The Plains of Laramie by Lauran Paine Page B

“Lew, Ken Wheaton is dead. One death in that family is enough.”
    “What? What are you talking about?”
    “I told you that the very fact that Travis did not have the full twelve thousand dollars which was stolen from the express company safe, although he was overtaken…and killed…before he could have spent, or even hidden any of it, meant that Travis was very possibly not the robber at all.”
    “All right, Amy,” said Lew. “You told me that. What’s it got to do with Ken and Hub Wheaton?”
    “This, Lew. Charley told me about the letter found on young Travis.”
    Lew’s cheeks darkened with color. He was becoming annoyed. His voice showed it, too, when he roughly said: “Quit beating around the bush, Amy. Young Travis had a letter on him. Dammit, what are you getting at?”
    “Someone had to write that letter, Lew. Someone was close to Travis down in Arizona. Someone, probably the man who wrote that letter, will be coming to Laramie over Travis’s killing.” Amy paused to watch the gradual spread of understanding on her uncle’s face. “If Frank Travis was not the express company robber…if he owned that nine thousand dollars in gold and the person who comes here knows that…then that person is also going to hear how Travis was shot to death without a chance by Sheriff Wheaton’s posse and to go just a little further, Lew…someone will very likely tryto kill Charley and Ace McElhaney, the slayers of Travis, and probably Hub Wheaton as well.”
    Lew Morgan sat still for a half minute arranging all this in orderly sequence in his masculine mind—and came up with the identical sum total Amy had just given him in forceful words.
    “I was in that posse, too,” he ultimately said. “So was Ken. So was…”
    “Half the men in Laramie were in it according to Charley. And another thing, Lew…that blood bay horse. What right did Charley have to bring it here to the ranch? What right does he have keeping it at all?”
    Lew had no answer, so he shrugged bull-like shoulders and reached for his coffee. “No one else wanted it. Everyone thought it had a broken leg.” Lew sipped, put the cup down, and scowled. “If Charley left the critter out there, it would have died.”
    “I’m sure,” said Amy dryly, “that’s the only thought which motivated Charley…pity for an injured animal.”
    Lew squirmed. Amy had never approved of Charley Swindin, which was sometimes an issue between them. “Never mind the horse,” he muttered, “and never mind Charley.” He stood up. “I reckon I’ll ride into town.”
    “For the letter?”
    “Partly. To see it, anyway. Maybe the sender put a name on it. Otherwise, to talk this over with Hub. Hell, Amy, the only thought I had when I went before the town council for Hub was that he’d make a good sheriff, and it seemed right he should have the chance to finish Ken’s term.”
    Amy’s steely gaze softened toward her uncle. “I know,” she said to him. “I understand, Lew, and I’msorry if I poured cold water over your good deed. It’s simply that, if trouble comes, Hub will be in the middle of it.”
    “You left something unsaid, Amy. You’re thinking I put him there.”
    Amy answered this candidly, honestly, and quietly: “Yes.” She stood up.
    “Finish your breakfast,” said Lew, turning away. “I’ll be back directly.” He took five steps, then swung around. “Maybe I’ll bring Hub back for supper with me.”
    Those two exchanged a long look. Here was another issue between them—Amy’s spinsterhood. Although Lew Morgan found the notion of marriage for himself anathema, he conversely thought Amy’s singleness was some kind of a reflection upon the Morgan name.
    “If you wish,” said Amy in that chilly tone she used whenever she saw through her uncle and didn’t approve. “I think I’ll have a headache tonight and retire early, though.”
    Lincoln Ranch—so named because the original patent had been signed by President Abraham