Go-Ahead Rider Read online

  “Some kind of a message. Like a suicide note almost. I’d say we’re supposed to read it that he took that money off Mix Hail’s body and then got remorseful over the whole thing.”

  “Yeah,” said Rider. “What else?”

  “Well, the jug and the shoe were pointers, a kind of a trail that began with the Remington left by Mix Hail’s body.”

  Rider waited. George took a deep breath and then stepped up close to the body. He walked around it, looking closely.

  “No straw,” he said. “Jesse Halfbreed did not move Mix Hail’s body, and that probably means that he didn’t kill him either. This whole thing’s a setup.”

  Rider got himself back on his feet and reached into a pocket for his penknife.

  “Let’s cut him down, George,” he said. “We got a lot of work to do.”

  Rider and Tanner found Omer Lyons in the lobby of the Capital Hotel, and Rider walked straight to where Lyons was sitting in one of the overstuffed lounge chairs, reading the latest copy of The Cherokee Advocate, probably, Rider thought, trying to figure out how Cherokee public opinion was going on the railroad issue. When the two lawmen walked in, Riley sidled back behind his counter and hunkered there.

  “Hello, Lyons,” said Rider.

  Lyons looked up from behind his paper.

  “This here’s my deputy, George Tanner.”

  Lyons shot a sidelong glance toward Tanner. He still didn’t speak.

  “I’ll get right to it, Lyons,” said Rider. “I guess you’ve heard that Mix Hail has been murdered.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Lyons.

  “It’s not too bad for your purposes, though, is it?”

  Lyons put down his newspaper and stood up, immediately defensive. He was a man probably not yet forty, tall and straight with a receding hairline, dressed in an expensive, though conservative, gray business suit. Tanner thought, this man’s a citizen? By marriage or by blood? If by blood, he couldn’t be more than one-thirty-second Indian.

  “No,” said Lyons, “it’s not. Just good luck, I guess. I hope you’re not implying anything further by that observation.”

  “I’m just investigating a murder, Mr. Lyons,” said Rider. “So far you’re the only person I know of, you and your railroad associates, who had anything to gain from Mix Hail’s death. I ain’t accusing you of anything—yet. Just making a—what did you call it?—a observation. By the way, can you account for your whereabouts yesterday evening from about, say, four o’clock?”

  “Yes, I can,” said Lyons, “and I will if I have to.”

  “You might,” said Rider. “We’ll be watching you.” He turned to leave the hotel, George following close behind. Out in the street, George hurried up beside Rider.

  “What was that all about?” he said.

  “I just want him nervous,” said Rider. “That’s all.”

  “You think he did it?”

  “I don’t know, George. Like I said, he’s the only one I know of just now with a reason for it.”

  “What about Mix Hail’s—lady?” said George.

  “That would give his wife a motive, if she knew about it. We don’t know that she did.”

  Rider sent George to round up the three deputies he had detailed that morning on special assignment and told him to bring them to the office for a special meeting. He would be there soon, he said. He stopped on his way to report to Chief Ross, and he found the chief still worried about the vote on the railroad issue.

  “I can’t put it off after today, Rider,” the chief said. “The Council will bring it to a vote tomorrow, I’m sure, and I’m afraid of the outcome.”

  From the chief’s office, Rider went to find Deputy U.S. Marshal Elwood Lovely.

  “Unless we know there’s a white man involved, I can’t touch it,” said Lovely. “You know that. But I am curious, and with your permission, I’d like to sit in on your little meeting.”

  “Come on,” said Rider.

  At Rider’s office they found George and the three special deputies waiting. George had the coffee made, and he poured it all the way around. Everyone found himself a chair, Rider pulling his two Colts out of his waistband before sitting down behind his desk. He laid the Colts on the desktop in front of him, then he introduced George Tanner to Elwood Lovely. The special deputies already knew the deputy marshal.

