Bloody Sunday (8 page)

Luke turned to the wagon and said to Glory, “Let me give you a hand down.”

For a second she looked like she was going to tell him she was perfectly capable of climbing down from the wagon by herself, but then she relented and let him assist her. With both hands on her waist, he set her on the ground and asked her in a half-whisper, “Who are the two gents in the door?”

“The big one is Whitey Singletary,” Glory replied, equally quietly. “They're very original in their nicknames around here. He's the chief deputy. The other man is Jared Whittaker.”

“The sheriff.”

“That's right.”

As the wagon had passed the people on the boardwalks, some of them had noticed the blanket-wrapped shape in back, and now they came along the street to find out what was going on. Anything out of the ordinary, anything that might break the monotony, was of extreme interest in a place like this.

Sheriff Whittaker straightened from his casual pose with one shoulder propped against the doorjamb and started toward the wagon. Deputy Singletary fell in behind him, hulking along like a bear. A polar bear, Luke thought, considering the white hair and pale skin.

“Mrs. MacCrae,” Whittaker greeted Glory as she and Luke turned to meet the two lawman. He lifted a hand and carelessly touched a finger to his hat brim. “What in the world have you got there?”

Singletary leaned to the side to peer past them and said, “Looks like a body to me, Sheriff.” The words seemed to have to strain to get past the muscles in his thick neck.

“It is a body,” Glory said.

“One of your men?” Whittaker asked.

“No. One of the raiders who attacked my ranch last night and tried to burn down my house and kill me and my crew.” Glory's voice was sharp, lashing the words. “In other words, one of your friend Harry Elston's men.”

Whittaker stiffened. He said, “That's a mighty serious accusation, Mrs. MacCrae. You know for a fact that this dead man worked for Mr. Elston?”

“Who else would send hired killers skulking through the night against me?” Glory demanded.

Whittaker cocked his head to the side and clucked his tongue.

“We're not that far from the border, you know. I try to keep an eye on things, but there's a lot of empty country out there. It would be easy enough for a bunch of bandidos to slip across the river, circle around the town, and raid some of the ranches around here.”

“This man isn't a Mexican bandit,” Glory said. “You can have a look for yourself.”

“Oh, I intend to. Let's get that blanket off of him.” Whittaker motioned toward the wagon. “Whitey.”

Singletary stepped to the back of the wagon and pulled a folding knife from his pocket.

Before he could cut the ropes holding the blanket around the corpse, though, Luke said, “There's no need for that. Just untie the knots, deputy. That's easy enough.”

Singletary's moonlike face twisted in a sneer. He said, “Who're you to be givin' me orders, mister?”

“I'm a man who doesn't believe in cutting a perfectly good rope that can be untied.”

Luke started to step past the deputy.

He didn't really care that much about the rope, but Singletary rubbed him the wrong way. The man's piggish eyes had a brutal cast to them. Luke had seen plenty of men like this before. Pin a badge to their sweat-stained shirts and they thought they had a right to lord it over other men. That made Luke want to get a rise out of him.

He did. Singletary grunted and swung a hamlike fist at Luke's head. It was the fist with the knife in it.

Luke jerked his head back. The blade flashed in front of his eyes, missing his face by bare inches. Singletary was off balance because of the miss, so Luke threw a looping, overhand left that smashed into the right side of the deputy's jaw and knocked him in the direction he was already going. Singletary stumbled and fell. He sprawled on his belly in the dust of the street.

Moving quickly, Luke brought his right foot down on Singletary's wrist, not hard enough to break any bones, but with sufficient force to keep that hand pinned to the ground. He reached down and plucked the knife from the deputy's fingers, then straightened and stepped back. He closed the knife and tossed it in the back of the wagon.

Sheriff Whittaker looked angry. He had his hand on the butt of his holstered Colt as he said, “You're under arrest, mister!”

“On what charges?” Glory demanded.

“Interfering with an officer of the law and assaulting him!”

“Deputy Singletary attacked Mr. Jensen with no provocation,” Glory insisted. “Mr. Jensen was just defending himself. We all saw it.”

Mutters of agreement came from some of the people in the crowd. Glory might not be a favorite of theirs, but evidently Singletary wasn't, either. That came as no surprise to Luke. He had been able to tell by looking at him that the deputy liked to run roughshod over people. Some of the citizens probably felt like they had been treated unfairly by him in the past.

“Now hold on there,” Whittaker said. “I told Whitey to cut those ropes. Jensen had no right to stop him.”

