Steve Wilks leaned on the awning post in front of his office and looked over the town. It was a good town. It was his town.
He had drifted into Cullenville four years ago and started riding for the Triangle T. A year later, Sheriff Dan Madison's horse fell on him and the county commissioners had asked him to fill in, until Madison recovered. Madison now rode a wheel chair and the county commissioners had appointed him sheriff.
Leaning on the post, enjoying the cool of the morning, Steve watched George Stanley, the gunsmith, coming up the street whistling.
"Good morning, Sheriff," Stanley said as he passed Steve.
"Morning, George. How are you this morning?"
"Fine, my boy, just fine," Stanley replied as he unlocked the door to his shop, which was next door to the sheriff office.
Stanley entered his shop and Steve saw John Martin coming up West Street to open the bank. Becky Cook, Martin's first customer of the day, was coming up the street with yesterday's money from the Blue Plate Restaurant. She waddled along with her parasol, which she used more like a cane than an umbrella.
Bert Simmons, who ran the general store, was sweeping off the walkway in front of the store
The town was waking up.
Steve went down to the stable to check on his horses. As he walked, he watched the town come alive. Housewives were making breakfast for their families and husbands were getting ready to go to work. Children were doing their chores before going swimming or fishing, or whatever children did these days.
It was a good town. A town where he would settle down and make his home. That is if he could convince Julie Donavan that he would make a better husband than Jeff Belt. Belt was all right. He was a good man. An honest hard working man who ran his own ranch, even if it was small, it was more than Steve had.
All he owned was a couple of horses. One was a buckskin the other a big black stallion that was as wild as the day he was caught. Devil was not too bad if ridden every day. If not, Steve could expect to find himself dumped two or three times in the dust of the corral before he could ride the horse. There were times when Steve did not mind the workout but at other times he was glad that he had the buckskin. Buck was a mountain breed and could go all day and night and then some. The black was fast but did not have the staying power of the buckskin.
Two horses, some guns and a few dollars in Martin's bank were all he owned west of the Mississippi. That was not much to offer a girl like Julie. She had grown up on one of the best ranches in the basin. Donavan's Half Moon brand ran over twenty thousand head of prime stock and Julie was the Queen of the range. Not that she high-hatted people, she was not the kind to hold what she had over others who had less. Everybody liked her, and half the cowboys in eastern Colorado tried to court her. So far, Steve and Belt seemed to have the inside track.
Steve walked back up town to the Blue Plate Restaurant where he had breakfast and coffee. He was finishing his coffee when the door slammed open and John Martin came running in.
"Steve, you better get down to the alley beside the bank," Martin said panting. "Somebody has killed Judd Hamilton!"
"What?" Steve rose and started for the door on the run.
Martin followed Steve as he ran down the street to the alley between the bank and the general store. Steve moved carefully up to the body, which lay near the wall of the bank. He checked to see if Hamilton was alive but found no heartbeat. Examining the body, he found where a knife had entered on the left side near the heart.
"John, go get Doc," Steve said as he stood up, "and find Jack. Have him bring over a wagon."
"Okay," Martin turned and walked across the street. There was no need to hurry now.
Steve searched the ground around the body. There was no sign of a struggle. Feeling of the body he found that it was cold. He had been dead for a while.
Hamilton had been playing cards in the Bull's Head Saloon last night. He would check with the other players and see what time he had left the game.
Steve circled the body, getting wider with each circle. On his second round he found part of a foot print in the dust but not enough to tell what kind of boot made it or when. The ground was just too hard.
He finished his search and returned to the body just as Doc Fisher came into the alley.
"Hell of a way to start a day," Fisher said as he bent over the body.
"Yeah, ain't it," replied Steve. "I was thinking just this morning about what a quiet and peaceful town we have here."
"Uh-huh," muttered Fisher as he worked over the body.
"Doc, can you give me a guess at what time he was stabbed?"
"I'll try, Steve, but a guess is all that it will be. Why do you want to know the time? I saw him alive around ten last night."
"Yeah. He was playing poker in the Bull's Head, about eleven o'clock last night. If I knew what time he was stabbed I could place where people were and eliminate a lot of suspects."
"What suspect? Judd didn't have any enemies in this area."
"He had one."
"Yes, I guess he did," said Fisher. "Who do you suspect?"
"Everybody. I've got a county full of suspects. Until I find something real, everybody is a suspect."