  “Here’s what we’ve got,” he said. “Day before yesterday the Council meeting broke up around four-thirty. Mix Hail was seen walking from the capitol building toward the livery barn. The last person to see him on Muskogee Avenue, so far as we know, was Al Kirk. He never made it to the livery, if that’s where he was headed. The next morning, yesterday morning, he never showed up for the meeting. He was reported to us as missing. We found out that he’d been staying in Tahlequah at the home of Josie Wicket. Last night some folks found his body out on the road to Fourteen Mile Creek. He’d been shot once in the chest at close range. There was no money on him, and there was pieces of straw stuck to his clothes and his hair. No straw anywhere near where the body was found. We think he was killed somewhere else and moved out there. Jesse Halfbreed’s old Remington six-shooter was found in the road by the body. It had been fired.

  “Me and George went to see Jesse, and we found him hanging from a tree limb out in the woods behind his house. It seemed like there was a kind of trail leading us to him from the house, a jug and a shoe. There was cash money at the foot of the tree. That’s it. Unless you boys found out anything today.”

  “We’ve already talked that out while we were waiting for you, Rider,” said George. “There’s nothing new. Nobody else seems to have seen Mix Hail. The boys checked every house and every place of business along the way—uh, except for one.”

  “What one?”

  “Miss Hunt lives on the side street there going east. She wasn’t home.”

  Rider stood up, picked up his coffee cup, and walked to the stove to refill the cup. He turned back toward the others in the room and took a sip from the hot coffee.

  “She’s probably home by now,” he said. “Why don’t you run on over there and have a talk with her?”

  George looked self-consciously around the room. No one seemed to be responding to Rider’s suggestion. He pointed foolishly at his own chest with a thumb.

  “Me?” he said.

  “She’s a schoolteacher. You’re a Harvard man. You’re the only one around here with enough education to talk to her. Go on.”

  George stood for a moment, looking stupid, he thought, and awaiting further discussion. No one said anything. He looked at the floor, then he glanced back up at Rider.

  “You mean now?” he said.

  “You got any reason to put it off?” asked Rider.

  “Well, uh, no, sir,” said George. “Well, I guess I’ll just take a run over there and ask her some questions. I shouldn’t be long.”

  “Take your time, George,” said Rider. “We’ll probably break up here in a minute or two anyhow. We can talk later about what you find out.”

  Chapter Six

  George thought about saddling a horse from the sheriff’s barn to ride over to Lee Hunt’s house, but he decided not to bother. He walked. It wasn’t far, and besides that, he wanted the time to think about how he would approach her. He was being silly, he knew. He was on official business. He was not going on a social call. He knew what questions needed to be asked, so there was really no reason to worry about what he would say, how he would present himself to Miss Hunt. He would present himself as Go-Ahead Rider’s deputy, explain the purpose of the visit, and ask the questions that needed to be answered. Then he would thank her for her cooperation and take his leave.

  But would that make him seem to her to be cold and indifferent? He certainly did not want to leave her with that impression. He wanted badly to get better acquainted with her. He wanted an excuse to call on her, and Rider had given him one. Must he be all business on this occasion?

  He had not managed to resolve these question
s by the time he had reached her house, and he stepped up to her door nervously. He lifted his fist, hesitated, then knocked. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He turned his head and looked off down the street in the direction from which he had come, then looked back at the door. He raised his hand to knock again, and while it hovered there almost beside his head, the door was opened. Miss Hunt’s expression betrayed pleasant surprise.

  “Why, Mr. Tanner,” she said.

  “I’m sorry to just drop in on you like this unannounced,” said George. “It’s, uh, it’s official business.”

  “It’s perfectly all right, Mr. Tanner. Please come in.”

  Lee Hunt stepped aside to allow George room to walk through the doorway. After he was inside, she shut the door behind him and motioned to a chair.

  “Please sit down,” she said.

  George moved to the chair a bit awkwardly, then sat.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Oh, no, thank you. Don’t go to any trouble. I won’t take much of your time.”

