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belly-up.”
    Lyle wanted a result, and had the sense to realize that Logan was more than just a capable investigator.  He was someone of value, to use as an aid.  “So whatever I say, you’ll just keep on digging like some TV PI.  Right?”
    “Right”
    “I’m a proud man, Logan, but not stupid.  I expect you to give me anything else you come across.  I want to find the perp as much as you do.”
    Logan nodded.  “And what can you tell me about the barkeep at the Wagon Wheel?”
    “Ned Williams?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Promise me that you won’t put him in hospital.”
    “Why would I want to do that?”
    “Because he’s Carl’s uncle.  And he doesn’t just tend bar, he owns the joint.”
    It fitted.  Williams had phoned his nephew and told him that Logan was propping up the bar.  That’s how the Three Stooges had known where to come looking with their baseball bats.
    “Family ties are always tight in hick towns, Sheriff.  I suppose that’s the big difference between them and big cities.  I’ll let it go with Williams, if he keeps off my radar.”
    “Is that it?”  Lyle said.
    “For now,”  Logan replied and left the building, unmindful of two deputies that gave him looks that would turn milk sour.
    Lyle drove out to the Wagon Wheel to have a word with Ned.  Made small talk, accepted a cup of coffee and then got down to business.
    “You made a big mistake last night, Ned,”  Lyle said.
    “How’d you figure that, Lyle?”
    “You knew that Carl was pissed at Logan.  When Logan came in here for a meal, you made a call.  I daresay you know what happened later.”
    “That’s speculative, Lyle.”
    “Doesn’t really worry me.  Logan seems to be able to take care of himself, and he knows the connection.”
    Ned paled.  Logan had been a very big, fit-looking guy.  “So you’ve put me in his sights, Lyle?”
    “I happened to mention that you and Carl are related, Ned.  You reap what you sow.  But I’ve asked him to give you a break, seeing as how you’re going to help me out by handing over the tapes you probably have from the night of the Foster girl’s murder.”
    “I can’t help you with that, Lyle.  They get reused.  If nothing untoward happens I have no reason to use fresh ones.”
    That figured.  “So let’s test your memory.  I need the names of any guys from town that were in that evening.  Take your time and write them down for me.”

    He went into town and listened to what had happened.  There was only one subject on everyone’s lips, and for a change it wasn’t the weather or the state of the nation in general.  He didn’t have to ask anything.  The Creek was like a bush telegraph.  Anything that broke the day-to-day pattern was run through like a loop, over and over, to be picked as clean as road kill, and the murder was still unsolved and hot gossip.
    He knew that the sheriff would have been happy to charge Ray Marshall, ship him to Denver and let him take the fall.  But a stranger in town had found evidence that all but cleared the boy.  He recalled seeing him; a tall guy wearing cheap clothes.  He could obviously handle himself, because Carl, his brother and Johnny Wheeler had gone up against him with baseball bats and come off a poor second.  Word had it that his name was Logan, and that he was a drifter.  The worrying news was that he was also an ex-cop, and that he was looking out for the Marshall kid’s interests.  And Kate Donner was also in the picture and seemed to be tight with Logan.
    Adjusting his shades, he went into the Steamboat Diner.  Sat at the counter on a stool and ordered coffee from Amy.
    “Hi, Larry,”  Amy said.  “Haven’t seen you for a few days.  Have you been away?”
    “No, Amy,”  he said.  “Just takin’ time out to give this back of mine time to settle down a little.  Reckon I’ll be needin’ surgery on it before long.  Most I’ve been able to do of late is sit next to the lake with my fishin’