“A question with no answer.” Swift mulled the situation over some more. “I have to tell you, Marshal, even Hunter has his doubts about me this time. If you’re looking for votes next election, folks around here aren’t going to take kindly to it if you side with me.”
Hilton grinned again. “There you go again. Sometimes, Lopez, a man’s better off to do some politicking.”
“I’m no good at it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t suppose I’d be standing here if I thought you were a glib talker.” He jabbed a thumb eastward. “I’ve got a spread five miles from here. When I lost Rose, I took up marshaling because farming was too damned lonely. I can go back to it if I’ve a mind. Votes don’t matter to me.”
Swift rose up on an elbow. “I appreciate the loyalty.”
Hilton cocked an ear toward the rumble of voices outside. “Loyalty won’t save that miserable hide of yours. Answers, that’s what we need. Can you swear to your whereabouts last night?”
Swift tensed. “Not for the majority of the night. I was asleep by the hearth, but everyone else was abed. They can’t swear I was there.”
“You said the majority. You left the house, I take it?”
“From midevening until about two.”
Hilton swore. “That’s when the coroner thinks the murder happened, between eleven and three, or thereabouts. Where’d you go?”
“Visiting.”
“No games, Lopez. Where were you?”
“With a friend.”
Hilton gripped the bars and leaned closer. “A woman. This is no time to worry about kissing and telling. Was it Miss Amy? Did you get a powerful itch you needed scratched and go see May Belle? Who were you with?”
Swift said nothing.
“Are you gonna tell me or not?”
“I can’t. If those upright citizens out there string me up, her reputation will be all she’s got.”
“Well, that counts out May Belle. Must’ve been Miss Amy.”
Swift clenched his teeth.
“If she cares about you, she’ll come forward on her own accord. Your life is on the line.”
“And accounting for my whereabouts until two won’t save it.”
“There comes a time when honor can be the shovel that digs a man’s grave. Her word might make a difference.”
Swift jackknifed to a sitting position. “No! Even if she testified I was with her, I could’ve killed Abe afterward. Hell, I could probably account for my whereabouts until four and it wouldn’t do any good. Mr. Black’s guesses aren’t an exact science. If Abe’s body was lying in a drafty place, frigid air could’ve stiffened him up quicker than normal.”
Swift groaned and massaged the back of his neck. “If I’m lucky enough to get a trial, which doesn’t sound too likely, that would be brought up in court. You know it, I know it, and”—he jabbed a finger toward the noise—“they know it. If she could swear I was with her until dawn, it might be worth it. But as it is, leave her out of it.”
Hilton held up his hands. “All right. It’s your neck.”
Swift swung his legs over the side of the cot. Bracing his hands on the mattress, he said, “I trust that bit of information is between you and me.”
Hilton nodded and scratched his jaw. Swift needed no further assurance, not from Hilton.
“Just for the record,” Swift added, “don’t be thinking poorly of Miss Amy. We’re married, according to my people’s laws. We figured that’d do us until the priest got back to Jacksonville.”
“I wouldn’t think poorly of Miss Amy if she pranced down Main Street in her drawers. She’s a fine young woman.” He swiped at his nose and sniffed. “I guess I should go see Hunter and let him know what’s going on. The last thing I need is him coming over here and having words with anyone standing out there. Once I’ve warned him off, then I think I’ll mosey up to the Crenton place and talk to Alice.”
“She’s convinced I did it. I’ll tell you that right now.”
“No need to worry. Just because I’m soft on her doesn’t mean she’ll do any of my thinking for me. If talking to her doesn’t uncover something, then a meeting in the community hall this evening might stir up some useful speculation. There’s nothing more enlightening than a bunch of addle-brained people all yakking at once.”
Swift met his gaze. “Can I be at that meeting?”
“If you’d like.”
“Can you keep those yahoos out there under control?”
“I’ll give it my best.”
After Marshal Hilton stopped by to speak to Hunter, Amy stood at the parlor window to watch him leave. The men outside gathered around him when he stepped into the street, their voices raised in anger. She tipped her head to catch the words, then wished she hadn’t. Hilton, speaking in a low tone, seemed to have some success in calming them down, but Amy had little hope they’d stay that way. Her gaze shifted to the small jailhouse. Swift was locked up in there, charged with murder and, as far as he knew, abandoned by his friends.
