“And Nopoloto says the attack took place on the reservation?”
“Yes.”
“I’m pretty sure I know who did it,” Sheriff Williams said. “Pogue Willis, Billy Meechum, Karl Lathum, Angus Pugh, and nearly a dozen others are over at the Dry Gulch now, drinking it up. They claim they attacked Delshay’s camp.”
“I don’t think so,” Matt said. “I found Delshay’s camp. There was no sign of an attack.”
“Did you find the woman?” Williams asked.
“No,” Matt said. He purposely withheld the information about finding a letter from her.
“I don’t think you are going to find her. Not alive anyway.”
“As long as I don’t find her dead, I maintain the hope of finding her alive,” Matt said.
Williams sighed. “Well, if the attack happened off the reservation, it would come under my jurisdiction, seeing as how it was white men who did the attacking. But if it happened on reservation grounds—”
“It did,” Matt and Indian Agent Baker replied, speaking at the same time.
“Then you need to see U.S. Marshal Gilmore.”
“Do you want to come along with us?” Matt asked.
Sheriff Williams walked over to retrieve his hat, then put it on. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll go down to Gilmore’s office with you.”
“Did either of you see the attack?” Gilmore asked.
“No,” Matt answered.
“I was at the agency headquarters,” Baker said.
“Did you hear anything? Shooting, or yelling, or anything?”
Baker shook his head. “The agency headquarters are too far away from Nopoloto’s village. I didn’t hear anything.”
“We did ride out to the village,” Matt said.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
“No survivors?”
“No.”
“No bodies?”
“The bodies had already been moved,” Baker said.
“Uh-huh,” Gilmore replied. “If they were ever there in the first place.”
“Marshal, are you saying the attack didn’t happen?” Matt asked. He pointed up the street toward the Dry Gulch. “There is a saloon full of people who are bragging about it.”
Gilmore shook his head. “No, they are bragging about attacking Delshay’s village. And if that is true, I have no quarrel with them. And without any eyewitnesses or even evidence to tell me otherwise, I have no reason not to believe them.”
“You have an eyewitness,” Matt said.
“Who?”
“Nopoloto.”
“Nopoloto,” Marshal Gilmore replied with a derisive snort. “You expect me to arrest more than a dozen white men on the word of one old Indian? And not just any Indian, but one who used to ride with Cochise, making war against us. Like I said, I have no eyewitnesses.”
Baker raised his finger at Gilmore. “It is this kind of thing that caused all our problems in the first place,” he said. “Geronimo had settled peacefully onto the reservation, until white men murdered his family. Delshay had settled peacefully onto the reservation until white men murdered his entire family. Now, Cochinay has gone to join either Geronimo or Delshay. And all because you aren’t doing your job.”
“Just a minute, Mr. Baker,” Gilmore replied angrily. “The entire U.S. Army has been chasing Indians throughout the West for the last forty years. When Custer and all his soldier boys got themselves killed, it had nothing to do with the marshal’s office. I don’t know what is going on with Delshay and I don’t care. Dealing with Delshay is the responsibility of the U.S. Army. Now, if you gentlemen would excuse me, I have some work to do.”
“Mr. Jensen, I’m sorry I suggested this,” Sheriff Williams said. “It is obvious to me that the marshal is going to do nothing to help us.”
“This is not my jurisdiction, Williams, and you know it,” Marshal Gilmore said.
“Right,” Williams said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Come along, gentlemen, we are wasting our time here.”
“I have to get back to the reservation,” Baker said. “And I want to do so before dark.”
As Baker started back to the Indian reservation, and Sheriff Williams returned to his office, Matt headed toward the Phoenix House to see Bixby.
“I believe he and Mr. Hendel are at the Dry Gulch,” the hotel clerk said.
