“Don’t lie, Kilby. We want the truth.”
Kilby said weakly, “You’re right. I killed Bowman. We took his body out—to that wash. It was—too dark for us—to notice that peyote he had——Gimme another drink, eh?”
Lance held the flask to the man’s lips. Kilby swallowed deeply. When he had done his voice came strong. “Hey, how about getting me to a doctor?”
“We’ll take you to a doctor when you’ve finished talking.”
“But—but I might bleed to death.”
“You’re not hit that bad,” Lance said grimly, “but it’s up to you. The sooner you decide to talk the sooner you’ll get medical aid. And we want the truth. No stalling. Why did you kill Bowman?”
“We had him figured for a dick,” Kilby answered, apparently anxious now to give Lance the desired information. “He was always asking questions about the freight shipments that came to—that came in——”
“Came in to who?” Lance asked quickly. “What were the freight shipments?”
“Peyotes—mezcal buttons—for the Yaquentes. That night I killed Bowman he kept hangin’ around the box at the depot. Later we caught him opening it. I had to stop him. Then we——”
“Who’s we?”
Kilby’s eyes shifted uneasily. “I don’t dare tell——”
“Yes, you do. We’ll see you get protection. Talk up, Kilby. It’s for your own good. What sort of game have you been playing here? I want the name of every man that’s behind you.”
“All right, I’ll give you the whole damn story,” Kilby said suddenly. “They haven’t helped me none, so——” He stopped abruptly.
Lance saw the sudden hole appear in Kilby’s breast even before he heard the report of the gun. A cry of anguish was torn from Kilby’s lips. Blood seeped swiftly into his shirt front. His eyes closed, then opened again, already growing glassy.
“Like hell you’ll protect me,” he muttered. His eyes closed again, and his head fell to one side.
Lance was already on his feet, looking right and left. A startled row of onlookers were ranged along the sidewalk on either side. A confused clamor filled the air.
“Where ’d that shot come from?” Sheriff Lock-wood bellowed.
“That’s what I want to know,” Lance snapped.
“Sounded like it come from over that-a-way,” Oscar stated, jerking one hand toward the hotel.
Lance glanced at the hotel building. A line of men were ranged along the porch, looking above the heads of the men crowded on the sidewalk. High up above the top of the building Lance glimpsed a vagrant wisp of smoke. Powder smoke? He couldn’t be sure. Even while he looked it disappeared in thin air. The smoke may have come from farther down the street. Lance studied the second-story windows in the front of the hotel. There were five of them. All windows were lowered to keep out the heat of the day.
“Ethan”—Lance spoke swiftly—“I’m going over to that hotel. You see can you bring Kilby back to consciousness, though I’m afraid it’s too late. Oscar, you question that crowd standing in front of the hotel.”
Turning swiftly, Lance ran across the street. On the porch of the hotel he found the hotel clerk. “C’mon, you,” Lance snapped, “get your house keys. I want to examine those front rooms upstairs.”
“You certainly won’t,” the clerk stated indignantly. “Some of those rooms are occupied. I can’t——”
“I figure one of ’em must have been,” Lance cut in. “I’m going to have a look at all of ’em.”
“I can’t have strangers entering guests’ rooms——”
“Damn it, march!” Lance growled, impatient at the time being wasted in meaningless bickering with the stubborn clerk. He tapped the deputy sheriff badge on his chest. “Maybe you’d like to face a charge of obstructing justice, mister. Either you do as I say or I’m putting you under arrest——Oh hell!” He seized the angry clerk by the coat collar and forced him into the hotel lobby. “Now you get your keys. You and me are going upstairs, and I don’t want to lose any more time.”
The clerk was quite pale by this time. He secured the necessary keys from behind his desk and led the way to the second-floor hall. “Who’s occupying these front rooms?” Lance asked.
“Miss Gregory has the corner room—number 201,” the clerk replied. “Professor Jones is in 202, Mr Fletcher has 203——”
“I have 204,” Lance cut in.
“And 205 is vacant,” the clerk finished. “There are only five rooms facing on Main Street——”
“I guessed that from the number of windows. Get a move on, will you? Is the professor or Miss Gregory or Fletcher in this morning?”
“Miss Gregory and the professor are out in the hills. They left word, in case you called, they’d be back by dinnertime. Mr Fletcher is in, I believe. At least, I didn’t see him go out, though he may have by this time——”
“Open up Fletcher’s room.”
The clerk halted before number 203, thrust a key into the door and turned the knob. “Mr Fletcher,” he called. There was no answer. He flung the door wider, and Lance stepped inside. The room was empty, furnished about as his own room was with a bed, dresser, two chairs and a small washstand. There were curtains at the window which was shut tightly.
Lance stepped back to the corridor. “Try 205 next.”
The vacant room also was empty and didn’t appear to have been occupied for some time. Dust was heavy on the dresser and washstand. Lance led the way back to the hall. “Now, my room.”
The clerk thrust the key into the lock, then paused. “Why, this door is unlocked.”
“It could be,” Lance agreed. “I might have left it unlocked.”
Nothing in that room to furnish a clue to the mysterious shot either. Lance and the clerk next entered Professor Jones’s room. Here the table was littered with books and papers. A trunk stood in one corner, but there was no sign of a human having been in the room within the last ten minutes at least.
Once more in the hall, the clerk said, “That leaves only Miss Gregory’s room. Surely you don’t intend to enter——”
“Open it up,” Lance said grimly. He could feel his face growing warm. A trunk stood in one corner of the girl’s room, as in the room occupied by Jones. Articles of apparel hung on a clothes rack. There were some ribbons on the dresser. The room seemed faintly scented. But no clue here. Lance backed out as swiftly as he could, the clerk right after him. The door was re-locked.
“Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” the clerk said righteously. “The idea! Entering a young lady’s room——”
“You make another crack like that,” Lance threatened, red faced, “and I’ll mop up the floor with you.” He left Katherine’s door and swung at right angles into another corridor. At the end of the corridor he saw a stair well. “Where does that lead to?” he demanded.
“That’s a back entrance from the alley at the rear of the building.”
“Door unlocked?”
“It’s left unlocked during the day.”
Lance hurried down the steps and opened the door on the alley. He scrutinized the earth in the vicinity of the door, but too many people had passed there to leave any definite sign. Slowly he retraced his steps up the stairway, his keen eyes looking for some evidence of the killer’s having come this way, but again the search was without result.
“Is that all?” the clerk asked when Lance had rejoined him.
“I reckon that’s all,” Lance said disappointedly. He followed the clerk along the corridor and descended the stairs to the lobby once more. As they stepped into the lobby Lance saw Malcolm Fletcher just entering. Malcolm nodded and started to pass.
Lance caught his arm. “Where you been?” he asked.
“Out on the street,” Malcolm said in surprised tones. He smiled. “I guess the rest of the town is out there too. Nice bit of shooting you did awhile back, Tolliver.”
“Somebody else did some shooting, too,” Lance said grimly. “That’s the hombre I’m looking for.”
“Mr Fletcher,” the clerk put in, “this fellow insisted on entering your room. I told him——”
“What’s the idea?” Fletcher demanded of Lance.
“Looking for the man who fired that shot,” Lance said coldly. “I figure it came from the direction of this hotel. I looked in all the front rooms. I wasn’t overlooking any bets.”
Malcolm laughed shortly. “I guess there was no harm done. I see you’re wearing a deputy’s badge. You won’t