Every fiber of her being longed for him, and feared for him. He made the perfect scapegoat. On all counts he was a man the upstanding citizens of Wolf’s Landing could condemn, for his Comanche background, the Mexican blood in his veins, and his unsavory past.
Should she go to him? The question echoed in Amy’s mind, and she felt guilty even for having to ask it of herself. If their roles had been reversed, Swift would already be at the jail. But he was strong, and God help her, she wasn’t. If she was seen anywhere near that jail, she might as well make a public announcement that she was his mistress. She could kiss her job and the respect of all her friends good-bye. If Swift ended up hanging, she’d be left alone, with no job, no home, no security.
She gripped the windowsill until her knuckles hurt. Coward! Did she love the man or not? That was the question. The only question. His guilt or innocence was peripheral. And the answer was yes; she loved him with all her heart. Her place was beside him, the devil take tomorrow.
She turned from the window and faced Hunter. “I’m going over.”
Hunter came to the window and peered out. “Those men still look to be in an ugly mood. And you know what Marshal Hilton said. It’s not a good idea to go anywhere near there right now.”
Amy took a deep, bracing breath. “Yes, well, they’re liable to stay in an ugly mood for a spell. My place is with my husband. I’ll circle around town and approach the jail from the rear so they won’t be likely to see me.” She went to the kitchen and confiscated Loretta’s milk bucket. “To stand on,” she explained as she approached the back door. “So I can talk to him through the window.”
Hunter parted the curtain and cast another worried glance at the milling crowd. “I’ll come with you.”
Amy tightened her grip on the bucket handle. “Can you give us fifteen minutes alone first? There are things—” She waved her hand. “If anyone bothers me, I’ll holler.”
Hunter’s mouth curved in a smile. “Tell him I’ll sneak over soon?”
Amy started to nod, then met his gaze. “What I’d really like to be able to tell him is that we all stand behind him.” She swallowed a lump of tears, glancing over at Loretta, then back at Hunter. “Maybe he did kill Abe. Maybe, right at first, he panicked and lied. I don’t know. But if he says—” Her voice cracked. She transferred the bucket to her other hand. “If, when I talk to him, he still says he didn’t do it, then I think we should take his word, no matter how bad it looks.”
Hunter’s eyes warmed on hers. “I think you’re right.” He glanced at his wife. Loretta nodded.
Amy hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath. She swiped at her cheeks and sniffed. “I, um . . .” She shrugged and turned to go. “Well, I guess I’ll head over.”
“You tell him I’ll bring him hot apple pie and cobbler every day until he’s out of there,” Loretta called.
Amy couldn’t speak around the tears. She merely nodded and let herself out.
The click of the lock resounded inside the room. Hunter scuffed the toe of his moccasin on the braid rug. After a long moment, a broad grin settled on his mouth.
“What on earth is there to smile about?” Loretta asked.
He looked over at her. “I was just thinking how much she’s changed since Swift came here. All for the good.”
Loretta sighed. “Let’s just pray she isn’t in for another heartbreak.”
Chapter 24
PLANTING ONE FOOT ON THE BUCKET, AMY grasped the bars of the jailhouse window and hauled herself up. Peering into the gloomy interior, she called, “Swift?”
She heard springs creak. The next instant his dark face appeared. He curled his hands over hers and pressed close. “Amy, what in hell are you doing here?” He glanced right and left. “Someone’ll see you. Tongues’ll wag for sure.”
Amy didn’t want to cry, but her wants didn’t seem to have much sway at the moment. “You’re starting to sound like an old-maid schoolteacher, Mr. Lopez. Let the tongues wag.”
His fingers curled more tightly around hers. “You might lose your job.”
“I don’t care.” Amy was surprised to realize she truly meant that. In the end, nothing mattered to her but this man. “Oh, Swift. What’re we going to do?”
“Do I have a mouse in my pocket? There’s no ‘we’ to it. I got myself into this mess.” He managed to kiss her through the bars. “Amy, as much as I love seeing your sweet face, I don’t want you here. You’re taking a risk being seen with me.”
