The Iron Kiss
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“It’s a little early for a drink, but let me order us one,” Sam said as he walked into the saloon. “You can call it my going-away present to you.”
Sam didn’t like the fact that his brother was leaving and he wanted him gone before the other men came in from their day of cattle driving. The bartender handed Sam a glass while two cowboys on horseback waited at the bar.
They both looked like they could use something stronger than beer. A third cowboy was seated at a table, and Sam nodded as if he knew all about the man—in reality, only one person fits the description of the stranger.
He had dark hair and a black mustache with bushy eyebrows over dark eyes. That man would know about the stranger’s visit here last night. The bartender set three glasses down and poured whiskey into each. Sam placed money on the counter and took his time picking up the glasses and turning toward the stranger, who also picked up his glass of whiskey.
“What’s your name?” Sam asked in a loud voice so everyone around them would hear. “I’m Sam.”
The stranger looked away as if embarrassed. His face remained pale beneath his thinning brown hair. It wasn’t often someone who stood up to him, which meant they must not be very good friends. But this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to stand up to him.
The other four times usually ended in jail or worse. And Sam always won because he always used force. If he didn’t have a gun he would beat the man until he couldn’t walk anymore.
“Name’s Jack,” the man said softly as he raised his glass of whiskey toward Sam. “I saw you come out of the bank today, so I figured it would be easier for you to get a look at what kind of man has been helping you out. Let me tell you, Sam, I don’t care much for the way you’ve been treating these people.”
“Well, now, Mr. Jack, I’ll just have to ask you—”
Jack slammed his glass against the wooden floor and cut Sam off. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. We should meet somewhere private and talk more about your dealings. You know, maybe we could work together and make this town a better place.”
Sam’s mouth went dry with fear; he almost dropped his glass. “Where are you staying? Maybe we could talk there.”
The bartender stepped between them, ready to pull them apart. But Jack pushed the bartender aside and turned to Sam. “Come with me tonight. We can go someplace nice and quiet and talk in private.”
Sam didn’t answer. He just watched Jack turn away and head through the door. The bartender gave him an angry stare, then walked back into the bar as soon as Jack left.
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. As Sam waited for the other men to return to the saloon, he thought of ways he might kill Jack. The problem was he couldn’t do it alone without the help of someone else, and he couldn’t trust anyone, especially a stranger. He glanced at the clock; it read three o’clock. He had planned for most of the day. Now it was time to act.
He slipped through the front doors of the saloon with his gun drawn. Most of the tables were empty except for a few cowhands eating lunch, while the others sat on stools around the bar drinking whiskey. Sam headed toward the stairs to the second floor and found Jack waiting for him on the landing leading up to the rooms.
“I told you we’d meet privately,” Jack said as he motioned for Sam to follow him down the hall. “Now let’s see how fast you can run.”
“Run where?” Sam asked in a low voice as he followed close behind.
“To the barn where you store your tools,” Jack said. “And when I tell you to stop running, you can start shooting.”
As Sam reached the open door at the end of the hall, the smell of old hay assaulted his nostrils along with the familiar sound of chickens squawking. “Don’t move!” Sam cried in a loud voice, hoping to scare Jack off before he started shooting.
But Jack wasn’t there. Sam turned around quickly. His heart sank as he saw Jack standing right beside him. “You shouldn’t be here,” Sam said.
Jack smiled and shook his head. “That’s what you think.” He took aim at Sam’s chest and fired.
The bullet grazed Sam’s shoulder, making him cry out in pain. Blood ran down his arm and dripped onto the floor. Before Sam could reach for his own gun, Jack aimed again at Sam’s head. “I’m going to kill you for killing my friend, but first I’m going to teach you to treat others with respect. That’s one lesson you will never forget.”
With that, he pulled the trigger. Sam threw himself to the side so the bullet hit the wall behind him instead of his temple. He felt the impact all the way to the center of his brain. A loud ringing filled his ears; everything seemed blurry around him.
***
“It’s a miracle,” Reverend Hargrove said over the telephone line. “I was certain the Lord would take her home with Him yesterday afternoon.”
“I know I should feel sorry for you, but I can’t. After all, I did was try to warn her. I guess she didn’t listen to anyone.”
