Page 88 of More Than Meets the Eye

Benson seemed to be heading south, but he jigged and jagged so often, it was difficult to determine his destination.

Logan stopped to listen for another breadcrumb, but nothing out of the ordinary met his ears. He looked southeast. Would Benson head for Ben Franklin and the townsfolk who would rally around him and make a confrontation difficult? He shifted his gaze southwest. Or would he return to the schoolhouse, gather what he could, and make a run for it? Logan blew out a breath. Or maybe the crafty devil had stashed a mount somewhere in the woods and had a completely different escape route planned. There was no way to know.

Figuring that he would hear a horse, Logan opted to head southwest. The schoolhouse offered immediate shelter and anonymity. If Benson went to town, there would be witnesses to report which way he had gone.

By the time Logan hit the clearing on the outskirts of the schoolyard, sweat ran down the sides of his face. The pudgy schoolmaster was spryer than Logan had given him credit for. Of course, a man’s survival instincts provided remarkable fuel.

Recalling the shotgun, Logan dashed toward the cover of the outhouse. A shot fired, but not at him. At least he didn’t think so. It sounded too muffled. Raising his own rifle into a ready position, he peered around the side of the privy.

The back door of the school flew open, and a black-suited, bald-pated ball of a man rolled heels over head down the rear steps and sprawled on the ground, his back slamming into the packed dirt. A dark, avenging angel followed him out. Face fierce, Zacharias Hamilton tossed away the weapon that Benson must have tried to use on him.

Hamilton strode forward. Benson whimpered and floundered like an upside-down stink beetle in a hopeless effort to get away. Hamilton grabbed him by the shirtfront with one hand and lifted the teacher’s head and shoulders off the ground. He drew back his right fist but paused before throwing the punch.

“Where’s my brother?” he growled.

Benson shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whined. The smug bully who’d not half an hour ago shot an old man and threatened a woman had turned into a whimpering weakling when confronted by a man he couldn’t intimidate.

Hamilton’s fist slammed into Benson’s jaw. His head banged against the dirt, and he actually started crying.

“Where’s my brother?” The question was a roar this time.

Logan grinned. One would think a schoolmaster would be smart enough to figure out what came next if he didn’t give the correct answer. Yet all Benson did was cower, shaking his head as if that would dissuade the man above him.

Disgusted yet driven to speed things up, Logan stepped out from behind the outhouse right as Hamilton drew back his arm to deliver another blow. “Seth’s up at Earl’s cabin.”

Hamilton kept his grip on Benson’s shirtfront, but his fist fell as he turned his head to regard Logan striding toward him.

“He’s in a bad way,” Logan said, knowing Eva’s brother would care more about family than punishing the man at his feet. “The smoke did a number on him, but Christie’s with him. Hopefully Eva will be too, pretty soon.”

Logan had hated leaving her behind, alone with a dying man. She might have acted tough on the outside, shooing him away with common sense and a competent bearing, but he knew her sensitive heart would take a blow. It wasn’t easy to watch a man die. His mother had never fully recovered from the experience.

Hamilton straightened, bringing Benson’s upper body with him as if it weighed next to nothing. “Where’s Evie?”

“With Earl.” Logan jerked his chin toward the schoolmaster. “Benson shot him. She bore witness. And I bore witness to him trying to silence her like he did his ex-partner.”

Hamilton’s eyes narrowed to slits. His fist drew back and struck like lightning. Benson’s head snapped back, and he lolled unconscious.

Logan stared at Benson as Hamilton dropped him into the dirt where he belonged. “Great. Now I’m gonna have to carry him to the marshal’s office.”

“I’ll leave you my horse,” Hamilton said, voice dry.

Logan shrugged. “Good enough.”

“He needed my fist in his face.”

“Yep,” Logan agreed. “Wish I had an excuse to bestow a second helping.”

Hamilton grunted. Logan took it as agreement.

“Seth?” Hamilton lifted his head to consider a landscape other than Benson.

“There’s a path to the north there.” Logan pointed just past the privy. “It’ll take you straight to the house. I’ll drop Benson off at the marshal’s office, then notify the undertaker to bring a wagon out for Earl.”

Hamilton reached for something inside his coat, then shoved two thin books at Logan. “Found Benson inside, pryin’ up a floorboard when I got here. These were in the space beneath.”

Logan stared at the ledgers, his blood surging. The proof they needed.

“Testifyin’ against him is all well and good,” Hamilton said, “but a snake like Benson can twist words and popular opinion to suit his purposes. Proof in his own handwriting is harder to deny.”