“Life is a risk.”
He drew back. “Things don’t look good. I could dance at the business end of a rope before this is over. You can’t afford to lose that job. Not now.”
There was an echo in every word he said, and Amy didn’t like what she heard. Why did it take something as horrible as this to make her see how foolish she had been? Swift was all the security she needed, all that she had ever needed, and she’d been too frightened to realize it. “The devil take the job.”
He swore under his breath. “I’ll never understand you. Without that job, where in hell will you be if something happens to me? Up the crick, that’s where. Get your fanny out of here.”
“Shut up, Swift.” She leaned her forehead against the bars and smiled at him through tears. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t allow it.”
His eyes sharpened on hers. “Why don’t I like the sound of that? Amy, I want you to stay out of this. If something happens, I want to know you’ll be okay. I have to know that. If I go down, I don’t want to take you with me.”
“I’m going to be fine.” For the first time in a very long while, she felt certain of that. “One question. I’m sorry for even asking it, but did you kill him?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “No.”
That was all Amy needed to hear. She touched her palm to his cheek. “Hunter and Loretta and I—between the three of us, we’ll get you out of this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
She stepped off the bucket and grabbed it up. Swift tried to catch her arm and missed. “Amy, I don’t want you—Amelia Rose Masters, get your fanny back here!”
“Lopez!” she corrected. “And don’t you forget it.”
With that, she disappeared into the woods.
That evening when Marshal Hilton’s meeting at the community hall convened, it didn’t take a genius in criminal law to guess how the wind was going to blow. Everyone in town thought Swift was guilty. Joe Shipley didn’t have his noose in hand, but Amy guessed it wouldn’t take him long to fetch it.
Standing near the coatrack with Hunter and Loretta, Amy tried to monitor the conversations taking place nearby. What she heard made her blood boil. The word
Mexican
surfaced more than once,
gunslinger
was a close runner-up, and
no-good comanchero lowlife
ran a close third. If public opinion was an indicator, Swift didn’t have a prayer.
He sat on the fiddler’s platform, his wrists bound behind him. When Amy settled her gaze on him, pride filled her. He held his head high and looked his accusers directly in the eye. She could imagine him going to the gallows displaying that same dauntless courage.
She didn’t intend to let that happen, of course. Several wild plans came to her. She could go get Swift’s guns and somehow untie him. The Spencer repeater still lay on Loretta’s table. Amy figured she could bluff her and Swift’s way out of here if she had to.
All the ideas were craziness, of course. She couldn’t point a lethal weapon at her friends. And running would only condemn Swift to a lifetime of the same. But she had to do something. She couldn’t let him die for something he didn’t do.
Loretta was called forward for questioning. With obvious reluctance, she gave her testimony. “Yes, Mr. Lopez was gone last night. Around midnight I got up for a drink, and he wasn’t asleep by the hearth.” When asked if she knew what time Swift had returned to the house, she replied, “I didn’t realize last night that it would matter. I went back to bed and didn’t get up again until morning.” A satisfied buzz went up when Loretta finished speaking. Next came the testimony of several men, the Lowdry brothers included, who had overheard Swift threatening Abe Crenton in the saloon.
Amy could see that the evidence was building against Swift. Not a single person had spoken in his behalf as yet. Then the death blow came. From out of the crowd, Brandon Marshall emerged, tall and faultlessly dressed, his blond hair aglimmer in the lantern light. Turning so everyone could see his mangled face and torn ear, the young man yelled, “I know nothing about Abe Crenton’s death, but I can testify to this man’s killer instinct. When I heard about this, I knew I had to come and say my piece.” With a rigid finger, he directed everyone’s attention to his injuries. “He came just that close to killing me. And you know why? For kissing his niece. If it hadn’t been for the presence of my friends, he would have killed me. I’ll swear to that.”
“You’re a lying skunk,” Indigo cried. Before Hunter could grab the girl’s arm, she took several steps toward the fiddler’s platform. “You tried to rape me!”
“You’re the one who’s lying.” Brandon waved his friends forward. “I have witnesses. Did I do anything more than kiss that girl?”