“You didn’t have any choice,” Hargrove said sadly. “There’s nothing more to say.”
“She’s gone.” Sam paused before asking, “How are you feeling now?”
Hargrove chuckled. “I’m still trying to get my voice back after that terrible bout of pneumonia. And I’ve lost weight, too, which won’t do much good since my clothes don’t fit anymore. But the worst part is losing Sam.”
“What can I do?” Sam asked. “If you need anything—a horse, food—anything at all, I’ll send it right away.”
“Thank you, Sam. It will be good to get back in God’s house and worship our Creator once more.”
“We’re praying for you every night,” Sam said. “God is watching over you.”
“Yes, I know He is.”
They spoke quietly for several minutes. Finally, Sam asked, “Have you heard from your niece or nephew?”
“A letter arrived this morning.” Hargrove hesitated before adding, “She says she’s pregnant.”
Sam sighed. “Well, that means they must both be coming to Denver. What a relief. I’m tired of living in this big old church; I want to settle somewhere close by so we can visit each other.”
“I’ll ask Mother if I can come live with you for a while.”
“No, Mother will be fine for now. We have plenty of room and she likes staying busy. If you and your husband decide to stay in town for a while longer, I’d like you to look after my mother.”
“Of course. That sounds like fun.” Hargrove paused for a moment. “Did you hear about the new preacher?”
“No, I haven’t had much news lately.”
“He’s an excellent young man and very popular with the women. I think it was love at first sight for him. They say the girls flock to the church every Sunday, waiting for their turn at communion so they can touch the hem of his robe.”
“Is that all?” Sam chuckled. “Well, maybe I’ll pay some attention to the sermon next week.”
“Good. Now let me go and rest.” Hargrove hesitated before saying, “I hope you’re well-behaved yourself until your trial.”
“I’ll behave myself,” Sam promised.
The line went dead in Sam’s ear. The phone rang just then, interrupting his thoughts. “Who is this?” he demanded, holding the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he tried to push open the locked door to his office.
“It’s Mr. Stovall,” came his secretary’s voice through the mouthpiece.
“Put him on the speakerphone, please.” As soon as he listened to the connection, Sam knew Stovall was calling to report another death. “Go ahead.”
“One more person died of diphtheria this morning. There were only four deaths last year, so the epidemic has spread very fast. Everyone in town is frightened. Some of the older folks are talking about fleeing to the west where the air isn’t as thick with germs.”
Sam nodded. Diphtheria had become an even bigger problem than he imagined. “Send someone to check on Mrs. Hargrove. It’s important I speak with her right away.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Stovall hung up, Sam returned to his desk. He picked up a pen but didn’t write anything down. His mind was elsewhere. With the sound of footsteps approaching, Sam looked up and saw the sheriff. When he entered, Sam stood. He didn’t recognize the young man who brought two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of shortbread cookies.
“Sorry about this,” the deputy said, handing one cup to Sam and placing the plate on top of the desk. “Someone broke into the sheriff’s office and stole his badge and gun.”
“That’s horrible,” Sam replied. “Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has he been questioned yet?” Sam asked.
“No, not yet.”
“What’s going on?” Sam asked.
The sheriff handed Sam his pistol and said, “We found a body today.”
“And?”
Sheriff Babbitt cleared his throat and explained, “It was in the alley behind the hardware store.”
“Who found the body?”
“My deputy. A lot of people came out when they heard the commotion, but we managed to keep them from disturbing the scene. The coroner has already arrived.”
“So there’s no doubt it was murder?”
“Not yet.”
Sam sat in silence for a moment, his thoughts racing. Who could have done such a thing? Why did the killer leave the victim here instead of burying him or taking him straight to the morgue? And what about those footprints I saw earlier—what if they belong to the killer?
Did the killer kill him here and leave the body for us to find or was he trying to hide his tracks? Could it have been the same person who killed my father and left him near the train station?
With so many questions swirling around in his head, Sam felt as though he couldn’t get enough air. “Where exactly is this alley?”
“Down the street from the hardware store,” Sheriff Babbitt answered. “You can see the entrance from outside; it’s a small passageway between two buildings.”
