Sheriff on the Spot Read Free Page B

not.”
    Pat said, “I’ll see.”
    When he turned away he became aware that Joe Deems had come up silently behind him while he stood at the counter. The hotel proprietor had light brown eyes which looked yellowish now as they met Pat’s. Deems stood between Pat and the foot of the stairway leading up to the hotel rooms. He stood there with his arms folded and asked the clerk, “What did Stevens want?”
    â€œHe ast me what room Ezra an’ Sam Sloan was in.”
    Joe Deems’ lips came back from his teeth. “Didn’t he ask you something else?”
    â€œWell, now I do recollect—”
    Pat took a step forward, his eyes blazing. “Why don’t you ask me, Deems?”
    â€œAll right. I will. What are you snooping around for?”
    Pat Stevens drew in a deep breath. His hands were bunched into big fists by his sides. He said, “I’m going up.”
    â€œNo, you’re not.” Deems stepped backward, up to the second stair, the yellowish glint becoming more pronounced in his eyes.
    Pat controlled himself and asked, “Why not?” in the tone of a reasonable man who wants an answer.
    â€œBecause I say you’re not. This is my hotel.”
    â€œIt’s a public place,” Pat told him gently.
    â€œI own it.”
    Pat took a step forward. His voice remained gentle but it had a steely firmness. “You’ll get hurt ’less you get out of the way, Deems.”
    Deems snarled, “Not me.” He unfolded his arms and showed Pat a stubby, double-barreled derringer in his right hand. It was no larger than a woman’s fist, yet a lethal weapon of large caliber. Deems warned in a thin voice, “Don’t force me to use this in protection of my property, Stevens.”
    Pat put one hand on the newel post and grinned up at the proprietor. “This is a funny way to treat a sheriff.”
    â€œYou forget you’re not the sheriff any longer.”
    Pat slowly reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt and drew out his silver sheriff’s badge. He showed it to Deems in the palm of his hand. “What does this look like?”
    Deems paled and bit his underlip. “But—I thought Jeth Purdue—”
    Pat shrugged and replaced the badge in his pocket. “Changed your mind about me comin’ up?”
    â€œNo.” The derringer still threatened Pat. “Sam and Ezra aren’t in their rooms. If you’ll wait in the barroom I’ll have them located for you.”
    Pat’s lunging body drove forward, and his left arm shot out to encircle Deems’ legs. He straightened up swiftly and the proprietor’s head went back, hitting a stair-step loudly. His body went limp and the tiny pistol clattered down at Pat’s feet. Pat tossed Deems aside on the floor and picked up the derringer, said curtly over his shoulder, “Throw some water on him, Forrey,” and went up the uncarpeted stairs two at a time.
    There was a wide hall at the top, with closed doors on each side. Pat strode down the hall and stopped in front of the door numbered 18. He knocked on it loudly, but got no response. He moved to the next door on the same side, number 20, and knocked on it with the same negative result. He tried both doors and found them securely locked.
    He swung about and went across the hall to number 15. He got no answer when he knocked on it, either.
    He hesitated for a moment, his face grim and his eyes narrowed, glanced up and down the hall, but all the doors remained tightly closed.
    He turned the knob of number 15, and was surprised to have the door swing open.
    It was dark inside. He struck a match and went across to the washstand to put fire to the wick of a kerosene lamp, turned to survey the small hotel bedroom in the yellow light.
    A suitcase lay open on the bed. Fred Ralston’s straw hat lay beside it. The room showed no other sign of occupancy. Pat grunted his disgust and turned to