Once more Milton paused, struck an aggressive pose with jaw thrust forward, fist clenched in front of him, a pose which he was using on his campaign posters.
“I would have had the county assessor quietly boost the assessment on those oil rights until the taxes amounted to more than the persons who held those oil rights wanted to pay. Then a committee of citizens could have gone to the owners of those oil rights and purchased them for a nominal consideration. But what happens? The county authorities organized into an exclusive little courthouse ring, feeling secure in their jobs, drawing their salaries as a matter of routine, avoiding every bit of unnecessary work, going to sleep on the job. In place of having to pay high taxes, the owners of these oil rights find themselves confronted with an ideal situation for their legalized blackmail. They sit tight and do nothing because they don’t have to do anything. The situation drags along until some sharper from Los Angeles buys those oil rights and starts a campaign of legalized blackmail.
“I am not the only one who so characterizes it. Let me read you an editorial from the Petrie Herald.”
The candidate, with a dramatic gesture, whipped a newspaper up from the little table at his side, crackled it open to the editorial page, folded it, and read Everett True’s editorial in a voice which rang out with honest indignation.
Gramp Wiggins, sitting in his car, lit his disreputable pipe, looked across at Eva Raymond, and said: “That bird’s smart. You know it?”
Eva Raymond regarded him with eyes that were half closed in thoughtful calculation. “They say he’s a young attorney with a future,” she said, “—a bachelor.”
“Yep,” Gramps announced. “Reckon that boy’s going places.”
“You think he’ll win the election?”
“Nope.”
“Why not? It sounds like he’s making a good point, and you can tell from the expression on people’s faces that they think so, too.”
“Yep,” Gramps admitted. “It’s a good point.”
“But why isn’t he going to win the election?”
“Because the election is some time off, and I don’t aim to let him win it.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope.”
“What can you do?”
“Well,” Gramps said, “that’s somethin’ that kinda depends on circumstances... Wonder if he’ll talk about that murder case next... That’s Karper sittin’ up there on the platform with him. Got a big subdivision out there back of Petrie, and he hates Duryea like poison... Believe you said you knew him.”
“Yes, I know him when I see him.”
“I was kinda lookin’ for Everett True,” Gramps said. “Thought he’d be down here. They say he’s keepin’ the paper sorta neutral, but he’s due to come out for Milton a couple of weeks before election. That’s the dope I get. Afraid Duryea ain’t none too popular out there around Petrie.”
Eva Raymond said: “I think he’s wonderful. I’d like to meet him.”
“Duryea?” Gramps asked in surprise.
“No,” she said, nodding her head toward the young orator. “Mr. Milton.”
“Well now,” Gramps said, “that might be arranged.”
She looked at her diamond-studded platinum wristwatch. “Look,” she said, “it’s getting late. You told me that you just wanted me to go out to that cabin and show you exactly where I stood, and—”
“Yep, but I’d kinda like to see this man. True first... Wait a minute. There he is.”
Gramps darted out of the car and wiggled through the outskirts of the crowd with the smooth ease of a trout threading his way through the pool of a mountain stream.
“Hi-ya!”
Everett True turned to regard the grinning old man who thrust out a cordial hand.
“My name’s Wiggins. You’re True, editor of the paper up there at Petrie, ain’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Just heard him reading that editorial,” Gramps said, “a mighty nice piece of writing, mighty nice!”
“Thank you.”
Gramps said: “I got my car parked over here. Thought maybe you might give me a minute or two soon as the speechmaking is over.”
“What was it you wanted?” True asked.
“Just wanted to ask you a couple of questions,” Gramps said.
True edged over towards the limits of the crowd. “What sort of questions?”
“Something about that murder out your way.”
True looked at him with quick appraisal. “Are you an officer?”
“Nope.”
“I’ve seen you somewhere before. I— Oh, I place you now. You were out there at the cabin... Related to the district attorney, aren’t you?”
“Well, in a way,” Gramps admitted.
True became slightly cautious. “I’ve told all I know to the district attorney.”
“Yep, I know,” Gramps said, “but this is different. This is just a question I wanted to ask you about the man you heard in that cabin when you and Sonders went out there.”
“What about him?”
“You think that was Pressman?”
“Why, certainly... That is, if Reedley was Pressman, that’s who it was.”
“Couldn’t have been a woman that was in that cabin?” Gramps asked.
“A woman!” True exclaimed.
“Uh huh.”
“I’m afraid I don’t get you.”
“Well now,” Gramps said, “you don’t know that was Pressman in that cabin. All you know is you heard somebody moving around.”
“Well?”
Gramps said: “I was sort of wondering if maybe Pressman might not have been all alone. Maybe someone was with him. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to come to the door, or talk with you... Might have been a woman.”
“No,” True said. “I think not. I think those steps were definitely the steps of a man. I gathered the impression that it was a man moving rather stealthily. You could hear the boards creak under his weight.”
“Didn’t hear any high heels, like as if it had been a woman?” Gramps asked.
“No.”
Gramps tilted back his sweat-stained sombrero, dug with scratching fingertips at the curly grey hair above his left ear. “Well,” he said, “I reckon that’s that, then.”
“What,” True asked, “gave you the idea that it was a woman?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Gramps said. “Just sort of wonderin’ why Pressman wouldn’t have told you to get off the place or have come to the door an’ told you he didn’t want to give you an interview or—”
“Wait a minute,” True interrupted. “Here’s Sonders... Oh, Hugh! Look over here a minute... Hugh, this is Mr. Wiggins, related to the district attorney. He wants to know if the person we heard moving around in that cabin could have been a woman.”
“No,” Sonders said. “It was Pressman. At any rate, it was a man. I saw a man’s arm when the last shade was being pulled down.”
Gramps became suddenly excited. “Then this man could have seen you?”
“He must have. That was why he was whipping down the shades.”
“He saw you gettin’ out of the car,” Gramps went on. “An’ you had a paper in your hand!”
“A paper?”
“Yes. The proof of the editorial.”
“Why, yes — what’s that got to do with it?”
Gramps said: “Might have had a lot to do with it — particularly if that wasn’t Pressman in that shack, but was the murderer, an’ he pulled down the shades so you couldn’t look in an’ see the corpse.”
True was instantly alert for a story. “What’s that? What makes you think—”
But Gramps had turned away and was threading through the crowd, headed for his trailer.