Читать книгу Killing Ground - William W. Johnstone - Страница 8

Frank caught hold of the man’s arm to stop him as he stumbled.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Catch your breath and tell me what’s going on.”

The man nodded and dragged in a lungful of air. Frank recognized him as Vern Robeson, who worked at Amos Hillman’s livery stable.

After a moment Robeson was able to say, “I was runnin’ down to the marshal’s office to fetch Catamount Jack. I’d heard you were back in town, Mr. Morgan, but I didn’t know where you were. Just lucky I ran into you, I guess.”

“What about Tip Woodford and Brighton?” Frank prodded.

Robeson’s eyes widened.

“Oh, yeah! They’re down at the Lucky Lizard office. I heard Tip say he was gonna shoot Brighton if he didn’t get outta there!”

Frank nodded and let go of Robeson’s arm. He took off at a fast walk toward the building that housed the mining company’s office, saying over his shoulder, “Go get Jack anyway and tell him to hurry on down there.”

“Sure thing, Marshal!” Robeson said as he broke into a run again.

It wasn’t far to the Lucky Lizard office, and when Frank got there he saw that the confrontation had spilled out of the building and into the street. Tip Woodford stood on the sidewalk, an old-fashioned cap-and-ball revolver in his hand. Red-faced with anger, he brandished the heavy gun, threatening Dex Brighton with it as Brighton stood a few yards away in the street.

Thomas “Tip” Woodford looked more like a miner than a mine owner. He had graying red hair, and his blocky body was clad in overalls, a slouch hat, and work boots, the same sort of outfit he had worn when he was still a penniless prospector. He had made a fortune, lost it, then made another one, and stayed pretty much the same throughout. His wealth hadn’t changed him and probably never would.

His daughter Diana, wholesomely pretty in a gingham dress, clung to his left arm with a scared expression on her face. Tip shrugged her off and jabbed the old revolver’s barrel toward Brighton.

“I’m sick and tired o’ you, mister!” he bellowed like a wounded buffalo. “You come around here botherin’ us again with that line o’ bull you been spoutin’, and I’ll blow a hole in you, I swear I will!”

Brighton didn’t appear to be frightened, even though he had to know that an old horse pistol like that was a touchy weapon and might go off at any moment. Frank certainly knew that. He slowed as he approached, not wanting to spook Woodford, and called, “Tip! It’s Frank Morgan! Put that gun down before you hurt somebody.”

Woodford’s eyes darted toward Frank for a second, but he didn’t lower the gun and his attention went right back to Brighton.

“Heard you were back in town, Frank,” the mayor said. “Good to see you.”

“It’s good to be back. At least, it was until you started threatening to ventilate folks.”

Woodford grunted. “This thievin’ varmint don’t qualify as folks. He’s like a hydrophobia skunk that you got to shoot before it gets in your chicken house.”

As cool and calm as ever, Brighton said, “You heard the man, Marshal. He’s threatened my life. I want you to arrest him.”

“There’s no need for that,” Frank said. “Tip’s not going to hurt anybody. He’s just mad, and he’s going to put the gun down! Do it now, Tip.”

Diana took hold of her father’s left arm again.

“Please, Pa,” she said. “It’s not going to help anything if you shoot that fella. Then you’ll just go to prison for murder.”

“Or the gallows,” Brighton gibed

Frank said, “You’re not helping matters, Brighton.”

He moved forward, holding his hand out toward Woodford, palm down, making gentle motions toward the ground. The mayor didn’t lower the gun, though, until Frank eased between him and Brighton.

“Dadgum it, Frank,” Woodford said. “You’ve been gone. You don’t know what this varmint’s been up to.”

“I’ve heard quite a bit about it already. Why don’t you give me that hogleg, and we’ll go in the office and talk about it.”

Woodford hesitated, then finally shrugged and placed the cap-and-ball in Frank’s hand.

“Aren’t you going to arrest him, Marshal?” Brighton demanded from behind Frank. “I’ll swear out a formal complaint.”

Frank swung around to face the man.

“Back East you might get away with that, Brighton, but not here. No harm’s been done, so move along. Anyway,” he added, “you shouldn’t have come down here and provoked the situation. I want you to steer clear of the Lucky Lizard office from now on.”

Brighton sneered. “You’re a poor excuse for a lawman, taking sides this way, Morgan. Maybe I should get in touch with the authorities in Carson City and request that a U.S. marshal be sent down here to restore some real law and order.”

“You go right ahead and do that if you want to, mister,” Frank bit off. “You just go right ahead.”

