"Belleranti, Guy - A Falling Out Among Thieves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Belleranti Guy)

= A Falling Out Among Thieves
by Guy Belleranti


Deputy Latimore stepped out from the rest of the posse as I reined in my horse. "Marshal Clagget, those stage robbers were hiding out here by the creek just like you thought. Me and the boys had 'em surrounded before they could make a run. Got all three of 'em cuffed and ready for the ride back."

I dismounted. "Good work. I'll water and rest my horse a bit, and then-- Wait a minute. You only got three cuffed? Where's the fourth?"

Latimore shuffled his feet. "Dead, sir."

"Dead?"

"Yeah. Uh, murdered."

"Murdered? What--"

"Not by us, Marshal. By one of their own. Right before we got here." Latimore removed his big Stetson, moped the sweat from his brow with his red checkered kerchief, and went on. "Buck Jameson is the dead guy. Stabbed in the back."

"Where is he?"

"Through those trees. But watch out -- there's a drop-off on the other side. That's where he is."

I walked the direction he indicated, Latimore following on my heels. Sure enough, the forest opened up to a sudden gorge, and forty feet down lay the crumpled figure of a man. "You go down to make sure he's dead?"

"Yep. Took that little trail starting right next to those manzanita bushes. Lot easier than going straight down, and also figured you wouldn't want me to mess up anything. Figure the killer's gotta be Percy Cronin, Thad Long or Jeb Hunter, but I don't know which."

"Don't they know--"

"They're blaming each other. Stage robbing is one thing, but murder...that means hanging."

I sighed. "It does at that. Reckon I better go down and take a closer look at Jameson. Then I'll come back for a few men to help haul him out."

"Seems like a lot of effort for a no-good outlaw," Latimore said.

I gave him a sharp look.

"Not that I'm saying we shouldn't do it. It's just...." He trailed off with a shrug.

"We're the law, Latimore. Seldom easy, often pretty thankless, but that's the way it is. If you don't like it--"

Deputy Latimore threw up a hand, his long face reddening. "Forget I said anything, Marshal. You're right, of course, and I'm sorry. Guess I was just letting my lack of sleep get the better of me. It won't happen again."

I chewed the end of my mustache for a moment, nodded, turned to make my descent, then swung back. "Oh, Latimore, have one of the men water my horse. And keep a close eye on the prisoners. Before we head back to town I'm gonna want to talk to all three of those scoundrels."

"Yes, sir."

I hiked down the rocky path Latimore had indicated, and took a good long look around. Buck Jameson lay on his stomach, arms stretched out, head to one side. The sun glinted off his metal-framed spectacles, and the eyes behind them stared as if in shock.

I moved closer, bent low, studied his dusty boots and pants, then saw the knife. Stabbed in the back, sure enough. Had never even had a chance to draw his gun.