Fires of Fate/Chapter 2

T WAS about midnight when Henderson walked up to the post, leading his horse, on which was roped two bodies—McKay and Cree George, the Indian packer. Inspector Grandon, white of face and only half awake, said nothing, as he helped Henderson carry the two bodies into headquarters.

“They were in the middle of the street, sir,” reported Henderson wearily. “I suppose everyone was afraid to touch them. McKay’s hat and coat were missing. No one in the town will talk to me about it, but no one interfered with me. McKay’s gun was lying beside him, but his handcuffs are missing.”

“Do you think he was shot while starting back with a prisoner, Henderson?”

“Looks like it, sir. They would have no object in taking the handcuffs. The bodies were lying close together.”

Old MacPherson came in, spluttering, half-asleep, and examined the two bodies carefully.

MacPherson had grown old in the service—old enough to have been retired—but he had induced Inspector Grandon to take him into the Eagle’s Nest post, where he had become a general utility man.

“The poor de’ils never had a chance,” he muttered. “McKay, ye fine lad, they got ye cold, so they did.” He squinted up at Grandon, a suspicious amount of moisture around his old eyes. “Who did it, do ye know?”

“Kingsburg holds the answer, MacPherson.”

“Aye, and she’ll hold it tight,” nodded MacPherson. “The de’il’s own brood they are. Weel, there’s na use of wailin’ o’er cold clay, I suppose.” He got wearily to his feet and shook his head sadly, as he left the room.

“Do you know if Conley is still around here, sir?” asked Henderson.

“I don’t know,” replied Grandon. “Conley and Burgoyne had a fight in Beaudet’s place last evening, and I think Conley handled him roughly. You don’t think that Conley had anything to do with this, do you?”

“Not at all, sir,” quickly. “Conley and McKay were good friends, and beside that, Conley couldn’t have done this. I was just wondering what Conley was talking about when he was brought in. He kept muttering about missing men, sir.”

“Drunken hallucinations,” Grandon sighed deeply. “He spoke to me about it, too. He said it happened a week ago, I think. Said he saw twenty men go into Magee’s place, but he only found two in there.”

“But Bud was not drunk a week ago, sir,” protested Henderson.

“Conley was intimate with Magee,” declared Grandon, “I heard it from his own lips. The force is well rid of him. Better go and clean up, Henderson.”

“Yes, sir.” Henderson saluted and left the room.

Grandon was unable to go back to his bed and leave the two bodies alone; so he wrapped himself in a robe and sat down to smoke and think of a plan. Henderson came back and sat down with him.

The talk naturally turned to Kingsburg and Magee.

“Magee has made his boasts that the Mounted have never taken a man out of Kingsburg,” said Henderson. “I think that McKay had made an arrest when he was shot.”

Grandon nodded thoughtfully. “And I suppose that will happen to any officer who does likewise, Henderson.”

“Until Magee and his gang are either run out of the country, or are buried, sir.”

“But we cannot do anything without direct evidence, Henderson.”

“That is our loss and their protection, sir. I think Conley was partly right. He said there was only one way to wipe out that gang, and that was to go up there, accuse them of being a lot of crooks and then shoot it out with them.”

Grandon smiled and shook his head. “Impossible, Henderson.”

“Yes, sir, and Magee knows it. He must have a complete spy system, because he knows our every move in advance. I feel sure that this post is carefully watched all the time. McKay felt the same about it, sir; and Conley, too.”

“I should not be surprised to know that Conley has joined Magee.”

Henderson grinned. “If he ever does—look out, Magee! I know how you feel about Conley’s actions, sir; but I believe his story. Magee was afraid of Conley, I think. Conley was the only one of us that might forget his sworn duty. He was a cowpuncher, not an officer. And as far as Marie Beaudet was concerned—” Henderson hesitated and shook his head, “Conley would never harm a woman, sir. Why he is head-over-heels in love with Norah Clarey.”

Grandon pursued his lips and frowned slightly. “I’m afraid that Conley can never prove his innocence, Henderson. Anyway, it is a breach of the rules for an officer to take a drink of liquor.”

The talk drifted to other things, as they waited for daylight, half-dozing in their chairs. The rain pattered steadily on the shake-covered roof and dripped hollowly off the eaves. It was about five o’clock when footsteps grated across the porch, and into the room came Louie Beaudet. His face was white above his great beard, and he half-staggered in his stride. In one hand he carried a heavy Colt revolver.

It flashed through the minds of both men that Louie had lost his reason. He was growling deeply in his throat, and waving the gun wildly.

“Whose gun—dat?” he roared huskily.

“Hold it still, Beaudet!” snapped Grandon.

“Hol’ still?” bellowed Louie. “Ba garr, I’m can’t hol’ her still! Here—you tak’!”

He shoved the gun into Henderson’s hands and whirled on Grandon.

“I’m be robbed! Somebody she’s br’ak into my safe and tak’ h’all de money las’ night!”

Louie was shaking with nervousness and wrath and almost pulled Grandon’s desk from its moorings.

“What about the gun, Beaudet?” asked Grandon.

“De gonn? Ba gar, I’m find her on de floor by my safe!”

Henderson placed the gun on the desk in front of Grandon, who picked it up and looked it over carefully.

“Do you recognize the gun, Henderson?” he asked.

Henderson nodded slowly. “Yes, sir, I have seen it before; it belongs to Bud Conley.”

“Bud Conley?” echoed Louie. “She’s rob me of everyt’ing, eh? W ’at I do now?”

