A Time For Hanging (12 page)

The men did not complain about being kept away from their work, and they certainly did not complain about the drinks.
 
Benteen was not normally so free with his money, and in fact he had the reputation of something of a tight man with a dollar.

Benteen watched the men go, the stomped across the hotel boardwalk and entered the lobby.

The clerk, who had heard and seen him arrive, was practically standing at attention.
 
"Good morning, Mr. Benteen.
 
What can I do for you today, sir?"

Benteen turned his wide eyes on the young man.
 
"You can tell me what room my daughter's in."

"Yes, sir.
 
Two-oh-two, sir.
 
Right at the head of the stairs."

Benteen didn't bother to thank the man.
 
He walked past the desk and up the stairs.

He didn't bother to knock on the door of room 202, either, and he was angry when the knob failed to yield to his hand.

"Open this door, Lucille," he said.
 
"You know who this is."

A key rattled in the lock and his daughter opened the door.
 
Her eyes were red, and it appeared that she had been crying.
 
Maybe she was coming to her senses already.

Benteen walked past her into the room.
 
He always liked to keep a distance between them when they talked.
 
Though he would never have admitted it, he was bothered by the fact that she was several inches taller than he was.

He walked to the window, then turned to face her.
 
"Where's Charley?" he asked.
 
"I know he came into town after you."

Lucille brushed at the corners of her eyes.
 
"I . . . I don't know.
 
The sheriff came and got him."

"The sheriff?
 
What's he got to do with this?"

"There was a little shooting," Lucille admitted.
 
"I guess it stirred things up a little."

Benteen raised an eyebrow, a trick that had always irritated Lucille.
 
"A little shooting?
 
Who was doing it?"

"I guess I was."

"And who did you shoot?"

"Nobody.
 
I was shooting at Charley, but I didn't mean to hit him."

 
It didn't make sense to Benteen.
 
"If you were doing the shooting, why was Charley the one who was arrested?"

"I don't know," Lucille said.
 
"I think it has something to do with that Randall girl, but I couldn't hear what they were saying."

Benteen couldn't figure it out, but that didn't matter.
 
It could wait until he could speak to the sheriff.
 
Right now, he had to talk some sense into his daughter.

"I don't know what gets into you, girl," he said.
 
"You're throwin' away the chance to marry the best man in Dry Springs by behavin' like this."

"Ha!" Lucille said.
 
"A man that sneaks around and meets another woman behind my back?
 
I'd think I was well rid of someone like that."

"Who told you he was doing that?" Benteen asked.
 
He knew that he had not told.
 
He had done his best to keep it quiet.

Lucille, who had heard the news from one of the ranch hands, was not about to tell where she had gotten the word.
 
She knew her father too well for that.
 
"Never mind," she said.
 
"I heard, and that's enough."

"It doesn't matter," Benteen said, thinking that he could get it out of her later.
 
He wasn't going to keep a hand who didn't know when to shut his mouth.
 
"The point is that Charley's long past havin' anything to do with that girl.
 
He's not interested in anybody but you, now."

"Yes, he is.
 
He saw her again just last night."

"What?"
 
Benteen hadn't known that.

"It's true.
 
You ask him."
 
Lucille had the information from a good source.
 
She had been looking for Charley early in the evening, and she was told where he had gone by the same cowboy who had told her about Charley and Liz in the first place.
 
The cowboy had for some time had a crush on Lucille, and he couldn't resist the chance to get Charley in trouble.

"I'll see about that later, too," Benteen said.
 
"Right now, you're goin' to get your things and get back out to the ranch."
 
He looked at the valise beside the bed.

"I'll go when I'm ready," Lucille said.
 
"You think I ought to take Charley just because he's the only man around here you like.
 
Well, there might be better men somewhere else.
 
I might just go look."

Benteen could see that getting Lucille home was not going to be as easy as he had hoped.
 
She had always had a stubborn streak in her, got it from her mother.
 
But that was all right.
 
Sooner or later she would give in.

"I'm goin' to see the sheriff, see what he has to say about this shootin' business," he said.
 
"You stay here until I come back for you."

Lucille nodded.
 
She did not have anywhere to go at the moment, and she had already checked on the stage schedule.
 
There would not be a coach coming through Dry Springs until the next day.

She had thought about living in the hotel, but she could see now that there would be no escaping her father as long as she was in town.
 
She tried to remember where the stage was going.

Benteen went out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
 
Lucille closed it.
 
She was beginning to wish she had gone ahead and shot Charley.
 
Then it would all be over with, one way or another.

She had to admit, at least to herself, that the more she thought about it, the less attractive marriage to him seemed.
 
