Part 36 (2/2)
They walked past the blacksmith, the clang of the hammer seeming to put Tate on edge. If his shoulders hunched any more they'd touch his moustache.
”It's a favor I want,” Tracker said. ”You've done nothing wrong.”
”Is your missus in need of some more raspberry leaf? We just received a fresh s.h.i.+pment.”
”I'd say not,” Tracker said. ”No, this is a favor of dire urgency, and it's one you must keep from Sylvia.”
Tate stopped. He stared at Tracker and seemed to lose the ability to speak.
”It's for her own good,” Tracker said. ”It concerns your boy.”
”Jimmy?” Tate managed. ”Wh-what about my son?”
They kept moving, leaving the sound of the blacksmith but pa.s.sing through the funk of the butcher. Tracker walked faster. He didn't want to make his request with the stench of dead meat in the air. ”The Doc and I believe there is a connection between the deaths of late,” he said. ”And we think Jimmy can help us gain some proof to that effect.”
”I don't understand,” Tate said.
A rusher staggered past them, his gait a little unhinged. Most likely, he was coming from one of Chinatown's opium tents.
”You must have heard about the bruising on the necks of Hank Dupois and Sally the wh.o.r.e,” Tracker said.
Tate nodded. ”Folks have been jawing about it all week.”
”Well, the Doc doesn't think they were bruises. He reckons they ate the same berries Jimmy did.”
Tate frowned, the brown wisps of his hair drooping over his forehead. ”I never saw any marks on my son's neck.”
”I know,” Tracker said. ”But he was powdered, wasn't he? Made up fancy for his funeral. We think Andy may have offered to bury your boy in order to hide those markings.”
Lowering his voice, Tate said, ”Sheriff, are you saying that Andy killed my boy?”
”I don't think so,” Tracker said. ”But I do believe he may have had a hand in both Sally and Hank's deaths. That's why we need to see Jimmy's body. If he has the same markings as Sally and Hank, then we'll know it was poison and not strangulation. Jack Devlin may yet be innocent.”
Tate stopped again. ”You want to disturb my boy's rest, don't you?”
”I'm afraid so,” Tracker said.
”Can you do that?”
”Due to the anti-grave robbing laws, I can only exhume him if I have your permission.”
The sweet smell of opium smoke drifted around them. Tate rubbed the back of his neck and said, ”I don't know ... if Sylvia found out, she'd-”
”She need never know,” Tracker said. ”The ground has yet to grow over, so there will be no sign of a disturbance. Both the Doc's and my testimonial will serve as evidence, so we'll never have to disturb your boy again.”
Unless, of course, Judge O'Donnell demanded to see the body. He was ornery enough to make that request, but Tracker decided not to mention it.
They continued walking. ”I should have guessed that a Dupois would be up to no good,” Tate said. ”Just like his pa I suppose.” They were getting close to the end of the street. Ahead of them sat the frame of the new saloon. Beyond that, the graveyard.
Tate looked at it. ”Will it be quick?”
”You have my word on it,” Tracker said.
Tate nodded. ”Then I give you my permission. And I will never tell my wife. Lord knows she doesn't need the burden on her heart.”
”And what of yourself?”
”I'll be fine, Sheriff.” Tate turned around, tucked his hands into this pockets, and hurried back to the hotel.
Chapter Thirty-Seven.
”You move,” the voice said, ”and you're dead.”
Jack didn't move, but his thoughts went wild: Cole Smith!
Sheriff Tracker!
Private Owen!
”My G.o.d,” the voice said. ”What did you do to that boy?”
”Nothing,” Jack said, ”I-”
”On your back.”
Jack flipped over. A tall man stood above him, his face obscured by the sun. Whoever he was, his duds were fancy. He wore black leather boots, black range trousers, and a black vest over a white s.h.i.+rt. He said, ”Name.”
”Jack Devlin.”
”Where's Emily?”
”Inside.”
”Emily!” the man called. ”Emily, are you in there?”
After a few moments, Emily stepped out onto the back porch. Seeing her, the man ground the barrel of the revolver into Jack's forehead. ”What did you do to her?” he demanded.
”Nothing!” Jack shouted.
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