“It shouldn’t be too long, Sheriff. All I have to do now is telegraph the information back to Colorado.”
“Come on back out front,” the sheriff invited. “I’ll give you your gun back. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“A cup of coffee would be good,” Smoke said.
“How about a cup of coffee for me?” Bobby Lee called out.
“Sure, I’m a good sort,” Wallace said. “I’ll have Harley bring you a cup.”
Smoke followed Wallace back to the front of the jailhouse building. “Harley, take the prisoner a cup of coffee,” he ordered.
Harley poured a cup, then took it back to Bobby Lee.
Smoke walked over to a wall festooned with reward dodgers. There, he saw a wanted poster for Frank Dodd.
“I understand this is the man Cabot was mixed up with,” Smoke said, pointing toward the poster.
“That’s him, all right.”
“Tell me about Dodd.”
“He’s a robber, and some say a murderer.”
“Is it true that he is the one who actually shot the railroad messenger?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Some folks down at the saloon were talking about it.”
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t pay too much attention to what anyone down at the Gold Strike has to say. Cabot used to hang around down there quite a bit and evidently, he made a lot of friends. If they thought lyin’ to you would help him out, they would likely tell you anything.”
“You mean like them telling me that Cabot sent you a letter before the holdup, asking you to be waiting with some deputies in the express car?”
“Yeah, like that,” Wallace said gruffly. “Look, I don’t care what they said, there wasn’t no letter from Cabot tellin’ me to be waitin’ in the express car,” Wallace said angrily. “If there had been, don’t you think I would have been there? I’d like nothing better than to round up Frank Dodd and his gang. Cabot tried to tell that story in court, but there didn’t nobody buy it.”
“But you said while ago that he was trying to set up a deal with you to trap Dodd. Isn’t this what you were talking about?”
“Yeah, but like I said, I knew he was lying even then. People like Bobby Lee Cabot will say anything if they think it will get them out of trouble.”
“I suppose so,” Smoke agreed. “But as far as the good people of Colorado are concerned, it all works out in the end. He was found guilty and he was sentenced to hang.”
“That’s right. He was found guilty and he will be hung,” Wallace said, as if his point had been made.
“I’d like to ask you about his horse.”
“His horse? What about his horse?”
“Where is it now?”
Sheriff Wallace chuckled. “Funny thing about that horse. When the train passengers took Cabot prisoner, they left the horse out there. But by the middle of the next day, he came back to town. We got him, and put him in the barn out behind the jail.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“Why?”
“The story is that he stole the horse from the man he shot,” Smoke said. “If I see the horse, I can take the description of it back with me. That will help close out this case.”
“I don’t care where he got the horse, it belongs to me now. That is, it belongs to Nye County,” Wallace said. “I intend to sell that horse for enough money to pay for the expense of hanging him.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Sheriff. I have no intention of trying to take the horse back with me. All I need to do is look at it so I can describe it when I get back.”
At that moment, Harley returned from having delivered the coffee to the prisoner.
“Harley, take Deputy Jensen out to the barn and show him Cabot’s horse and saddle.”
Harley nodded, and again motioned for Smoke to follow him. The barn was behind, and across the alley from, the jail. There were three horses in the stable, two roans and a gray. The gray was so light as to be almost white.
“The gray is his,” Harley said.
“And his saddle?”
“It’s in here.” Harley led Smoke into the tack room and pointed to a saddle that was straddling a waist-high wall. “That’s it.”
“What kind of sheriff is Wallace?” Smoke asked.
“He’s all right, I guess,” Harley replied hesitantly. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I’m sure he’ll share the reward money with you.”
