King Blood(61)

'You don't have to put it on me!' Arlie snapped. 'I'm doin' it myself. I 'preciate your tryin' to protect me, little brother, but I ain't gonna allow it.' He drew himself up, extending his wrists. 'Put the cuff on, Marshal Harry. I done that killin'.'

The marshal looked at him, shook his head cynically. He had misstated the facts a little himself, he said. His eyewitness was actually of the opinion that Critch was the killer. So if Arlie would corroborate the witness's testimony…

'I won't!' Arlie said doggedly. 'I done it, an' I'm takin' the blame.'

'You didn't, and you're not,' Critch said. 'I'm your man, Marshal.'

'The hell you are!'

'The hell you are!'shouted the brothers King.

And as they squared off from each other, their fists drawn back, the marshal suddenly burst into laughter. Smilingly assured them that neither was guilty, that the person who had killed Ethel Anderson had already admitted it.

'Now,' he went on, 'you have a right to know why I put you through this rigmarole. The answer is that I felt you two were a potential source of very big trouble. And by way of heading off that trouble, I had to resolve some very serious doubts I entertained concerning your character.'

'They ain't nothin' wrong with my boys' character…' Old Ike spoke for the first time. 'Asked me, I'd a told you.'

And Tepaha added that ol' Harry was one big damned fool, unable to see what was obvious to an idiot.

The marshal nodded in suave apology. 'Not knowing them as well as you, I regarded them as two very determined, self-seeking young men. Thoroughly selfish and willing to go to any lengths to get their own way. I am glad to say that I was wrong.'

He was by no means sure that he had been wrong. Still, it was a world of miracles, was it not? And if giving a dog a bad name turned him bad, perhaps by giving him a good one he could be made – well, safe at least.

'Shit,' grunted Old Ike King; then, with Tepaha, rose heavily to his feet.

He started toward the door, Tepaha trailing; rambling of plans he had to make and the lack of time for damned foolishness. He added that the boys were to eat themselves some breakfast. Then, after a moment's grudging pause:

'Welcome to stay'n eat, too, Harry.'

'Why, thank you, Ike…' The marshal hesitated. 'If you're sure it's not too much trouble.'

Ike gestured, brushing the notion aside, and went on out the door. But Old Tepaha turned, eyes blazing proudly: spoke in a mixture of Apache and Spanish, as do all wise men when both forcefulness and delicacy are required.

'Has a dog entered the lodge of Old Ike King?' he inquired. 'Surely no man would suggest that his host was so poor in manners and goods as to make his presence troublesome.'

'I am no dog,' Thompson replied. 'We have smoked together and been warmed at one another's fires, and we are friends.'

'Then, heed me!' Tepaha said. 'In the lodge of Old Ike King, there is always meat of which any man may eat his fill. Also, there is always drink. Mescal, and tequila, and for honored guests the finest whiskey.'

The marshal inclined his head courteously. 'I have seen this,' he declared. *c*

Breakfast finished and farewells exchanged, Marshal Thompson walked back through the village of King's Junction and entered the railroad station. He checked the arrival time of the next west-bound train with the half-breed station agent; then, went down the station platform to its end, and came to a stop behind the freight-shed.

He was concealed there from both the townspeople and the agent. I.K. promptly scampered up from the right-of-way ditch, and joined him. His suit and other garments had been recently purchased but no one would have guessed it from his appearance.

'Twenty-three skidoo, Marshal Harry,' he said pertly. 'How's your hammer hangin'?'

Thompson replied that it had seemed to be satisfactorily suspended at his last inspection. Then, shook his head amazedly as he looked the young Indian up and down.

'My God, I.K.! How can anyone manage to get so many grease spots on him?'

'Ho, ho,' I.K. said, companionably nudging him with an elbow. 'Don' kid me, kid. I a chicken inspector.' Then, after taking a cautious look around, 'You got 'em tied up, huh? Haul 'em to station like God damn hogs?'

The marshal said, no, he did not have the King brothers tied up. And, no – replying to the youth's next question – neither had he shot their asses off. I.K. gaped at him; profanely professed puzzlement and displeasure.

'What kinda shit you make, ol' Harry? That Critch have seventy-two thousand dollars he steal – '

'That he probably stole,' the marshal interjected. 'But there's no way of proving that he did.'

'Sure, there is way! If money not stolen, how come he not make 'plaint to you when Arlie make me steal from him? You ask him, ol' Harry. Watch sonofbitch squirm.' I.K. nodded firmly, giving Thompson a speculative look. 'Maybe I better be marshal. Show you how to do job.'