Page 60 of Wyoming Promises
His mind reeled. “I assumed his horse spooked, bucked the man off and headed for home. You haven’t found it?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed and Bridger felt his chances for help from this man crush under the scrutiny. “I did. The livery owner found it outside his stable, looking clean and cared for, two days after you brought Pete McKenna into town.”
Bridger drew to full height and squared his shoulders. “I don’t know anything about that.”
Jake brushed his hat before replacing it on his head. “I thought Ike Tyler’s men knew most everything going on in Quiver Creek.”
Fire blazed in his gut. “I’m not one of Ike’s men.”
“Is that right?”
Bridger bit the inside of his cheek and flexed his fingers, considering his next words. “Yes. I needed a job, and Tyler offered one. That’s all. But what he’s doing is part of the reason I was so anxious to talk with you alone.”
Water collected in drops over Jake’s badge, giving it a gleam in spite of the frail sunlight. “What do you know about Tyler?”
“Plenty.” He winced at the heat in his tone. “Enough, anyway. And I’m willing to learn more if it will stop him. But I need your help.”
Jake stepped closer, a curious gleam in his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
Bridger drew a step closer, too. “I’m more interested in your opinion, Marshal.”
Jake leaned to the side, a slow smile pulling his mouth with it. “I didn’t think you had any hand in the sheriff’s death when I asked you here, if that’s what you want to know.”
Relief filled him, like the first draft of fresh air after a blizzard. It hadn’t been the intended question, but he appreciated the answer. “So then why did you want me to come?”
“The more I know, the better,” Jake said. “Seeing the place of the crime, even a month later, often tells me information I’d not have found otherwise.”
“You don’t believe it was an accident.”
Jake ignored his statement. “But I will say your offer to help with my main investigation is surprising. What exactly do you know about Tyler’s operation?”
“I know he cheats people, and he preys on folks in several little towns around here. He controls several businesses and collects money from many of them.” The dam of anger he held toward Ike started to crack. His breath heaved. “I know he’s hurting people and needs to be stopped before things get any worse.”
“Do you have proof?” Jake asked, his tone tinged with excitement.
Bridger shook his head. “Maybe. I found a ledger Lola’s father kept of transactions he made with the Quiver Creek Business Association—which doesn’t legitimately exist, far as I can tell. I think Mr. Martin was gathering proof against Ike. But there’s more.” He rubbed his face, strain from his time on the trail catching him in a sudden flood. “He’s given me a promotion of sorts.”
“Bringing you up the ranks?” Jake asked.
As hard as it is to admit... “Yes.”
Jake’s arms darted out, pounding his shoulders with a crushing shake. “This is the break this case has been looking for!” A broad grin split across the man’s face. “You’re already on the inside. Right now we have some complaints, but any time we go to investigate, folks decide not to talk.”
“They’re afraid. You can’t blame them,” Bridger insisted.
Jake smacked him on the back. “But you’re not?”
“Only a fool wouldn’t be,” Bridger admitted. “But once he’s out of business, we’ll all rest easier. I want to help.”
Jake sobered as he started a restless pace. “Before you agree to that, you need to know we think Tyler’s behind several deaths in Quiver Creek already—including the sheriff’s.”
“So you don’t believe it’s an accident?” he asked again.
Jake ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “No sign of a tumble as far as I could see. The body wasn’t found until many hours after death, even though this is a relatively well-used trail.”
Bridger’s mind pulsed. “So there are too many things out of place.”
“And similar accidents happen to some of the folks filing complaints against Ike Tyler. I’d send the whole citizenry of Wyoming Territory against the man that says Tyler isn’t connected to Pete McKenna’s death.”
Bridger released a breath into the moist air, long and low. He fought notions of Frank’s—and Lola’s—threatened safety from his mind. “Tell me what to do.”