“It looks like they are going to hang him tomorrow,” the telegrapher said.
“Hang who?” Smoke asked, made curious by the telegrapher’s strange comment.
“There was a bank robbery over in Crystal,” the telegrapher said. “Three bank customers were killed.”
Smoke’s immediate reaction was that it was exactly like the bank robbery in Gothic. It had to be the same people.
“Do they know who did it?”
“Well, they know the one they caught, the one they’re going to hang tomorrow.”
“Who is it? What is his name?”
“Parnell. Cole Parnell. He was tried and convicted a couple days ago. I guess they held off on hangin’ him until they could get the gallows built, ’cause it looks like they’re goin’ to be hangin’ him tomorrow.”
Cole Parnell, Smoke knew, was one of the men who had robbed the bank in Gothic, which meant he was one of the men who shot Sally.
“Send this for me,” Smoke said, handing the telegrapher his reply to Sally. “And thanks for the information about the bank robbery.”
Leaving the telegraph office, Smoke walked down to the livery to get Seven. He intended to ride over to Crystal.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Smoke rode into the little town the next day the street was crowded with men, women, and children. Vendors were doing a brisk business as they worked the crowds selling everything from sandwiches, to beer, to candy.
“Tommy, where are you going?” a mother called to her son.
“I’m goin’ to climb up to the loft of the livery. I’ll bet there’s a real good spot to watch it from there,” Tommy answered.
“You’ll do no such thing. You are going to stay right here with Maggie. You hold her hand.”
“Why?”
“Because she is your little sister, that’s why. And she might wander off.”
“It ain’t fair that I’m gettin’ punished for somethin’ she might do.” Reluctantly Tommy reached down and grabbed the little girl’s hand.
Riding farther into town, Smoke passed a medicine wagon. The tailgate of the wagon was down, and a man was standing on it, playing a banjo. He was quite good, and his efforts were being watched and appreciated by a fairly substantial crowd of men and women. Finishing his song to a polite applause, he put the banjo down. “Now that I have your attention, folks, let me tell you about this wonderful elixir.”
“Play us another tune,” someone called from the crowd. “You’re pretty good on that thing. How did you learn?”
“I didn’t learn,” the medicine man replied. “I never took a lesson in my life.”
“Then how is it you can play so well?”
The medicine man held up a bottle of his elixir. “I took one bottle of this, picked up the banjo, and discovered to my surprise that I could play it.”
The crowd laughed.
“I ain’t never heard such a lie,” another said.
“Let’s put it to a test.” The medicine man pointed to the man who had asked him how he learned to play the banjo. “Would you come up here on the stage for a moment?”
“No, I ain’t one for standin’ up in front of other folks.”
“It will only be for a moment, and to prove a point. Folks, give him a hand.”
The others applauded, and the man climbed awkwardly onto the little stage formed by the tailgate of the medicine wagon.
“Here, play this banjo for me.” The medicine man handed him the banjo.
“I can’t play that thing.”
“Try.”
The man plucked a few strings, making a discordant sound.
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, sir, but let me ask the crowd. If I said that sounded like a heifer with her foot caught in a wire fence, would you agree with me?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what it sounded like,” someone from the crowd shouted, and they all laughed.
“Drink this,” the medicine man said, holding out the bottle of his elixir.
The man drank the whole bottle, then handed the empty bottle back.
“How do you feel?”
