The University Showdown Read online

  “That’d be Doug Melvin,” one of them said.

  “Who?” Fellows asked.

  “The foreman,” another man said.

  “I meant that I wish to see Mr. Bodeen.”

  “Well, you’ll have to go through the foreman first,” somebody else said.

  “And where would he be?” Fellows asked.

  “He’s in the barn,” another man said.

  “We’ll walk ya over.”

  Fellows got down from his buggy and Clint dismounted and dropped Eclipse’s reins to the ground.

  “That’s a fine-lookin’ horse, mister,” one man said.

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “You sure you don’t wanna tie him off?” another voice called.

  “He’s fine where he is,” Clint said. “I wouldn’t advise anybody to get to close to him, though. He bites.”

  “Lead the way,” Fellows said to the men.

  They not only led the way, but surrounded Clint and Fellows and walked them over to the barn that way.

  One man entered the barn, yelling, “Hey, boss, there’s a lawman out here ta see ya!”

  “What the hell do I want to see a lawman for?” another voice bellowed.

  The foreman appeared, a big, burly man who wore a gun, but looked as if he settled most disputes with his fists.

  “Who’s the lawman?” he asked.

  “That would be me,” Fellows said. “Detective Fellows.”

  Doug Melvin pinned Clint with a hard stare and asked, “And who are you?”

  “Clint Adams.”

  A stir went through the assembled ranch hands.

  “Okay, the rest of you get back to work!” Melvin shouted. “Now.”

  Slowly, the men drifted away.

  “Don’t wanna get the men too excited,” Melvin said. “What’s the Gunsmith want here?”

  “I’m just riding with him,” Clint said, indicating Fellows. “He’s in charge.”

  “That a fact?”

  “It is,” Fellows asked. “And I’m not here to see you. want to see Mr. Bodeen.”

  “What about?”

  “That’s private,” Fellows said. “I would think if he wants you to know, he’d tell you after we leave.”

  Melvin stared at Fellows for a few moments, then said, “Lemme see your badge.”

  Fellows took it out and showed it to him. It was silver, and said tucson police on it, but it wasn’t shaped as a star.

  “Pretty fancy,” Melvin said, handing it back. “Me, I prefer sheriffs and marshals.”

  “So do I,” Clint said.

  “Yeah,” Melvin said. “you would.”

  “Mr. Melvin, I’m going to have to insist on seeing your boss.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Melvin said. “Walk with me to the house. You’ll have to wait on the porch while I go inside.”

  “Very well.”

  The foreman led them back to the house, up the steps to the porch, then left them there and went inside.

  “Think he’ll try to turn us away?” Clint asked.

  “I doubt it,” Fellows said. “He’s a prominent citizen, he’ll want to appear cooperative.”

  “You think?”

  “Why would he not?”

  “Because,” Clint said, “he’s a prominent citizen. In my opinion, such men like to flex their muscles.”

  The front door opened and the foreman stuck his head out.

  “Gents? The boss says he’ll see you.”

  Fellows gave Clint a look and they followed the foreman inside.

  SIXTEEN

  Clint expected the foreman to lead them to an office. Instead, he led them through the house and out through some glass doors. In the back was a section of ground covered with what appeared to be pieces of slate. There was a table, and some chairs. A man he assumed was Patrick Bodeen was standing by the table, holding a large drink.

  “Mr. Bodeen?” the foreman said. “This here’s Detective Fellows, and that other fella is Clint Adams.”

  “All right, Doug,” Bodeen said. “Thanks. You can go.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bodeen approached both men with a proffered hand. He was tall, slender, gray-haired with a widow’s peak. Although he was supposedly in his own house drinking alone, his suit was very expensive. Clint looked at the table. Although there was no glass there, there was a wet circle where a glass had been. The question was, Bodeen’s glass or someone else’s?

  “Good to meet you both,” he said. “Mr. Adams, I know your reputation, of course.”

  “Glad to meet you, Mr. Bodeen,” Clint said.

  “Can I get either of you a drink?” Bodeen asked, lifting the glass in his left hand.

  “Not for me, thanks,” Clint said.

  “Nor me,” Fellows said.

  “Very well,” Bodeen said, “I suppose we should get down to business. What can I do for you gents?”

  All three men remained standing, which seemed to set the tone of the meeting.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard about the vandalism that’s been taking place out at the site of the new university?” Fellows asked.

  “Of course,” Bodeen said. “I know what’s going on in the area.”

  “Well, we found some tracks leading from the building site to here.”

  “Here? Here where?”

  “Your ranch.”

  “I mean, exactly where?”

  “Once the tracks reach the general area, they get swallowed up by other tracks,” Clint said. “They could lead right to your barn, though.”

  “Could,” Bodeen said, “but you have no proof of that.”

  “We do know the rider came here,” Fellows said.

  “And you think that means…what? That he’s working here? For me? Suppose the man rode here and was turned away?”

  “Did such a man come here, and did you turn him away?” Fellows asked.