Luke said, “Actually, you didn't say that. You just told Deputy Singletary to get the blanket off the corpse. Cutting the rope was his idea. All I tried to do was untie it, and he nearly cut my throat.”

From the ground, Whitey Singletary growled and said, “I'll do more than that, you son of a bitch. I'll bash your brains out!”

He surged up from the ground and charged at Luke like a maddened bull.

“Sheriff, stop this!” Glory cried.

Jared Whittaker just stood there, though, with an interested look on his face.

Singletary swung a wild punch that had the power of his burly body behind it. His fist moved slowly, however, and Luke had no trouble avoiding it.

But then he discovered that Singletary was smarter than he appeared to be, at least when it came to fighting. When he dodged to the side, Singletary's other hand was waiting. That was when Luke realized that the telegraphed punch had been a feint. Singletary grabbed the front of his shirt and swung him hard against the wagon's sideboards.

The impact jolted Luke and sent his hat flying into the street, but it didn't knock the breath out of him. Singletary let go of his shirt. Luke guessed the deputy's next move would be to throw those bearlike arms around him and try to crush his ribs. He couldn't let that happen, so he snapped a short but powerful punch to Singletary's nose, jabbing it with enough force to make Singletary jerk his head back and howl in pain.

Luke bored after him. His left pistoned back and forth a couple of times, landing with stinging splats on the deputy's nose. Luke felt hot blood gush over his knuckles. Singletary staggered back a step as he tried to get away from the persistent punishment. That gave Luke room to swing another right. It crashed into Singletary's slablike jaw.

That punch would have been enough to knock most men off their feet. It actually carried more strength than the blow that had landed the deputy in the street a few moments earlier.

But even though he was a little off-balance now, he was able to catch himself and swing his right arm around in a scything backhand. Singletary might lumber when he was walking, but he moved fast in a fight. Luke couldn't avoid the sweeping blow. It caught him on the side of his head and knocked him spinning to the ground.

Vaguely, he heard shouts from the crowd as he rolled over. Glory yelled at Sheriff Whittaker to stop the fight, but the lawman ignored her. Mainly, though, what Luke heard was the blood roaring in his head.

Singletary was roaring, too, as he charged after Luke, evidently intent on kicking and stomping him to death. The deputy had lost his hat, and his thatch of white hair was in wild disarray.

Luke rolled desperately as Singletary launched a kick at him. Singletary's boot scraped Luke's shoulder hard enough to hurt, but without enough force to do any real damage. Luke twisted on the ground, grabbed Singletary's leg, and heaved. At the same time he scissored his legs around the deputy's other leg and swept it out from under Singletary. The white-haired man landed so hard it seemed like the whole world should have trembled under the impact.

Luke got a hand on the ground and levered himself up. A dive landed him on top of Singletary. He drove his knee into the man's stomach, then clubbed his hands together and sledged them down into Singletary's face. Singletary's nose was already broken, and the terrific blow just flattened it that much more. The bottom half of the deputy's pale face was smeared crimson with blood, and more splattered out across his pale skin.

That ended the fight. Singletary wasn't completely unconscious, but he lay there in a battered stupor, unable to move. Luke knelt on top of him, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

He heard the unmistakable metallic sound of a gun being cocked.

“That's it, mister,” Sheriff Whittaker said as he leveled his Colt. “Make another move and I'll kill you. I said you're under arrest, and I meant it.”

“But you were willing to stand by and let this thuggish bruiser of a deputy beat me to death if he could,” Luke accused. After the exertion of the fight, it was a strain for him to keep his voice steady, but he managed.

“You were resisting arrest. That puts whatever happened on your head.”

“Sheriff,” Glory said, “you can't do this. Again, Mr. Jensen was only defending himself from your deputy's unlawful attack.”

“Whitey's wearing a star,” Whittaker said. “Whatever he does is legal.”

“Is that what you really think, Sheriff?” Luke asked as he pushed himself to his feet. He looked around at the crowd. “Is that what the citizens of Painted Post believe? That just because these men carry badges, that puts them above the law?”

“You leave them out of it.”

Whittaker darted a glance at the onlookers, though, Luke noted. While some of them were edging away nervously, obviously unwilling to go against the local star packers, others wore angry, defiant expressions. Like any politician, Whittaker clearly had his enemies.

“Mr. Jensen isn't going to jail,” Glory said.

“He is if I say he is,” Whittaker replied stubbornly.

“No, he's not. If you insist on arresting him, we'll all march down to Judge Marbright's office right now and the judge can assess a fine, which I'll pay. Mr. Jensen came to town with me today because I asked him to, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him be locked up just because he stood up to your bullying hulk of a deputy!”

