The Battle At Three-Cross Read Free

ain’t been a killing in my county in six months, and I don’t aim to have any murderer escape me now. You’ll learn I have a rep for bringing criminals to justice and——”
    Lance Tolliver interrupted, “If we’re headed for your billy-be-blasted jail, let’s go. I’m not honing to stand here and listen to a tinhorn po liti cal speech any longer than possible.”
    â€œStill feeling hard, eh?” Lockwood snorted. “Once I get you in Pozo Verde you’ll get over that. That roan gelding over there yours?”
    â€œThat’s my horse.” Tolliver nodded.
    â€œGet on it and don’t give me any of your lip,” Lockwood commanded. “Chiricahua, get a piggin’ string and tie his hands to the saddle horn. You,Ordway, you stay here with the body until the coroner can come out and view it. I’ll tell Doc Drummond as soon as we hit town. And don’t touch that body—not none. I want it left just the way it is until Doc gets here.”
    Tolliver was roped into his saddle, then his pony was led up out of the wash.
    With Sheriff Lockwood on one side and Chiricahua Herrick on the other, the start was made for Pozo Verde, Tolliver riding between the two. Kilby, Ridge and Johnson fell in at the rear, leaving the man named Ordway to stay with the dead body until the arrival of the coroner. Kilby filled the time with a loud mouthing of threats regarding what was to happen to Tolliver until even the sheriff could stand it no longer. In no gentle voice he ordered Kilby to “pronto quit that runnin’ off at the head before somebody slaps down your ears.” Kilby flushed and kept quiet from then on.
    Tolliver remained silent during the ride to Pozo Verde though his mind was rife with speculation. Chiricahua Herrick on a couple of occasions insisted on Tolliver making a statement regarding his reasons for killing Bowman, but the prisoner just smiled coldly without answering.
    â€œLay off, Chiricahua,” Lockwood said finally. “Once I’ve got this hombre in a cell I’ll get the truth or know the reason why. You just leave it to me.”
    By this time the sun was picking out crimson high lights on the distant peaks of the Saddlestring Mountains and the air had commenced to cool a trifle. Before long the riders reached a wagon-rutted trail running across the campo and ten minutes later, topping a low ridge of ground, they spied the roofsof Pozo Verde. Following the trail, they soon commenced to see blocky adobe houses on either side. The houses became more numerous. The smoke from mesquite fires was drifting lazily in the air, and here and there lights shone from windows.
    Tolliver saw, when they reached it, that Pozo Verde was quite a sizable town. A double row of hitch racks before which stood a scattering of ponies and wagons stretched the length of Main Street, along which the riders were guiding their ponies. Yellow squares of light from store windows made rectangular patches on the dusty roadway; already it was too dark for passing pedestrians to notice that Tolliver was tied to his saddle. On either side were buildings with high false fronts. There were saloons, restaurants, a savings bank and a two-story brick hotel.
    They had already crossed two intersections—Las Vegas Street and Laredo Street—and were approaching a third—Yuma Street. At the southwest corner of Yuma and Main stood a long, low building of rock and adobe construction before which swung a board sign bearing the words: “Sheriff’s Office & County Jail.” There was no light in the office.
    â€œDang it,” Lockwood grunted, “I suppose that deputy of mine has gone to his supper already.” He signaled the horses to a stop before the hitch rail. “Untie this gent, Chiricahua. He’s arrived at his steel-barred apartment.”
    Chiricahua untied the rope that bound Tolliver’s wrists, then whipped out his gun.