It’s plain why he went to Dreben’s, too: he wouldn’t want to go to either of the general stores where there’s always people hanging around. He changed into the new overalls in Dreben’s back room.”
“Did Dreben know why Kilby left the old pair?” Lance asked.
Oscar shook his head. “Kilby just told Ike he didn’t want ’em any more. He tossed ’em into Ike’s rubbish can and told Ike to burn ’em.”
“And Ike put off burning his rubbish, eh?” Lock-wood said.
Oscar grinned. “He burned his rubbish yesterday—but you don’t know Ike. Ike had hauled the overalls out of the rubbish can, looked ’em over and decided they was too good to burn. He was aiming to clean ’em up and get four bits from some customer. I gave him a dollar and told him to keep his mouth shut. I didn’t tell him why.”
Lance said, “Nice work, Oscar.” He looked thoughtful, then: “What color shirt would you say Kilby wore?”
Oscar considered a moment. “Sort of brownish red—kind of a plaid with black stripes—wool——”
“Maroon, maybe.” Lance nodded. “That’s as I remembered it.” He drew a small notebook from his pocket and took from between the leaves the woolly threads he had found on Bowman’s spur. This he held before Oscar’s eyes. “About this color, perhaps.”
Oscar and the sheriff both nodded. “Could be,” Oscar said.
“Ethan,” Lance asked, “do you reckon we’ve enough evidence to warrant an arrest?”
“Plenty.” The sheriff nodded. “Go get your man.”
Lance started toward the door. Oscar said, “Want I should go with you, Lance? Kilby might prove to be a tough nut to crack.”
“I’ll crack him when I get him in a cell,” Lance said grimly. “I figure to make him talk plenty. There’s more to this than just the murder of Frank Bowman. There’s a lot of things I want to know—and by the seven bald steers I’m aiming to get that information!”
He didn’t say any more, just shoved his holster a trifle nearer the front and strode through the doorway.
Lockwood and Oscar exchanged glances. Oscar said, “It looks like you’ve taken on a fighting deputy, Ethan.”
“He’s got the reputation as such,” the sheriff said quietly. “But he might have trouble making an arrest alone—not that I think he will, but you’d better trail along, just in case. I won’t be far behind you. Get going!”
X Hide-out Weapon
After leaving the sheriff’s office Lance strode east along Main Street, unconscious of the fact that both Lockwood and Oscar were trailing him in the rear. Morning sun beat down on the dusty roadway. It was still a bit early for all the shops and stores to be open. Here and there a storekeeper could be seen sweeping out. A few pedestrians passed. There weren’t many ponies or wagons at the hitch racks along the way. A man standing in the open doorway of a bootmaker’s shop noticed Lance’s deputy badge and said, “Good mawnin’.”
Lance nodded pleasantly and passed on. He was considering now the best place to find Kilby. “Probably,” he mused, “I’d better try the Pozo Verde Saloon first. That seems to be a sort of hangout for Herrick and his crowd. If he’s not there I’ll have to make the round of the other saloons. Next the restaurants. Maybe he’s not out of bed yet. I wonder where he sleeps. Probably at one of the lodging houses in town.”
He strode on. A couple of more men spoke and wondered who the new deputy was. Lance said to himself, “Of course, there might be some trouble taking him if he’s with Herrick or some more of the gang. I don’t reckon so though. That crew hasn’t displayed much taste for open defiance of the law. Far as I actually can
He walked steadily on, arms swinging at his sides. It was sure hot this morning. Seemed like Old Sol was doing double duty. A hard rain would feel good. Lance’s eyes swept the turquoise sky. Not a fleck of cloud in sight. Just that great golden ball up there blazing down on Main Street. Golden! Yellow! Yellow hair! He wondered what Katherine Gregory was doing. Probably not out of bed yet. This afternoon. Going riding with Professor Jones. Lance smiled. Cactus hunting. That was a joke. “I’ll have to make my excuses for that date, I reckon,” Lance muttered. “Probably be busy with Kilby. He might break down fast though. Sometimes they do.” He strode on.
He was nearing the corner of Laredo Street now. On the northeast corner stood the San Antonio Hotel. On the southeast was located the Pozo Verde Saloon. From this distance Lance could see the swinging doors of the Pozo Verde swing apart as George Kilby stepped into view and started north along Main. At that moment Kilby’s eyes ranged down the street and spied Lance. Abruptly, he turned and started across the street to avoid meeting him.
“Just a minute, Kilby,” Lance called. “I want to talk to you.”
“Ain’t got no time now, Tolliver.” Kilby was increasing his gait. “I got some important business to ’tend ——”
“You’d better make time pronto,” Lance snapped coldly.
Kilby was half across the street by this time, but something in Lance’s voice brought him to a slower pace. He stopped in front of the San Antonio Hotel and leaned against the hitch rack, with the sidewalk at his back. “Make it snappy, then,” he growled in surly tones.
“We won’t waste too much time,” Lance said easily. He stepped to the sidewalk and came around to the other side of the hitch rack. Kilby turned to face him.
At that moment Kilby caught sight of the deputy sheriff badge pinned to Lance’s open vest. “Jeez!” His face hardened. “When did you join the forces of law and order?”
“ ’Long about the time I decided to have a talk with you.”
“Well, get on with your habla, Tolliver. I’m in a hurry.”
Lance said, “Let me see your gun—and move easy.”
“What for?” Kilby demanded belligerently.
“Let me see your gun!”
Reluctantly Kilby drew the six-shooter from its holster and passed it across the tie rail, Lance watching him narrowly as he moved. Diagonally across the street Oscar Perkins stood peering around the corner of the Lone Star Livery entrance. Two doors farther west Lockwood stood watching from a doorway. Both breathed easier as they saw the gun surrendered without trouble.
Lance was examining the six-shooter. He flipped open the loading gate of the weapon, closed it, spun the cylinder while Kilby eyed him uneasily. “Hmmm,” Lance commented. “You use a forty-four, eh?”
“Any law ag’in’ it?” Kilby growled.
“Never heard of one,” Lance replied quietly. “Sometimes I wonder why more people don’t tote ’em. They make a nice pard for the .44-40 Winchester.”
“That’s my idea in carrying it. Same ca’tridges for both.”
“Oh, so you’re a rifle shot too?”
“I’m pretty good, if you want to know,” Kilby boasted.
“I’m glad you’ve still got a rifle.” Lance smiled thinly. “I’d sure hate to deprive you of all your weapons.” He stuck Kilby’s fortyfour into the waistband of his overalls.
“Hey, gimme that gun,” Kilby protested.
“Maybe you’ll get it, and maybe you won’t. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t try anything rash. Now we can have our talk peacefully——”
“What in hell’s got into you, Tolliver?” Kilby rasped. “I ain’t done nothing.”
“I was just thinking,” Lance said smoothly, “about the weight of a forty-four slug. You know, there’s only about fifty grains difference in the weights of a forty-four and a forty-five. Course, when Doc Drummond first probed that slug out of Frank Bowman everybody took it for granted it was a forty-five——”
“Hey, what you talking about?” A lot of the color had suddenly departed from Kilby’s face. “You mean they’ve
