Murder in Dogleg City Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Would
you at least speak to Quint, and have him ease off just a
bit?”
    Sam nodded as he escorted Dab to the
door. Once the mayor was out of sight, the marshal limped back to
his desk and sat down again.
    * * *
    After Quint left the Lucky Break, he
figured it was time to talk to Asa Pepper. Quint got along well
with Asa, despite Sam’s attitude and rough treatment of the man.
Quint had chosen a more genial approach to Asa after Sam’s rude
introduction. He had returned to the saloon shortly afterward and
engaged Asa in a long conversation, resulting in the two shaking
hands and vowing to get along together fairly.
    One evening, two weeks after the
deputy had first met the black saloonkeeper, while on a routine
patrol, Quint walked into the saloon to see a drunken black cowboy
waving an eight-inch knife in Asa’s face. The cowboy had Asa backed
up to a wall, and said, “I’ll cut your guts out!” Quint didn’t
waste any time—he rushed close and whacked the cowboy over the head
with the butt of his pistol, then dragged him off to jail. Since
that incident, Quint and Asa’s relationship had grown into a
respectful alliance between the two men. Quint visited Asa daily
and the two would talk about the troubles of the night before—and
occasionally of fishing, which both men held an affinity
for.
    Inside the dank interior of Asa’s, two
cowboys sat at a table and a tall swarthy Mexican vaquero with a
drooping mustache was standing at the far end of the bar talking to
a skinny woman dressed in a flimsy red dress. The vaquero was
wearing a long barreled six-gun, the nose of the holster strapped
to his leg. When he saw the badge on Quint’s shirt, he moved his
hand close to the butt of his six-gun and offered a stern faced,
squinty-eyed stare. Quint was used to such behavior by the patrons
of Dogleg City. A good many were on the dodge. Quint paid the man
no mind, and walked up to face Asa Pepper.
    “ Mornin’, deputy,” Asa
offered.
    Quint spent the next few minutes
telling Asa about the body behind the saloon, giving the dead man’s
description.
    “ Was there a ruckus in
here last night, Asa?”
    “ They’s a ruckus in here
most every night, Quint, you know that,” Asa said.
    “ Do you remember if the
man I described was in here?”
    “ Yeah, I remember the
pock-faced man. He’s been in two nights in a row. Comes in late,
has a beer or so, then leaves. I don’t know where he come from or
where he goes.”
    “ Was there anything
unusual about him?” Quint asked.
    “ Jes’ his mouth. He say
he’d like to put me on the right track. Send more business my way.
I think he works for Ira Breedlove.”
    “ Why do you say
that?”
    “ Ira loaned me some money,
a while back, when the saloon was having a tough time. Sometimes
I’ve been a little late making my payments. When this fella comes
in, all he talks about is paying a little money. So I figure he’s
working for Breedlove.”
    “ Did he ever say so?”
Quint asked.
    “ No, he kept saying a
little now will get me a lot later. I ain’t sorry that the man is
gone, but I don’t know anything about who went and shot
him.”
    When Quint walked into the marshal’s
office at five minutes to noon, Sam Gardner was seated at his desk.
“What did you get for me, Quint?”
    Quint started talking before he sat
down.
    “ The man’s name is Laird
Jenkins, according to the Imperial’s register. I don’t believe he
was just a drifter—there were no saddle bags and no horse at the
livery. According to Clay Willard the stationmaster, the said
Jenkins came in on the westbound train three days ago from St.
Louis. I looked through his room at the Imperial—I found only a
change of work clothes, and a set of fancier traveling clothes in a
carpetbag. He must have been planning on staying a while, because I
didn’t locate a return ticket or any kind of papers. He spent his
afternoons gambling at the Eldorado, then evenings at The Lucky
Break, and lastly Asa’s. I