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  Given the name, Hewitt could have asked the questions himself but the girl’s offer had provided another excuse to see her again. He was enjoying the ride and the company but at the risk of touching a raw nerve, he could not quite forget why he was in Appsley. ‘I’m sorry to ask you this but did your father make any special enemies around the town?’ he asked.

  ‘He did.’

  The answer caught the lawman by surprise because to date he had only been told how popular Angus Macgregor had been. ‘Do you know who they were?’

  ‘Mostly I don’t. Pa had been a deputy sheriff over in Kansas when he was young and had a lot of sympathy for Sheriff Anderson who was expected to keep order on his own. Sometimes, when it looked as though the sheriff was outnumbered by trouble-makers, he would take a hand. Mayor Grey and the town council always claimed there was not enough money to pay a deputy for Anderson, so Pa or Charley from the livery stable sometimes backed him up. The last clash he had was with the Count of No Account.’

  Hewitt laughed. ‘That’s some title. Who is he?’

  ‘He’s a would-be gunman. A potential hired killer looking for someone to hire him. He has some unpronounceable Polish name and claims that his grandfather was a count in the old country. He was born here but likes to pretend he is European nobility. He likes the title of “the count” but nobody dares use the rest of the name. He is always talking about honour but would not know it if it jumped up and bit him. He tries to goad people into gunfights but they are always people who would not stand a chance against him. Pa and Sheriff Anderson did not subscribe to the count’s code of honour. They ganged up on him and ran him out of town the last time he tried his tricks around here. ‘

  ‘So the count had a grudge against both your father and the sheriff?’

  ‘That’s right. Being run out of town really hurt his pride.’

  Hewitt looked at the sun climbing higher in the sky. ‘I’ll have to go to work now. I’ve really enjoyed this ride, Miss Macgregor.’

  The girl flashed her white teeth in a smile. ‘My name’s Sue and I ride most mornings at six o’clock. You’re welcome to come along at any time.’

  ‘I’m mighty glad to hear that. My name’s Pete or Peter if you prefer to be formal. Cactus needs the exercise and you are better company than he is, so I’ll take you up on that offer as often as I can.’

  After putting his horse away, Hewitt had breakfast and strolled across to the stage office. He found Wilcox at work doing the accounts. The manager was frowning as he studied an invoice. ‘Howdy, John, you look worried.’

  ‘It’s just the price of horse feed. It’s been going up gradually over the last couple of months. I’m glad I don’t have to pay these bills.’

  ‘You should have stuck to the railroad,’ Hewitt told him. ‘Trains don’t need to be fed hay and grain.’

  ‘They still need wood. But you’re not here to discuss trains. What’s on your mind?’

  ‘What can you tell me about a character called “the count”?’

  ‘He’s a bad piece of work. Folks around here have suspected him and some of his sidekicks of a couple of coach hold-ups but there’s never been enough evidence to arrest him. If you ask me, he could well have been behind the recent killings, including the Macgregor murder. There was no love lost between him and Macgregor.’

  ‘What does he do for a living?’

  ‘He claims to be a gambler but no one in their right mind will gamble with him. If he loses, he claims that the winner was cheating and has shot a couple of people. I’m not sure how many he has killed but he seems to enjoy shooting folks.’

  ‘Does he ride a quarter horse?’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ Wilcox replied, ‘but he changes horses regularly. To be honest, I’m not sure what sort of horse he rides. Horses are just horses to me and I don’t take a lot of notice of them. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Your driver, Greer, reckoned that at least two of the killers were riding quarter-milers. Do you remember anything about their horses?’

  ‘Hell, Pete, I can’t even recall seeing them. I was at the back of the building. I heard the shooting and ran to get a gun. As I came through I saw the coach go past the side window. By the time I got to the front door there was only dust and gun smoke in the air and bodies on the ground. It was one hell of a mess. At first I thought that all three had been killed. Young Ford was lucky to be alive.’

  ‘I never did hear where the sheriff was shot. Was he killed instantly?’