  “I just made myself a pot of tea,” she said. “It’s no trouble at all.”

  “Well, then, yes. Thank you.”

  Lee Hunt moved to get the teacups and fill them. As she brought George a cup, she spoke again.

  “What possible official business could the sheriff’s office have with me?”

  “We’re trying to trace the movements of Mix Hail when he was last seen,” said George. “The day he disappeared, he was seen down on the avenue, but not beyond where it intersects with your street. As far as we’ve been able to determine, no one except his killer saw him after that. We’ve talked to all your neighbors, and none of them saw him either. You’re the last one on this street. I have to ask you if you saw Mr. Hail out here on the street at any time that day.”

  “What day was that, Mr. Tanner? I don’t know—I mean, I didn’t know Mr. Hail. I knew his name, of course. He was a councilman, but as far as I know, I never saw him.”

  “Well, it, uh, it would have been the day before yesterday, Miss Hunt, in the late afternoon or early evening.”

  “I did see something out there that was unusual that day. I don’t know if it was Mr. Hail or not. I heard the sound of a horse and buggy out in the street, and I looked out the window. The buggy stopped just down the hill, almost in front of the next house, my neighbors’, the Thompsons’ house. Mr. Riley stepped out of the buggy and walked back down toward Muskogee Avenue. I suppose it was none of my business, but I kept watching, because it seemed curious to me that he would drive up here, then walk back down the hill. The Thompsons were not at home. I already knew that.”

  “You said Mr. Riley. Would that be—”

  “Bean, I believe is his first name. Mr. Bean Riley. The owner of the Capital Hotel.”

  “Thank you,” said George. “Did you see him come back to the buggy?”

  “He came back in a few minutes with another man. They seemed to be in a heated discussion over something. I couldn’t hear anything they said. Then they both got into the buggy and drove off.”

  “Which direction did they go?”

  “West.”

  “So they didn’t go back down to the avenue.”

  “No.”

  George tipped up his teacup and emptied it.

  “Would you like some more?” asked Lee.

  “Well, uh, yes, please.”

  Lee stood up and got the teapot. She refilled George’s cup, then her own, put the teapot back on the table, then sat back down.

  “Can you describe the man who got into the buggy with Mr. Riley?” said George.

  “Not very well, I’m afraid,” said Lee. “He was, I would say, middle-aged. He was well dressed, wearing a suit. I think it was a black suit. He was a bit portly, I’d say. Not fat. Portly. He had a beard. Not long, but full. And—he was wearing a hat.”

  “What kind of a hat?”

  “Well, it was a wide-brimmed hat. No, not really wide. Medium, I guess, and flat, and it had a short, round crown. It was light colored. Not white. Tan or beige, I guess. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific, but, of course, I had no idea that I’d ever be asked to describe the man, and I did feel just a bit nosy for even watching as much as I did.”

  “I’m glad you did, Miss Hunt,” said George, “and I think that your description was very good. In fact, I think you’ve just described Mix Hail. The only thing is, I’ve not seen the hat.”

  George was suddenly nervous again. He realized all at once that he had no more official questions for Lee Hunt, and that meant that his excuse for remaining in her company was gone. He had a little more tea in his cup. He looked down at it, then he lifted the cup and drank the tea. He stood nervously and looked for a place to put the cup. Lee stood up and took it from him.

  “Well,” he said, “I guess that’s it. Thank you very much. You’ve been a big help, I think. I, uh, I guess I’d better be going.”

  He stepped to the door, and as he grasped the handle to open it, Lee spoke again.

  “Mr. Tanner?”

  He turned his head too quickly to face her, too anxiously, he thought.

  “Yes?”

  “Please come back when you have more time—just for a visit.”

  Her face turned just a bit red, and George could see that she had embarrassed herself by being too forward. He was ashamed of himself. He should have made that move, not forced her to do it. He felt his own face flush, and he looked down at the floor.

