Clay Nash 8 by Brett Waring

Author:Brett Waring
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wells fargo, colt 45, piccadilly publishing, old west outlaws, wild west pulp fiction, clay nash, brett waring author
Publisher: Piccadilly

Seven – Swamp Battle

Trace Hollis resented the way that Jim Hume had more or less taken over the Wells Fargo depot in Red Rapids. At least, that was the way he figured it. Hume, however, saw it from another angle. He reckoned he could leave the supervision of the repairs and rebuilding to Hollis, but he wasn’t satisfied with the way the investigation was going so far.

He hadn’t admitted it to Nash, but he figured there was something he was missing here. Sure, on the surface it pointed to Nitro Mantell, but something kept nagging at Hume. Something was missing—or he was missing something—he couldn’t decide which. All he knew was that it wasn’t quite right and didn’t sit easy on him.

Nash had had to be dispatched after Mantell, anyway, but that girl showing up had first started Hume wondering about the robbery. Since she arrived, the feeling that there was more to this than he was seeing had become very strong.

Now there was Hollis, looking hurt because Hume was spending so much time in the wrecked office, literally going over the whole place with a magnifying glass. He wouldn’t allow the blasted safe to be moved or touched yet.

Hollis came to the door of the office as Hume poked his head into the safe with his large magnifying glass in one hand, a flaring vesta in the other.

“Jim—I got to tell you, I ain’t all that happy with things.”

Hume came out of the safe, shook out the vesta and stood up. His steady gaze saw the tightness around Hollis’ mouth, the simmering anger in his eyes. It was a kind of ‘little boy’ anger, in Hume’s opinion, and he had seen it many times years ago when Hollis had failed to make the grade as a detective.

“Such as?” Hume asked quietly.

Hollis swept an arm around the office. “This whole thing, Jim. I—kind of get the idea you don’t trust me or something, the way you’re hangin’ about.”

“Wrong, Trace. And you know it. You know what I’m doin’ here. Now what’s really stickin’ in your craw?”

Hollis’ eyes narrowed down a little and then he gave a fleeting grin as he shrugged again. “Guess you always were sharper than I figured. Well, it’s the whole deal, Jim. I mean, I’m as much to blame for it happenin’ as Clay Nash. You agree?”

“Let’s say I do.”

“Fine. Well, you sent him off lickety-split to track down Mantell. Seems to me you could’ve given me a chance to make up for things, too.”

“That’s how it seems to you, huh?”

“Yeah, it does.”

Hume set his glass down and hitched a hip over one corner of the desk.

“Thing is, Trace, you’re the depot manager and Clay’s the investigator. You had your chance—once—but you fouled it up.”

“You fouled it up for me, you mean,” Hollis retorted, cheeks coloring. “I could’ve gotten through all right. I was smarter than some of the hombres you did let through. Dakota Haines for one. Tim O’Mara for another. But you had some kind of down on me, I reckon, and seems like you still got it.

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