  ‘I reckon so. The bullet hit him in the side of the head. It went straight through and left a big hole where it came out again. He was unlucky because a man on a galloping horse can’t shoot too well with a six-shooter as a rule. Chances are that he shot for the biggest part of him and damn near missed. Anderson was dead unlucky. He was on foot with a rifle and should have won that shootout with no trouble but the bandit was lucky and really nailed him.’

  Hewitt left the stage office and was intending to have another talk with the bank manager but as he passed Grey’s office, he heard someone calling his name. He turned to see Veronica Cook waving from the office doorway.

  ‘Deputy Hewitt, Mr Grey would like to see you when you have time.’

  ‘There’s no time like the present, Miss Cook. Lead the way.’

  He found the mayor, as he’d expected he would be, sitting back in his big chair behind his highly polished desk. The lawyer wasted no time on pleasantries. ‘You’re just the man I wanted to see, Hewitt. Things seem to be getting out of hand around here. Have you made any progress on the robbery or the Macgregor murder?’

  ‘I have a few ideas but nothing positive to back them up with yet. I think that Macgregor’s killing is somehow linked to the robbery.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Grey snorted. ‘I suppose you’ll tell me next that Macgregor was part of the gang and was silenced for some reason or double-crossed by his partners in crime. It’s obvious that the two events are not related and the more time you spend barking up the wrong tree, the further away the coach robbers get.’

  ‘Not all the gang are far away. I reckon that at least one member is still in this town. And if I can find him, I might be able to make sense of this mess. Someone gave those bandits enough information for them to carry out a mighty slick raid.’

  The mayor looked shocked. ‘Don’t tell me you believe the rumour going around that Basset might have helped rob his own bank.’

  ‘I put no stock in rumours and have seen no reason to believe that particular one but someone who knew all the procedures planned that robbery. They knew that the coach was easier to hit in town where they had the complete element of surprise. They knew departure times and who was likely to be where. It was no bunch of out-of-work cowhands that planned this attack.’

  ‘Most of the town knew when money was being shipped out. It was no great secret. Basset never advertised it but too many people were involved, bank staff and coach line staff. It could never be kept a secret. But I did not want to see you about bank procedures. The town council is being billed for your wages, and I am not sure that we are getting value for money.’ Grey pointed a threatening finger at the deputy as he spoke. ‘I expect to see some results for our money soon, or will want to know the reason why.’

  ‘Be careful with that finger. It could be loaded,’ Hewitt said casually as he turned and walked from the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Next morning the Count rode into Appsley. Neatly dressed, small, dark-haired, with a thin, carefully trimmed moustache, he resembled a professional man of some kind. But the image was marred by the big pair of Colts that he wore.

  Hewitt saw him riding past and immediately recognized the type even though he had never known the man. It was a type that spelled trouble.

  ‘It didn’t take the.Count long to come back to Appsley.’ Wilcox had joined Hewitt on the boardwalk. ‘With Anderson and Macgregor out of the way, he’s almost certain to try his luck with you. He’s a nasty little skunk. Watch him, Pete.’


  ‘I intend to. I’ll be interested, too, in seeing who his friends are.’

  ‘That’s easy. The Bramley brothers, Elmer and Justin are friends of his. They have a ranch out on Prospector’s Creek but they seem to know when their friend is in town. If he stays around, they’ll join him in a day or so.’

  ‘Who are the Bramley brothers?’

  ‘They’re a couple of drunken no-goods, not very bright, brawlers and general nuisances. Their actions are more rash than rational, mainly due to a powerful kind of lunatic soup that they distil on their ranch and guzzle in large quantities. The story is that they are drinking their ranch out from under themselves and lately have taken to branding the wrong calves. Their neighbours are fast losing patience with them.’

  ‘Do you think them capable of pulling off that coach robbery?’

  Wilcox fiddled with his pipe for a while. ‘I don’t know,’ he eventually replied. ‘They’re bad enough but probably not smart enough even when they are sober.’

