew he had made a dangerous enemy in Whitey Singletary.

  Since it wasn’t long past midday, the café was still busy, but a couple of tables with blue-and-white-checked tablecloths were empty and Luke and Glory sat down at one. She loosened the chin strap of her hat and took it off, setting it on the table. Luke put his hat on one of the empty chairs at the table.

  He was aware that they were the subject of a lot of interested stares from the other diners as a buxom young woman in a calico dress and a white apron came over to the table and said, “Good afternoon, Mrs. MacCrae. What can I get for you and your friend?”

  “Two specials, Hazel, and coffee.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll bring the coffee.”

  When the waitress had gone, Glory said, “I hope it’s all right I picked what to eat, Luke.”

  “You know the place better than I do,” he told her. “As long as it’s good.”

  “It will be. Hazel Anderson’s mother is an excellent cook. Not as good as Teresa, mind you, but still good.”

  Hazel brought the coffee, then returned a few minutes later with plates that contained sizzling steaks, potatoes, greens, and a couple of rolls that steamed when they were broken open.

  “You showed good judgment,” Luke said after he had been eating for a few minutes.

  “In this, perhaps, but not always, unfortunately.”

  Luke sipped his coffee and said, “Forgive me for being blunt, but opinions in this town seem to be divided when it comes to you. Some people seem to like you, but a lot of them don’t appear to have much use for you.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Glory said. “There are several reasons for that. Some of them knew Sam’s first wife. She was much loved and admired around here, and they resent me for what they see as trying to take her place. After Sam died, it got even worse. They’d been willing to tolerate me for his sake, but now with him gone, I’m just the outsider who came in and took over his ranch. With some of the old-timers, just the fact that I’m an outsider is enough for them not to like me.”

  “Where you’re from isn’t exactly your fault.”

  “No,
but they’ll hold it against me anyway. Then there are the people who support Harry Elston. His ranch isn’t as big and successful as the MC, but it’s big enough that Elston wields a lot of influence around here. People try to curry favor with him, especially the ones who think that he’ll win in the end and take over my ranch.”

  “Like Sheriff Whittaker,” Luke commented.

  “Precisely. By the way, I hope you have eyes in the back of your head. I wouldn’t put it past Whitey Singletary to try to ambush you. Nobody’s ever beaten him like that before. The wound to his pride is probably even more painful than his broken nose.”

  “It won’t be the first time somebody’s had a grudge against me.”

  Glory regarded him speculatively and said, “No, I imagine it won’t be. You’ve been through some rough times, haven’t you?”

  “A few,” Luke admitted. “They build character.”

  Glory laughed and said, “Indeed, they do.”

  A few minutes later, a short, pudgy man with a round, beaming face and slicked-down brown hair came into the café, looked around, and then started toward their table when he spotted them.

  “Mrs. MacCrae,” he said as he came up to the table.

  “Hello, Claude,” Glory said. “Luke, this is Claude Lister, Painted Post’s undertaker. Claude, this is Luke Jensen.”

  Luke stood up and shook hands with the undertaker. He could have made some comment about how they were both in the business of death, but he didn’t see any point in that.

  “Mrs. MacCrae, the gentleman you brought in had some money among his belongings,” Lister said, “but not quite enough to cover my services. I was told you were in here, and I thought you might want to . . .”

  “I’ll cover the cost,” Glory said. “Figure up a bill, and I’ll stop by your place on the way out of town and pay it. And by the way, he wasn’t what I would call a gentleman.”

  “By the time I see them, such distinctions usually don’t mean much anymore. Can I assume you won’t be attending the service . . . ?”

  “Just put him in the ground,” Glory said. “Where snakes belong.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The lunch special included a bowl of peach cobbler, which was as good as the rest of the meal. When they were finished, Luke insisted on paying.

  “But you’re my guest,” Glory argued.

  “And you’ve fed me a couple of meals already. This one is on me.”

  Glory shrugged and agreed. Luke left the price of the meals and a generous tip for Hazel on the table. That cut into the dinero he had left, but he told himself that it didn’t matter. Pretty soon he’d be collecting that five-thousand-dollar bounty on Glory, and he’d be flush for quite a while.

  He just wished the thought of doing that didn’t make something stir uncomfortably inside him.

  As they stepped out onto the street again, he reminded himself that she had murdered her husband back in Baltimore, and there was a good chance she’d bushwhacked Sam MacCrae, too. He knew she was a good shot, so there was no reason to think she couldn’t have plugged MacCrae in the back. Sure, she had saved his life by cutting down that night rider, but that didn’t excuse her other crimes.

  Did it?

  That was a troubling question, but Luke didn’t have time to ponder it. Sheriff Jared Whittaker was coming toward them, and as usual, the lawman didn’t look happy or friendly.

  “I’ve talked to Judge Marbright,” Whittaker said without any sort of greeting as he came up to them. “The inquest will be at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. You’ll have to testify, and so will Jensen here. And Gabe Pendleton, too.”

  “All right,” Glory said. “We’ll be here, although I hate to have to make another trip into town so soon.”

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you killed that man.”

  “If I’d stopped to think about anything, Mr. Jensen probably wouldn’t be alive.”

  Whittaker grunted. It was obvious he thought that wouldn’t be any great loss.