Louie glanced helplessly around and his eyes came to rest on the two blanket-covered bodies.

“That is McKay and Cree George,” said Grandon softly. “They were killed yesterday or last night in Kingsburg.”

“W’at?” exploded Louie, crossing himself quickly. “Both men dead? Mon Dieu, w’y is all dis be done?”

Grandon ignored Louie’s question and turned back to Henderson.

“Are you sure that is Conley’s gun?”

“Yes, sir. But perhaps someone stole it from him. Wait a moment.”

Henderson hurried out of the room and crossed to the barracks. He was hoping against hope that Bud might be there, but he found that Bud’s personal things were all gone, and on the sleeve of Bud’s service coat he found the note, which read:

RANDON and Louie were crossing toward Beaudet’s store as Henderson came out, and he gave the note to Grandon, who read it and handed it back.

They went into the store, where Louie showed them his rifled safe. It was an old-fashioned affair which locked with a key, and the lock had been forced.

“How much money did they get?” asked Grandon.

“Eight hun’red dollars,” wailed Beaudet. “Right here,” pointing at the floor in front of the safe, “I find de gonn. Firs’ he break my heart and den he break my bank. W’at I do now, eh?”

Grandon shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Beaudet. Where is Joe Burgoyne?”

“Joe she’s stay las’ night in de old Trentoine cabin. Mon dieu, w’at a face she’s got. I’m t’ink she’s be ashame’ for to be look upon.”

Grandon turned and walked out, with Henderson following him closely.

“It looks like Conley had played the fool again,” he told Henderson, “and he has a good chance to get out of the country. Thieves will have to wait until murderers are caught.”

Investigation proved that Bud’s horse and saddle were gone, but there was no way of telling which way he had gone out of Eagle’s Nest. Grandon shook his head and went back to his office. There was little he could do at present.

Henderson was the only man left, and Grandon had learned that one man could do northing at Kingsburg. The killing of McKay and Cree George and the leaving of the bodies in the street was a direct challenge to the force.

Magee was a brute of a man, crafty, vindictive, suspicious, and he had surrounded himself with men who were no better than himself until Kingsburg had become known as a town of lawlessness.

It was impossible for the law to fasten a single crime upon Magee, yet they knew that he was responsible for many grave offenses. It was a tough problem that faced Grandon that morning.

Joe Burgoyne sauntered into town and sat down moodily in front of Beaudet’s store. He was no longer Joe Burgoyne the debonair. His classical nose had been dented and a split upper lip gave him a continuous sneer. His eyes hinted at a sleepless night and he spat angrily at a few loafing Indians who gazed curiously at him.

His sorrowful reflections were broken by Henderson, who came up and informed him that the inspector wished to have a few words with him.

“What for?” demanded Joe sullenly.

“He’ll tell you,” said Henderson coldly.

Joe got to his feet and walked slowly toward headquarters. He did not relish a talk with Grandon, but he knew better than to refuse. Henderson followed him in and Grandon motioned him to a chair.

“What you want?” demanded Joe. He was more Indian than white now.

Grandon considered him for several moments.

“Burgoyne, do you know that McKay and Cree George were killed yesterday at Kingsburg?” he finally asked.

Joe nodded quickly. “I hear it talk about today.”

“You do not like the police, do you Burgoyne? No need to answer that question. Here is what I want to talk to you about. A white man and an Indian, both wearing the authority of the law, were shot down in the street. The man or men who fired those shots must pay the penalty of the crime.

“I can bring enough men in here to wipe Kingsburg off the map, but the innocent would suffer with the guilty. If I can find the names of the guilty men, we will go there and take them away. But no man in the employ of the police would be able to gather that information, except by accident. You understand?”

Joe nodded and caressed his sore face.

“You know Kingsburg and Magee?”

Joe shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “I go there like de rest.”

“You know Magee?”

“Sure—like de rest know him.”

“And are you afraid of him—like the rest?”

“Why should I be afraid of Magee?” flashed Joe quickly.

Grandon nodded. “I am glad of that, Burgoyne.”

“You blame Magee for shoot policemen?

“I feel sure he knows who did it.”

“What you want from me?” Joe seemed suspicious.

“I want you to go to Kingsburg and find out who killed McKay and Cree George.”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t want to be killed.”

“Nobody will know you are working for me,” urged Grandon.

“Nobody know, eh?” Joe’s beady eyes half-closed as he leaned back in his chair and considered the proposition. “Mebbe take long time to find out, eh? If police come there, nobody find out, and Joe Burgoyne die quick. You give me t'ree days—mebbe I find out.”

“Take your own time,” said Grandon visibly relieved, “and no one from the post shall interfere with you.”

Joe got to his feet and turned toward the door.

“We could use any information regarding the whereabouts of Bud Conley,” added Grandon.

Joe spat angrily and nodded his head, as he went out of the door. Grandon smiled across the room at Henderson.

“Burgoyne has a score to settle with Conley, and I think we may look for some early information.”

Henderson nodded and examined the revolver that Louie Beaudet had found beside his rifled safe. He had seen it many times. The butt plates were carved from solid bone, showing a steer’s head in relief on each plate. There was no question of ownership.

“Why do you suppose he forgot his gun?” queried Grandon.

Henderson placed the gun on the table and shook his head, as he said, “Conley might forget his boots or he might forget every rule of the service, sir; but he’d not forget his gun.”

“You think someone stole the gun to throw the guilt on Conley? Ridiculous, Henderson!”

“Yes, sir,” said Henderson meekly, which might have meant an answer or an agreement.