chop. The food looked and smelled delicious, and the service was friendly and efficient. Perhaps the Palace didn’t have the elegance of the St. Charles Hotel in Carson City, but it was a huge improvement over Pickhandle Gulch.
After I was halfway through breakfast and another ten pages, Brow sauntered into the now half-filled saloon with the confidence of someone who liked what he saw. That is, until he saw me. His expression immediately turned troubled, and he approached with a hesitation that made me wary.
When he loomed over me, he said, “I’m sorry about your friend.”
I was confused. “What? You mean Jeff Sharp?”
He appeared confused. “You don’t know?”
“ Know what?”
Brow sat down. “He was arrested last night for the murder of Elisha Campbell.”
I sat stunned a moment before blurting, “From that single punch?”
“ No, from a rifle shot to the back of the head. Close range.”
I shook my head. “No. Jeff wouldn’t do that. He’d never shoot anyone from behind.”
“ If a man hates enough, he can do anything.”
“ I’ve seen back-shooters threaten Jeff’s life. He still fought fair. Only way he knows. There’s been a mistake.”
“ I don’t think so.” He held my eyes. “Sharp’s Winchester did the killing. It was found close to the body—two spent shots.” He looked down, as if embarrassed. “His name was carved into the stock.”
“ Wait a minute. Where did this happen?”
“ Base of Thumb Butte.”
“ How far?”
“ Almost a mile from here.”
“ And Jeff was found that far away?”
“ No. He was found in his room … in a drunken stupor.”
“ This is bullshit!” The more I learned, the more it looked like someone had framed Sharp. “What time did this happen?” I asked.
“ The killing? Somewhere around midnight.”
I had left Sharp about eight o’clock … so I guessed it was possible. Still, it didn’t make sense. When Sharp left his room for a bottle, he didn’t seem angry anymore.
“ Were you in the saloon about eight o’clock?” I asked.
“ I’m always in the saloon at night.”
“ Did you see Jeff Sharp come in about that time?”
“ Sure. Big event. At first he tried to order a bottle, but men kept buying him drinks, and he spent most of the night right over there.” Brow pointed to the end of the bar. “Pretty drunk when he staggered out.”
“ What time was that?”
“ Let’s see, Julie had just started singing, so it must have been about eleven.”
“ See him again?”
“ No.”
“ Did you see Campbell in the saloon again?”
“ You ask a lot of questions, but no, I never saw Campbell again.”
I took a sip of my tepid coffee. “How did you learn about this?”
“ About one in the morning, a deputy came in to ask if I had a Jeff Sharp registered. Not long after, someone spread the word that a man had been arrested for killing Campbell. A cheer went up.” When he saw the look on my face, he quickly added, “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just that everybody hated Campbell, and nobody knows your friend.”
I lifted my coffee cup toward the waitress, and she hurried over to fill the cup of a “gent” talking with her boss. I used the distraction to think. The timing seemed implausible to me. In two hours, Jeff would have had to follow or lure Campbell out to Thumb Butte, kill him, and get back to his bed so he could pass out. And he had to accomplish this while falling-down drunk. As I thought it through, I realized he didn’t have even two hours, because within that time, the body would have been discovered, the arrest made, and word spread to the saloons. The timing would be extremely tight for a sober man, but impossible for Sharp if he was really drunk.
I took a shallow sip of the hot coffee and looked at Brow. “My friend didn’t kill Campbell.”
“ I guess a court will decide that, but it doesn’t sound good if he was killed with your friend’s rifle.” Brow looked
After I was halfway through breakfast and another ten pages, Brow sauntered into the now half-filled saloon with the confidence of someone who liked what he saw. That is, until he saw me. His expression immediately turned troubled, and he approached with a hesitation that made me wary.
When he loomed over me, he said, “I’m sorry about your friend.”
I was confused. “What? You mean Jeff Sharp?”
He appeared confused. “You don’t know?”
“ Know what?”
Brow sat down. “He was arrested last night for the murder of Elisha Campbell.”
I sat stunned a moment before blurting, “From that single punch?”
“ No, from a rifle shot to the back of the head. Close range.”
I shook my head. “No. Jeff wouldn’t do that. He’d never shoot anyone from behind.”
“ If a man hates enough, he can do anything.”
“ I’ve seen back-shooters threaten Jeff’s life. He still fought fair. Only way he knows. There’s been a mistake.”
“ I don’t think so.” He held my eyes. “Sharp’s Winchester did the killing. It was found close to the body—two spent shots.” He looked down, as if embarrassed. “His name was carved into the stock.”
“ Wait a minute. Where did this happen?”
“ Base of Thumb Butte.”
“ How far?”
“ Almost a mile from here.”
“ And Jeff was found that far away?”
“ No. He was found in his room … in a drunken stupor.”
“ This is bullshit!” The more I learned, the more it looked like someone had framed Sharp. “What time did this happen?” I asked.
“ The killing? Somewhere around midnight.”
I had left Sharp about eight o’clock … so I guessed it was possible. Still, it didn’t make sense. When Sharp left his room for a bottle, he didn’t seem angry anymore.
“ Were you in the saloon about eight o’clock?” I asked.
“ I’m always in the saloon at night.”
“ Did you see Jeff Sharp come in about that time?”
“ Sure. Big event. At first he tried to order a bottle, but men kept buying him drinks, and he spent most of the night right over there.” Brow pointed to the end of the bar. “Pretty drunk when he staggered out.”
“ What time was that?”
“ Let’s see, Julie had just started singing, so it must have been about eleven.”
“ See him again?”
“ No.”
“ Did you see Campbell in the saloon again?”
“ You ask a lot of questions, but no, I never saw Campbell again.”
I took a sip of my tepid coffee. “How did you learn about this?”
“ About one in the morning, a deputy came in to ask if I had a Jeff Sharp registered. Not long after, someone spread the word that a man had been arrested for killing Campbell. A cheer went up.” When he saw the look on my face, he quickly added, “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just that everybody hated Campbell, and nobody knows your friend.”
I lifted my coffee cup toward the waitress, and she hurried over to fill the cup of a “gent” talking with her boss. I used the distraction to think. The timing seemed implausible to me. In two hours, Jeff would have had to follow or lure Campbell out to Thumb Butte, kill him, and get back to his bed so he could pass out. And he had to accomplish this while falling-down drunk. As I thought it through, I realized he didn’t have even two hours, because within that time, the body would have been discovered, the arrest made, and word spread to the saloons. The timing would be extremely tight for a sober man, but impossible for Sharp if he was really drunk.
I took a shallow sip of the hot coffee and looked at Brow. “My friend didn’t kill Campbell.”
“ I guess a court will decide that, but it doesn’t sound good if he was killed with your friend’s rifle.” Brow looked
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