  “Did he come here when? What was the exact day? No, never mind. I won’t remember where I was anyway. Just tell me why you’re really here. Do you think I’ve been having the university site vandalized?”

  “I’m not saying that, sir,” Fellows said. “I’m just asking questions.”

  “You’re just asking questions of a prominent Tucson citizen, Fellows,” Bodeen said. “I’m not without influence in this town—or this state, for that matter. You could be in a lot of trouble.”

  “For doing my job, sir?” Fellows asked. “Why would I be in trouble for that?”

  Bodeen glared at Fellows, but before he could bluster any further, Clint asked, “Where’s your wife, Mr. Bodeen?”

  “What?” Bodeen switched his glare from Fellows to Clint. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just wondering if she’s home.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I was just wondering,” Clint said. “I thought she might have been out here having a drink with you.”

  He walked to the table, and with his forefinger obliterated the wet circle left by a glass.

  “If you knew anything about me, Mr. Adams,” Bodeen said, “you’d know that I don’t usually drink with my wife. In fact, we rarely speak.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I was just wondering.”

  “In fact,” Bodeen said, “you’ve met my wife, haven’t you?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes, we have met,” Clint said.

  “In fact,” Bodeen said, “for all I know, you’ve slept with the whore. Everyone else seems to have.”

  “Not me,” Clint said.

  “Nor me,” Fellows said.

  That remark seemed to amuse Patrick Bodeen.

  “Gents,” he said, “if that’s all, I have things to do.”

  “I’d like to take a look at the horses in your stable, Mr. Bodeen,” Fellows said.

  “I don’t think I’m going to be that cooperative, Detective.”

  “I can get an order from the court,” Fellows said.

  “You do that,” Bodeen said. “When you have
it, come back and we’ll see what we can do. Now, I think you gentlemen can show yourselves out. Be assured I’ll be talking to the chief, and to the mayor, about this.”

  “That doesn’t mean much to me, Mr. Bodeen,” Clint said. “If you have anything to do with vandalizing the university, I’ll find out.”

  “You do that, Mr. Adams,” Bodeen said. “Just remember, I have all kinds of friends, from every walk of life.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No, Mr. Adams,” Bodeen said, “that’s a suggestion.”

  Clint looked at Fellows, who shrugged, and the two men went back into the house.

  When they came out the front door, they found the foreman, Melvin, standing by their horses.

  “What the hell is wrong with this horse of yours, Adams?” he demanded. “He nearly bit off one of my men’s fingers.”

  “I warned them,” Clint said.

  “Did you get what you wanted from the boss?” Melvin asked.

  “Pretty much,” Clint said.

  “We’ll be back,” Fellows said.

  He got into his buggy, Clint mounted up, and they rode out.

  SEVENTEEN

  When the ranch was behind them and out of sight, Fellows reined his horse in, and Clint followed his lead.

  “What do you think?” he asked Clint.

  “He’s hiding something.”

  “That horse with the distinctive print might be in that barn.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “if it is, it won’t be for long.”

  “I need to get back to town and talk to my chief, and a judge.”

  “You think a judge will give you what you need?” Clint asked. “Against Patrick Bodeen?”

  Fellows looked crestfallen.

  “Probably not.”

  “In the time it takes you go back to town and find that out,” Clint said, “they could get rid of that horse, or reshoe it.”

  “You’re not suggesting we sneak back there and have a look, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” Fellows said with some relief.

  “I’m suggesting we sneak back and have a look…after dark!”

  They had hours to kill, but didn’t want to go too far away. It took Clint a while to convince Fellows they were doing the right thing.

  “This isn’t back East, Fellows,” he said. “You can’t just run to a judge and get what you want.”

  They found a copse of trees that would hide the buggy and the horses well enough. Then they crept back to within sight of the ranch to watch until dark.

  “What can we do from here if they decide to get rid of that horse?” Fellows asked.

  “Not much,” Clint said. “You’d just have to swear you saw them moving it.”

  “But if they bring a horse out, we can’t assume it’s the right one.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “We’d have to try to take it from them.”

  “Let’s just wait and see what happens, Fellows.”

  “Fred,” Fellows said.

  “What?”

  “My name’s Fred.”

  “Fred Fellows?”

  The detective looked at him. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” Clint said. “It’s very…catchy.”

  They watched for a couple of hours, and then it started to get dark.

  “Let’s go,” Clint said.

  “Now? It’s not dark yet.”

  “It will be by the time we work our way down behind the barn.”

  He slapped the younger man on the back and led the way down to the barn. By the time they had their backs pressed against the back wall, darkness had fallen.

  “You want to call this?” Clint asked.

  “I’m still new out here,” Fellows said, “and you have the experience. I’ll follow you, Mr. Adams.”

  “Clint,” he said. “Just call me Clint.”

  “All right.”

  “We’ll go in, and you watch the front door while I check the horses.”

  “And if the horse is there?” Fellows asked.

  “Then we need to find out who it belongs to.”

  “And if it’s not here?”

