The Prairie Man, page 7
Temple hesitated, torn between not questioning his luck, or finding out what had happened. Then he winced. There was a dark stain on Emerson’s back spreading out around a gleaming knife. He hurried to Emerson’s side.
“Who?” he asked.
“I didn’t see him,” Emerson croaked. “He sneaked up on me, but we both know who it was.”
Emerson coughed and his breath came in short, shallow bursts. Temple turned him on to his side.
“Tell me,” he urged.
Emerson struggled to form the words, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He tried to say the phrase twice, but Temple got his meaning before he uttered the words aloud.
“The Prairie Man,” Emerson said.
His breathing slowed and he lay quietly. Temple didn’t wait for him to die. The sun was lighting up the room with what could be its last rays of the day, so he had no choice but to hurry outside.
There was no sign of the man who had killed Emerson, so he commandeered Emerson’s horse and within minutes he was galloping back to town. The low sun cast a long shadow to his side as he hurried on, willing the shadow to survive.
The bruises and cuts that had pained him all day no longer seemed important as he headed down to the creek and forded it. He passed Hank’s house confirming, as he had expected, that his own horse had gone, so Luther presumably had made good his escape.
He surprised himself by wishing him well. Luther had done a terrible thing and one day he would pay the price. If he were lucky, he would get a chance for redemption, as Temple had. This thought spurred him on, but despite his speed his shadow was dying when the town opened up to him, so he was relieved that the main drag wasn’t especially crowded tonight.
The hanging wasn’t to be a public affair, but he still expected a crowd to gather. As it was, only a small delegation stood outside the sheriff’s office. He was thankful that Kate was among them. She put a hand to her mouth in relief and then beckoned him on.
“You’ve been hurt,” she said as he drew up.
He dismounted in a hurry. Then he took hold of her elbows and shook her.
“There’s no time to explain. How long have we got?”
“We have possibly another half-hour, maybe more,” she said responding to his silent plea for urgency by speaking quickly. “Judge Canby is here. He’s talking with our lawyer. It sounded as if there was no hope, but maybe if you have something to tell them there might still be time.”
She raised her eyebrows, her earnest expression imploring him to offer her some assurance.
“I do. I hope it’s enough, but there’s no time to explain. I need your lawyer with me when I see Sheriff Simmons.”
“Understood,” she said.
She gripped his arms in relief and then turned to the door.
“Whatever happens please accept that this was the only way,” Temple said as he joined her.
She stopped, her eyes opening wide as she perhaps caught an inkling of what he might have to do, but he breezed past her to the door. Inside Simmons, the lawyer and Judge Canby stood around Simmons’s desk, their expressions and postures relaxed as they discussed what to them was business, although they became sterner on seeing who had entered.
“These interruptions aren’t helping anyone,” Simmons said.
“Temple has news,” Kate said, keeping back to let Temple approach them.
“That won’t change anything. Walt’s death was terrible, but it has no bearing on this case. The moment I can move on from this, I’ll search for Walt’s killer.”
“The death of one of the first batch of settlers could be connected to James Merritt’s murder,” Temple said. “There’s not many of you left now.”
Simmons winced before he turned to Canby for aid.
“I’m sorry about your situation, but in this Simmons is right,” Canby said using a softer tone than Simmons had managed. “Hank had his chance in open court, and for me to seek a postponement would require compelling new evidence.”
Temple nodded. “Emerson Merritt, another of the early settlers, reckons there’s a connection. The Prairie Man has returned.”
Simmons made an odd squeaking noise that must have been an unconscious reaction as he then coughed to cover his discomfiture while he sat on the edge of his desk.
“I’ve never heard of this man,” Canby said.
“Few have,” Simmons said, rubbing his chin while frowning. “He was a troublemaker here fifteen years ago. He left.”
“Troublemaker isn’t how I would describe the man who killed my parents,” Temple said.
Simmons frowned, looking for a moment as if he might seriously think about Temple’s idea, but to Temple’s irritation this revelation made Canby shake his head.
“I can see why you want to link these personal tragedies, but I must decline to consider this matter unless you can provide me with substantial proof.”
Temple took a deep breath. “I have it. Emerson Merritt has been killed.”
“That can’t be the Prairie Man’s fault,” Simmons said.
“I agree,” Canby said. “You’re listing worrying incidents that Simmons must investigate, but you haven’t provided a single link between this man whom nobody has seen for years and the murder we’re dealing with today. Speak now, or I will move on.”
Everyone turned to Temple, who considered the various scraps of evidence, half-truths and hints of events he’d gathered. In the moments left to him he couldn’t connect them to provide the proof that he was sure was within his grasp.
He waved his arms as he struggled to find something to say, but seeing no other option, he stilled. He returned to the thought that had been at the back of his mind ever since he had first heard that Hank was in jail, the thought that had always been his last desperate option if all else failed.
He would give his own worthless life to save Hank’s worthwhile one. He flashed what he hoped was a comforting smile at Kate and then faced Canby.
“Would a signed confession from the man who really killed James be enough to postpone this hanging?” he asked.
