Thompson looked sourly from one brother to the other. 'You expect me to believe that? That it was all a joke?'
'I hardly see how you can believe anything else,' said Critch, 'as long as Arlie and I say it was a joke.'
'Why, sure,' Arlie said warmly. 'You sure as hell couldn't believe I.K. He's the biggest damned liar in the Territory, and they's plenty of people that'll swear to it.'
Thompson said to let it go; whether the money had been stolen from Critch or whether Critch had given it to Arlie was not really important. The –
'Oh, I disagree, Marshal,' Critch broke in. 'The truthfulness of I.K. could be of the greatest importance. After all, if he lied in one instance he'd doubtless lie in another.'
'Forget it!' Thompson snapped. 'All I want to know is where you got that money – almost seventy thousand dollars?'
'Oh, one way and another,' Critch said airily. 'Gambling, cotton speculation; that sort of thing.'
'Can you prove that?'
'Naturally, I can't. No one could. Fortunately, I don't have to prove it. However' – he smiled pleasantly, 'I believe I can lend substantial credence to at least one part of my statement, if you'd care to join me in a game of poker.'
Thompson said he didn't care to, or need to. He already knew where Critch had gotten the money: from Ethel and/or Anne Anderson, alias Big Sis and Little Sis Anderson.
'Mmm,' Critch frowned thoughtfully. 'Ethel and Anne Anderson. Now where have I heard those names before?'
'Don't pull that stuff on me, mister! You stole that seventy thousand dollars from one or both of them, _and I can prove it!'_
In the old days, thought Old Ike King, a man did what he was big enough to do, and mostly there wasn't much difference between the men whose necks he stretched or who stretched his, if so it was to be. Mostly there was nothing personal in it, however it was. It was just a case of taking or being taken, killing or being killed. Well, sure, there was fellas that boohooed and whined about it – but there was fellas that would cry if you hung 'em with a new rope. And, sure, maybe you wished things was a different way; but they wasn't, and all you could do was hold out and hope.
In the old days, thought Old Ike King, a friend was someone you wouldn't kill, even when you had the chance, and vicey versa. A friend was someone you'd kill for and vicey versa. A friend was someone who did no wrong, no matter what he did; who saw you as doing no wrong, no matter what you did.
Now the padres weren't bad fellas, in their own way. But it was only natural that they should be mixed up about right and wrong, since they seldom got shot at or scalped, if at all. It was easy for them to believe that there was a fella with a long gray beard who lived up in the sky and looked out for everyone or anyways never let 'em get killed unless it was for their own good. It was easy for them to believe that there was a hell deep inside the earth; instead of its really bein' where you didn't have to dig for it.
In a funny kinda way, Old Ike King and the padres really thought a lot alike. They believed that whiskery fella up in the sky wasn't never wrong about nothing, whereas Ike believed that it was friends, those closest to him, who did no wrong.
You had to believe in 'em, see? You'd go out of your mind if you didn't, what with having to decide a hundred times a day what was right or wrong or halfway between.
To come right down to cases, what the hell could you believe in if not your friends and family? A man that would doubt them and believe an outsider would have to be a plumb sorry asshole…
'… afraid I don't understand, Marshal,' Critch was saying. 'You state that I stole the money from the Andersons, together or singly, yet you don't seem to have any idea of the amount they had. I do hope this isn't normal procedure for you, sir. To draw an analogy, you could charge a man with horse-stealing, with no proof that the horse ever existed.'
Thompson lowered his head doggedly, his face reddening. 'We know this,' he said. 'The Andersons were in business for approximately ten years, during which time they killed close to forty well-heeled travelers. It's not unreasonable to believe then that their aggregate loot amounted to seventy thousand dollars.'
'Maybe, maybe not,' Critch shrugged. 'The sisters had expenses during those ten years. It's not unreasonable to believe that those expenses amounted to forty or fifty thousand.'
'I'm talking about their net loot! After expenses!'
'Umm-hmm. I assume your estimate was arrived at after consulting the various relatives and heirs of the murder victims? They told you the probable amount the deceased had on their persons.'
'Correct. There was one man alone who had more than ten thousand.'
'Yes? And what did some of the others have?'
'Well, there was one with seventy-five hundred, and one with four thousand plus, and another with close to eight thousand, and – '