Glory stood there with her hands on her hips, looking beautiful as she berated the sheriff. Luke had to admit that she cut a mighty impressive figure.

Whittaker stood there with an angry frown on his face, but then he smiled abruptly and holstered his gun. He said, “I reckon this is all just a big misunderstanding. There's no need to involve the judge in it.”

“I can see why you'd feel that way,” Glory said. “The judge is an honest man.”

Whittaker kept the insincere smile on his face, but his lips tightened. With a visible effort, he controlled his anger at Glory's gibe and went on: “We'll just drop it . . . this time.” He turned his head to give Luke a cold stare. “But if you cause any more trouble in my town, mister, you'll regret it.”

“I'm not here to cause trouble,” Luke said. He bent and picked up his hat, then slapped it against his leg to get some of the dust off. After he settled the hat on his head, he turned to the wagon and reached into the back to untie the knot in the rope holding the blanket around the body of the dead night rider. He pulled the blankets back to reveal the man's face.

“Do you recognize him, Sheriff?” Glory asked.

Whittaker stepped closer to the wagon and rested his hands on the side as he looked at the corpse. After a long moment he shook his head.

“I don't think I've ever seen this man before,” Whittaker said.

Luke addressed the crowd, asking, “What about the rest of you?”

Whittaker glared. He probably didn't like the way Luke had asked for help from the bystanders, many of whom crowded forward to take a better look at the dead man.

One man pointed at the corpse and said, “I think I've seen him around town before, but I ain't sure.”

“Same here,” another man chimed in. “I couldn't tell you his name, though, or even where I saw him. Probably in one of the saloons.”

From the back of the crowd, somebody called, “If you saw him, Riley, it was bound to have been in a saloon!”

The man called Riley, who had the red-veined face of a heavy drinker, turned sharply and demanded, “Dadgummit, who said that?” His only answer was laughter from some in the crowd.

Sheriff Whittaker said in an irritated voice, “All right, if nobody knows this man, you can all break it up and clear out. We're not having a camp meeting here. Go on about your business.”

As the crowd began to disperse with some reluctance, Glory said, “I'm going to leave my wagon here for now, Sheriff. You'll have Claude Lister come and get the body so he can take care of it?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Whittaker said in a surly tone. “What are you going to do in the meantime, Mrs. MacCrae?”

“Mr. Jensen and I are going to get some lunch,” Glory said. “Assuming that he's free to go.”

Whittaker nodded, made a curt gesture, and said, “Yeah, yeah, that's fine. Remember what I said, though, Jensen.”

“I intend to remember everything that's happened today, Sheriff,” Luke said.

Let Whittaker make of that whatever he wanted to.

“Hold on a minute.” Whittaker pointed at the corpse. “Nobody's told me how this hombre wound up dead.”

Glory said, “I most certainly did tell you. This man was with a group that attacked my ranch headquarters last night. They shot up the bunkhouse and my house and tried to throw torches in the house to burn it down.”

“Yeah, but who pulled the trigger on him?” Whittaker asked as his eyes narrowed.

Without hesitation, Glory answered, “I killed him.”

“You're mighty quick to admit that.”

“He was about to shoot Mr. Jensen, and I fired to save my guest's life. There's nothing underhanded about that, Sheriff.”

“There'll have to be an inquest into both of these killings,” Whittaker said. “You'll have to testify.”

“Let me know when and I'll be here,” Glory promised.

“All right, then,” the sheriff said with a reluctant shrug. “I guess you're free to go, both of you.”

As Luke and Glory turned away, Whittaker scooped Singletary's hat from the ground, dipped into a nearby water trough, and dashed the water into the deputy's face.

“Wake up, you blasted ox,” Whittaker said. Singletary came up from the ground sputtering and cursing.

The two lawmen stood there talking in swift, angry voices, but Luke couldn't make out the words anymore as he and Glory crossed the street toward the Elite Café. He could feel a hate-filled gaze burning into his back, though, and he knew he had made a dangerous enemy in Whitey Singletary.

Since it wasn't long past midday, the café was still busy, but a couple of tables with blue-and-white-checked tablecloths were empty and Luke and Glory sat down at one. She loosened the chin strap of her hat and took it off, setting it on the table. Luke put his hat on one of the empty chairs at the table.

He was aware that they were the subject of a lot of interested stares from the other diners as a buxom young woman in a calico dress and a white apron came over to the table and said, “Good afternoon, Mrs. MacCrae. What can I get for you and your friend?”

“Two specials, Hazel, and coffee.”