  ‘Sounds like things here could start to get a bit busy,’ Hewitt observed, ‘but I think I’ll go to the store and have a word with Sue Macgregor.

  ‘Keep your mind on your job,’ Wilcox teased as he turned and walked back to his office.

  Sue was serving a customer and while he waited for her to be finished, the deputy looked about. It was the usual frontier general store, selling food, clothing, footwear, patent medicines, tools, iron-mongery and ammunition.

  He noted a few boxes of shotgun cartridges stacked on one of the back shelves. The boxes, slightly smaller than the others, were stacked at the far end of the shelf. A casual glance showed a sketch of a green cartridge on the label. His curiosity aroused, Hewitt looked closer. The printing announced that each box contained twenty-five twenty-gauge cartridges loaded with number six shot. They were suitable for ducks and small game but were only lethal to bigger targets at close range.

  Sue was finished with her customer and greeted him with a friendly smile, but there was little joy in her face. He could see that painful memories were still returning to her among the familiar surroundings that had been so much of her father’s life. In response to his question, she said that her mother was still feeling the shock of her husband’s murder, and was not sufficiently recovered to resume her normal duties in the store.

  Changing the subject, Hewitt asked, ‘Did you happen to find any information about those quarter-milers?’

  ‘Not a lot, but Bob Cullinane said he saw three men on quarter horses riding through town about three weeks ago. He said that they must have lived around the area because none had saddle-bags such as travellers would be using. He didn’t recognize the riders but thinks that they might have been from one of the local ranches.’

  ‘I notice that you have some twenty-gauge cartridges there. Do you sell many?’

  Sue shook her head. ‘No. Most shotguns around here are ten-gauge or twelve-gauge. We’ve had those four boxes of twenty-gauge there for ages. Pa got them in for Max Bramley; he apparently had a twenty-gauge that he used for snakes. Max died a bit over a year ago. His two sons have the ranch now.’

  ‘There are only three boxes of those cartridges on the shelf,’ Hewitt said.

  Sue glanced at the shelf again. ‘You’re right. Pa must have sold one of them.’

  ‘Would you have any idea who might have bought them?’

  ‘If one of the ranches that have accounts bought it there would be a record, but there would be none for a cash sale. Is it important?’

  ‘It could be but I’m not sure,’ the deputy admitted. ‘I would appreciate it if you would look back through some of your recent accounts to see if you have a record of its sale. But don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Do you think this box of cartridges could have anything to do with my father’s murder?’ Sue made no attempt to disguise the concern in her voice.

  ‘It’s possible. I also think that the killer is still around, so for safety’s sake, tell nobody about this.’

  ‘I saw the Count back in town,’ Sue said. ‘He would not have dared show his face if my father was still around. Are you going to run him out of town again?’

  ‘Not unless I have to. He’s the sort of character I like to keep my eye on. If he’s up to something, I would like to know about it.’

  ‘It’s possible that he murdered my father. He had a grudge against him and could have crept into town, shot him and got out again. He knows this area fairly well.’

  ‘We certainly can’t rule out the Count. He’s one of a few who have to be considered. I’d better let you get back to work. Will you be riding in the morning?’

  ‘I hope to.’

  ‘If all goes well I’ll join you. Remember, not a word to anyone about those cartridges.’

  The sun was higher and the day seemed hotter when Hewitt emerged from the shade of Macgregor’s store. He squinted along the street and saw a couple of horses hitched outside the saloon and a dog scratching itself as it lay in the shade of a building. An elderly lady driving a buggy turned into the street but otherwise it was deserted.

  He saw Wilcox then, standing in the doorway of the coach office. The stageline manager waved to attract his attention. His curiosity aroused, the deputy crossed the street to where his friend waited. ‘What’s worrying you, John?’

