‘While I am here, I would appreciate advice about big cash shipments coming through.’

  Basset gave the slightest hint of a smile. ‘You need not worry, Deputy Hewitt, because I don’t think that you will be here for long. Good day to you.’

  A pleasant surprise awaited Hewitt when he reached Grey’s office. Veronica Cook explained that the lawyer had been called suddenly to visit a client out on a ranch. She also confirmed that Grey had the sort of map that the deputy needed. It was hanging on his office wall and she allowed him to see it. Names had been pencilled in at various places and the ranch that Hewitt thought would have been the closest of those he had seen, had the name Green crossed out and Mullane written underneath. He figured that the next one would be the Bramley ranch. Both ranches appeared to be on the eastern bank of Prospector’s Creek, the stream that Hewitt had followed for a short distance. It wound across the flat land below in a series of big loops like the track of a giant snake, and along its length smaller tributaries fed into it.

  The map showed a road going to the ranches but it detoured a long way to the south because the hills east of Appsley were too steep for wheeled vehicles. By road both ranches were twenty miles or more from town, but in a straight line over the ridges they were only about half that distance.

  Hewitt had seen what he wanted and thanked the lady as he left the office. ‘I was not sure that your boss would have been so helpful. Him and I had a few words the other day.’

  The lady laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Deputy. John has a big idea of his own importance and likes to throw his weight around but he’s not a vindictive man. He can be very nice with people he likes.’

  ‘That doesn’t help me because I seem to be one of the people he doesn’t like. But your help is much appreciated.’

  ‘Are you getting any closer to those who killed the sheriff and George Mawson?’

  ‘I’m picking up a few bits of information here and there but I’m a long way from finding out exactly who did it. The picture is becoming clearer but I need to know a lot more yet.’

  Hewitt’s next call was at the coach company office. Wilcox was busy as the coach was due to go out the following morning. ‘I might not be able to get over to the saloon tonight,’ he said. ‘I have to get things organized for tomorrow. Have you made any progress?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Hewitt answered. ‘A few more details will need to be checked out. I’d like to find just where the Count and the two Bramleys fit into things and I have the feeling that something else is being planned. I have tried to get Basset to increase the guards on any future money shipments through here but he’s mighty stubborn.’

  ‘Our coach line will pay for one guard but the banks will have to pay for the other one. They are a miserable lot and don’t like paying for anything that might never be used.’

  ‘This town and your coaches are targets whenever those inter-bank shipments of money are coming through.’

  Wilcox said in disbelief, ‘Surely they don’t expect that they’d get away with another surprise attack like the last one. They would be far safer out in the brush stopping the coach, possibly after picking off the guard with a rifle.’ He paused and then asked, ‘Just on that subject, are you any closer to finding out who shot Macgregor?’

  ‘I think I know why he was killed and it should give me a good idea as to who needed him dead.’

  ‘Can you tell me?’

  ‘Not at this stage. Too many wild stories fly around this town. Basset is rather upset by the rumour that he may have been involved in robbing his own bank and I can’t say that I blame him. Unfortunately, he’s so annoyed that I am not likely to get much co-operation from him.’

  ‘He’s always annoyed.’ Wilcox chuckled. ‘He has all the charm of a rattlesnake and is totally heartless in matters of money. People don’t like him and make no secret of it.’ Then he changed the subject. ‘I saw that you found the barrels of Mawson’s gun. It sure was a mess, wasn’t it?’

  ‘One of your stable hands tossed it in a trash barrel. That Damascus steel made a pretty pattern on the barrel but apparently it didn’t stand up too well to heavy charges. Has your company replaced the guard’s gun yet?’

  ‘Yes, a new Winchester gun arrived the other day. They have had some good ones specially made up in England and just put their name on them.’

  ‘Look after it,’ Hewitt said seriously, ‘because I reckon it might be needed soon.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Clint Mullane tore open the envelope that he found in the TG ranch mailbox. He recognized the handwriting even though the brief note inside it was unsigned.

