Escape from Five Shadows - Leonard Elmore John - Страница 16

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“Because I asked him to!”

“He can’t-”

“Be quiet and listen!” She spoke rapidly then, her voice a soft, hoarse whisper. “Think back and don’t waste words when I ask you a question. Mr. Martz says there’s little mention of the bill of sale in the court records. Was it shown as evidence?”

“It was shown for a minute.”

“Did Manring admit forging Mr. McLaughlin’s signature?”

“That didn’t come up.”

“But it was a copy of McLaughlin’s style of writing.”

“I think so.”

“Then why didn’t they try to find out who filled out and signed the bill of sale?”

“The judge assumed it was Manring.”

“How would Manring know how McLaughlin wrote?”

“McLaughlin claimed Earl worked for him three years before.”

“And he’d remember McLaughlin’s script?”

Bowen hesitated. “Wait a minute. You’re assuming Earl forged the receipt…that he stole the cattle!”

“Mr. Martz is assuming it. He knows McLaughlin well, a man with a good reputation. He’s never done anything like this in his life. He’s never had to. With the land he has, taking a few hundred dollars from Manring wouldn’t be worth the bother.”

“If Earl forged the receipt, I don’t know how he did it.”

“Neither does Mr. Martz. That’s the first thing he has to find out. Next…was the bill of sale made out on plain paper?”

“No, it had McLaughlin’s letterhead on it.”

“His regular stock-sale receipt?”

“That’s what it looked like.”

“Where did Manring get it?”

“All I know is what he told me. McLaughlin gave it to him.”

“Which isn’t true.”

“Your lawyer friend’s doing a lot of assuming.”

“It’s his business. This isn’t something new to him.”

“He’s sure about McLaughlin?”

“Of course he’s sure! He’s lived in Prescott for twenty years and has known Mr. McLaughlin longer than that.” Karla pulled a bundle of letters from the saddlebag and pushed it at Bowen. “Manring couldn’t have known enough about McLaughlin’s handwriting to copy the signature himself. He wasn’t in a position to pick up a blank bill of sale form. So…who did?”

“Maybe I’d better ask Earl.”

Karla shook her head. “Don’t do anything until I hear from Mr. Martz again.”

“There’s not a lot I can do.”

“Talking to Manring could lead to a fight.”

“That might be all right.”

“That would be fine. You’d end up out of reach in the punishment cell. What if Mr. Martz wanted information from you?”

“All right.”

“Don’t do anything!” Karla turned from him. She picked up her reins, mounted and rode into the trees without looking back.

Pryde, sitting next to the Mexican at the edge of the pool, watched Bowen come back toward them. He saw him hand the bundle of letters to Salvaje who took them but said nothing.

“Corey, you know that girl very long?”

Bowen looked down at Pryde. “I guess long enough.”

The Mexican shook his head, grinning. “Too bad we couldn’t hear.”

When they returned with the team horses, Bowen watched Salvaje ride over to Renda and hand him the mail. They spoke for less than a minute and, watching Salvaje ride off, Bowen was sure he had not told Renda about it. They had not talked long enough.

His spirits rose. He ate his jerky and pan bread, drank the lukewarm coffee and thought about Karla Demery: picturing her, going over and over again in his mind what she had said; then projecting from there: seeing her again, this time telling him the lawyer had found something, something, whatever it was, that proved his innocence; then later, on an evening, Karla and the lawyer-Martz?-riding into the convict camp, the lawyer handing Renda a signed release and Renda standing, taking it, reading it with his mouth open.

Hit him then, Bowen thought.

No, you can’t have everything.

And don’t count on it, he thought then. What is the something the lawyer finds? The odds are against your getting out of here. Even with an A-1 Prescott Hatch & Hodges lawyer…and Karla Demery.

But even as he told himself this, his hopes were up and he went back to work almost eagerly-and with something of a feeling that he should be working harder since Karla and the lawyer were doing so much to get him out.

Pryde said nothing more to him about the girl. But after they had pulled out the first pinyon stump and the Mexican was dragging it off to the fire, Chick Miller said, “I hear you got a sweetheart.” He looked at Bowen slyly, one eye almost closed beneath the cocked brim of his straw hat.

“Is that what you hear, Chick?”

“From a little bird,” Chick said, grinning.

“From a little Mex bird,” Pryde said.

Chick looked at him as if surprised. “What, it’s supposed to be a secret? You can’t stand talking close to a girl in broad daylight and expect it to be a secret.”

“She was giving me the mail,” Bowen said.

“To you, not to the Indian.”

“Maybe she’s the kind,” Pryde said, “who figures you can’t trust a ’Pache.”

“Sure,” Chick nodded, grinning again. “Corey, you must’ve known her before.”

“She was giving me the mail,” Bowen said again.

Chick winked at him. “I’d let her give me the mail anytime.”

“Be careful now.”

“I didn’t mean any offense.”

They moved on to the next stump and when the Mexican returned Pryde said, “You talk a hell of a lot.”

“Me?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I told that the girl spoke to Bowen,” the Mexican said. “What about it?”

“He didn’t tell me what was said.” Chick shook his head. “Not one word.”

“Because I didn’t hear,” the Mexican said. “I didn’t hear anything they were saying.”

“Let’s drop it there,” Bowen said. He looked from Pryde to Chick to the Mexican. “All right?”

“Well,” Chick said, “if it’s something you’re ashamed of. Though she doesn’t look like a girl you’d be ashamed to be seen talking to.”

Over Chick’s shoulder, Pryde saw Brazil coming toward them. He had left his horse close to the canyon wall, although there was no shade there now with the sun directly overhead, and was walking toward them, carrying the Winchester under his arm.

“You better shut your mouth,” Pryde told Chick.

Chick turned on him unexpectedly. “Who in hell you think you are? You’re no better than anybody else! You think-”

“You better shut up.” Pryde saw Brazil coming up behind Chick.

“Why, because you say so?” Chick placed his hands on his hips defiantly. “I don’t have to take anything from you or anybody like you! It’s enough to have to stomach Renda and Brazil telling you what to do!” Chick paused. “One more year and I’m out of here and they’re going to pay. Sure as there’s a God upstairs they’re going to pay for every last dirty thing they’ve done to me.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Chick did not move. Pryde saw the shocked surprise, then fear come over his face-his eyes wide and his mouth open as if to cry out. Then, with an effort, with a lip-biting jaw-tensed effort, his expression slowly changed and his face was almost relaxed as he turned to Brazil.

“What’re you going to do to me?”

“What do you think?” Brazil asked mildly.

“I don’t want to get hit.”

“I’ll bet you don’t.”

“Listen”-Chick swallowed and the fear was in his eyes again-“I was just talking. You know how you get mad and say funny things-”

“I didn’t think it was funny.”

“Not funny. You know, you say things you don’t mean.”

“The first thing that comes into your mind.”

“That’s right. No! Wild, crazy things that you don’t mean, but just so you’ll be saying something.”

“Like making me pay.”

Chick tried to smile. “That’s right. How could I make you pay? See what I mean, that’s just crazy talk that came in my head.”

Brazil raised the Winchester, holding it across his chest. “And you don’t think I ought to hit you?”

Chick swallowed again. He started to back away. “Beating me wouldn’t solve anything.”

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