“If Quentin didn’t do it, then who did?”
“I told you. I don’t know who did it. I just know who didn’t do it. But don’t worry, I’ll find out.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” Doc said dryly.
By now there were at least twenty or more people who had gathered in and in front of the newspaper office, crowding in closer, trying to find out what was going on.
At the far end of the street, in Quentin’s General Store, Hoyt Poindexter saw someone looking at the display of bandannas he had just put out on a table this morning. The customer was so short that only his head and shoulders reached above the table.
“Yes, sir, can I help you?” Poindexter asked.
The little man’s tongue darted out a couple of times before he spoke. “I want the red one,” he said, his voice little more than a hiss.
“I’ll get it for you,” Poindexter said, reaching for the red bandanna. As he moved closer to the table, he could see out the window, and noticed that, down at the other end of the street, a crowd was beginning to gather around the newspaper office. He paused for a moment as he looked toward the gathering.
“That one,” the little man said again.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Poindexter said, getting the bandanna and handing it to the little man. “That will be ten cents.”
The short man reached into his pocket.
“I wonder if he is putting out another extra,” Poindexter asked.
“Who?”
“Mr. Brandon, the newspaper editor. He put out an extra edition about the trial last night, first time he’s ever done anything like that. And now there seems to be something going on down there.”
“I wouldn’t know,” the little man said as he handed a dime to Poindexter.
“Thank you for your business, sir,” Poindexter said.
With the transaction completed, and no more customers in the store, Poindexter walked out onto his front porch and looked down toward the newspaper office, wondering just what was going on.
The little man with the new red bandanna rode out of town.
When Doc stepped into Kathleen’s Kitchen a few minutes later, he saw Pearlie’s friends having breakfast and talking animatedly about the special edition of the newspaper.
“It is an exceptionally well-written piece,” Murchison said. “I just hope the good people of Santa Clara realize what a talented journalist they have in Mr. Brandon.”
“Hello, Doc,” Smoke said, seeing the veterinarian standing just inside the door. “Come join us. We are talking about the newspaper article your friend wrote.”
“Elmer is dead,” Doc said in a flat, somber voice.
“Who is dead?” Cal asked.
“Elmer Brandon.”
Sally gasped. “You mean the newspaper editor?”
Doc nodded.
“He just left here no more than half an hour ago,” Murchison said.
I know,” Doc said. “He left here, then he stopped my office for a few minutes, the way he does every morning, then he walked on down to his office. Someone must have been waiting for him there, because no more than two minutes after he left me, he was dead.”
Smoke picked up the newspaper and looked at the article again. “I guess he was more courageous than we thought.”
“Mr. Murchison, Elmer was going to testify for you, wasn’t he?” Doc Patterson said.
“Yes, sir, he was.”
“Well, now, I’m going to.”
“I appreciate that, Dr. Patterson, I truly do,” Murchison said.
Chapter Twenty-one
Because the New York Saloon was the only building large enough to hold the number of people expected to attend the trial, the hearing was held there. Gibson had been told that no liquor could be sold during the time of the trial, but the trial generated enough early business to compensate him for it, so he willingly closed the bar at twelve thirty.
More than half the population of the town made plans to attend the trial. This included several women and the parson of the local church, none of whom who had never seen the inside of the saloon before. Earlier today, out of deference to the ladies who would be attending the trial, Gibson hung a white silk cloth over the nude painting,
It was obvious that many of the women had heard of the painting, because several of them looked for it as soon as they came in, and a few even expressed their disappointment over the fact that the painting had been covered.
