Andersons, and that said loved ones possessed small fortunes in cash or its equivalent at the time of their demise. By the time the claims are all filed and adjudicated, to no one's satisfaction, of course, I suspect that you and the people who appointed you are going to have something in common that you don't have now. You're both going to wish you were dead.'
The marshal grunted, silently guessing that Critch was probably right. In any case, he had no intention of finding out by filing charges against young King. There was simply no evidence to support an arrest. No proof that the Andersons had had anything to steal, or that Critch had stolen it.
For his part, Critch was not feeling nearly as easy as he acted. He still could not bring himself to look at his father. Nor had Old Ike spoken a word, or otherwise indicated what he felt. That he must know or be reasonably sure that the money was stolen seemed certain. And whether the law, as represented by Marshal Thompson, could prove it meant nothing to him. Old Ike was his own law. He passed his own judgments.
'Well, Marshal?' Critch leaned against the bar, easing the weight from his injured ankle. 'I believe I've said all I have to say. Do you still want to arrest me?'
Thompson shook his head; said that he'd never wanted to arrest anyone in his life. 'So, no, I don't want to arrest you. In fact, I didn't come here with any real hope or intention of doing so. I'm probably not as familiar with the criminal code and the rules of evidence as you seem to be. But I'm sufficiently versed in them to know when I have a case against a man and when I don't – and I obviously didn't in this instance. As long as I was here, of course, I tried to do my damnedest. But the main purpose of my visit – I believe I mentioned it earlier, didn't I? – is murder.'
'Murder?' Critch blinked. 'What murder?'
'The murder of Ethel (Big Sis) Anderson.'
'But that's cra -!' Critch broke off, made a business out of lighting a cheroot. Gained a few seconds' time to think.
There was something wrong here; something subtly out of key in the marshal's attitude and tone. A charge of murder would naturally take precedence over any other, so why…? Never mind, Critch thought, never mind. The question was, how to use it to his own advantage. Get himself solidly back in the good graces of his father.
'Well, Marshal…' he shrugged. 'Perhaps, if you're going to accuse me of murder…'
'I'm not sure that I am going to. Perhaps I'll charge Arlie instead.'
He turned to grin coldly at Arlie, who was gulping a drink of whiskey. Arlie choked, spluttered and let out an indignant howl of denial.
'That's a God damn lie! I did not neither kill that woman!'
'So?' The marshal's brows went up. 'Then if you didn't, Critch did. I know that one of the two of you is guilty. You see, gentlemen…'
Big Sis had been killed the previous afternoon, he explained. Killed in the vicinity of the cabin where Critch had ostensibly been recuperating from his injuries. Arlie had also been seen in the area at the time, and, like Critch, had had the opportunity to commit the murder… _to which there had been an eyewitness!_ However, the eyewitness had been some distance away, and he was only sure that one of the brothers had done the killing – not which one. So…
'There's no problem here,' Critch said quietly. 'I'm guilty, Marshal.'
'That's an unqualified confession?' Thompson said. 'You wouldn't like to take some second thoughts?'
'Second thoughts? What about?'
'The fact that my eyewitness actually inclines to the belief that Arlie was the killer rather than you. Now, you were right nearby at the time of the murder. You could have witnessed it. And with you to corroborate the testimony of my witness…'
'Now, Marshal…' Critch gave him a stern look. 'You surely aren't suggesting that I incriminate my brother by lying to you?'
'I'm suggesting that you're lying right now! That you're doing so to protect your brother!'
'Nonsense! Why, I'd have everything to lose and nothing to gain by lying.' Critch shook his head; let it bow with humility. 'As things stand now, I know my father can't have a very high opinion of me. He couldn't possibly consider me fit to carry on in his footsteps. Given time, I might be able to redeem myself in his eyes, but I could only get that time by putting the blame on Arlie for a murder that I – '
'You don't have to put it on me!' Arlie snapped. 'I'm doin' it myself. I 'preciate your tryin' to protect me, little brother, but I ain't gonna allow it.' He drew himself up, extending his wrists. 'Put the cuff on, Marshal Harry. I done that killin'.'
The marshal looked at him, shook his head cynically. He had misstated the facts a little himself, he said. His eyewitness was actually of the opinion that Critch was the killer. So if Arlie would corroborate the witness's testimony…
'I won't!' Arlie said doggedly. 'I done it, an' I'm takin' the blame.'
'You didn't, and you're not,' Critch said. 'I'm your man, Marshal.'
'The hell you are!'
'The hell you are!'shouted the brothers King.
And as they squared off from each other, their fists drawn back, the marshal suddenly burst into laughter. Smilingly assured them that neither was guilty, that the person who had killed Ethel Anderson had already admitted it.
'Now,' he went on, 'you have a right to know why I put you through this rigmarole. The answer is that I felt you two were a potential source of very big trouble. And by way of heading off that trouble, I had to resolve some very serious doubts I entertained concerning your character.'
'They ain't nothin' wrong with my boys' character…' Old Ike spoke for the first time. 'Asked me, I'd a told you.'
And Tepaha added that ol' Harry was one big damned fool, unable to see what was obvious to an idiot.
The marshal nodded in suave apology. 'Not knowing them as well as you, I regarded them as two very determined, self-seeking young men. Thoroughly selfish and willing to go to any lengths to get their own way. I am glad to say that I was wrong.'
He was by no means sure that he had been wrong. Still, it was a world of miracles, was it not? And if giving a dog a bad name turned him bad, perhaps by giving him a good one he could be made – well, safe at least.
'Shit,' grunted Old Ike King; then, with Tepaha, rose heavily to his feet.
He started toward the door, Tepaha trailing; rambling of plans he had to make and the lack of time for damned foolishness. He added that the boys were to eat themselves some breakfast. Then, after a moment's grudging pause:
'Welcome to stay'n eat, too, Harry.'
'Why, thank you, Ike…' The marshal hesitated. 'If you're sure it's not too much trouble.'
Ike gestured, brushing the notion aside, and went on out the door. But Old Tepaha turned, eyes blazing proudly: spoke in a mixture of Apache and Spanish, as do all wise men when both forcefulness and delicacy are required.
'Has a dog entered the lodge of Old Ike King?' he inquired. 'Surely no man would suggest that his host was so poor in manners and goods as to make his presence troublesome.'
'I am no dog,' Thompson replied. 'We have smoked together and been warmed at one another's fires, and we are friends.'
'Then, heed me!' Tepaha said. 'In the lodge of Old Ike King, there is always meat of which any man may eat his fill. Also, there is always drink. Mescal, and tequila, and for honored guests the finest whiskey.'
The marshal inclined his head courteously. 'I have seen this,' he declared. *c*
Breakfast finished and farewells exchanged, Marshal Thompson walked back through the village of King's Junction and entered the railroad station. He checked the arrival time of the next west-bound train with the half- breed station agent; then, went down the station platform to its end, and came to a stop behind the freight- shed.
He was concealed there from both the townspeople and the agent. I.K. promptly scampered up from the right-of-way ditch, and joined him. His suit and other garments had been recently purchased but no one would have guessed it from his appearance.
'Twenty-three skidoo, Marshal Harry,' he said pertly. 'How's your hammer hangin'?'