“It would,” Canby said, blowing out his cheeks in bemusement as he contemplated the unlikely possibility of this being delivered.
“In that case, I’ll oblige,” Temple said.
He walked around Simmons’s desk and picked up a sheet of paper.
“Who will be providing it?” Simmons asked as Temple searched for a pen.
“I will,” Temple said while sitting down. “I am the killer. I killed James Merritt and then I moved on to killing Walt Stone and Emerson Merritt. So hang me instead.”
Chapter Ten
“This is preposterous,” Simmons spluttered as Temple continued to ignore him and write out a short statement admitting to all the recent killings.
“Listen to Simmons,” Kate said, leaning over the desk toward him. “It’s a brave gesture, but it won’t work.”
Temple kept his head down and continued scribbling, forcing her to turn to the lawyer and demand that he talk sense into him, but when someone moved in to stop Temple, it was the judge. Canby planted a firm finger on the edge of the paper, but he didn’t drag it away: he merely let Temple know he could stop him if he chose to.
“As the circuit judge I will try any case presented to me,” he said. “A confession written in this manner and in these circumstances won’t sway me.”
“When a man says he did it, you have to listen.”
“I do, but I listen to what he’s really saying, and you’re saying you care for Hank so much you’re prepared to die in his place. Don’t waste his last minutes on this futile gesture. Go to him and make your peace.”
Temple resumed writing to avoid the judge’s searching gaze. Canby shook his head sadly and stood back to let Simmons deal with him. When Temple finished the closing sentence of his short statement he signed it and then pushed it across the desk toward Simmons.
“There’s no evidence you’ve done anything wrong,” Simmons said ignoring the paper.
“Ranger Harris saw me arguing with Emerson Merritt yesterday,” Temple said.
“More people saw Emerson arguing with Miles Shaw and Richard Cartwright after he’d had them beaten. They’ll be the first people I go looking for.”
Temple firmed his jaw, unwilling to accept this less mysterious explanation for what had happened to Emerson.
“Look at me first. I got worried that Emerson would work out that I killed Walt, so I killed him. I killed Walt to make you think that James’s killer was still at large.”
With Temple growing in assurance as he warmed to his bogus confession, Simmons narrowed his eyes, appearing to pay serious attention for the first time.
“This is becoming interesting,” he said. He set his hands on his hips. “But Hank isn’t being hanged for those crimes, and James died long before you arrived in town.”
“So you thought. I came here secretly and killed James, but I didn’t know Hank would find the body and get arrested for it.”
Simmons gave an exasperated sigh while Canby shrugged and then turned to Kate.
“Please stop now,” she said. “You’ve tried everything you possibly could. I’ll never forget that, but now it’s time to accept it’s over.”
“It’s not,” Temple said standing up and holding out his confession to Simmons. “I was there. I saw the blood-soaked body lying before the broken mirror. How would I know that if I didn’t do it?”
“You spoke to Hank. Then you broke into James’s house.” Simmons gave a thin smile. “Despite what the Rangers think, nothing passes me by.”
“Except for the one detail that Hank doesn’t know, but is known only to you and me,” Temple said as Canby moved to join Simmons in making for the jailhouse.
Simmons stopped. “Which is?”
“It’s the reason why the mirror was smashed. I fired bullets into it when I saw the Prairie Man, except he escaped.”
Simmons turned around, proving his gamble had been right. Hank hadn’t told anyone but him what he’d seen in the mirror, and yet the sheriff’s reaction showed that he, too, had seen someone else there that day.
“You are under arrest for the murder of James Merritt, Walt Stone and Emerson Merritt,” he said, his voice almost too low for Temple to catch the words, making Canby flinch.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
“I’m arresting Temple, so I suggest you postpone the final stage of Hank’s sentence until we’ve thought about this more.”
Canby bristled and beckoned for Simmons to join him in a corner of the room. The lawyer hurried on to join them, leaving Temple to turn to Kate, who had a mixture of shock and relief in her eyes.
“This won’t work and I don’t want it to,” she said.
“I would gladly die to save him. So don’t worry about me.” Temple offered a tentative smile and then raised a hand when she started to object. “But I haven’t lost my senses. I’ve earned Hank a postponement and that gives us time to work out what’s happening, and it has something to do with the Prairie Man and events here fifteen years ago. Speak to people from back then. Find out the truth.”
“We have the Rangers. Now that we have a start, my husband will get to the truth, and my lawyer will tie this up in so many knots even Judge Canby won’t be able to untie them all.”
Her voice broke twice during her declaration, proving that her positive thinking was more to cheer him than because she believed it, but Temple didn’t mind as long as she acted. Then there was nothing left to do other than to await the conclusion of Simmons’s and Canby’s deliberations.
“I’ll sleep on this,” Canby said wearily when he came over. “For now you’ll join Hank in the jailhouse. I hope you sleep well and are prepared to act more rationally in the morning or I’ll lock you in a cell until you rot for wasting my time.”
With that statement of intent Canby went outside, closely followed by the lawyer. Kate gave Temple a comforting smile.
“Until tomorrow,” she said with a sniffle before she hurried out.
