“But it takes a wise man to get out while the getting’s good.” He took Turkey back and shackled him to the rail and led the stocky one to breakfast. When they were seated in the restaurant he let the man order, which he did, sullenly enough.
“What did Turkey tell you?” the man demanded, his eyes alight with suspicion. “Turkey? Nothing at all. I didn’t figure you boys knew much. After all, you’re just here to create a disturbance and take a fall.” Shanaghy smiled. “You boys stir up a dust while they ride out with the money.” “What money? I got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Just eat,” Shanaghy said. “I know all I need to know.” He asked no questions, made no overtures and obviously that worried the man even more than questions. Finally, Shanaghy did say, “You don’t look much like a cowhand,”- although the man obviously did-“what did you do? Work on the railroad?”
“Hell,” the man was disgusted, “what would you know about cowhands? I’ve ridden for some of the biggest outfits in Texas. Why, you just ask them and they’ll tell you Cowan is-“ “All right, Cowan, you say you’re a puncher, but I would think a cowhand would realize that people would see what horse he was riding and remember the brand. Yet you boys left your horses right in the street where anybody could see them.”
“What d’ you know about brands? Anyway, anybody can borry a horse.” “Of course.” Shanaghy was remembering that he still had not discovered the missing horses. In the confusion of finding Carpenter’s body and getting trapped in the burning barn, he had forgotten them. Yet where could they be? There were only two or three places left to look.
“How’s he comin’? How’s Si-“ he caught himself, then said, “You know? That gent you shot? The slim one?”
“Still alive. He’s not conscious yet, however. I hope he stays unconscious until he’s through talking.”
Cowan glared at him from under thick brows. “Hell, you got somethin’ on your mind about talkin’! You keep right on fishin’, mister. You’re going to come up with just nothing at all.”
Cowan finished the coffee in his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How long you keepin’ us out there?”
Shanaghy shrugged. “Until your boss turns you loose to get killed. Why go to the expense of trying you fellows when you will get yourselves killed by yourselves? When he turns you loose and the shooting’s started, they’ll take care of you.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“Why, your friends, of course. The ones who roped you into this and now don’t want to pay off. Everybody knows that when the shooting starts the action begins.”
Shanaghy got up. “Come on … back you go. You’ve offered me nothing, so if you come out of this alive you’ll be the one I hang it on.” He grinned cheerfully. “Mr. Cowan, I’m going to need somebody, and if you survive I’ll have you.
Somebody will surely get killed and that will make it a hanging offense.
Besides, the local boys haven’t had a necktie party lately.” Shackling Cowan to the hitching-rail not far from Turkey, Shanaghy wandered back up the street. If he could get them to worrying enough, one of them might talk. At least when freed they might run. Yet he had accomplished nothing but to implant, he hoped, some element of doubt.
It was a warm, pleasant morning. A few scattered white tufts of cloud wandered across the blue of the sky. Shanaghy paused on the street and thought about New York.
Such a few days had passed since he’d been there, and yet the city was already vague and unreal in his thoughts. He wished suddenly he had the services of that old-timer who had taught him to shoot, wished he had him here to talk to. That was a shrewd old man. Or Morrissey or Lochlin … How was Lochlin? And Childers? What had happened after he left? Childers, as he recalled, had some ties to the West, somewhere. They had supplied the muscle to put through some kind of land-fraud deal along the railroad. He crossed the street when he saw Mrs. Carpenter. “Ma’am?” She paused. “I did some work at the shop, some stuff your husband had planned. If it’s all right with you, ma’am, when this is over I’ll either buy the shop from you or I’ll buy half of it. And the horses, too,” he added.
“He would have liked that, Mr. Shanaghy. He always said you were an excellent smith, that you’d missed your calling.”
Shanaghy flushed. “Ma’am, I don’t have no calling. I don’t have a thing to speak of but a wish that keeps growing in me.”
“A wish?”
“Yes, ma’am. A wish to be something more than I am, which isn’t much. Maybe if I started with the shop-“ “When this is over, Mr. Shanaghy, we will talk.” She paused. “Mr. Shanaghy, I always thought I was a Christian woman, but now all I want is to see the murderer of my husband caught and punished.”
“So he shall be. Only don’t speak of it now. Ma’am, there’s somebody in town who’s working with them, somebody … I don’t know who.” He watched her walk away. Carpenter had been a good man, too good a man to die that way. Shanaghy started for the railroad station, then stopped. Josh Lundy was riding up the street.
“I reckoned you could use me. I got some work caught up so I come on in.”
“You come alone?”
Josh looked down from his seat in the saddle. Wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. “Well, I set out mighty early … It’s a fur piece from here to yonder.”
“Did you come alone?” Shanaghy insisted.
“Pendleton was right busy, you might say. He did say he might come around later.
His son was out on the range roundin’ up some horses that done strayed off.”
Tom Shanaghy waited, and when Josh said no more, he said, “Can you track?”
“A mite. I lived with the Pawnee one time. Picked up a little here an’ yonder.
What was it you wanted tracked?”
“A horse or two.” Shanaghy explained about the three men who rode in, one of them on a Vince Patterson horse.
“Don’t let that fret you. He left a couple of horses up here … at least, his brother did. I mean that time he got hisself killed. Somebody was holdin’ those horses.”
Shanaghy nodded. “All right, tie your horse and come along to the restaurant.
I’ve got some things to talk over with you.”
Josh nodded. “All right. You go right on in. I’ll be along pretty soon. I’ll take my horse down to the shop, an’-“ “Carpenter’s dead. He was murdered.”
“You don’t say? Well, I ain’t surprised. He was a good man, too good a man.” Shanaghy walked into the restaurant, removing his derby as he entered. He was halfway across the room when he saw her.
Jan Pendleton was sitting there facing him, and she was smiling. “Good morning.
You look surprised.”
“Josh didn’t tell me-“
“He wouldn’t.” She looked up at him as he drew his chair back. “I rode in to see you.”
“Me?” He was flustered. He drew back a chair and sat down.
“I heard you were having trouble,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. A mite. Here and yonder, as Josh would say. First I was wishing you were here to be with Mrs. Carpenter after he was killed. You know, to have a woman about.”
“I imagine her brother was with her. She wouldn’t have needed me.”
“Her brother?”
“Yes, didn’t you know? He’s the station agent. The telegrapher. “
FIFTEEN
It was quiet in the little cafe. A few people came and went, but he scarcely noticed. Suddenly he was talking about his boyhood in Ireland, the things he remembered, the stories his father told him, about horses he had known … about the Maid o’ Killarney.
“Are you returning to New York?” Jan asked.
He waited, thinking. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “Maybe I’ll stay here. With Carp gone there’s no smith. It is a good business but not exactly what I wanted.”
“What do you want?”
There was that question again. He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know, ma’am, I-“ “Call me Jan.”
He looked up at her and for a moment their eyes met. He was embarrassed. “I’m Tom,” he said.
“I know your name. I know more about you than you think.”
“You don’t. If you did you wouldn’t even be talking to me.” Josh Lundy came in and crossed to their table. “Sorry to butt in, folks, but I have to talk to the marshal, here.”
“Talk … And why didn’t you tell me Jan rode in with you?” Lundy widened his eyes. “Why, Marshal, I hadn’t no idea you’d be interested. You figurin’ to arrest her?”