Plains Crazy by J.M. Hayes Page B

attorney.”
    The sheriff had to concede that Davis’ judgment was sound. Wynn Some, Lose Some had known Mad Dog all his life, yet he’d been ready to lock up the sheriff’s brother a few minutes ago without a second thought.
    â€œThe closet was still locked when you checked?”
    â€œUhh, actually, no.”
    â€œYou sure you locked it?”
    Davis shrugged. “I was, now I’m not. But I locked it before I left again. Didn’t want any more of these to go missing.”
    The sheriff sighed. “Kind of like locking the barn door after your horse has been stolen,” he observed—a favorite Benteen County expression, even if it had been decades since a horse had gone missing here.
    â€œNo, he locked it,” Sean said. “I remember. Because of the Sharps…”
    Davis’ assistant’s voice trailed off and he pointed at a spot by the door next to where a buffalo hide robe hung inside a plastic drycleaner’s bag.
    â€œWhat?” the sheriff was puzzled. There didn’t seem to be anything there.
    â€œIt’s gone!” Davis’ voice was outraged.
    â€œWhat’s gone?” The sheriff felt half a step behind the world. Maybe three times had been too much of a good thing.
    â€œA Sharps fifty-caliber buffalo gun,” Davis said. “And a box of ammunition. It was right there by the door. Fuck your horse and barn door. That gun’s an antique and worth a fortune. Sucker’ll bowl over an ox at close to a mile.”
    It wouldn’t do a human being much good either, the sheriff thought. Especially if it was now in the hands of the person who had the bow and arrows.
    ***
    â€œMad Dog’s not guilty,” Wynn Some said as he came clomping down the hall from the back door that led to the parking lot behind the courthouse. Most people who had business here parked there, though the streets, except where they were crowded with Bertha’s customers, offered plenty of options.
    â€œWhat?” Parker and Mad Dog chorused.
    â€œYou sure?” Parker demanded.
    Mad Dog, more seriously confused, asked, “Not guilty of what?” His question was ignored, since, not guilty, he was no longer of much interest to either deputy.
    â€œGot us a witness,” Wynn Some told Parker. “Daphne, the girl who was at the scene when the crime was perpetrated. She says Mad Dog was there, too, but not armed. He was only wearing running shorts and obviously not packing a bow and arrow.”
    â€œDid somebody get shot with an arrow?” Mad Dog wanted in.
    â€œYou’re absolutely sure of this?” Parker asked Wynn.
    â€œCourse. Englishman sent me back to help you investigate the pipe bomb, or do it myself so you can head back out to the Indian camp and help him. Call him if you don’t believe me.”
    Mad Dog could see from Parker’s eyes that she intended to do just that. Double checking anything Wynn said was a good idea…then the rest of what Wynn had said registered. “Pipe bomb?”
    â€œWe should still question him,” Wynn continued, as if Mad Dog weren’t standing right there. “If Daphne saw him only moments before the shooting, he may know something.” He turned on Mad Dog like a terrier suddenly discovering the stranger in his house didn’t intend to feed him. “How about it, Mad Dog? What did you see?”
    Mad Dog was still stuck on what he’d suddenly realized Deputy Parker had been examining. “Is that a pipe bomb?”
    â€œIt’s been a busy morning,” Parker confessed. “What about it, Mad Dog? Did you notice anything unusual when you ran by the PBS site this morning?”
    â€œWas there a bombing out there or something? What should I have noticed?”
    Parker told him about Michael Spotted Elk. Wynn tried to help, but mostly he just described Daphne. Mad Dog gathered she must be quite a dish.
    He chewed his lower lip and thought