Sam looked out the window to see if he could spot the narrow alleyway. It wasn’t hard to pick out against the background of brick walls. The sun was setting, and the alley was dark, making the outline of the building easier to identify.
But that was the problem with an alley. It had a bad reputation and people rarely used it. So unless the killer had a reason to take the victim there, it probably meant nothing. “Does that alley connect with any other alley?” he asked, remembering what he’d told the sheriff.
“Yes, it’s part of a row of alleys that run behind a half dozen businesses. That’s why I’ve closed off the area. We should be able to prevent any more people from passing through.”
“Do you think the murderer lives nearby?” Sam wondered aloud.
“That might explain the footprints,” the sheriff added. “If he lived close by, he wouldn’t want to make a lot of noise.”
Just like the killer I saw yesterday, Sam thought. He must live near the railroad yard and come back here every day. I need to question him and find out how he knows about me, why he chose me, and what else he knows.
Sam’s mind whirled faster than a locomotive, and he didn’t hear the sheriff ask the next logical question until he was halfway out the door. “Who did you say found the body?”
“My deputy, Jake. He was out on patrol.”
The sheriff paused as Sam stepped over the threshold, but when he finally spoke again, Sam realized it was too late to go back inside. “Let’s take care of business first,” Babbitt said.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, stopping at the end of the hall. “I didn’t mean to leave without giving you something to remember me by.”
“What?”
“I forgot my hat and gun.”
***
After dinner, Sam drove himself to the county courthouse. As he turned onto Main Street, he spotted two men walking toward the sheriff’s office. One appeared older and walked with a cane, while the younger fellow wore his hair in long braids tied back with a bandana. When the pair passed through the front door, Sam quickly parked his buggy, jumped down, and ran across the street.
“Hey, Deputy!” Sam called as they rounded the corner. “Can I borrow your horse?”
“For what?” the older man replied, pulling away from the younger man. “You’re supposed to be resting tonight.”
“But I want to see if this alley connects with another.”
“You’ll have plenty of time tomorrow morning. It’s nearly nine o’clock already.”
“Didn’t anyone tell you that there’s a dead body lying somewhere along that passage?”
“There was no sign of death.”
“How do you know? Because you haven’t searched the entire area yet, right?”
“It looks like you’ve lost more blood since you last visited,” the deputy said.
He pulled the brim of his cap up, revealing a gash on his forehead. The older man had obviously fallen down a flight of steps and cut his head. “I tripped over something. No one’s going to blame me for losing my balance.”
“Don’t worry about your pride,” Sam said, holding out his hand to stop the younger man from approaching. “I won’t say a word.”
“And if I find out you did anyway, I’ll have you arrested,” the young man growled. “We’ve got enough trouble as it is with a lot of folks thinking you killed the mayor and his wife.”
“You’re not the only ones.” Sam glanced at the sheriff who seemed amused by their squabbling. “I’ve been hearing things all night that are enough to keep me awake all night.”
“Then go home,” the deputy snapped.
“I don’t want to go back yet.” Sam reached into his pocket. “Here.”
Reaching out his hands, the young man accepted Sam’s offer. “Thank you.”
As Sam led his horse away, he thought, I hope he uses this money wisely. And soon, before I lose my nerve. He was glad he’d left his gun and hat in the buggy rather than risk being arrested again.
By now it was after ten o’clock, so Sam decided to get some rest. He returned to his room, stripped off his clothes, and climbed under the covers. After a restless thirty minutes, he rose and dressed for bed.
His nerves were shot from all the excitement and he felt like a prisoner. But if he didn’t find that alley and solve this murder case before the end of the week, he would never feel safe anywhere—not even at home.
***
The following afternoon, Sam rode into town again. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss anyone entering or leaving the alley during the next two days. If someone was living nearby, he should return to look for them on the third day, but if no one was around, then the sheriff could open the area for traffic once again.
“Are you sure that alley goes straight?” Sam asked when he came upon the sheriff and Jake in the alley. “This looks different than any of the other alleys.”
“That’s because we widened it and made it wider,” Jake said, pointing down the passage. “Now you can walk in both directions.”
“Where does it connect with the street?”