  Arthur Turner was seated at the meal table nearby shovelling breakfast into his mouth. ‘You look worried, Clint. Word from town again?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s that new deputy. He’s getting too nosy. We thought he’d just keep the seat warm for the next sheriff, but instead he’s starting to act like a full-time lawman.’

  Between mouthfuls Turner agreed. ‘That’s why Willie saw him hanging about on the back trail to town. He knows something or he wouldn’t be there.’

  ‘He saw us the other day and that’s what made him suspicious. He’s probably watching that ridge now and has maybe figured that we are looking for signals from town. That sort of complicates things. How are we going to know about the next money shipment when it’s not safe to look for signals?’

  ‘There’s only one way to make it safe and that’s to get rid of Deputy Hewitt.’

  Turner was not so sure. ‘The law’s likely to take things a mite seriously if a second lawman gets killed in Appsley in such a short time.’

  ‘I have an idea about that but I’ll need to see the boss before I start it going.’

  ‘You know he don’t like us being seen in town too often. We’re supposed to be hard-working cowmen who only come to town on paydays.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It will be dark by the time I get to town. I’ll see the boss and be home again by morning. Nobody need see me.’

  That morning Sue and Hewitt had ridden out to the west of the town. The deputy had his field glasses with him and they halted at a vantage point overlooking the town. He dismounted and carefully studied the ridge on the eastern side. There was no sign of life. ‘Looks like our friends with the telescope are not there today.’

  ‘We could be at the wrong time,’ Sue suggested. ‘They might not come at the same time every day.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ He stepped into the stirrup as he spoke and swung back on to Cactus. ‘It’s time I was on my way back to work. It would be nice if for just one day we could take our time and stay out as long as we felt like it.’

  They returned to town and went their separate ways. Doubts were nagging at Hewitt and he asked a few more questions around Appsley in an attempt to obtain a clear picture of what had occurred leading up to the raid. He found an old friend of Sheriff Anderson’s who told him that he had shared drinks with the two dead men on the previous night. They had spent about an hour together but neither man had drunk heavily.

  He made another stop at the coach office and found Wilcox in a rare idle moment. He looked up from the newspaper he was reading when the lawman entered. ‘You’re looking mighty serious today, Pete. What have you been up to?’

  ‘Nothing much, just trying to fit a few pieces into the puzzle or maybe puzzles if the Macgregor murder is not connected to the robbery.’

  ‘Do you really think the two events are connected? I wouldn’t be looking much further than the Count for Macgregor’s shooting. He had a grudge against him.’

  The lawman looked doubtful and his forehead wrinkled in a frown. ‘I’m not so sure. It doesn’t seem the Count’s style. He wants people to know who he has killed. I checked on his story that he could not have been involved in the robbery and he’s clear on that score.’

  ‘But you’re assuming that the killings are connected. The Count is as treacherous as they come. Don’t be fooled by that gentleman act that he puts on. Under that he is a very nasty little killer.’

  ‘I heard that Mawson and Anderson were in the saloon together the night before the raid. Do you know if that’s right?’

  Wilcox nodded. ‘It seems likely. But I wouldn’t know. I was down at the stables for quite a while that night with Lister and Bathes. We had to order some more fodder for the teams and I was working out how much would be needed. Neither of those boys had much schooling and it took me a long time to work out what our monthly requirements would be.’

  ‘So the office was unattended for a while?’

  ‘That’s right. But we have a secure room to lock up baggage and valuables and I knew that George Mawson would not be long away. He liked to turn in early on nights before long runs.’

  ‘Was the guard’s room locked?’

  ‘No need. There was only a bunk and some blankets. Nobody would want to steal them.’

  ‘There was also a shotgun and ammunition, wasn’t there?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Wilcox admitted. ‘I forgot about that. It might have been better for George if someone had stolen that damned death trap.’