  “I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

  “Good night, Mr. Tanner.”

  “Good night, Miss Hunt.”

  Outside George took deep breaths of fresh night air, and he walked back to the office in long, quick strides. He felt a tremendous sense of relief. In her house he had felt nervous, anxious, ill at ease. Outside he felt as if he had been released from a cage. Yet he was sorry to have left her company. The next visit, he told himself, would be better. The next time he would know that he was welcome. She had actually asked him to return. He would handle himself better the next time. He would be more relaxed.

  He was back at the office almost before he knew it, and he found it dark. Rider had said that they would be gone before he got back. He tried the door anyway, and it was locked. He started walking toward Rider’s house.

  Rider was sitting alone in the dog run smoking his pipe when George came up to the house. It was dark already, and Rider heard the footsteps before he could see the form that came with them.

  “That you, George?”

  “Yeah.”

  George moved on into the dog run and found the other chair. He sat down.

  “Kids in bed already?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I’m just having another smoke before I turn in. Coffee’s still hot. You want some?”

  “Yeah,” said George. “Thanks. I can get it.”

  “No. You just set there.”

  Rider went into the house and soon reemerged with two cups of coffee. He handed one to George and sat back down.

  “How was your visit?” he said.

  “What?”

  “You did go see Miss Hunt, didn’t you?”

  “Oh,” said George. “Yeah. It was real nice. She’s, uh, she’s a real nice lady, Miss Hunt. She has a nice little house over there. Real nice. She gave me some tea.”

  Rider puffed his pipe, then removed it from his mouth and took a sip of hot coffee.

  “That sounds nice,” he said.

  “Yeah,” said George. “It was. It was real nice. She invited me back, too.”

  “Good,” said Rider. “I’m glad to hear that your social life is picking up.”

  “Yeah,” said George, and he gave a short, nervous laugh. “I guess it is. I, uh, I guess I ought to thank you for sending me over there tonight. I might not ever have gotten around to it on my own. I’m glad you sent me. Thanks, Rider.”

  “Yeah, I did send you
over there, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah.”

  “George?”

  “Yeah?”

  Rider puffed at his pipe, but the fire had gone out. He tapped it on the side of his chair to knock out the dead ashes.

  “George,” he said, “what did I send you over there for?”

  “Oh,” said George, suddenly glad of the darkness, for he felt his face flush hot. “Oh, yeah. Well. She saw him, Rider. I mean, she said she never knew Mix Hail, but from her description, I feel pretty sure that she saw him. Bean Riley drove a buggy up there and stopped it just below her house. In front of her neighbor’s place. Then Bean walked back down to Muskogee Avenue, and pretty soon he came back up to the buggy with another man. She described the other man, and I think it was Mix Hail. Both men got into the buggy and drove off west.”

  “Bean Riley, huh?”

  “Yes, sir. Bean Riley.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Rider, “that Lyons has got ole Bean on the railroad lobby’s payroll.”

  “You seem pretty sure that the railroad’s behind all this,” said George.

  “It’s the only thing that makes any sense, George. The only thing.”

  “Rider?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This might not be important. I don’t know. But Mix Hail—if that’s who Miss Hunt saw get into the buggy—Mix Hail was wearing a hat. We never found a hat.”

  “She describe the hat to you?”?

  “Light colored. Tan or beige, she said. Medium width, flat brim, and a low, round crown.”

  “That’s Mix’s hat. Sounds like.”

  George took a sip of his coffee. It was still hot, almost too hot to drink. He put the cup down on the table, stood up, and paced away from Rider, toward the street. He rested his right hand on the butt of the Starr revolver hanging at his side and stared off into the darkness beyond.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked. “We going to arrest Mr. Riley?”

  “What’s the charge, George?” asked Rider.

  “Well, suspicion of murder, I guess.”

  Rider finished his coffee and put the cup down. Then he pulled a tobacco pouch out of his vest pocket and started to refill his pipe.