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CHAPTER 31

      WHISKEY-EYES BRANDT followed the same strategy as Purdy, riding about a quarter of a mile past the house, then doubling back along the creek bed so as not to be seen.

      He was surprised to find that somebody else had tied a horse down by the stream in almost the same place he was tying up his. The sorrel's saddle was a Briggs; there was a carbine in the scabbard. He didn't recognize the horse, the saddle or the carbine (and he had an eye for things like that), but he had a gut feeling they just might belong to the man who now called himself Feeney.

      Brandt loped to the house along the same track Purdy had taken, but instead of entering to the cellar, he pressed himself against the wall and, ducking under the windows, he made his way around front. He heard voices in the sitting room, and looked through the window.

      He saw a man holding a young woman by the hair, slapping her until she fell on her knees. Then Brandt saw the dead woman on the floor. He had a distaste for men who beat women, but he had an even greater dislike for men who killed them.

      For all his 55 years, and 220 pounds, Brandt could move fast. He ran up the porch steps and, still gathering speed, hit the front door so hard he broke the lock from its wood frame and the door flew open.

      "Hold!" Brandt shouted, going into a crouch, pointing his gun at Nugent.

      But Nugent didn't hold. He swung around and the revolver came up in one smooth, fast motion, roaring flame. The bullet caught Brandt in the right arm, breaking it just below the elbow. Brandt's gun fell to the floor unfired.

      Later, Brandt would remember it well. "I was at his mercy," he said later. "The woman was doin' her best, clawing at him to make him stop, but he punched her away. He was taking aim right at my head from less than a foot away. I could feel my soul practically flyin' out the window. Then there suddenly a shot came from the kitchen and a bullet went through my assailant's brain."

      Purdy remembered it another way. When he stepped into the room, Nugent had his back to him. As he hesitated, fearing that he would hit Luna, a man wearing a Deputy Marshal's badge had broken in the door, and Nugent had shot him. And when Nugent was getting ready to finish him off, Purdy squeezed off his shot as calmly as if he'd been shooting a bottle off a log.

      It wasn't quite the way he had planned it. He had wanted to remind Nugent of the murders down at the creek, and maybe have him plead a little before doing him in. But it did the job all right.

      Then Brandt was sitting there holding his right forearm, which drooped like a wilted stalk, his whiskey-colored eyes staring at two bodies on the floor — the man who had shot him and the body of the older woman, Weitnaur's wife — while Luna ran upstairs and to get one of Weitnaur's linen sheets to make a sling and a bandage. And Purdy began thinking of some reason for not stepping in sooner.

      "I knew somethin' was up with that man," Purdy said. "I was about to bust in on him, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, you come bustin' in yourself and the shootin' started." That sounded pretty lame, but it would have to do.

      "Who is he?" Brandt gasped.

      Purdy didn't hesitate. "Why, he told me his name was Feeney."

      "Did he tell you he was a United States Marshal?"

      "A Marshal? No sir. He never said that."

      "How'd you meet him?"

      "Through my old friend Alex Weitnaur, who runs a bank downtown. We were introduced at the Palace in Central City a few days ago. Seemed like a nice man, pleasant to be with. Seemed to be rich — said he was looking for investments. So I took him up to Tres Marias where I live, because we need some capital up there to bring in a railroad, but — I've got to tell you, sir — the man was no good. I caught him staring at my wife in a way I didn't like. I spoke to him about it, he apologized, and I thought it was over."

      Purdy shook his head dolefully and continued. "Anyway, last night he came down to Denver with us, and this morning he went to town with Alex. A couple of hours ago, I had to go down to the railroad station to see about a train going back East, and when I got back, the carriage was here. Now, I thought about Alex at work at the bank, and I thought about Feeney being here with my wife . . . and I thought maybe he didn't think it was over after all. So I came back by way of the stream, and snuck up on him. That's when you came in."

      Brandt said, "I'm afraid your friend Alex is dead."

      Purdy looked thunderstruck. "Dead?"

      "Him and a man named Amhearst. Know him?"

      "Certainly! He's the sheriff up in Tres Marias. My God, who killed them?"