  ‘When is the next coach due?’

  ‘It’s a twice-weekly service, arrives here tomorrow night and leaves the following morning. There is no strongbox on this one and no passengers booked to leave from here, so I could have an easy time for a change.’

  But Hewitt would have little leisure that night.

  He had finished his evening meal and was thinking of closing the sheriff’s office for the night when he noticed a man dismounting in front of the saloon. The Count was back in town. He knew then that trouble was not far away. Ensuring that his Winchester carbine was fully loaded, he sat back in the office and waited.

  An hour dragged by and then Baines, the stable hand, came in from the saloon. ‘I thought you’d like to know, Pete. There’s a gun fight on the way. Gopher Doherty has just challenged the Count. They’re gonna shoot it out in the street.’

  ‘Who’s this Gopher character?’ Hewitt asked as he came out of his chair and grabbed his Winchester.

  ‘He’s a little red-headed runt who goes looking for fights every time he gets a few drinks aboard. Usually he only gets into fist fights but the Count only fights one way. Gopher doesn’t have a chance but he’s too drunk to know it.’

  The deputy levered a cartridge into the breech of his rifle, put the hammer on half cock and stepped into the street. Two men were already out there, standing about thirty yards apart. Onlookers were mostly viewing from the saloon windows and doors because stray bullets could be expected on the street. In his current state, none expected much accuracy from Gopher.

  The Count had swept back his coat and stood with both hands poised over the butts of his twin guns, ready to draw and shoot at the first suspicious move his opponent made.

  ‘Count!’ Hewitt called. ‘Hold your fire.’

  ‘Get out of the way, Hewitt. This little coyote challenged me and I have never ignored a challenge yet.’

  ‘Yeah, stay outa this,’ Doherty mumbled. ‘This is our fight.’

  With no time for argument the deputy walked up to Gopher, used his rifle barrel to swat the man’s hand away from his gun, and plucked the weapon from its holster. The drunk yelped in protest and waved his injured hand but Hewitt had already forgotten him. He turned to the Count. ‘This affair’s over. I’ll take this character to the calaboose to sober up.’

  ‘I’ll say when it’s over,’ the other snarled. ‘I’m the injured party here and that little runt is as good as dead.’

  ‘He’s out of the fight. There’s no honour in shooting drunks. Go back into the saloon and forget this.’

  ‘I’m not forgetting anything, Hewitt. You just took this yellow coyote’s place. Go for your gun any time you feel like it. Nobody takes my guns and lives.’

  ‘Think it over, Count. I already have a gun in my hand and you won’t beat me to the draw. Over this distance you might manage to hit me with a revolver but it’s an easy shot for someone with a rifle. You’re a gambler, so start figuring your chances. The deck’s stacked against you. Now I’m going to give you three options; first you can go for your guns but I wouldn’t advise it. The second choice is to drop your guns on the ground and go back to your cards and collect your guns when you leave town. The third choice is to keep your guns, get on your horse right now and leave town.’

  ‘You’re yellow, Hewitt. Too scared to face a man on equal terms. But I’m better than you any day of the week.’

  ‘Make up your mind, Count. I don’t want to kill you but I will if you even look like giving me trouble. What’s it to be?’

  The Count’s eyes darted about as if seeking a way out of his problem and his tongue suddenly flicked over his dry lips. He knew that the odds were against him. At last he shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’ll be other times, Hewitt. I’ll leave town now but next time I see you I intend to kill you.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning,’ Hewitt called. ‘Now I’ll give you one. If I see you in this town again, I’ll shoot you on sight.’ He watched closely as the Count walked to the nearby hitching rail. It hurt the gunman’s pride to back down before an audience and there was still the chance that he would try some trick.

  As the Count mounted his horse, Doherty found his voice again. ‘And don’t come back,’ he yelled drunkenly, ‘or I’ll give you more of the same.