He was handsome enough, no doubt about that, and he did have those pretty blue eyes, but there was really nothing to him.
 
He was a good worker, an honest enough man, but that was all.
 
Somehow she had expected something more, and obviously she wasn't going to find it in Dry Springs.

Charley's attitude toward women was typical, she thought.
 
He could have her for his wife, but he still could not resist looking around at whatever else was available, and he didn't seem to see anything wrong with that.

Well, it was wrong, and she was not going to put up with it.
 
He could try to sweet-talk her, but it wouldn't work, not any more.

 
Suddenly it the stage's destination popped into her head.
 
San Antonio.
 
She knew no one there, knew nothing about the place, but there were probably trains from there to all over the country.
 
She wondered how long her money would last.

Long enough, she decided, so that she would never have to see Charley Davis again.

Martha Randall burst into the sheriff's office, looking wildly around her.
 
"My husband," she said.
 
"Where's my husband?"

"He ain't around here," Vincent said.
 
"Is he supposed to be?"

"I don't know," she said.
 
"I thought he might be."
 
She looked around and saw Jack and Charley.
 
"I'm sorry I bothered you all.
 
I'll go look for him."

She eased back out the door, quite a trick for someone of her size.

"Wait a minute," Vincent said.
 
"Somethin's the matter.
 
You want to tell me about it?"

She looked at Charley and Jack again.

"Maybe you two oughta go take a look at the cells," Vincent suggested.

"Oh," Jack said.
 
"Yeah.
 
Come on, Charley."

They went through the door into the cell block, closing it behind them.

"I didn't mean to chase anybody off," Mrs. Randall said.

"It's all right," Vincent told her.
 
He would have asked her to sit down, but he was afraid she wouldn't fit into the only chair.
 
"Charley needs to get a look at a cell anyway."
 
He didn't offer to explain why.
 
"Now, what about your husband?"

"He's acting funny," she said.
 
"That Mrs. Morales, she told him that Liz was . . . was . . . . "

"Goin' to have a baby," Vincent said.
 
"She told me that same thing.
 
I haven't checked with the doc yet."

"I think my husband believed it," she said.
 
"He called Liz the Whore of Babylon."

"He called his daughter that?"

"He was quoting from the Bible," she said.
 
"But . . . . "

Vincent waited.
 
He didn't know how to help her.

After a minute she went on.
 
"He didn't seem surprised like he should've been.
 
Like I was.
 
And he kept talkin' about punishment, about an eye for an eye."

"What do you think he meant?"

Mrs. Randall shook her head.
 
"I don't know.
 
But I was wonderin' -- it's terrible to think this -- but I was wonderin' if he . . . if he could've been the one that killed Liz."

#

It took Vincent a second or two to let what she said sink in, and even then he wasn't quite sure he'd heard right.
 
He had to say it out loud to be sure.

"You think your husband killed your daughter?"

"I just don't know.
 
He's talkin' funny, and he's got a funny look in his eyes.
 
So I was wonderin'--"

"Wasn't he at home with you last night?"

"He was for most of the time, but right before supper he always goes out to take the air, if the weather's good.
 
He says he likes to pray in the outdoors, says it lets him feel closer to God if he's out there in creation.
 
Last night was one of those nights he went out."

"Did he know about your daughter?"

"I don't know, sheriff.
 
I used to think I knew him, but now I wouldn't even try to say.
 
If you'd asked me that yesterday, I'd've said no, he didn't know a thing.
 
It seemed to me he was a lot more in the dark about this than I was, even.
 
Now, though, I just don't know.
 
When I think about it, I wonder if maybe he did know somethin' and just kept quiet about it.
 
He was the kind of man that could keep quiet if he wanted to.
 
A preacher's got to be like that."

Vincent was sure that his stomach was going to tie itself in a square knot.
 
It wasn't bad enough that he had people wantin' to hang Paco Morales for killing Liz Randall, now he had Charley Davis, who had maybe got the dead girl pregnant, and the girl's own daddy who might've found out about her habits and killed her himself.

"Why did you think he might be here?" he said.

"He went out of the house wearin' a gun," she said.
 
"Sheriff, I don't think he's had that gun on in all the years we've been married, but he strapped it on today."

"That wouldn't mean he was comin' to the jail, though," Vincent pointed out.

"It was that eye for an eye business," she said.
 
"I got the idea that if his girl was dead, then he was goin' to see that somebody else died, too."

"If he killed her himself, why would he want to kill the Morales boy?"

She shook her head.
 
"I can't say, Sheriff.
 
Who knows what might be goin' on in the head of a . . . a crazy man."