The Rightful Heir. Angel Moore
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get shot.”
Sheriff Collins held up one hand. “Let me get him to the jail, Mary Lou. I’ll even give you first crack at talking to him, seeing how you helped me out when you kicked away his gun.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.” She hurried in the direction of the crowd in front of the saloon. “I’ll be by as soon as I’ve talked to the witnesses.”
The sheriff’s voice bellowed behind her. “Let me do my job, Mary Lou.”
She ignored him. If she waited for him to get back from putting the shooter in jail, most of the crowd would have dispersed.
She stopped short. The man on his way to jail might not be the shooter. She’d assumed so because he’d run away from the scene so quickly. What if he was another intended victim? Mr. Ivy would scold her for such assumptions. He’d say it was a poor journalist who lost their objectivity.
She approached the owner of the general store. “Mr. Croft, did you see what happened?”
“No, ma’am.” The older man brushed his sleeves to remove the dust of the street. “I was just heading back to the store after getting my hair cut. Next thing I know, I’m lying in the street next to some fella who just got shot.” He frowned and looked at her. “It’s a sad day when a man can’t walk through the middle of town without such an incident.”
Mary Lou agreed with Mr. Croft, but she didn’t have time for his commiserations today. “Thank you, Mr. Croft.”
She pushed her way between the gawkers and tried to get a good look at the victim. He was a stranger. Most of the people who got into trouble at the saloon weren’t from around Pine Haven. They were usually passengers from the train stopping over for business or cowboys on their way farther west who stopped into town for a rest from their travels.
Doc Willis pushed through the other side of the gathering. “Back up, folks. Let me see if I can help the man.”
People pushed back just enough to let the doctor inside the tight circle of the curious. The man groaned and became combative when the doctor touched the bleeding wound on his leg.
A deep, rich voice spoke from beside her. “You’ll only make it worse if you don’t hold still.” Jared leaned in close, causing her to shift and regain her footing. Mary Lou bristled at his intrusion.
The victim grunted and the doctor pushed the man’s shoulder back against the dirt. “He’s right. All that straining isn’t doing you a bit of good.” The doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a strip of white bandaging cloth.
Mary Lou wouldn’t be pushed aside by Jared Ivy. As far as she was concerned, he was a newcomer who threatened her paper. “How bad is it, Doc?”
“He’ll live, but he’s gonna have a whopper of a limp for a while.”
Jared’s next words surprised her. “Did anyone see who shot him?”
Mary Lou jerked her head around to face him. “I was just about to ask that.” Jared’s eyes seemed to laugh at her when two men spoke up.
“I saw the whole thing.” This man was another stranger. His words were slurred with liquor. From experience, Mary Lou knew nothing he said would prove helpful.
Winston Ledford, the owner of the saloon, spoke next. “Who’s asking?” Mr. Ledford was known for being a shrewd businessman. Most of the town hadn’t wanted a saloon, but he’d built it anyway. And the success of his business was a trial to them all. The violence of fist fights and the occasional shootings were punctuation to the endless raucous laughter and noise that never ceased to escape the doors of his establishment.
“Jared Ivy. I’m the owner of the Pine Haven Record.”
Silence fell across the scene. Doc Willis looked up from tending his patient. “Mary Lou is the owner of the Record.”
Mary Lou broke into the conversation. “Did you see what happened, Mr. Ledford?”
He shook his head. “I was in my office when I heard the commotion. It appears to me that this man was shot in the street, not in my establishment.” He nodded to Mary Lou. “I see no reason for my presence here.” He turned and walked away. The doors of the saloon swooshed behind him as he disappeared into the dark interior.
She decided to go straight to the heart of the matter. Leaning in as the doctor sat the shooting victim up, she asked, “Sir, do you know the man who shot you?”
“I do.” His words were weak and he slumped against the doctor.
Jared interrupted again. “Who was it?”
The victim laughed. “I shot myself. My pa warned me that gun had a hair trigger. Went off in my lap when I reached to pull my winnings from the middle of the table.” He suddenly looked around the circle of bystanders, very concerned. “Hey! Who got my money?”
Mary Lou sighed and backed away from the group. She knew without looking behind her that the crowd was dispersing. One man’s careless actions had caused quite a stir. The gamblers who took his money had probably tossed him into the street. End of story.
Jared caught up to her as she stepped onto the porch in front of the paper. “Are you just walking away without finding out what happened?”
She stopped and turned on her heel. “There is no story. It was an accident.”
Jared spread his arms wide, palms up. “No story? What about the man sitting in the jail this minute? He probably has a story to tell.”
“He was a victim of the commotion. The sheriff will release him as soon as he knows the victim shot himself. The man said he didn’t do it before he was taken to jail.”
“I’m not so sure.” His eyes narrowed. “Not so sure at all.” He lifted a hand in parting. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She went into the paper and dropped her notebook on the desk. Picking up the composing stick and beginning to reassemble the work she’d dropped onto the floor earlier, she wasn’t surprised when Jared didn’t follow her inside. He may be off on a fool’s errand, but she had a paper to print.
* * *
Jared turned the corner on Main Street and headed for the sheriff’s office. Why would a man run away from a shooting with his gun drawn if he didn’t have anything to do with it? Something didn’t sit right in Jared’s craw about this presumed-innocent stranger.
He opened the door of the sheriff’s office and stepped inside.
“What is it now, Ivy? Can’t you see I’m a busy man?” Sheriff Collins pulled the large key from the lock on the cell door at the back of his office. He hung the ring on a nail on the wall behind his desk. The man he’d hauled away from the scene minutes earlier declared his innocence from behind the bars.
“Hush up!” the sheriff warned the alleged criminal in the cell. He put the man’s gun in the top drawer of his desk, locked it, dropped that key into the pocket of his leather vest and patted it. “You’ve caused enough trouble here today. Sit down and be quiet.”
Jared watched the man who had appeared guilty after his attempt to leave the scene. What had really happened in the saloon? “Sheriff, the fellow with the bullet in his leg says he shot himself.”
The prisoner rattled the door of the cell. “I told you I didn’t shoot him!”
Sheriff Collins pinned the man with a stare. “I won’t tell you again to be quiet.” He asked Jared, “How did he say it happened?”
“Said his gun had a hair trigger and went off when he reached to pull the pot he’d won from the middle of the table. His only complaint is not knowing where his money went.”
The sheriff looked from Jared to the occupant of the cell. “How much money you got on you?”
“What?” The man was outraged. “First I’m