Shanaghy was tired. He was feeling the letdown from days of thinking and worry. He paused by McBride. “Are you the one who shot an old prospector’s burro out by the water tank?”
McBride looked up. “You going to arrest me for that, too?” “No,” Shanaghy said. “I think with trying to steal the gold shipment and the murder of Holstrum, we’ve got enough on you. Then there’s the attack on Rig Barrett, resisting an officer and a good deal more. Take my advice, though. If you get a chance to escape, don’t take it.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That old man whose burro you killed. He’d like nothing better than to get a shot at you. And if you do escape I am not even going to look for you. He’ll take care of it.”
“That old blister? Hell, I should’ve shot him as well as his burro.”
“Well, you didn’t, and that’s a mighty hard old man. And he loved that burro.
He’s taking it mighty bad.”
Greenwood was at the station when the train backed in and he watched the prisoners get off. He also watched the body of George taken from the train. “Holstrum?” he asked.
“I think they killed him. They aren’t talking about him, so I’ll have to ride out that way and have a look. Anyway, he didn’t show up here.” Shanaghy himself helped unload the boxes containing the gold. “There it is, Greenie,” he said. “Now you can supply the money to pay off those cowhands.” Greenwood looked at the boxes and shook his head. “Tom, I’m damned if I know what to say. You’ve saved the town and our money, too, and mighty poor treatment you’ve had for it.”
“Fix me up with a room at the hotel again, and I’ll ask for nothing more.” “No problem. They all know who killed Carp now, and most of them are sorry for the way they acted.” He paused. “By the way, you’ve some friends in town … at least they were asking for you.”
“Friends? I don’t know anybody in this part of the country.” Greenwood lit a cigar. “Don’t appear to be from around here. I’d say they were easterners. There’s four of them.”
Easterners? Who- Suddenly he remembered the letter from John Morrissey. He felt in his pockets for it, then opened it.
Dear Tom:
No need for you to come back unless you wish to. What you started when you left worked out fine and the Childers people are gone … cleaned out. However, if I were in your boots I would keep a sharp eye out. The Childers are still around and you were the one they wanted most of all.
Lochlin is well, and sends regards.
My advice is stay west. You are too good a man for this, and you could make a place for yourself in that new country like I did when I landed in New York. The letter was signed with a flourish, John Morrissey.
Greenwood was watching him as he read. “What is it? Bad news?” Shanaghy folded the letter and put it in his pocket. The Childers family had come from someplace in the west or midwest, and so might know this country. Finding him would not be difficult, especially if they had somebody keeping an eye on Morrissey’s mail. This letter was probably written the same day Morrissey received his note. Even without that, there were only two rail lines into the west and this was the logical one.
“It could be trouble,” he admitted. “Those men you spoke of could be some old enemies, from New York.”
His eyes on the street, he explained, briefly. The thoroughfare was busy now, the people coming and going about their shopping, for this was a Saturday, always a big day in town.
“If it’s who I think it is,” Shanaghy said, “this is my affair. They are hunting me and nobody else.”
“You’re our town marshal,” Greenwood objected, gently. “And we don’t like outsiders meddling in our affairs.” He grinned. “Meaning no offense.” “You know,” Shanaghy said, “the only one of them I have any sympathy for is Holstrum. He had a dream. Maybe it was foolish, maybe not. Seems that was all he wanted from life.”
“We’ll miss Carp. He was a good man.”
“Aye,” Shanaghy was watching the hotel. Where were they? Did they know he was back in town? He looked around, taking his time. Judge McBane walked over. “We’ve locked up your prisoners. That young woman wants to talk to you.”
“All right.” He walked away, following Strong.
She had been locked in another storeroom at Holstrum’s, the place where he kept sacks of flour, sugar, and seed. It was a temporary place at best. She was sitting up when he came into the room, and she got quickly to her feet.
“Marshal, you can help me. I’ve got to get out of this!”
“What do you mean?”
“All this. I never intended … I mean I never meant for this to happen! It’s
impossible! I mean, my family, my friends-“
“You should have thought of that before.”
“How could I? I never expected-“
“You never expected to get caught, is that it? You never expected to have to go to prison, to have a trial, to be in court as a person on trial for robbery and murder.”
“Murder?” she gasped. “You can’t believe I had anything to do with thatl” “You started it all, ma’am. You were the instigator, and as such you’re the most guilty of all. The truth of the matter is, ma’am, that nobody would commit a crime if they expected to get caught. Every criminal believes he is going to get away with it.”
“But I never did anything like this before! Marshal, it was my first offense, and believe me it will be my last. Doesn’t that count for anything?” “I will do as much for you as you will for Holstrum.”
“But he’s deadl”
“That’s right, ma’am. So is Mr. Carpenter. All because a greedy, selfish girl wanted more than she had. When you can bring them back to life, ma’am, you come and ask me for help. Every man and woman should consider the consequences of his or her actions, and those actions should be considered beforehand, not after. I’ve no use for crybabies, ma’am, male or female.” The pleading, woebegone look was gone from her eyes. What Shanaghy saw now was pure hatred, but he wasn’t talking any more and he wasn’t listening any more. When he closed the door behind him, he didn’t feel any better. Suddenly all he wanted was to be finished with it all. He wanted to sit down to a quiet meal and a cup of coffee, and most of all he wanted to see Jan. They would be taken east somewhere for trial. No doubt he would be called upon to testify, as would Greenwood, Judge McBane and others. And Burt … who had turned state’s evidence.
When Shanaghy came out of Holstrum’s store, Josh Lundy was standing in front of Greenwood’s with Joel Strong and Judge McBane. Greenwood came out as Shanaghy appeared.
All were armed. “What is this?” he asked. “Another war?”
“It could be. Those are Childerses up there. They say they are hunting you.”
“Thanks, gentlemen, but that’s my problem.”
“Not if there’s four of them and you’re our marshal.” Tom Shanaghy had taken no more than half a dozen steps when there was a rustle of movement and the soft pound of hoofs. Several riders brushed by him. Others came through the intervals between the buildings, slowly converging on the hotel.
He caught a glimpse of the Childers men on the hotel porch, and then they were blocked out by at least twenty riders in the street. Shanaghy paused, and between the horses he glimpsed the Childers men being escorted toward the station by a dozen riders, all with Winchesters. One of the other riders turned and rode toward him. It was Red, the Vince Patterson rider he had seen at their chuckwagon. “We’re just a’showin’ those boys some horsepitality,” he said, “guidin” ‘em to the deepot, like. We surely can’t afford to let a man get shot who offered to stand for drinks for the crowd now, can we?” “This was my fight,” Shanaghy objected.
“What fight?” Red asked, innocently. “Come on, Irishman, keep your derby on.
Let’s just head back down to that drinkin’ establishment I see yonder.” Shanaghy turned and walked back to Greenwood’s. He had scarcely reached the bar when Vince Patterson strode in. “Everything all right, Marshal?” “Sure, everything’s all right. Have yourself a drink. As Red here reminded me, I’m standing treat.”
“With pleasure.” Vince Patterson accepted the drink and then said, “A couple of my boys found the body of your storekeeper a few miles south. We brought it in. He’d been shot in the back of the head at close range.”