He wasn’t worried about Brighton’s threat. Getting a U.S. marshal in here might even be a good idea. Most of the federal lawmen who worked west of the Mississippi were tough, competent, and had some common sense.

Tip Woodford stepped around Frank and said, “You’ll never get your hands on the Lucky Lizard with your legal trickery, Brighton. That mine belongs to me, fair and square. Jeremiah Fulton had every right to sell it to me. He never even said anything about havin’ a partner!”

“Of course he didn’t. He knew he was swindling you.” Brighton laughed curtly. “But this will all come out in court. You’re a fool, Woodford. You could have had a quarter-share in the mine, strictly out of the goodness of my heart, but now I’m going to take all of it away from you. Every last penny. You and your daughter will be left with nothing, you pathetic old oaf.”

Tip’s face flushed a dark brick-red, and he moved with more speed than Frank anticipated. He didn’t have the old revolver anymore, but he still had a big, beefy fist and the strength that came from swinging a pick thousands of times. He lunged at Brighton and smashed a blow into the Easterner’s jaw.

Brighton appeared to be taken by surprise by Woodford’s attack, just as Frank was. The punch rocked him back a step, but he didn’t go down. As he caught his balance he struck back, hammering a left into the mayor’s midsection and then chopping a sledging right across his face.

“Pa!” Diana cried.

Woodford was driven back by Brighton’s powerful blows. He outweighed Brighton, but the other man was younger and stronger. As Woodford sagged to one knee, Brighton closed in on him, drawing back a leg to kick him in the face.

Frank grabbed Brighton’s shoulder and shoved him away instead. “That’s enough, blast it!”

Brighton’s face was dark with fury. He ignored Frank and went for Tip Woodford again. This time Frank caught him around the middle. The muscles in Frank’s shoulders bunched as he flung Brighton back. The man fell this time, his hat flying off as he rolled in the street.

Brighton came up spitting curses. With a visible effort, he brought his rage under control and pointed a finger at Woodford.

“You saw it, Marshal!” he shouted at Frank. “If pointing a gun at me wasn’t enough, now he’s physically attacked me! If you’re a real lawman and not just Woodford’s lapdog, you have to arrest him!”

Frank felt like taking a punch at Brighton himself. The hombre just rubbed him the wrong way.

Unfortunately, Brighton was right. Tip had crossed the line, and the crowd that had gathered around to watch the angry confrontation had seen the whole thing. Tip hadn’t left him with any choice.

Stepping over to the mayor, who was still on one knee, Frank reached down and took hold of his arm. “Come on, Tip,” he said.

Woodford stared up at him. “You’re arrestin’ me, Frank? Me?”

“You shouldn’t have taken a poke at Brighton. That’s assault and disturbing the peace.”

“He’s the one who’s disturbed the peace o’ this town!”

Tip was right about that, Frank thought, but that sort of disturbance wasn’t against the law, worse luck.

“Frank, you can’t do this,” Diana said as Frank helped her father to his feet.

“The law says I do,” Frank replied heavily.

Woodford brushed himself off and straightened his shoulders, achieving a rough dignity despite his work clothes.

“It’s all right, Frank,” he said. “We hired you to be the marshal and enforce the law, and I reckon that’s what you got to do, whether any of us like it or not.”

“And I sure don’t,” Frank said under his breath.

“Are you taking him to jail?” Brighton demanded.

Frank turned toward the man.

“That’s right.”

Brighton sneered. “And I assume you’ll let him go as soon as you get there. This is all for show, isn’t it?”

“Nope. Mayor Woodford will be treated like any other prisoner. He’ll stay in jail until he posts bail, and then his case will be heard by the circuit judge when the judge holds court here.”

“Who’s going to set the amount of the bail?”

Tip laughed harshly.

“As the mayor, I gen’rally do that. Reckon this time it’ll be up to the marshal.”

Frank nodded. “You usually set bail at twenty dollars for offenses like this, Mayor. So to make sure there aren’t any complaints about favoritism…” He shot Brighton a dark look, then continued. “I’m going to set bail at fifty dollars for you.”

“That’s a joke!” Brighton protested, flinging a hand angrily toward Woodford. “He can pay that without any trouble.”

“I’ve more than doubled the usual bail,” Frank said. “If that’s not enough to satisfy you, Brighton, then you can take it up with the judge when he gets here.”

“Don’t think for a second that I won’t.”

Still holding Woodford’s arm, Frank steered him toward the squat stone building that housed the marshal’s office and town jail.

