15 Western Short Stories — page 29: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE GIRL IN THE JAIL new moon that brought a modicum of misty bluish light to the earth. Bess could hear the voices of men, and guessed the town’s saloon was crowd- ed with those talking about her, and that the tongues of the women in the small town’s few habitations were busy with her name and that of her Uncle Mart. | | She heard sorneone in the office. The door opened, and the sheriff came in, carrying a lantern which he fixed in a bracket outside the cell door. He went back to the office without speak- ing to her, and brought a tray bearing her supper. “Eat first, then we'll talk,” he said. He took away the old tray, not trou- bling to lock the cell door. Bess ate, then sat on the side of the cot and waited. Sheriff Lucas was back within a reasonable time. He sat on the chair in the cell, opposite her. “Now,” he said. “There seems to be a crowd up at the saloon,” she remarked. “Is Clyde Roskin there?” “He was a short time ago when I went to the store. Why?” | “Was his younger brother, there?” “Don’t remember seein’ him. Since Clyde was with the posse, Steve was prob’ly out at their ranch ’tendin’ to the chores. Why?” She evaded his question. Instead, she asked, “Have you a couple of dep- utiles you can trust?” “ve sworn in a couple of men I can trust. They’re town men, not range men. They don’t take sides.” Steve, “Go out and get them,” Bess said. “Have one hang around in front of the jail, and the other at the back, while we talk. I don’t want to be over- heard. I don’t want anybody to think I've told you already. I want them to think they'll have to kill me sometime tonight, to stop my mouth.” “Pll do it, Bess. I’ll take away the tray and pretend to lock the jail, then slip back when there’s nobody lookin’. Maybe I'd better put out that lan- tern.” “That might make them suspicious,” she pointed out. “Only a little light comes into this cell. I'll keep in the dark by the wall. If anyone tries to shoot me, they won’t do it until late 29 tonight, after most of the men in the saloon have gone home.” (keg SHERIFF left, and she sat in the dark corner listening to sounds, scarcely moving. In time, the sheriff came in again. “My men are watchin’,” he reported. “Nobody can slip up and overhear us while we talk. You can begin now.” “T’ll tell about Frank first,” she said. Her voice was low, almost a mono- tone, as she made her recital. Frank Hepler had ridden up to the ranch house one afternoon about four months before. He wasn’t an indepen- dent cattle buyer, as he told folks in town, loafing between seasons and looking over new territory. That was just his blind. He was a prospector looking for gold. “More than that, Sheriff Lucas, he was an educated man, not just an or- dinary pick and pan prospector. He knew all about rocks and minerals. Called himself a gee...something or other.” ; “Geologist?” “That’s it. And a—a mineralogist, too. I remember that word. He had been looking for a lode. And he had found it, on our ranch.” “What?” The | sheriff straight. “That’s one thing you mustn’t tell. Uncle Mart won’t want it known yet.” She explained how Frank Hepler had told her uncle, and how they had made a deal. They were to keep it quiet until everything was ready. Hepler had plenty of money, and it was his money her uncle used to buy supplies in town. Those trips her uncle had made to the countyseat...they were for the purpose of making sure his title to a sat up the ranch was perfect, and that the mineral rights on the land were se- cure. And he took samples of ore Frank Hepler got on the hill behind the ranch buildings, and had them assayed. Everything had been going well. Before Hepler had come to the district, Steve Roskin had been pes- tering her, she explained. He -made excuses to come to the ranch when her uncle was awav from the house. After JOO CONMIG S CO