was inside the lobby before he headed down the street toward the town jail, where he expected to find the sheriff, or a deputy. The dog trailed along behind him.
Ira Page was a man who took his job seriously. Being sheriff of Rainwater County was not an easy assignment, although on this Sunday night it was relatively quiet. His jail consisted of three cells that usually held three or four prisoners each. Tonight, two of the cells held two men each. All four men had been drunk and rowdy and would be released in the morning. In the third cell was a knife-wielding half-breed Cherokee Indian with scars on his face from numerous barroom brawls. He had cut the thumb off a cardplayer he thought was cheating him.
The Cherokee was a dangerous man with a fondness for knives and was quite proficient with them. He was back in the cell block ranting and bragging about being a friend of Charles Floyd, the notorious outlaw more commonly known as Pretty Boy.
If true, the prisoner's friendship with Pretty Boy didn't impress Page. A short, thick-chested man with iron-gray hair, the sheriff observed the letter of the law. If his brother had been brawling in the pool hall, he'd be in jail. His dear old mother would be in jail if she had sliced off a man's thumb on the mere suspicion that he was cheating during a card game.
Page closed the door to the cell block to shut out, to a degree, the racket made by the prisoner and seated himself behind his desk. With his booted feet propped on the corner, his hat pulled low over his forehead, he dozed. That was the way Thad found him when he opened the door and came into the office.
The only move Sheriff Page made was to tilt his head slightly and silently eye the big, dark-haired man who filled the doorway.
“Are you the sheriff? ”
“The badge says so. Who're you? ”
“Thad Taylor. I'm helping out at the hotel.”
“Hadn't heard Justine had took on anybody since she brought in that little gal from Missouri to help run things. What's on your mind? If it's not important, hold it till morning. I need a nap.”
“I'd consider this more important than a nap.” Thad's voice was tight.
“Well, spill it.”
“Mrs. Byers's niece and I were walking out south of town. About halfway between town and that first pumping well, my dog — she isn't really mine, just a stray that got attached to me because I fed her — came back from up the road with something in her mouth. It was part of a human arm with a hand on the end of it. From the look of it, I'd say it was a woman's hand.”
“The hell you say! ”The sheriff's feet hit the floor.
“It had been chewed on a bit, but it looked to me like the bone had been sawed. It wasn't a jagged break.”
“Where is it? ”
“Beside the road, right where the dog dropped it.”
“How long ago? ”
“Came here from there after I took Miss Jones to the hotel.”
“Have you told this to anyone? ”
“Not a soul. I told Miss Jones not to say anything.”
“Good. Something like this could cause a stampede of curiosity seekers out there.” He picked up the telephone. “Clara, get me Deputy Franklin.” After a minute, he said, “Hello, Gus. How long will it take for you to get over here? No, there's no emergency. I just need to do something. All right. Five minutes.” The sheriff hung up the phone and took his gun belt from a peg on the wall behind the desk. “Anything that's said on that phone is all over town before you can say doodle-dee-squat, ”he warned as he strapped on the belt.
“I know. That's why I didn't phone.”
“Glad you didn't. Where're you from, Taylor? ”
“Missouri originally. Been working down near Tulsa.”
“You working for anyone up here? ”
“Not yet. Haven't been here but a couple of days.”
“What brought you here? ”
“You're asking a lot of questions, Sheriff.”
“I don't know you, mister. I need to know who I'm dealing with.”
“You'll not be dealing with me on anything after I show
Ira Page was a man who took his job seriously. Being sheriff of Rainwater County was not an easy assignment, although on this Sunday night it was relatively quiet. His jail consisted of three cells that usually held three or four prisoners each. Tonight, two of the cells held two men each. All four men had been drunk and rowdy and would be released in the morning. In the third cell was a knife-wielding half-breed Cherokee Indian with scars on his face from numerous barroom brawls. He had cut the thumb off a cardplayer he thought was cheating him.
The Cherokee was a dangerous man with a fondness for knives and was quite proficient with them. He was back in the cell block ranting and bragging about being a friend of Charles Floyd, the notorious outlaw more commonly known as Pretty Boy.
If true, the prisoner's friendship with Pretty Boy didn't impress Page. A short, thick-chested man with iron-gray hair, the sheriff observed the letter of the law. If his brother had been brawling in the pool hall, he'd be in jail. His dear old mother would be in jail if she had sliced off a man's thumb on the mere suspicion that he was cheating during a card game.
Page closed the door to the cell block to shut out, to a degree, the racket made by the prisoner and seated himself behind his desk. With his booted feet propped on the corner, his hat pulled low over his forehead, he dozed. That was the way Thad found him when he opened the door and came into the office.
The only move Sheriff Page made was to tilt his head slightly and silently eye the big, dark-haired man who filled the doorway.
“Are you the sheriff? ”
“The badge says so. Who're you? ”
“Thad Taylor. I'm helping out at the hotel.”
“Hadn't heard Justine had took on anybody since she brought in that little gal from Missouri to help run things. What's on your mind? If it's not important, hold it till morning. I need a nap.”
“I'd consider this more important than a nap.” Thad's voice was tight.
“Well, spill it.”
“Mrs. Byers's niece and I were walking out south of town. About halfway between town and that first pumping well, my dog — she isn't really mine, just a stray that got attached to me because I fed her — came back from up the road with something in her mouth. It was part of a human arm with a hand on the end of it. From the look of it, I'd say it was a woman's hand.”
“The hell you say! ”The sheriff's feet hit the floor.
“It had been chewed on a bit, but it looked to me like the bone had been sawed. It wasn't a jagged break.”
“Where is it? ”
“Beside the road, right where the dog dropped it.”
“How long ago? ”
“Came here from there after I took Miss Jones to the hotel.”
“Have you told this to anyone? ”
“Not a soul. I told Miss Jones not to say anything.”
“Good. Something like this could cause a stampede of curiosity seekers out there.” He picked up the telephone. “Clara, get me Deputy Franklin.” After a minute, he said, “Hello, Gus. How long will it take for you to get over here? No, there's no emergency. I just need to do something. All right. Five minutes.” The sheriff hung up the phone and took his gun belt from a peg on the wall behind the desk. “Anything that's said on that phone is all over town before you can say doodle-dee-squat, ”he warned as he strapped on the belt.
“I know. That's why I didn't phone.”
“Glad you didn't. Where're you from, Taylor? ”
“Missouri originally. Been working down near Tulsa.”
“You working for anyone up here? ”
“Not yet. Haven't been here but a couple of days.”
“What brought you here? ”
“You're asking a lot of questions, Sheriff.”
“I don't know you, mister. I need to know who I'm dealing with.”
“You'll not be dealing with me on anything after I show
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