  The gunman turned his horse and glared at the two men in the street. ‘I’ll come back and when I do, you pair are dead men.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hewitt escorted Gopher to his office and lodged him in one of the cells. He was not in the best of moods. A prisoner meant that he had to stay to watch him but it also meant that the Count knew right where to find them if he decided to double back. He drew the blinds on the office windows. There was no sense in giving an unseen gunman an easy shot. For safety’s sake he also put out one of the office lamps; no point in being a brightly lit target.

  One by one the lamps in Appsley went out as the townspeople sought their beds. The deputy was about to settle down on a bunk behind the main office when he heard something clink against metal. The sound was coming from the cell area. He was on his feet when a gunshot exploded. The noise, magnified by the confined space, sounded like the report of a cannon.

  Grabbing his gun, Hewitt ran through the connecting door. Much to his relief Gopher was on his feet but looking at the window, high up in the cell wall. ‘What in the hell was that?’ he mumbled.

  The lawman knew only too well what it was and ran to the back door of the premises. Just as he threw open the door, it occurred to him that the first shot had only been a decoy, to lure him outside. He threw himself flat.

  An unseen gunman fired and the bright muzzle flash came from the shadows near the corner of an adjoining building. A bullet tore splinters from the doorjamb just above Hewitt’s head. He triggered a quick shot in reply though, in the darkness, he was unlikely to score a hit. It was intended to discourage any further attack and to that end it succeeded. Seconds later he heard a horse. In a clatter of hoofs, the rider fled into the night.

  The deputy knew that pursuit would be useless and, if anything, might even lure him into another ambush. He replaced the fired shell in his gun and after closing the door behind him, returned to Gopher in the cell.

  The shooting had shocked him into a state that was almost sober. He looked relieved when the deputy came through the door. Uncertain of the outcome of the gun fight, he half-expected to see the Count.

  ‘What happened, Gopher?’

  ‘How would I know? One minute I was havin’ a nice sleep and then it seemed the whole world exploded.’

  ‘You didn’t hear anything?’

  ‘Not a damned thing.’ As he spoke, Gopher suddenly clasped his head and twisted his face in pain. ‘I can hear something now, though, sounds like someone hammerin’. Are you sure I ain’t been shot in the head?’

  ‘No such luck. Now go back to sleep. I’ll let you out in the morning if you behave.’

  As he tried to sleep later, Hewitt went over the night’s happenings in his mind. Something was not as it seemed.

  He found evidence of his suspicions the next day. The bullet fired into the cell had gone through the roof. It had never been intended to harm Gopher because the shooter would not be able to reach the window and fire down into the cell. It had been a ruse to lure the deputy outside.

  After releasing a sick and penitent prisoner, Hewitt went outside and looked around the building. The tracks showed where a horseman had ridden to the cell window, reached up and fired through the bars. The horse tracks then led into the street where he would be unable to follow them further because early risers had partially obliterated them as they went about the town. He saw enough though to know that the rider was heading for the southern end of town.

  The bullet that clipped the doorjamb had continued on to lodge in one of the office’s interior walls. Its low-angled path showed that a man on horseback could not have fired it. Hewitt walked to the building that had sheltered the gunman and saw where his would-be killer had hidden around the corner. The prints of flat-heeled townsman’s boots showed clearly in the dust. The Count wore high-heeled riding boots. Two men had been involved in the failed ambush.

  The shooting had not gone unnoticed and several people, when they met the deputy, asked what had happened. The general opinion was that the Count had returned so he made no attempt to say otherwise. But Hewitt knew that only one of the would-be killers had left town.

  Later in the morning he paid a call on Grey. As he was mayor of the town, the deputy thought it best to keep him reasonably informed. The lawyer was not pleased to see him.

  ‘I hear you had some trouble with the Count last night. You should have run him out of town the first time he came back after Macgregor’s murder.’

  ‘The Count won’t be hard to find when we want him. I’m more interested in the person here in town, who is our biggest worry.’

 

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