“I don’t know, but I’m betting it’s near where you found the mayor’s body.”
Sam frowned as he stared at the passage. “No way to tell from here unless you knew exactly how far apart these buildings were.”
Babbitt shook his head. “That’s why I sent an inspector to measure the distance between each structure so we’ll have a better idea of what happened here.”
“If someone killed the mayor and his wife, they must have known where the bodies were buried,” Sam mused aloud. “So whoever committed these murders must have been hiding close by.”
A few moments later, Sam heard voices coming from behind him. As he turned around, he saw a group of people passing through the alley. He recognized a newspaper reporter and photographer among them, which meant his story was getting out to everyone in town.
The sheriff and Jake stepped into the passage so they wouldn’t block the way. They watched the group pass and waited until they were gone before returning to the road.
“I’ll bet that reporter has been waiting all day outside the jail,” Jake said. “What did he ask you yesterday?”
“Why did you let me go free after I told you who the murderer was?” Sam replied.
“Because I thought he might actually believe me. Otherwise, he’d be asking why a deputy would help solve such a crime. You didn’t tell him anything, right? Or did the sheriff?”
“I think he suspects something but he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’ve done my job, so it’s time for me to move on to another location.”
“Maybe you could leave some money behind. I’ve got some money in my desk drawer.”
“Money will only get me in trouble, Jake. There’s nothing I can do to change what happened here except give myself up.”
“You can try.”
As Sam left the alley, he thought, At least the killer won’t know who helped him. And if this story gets out to the world, maybe there’s still hope for a little justice.
***
As the first week came to an end, Sam continued to work in the fields and barns while he pondered his next move. What am I doing? I’m no closer to finding that alley than I was on the day I arrived. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed working outdoors again.
Even if it wasn’t much more physically demanding than what he had done in the mines, it was different from digging in coal seams and hauling carts of rock.
One night Sam woke to find himself sweating profusely. When he sat up, he realized that he had been lying awake for a long time staring at the ceiling. So much blood, he thought, remembering the scene in the mayor’s house. That poor woman!
She had a hard life but she was always kind to me. And then there were those children. How would I feel if one of mine died? He was too old to have any children of his own, but he had raised three brothers and two sisters. If anything ever happened to them, he would never stop grieving. Now they’re gone, and that bastard is still at large. Maybe he’s even dead already.
He reached for his revolver and laid it beside him, then lay back down to rest. Just when he closed his eyes, he felt his stomach begin to churn. It’s not food, he thought; it’s fear. I need to stay alert. He took a deep breath and tried to relax his muscles before returning to sleep.
But a few hours later he was wide awake again. His heart raced and he felt like he might choke on his tongue. I shouldn’t have eaten that hot dog for lunch today, he thought. No doubt it’s making me sick.
He rolled over and tried to catch some shut-eye, but his heart continued to pound as the sweat poured down his forehead. A cold sweat. I’m not going mad. Something else is wrong with me.
He rose to sit up and then remembered that he had forgotten his gun at home. I wonder if I should take a walk tonight just in case the killer comes out again. If he does, I’ll put a bullet in his head. With that decided, Sam crawled into bed and pulled the sheet up under his chin.
But he had barely settled down to sleep when a loud knock sounded at the front door. He sat straight up, his mind racing as he listened to footsteps approach the bedroom window. He heard Jake answer the visitor with his customary greeting: “Sheriff Babbitt will come.”
The man’s voice drifted through the room, “We hear you’ve arrested someone.”
“Yes we have.”
“Who?”
“An outlaw who robbed a bank last week.”
“That’s good news!” The man’s voice echoed throughout the house. “I’ll be right there.”
Jake answered the knock a moment later and ushered in another visitor, this one wearing a hat, a vest, and dark glasses. The man looked older than Jake but he seemed friendly enough as he asked Jake about Sam’s arrest.
When Jake brought him upstairs to Sam’s cell, the stranger stared at Sam for several minutes, taking in every detail of his face, the shape of his nose and mouth, the color of his skin, and the hair covering his balding scalp.
As the man studied him, Sam felt as if he were being measured by a judge in a court of law. This man is a reporter, Sam realized. He’s probably trying to decide how much to print about me.