Temple turned to Simmons, who shook his head and gestured for him to raise his hands. He frisked him and then moved him on to the door to the cells. Simmons maintained a pensive frown as he maneuvered him through the door and to a cell, choosing one that was two away from Hank’s.
A new occupant was in the cell between them, a snoring drunk. Temple could tell that Simmons had a lot on his mind, but he resisted the urge to press home his advantage and force him to admit that more was happening here than he had previously admitted.
He preferred to let the sheriff stew, to let him come to him. Silently Simmons pushed him into his cell and locked it. Then the sheriff stood with his head bowed on the other side of the bars.
Hank was pacing his cell, clearly wondering what was happening, but instead of assuring him Temple came up to the bars and faced Simmons, who slowly raised his head. His eyes were sad.
“I never wanted it to end like this,” he said, his voice low.
“What do you mean?” Temple prompted when he didn’t continue.
“Sentiment won’t sway Canby. He won’t believe you. Hank will still die, except it’ll be tomorrow rather than tonight.”
“He has to accept my statement.”
“Sadly for you he’ll accept some of it. All you’ve done is make yourself the main suspect for killing Walt and Emerson. You’ll follow Hank to the gallows all too soon.”
Simmons shook his head, sighed and walked toward the cell-block door. Defeated, Temple flopped down on to his cot.
“What have I done?” he said as the door slammed shut.
“What have you done?” Hank said from the end cell, emotion making his voice high-pitched.
Temple fought down his disappointment to manage a tense smile.
“I’ve earned you a reprieve. Canby is thinking some more overnight.”
Hank sighed with relief before he moved on to practical matters.
“Might he change his mind?”
Temple detailed the recent events, although he left out one crucial element. He explained that he’d been arrested on suspicion of being involved in Emerson’s and Walt’s deaths, not that he’d claimed he’d killed them. He left the details of the Prairie Man to the end.
“There must be something behind those stories, after all,” he said, finishing his tale.
Hank sat back on his cot, his expression more relaxed than Temple had expected after providing him with an honest assessment that his situation was still dire.
“Just knowing there probably is an answer is a relief,” he said. “All this time I thought I’d dreamed the sighting.”
“If you dreamed it, I did, too.”
“In which case we need to talk this through until we work out what’s going on,” Hank said, his cheerful mood dying. “Because if we can’t figure it out, nobody else can, and I’m doomed.”
“Don’t be downhearted. Kate and her lawyer will do everything they can.” Temple considered, searching for another angle that might provide hope. He brightened and then lowered his voice. “Don’t speak of this again, but someone might break us out of here.”
“You’re talking about a jailbreak?” Hank spluttered.
Temple put a finger to his lips as Hank’s outburst encouraged the drunk to let out a prolonged snore and then stir and try to throw off his blanket.
“Yes,” he said. “When things were looking desperate, I got someone’s help to break you out. I don’t know where he is now, but I hope he’s still working on that escape plan.”
“Then I can put your mind at rest,” the drunk said slurring the words. He sat up on his cot and turned to Temple. “I am still working on the plan to free him.”
Then, with a hiccup and a groan, Luther Duval rubbed his brow and flopped back on his cot.
Chapter Eleven
When Temple awoke first light was illuminating the bars in the door to the law office. He and Hank had talked long into the night, but they hadn’t been able to make any sense of events.
They had tried to use Luther as a sounding board for their discussions, but a sore head and a greater concern for his own future had made him uncooperative. They did learn that he had come into town to find a way to break Hank out of jail, but the lure of his first drink in weeks had been too strong.
As usual, he hadn’t been able to stay out of trouble and now he reckoned it was only a matter of time before Simmons connected him to his past. Temple reckoned Simmons was also the key to his and Hank’s troubles, and he hoped the sheriff hadn’t spent his time on checking out Luther and instead had investigated Walt’s and Emerson’s deaths.
“Are you awake?” Temple asked, turning to the darkened corner of the room.
“Sleep didn’t come,” Hank said. He snorted a harsh laugh. “The only thing worse than knowing you’ll die when you next wake up is going through the experience twice.”
Temple tried to think of something to say that would cheer him, but his mind remained blank, so while the room brightened he sat with his back to the bars. Presently he heard movement outside as the day got underway and later someone started shuffling around in the sheriff’s office.
Even if Simmons had found something, Temple didn’t expect that he would burst in with the news, so he waited quietly. He’d been awake for an hour when Deputy Haynes came in to feed them.
Hank left his plate on the floor while Luther wasted no time in tucking into his food. Temple took the plate but he also caught Haynes’s eye.
“Is Simmons here?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Haynes said. “He’s probably investigating what happened to Emerson.”
Haynes turned to go, but Temple halted him with a quick question.
“What does he think happened to him?”
Haynes didn’t turn around immediately, being clearly reluctant to answer. Then he gave a small shrug as if he’d come to a decision.
“He doesn’t believe you killed him, if that’s what you’re asking.” Haynes turned, his raised eyebrows inviting him to ask for more details, and then continued anyhow. “The reason being that Emerson survived, but he could be telling Simmons some interesting things.”