  “Then we have to try something else,” Clint said. “That would mean either they succeeded in hiding it, or we’re wrong.”

  “I don’t think we’re wrong,” Fellows said. “I saw the trail, plain as day.”

  “No, I don’t think we’re wrong either,” Clint said, “but we’ll see.”

  Clint led the way along one side of the barn, the side that was hidden from the house. When he got to the front, he peered around, made sure they were clear, and then entered the barn.

  Immediately, he knew they had a problem. He heard somebody moving around, then saw the man working some hay with a pitchfork.

  Clint turned to Fellows, put his finger to his lips, and then crept farther into the barn.

  He came up behind the ranch hand who was holding the pitch fork.

  “Just stand easy,” he said aloud. “Don’t make any sudden moves.”

  The man froze.

  EIGHTEEN

  They tied the man up, gagged him, and stuck him in a corner.

  “Just sit quiet and you’ll be fine,” Clint said, tapping the man on the head.

  The man’s eyes were wide with fear, but he gave a quick jerky nod of his head.

  Clint turned to Fellows and said, “Okay, keep watch at the door.”

  Fellows nodded and positioned himself there.

  Bodeen’s ranch was a big one, and the barn was huge. With many stalls, all of which were occupied by horses. He started going to them, one by one, lifting their rear left hooves and checking the shoe there.

  As he neared the last of the horses, he began to fear they were too late. Somehow, they had managed to reshoe the horse, or get it out of here.

  He lifted the last hoof, then lifted the others. It seemed clear the horse had three old shoes and one new one.

  “Fred!”

  Fellows looked up, then trotted over to where Clint was standing.

  “Is that it?”

  “I think so,” Clint said. “See here?”

  “That shoe looks new.”

  “Not so much the shoe as the nails,” Clint said, “but you’re right.”

  “So who’s horse is it?” Fellows asked.

  “That’s what we have to find out next.”

  “We can go to the house and ask.”

  “We can do better than that,” Clint said. “We can ask our friend here.”

  They walked to the trussed-up ranch hand and Clint leaned over him.

  “I’m going to remove your gag,” he told the man. “If you try to yell, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

  The man nodded. Clint slipped the gag from his mouth.

  “Now I’m going to stand you up.”

  “Okay.”

  Clint and Fellows got the man to his feet.

  “See that horse?” Clint asked, pointing.

  “Y-Yessir.”

  “Do you know who it belongs to?”

  “Y-Yes.”

  Clint waited, then snapped, “Well, who?”

  “T-That mare belongs to Mrs. Bodeen.”

  Clint looked at Fellows.

  “Bodeen’s wife?” Fellows asked. “She set the fire at the site?”

  “I doubt it,” Clint said, “but maybe she let somebody use her horse.”

  “So we go and ask her.”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “but not now. Not here.”

  “Then where? When?”

  “In town,” Clint said, “away from here. There are too many men here.”

  He turned, put his hand against the bound man’s chest, and knocked him over.

  “Let’s go.”

  “We’re leaving him here?”

  “He didn’t do anything,” Clint said. “He was just doing his job.”

  “But he’ll tell Bodeen we were here.”

  “That’s fine,” Clint sai
d. “You told him you’d be investigating.”

  “So…what do we do?”

  Clint looked at Fellows and said, “Let’s go and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  NINETEEN

  When they got back to Tucson, they went for thick, juicy steaks.

  “As soon as Bodeen finds out what we did, he’ll come to town,” Fellows said. “He’ll talk to Chief Coleman and to Mayor Darling.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then I’ll probably get fired.”

  “Will you quit, then?”

  “Quit…what? If I’m fired, I won’t have a job.”

  “So you’ll stop investigating?”

  “Why would I continue?” Fellows asked. “A job is a job.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “it’s not a job to me. I’ll continue and find out who’s been doing damage to the site, before they hurt…or kill someone.”

  “You think they mean to kill someone?”

  “Maybe not,” Clint said. “But in my experience, these kinds of actions usually lead to it.”

  “Well,” Fellows said around a hunk of meat, “I suppose if it comes to that, I could probably still help you.”

  “If you get fired,” Clint said, “it may not happen.”

  “I suppose.”

  They ordered more beer and continued to eat.

  “We found Bailey in the barn, trussed up like a pig,” Doug Melvin told Bodeen.

  “And? What does he have to say for himself?”

  “He says two men tied him up and then looked at all the horses.”

  “And?”

  “When they found something, they asked him whose horse it was.”

  “And whose horse was it?” Bodeen asked.

  “Uh, it was Mrs. Bodeen’s mare, sir.”

  “And what did they find?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Melvin said. “He says they looked at all the horses’ rear hooves.”

  “I see.”

  Bodeen sat back in his chair. He was holding a glass of whiskey in his hand.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Probably in somebody’s bed,” Bodeen said.

  “Sir…can I ask a question?”

  “Sure, Doug,” Bodeen said. “You’re probably the only person I can trust.”

  “Thank you. I, uh, was just wondering why you put up with her. Why don’t you just…”