Free Sheriff on the Spot by Brett Halliday

won’t be any defense,” Deems put in stridently. “Not for a man who kills a woman’s husband after he’s caught them together. Anybody knows that’s murder.”
    Without looking at Deems, Pat said, “You’d do better to keep your mouth out of this. Go ahead, Ma’am. What happened then?”
    â€œI told you Sam was terribly drunk. He toppled over on top of Fred. Passed out. I couldn’t move him. I was frantic. I rushed out in the hall and remembered Ezra. I knew he’d help me. Or, help Sam. So I ran and knocked on his door. I got him to come here and he picked Sam up and carried him out. He was groaning about you being sheriff and finding it out,” she went on swiftly, “and I remembered that I’d heard you were turning your badge over to Jeth Purdue tonight.
    â€œAnd some men say Jeth isn’t as honest as he could be. I don’t know about that, but I remembered it and I told Ezra I thought maybe we could fix things. You know, by paying Jeth to keep it quiet.” Kitty paused to wring her hands together, then went on in a pleading tone:
    â€œYou see, I felt responsible. It was all my fault. And I knew Sam had struck in self-defense, but I also knew that it would be called murder because of the circumstances—with Fred being my husband and all. So I made Ezra promise not to do anything until I could try to fix things up with Jeth Purdue. I thought if I told him the truth,” she faltered uncomfortably, “and if Sam and Ezra offered to pay him, he might help us get rid of Fred’s body, or fix up a different story, or something. I know it was terribly wrong, but what else could I do?”
    â€œAnd then,” Pat said, “you found out I was still sheriff instead of Jeth?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhere did you come into it?” Pat growled, whirling to look directly at Joe Deems. “You were mighty dead-set that I shouldn’t come up here. You even pulled a gun to try and stop me. Why were you worried?”
    Deems compressed his lips and cleared his throat. “I knew something was wrong,” he confessed. “Kitty saw you from the back when you first walked into the saloon. She called me and begged me to keep you away from up here. I didn’t know why. She didn’t tell me it was murder. But she said it would be bad for the hotel—for business. So I did my best to stop you.”
    â€œWhere are Sam and Ezra now?” Harold Morgan asked suddenly.
    Pat turned to look at Kitty. “I guess Sam’s still in his room,” she said pitiably. “I’ve seen him get drunk like that before, and it generally lasts all night. I don’t know about Ezra. I haven’t seen either one of them since—” she paused to shudder—“since Ezra carried Sam out of here.”
    â€œWe’d better unlock Sam’s room and arrest him,” Deems said importantly. “I’ll go down and get an extra key.”
    â€œGet one for Ezra’s room, too,” Pat called after him.
    â€œYou won’t—you’re not going to arrest Sam, are you?” Kitty arose and came toward the sheriff. Her eyes were dry and they burned into his. “He didn’t mean any harm. He was drunk, and it was all my fault. Every bit of it. If I’d told him I was married it would never have happened.”
    Despite his prejudice against her, Pat felt a surge of sympathy for the woman who stood before him pleading for Sam’s life. It seemed to him he sensed an essential honesty and decency inside her which belied the painted face and sensuously bared bosom. He found himself believing, by God, that she had been in love with Sam, strange as it was that any woman could love the dark, ugly little man.
    He said slowly, “I don’t know just how things will turn out, Ma’am. Sam will have to take his chance, I reckon. It never pays to fool with the law. Bribin’ a sheriff