  Glancing toward the saloon as though fearful of being seen, Wilcox replied, ‘I thought you might like to know. The two Bramleys are in town. They’re over in the saloon now with the Count. Be careful of them. Unless I miss my guess, they’ll be full of Dutch courage and will try you out soon just to see what they can get away with. If you have to take them on, I’ll back you up although I’m not the world’s best shot.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ Hewitt said grimly. ‘I was hoping that I might have a chance to study these characters before having to confront them. I might see if I can head off any trouble before it gets started. I’m hoping I might be able to find out a few things without resorting to gunplay.’

  ‘I don’t like your chances, but good luck. If I hear shots, I’ll come running.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hewitt loosened his revolver in its holster and hoped that his nervousness was not showing before he pushed his way through the batwing doors of the saloon. He glanced around. It was a working day and there were few customers.

  Two men who looked like teamsters were seated at one table talking quietly together. The Count, and two large, rough-looking men dressed as cowhands were seated on the other side of the room. Both were unshaven and their worn clothing obviously had not seen too many wash tubs. At first glance the scene was peaceful enough but the deputy noticed two ominous signs immediately; the three men were silent and the bartender was looking decidedly nervous.

  ‘Having a quiet day, Phil?’

  ‘I am, Pete and I would greatly appreciate it if it stays that way. You probably don’t know them but that’s the Count and the Bramley brothers sitting at that table over there and they don’t like lawmen. If looks could kill, you’d be dead already. Tread very carefully.’

  ‘I always do,’ Hewitt said quietly as he turned and strolled over to the trio at the table.

  They watched him with hostility and suspicion showing in their faces.

  ‘Howdy, gents. I’m Pete Hewitt, filling in as sheriff. Are you just passing through?’

  Justin Bramley, the elder of the brothers, glared at the lawman with bloodshot eyes from beneath bushy eyebrows, contempt showing on a face that bore more than one sign of a physical disagreement. ‘No, we ain’t just passing through. My brother and I live here and will be here long after you’re gone.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Hewitt said casually. ‘I’m still getting to know the locals here.’ He turned to Elmer Bramley, who bore a striking resemblance to his brother and had a similar scowl on his face. ‘I suppose there are no prizes for guessing that you two are brothers.’

  ‘You’re dead right,’ Elmer confirmed.

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p; The Count was next to be questioned. ‘That leaves you. You don’t look like a rancher to me.’

  ‘How very perceptive,’ the Count said sarcastically. ‘I suppose there is some reason behind this intrusion on our privacy but I have nothing to hide. Folks around here call me the Count. I’m a gambler and I visit this place periodically looking for suckers to fleece. I’m breaking no law, so run away now, sonny.’

  Hewitt gave a slight smile as though embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as easy as that. Some people around here have been killed and a strongbox taken, so I am rather interested in the comings and goings of a few people, namely, you three.’

  Then suddenly the deputy’s gun was in his hand. Caught unprepared and still seated and hampered by the table, the others had no chance to draw their own weapons. Momentarily panic showed in their eyes, but then reason took over and they placed their hands on the table.

  Keeping all three under his gaze, Hewitt told them, ‘Now you can answer my questions here or over in the calaboose – or if anyone feels lucky you might care to go for a gun. There’s just a chance that one of you might put a bullet in me before I kill all three of you. Make up your minds.’

  Justin Bramley was the first to reach a decision. He was closest, came out of his chair and instantly threw himself at the lawman. Almost as though he had been rehearsing the move, Hewitt slammed the gun barrel against the side of the big man’s head and dropped him into the sawdust on the floor. ‘Don’t!’ he warned the others who were about to take advantage of the diversion. Sullenly they raised their hands.

  The lawman plucked the gun from Justin’s holster and tucked it in his belt as the dazed rancher struggled to all fours. ‘Now gents, undo those gun belts and put your guns on the table. Be mighty careful how you do it, because at this stage it won’t take much to make me shoot.’

  Hate blazed from the Count’s dark eyes, for he had little choice but to obey. ‘You’re a sneaky back-shooting skunk,’ he snarled. ‘If you were a real man you’d be prepared to face me out in the street. You don’t have the guts of a rabbit.’