The Stranger from Abilene

Chapter 29

Kelly sat in silence until Clayton recounted his capture by Shad Vestal and the Apache attack on the refrigerator car and wagon.

When the other man stopped talking, Kelly poured himself coffee, then said, “That’s Baldy Benton and Luke Witherspoon lying out there.”

“The names mean nothing to me,” Clayton said.

“They work for Park Southwell, or did. Benton was pretty well known, a hired gun from up Denver way. I don’t know anything about Witherspoon.”

“So it’s Southwell who’s killing Apaches and shipping their bodies east.”

“Seems like.” Clayton waited a few moments, then said, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to arrest him?”

“No.”

“Damn it, how come?”

“How do I prove it? We don’t have the bodies of the Apache women and that means no evidence.”

“Hell, I saw the whole thing. I can testify.”

Kelly shook his head. “Cage, your testimony won’t carry any weight in Bighorn Point. As far as the good citizens of the town are concerned, you’re a troublemaker who vowed to kill one of their number. And you assaulted Park Southwell’s wife. A jury would figure you had it in for the old man and concocted a wild story about dead Indians.”

“I still plan to reduce the population by one,” Clayton said.

“Which one? You still think it’s Southwell?”

“I thought it was him. Now I’m not so sure.”

“He was a colonel in the war, won a chestful of medals in a dozen pitched battles. You’re looking for an irregular who rode with the James boys.” Kelly drank from his cup. “Park Southwell is not your man.”

“But he might know who is.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s a real possibility.”

“I’m heading back to town,” Clayton said. “I still have a job to do.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Kelly said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re more valuable to me dead.”

Clayton stiffened and started to rise to his feet.

“Hell, sit down, Cage. I’m not going to kill you.”

“If you aren’t, you have a strange way of putting things.”

Kelly reached out, took the makings from Clayton’s shirt pocket, and began to build a cigarette.

For a moment his eyes seemed distant; then he said, “I have a feeling, a hunch you might call it, that something is coming down.”

“What something?”

“I don’t know. If I knew, maybe I could act on it, think ahead, like.” He shook his head. “I can’t say what it is, but it’s in the air.”

“An Apache uprising maybe? Another Geronimo on the warpath?”

“Not a chance. The Apaches are whipped. They’ll bury those women, then go back to work on their farms and try to grow crops from rocks and sand. But they’ll be on their guard now, and Southwell won’t find pickings so easy.”

“Then what the hell could it be, this something?”

Kelly drew on his cigarette, exhaling smoke with his words. “I told you, I have no idea. But I’ll know it when I see it.”

“And why am I dead?”

“If I spread the word around Bighorn Point that you got shot out at the spur by person or persons unknown, somebody’s going to make a move. Maybe the man who was once Lissome Terry.”

“What kind of move?”

“Well, he could figure his cover was almost blown by the Pinkertons, then you. He might say to himself, ‘The third time could be unlucky.’ So he packs up and tries to leave town. And that’s when I grab him by the cojones.”

“Hell, Kelly, it’s thin. Coulds and maybes don’t mean a damned thing. Terry’s just as likely to stay right where he’s at and brazen it out.”

“Yeah, I know. Like I said, I’m acting on a hunch, but a lot of my hunches have been right before.”

“And a lot have been wrong?”

Kelly smiled. “I believe I’ve gotten more right than wrong.”

Clayton let that pass, and said, “So, now that I’m a dead man, what do I do?”

“There’s a mountain called Tucker Knob a couple of miles to the east of here. A prospector by the name of Zeb Sinclair built a cabin there. It’s pretty much a ruin now, but it’s still got a roof.”

“And Mr. Sinclair won’t mind?”

“He’s dead. Apaches done for him years ago. Nailed him to his own front door.”

“It must be a cheerful spot.”

“I’ll have someone I trust bring supplies out to you. Just stay put until I come for you.”

“And if your hunch is wrong and nothing happens? Do I stay dead? Or for some reason it does happen and then it all goes bad? What then?”

“I don’t know.” The marshal smiled. “But I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I worry about it,” Clayton said, irritated.

“Well, if it does go bad, we’ll probably both be dead anyway.”

“Kelly,” Clayton said, “you know how to cheer a man, you surely do.”