Kyle looked confused. “What tax? I thought you said he had just come into town?”
“That’s true, he had just come into town. But there’s a five-dollar visitors tax for ever’one who comes into town. ’Cept you, of course, you bein’ the law and all.”
“So, what you are saying is, Gillis tried to collect the visitors tax and Jensen didn’t want to pay it, so he shot him down in cold blood.”
“Yeah, that’s what we’re sayin’.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“We all saw it,” Cummins said.
“Yeah, ever’one of us, plus a bunch of the folks that was in the saloon that day,” one of the other deputies said. “They seen it, too.”
“And you are?” Kyle asked.
“Duke. The name is Duke.”
“So, it happened here in the saloon?”
“Same as. It was out front.”
“No,” Kyle said. “Out front is not the same as happening inside. Were any of you out front when it happened?”
“Yeah,” Cummins answered. “Jackson was out front. He saw it.”
“Who is Jackson?”
“I am,” one of the deputies said.
“And you saw it?”
“We all saw it, in a manner of speaking,” Cummins said, answering for Jackson. “We heard the shot, then we seen Gillis come in here with a hole in his chest. He took about two or three steps, then he fell dead on the floor. Right after that, Jensen come in behind him, and he was still holdin’ the gun in his hand.”
“And the gun was still smokin’,” one of the other deputies said.
“What about Gillis’s gun?”
Cummins smiled broadly. “I was hopin’ you’d ask me that,” he said. “Gillis’s gun was still in his holster. He hadn’t even drawn it.”
“Jackson, tell me exactly what you saw,” Kyle asked.
“It’s like they said. We heard the shot, then we seen Gillis come into the saloon with a bullet hole in his chest.”
“What do you mean you heard the shot? I thought you said you saw it.”
“Yeah, uh—yeah, I did see it.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘Then we seen Gillis come into the saloon.’ How could you see him come into the saloon if you were out front?”
“I didn’t say he was out front, Marshal,” Cummins said, speaking quickly. “I said he saw it. Jackson was standing over there in the window, looking outside.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “I was standin’ over there by the window, lookin’ outside.”
Kyle stroked his chin for a moment. “I have to agree that your account does sound pretty damming,” Kyle said.
“I thought you’d see it our way, once you knew the whole story,” Cummins said.
“Yes, well, like I said, the picture folks painted of Jensen after the train wreck just didn’t quite fit with what happened here. But then, the evidence is pretty strong that he did shoot Hayes after the train wreck.”
“I don’t doubt that he did that,” Cummins said. “I mean, we already know he was a killer, but he was in chains, and he didn’t have a gun, so the truth is, I’m wonderin’ how he did it.”
“Hayes had a gun, didn’t he?” Kyle asked.
“Yes.”
“We didn’t find a gun with Hayes,” Kyle said. “So I figure that the train wreck must’ve knocked Hayes out, and that’s when Jensen got the keys, unlocked his shackles, then took the deputy’s pistol. After that, he needed to keep Hayes from coming to and identifying him, so he shot deputy with his own gun.”
“Damn, that was a brand-new gun, too,” Duke said. “I was with him when he bought it off the gun salesman that come through here. A Smith and Wesson .44. Yes, sir, Hayes set some store in that gun.”
“Did you say it was a .44?”
“Yes.”
“That’s funny.”
“What’s funny?”
Kyle reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a bullet. He showed it to the others. “This is the bullet that killed Hayes,” he said. “I had the undertaker extract it for me.”
“So?”
“This is a .36 caliber.”
“You sure that’s a .36 caliber?” Cummins asked. “Sometimes a bullet will get all bent out of shape when it’s been fired. I’ve seen it a lot of times, and I know you have, too.”
“Does this bullet look all out of shape to you?” Kyle asked.
Cummins shook his head. “No, it don’t. But that don’t mean nothin’. Jensen must’ve had a pistol hid on him somewhere.”
“Are you telling me that you arrested him, tried him, found him guilty, and sentenced him, but in all that time you never bothered to search him for a pistol?”
“Well, it might have been one of them derringers,” Duke said. “They’re little and you can hide them real good.”
“The only derringers I know are .41 caliber,” Kyle said.
“Yeah, well, it don’t make no difference whether Jensen kilt Hayes or not. We know he kilt Gillis, and that’s what he was bein’ sent to Yuma for.”
“That’s true,” Kyle agreed. “No matter what happened with Hayes, it doesn’t let Mr. Jensen off the hook. He still stands convicted for killing Deputy Gillis. But it does make my job of finding out what actually happened to Hayes and the money from the train robbery a little more difficult.”
“Money?” Cummins said. “What money from the train robbery?”
“The train was carrying a money shipment of twenty thousand dollars,” Kyle said. “That money is gone, Jensen is gone. It stands to reason that he took it.”
Cummins whistled. “Twenty thousand dollars. Damn, what I couldn’t do with that money.”
There was a disapproving expression on Kyle’s face as he looked at Cummins.
“What are you lookin’ at?” Cummins asked.
“What do you mean, what you couldn’t do with that money?” Kyle asked. “That’s a strange thing for a law enforcement officer to say.”
“Hell, it ain’t like I was thinkin’ on stealin’ it,” Cummins defended. “I was just commentin’ on how nice it would be to have that much money. Don’t you agree?”
“It isn’t something I let myself think about,” Kyle replied.
Chapter Seventeen
“Marshal? Marshal Cummins?”
The lawmen looked around to see Joe Claibie standing by the bar. He was holding one of the wanted dodgers.
“Yeah, Claibie, what is it?” Cummins asked.
Claibie held up one of the wanted flyers that Kyle had brought with him. “Crack give me this here dodger a couple minutes ago.”
“Yes, I told him to hand some of them out.”
“Well, the thing is, him givin’ me this flyer and all makes me think I know who it was now that stole your horse.”
“Stole my horse?” Cummins said in an agitated voice. “What do you mean? When was my horse stole?”
“Not the horse you ride,” Claibie said. “I’m talkin’ about the sorrel you was goin’ to sell. You mind that sorrel?”
“Yes, of course I remember it.”
“Well, sir, I’m right sure that I know who stole it. It was this here same fella that you got on the wanted poster here.”
Claibie showed the marshal the woodcut picture on the flyer.
“Matt Jensen? Are you tellin’ us that Matt Jensen is the one stole that horse?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m tellin’ you.”
“You’re out of your mind. Jensen is long gone from here.”
“He ain’t that long gone,” Claibie said. “He was here just a couple of days ago.”
“Are you talkin’ about before Gillis was kilt?” Jackson asked.
Claibie shook his head. “No, sir, I’m talkin’ after that. Fact is, I’m talkin’ about after the train wreck, too, ’cause what he done was, he brung in a string of horses from Sentinel.”
“I don’t understand,” Cummins said. “Why would he bring in a string of horses?”
“He done that because we had had to put on extra coaches ’cause of the train wreck.”
“So what you are saying is, after Matt Jensen escaped, he took a job with the stage line, then came back to the same place where he was convicted for murder?” Cummins asked. “Either you are out of your mind, or he is.”