“Come on, Tip.”

Woodford looked at his daughter and told her, “Get the bail money from the office and bring it over later, honey. No need to get in any hurry about doin’ it, though. I don’t mind sittin’ in jail for a while. It’s been a long time since I been behind bars.”

Frank led the mayor away. He cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Dex Brighton didn’t try to bother Diana Woodford.

The Easterner didn’t even look in Diana’s direction, though. He just picked up his hat, slapped it against his thigh to remove some of the dust from it, clapped it on his head, and strode off toward the hotel.

“That was a damn fool stunt, Tip,” Frank said under his breath to his prisoner. “You didn’t leave me any option except to arrest you.”

“Doggone it, I know that, Frank, and I’m sorry I put you in that spot. That Brighton hombre just makes me so mad I can’t see straight. I reckon I went plumb loco.”

Frank grunted. “Can’t say as I blame you. Fella waltzes in here and tries to take away what you’ve worked years for. That’s enough to make anybody loco.” Frank paused. “Problem is, he may have the law on his side.”

“I don’t believe it for a minute! Brighton’s crooked. You can tell it just by lookin’ at him.”

For Tip’s sake—and for the sake of the town—Frank hoped that the mayor was right. He had a feeling that Buckskin would be worse off with Brighton as the owner of the Lucky Lizard. Tip had always funneled some of his profits from the mine right back into the town, although not very many people knew about that.

They met Catamount Jack on the way to the jail. “What’n blazes is goin’ on here?” the deputy asked. “Frank, it looks like you’re arrestin’ the mayor!”

“That’s what I’m doing. Tip got into a ruckus with Brighton. He threw the first punch.”

“It was a good one, too,” Woodford said with a smile. “Felt it all the way up to my shoulder.”

“I sent Vern Robeson to fetch you,” Frank went on. “How come you’re just showing up now, Jack?”

“I was, uh, indisposed. Sorry, Marshal.”

Frank knew that Jack must have been in the out-house behind the jail when Robeson came looking for him.

“That’s all right,” he said. “It happens to the best of us.”

They reached the building and went inside. Frank waved toward the old sofa that sat against the front wall and told Woodford, “You might as well have a seat while we’re waiting for Diana, Tip. I don’t think there’s any need to put you in a cell.”

Woodford shook his head. “No, I want you to lock me up just like you would anybody else. Brighton’s already got it in for you, too. I don’t want to give him any more ammunition for when Judge Grampis gets here.”

“Suit yourself,” Frank said as he reached for a ring of keys hanging on a nail on the wall behind the desk. “The bunks in the cells are probably just about as comfortable as that sofa anyway. At least they don’t have any broken springs sticking up through them.”

He unlocked the door to the cell block and put Woodford in one of the cells, all of which were empty at the moment. Woodford himself pulled the door shut with a clang.

“Any coffee in the pot, Jack?” Frank asked.

“Always coffee in the pot,” the deputy answered. “Question is, is it fit to drink?”

“Well, is it?”

“Only one way to find out. I’ll get cups for both of you.”

Jack brought the coffee while Frank sat down on a stool in front of the cell where Tip Woodford had lowered his bulk onto the blanket-covered bunk.

“I’ll go take a turn around town,” Jack said. “The fellas comin’ in from the mines need to see a badge to remind ’em that Buckskin’s a law-abidin’ place.”

He went out, leaving Frank and Woodford sitting on opposite sides of the bars. Frank sipped the strong black brew from the tin cup in his hand and then said, “What about it, Tip? Is there any chance that Brighton is telling the truth? Is it possible he actually does own the Lucky Lizard?”

Woodford sighed. “I don’t know, Frank. I honestly don’t. I thought the deal I made with Jeremiah Fulton all those years ago was on the up-an’-up, but I reckon it’s possible Fulton lied to me. If he really was partners with Brighton’s pa, and if they had a signed agreement like Brighton says…well, then, much as it pains me to say it, he might be right.”

“I’ll have to see that document with my own eyes before I’ll believe it,” Frank said. “And even then, it’s going to have to convince the judge and your lawyer, too.”

“What lawyer?” Woodford asked with a frown. “I don’t have a lawyer. Never needed one.”

“You do now. And you’re going to have one as soon as I can get word to San Francisco. You’ll have the best lawyer that the Browning Mining Syndicate can provide for you.”

Woodford looked doubtful. “I sure do appreciate the offer, Frank, but I ain’t sure how that boy o’ yours is gonna feel about it.”

“You let me worry about Conrad,” Frank said.