CHAPTER IX
AN INQUEST AND A SURPRISE
I was looking toward Thomas at the moment. His face blanched, but hishand sped to his breast, where a gun was secreted in a holster sewed tothe inside of his shirt bosom. Before he could draw, Walton pulled onhim once. This much I saw and then dived under the table. There cameanother shot. Bud stood a second or two, with a sort of wondering,puzzled look in his eyes. He swayed and sank gently to the floor, almostwithin touch of his enemy.
Jeff lurched to his feet and leaned over the fallen man. He fired twicein quick succession, but his hand shook so that the bullets toresplinters in the boarding at either side of Walton. Then he desisted andstood waiting, the six-shooter hanging limply from his fingers.
"There," he said, as the sheriff ran in. "You see, I've done it. I'vekilled the bastard."
The sheriff knelt beside Bud and turned him over. Walton was shotthrough the forehead and must have been dead before he hit the floor.
"Hem," said the sheriff. He got up and requested the surrender ofJeff's gun, which was given up without question. Johnson inspected itwith care.
"You fired three, hey, Jeff?"
"Three," answered the other, his gaze fixed on the body.
The sheriff was scrutinizing the six-shooter and its empty chambers. Hescratched his head. Thomas turned to the bar. His nostrils werestraining and there was an unnatural distension of the eye-balls.
"Gimme a drink," he said.
Daniel Boone emerged from the corner where he had thrown himself flat,and the Fashion filled with men. They grouped in a semi-circle about thecorpse and regarded it soberly.
"You're under arrest, Jeff," said the sheriff.
"Sure."
"Gentlemen, I'll have to ask you-all to leave. Clear the bar, gentlemen,please. The inquest'll be to-morrow morning over in Bob Turner's place.Step lively, gentlemen. I've got a pile of things to do."
I was shoved from the saloon with the others and went only toowillingly. Shortly afterwards three men bore the remains of Walton outof the Fashion and laid them in an empty room above Turner's store. Theproprietor was justice of the peace and would sit as coroner.
Badger filled the court-room on the morrow. The crowd overflowed intothe street, and there was much jostling and frantic efforts at peeringover the heads of neighbors; also, requests to witnesses to speaklouder, that all might hear. Follows a rough transcript of the evidencepresented.
Bartender.--It was ten o'clock. There was nobody in the bar except DanBoone--he was playing solitaire in the far corner--and Jeff Thomas, anda fat party unknown to him. The fat party had come in with the sheriffand sat over against the window. Jeff was alone and was monkeying withhis fingers on the table--sort of playing tunes. He, the bartender, wasreading a letter from a lady who lived in Silver City--a right nice,respectable lady--when Bud came in on the jump. He yelled something atJeff and they took to shooting. That's all he saw, because he hid behindthe beer-keg immediately. Yes, he had heard shots. Four, he thought, buthe could not be sure. The bartender rubbed his bald spot and added thatthere seemed to be five, but he would not swear to that--they came sofast.
Daniel Boone.--He had seen nothing at all, but had heard shots. No, hecould not say how many. Then, when the sheriff came back, he saw BudWalton lying dead and Jeff standing over him, a little to one side.
Myself.--A boy had summoned the sheriff to the express office while heand I were seated in the Fashion, playing dominoes. Soon afterwards aman entered quickly--yes, it was the man whose body lay upstairs--andyelled at Thomas that he had got him now. Thomas was alone at a tablein the center of the room. He was strumming with his fingers on thetable. The visitor fired first; then there was another shot, and hedropped to the floor. After he fell, Thomas shot twice. He missed himboth times.
Tommy Turner.--Bud Walton had sent him with a message to the sheriff inthe Fashion. The message was that Lafe was wanted at the express officeright away.
Thereupon the coroner requested the survivor for his version of thefight.
Jeff Thomas.--He was waiting in the Fashion for one of the Lazy L boysto come along. They had a horse trade on. Bud Walton appeared at thedoor. He pulled a gun on him. Bud got the first shot in--he was positiveof that. He fired once and Walton went down. Not being certain Bud wasreally done for, he pulled a couple of times more, but thought he hadmissed.
Yes, they had long been enemies. Walton was always abusing him behindhis back. He had made threats. Some of his friends had strung up TomRooker, too. Tom wouldn't never harm a fly in his life. Only the daybefore, Bud had told some men Jeff knew, that he would get Thomas withinforty-eight hours. So witness had asked for a permit to carry a gun. Mr.Turner knew about this. He had given the permit.
The coroner.--"Did you expect him last night?"
Thomas hesitated perceptibly. "Yes, I did," he said.
"What made you?"
"Somebody tipped me off he might be coming. I'd rather not say who itwas."
Coroner.--"Where did Walton's shot go?"
"Here," said the prisoner.
He fished in his pocket and drew out a Bible. The crowd craned theirnecks and swayed toward it eagerly.
"Why, that's mine," the coroner said.
It was, in truth, one that Bob had carried off as a Sunday School prize,when a boy, in Ohio. It was so stiff that the cover cracked when it wasopened; but the leather binding was ripped and torn, and the leaves wereplowed into pulp for three-fourths of its thickness. At this point thesheriff explained that the bullet had been deflected into the solid woodof the table. He had dug it out.
Coroner.--"Where did you get this here book?"
The gunfighter looked rather sheepish.
"I'm sort of superstitious," he confessed, "and when I seen that in youroffice the other day, Bob, I stuck it inside my shirt."
A murmur swept over the court-room and beat against the walls.
Coroner.--"You've killed six men, ain't you?"
"No, sir; you're wrong. Only four," Thomas corrected, licking his drylips.
"Gen'l'men," said the coroner, not without sternness toward Thomas,"this hits me like so plain a case of shooting in self-defense, that Ireckon we don't need to bother no more about the evidence."
"Hold on," the sheriff said. "Hold on, there; I'd like for to saysomething."
Being duly sworn, he started off like this: "Gentlemen, this wasn't akilling. It was a murder."
Everybody waited open-mouthed to hear more. Thomas turned on him aquick, startled glance. Then someone said: "What's the matter with you,Lafe?"
"It's just what I done said. Murder."
There was a stir, and a ripple of unbelieving laughter. "Order!" thecoroner cried. He was looking to Johnson for explanation.
"I was kind of wondering," the prisoner muttered, half aloud, as thoughnot altogether surprised at the turn of events.
"Yes, sir, Bud Walton was murdered. This man here didn't kill him atall. Here's Jeff's gun. Take a look at it. It's a .45. Bud, he waskilled with a 30-30 rifle. Here's the bullet. Jeff's first shot went wayabove his head into the ceiling, and the next two are in the boards."