The Master Executioner by Loren D. Estleman

Author:Loren D. Estleman [Estleman, Loren D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: old west
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2015-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Townsend Phelps was a clerkly looking man in his early thirties, fine-boned and clean-shaven, with weak eyes he sought to dissemble by carrying his spectacles in an inside pocket and taking them out to peer through quickly when he thought no one was looking. He favored brown, in his suit and necktie and soft narrow-brimmed hat and glossy handmade boots, and carried a cane with a gold ferrule and a matching band at the base of the crook. Three points of a nickel-plated star poked out the top of the watch pocket of his vest. All this Oscar observed through the window of the Concord coach before it rocked to a stop in front of the office of the Leavenworth and Pikes Peak Express Company. He’d expected a reception committee of some kind, and under the indifferent regard of his fellow passenger, a mining supplies salesman who traveled with a white handkerchief tied around the lower half of his face to protect his asthmatic lungs from dust, had spent the last mile brushing his bowler and changing into a fresh collar and cuffs. He’d removed his duster, folding it with the soiled side in, and used the brush to eliminate brown streaks from his suit. “They’re expecting a professional, lad,” Rudd had said. “Don’t go in looking like a common tradesman.”

The marshal’s weak brown gaze lingered on him briefly when he alighted, then slid to the salesman, a cadaverous man in a baggy black suit whose face, uncovered now, fell away below his cheekbones like the stalk of a withered melon. Phelps started that way. Oscar inserted himself between them and grasped the marshal’s hand as he was raising it to greet the salesman, introducing himself as he did so. Confusion stirred behind Phelps’s face, then hardened into a resolve with the sheen of steel. In that moment Oscar adjusted his opinion of the man’s character. He had begun to learn that people in the West were sometimes less than what they appeared, but just as often more.

“I wasn’t expecting someone so young,” Phelps said. “Your wire said you were an associate of Mr. Rudd’s.”

Oscar had determined that his age would be brought up, and was just as determined not to discuss it. “I understand your regular man resigned.”

“They don’t stay for long. I’ll take you to the hotel. Have you brought anything besides the valise?”

Oscar said he had not, and accompanied the marshal to the American House, a square frame building with a two-story porch. Phelps informed the clerk who registered the guest to send the bill to his office. “As soon as you’re settled in I’ll take you to the jail. I imagine you’ll want to see the facilities.”

“I’ll see them now.” Oscar placed his valise on the desk and asked the clerk to see it was taken to his room.

“The jury returned a verdict against the last two defendants yesterday,” said Phelps as they went out. “They robbed the bank and rode down a little girl getting away.

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