A Cold Day in Hell Read Online Free Page B

to Crook, telling him what all I’d done before I went off to find me a empty bed. After Crawford come and shook me up, I didn’t wake up for the next three days.”
    “Three days?” Wessels exclaimed. “What became of Crawford?”
    With a shrug Grouard said, “I hear he got up and pulled out at nine the next morning. Seeing how I slept in, he likely figured he had the jump on me. Got to Red Canyon midafternoon, where Egan broke the bad news to him. Told Crawford he just as well ought to spend the night because he wasn’t about to overtake those couriers by that time.”
    “That was the fifteenth—which means he didn’t reach Laramie ahead of Egan’s courier,” Bourke declared.
    “So how was it that Davenport’s dispatch got on the wire before Crook’s?” Schuyler asked.
    “Crawford got to the key shack at Hat Creek about eight o’clock the night of the fifteenth,” Burt replied, “but the line was down.”
    “Line was still down when I went through there,” Frank disclosed.
    Bourke shook his head, beginning to ask, “If the line was down—”
    Burt interrupted, saying, “When Crawford came through there, the operator told him that the wire should be back up by the next morning. Now, I’ve heard enough of the story to know that Captain Jack had him a second copy of Davenport’s storythat he left right there with the key operator, with instructions to put the story on the line as soon as there was current.”
    “Where the devil’d he get that second copy?” Donegan asked.
    The table fell silent. Slowly, man by man, Grouard felt all the eyes turn on him, expecting an answer. “He got it from me,” he groaned.
    “From you?” Bourke roared.
    “I was so damned angry with him there in Custer City that I handed him that copy of Davenport’s story that son of a bitch Davenport give me back at the Belle Fourche and told him I wasn’t carrying it no more.”
    “So when the line was repaired, that’s how Davenport’s dispatch got on the wire before Egan’s courier could reach here,” Wessels said. “And in the meantime, Crawford himself kept on pushing for Laramie. The next key shack was up at Sage Creek, just forty-eight miles beyond Hat Creek, and that’s where Crawford must’ve found out the line was up and working by that time. The operator there told him Davenport’s story was already on the wire ahead of all the others.”
    Donegan sat his mug down with a clunk, wagging his head. “Damn the bloody hell of it—so that’s how Davenport’s story got out ahead of Crook’s dispatches to Sheridan.”
    “But only part of Davenport’s story,” said Andy Burt.
    “What do you mean, only
part
of it?” Donegan asked as Grouard rocked forward on his elbows.
    “When the Hat Creek operator paused in the middle of Davenport’s story for a moment, the operator at Laramie broke in and took over possession of the wire with Crook’s official dispatches,” Burt explained. “Still, with the jump Crawford had there at Hat Creek key station, Davenport’s story got wired east a good five hours ahead of all the rest of those other newspapermen.”
    Bourke asked, “What’d Crawford get for his trouble?”
    “It sure wasn’t that five hunnert Davenport promised him,” Grouard grumped.
    Donegan grumped over his whiskey, “Davenport’s the sort so tight he squeaks when he walks. I’ll wager he gave Captain Jack no more’n a shinplaster or two.”
    Wessels explained, “I heard he got only two hundred dollars since he wasn’t the first to Laramie and only part of the story got out before Crook’s report.”
    “Where’s Crawford now?” Schuyler asked.
    “He laid over here a day,” Burt answered. “Then he doubled back for the Hills.”
    “Let’s drink to Frank Grouard!” Bourke cheered, raising his mug of beer.
    The half-breed watched a sudden bright twinkle gleam in the lieutenant’s eyes as the officer tapped Donegan on the shoulder and pointed out the window.
    “Who’s