[Chapter One]
Circumstantial Evidence
Crossing Alamo Plaza, Glenn Crawford was almost to the Manger Hotel when he became aware of Sheriff Ed Kenmare standing in the entrance to the patio. Crawford felt the hesitant break to his stride. Then, deliberately, he went on, feeling for the first time the sweat glistening on his unshaven upper lip and forming dark blue spots in the armpits of his faded ducking jacket. It might have been the sun. It was a hot spring for San Antonio.
"How about the riding, Glenn?" asked the sheriff, casually.
"My legs are all right, Ed," said Crawford, halting momentarily.
"I noticed you still limped a bit," Kenmare told him. "You got off easy, I guess. Horse mashed my cousin's legs rolling on him that way up in Deaf Smith. He never did heal so he could ride any more."
"My legs are all right," said Crawford, turning to go past him and through the patio gate.
"You got other things to heal besides your legs," said Kenmare, shifting his dusty, tobacco-odored bulk in front of Crawford. "Why don't you think things out a bit longer before you see Otis Rockland again?"
"This isn't my idea," said Crawford. "Otis sent me word he was here and wanted to talk."
Kenmare's watery gray eyes met Crawford's, and he put a gnarled hand on the younger man's arm. "Then give me your gun, Glenn, before you go up."