Back upstairs in the sad, dilapidated hotel room. It didn't look any better in daylight than it did in the dark. Bart picked his saddlebags up from the floor and the attorney once again sat down. "Now, what was so important that it be private?"
The young attorney fidgeted nervously before he got down to business. "There's a lot more to know about Danny Fletcher than what I told you earlier."
The look he received was skeptical, at best. "Such as?"
"Danny Fletcher has a brother. A half-breed named Tommy Sampson. His father was Comanche."
The gambler raised an eyebrow before sitting on the bed. "Were they brought up together?"
"For a while. Danny's mother lived with the Comanche's until Tommy was five or six, then she took Danny and left. She died later on, and Danny went to live with Reverend Ralph."
"And Tommy?"
"Stayed with his pa, went by his Comanche name, Tosahwi. White Knife."
"They know each other now?"
Freeman shook his head. "I think so."
"Is that all?"
"Well . . . "
"Spit it out, Porter. Ain't enough time for you to hesitate."
"Somebody's been supplying the Comanche's with guns."
If the attorney was anticipating any kind of reaction, he didn't get one. He thought the older brother was a difficult man to read, probably the result of his profession. The younger brother wasn't any easier; but then he too was a gambler. Porter Freeman had met few men that made their living manipulating a deck of cards; perhaps the trait was a common one among them.
"Where did Danny fit into all this?"
Emboldened by the urging he'd received to 'spit it out,' the barrister did just that. "Some few in town thought Danny might be involved in it. The gun-running. Because of Tommy."
"Any proof?"
"None that I know of."
Bart grew silent. What did all this have to do with his brother?
"How did Bret get involved?"
That was one Porter Freeman couldn't answer. "I don't know, Mr. Maverick. He had some suspicions about the connection between Danny and Tosahwi, and then there was the poker. The night Danny was murdered wasn't the first time your brother suspected him of cheating."
That finally brought a reaction. "He knew Fletcher was cheatin' and he played poker with him anyway?"
"I didn't say your brother knew he was cheating. He suspected Danny of cheating."
"Did he tell you that?"
The attorney nodded but remained silent. Bart reached into the saddlebags he was still holding and pulled out a deck of cards. "Come with me." He moved to the table at the far end of the room and took a seat, and Freeman followed him. In just a minute the deck was shuffled and cut, and for the next five minutes the gambler proceeded to show his brother's lawyer one illegal move after another with the cards. When he finished the barrister was thoroughly astounded. "My brother is every bit as adept at that as I am. There was no speculation about the cheating. Bret knew there was cheatin' going on."
"Do you . . . "
Porter was interrupted before he could continue with the question. "No. We don't cheat. But when you know how, it's easy enough to catch somebody else doin' it. And Bret would never accuse someone without being certain."
The counselor had one more bit of information to impart. "Bret visited Reverend Ralph before Danny was killed. Two or three days before. He didn't tell me what the visit was about."
"Did he go to see Cherry Smith, too?"
The question was unexpected. "I don't know."
The gambler sighed and stared searchingly at Porter Freeman for a long, awkward minute. "Anything else?"
"Not that I can think of."
"How many people live in this town?"
"Maybe two hundred. Does that matter?"
"It could. Why hasn't the trial started yet?"
"Sheriff had to send for the circuit judge. He'll be here next week."
"What about a Prosecutor?"
"We've got one of those. Thaddeus Milburn. Born and raised in Hobbs. Twice my age, at the very least."
"Anything I should know about him?"
"Very proper gentleman. Doesn't believe in gambling, drinking, or smoking. Never been married."
"Does he have any other business interests?"
Attorney Freeman smiled slightly. "That's a curious question. Rumor is he's a silent partner in the bank. What does that have to do with the trial?
"Maybe nothing. You have an office where?"
"Little white house, next to the bank. My name's on the front door. I'm a border in the house, too. Mrs. Nellie Collins owns the place, and she was kind enough to rent me the office. She's the widow of the former sheriff. Sweetest woman on the face of the earth. I'm not the only one that thinks your brother's innocent. Miss Nellie does, too. She's awful fond of Bret; he'd been living there for more than two weeks when Danny was murdered. She'd be pleased to meet you."
"And just why do you think he's innocent?"
"I like Bret. He's pleasant and funny, and a gentleman. He treats everybody the same, no matter who they are. And he's not that kind of man."
"What kind of man would that be?"
"A back-shooter."
XXXXXXXX
The young attorney had a prospective client to visit, so the gambler walked down to the white boarding house alone. Porter Freeman's name was indeed on the front door, under the title 'Attorney at Law,' and Bart knocked gently. Within seconds he heard a feminine voice sing out "Coming!" and he waited patiently for Mrs. Collins to make an appearance at the door.
The woman that opened the front door wasn't at all what Bart Maverick expected. The description 'widow of the former sheriff' conjured up images of a plump, jolly, white-haired grandmotherly type, and Nellie Collins was anything but. She was a lady in her early fifties, well built and dressed quite attractively, with light brown hair and beautiful hands. The only thing that looked as expected was the smile on her face that was set off by bright blue eyes. "Yes?" she asked at first, but before Maverick could answer her, she added, "Oh my. You're a Maverick, aren't you? Please come in. I'm Nellie Collins."
He tipped his hat politely before removing it altogether. "Yes, ma'am, Bart Maverick, to be exact. Bret's my brother. I hope I'm not botherin' you."
"Oh, no, Mr. Maverick, I've been expecting you. I had the feeling you'd be along sooner rather than later. Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?"
"Bart, please ma'am. Tea would be most welcome. Do you have a few minutes? I'd like to talk to you."
"Certainly, Bart. But you must call me Nellie. I can't have Bret's brother addressing me as Mrs. Collins."
"Alright, Nellie, thank you. I spoke with Porter Freeman this mornin'. He gave me quite a lot of information but thought you might be able to provide me with a bit more. I understand Bret was rentin' a room from you?"
Nellie nodded as she poured a cup of tea and handed it to the young gambler. "He was indeed. He'd been here two weeks or more when Danny Fletcher was killed. He'd probably be here still if Frank Hopper hadn't come and arrested him for the murder. Which I'm sure he didn't commit."
His face wore a serious expression, but his eyes were full of life. "Why is that, Nellie? You don't know Bret very well, why are you so sure of his innocence?"
"Because he told me he didn't kill young Fletcher, and he's not the kind of man to lie."
'No,' Bart thought, 'he's not the kind of man to lie.'