and respected him. And even those who hated him were forced to respect him.
Cain walked among the wagons and buggies and horses and mules that filled the main street. He didn’t much care for the looks he got this morning, though. Few smiled, most hurried past him on his walk to the courthouse. They would usually have stopped to pay their respects. But there were three dead young men and it was pretty much agreed that Sheriff Tom Cain really didn’t have any idea who was behind their murders.
Amy Peters knew these things about Sheriff Tom Cain because he had expressed each and every one of them to her over the years. When he had first begun thrusting himself on her, shortly after his arrival, he had been all strutting male, smirking at the notion that she would someday be Ned Lenihan’s bride. She’d never liked him and liked him less with each passing year. But he was the most important man in Cawthorne, even more important than the three men on the town council, and for the sake of her children she needed to be pleasant.
These days he tried a gentler approach. He talked to her as if she were his confidante. Told her about his doubts instead of his triumphs. But like most things with Tom Cain, it was calculated. If he couldn’t get her one way, he’d just try another.
She thought of this as she watched him approach the buggy she had just stepped down from. This was her twice-weekly visit to the general store. No matter how she tried to vary the times she arrived, Cain somehow always appeared.
His rugged face broke into a smile that he knew well made him even handsomer. He tipped his hat, too. She was getting the whole show.
“I knew something good would happen to me today if I just held on long enough,” he said.
“Morning, Tom.”
“Going to Herb’s?”
“As usual.”
“Just the shopping basket?”
He referred to the wicker basket on the arm of her dark blue blouse. “Just a few staples.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
“Would it make any difference if I did?”
A forced laugh. “You know, I’ve told you how sorry I am that I was such a fool about everything.”
She sighed. Maybe he was sincere after all. Nobody could be insincere all the time. “Let’s walk, Tom.”
Before he could speak, a man shouted at Cain, “You’re doin’ a good job, Tom! Don’t let ’em tell you no different!”
“Thanks, Cornelius! Appreciate it!”
“Well, nice to know I’ve got one person still backin’ me up.” He placed the white Stetson back on his head and said, “I know some of the people have turned against me. But I’ve got an old friend of mine, man named Skye Fargo, helping me. He’s worked with the Pinkertons a couple times.”
“Never knew you to ask for help before.”
“Maybe I’m not the man you think I am.”
“I remember all the terrible things you said about Ned.”
“I remember them, too, Amy, and I’m sorry about that too. The old green-eyed beast had me in its clutches was all. Here I was a big strapping town tamer and Lenihan’s a nice decent man. But I guess I’ve read too many yellowbacks. Not all women want a town tamer for a husband. And I admire you for standing by him with his problems with the bank and all.”
Poor Ned, she thought. He’d been so aggrieved lately. One night he couldn’t even make love. She worried about him—worried about them as a couple. Ned didn’t want to get married until he paid off his farm. And the robbery had obviously placed him under some suspicion. Once it was known that there had been a secret shipment of money on that stagecoach where the Englishman and driver had been murdered, people naturally began to suspect everybody at the stage line office. But suspecting Ned was ridiculous. No matter what kind of financial trouble he was in there was no way he’d ever throw in with stage robbers.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Amy. Maybe there’s a lot more you
They had reached the general store. Three women stood on the plank walk, their gingham bonnets tilted toward one another conspiratorially. Amy assumed they must be gossiping. Gossiping was sinful but it sure could be fun.
She raised her dark eyes to his and said, “I love Ned. He’s a good man. My children love him. They already treat him like a father. Nothing’s going to change that, Tom. Nothing. I appreciate your apologies but nothing’s going to change that.”
“Well, unaccustomed as I am to losing the lady I’ve pursued, I have to say that I’ve been wrong about you and Lenihan. I can see that you’re going to have a good marriage.”
She would have been more inclined to believe him if he hadn’t worn that sharklike grin. The grin that said he was superior to all he surveyed. “Good-bye, Tom.”
She stood there watching him go. For all his kind words, he’d managed to remind her of Ned’s financial difficulties—another way of saying that Ned had a good reason to get his hands on some of that robbery money.
But as she entered the general store with her wicker basket, she wondered. Why had his words troubled her so much?
“Won’t give you no more credit, O’Malley. You want a drink, I want to see some money.”
O’Malley called it his shoe money. Aptly named. Tucked under the insole of his boot was enough money to get him drunk for a night. Whatever else his expenses might be, he always took care to replenish his shoe money so that in an emergency the money would always be there. And this he considered an emergency—an emergency of the soul. Parrish took pleasure in humiliating O’Malley as often as possible, knowing that the reporter couldn’t quit. He survived on the pittance Parrish paid him. But never before had he been humiliated in front of the likes of the Trailsman. The legendary figure so many other journalists had written about.
He had gone back to his shabby hotel room and tried to sleep. The ultimate escape. But sleep hadn’t come because he ran out of whiskey. Only large amounts of whiskey could put him into the blissful darkness of slumber. Otherwise all he did was lie there and relive his wasted and terrible life. All the things he could have been—but ended up here in Cawthorne.
Finally he’d gotten up, put on his clothes and come here to the Gilded Cage, the only saloon that had ever consented to give him credit. He figured that if he was going to spend money he owed it to this saloon to spend it here.
At this time of day the place was only half full. The men ran to old-timers who played cards and gossiped and talked politics. One other reason he came here is that he’d never been made fun of. At least not that he could remember. The crowd here didn’t seem to have any interest in him at all. He’d stand at the far end of the bar where Aaron, the owner, usually took care of business, and nobody bothered him.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Aaron,” O’Malley said. “I’ve got plenty of money.” He’d taken his money from the shoe before coming here. He’d give people a nasty laugh for sure if he took it out here. He laid some greenbacks on the bar and said, “That should take care of what I owe you and buy me some whiskey and a schooner of beer.”
Aaron Cade, a golden bear of a man with broad shoulders and hair so blond it was almost white, smiled and said, “You come into some money, did you, O’Malley?”
“Not yet. But soon.”
“Oh? You got an inheritance or something?”
O’Malley knew he probably shouldn’t say anything but after suffering Parrish’s mocking words, he wanted to feel important again. “No, no inheritance. A story I’m working on. When this one comes out that Denver paper’ll be wiring me to come back.”
“You sure of that?” Aaron’s tone wasn’t unkind, just gently doubtful.
“Money in the bank,” O’Malley laughed. “And I mean that both ways. Money in the bank that the story’s going to be that great. And money in the bank that that’s what I’ll have—money in the bank and plenty of it.”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right, O’Malley.”
Aaron went to take care of one of the oldsters at a card table. The man’s back had been seriously damaged
