Playing Catch-Up by Guthrie A. B.;

Playing Catch-Up by Guthrie A. B.;

Author:Guthrie, A. B.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media


15

As if we weren’t busy enough, what with court in session and two deputies waiting to testify, Gewald showed up at midafternoon the next day. Entering the inner office, he was all business. “That Madame Simone will be here at five o’clock,” he announced.

Charleston looked up from his desk. “What for?”

Gewald took off his hat and gave what for him was a smile. “To identify Mefford. That’s one of the loose ends.”

Charleston’s head moved from side to side, slowly, as if in rueful acceptance of stupidity. He asked, “She’s coming willingly?”

“She’ll be here. I told her I’d close her down if she wasn’t.”

“You had the authority?”

Gewald sat down and pointed a finger. “I’ve learned to bluff. Any law officer should. Use your position, man. I didn’t have authority. I assumed it, and it worked.”

“So.”

Gewald rose, putting his hat back on. “I’ve got to get Mefford here. I’m going after him right now.”

“Take Jase with you.”

“I don’t need a boy to look after me,” Gewald said after casting a glance at me. “I can take care of myself.”

“Doubtless, but Jase goes with you or follows right after you.”

Gewald gave a mock salute and answered, “Yes, sir, Mr. Sheriff. I’ll look after him.”

I knew why Charleston insisted I go along. He was afraid that Gewald, once in control, would try to beat a confession from Mefford.

We took an office car. I drove, and Gewald sat in the passenger seat. I thought a few good jounces might lower his arrogance and so took the short cut.

We had an inspiring conversation. I said, “Nice day,” and he answered with his phlegmy grunt.

But it was a nice day. Wild flags waved in the fields and harebells decorated the roadside. The sun, not yet at its July glare, was asking things to grow. As the car climbed, the picket-pin gophers of lower down gave way to Columbian ground squirrels. The latter were more wary than the picket-pins and less likely to get run over.

I eased to a stop at some distance from the trailer. “We may surprise him,” I told Gewald, who grunted again. From behind the trailer I heard the knock of an axe against wood. We eased around to the back and caught Mefford chopping kindling. Gewald asked under his breath, “That’s Mefford?”

At my nod he called out, “Mefford! We want you. We’re the law.”

Mefford stepped toward us, the axe swinging from one hand.

“Drop it! Drop that axe.”

Mefford didn’t.

Almost before I realized, Gewald whipped out his pistol and fired. The bullet struck the axe head and went singing off. The axe trembled from Mefford’s hand.

“That’s a sample. Come along,” Gewald said.

I wondered whether the shot was just lucky and decided it wasn’t. Chalk one up for Gewald. He could shoot.

To the right of us Mefford’s woman came climbing up from the gullied stream, a willow pole in one hand and a couple of trout on a forked stick in the other. Her eyes asked questions.

Gewald called, “Stay right where you are.” He moved the automatic pistol by a fraction.



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