      "Well sir, I believe it might be the man you just shot. If so, you've avenged their murders. What is your name, sir?"

      "My name is Nugent," Purdy said calmly. "Frank Nugent."

      "Well, I'm indebted to you, Mr. Nugent. You have saved my life." By now Brandt was shaking, as shock was setting in. Purdy called Luna and told her to hurry, and she came running down with the bandages and a Harper's magazine, which they folded around his arm like a split.

      "We've got to get you to town to get that arm set and get you sewed up," Purdy said.

      Brandt suddenly turned to Luna and asked, "Which of these two men is your husband ma'am?"

      She hesitated, and Purdy said smoothly, "It's all right, Luna, he's a lawman. You can tell him I'm your husband."

      Her eyes met Purdy's, and she moved to him and rested her hand on his arm. "Why this is he, of course."

      "And what's his name?"

      Again she looked at Purdy, eyes trusting, and he said, "Just give him the name you took when we married. Is that so hard?

      "My husband's name is Frank Nugent," she said clearly. "What is all this about?"

      Brandt smiled. "Not a thing, Mrs. Nugent — nothing at all. I think we're all done here. I can send the wagon for those two on the floor. Would you mind going through the pockets of the man you called Mr. Feeney, for me, Mr. Nugent. What with this arm, I'm feeling a little weak right now."

      Purdy knelt down, and with his body blocking Brandt's view, he slipped Feeney's identification papers and badge out of his inside coat pocket while pretending to get them from Nugent's coat. There were no other papers on Nugent, only a thick wad of money. He handed the money and identification to Brandt, who looked at Feeney's papers and smiled with satisfaction.

      "And now, sir, you wouldn't by chance have anything on you that shows you are indeed who you say you are?"

      Luna, standing behind Brandt, looked at Purdy with an expression of utter dismay.

      But Purdy smiled. "Of course I do, sir. We are leaving for New York tomorrow, and I'm going to transact some business at a bank that will want identification." He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a leather wallet with Nugent's initials on it, the one he'd take from near Clay's body. He removed a worn envelope, opened it gently and withdrew a piece of paper which he handed to Brandt. "Be careful, Marshal, it's pretty old."

      Brandt opened it and saw a Baptismal Certificate for Frank Louis Nugent, the son of Adam and Beulah Nugent, born in Washington County in the State of Illinois and baptized in the year 1842.

      Also in the envelope, was the old Roman coin.

      Brandt read the certificate for a moment, then looked at the coin. He studied it. It seemed ancient.

      "This is a strange piece . . . Where did you get it?"

      Purdy took the coin from Brandt. "You know — for the longest time — this coin was lost to me. But I just recently got it back.

      "Its Roman. My great granddad picked it at some European exposition — and it was a wedding gift to my own mom and dad. My dad gave it to me the day I made lieutenant, right before I went south to fight." Purdy paused. "I carried it with me — until my last day as a Union soldier. . ."

      Purdy carefully slipped the coin into his coat pocket. Something about the way Purdy finished his sentence puzzled Brandt. Finally, Brandt said, "Sounds like that coin has got quite a history."

      "Yeah — quite a history — I won't bore you with the details. . ."

      Brandt handed the paper back to Purdy who carefully folded it and put it in the envelope which he replaced in the leather wallet.

      Brandt said, "Thank you sir. That's all I needed." He grimaced. "Now if you'll sort of help me up and steer me to that carriage out back, we can be getting back on to Denver before dark. I want to get the local authorities out here to clean up the mess."

      "Of course," Purdy said. "Luna, if you'll help the Marshal, I'll just grab our little trunk and take it with us. We'll move into a nice hotel tonight, and be ready for our trip in the morning."

      "Why Frank, that's a wonderful idea!" She put her hand on his and looked into his eyes. The look she gave him was so warm it make him tingle.

      On the way back to town, Brandt couldn't imagine why Nugent was whistling so cheerfully. But, by God, he liked the man. Tomorrow, after resting up, if there was time he'd go down to the train station and see them off. Maybe bring the lady some flowers if they were available.

      Yessir, this man Frank Nugent was a fine citizen, and, praise the Lord, a damned good shot.

      — THE END —

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