The Plains of Laramie by Lauran Paine

Lew, at fifty-five, was in better physical shape than many men half his age. He had iron-gray hair above a sun-darkened face. He was wealthy and powerful and bull-like.
    Hubbell Wheaton, the dead sheriff’s younger brother, was in appearance at least the opposite of Lew Morgan. Hub was well over six feet in height; he was that leaned-down sinewy type of man whose endurance was nearly limitless. Like the dead lawman, Hubbell’s face was long and, viewed one way, gloomy. His eyes were very pale blue and his hair was like bleached straw. His general appearance was uncompromising and dour, but this was not entirely true because Hub Wheaton, while not a talkative man, was easy to know and in fact he had a quiet, forthright, even humorous disposition. But if little of this showed now, so soon after his brother’s killing, it was understandable.
    Ace McElhaney, who had worked with Hubbell Wheaton as a rider for the big cow outfits, felt envy at the way Lew Morgan was obviously treating Hub as his equal now. Ace was that kind of a man. He had his share of envy, and he also had a meanness of spirit that those who knew him well were also aware of. Particularly the riders who had been paired up with McElhaney on the roundups, for where two men eat, sleep, and work side-by-side for weeks at a time, all the little defects come out.
    It made Ace antagonistic now, seeing rich Lew Morgan standing over there talking to Hub Wheatonlike that, as though he wished for Wheaton’s approval of something, as though he were pleading with Hub.
    Ace stepped out into the roadway. As he walked forward, dust spurted underfoot and that malevolent afternoon sunlight bore down upon him. When he was close enough to be readily heard by those two conversing men, he brought up a hard, faint smile and called forward.
    “You two figured where that other three thousand is yet?”
    Morgan turned, hesitating in mid-sentence. Hubbell Wheaton’s pale eyes lifted, ran over to McElhaney, and stayed there. Ace stopped at the plank walk’s edge. He got the sudden feeling that his casual remark had struck like iron against flint with those two; they kept looking at him, making no effort to resume their conversation. Then Lew Morgan said rather briskly—“Well, think it over, Hub. I’ll see you again.”—and walked away.
    Ace looked after Morgan; a faint blush of color came into his face Morgan had not even nodded to him; he had simply turned and walked off.
    Hubbell Wheaton saw that look and also the swift rise of a fiery antagonism in McElhaney’s gaze. He said: “You could’ve said just about anything but what you did say, Ace. Morgan’s about half believing what his niece said the day we brought Ken and Travis in.”
    Ace switched his smoky gaze to Hub. “Amy? What did she say?”
    “That there was no three thousand dollars. That Travis only had nine thousand…and that it didn’t come from the express office at all.”
    McElhaney got off a curse. “You believe that?” hedemanded. “Dammit all, you come up after it was all over, Hub. You know how Travis put up a fight. Before that you saw how he tried like hell to escape from the posse.”
    “Amy’s notion is that, when he saw thirty armed men bust out after him, he just naturally took fright and ran.”
    “Amy,” snarled Ace. “What the hell would a woman know? Listen, how many common cowpunchers are ridin’ around the Laramie Plains with nine thousand gold dollars in their saddlebags?”
    Wheaton, seeing the wrath in McElhaney’s face, said: “Simmer down, Ace. I didn’t say Travis wasn’t the thief.”
    McElhaney teetered upon the plank walk’s edge, saying fiercely: “Amy! Amy! That dog-goned spinster…why don’t she just stick to her danged knittin’.”
    Hubbell fished in a pocket, brought forth a little badge, and held it in his palm. He used this to change the conversation. Ace glowered at the badge, his eyes still yeasty.
    “I heard over at Johnny’s place there was talk of