The reporter stepped back from the bars and said, “So you’re the one who killed Mayor Gaffney.”
“No.”
“Didn’t your friends tell you? You did kill her and five others during the bank robbery last week.”
Sam’s anger swelled within him. “They weren’t my friends,” he snapped. “I was ordered to rob that bank. I didn’t know those people had been killed until after the fact.”
“And now you’re accused of killing the sheriff, a bank clerk, and four other men?”
“You don’t believe me, do you? I guess I’ve lost all my credibility.”
“Not exactly, because there are witnesses who saw you shoot Sheriff Babbitt. We also have fingerprints from your gun matched to the bullets used in the killings. All we needed was proof to make your arrest official.”
“But I didn’t do it!”
The reporter stood silent for a minute, looking Sam over as if he was studying a piece of fine furniture. Then he said, “If you say so.”
“What do you want?” Sam growled. “How much will it take to get you to write something nice about me?”
“Nice? You must think I’m pretty stupid.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you.” Sam sighed heavily. “It won’t happen again.”
“You can’t blame an old reporter for wanting to see the big story before committing himself to write it.”
“Maybe someday you will, and then we’ll talk again.” Sam turned away from him and leaned against the wall. His heart was pounding in his ears and he knew he wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.
I could go downstairs and eat, Sam thought. Or maybe I’ll just stay here and keep myself awake by thinking about what happened today. I wonder if there’s anyone in this town I can trust. Maybe Jake would help me if he knew why I shot the mayor. That might mean more freedom for me.
A few hours passed without incident and then the reporter began to snore. But Sam couldn’t seem to stop moving, even though he knew his actions were only causing him greater discomfort. I’d better give myself some medicine for indigestion or constipation, he decided.
It’s not like I have anything else to do. After making sure his pistol was tucked under his pillow, he crept down the stairs, grabbed a bottle of pills, and headed toward the kitchen. As he reached the door leading to the dining room, he paused momentarily to glance back at the empty room.
A sudden chill rushed through his body. What am I doing here? Where are my friends? Is Sheriff Babbitt dead? Why haven’t they tried to contact me yet?
When he finally returned to his room and took off his clothes, Sam lay down on his bed and pulled the covers over him. The sound of rain beating against the windows made him realize that tomorrow might bring new surprises. For the first time since he had arrived in town, he fell asleep quickly and stayed that way until morning.
***
He awoke to a strange sensation—a hand gripping his shoulder and shaking him hard. “Wake up! We got to move out now!”
Sam opened his eyes and sat up in bed. The night before still hovered in his mind. How could I have slept so long?
Jake’s voice came to him from far away, “Get dressed. We need to find Sam some clothes and get him out of here.”
As Sam pulled on his underwear, he noticed a pair of shoes sitting on the floor next to the bed. “Where did these come from?” he asked Jake when he saw them.
“They were found in your room yesterday.”
“Someone went into my room while I was sleeping?”
“Yes, and you better hurry before it’s too late.”
Sam hurriedly dressed in his pants, shirt, coat, and boots and followed Jake into the dining room where three men stood waiting with their hats in their hands. The men looked at Sam as if they already knew everything about him. They probably did, but he had no idea how to respond. He didn’t know these men and he certainly wasn’t going to introduce himself.
“We’re leaving,” Jake said as he picked up his hat and started to leave the room. “Come on, Sam.”
“Wait,” Sam called out, and Jake paused. “Who are you, people? Are you my captors?”
All three men looked surprised. “That’s right. Your captors.”
Sam nodded his head. “I guess I am.” Then he said, “I’m ready to go now.”
“Follow me,” one of the men said and led Sam to the front porch. Two others followed them outside and helped the third man load the last of Sam’s possessions onto a wagon. Sam climbed aboard and watched in disbelief as the three men drove off, leaving Sam behind.
***
Rain beat on the canvas roof of the covered wagon. With each stroke of the horse’s hooves, the wagon rocked slightly, making Sam sway in his seat. When they stopped to let the horses drink, Sam waited patiently for a chance to use the facilities. But he had no sooner finished relieving himself than they were driving away again.
The End