Free The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Six by Louis L’Amour Page B

“What’s the matter? Cut yourself?”
    In a panic, he looked down and saw that his hand was bloody. Weber’s blood? It couldn’t be. He’d worn gloves. He must have scratched his hand afterward, on the bushes.
    “It’s nothing,” he said carelessly, “just a scratch.”
    The driver looked at him oddly. “Where to, mister?”
    “Down Wilshire, then left.”
    Cruzon got out his handkerchief and wiped his hand. His trousers were wet and he felt dirty. It was a while before he got home. He stripped off his clothes and almost fell into bed.
    Cruzon awakened with a start. It was broad daylight and time to dress for work. His mind was startlingly clear, yet he was appalled at what he’d done. He had mur—He flinched at the word. He had killed a man.
    He must be careful now. Any move might betray him. Reviewing his actions of the previous night, he tried to think of where he might have erred.
    He had thrown the iron bar away. He had worn gloves in the car, and it had been left on a street in a bad neighborhood. He had taken precautions returning home. Above all, nobody knew he was acquainted with Weber.
    There was nothing to worry about. He wanted to drive by the pit and see if any marks had been left, but knew it might be fatal. He must never go near the place again.
    There was nothing to connect him with the payroll. When Weber turned up missing, there was a chance they would believe he had made the switch himself, then skipped out.
    After dressing for work, he took time to carefully brush the suit he’d worn the previous night. He hurried out, drove to work, stopping only once, to buy a paper. There was nothing about the missing payroll. That puzzled and worried him, until he remembered it was Monday. That must have been in the Sunday paper, which he’d missed.
    At his usual hour, he dropped around to Barnaby’s. He took three papers with him, but waited until he had his coffee before opening them. A careful search netted him exactly nothing. There was no comment on the payroll robbery. Then, the two men whom he’d overheard came in and sat down near him. Another man came in a moment later, and Cruzon gasped audibly, turning cold and stiff.
    The newcomer was short, stocky, and had a pale face. Cruzon almost gasped with relief when he saw the man was all of ten years older than Weber. The man carried a newspaper, and sat down one stool away from him.
    Cruzon took off his uniform cap and smoothed his blond hair with a shaky hand. No use getting jumpy whenever he saw a man even built like Weber; there were lots of them.
    He had finished his lunch and was on his second cup of coffee, and trying so hard to hear what his neighbors were saying that he’d been prodded twice on the arm before he realized the stocky man on his other side was speaking to him. “How about the sugar?” he asked. Then the fellow grinned knowingly. “You must have had a bad night. I had to speak three times before you heard me.”
    Impatiently, Cruzon grabbed the sugar and shoved it at the man. The fellow took it, his eyes questioning and curious.
    Cruzon got his attention back to the other men just in time to hear one say, “…good joke, I’d say. I wonder who got it?”
    “Could have been anybody. You’ve got to hand it to the boss. He’s smart. He puts so many twists in that payroll delivery, nobody could ever figure it out! I’ll bet he lays awake nights working out angles!”
    “Did Weber come in late? I haven’t seen him.”
    “Not yet. Say, wouldn’t it be funny if he took it? He’s just dopey enough to try something like that!”
    They paid their checks and walked out. Cruzon stared blindly at his coffee. Something was wrong! What did they mean by saying it was a good joke? He remembered all they had previously said, about not giving out the name of the driver or the route until the last minute, but had there been other precautions? Had…could he have been duped?
    His spoon rattled on his cup and the man beside him