"Yes, I see," replied Fisher. "You know, Steve, Judd was too good of a man to die like this."
"Yeah. I'll tell you something else, it was someone he knew."
"Huh. What makes you say that?" Fisher looked at Steve puzzled.
"Well, Hamilton would never let a stranger get close enough to stick a knife in him. So, I figure it had to be someone he knew and trusted."
"Oh, I see. Yes that makes sense. I knew Judd for twenty years and he never was too trusting of his fellow man." Fisher said scratching his chin.
"Will you take care of this? Jack is coming with a wagon and I've got to go talk to the ones he was playing cards with last night."
"Sure. I hope you find who did it." Fisher said as he picked up his bag.
"I'll find him!" Steve said. He walked back to the street where Martin stood waiting.
"Who would do a thing like that, Steve? It's been over five years since we had a murder here."
"I don't know. Maybe a stranger wanting money, but I don't think so."
"Was he robbed?"
"No. I didn't check his pockets but he still had his watch." Steve looked down the alley toward the body. "I've got to go, John, and you've got to open the bank. I'll see you later. Want to ask you some questions."
Steve walked across the street to his office. It was a neat room kept clean by a broom and mop that stood in the corner behind the now cold stove. A desk with a chair behind it sat across from the door. Smokey O'Brien, deputy sheriff, was sitting in the chair with his feet on the desk, reading a newspaper.
"Mornin', Steve," greeted Smokey as he removed his feet from the desk.
"Howdy, Smokey. How was your week in Denver?"
"Denver is a wild place, Steve. You should've gone with me." Smokey got to his feet, walked out in front of the desk, and sat on the corner.
"Smokey, Judd Hamilton was murdered sometime this morning."
"Hamilton? Murdered?" Surprise spread over Smokey's face. "People don't get murdered in Cullenville."
"Hamilton did," replied Steve, as he sat down at the desk. "Somebody stuck a knife in his ribs." He took out paper and pen and began writing.
When he finished, he said to Smokey, "You keep on with your duties. I'm going to be busy for a while."
"Okay. Do you want me to take them papers out to Brooks?" Smokey asked pointing to some papers lying on the desk.
"No. Let's wait on them awhile. A few days won't make any difference. I may need you here in town." Steve put the report in the desk drawer and rose from the chair. "I'm going over to talk to Simmons. He was playing poker with Hamilton last night." He looked out the open door at the street then said, "If there is anything good about this whole thing it's that Hamilton didn't have any family that I'll have to tell."
Settling his gun on his hip he said, "I'll see you later." He left the office and walked across the street to the general store.
Steve entered the store and looked for Simmons. He was not in the store. Rob Clark, the clerk, was behind the counter stocking shelves.
"Morning Rob, where can I find Simmons?" asked Steve.
Clark pointed toward the office just as the door opened and Simmons came out.
"Sheriff Wilks, I was getting ready to come see you. I just heard about Judd. Is it true?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Simmons. You played cards with him last night, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"How late did you play?"
"Same as usual, we played until midnight."
"Who was in the game?"
"Well, there was Judd, Jeff Belt, Sam Parker, me, and that young drifter, Fields. Joe, I think is his name."
"Any big winners or losers?"
"No. Judd was ahead by about twenty dollars when we quit. Belt and Fields were the losers. They probably lost no more then five or six dollars each."
"Anything unusual happen?"
"No, just the normal arguing between Judd and Belt. Although it was worse than usual."
"What were they arguing about?"
"Who knows? One thing though, Belt did tell Judd that someday somebody was going to shoot his fool head off."
"Uh-huh. Do you think Belt meant that he was going to do it?"
"No. I don't think so. He was just trying to make Judd mad."
"Did he?" "No. Judd just laughed and said he hoped not."
"Okay, thanks, if you think of anything else let me or Smokey know."
"I sure will, Sheriff. Judd was a good man. He was very independent but he liked people even if he didn't show it."
"Yes, I know. Good day, Mr. Simmons." Steve turned and left the store.
He saw Smokey walking up the street toward the Blue Plate. Whistling, Steve got his attention and he turned back to meet Steve
"Smokey, find that young drifter named Fields. I'm going to ride out to the Box B and see Jeff."
"What do you want me to do when I find Fields?"
"Nothing. Just make sure that he don't leave town. I'll talk to him when I get back."
"Sure thing," said Smokey. He turned and walked toward the Blue Plate.
Steve sighed and headed for the stable.