“Mr. Dempster, may I ask a question?” Goff asked, holding up his hand.
“Certainly, Mr. Goff.”
“I know that you, being a lawyer and all, are probably concerned about all the technical things of the trial, whether he got a good defense, whether the trial was held too fast, that sort of thing. But shouldn’t the bottom line be whether or not he is guilty? I mean, if he killed Moe Gillis in cold blood, then that’s murder and it seems to me like it shouldn’t make all that difference how the trial was conducted. The man committed murder, and he should pay for it.”
“That’s just it,” Dempster said. “I don’t think the man did commit murder.”
“How can you say that?” Goff asked. “My brother-in-law was in the saloon that day, and he tells me that he saw Gillis come staggering in through the door, already gut-shot, with his pistol in his holster. Then, a second or two later, this fella Jensen come in behind him, holding a gun in his hand. And that gun, my brother-in-law says, was still smoking.”
“There was only one eyewitness to the actual event,” Dempster said. “And he tells a different story.”
“What about Jackson?” Goodman asked. “I hear Jackson was standin’ in front of the saloon, and he seen the whole thing.”
Dempster shook his head. “Jackson did not see it.”
“He claims that he did.”
“Gentlemen, I was present when I heard Marshal Cummins order Jackson to make that claim.”
“Wait a minute, hold it. Are you saying that the marshal told Jackson to lie?” Taylor asked.
Goff laughed. “My oh my, who could possibly believe that our marshal would ask someone to lie for him.”
The others laughed as well.
“You said there was an eyewitness,” Goff said.
“Yes.”
“Who was it?”
“It was young Timmy Dawkins,” Dempster said.
“A kid? You’re saying the only eyewitness was a kid?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Come on, who’s going to believe a kid? And how did he happen to see it in the first place?”
“Timmy, you want to answer that?” Dempster asked.
“I was in the dress shop with Mama,” Timmy said. “It’s right across the street from where it happened. I was looking through the window and saw it all.”
“All right,” Goodman said. “Maybe the kid did see it. But like Goff said, who is going to believe a kid? Even if Timmy thinks he is telling the truth, kids don’t always see things the way they actually are.”
“Timmy happens to be a remarkably observant young man,” Dempster said.
“Observant? What do you mean, remarkably observant?”
“Test him.”
“What do you mean, test him?”
“Ask him something to test his observation skills.”
“All right,” Goodman said. “Timmy, there is a calendar in this room. Without looking at it, tell me about the picture.”
“It is a picture of a train at night,” Timmy said. “The train’s headlight is on, and some of the car windows are lit, but not all of them. And there is a coyote on a cliff, looking down at the train.”
Goodman smiled. “Yes. That’s very good.”
“Timmy, am I wearing a ring?” Goff asked.
“No, sir, you aren’t. But Mr. Montgomery is,” Timmy answered. “It has a red stone.”
Montgomery’s hands were under the table, and with a smile, he raised them to show a ring with a red stone.
“All right,” Goodman said. “I think we can all agree that Timmy is a very observant and very bright young man.”
“Good,” Dempster said. He looked over at Timmy. “Tell us exactly what you saw on the day of the shooting,” he said.
“I saw Mr. Jensen come riding into town,” Timmy said. “Of course, I didn’t know who he was then. But I saw that he was riding a very pretty sorrel horse. He got off the horse, hung a wet hat onto the saddle—”
“Wait a minute, a wet hat? How could his hat be wet? It wasn’t raining that day,” Goff said.
“I wondered about that as well,” Dempster said. “But it turns out that as Jensen rode into town, he stopped at Mrs. Poindexter’s place. She was pumping water into a bucket. He finished filling the bucket for her. Then he pumped water into his hat and gave it to his horse.”
“I’ll be damn. Then it checks out,” Goff said. “Oh, beg pardon for the cuss word, Mrs. Dawkins.”
“That’s quite all right,” Mrs. Dawkins said.
“Go on with your account, Timmy,” Dempster said.
“Yes, sir,” Timmy said. “Well, after he hung the wet hat on the saddle, he tied his horse to the hitching rail in front of the saloon. Then Deputy Gillis stepped out onto the front porch. They talked for a moment, but I couldn’t hear what they were talking about. Then, Deputy Gillis reached for his gun. Mr. Jensen went for his gun, too, and he drew his faster than Deputy Gillis. He shot Deputy Gillis—and the deputy dropped his pistol back into his holster, then turned and walked back into the saloon. Mr. Jensen followed him into the saloon, and that was all I saw.”
“Thank you, Timmy,” Dempster said. He looked at the others. “You may be interested to know that this is the very same story Jensen told during that debacle of a trial.”
Montgomery drummed his hands on the table. “All right, suppose this is true,” he said. “At this point, what can we do about it?”
“We can remove the marshal,” Dempster said.
“How?”
“If you will back me up with a bill of particulars, I will go to the governor’s office,” Kyle said.
“Will the governor listen to us?” Taylor asked.
“I think he will,” Kyle said. He glanced over at Dempster. “Mr. Dempster has started the ball rolling with a letter he sent to the governor. I’ll follow up on it.”
“You can count on us, Marshal,” Montgomery said.
Chapter Nineteen
Kyle was sitting in the governor’s outer office. He was holding his white hat in his lap, and he glanced down toward his boots, which gleamed in a high gloss, polished just for this occasion.
At the back of the room was a door, and in the transom window over the door were the words GOVERNOR’S OFFICE. The door opened, and an aide to the governor came out.
“Governor Frémont will see you now, Marshal Kyle,” the aide said.
“Thank you,” Kyle said.
The door to the governor’s office was open and, looking in, Kyle saw John C. Frémont standing with his back to the door, studying a map that was hung on the wall. The map was very large, and included all the states and territories west of the Mississippi River. It appeared that Frémont had not seen Kyle, so the marshal cleared his throat and tapped lightly on the door frame.
“Why does everyone clear their throat to announce their presence?” the governor asked without turning around. “Why not just call out, ‘Hey, you?’”
“Hey, you,” Kyle said, and the governor’s resultant laughter was genuine. The tension was eased as the governor turned to face Kyle.
“So, Marshal, you are here to talk about the town of Purgatory?” Governor Frémont asked.
“Yes, sir,” Kyle replied.
“Do you know the town?”
“I just came from Purgatory,” Kyle said.
“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you know the town.”
Kyle nodded. “I think I do,” he said. “It was more than just a casual visit. I met with some of the town’s most influential people.”
“Robert Dempster?”
“Yes, sir, I met with Dempster.”
“He’s a drunk, isn’t he?”
“Do you know Mr. Dempster?”
“I know him by reputation only,” Governor Frémont said. “From what I understand, he was once a very fine jurist.”
“Yes, sir, that is my understanding as well,” Kyle said.
“And now he is a drunk.”
“I think it might be better to say that now he is a reformed drunk,” Kyle said. “When I met him he was sober, and he stayed sober for the entire time I was there.”