"Hi-ya, Mr. Kenton. Ain't seen my wanderin' boss, have your'
"Get down and come in, Clay," Kenton said heartily, thinking,
He hasn't seen Sam lately or he wouldn't be so friendly.
"Ain't got time, but thanks," Clay said in a pleased voice.
"I
got to find Sam and quick."
"Why, what's happened, Clay?"
"Just a family matter," Clay said uneasily and tightened his reins.
"Sam has been here but he's gone," Kenton said in his friendliest manner. He came down the steps and stood close to the rail, looking at Clay. "I been thinking about a proposition, Clay, you might be interested in."
Clay's smile faded. "What's that?" he asked cautiously.
Kenton chuckled. He ended the chuckle on a sad note and his face saddened, along with it. "Fact is, Clay," he said seriously, "Winner's dead. We're gonna need a new sheriff."
Clay's face expressed shock and surprise. "Alonzo? When'd that happen? An' how?"
"He was trackin' the man who tried to kill Sam," Kenton said. "Got ambushed in Squaw Canyon."
"Well, I'll be damned," Clay said heavily. "Gosh, old Alonzo was a good man."
"That he was," Kenton agreed. "I been thinkin' about
a
replacement, Clay. How'd you like the job?"
"Who, me? Hell, Mr. Kenton, I'm just an old cowpoke an' don't know nothin' about law."
"Alonzo didn't either when he started," Kenton said. "How about it, Clay? You can have the job if you want it. What's more, I think the pay is goin' to be raised, too."
"Gosh, I never worked nowhere but for Flag—"
"Well, you think about it, Clay. I'll see you in a day or
so
and you can give me your answer. Personally, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have in there than you."
"Thanks, Mr. Kenton. I'll sure think on it." Clay raised his hand and wheeled his horse and rode toward Crossroad Corners. He was elated that a big man like Jesse Kenton had offered him the job—no, had begged him—to become sheriff. Man,
oh, man,
he thought,
wouldn't Hannah Evans sit up when he come around wearing that badge?
When Sam turned into the first street in Crossroad Corners he picked up a boy of ten, wearing a hat too big for him. The boy trotted alongside, looking wide-eyed at Winner's body, draped face down across his horse.
"Run find Doc Sawyer," Sam said to the boy. "Tell him to come to the sheriff's office."
The boy was off like an arrow loosed from a bow, holding his big hat to keep it from falling off.
Sam walked his horse slowly down the street and men fell in, silently, following. By the time he stopped before the sheriff's office a dozen men were around him, lifting Winner from his horse. Doc Sawyer appeared, hatless and coatless, his shirt sleeves rolled up, carrying his bag. He slowed his pace and stopped close to Winner's body. He gave his head
a
single shake, sighing.
"What happened, Sam?" he asked quietly.
The ring of men closed in as Sam began telling what happened in Squaw Canyon. He told it in a flat, monotonous voice, a meager recital of facts. He didn't elaborate on it and he didn't even mention his discovery of Kenton's dam and his fight with Marv Teller.
The faces of the men, mostly businessmen in town, mirrored their anxiety. Jesse Kenton was the biggest man in those parts. They were reluctant to express judgment. They looked at Sam doubtfully but he failed to notice the town men's reaction.
Ketterrman said, uneasily, "This ain't the time to make a judgment, no sir. We have a dead man here, our sheriff, our friend—"
Doc Sawyer interrupted in his soft, suave manner. "A few of you take Alonzo to the undertaking parlor. As your coroner I'm declaring that Sheriff Alonzo Winner was killed by a person or persons unknown, while performing his duty. When a new sheriff is appointed we'll look into it."
He turned and looked at Sam. "What the hell you doing out of bed?" he asked in an icy voice.
Sam laughed without humor. "Too many things to do, Doc."
"Come on over to my office. I want to look at you."
Sam fell into step beside Doc Sawyer. Halfway across the street he stopped, hearing his name called. He stopped and Doc Sawyer snorted, "Now come on, Sam, don't get involved in a long-winded dialogue."
Clay Bassett got down from his sweat-stained horse. His face was downcast and his manner uneasy. He stared at the group of men carrying Alonzo Winner's body to the undertaking parlor.
"What's up?"
Sam sketched out what had happened and Clay whistled. "You mean of Jesse really dammed the creek?"
The enormity of Kenton's act overshadowed even Winner's death. "Well, what're we gonna do?"
"Blow it to hell and gone out of there," Sam said. "What else?'
"Kenton won't sit still for that," Clay said.
"That's up to him," Sam answered. He stared at Bassett and the westerning sun touched his lank black hair and drew a pattern of shadows on his handsome, swarthy face. "What'd you want when you first got here?"
Clay's face resumed its uneasy pattern. "I thought you'd have heard by now," he said hopefully.
"What is it, Clay?" His head came up sharply. "Dick?" "Sure," Bassett said, a feeble grin working on his long lips. "Who else?"
"Don't ride a circle on me," he said. "What's up, Clay?" Bassett licked his lips. "Dick's married, Sam."
Sam felt the familiar knot form in his belly. He stared at the parched land. Liz Porter was not cold in her grave and Dick was now married to another woman. It didn't make sense. "Who'd he marry?"
Bassett thought,
Here it comes,
and wished that he didn't have to do the telling. "That Keefe girl," he said. "Cherry's her name."
"What the hell did you let him do that for?" Sam asked hotly, kmowing even as he spoke that he shouldn't be taking it out on Clay.
"Look, Sam, I wasn't even around," Clay protested. "I rode all over hell and half of Montana lookin' for you to tell you."
Sam looked at Clay, irritated with him and knowing how irrational his actions were. "You ramrodding Flag or wet-nursing my brother?" he asked coldly.
"I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't," Clay said. "What's got into you, Sam?"
"Where's Dick now?" Sam asked.
"The hotel," Clay said, and started to offer some advice but the look on Sam's face forbade it. He watched Sam stride down the street and enter the hotel.
I sure wouldn't Want to be li'l brother,
he thought, and drifted toward The Mint, intent on catching up on his drinking and news gathering. He knew Sam would come looking for him later and The Mint was always the first place he looked.
The hotel lobby was empty. Sam looked at the register and found the room where Dick and Cherry were staying, the two rooms called the suite that Fill McGee had boastfully set aside for visiting celebrities. The only personage ever using the rooms had been some general whose name Sam couldn't even remember.
He rapped on the door with hard brown knuckles and there was a soft sound on the other side and it swung open.
She stood framed in the doorway; he realized suddenly he had never really looked at her before. Without the flamboyant dress and the paint and powder she looked plain, with a small earnest face and big blue eyes. She was almost thin.
Unsmiling he stared at her. "Is he still drunk?"
Her hand went to the hollow at the base of her throat. "What do you mean?" she asked, in a low, throaty voice that he remembered sounded well, even when the musician was too drunk to accompany her on the pianola.
"He was drunk, wasn't he?"
"No." She watched him gravely, a sort of caution in her blue eyes. "This will surprise you, perhaps. He wasn't even drinking." She stood there as though barring his way into the room.