  “How’s your deputy?” Luke asked. Maybe it was a little petty, trying to get under Whittaker’s skin that way, but he didn’t really care.

  “His nose is busted all to hell,” Whittaker snapped. “Doc Fleming says he may never breathe right again.”

  “Maybe he should have thought of that.”

  Whittaker’s shoulders bunched as he struggled to control his anger. Glory linked her arm with Luke’s and said, “Come on. We still have to stop at the undertaking parlor.”

  Luke gave Whittaker a curt nod, said, “Sheriff,” and then turned to go with Glory.

  “Do you make a habit of going around poking hornet’s nests?” she asked under her breath as they walked away from Whittaker.

  “You’re a fine one to talk after some of the things you said to that hombre.”

  She laughed.

  “I suppose you’re right. I just don’t like the man. It’s hard not to say things you know are going to irritate him. But he is the legally elected sheriff. There’s only so far we can push him.”

  “You’re sure he was elected legally? No irregularities in the voting?”

  “None that I’m aware of.”

  “All right,” Luke said. “I’ll try to be on my best behavior from now on, but I can’t make any promises.”

  “Neither can I,” Glory said with a smile.

  They went into Claude Lister’s undertaking parlor, where Glory settled the bill for a pine box and planting the dead man.

  “By all rights it should be Harry Elston paying for this,” Glory said as she handed over the money.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that, ma’am,” Lister said. “A man in my business, he’s sort of got to be neutral, you know? Sooner or later, I have responsibilities to both sides in any dispute.”

  “Of course,” Glory said. “And since that man died on my ranch, I suppose I have some responsibility, too.”

  “What about his belongings?” Luke asked. “You said you found some money.”

  “Pocket change, not much more than that,” Lister said.

  “What about anything else? Letters, or anything else that might identify him?”

  The undertaker shook his head.

  “I’m afraid not. Tobacco, some loose ammunition, an elk’s tooth lucky piece, a pocket watch, that’s about it.”

  “So you don’t have a name to put on the marker.”

  “No, he’ll have to be buried as unknown, unless somebody comes in pretty quickly to let me know different. I’ll be loading up the coffin and taking it out to the cemetery soon.”

  Glory said, “If you see Harry Elston, you might ask him. I doubt if he’ll be in town today, though.”

  Again Lister looked a little uncomfortable. Glory shook her head and muttered an apology. She and Luke left the undertaking parlor.

  “I should have held my tongue,” she said. “I know that most of the people here in town are hoping that the trouble between Elston and me will be settled one way or the other before they’re forced to take sides. They don’t want a range war spilling over into Painted Post.”

  “Can’t really blame them for feeling that way,” Luke said.

  “No, but it bothers me when people can see what’s going on and yet they refuse to take a stand. When they’re finally pushed into a corner, it may be too late.”

  Luke couldn’t disagree with that sentiment.

  Glory’s wagon was still parked in front of the courthouse. The two horses in the team and the roan Luke had borrowed had had a chance to drink at the trough where Sheriff Whittaker had scooped up water to throw in his senseless deputy’s face.

  Luke untied the team while Glory climbed to the driver’s seat. He swung up into the saddle, and they headed north along McDowell Street until it turned into the road that led up through Sabado Valley. Remembering how long it had taken them to reach the settlement that morning, Luke calculated it would be almost dark by the time they got back to the MC headquarters.

  That
estimate proved to be correct. They moved steadily, pausing now and then to rest the horses, and the sun had just dipped below the hills to the northwest when they came in sight of the ranch buildings. Luke knew that darkness fell quickly out here, but they were close enough now that they wouldn’t have any trouble making it the rest of the way. The trail was easy enough to follow.

  But as the gloom gathered, he heard hoofbeats up ahead, coming toward them. Ever since they had left Painted Post, he had been alert and watchful, studying the landscape around them for any sign of impending trouble. He didn’t think it was likely they would run into an ambush this close to the ranch, but nothing was impossible.

  He drew his Winchester from its sheath and held the rifle across the saddle in front of him. Glory had brought along her carbine; it was on the floorboard of the driver’s box at her feet. Luke said quietly, “Better get that gun and put it on the seat beside you.”

  “What is it?” Glory asked.

  “Horses coming.”

  But a moment later a familiar voice hailed them, and in a relieved voice Glory said, “That’s Gabe. Someone must have spotted us, and he and some of the men came out to meet us.”

  Pendleton and three other riders loomed up out of the dusk. The foreman said, “Is that you, Mrs. MacCrae?”

  “It is,” Glory replied. “Me and Mr. Jensen.”

  Pendleton might not be all that happy he had come back from Painted Post with Glory, Luke thought. But he must have known that would happen, since Luke’s horse was still here at the ranch.

  Pendleton turned his horse to ride on the other side of the wagon from Luke. The other men fell in behind the vehicle. Pendleton asked, “What happened in town?”

  “I turned the body over to the sheriff like I said I was going to. And then Claude Lister took charge of it. I expect that the man’s been buried by now.”

  “I’ll bet Whittaker was fit to be tied,” Pendleton said.

  “He wasn’t happy, that’s certain. But it was that deputy of his, Whitey Singletary, who caused the real trouble.”

  “Singletary,” Pendleton repeated, sounding like the name tasted bad in his mouth. “What did that ugly, pale-faced polecat do?”