Free Deadman Canyon by Louis Trimble Page A

isn’t going to be a very happy man. But he has to be told — and soon. He’ll want to see Bert.”
    “I’ll stop off at the ranch on my way back to camp,” Clay said. He glanced out the window at the shadows lengthening along the street. “But I don’t imagine he’ll come in tonight.”
    “If he does, I’ll be around,” Ponders said. “Otherwise I’ll wait until he comes in tomorrow before going to your place.”
    “I’ll tell him,” Clay said. He stepped back as Ponders came forward and motioned Coniff to follow him. The two cells opened directly onto the office. Both were empty and Ponders put Coniff in the one looking directly toward his desk.
    Clay felt a sense of relief as he watched the sheriff go efficiently about locking up Coniff and then return to his desk to take down the particulars of Clay’s charge. His uneasiness at the thought that Ponders might favor Coniff dissolved. The sheriff was acting again like the kind of man Clay remembered — doing his work without letting his personal prejudices interfere. Clay thought that the judge might well be right and Ponders had warned Clay only out of concern for keeping his town peaceful.
    He would know more certainly tomorrow, after he saw how Ponders acted in the face of the proof he had to offer.
    The sheriff finished writing down Clay’s charge. “All right,” he said. “I’ll be along tomorrow. Meantime, keep out of Bick Damson’s way.” He glanced toward the cell where Coniff sat dejectedly on a bunk. “I’ve got enough trouble as it is,” he added.
    “As long as Damson doesn’t bother me, I won’t bother him,” Clay said flatly. “I told you that before, Sheriff. But if you’re thinking of my tangling with that pair of gunslingers he calls hired hands, remember they were trying to keep me off my own land.”
    “I won’t argue the point,” Ponders said with a touch of weariness in his voice. “I’m just telling you to avoid trouble. If Damson is behind what’s been happening, I’ll find out about it. If he isn’t I’ll find that out too.”
    “Who else wants me out of the valley?” Clay demanded.
    “The sniper was driving people off your land before you ever came back home,” Ponders reminded him. “Think about that when you start laying the blame on Bick Damson.”
    Clay picked up his hat and settled it on his head. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he admitted. He started for the door. “And I’ve been remembering that the sniper shot only to scare people — not to kill them. Until I came back.”
    He opened the door. “I’ll put Bert’s horse in the livery, Sheriff.”
    Ponders nodded. Clay went out into the cool shadows of evening. A small crowd of curious boys had gathered when he paraded Coniff through town, but there were none about now. It was suppertime and they had found something more important to attend to, Clay thought with a faint smile.
    His stomach said it was suppertime for him too. After he took Coniff’s horse to the livery stable, he rode slowly toward the Cattlemen’s Bar, thinking about getting his meal there. He saw no sign of the fancy palomino tied outside to indicate that Damson might be around.
    Ponders had cautioned him about tangling with Damson, but he hadn’t said anything about Kemp Vanner, and he hadn’t said anything about Molly Doane.
    And, Clay admitted to himself, as much as anything he wanted to go into the Cattlemen’s on the chance he might be able to talk to Molly, He had thought a good deal about her during the long days in the saddle. He wanted to know more about her relationship with Vanner and Damson. And he had the idea she might be able to answer some of the questions that bothered him.
    He swung the dun toward the hitchrail in front of the saloon. He dismounted and crossed the sidewalk. Pushing open the doors, he stepped into warmth and noise.
    The big barroom was fairly well filled with men eating or drinking or just listening to Molly Doane. She and a