every other day commencin’ shortly. This town’ll boom for awhile. But you know how that goes.”
Smoke nodded his head. The rotting ruins of former boom towns dotted the landscape of the West. They flourished for a few months or a few years, until the gold or silver ran out, and then died or were reduced to only a few hangers-on, scratching in the earth for the precious metals.
“I’ve seen a few boom towns in my life.”
“You rode with Ol’ Preacher, didn’t you, Smoke?”
“Yes. He raised me after my dad was killed. I knew all the old mountain men. Beartooth, Dupree, Greybull, Nighthawk, Tenneysee, Pugh, Audie, Matt, Deadlead. Hell of a breed of men, they were. I hated to see them vanish.”
One left, the sheriff thought, taking in the awesome size of the man seated before him. Smoke’s wrists were as large as some men’s arms. If he hit you with everything he had, the blow would do some terrible damage to a man’s face.
“Tell me everything that’s on your mind, son,' the sheriff urged in a quiet tone. “You’ve been steppin’ around something for an hour.”
Dick Silva was no fool, Smoke thought. He’s a good lawman who can read between the lines. But what if he’s a friend of Luttie’s, or on his payroll? How to phrase this?
“I had a little run-in with Luttie Charles the other night,” he said, figuring that was the best way to open up.
The sheriff spat and clanged the cuspidor. “I don’t have much use for Luttie. When he first come into this country, years back, he was a hard-workin’ man. I didn’t approve of the way he built up his ranch—he was one of them homesteader burners, if they got in his way—but the sheriff back then was easy bought and in his pocket. I ain’t,” he said flatly. “Luttie steps cautious-like around me.”
“I took a ride over to his place the other day. He appears to be a man who don’t like visitors.”
“All them posted signs?”
Smoke nodded.
“They went up about five years ago. ’Bout the same time the bottom dropped out of the beef market—for a while—and Luttie took to hirin’ hardcases to ride for him. I’ve run off or jailed a few of his hands. But he’s got some bad ones workin’ for him.”
“And no cattle,” Smoke dropped that in.
“You noticed too,” the sheriff said with a smile.
“Of course, there is no law that says a man has to run cattle on his ranch if he doesn’t want to.”
“Exactly. But it sure makes me awful curious about just how he’s earnin’ a livin’.” He shook his head. “I know where you’re goin’ with this, Smoke. But I have no authority to go bustin’ up onto his property demandin’ to know how he earns his livelihood. And a judge would throw me out of his chambers if l tried to get a search warrant based on our gut hunches.”
“Oh, I know.”
“Say it all, Smoke.” Sheriff Silva smiled. “You’re one of my deputies now. You can’t hold back from the boss.”
“I’ve got a hunch there is some connection between Slater and Luttie. I’ve asked a U.S. Marshal to check their backgrounds. He’s doing that now. Probably be a week or more before anything comes back in.”
“You’d make a good lawman, Smoke.”
“I’ve toted a badge more than once,” he replied with a smile. “County, state, and federal. Mills Walsdorf doesn’t know that, though.”
“What do you think of the man?”
“I like him. I thought he was a pompous, stuffed-shirt windbag when I first met him. But he sort of grows on you. He sure has some funny ideas about enforcing the law. He doesn’t believe in the death penalty”
The sheriff almost choked on his chew. “What?”
“Says it’s barbaric and doesn’t accomplish anything. Says criminals aren’t really to blame for what they do.”
“Say what?”
“Says it’s home life and pressure from friends and so forth that cause criminals. Rejection and things like that. Says all sorts of real smart folks back in fine Eastern universities thought all this out.”
Sheriff Silva shook his head‘ “I hope them thoughts of his don’t never catch on. In a hundred years, criminals would be runnin’ the country.”
Chapter Five
It was a very weary and dejected-looking band of U.S. Marshals that rode back into town late in the afternoon. After a bath and a shave, Mills walked over to Smoke’s office. He was almost dragging his boots in the dirt from exhaustion.
“Cover a lot of ground, did you?” Smoke asked, pouring the man a cup of coffee from the battered pot on the stove.
“More than I care to repeat anytime soon.” Mills sat down with a sigh and accepted the cup of coffee. “And didn’t accomplish a damned thing.”
“No,” Smoke corrected. “Don’t look at it like that. You accomplished a great deal, in fact.”
“I’d like to know what?”
“You Saw the country, and if you’re just half as smart as I think you are, you committed it to memory. You know where good water is now. You found some box canyons and now know to stay out of them. You found good places to bed down for the night. You found where outlaws might hole up. You know where good river and stream crossings are located. And you saw some of the most beautiful country in all the world.”
Slowly, a smile crinkled the marshal’s mouth.
“Yes. You’re right on all counts, Smoke.” He peered over the rim of his coffee cup at the new gold badge on Smoke’s chest. “Say, now. Where did that come from?”
Smoke told him of Sheriff Silva’s visit.
“The sheriff checks out as a good, honest lawman. He’s a rancher that got caught up in the market bust years back and turned to police work. His ranch rebounded, but he was hooked on police work by that time, and the people of the county like him. He earns enough money from both vocations to insure he can’t be bought.'
“Find out anything about Luttie Charles?”
“A few things. The people around here don’t like him and don’t trust him. He says he came here from Texas, but people doubt that. Oklahoma Territory seems to be the general consensus. Early on he let it slip that he’s fairly knowledgeable about that part of the country.”
“So why would he lie about it?”
“You know the answer to that as well as I do. He’s hiding something in his past. But he could be running away from a wife. It’s certainly happened to other men.”
“With Luttie, it’s more like a rope he’s running from.”
“Agreed. But proving it is another matter. I have feelers out. It’ll take some time.”
“You’d better get some rest. You look like you’re all in.”
“Yes. I'll see you in the morning.”
Smoke did some paper work then locked up the office and stepped out into the gathering dusk of evening. He began his walking of the settlement’s streets. That didn’t take long, and he headed for Bonnie’s Cafe for a cup of coffee.
Movement at the edge of town stopped him. Smoke stepped into a weed-grown space between the empty bank building and the general store and waited.
There it was again. But at this distance, he couldn’t tell if the movement was human or animal. He removed his spurs and put them in his pocket while he waited and watched, not staring directly at the mysterious shape, for some people can sense being watched. The form began to take shape as it drew nearer, staying in the shadows. It was a man, no doubt about that, and moving slowly and furtively.
The man ducked down the far side of Bonnie’s Cafe, and Smoke took that time to run silently across the street and into the alley that ran between the combination saddle shop/gunsmith building and the saloon.
Staying close to the building, but not brushing against it, he pulled iron and eased the hammer back just as the man stepped into the rear of the alley.
