“She doesn’t know what I’m about; I slipped away without tellin’ her the truth. Letty, on the other hand—” He glanced meaningfully toward Ben’s brother.
Reese’s thin face twisted in anguish. “She’s worried?”
“You’d been gone a long time, and she doesn’t know what happened. Told her you were prob’ly off at one of the saloons, and I’d see what you’d gotten yourself into. Who’s this?”
“About time somebody took notice of me.” The stranger’s sneer endeared him to no one. “I take it you are Sheriff Winslow, the one responsible for keepin’ this murderer under lock and key. My name is Justice, Sheriff, Pennyroyal Justice
, and I am a bounty hunter about to collect on my fee.”
“Not in my town, Mr. Justice. What makes you think this man here—” The sweep of his arm indicated Reese, “is the one you’re lookin’ for?”
Justice smirked. He, too, had unfolded himself to come upright, whipcord lean and tough. The only person still sitting amongst all this male chest-pounding and bravado was Rev. Beecham.
The smirk grew wider.
“Been in contact with Marshal Westley, out in San Francisco; he let me know where Cole Forrester is hangin’ out these days.” He sent a baleful glare toward the errant cowboy, who was looking about as downcast and dispirited as anyone could. “I’ve been on your trail through a lotta places, Forrester—big towns, little towns, wild unsettled land. And now I want my money.”
“The amount of reward shown on that poster—”
“One thousand bucks, dead or alive. And from what I can see, Sheriff, it don’t make me no never mind which one he ends up bein’.”
“Ah, but here’s the thing, Mr. Justice. You maybe haven’t been in touch with our marshal friend as recently as I have. And I got more information for you.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Heard from him only a few weeks ago. You tryin’ to cheat me outa what I earned fair and square?”
“Not at’all. But, y’ see, I reckon that’s old news. ’Cause this telegram was delivered to me just this mornin’. Ain’t had a chance to follow up on it today, what with havin’ my mind on other things—” Paul’s tone dripped with vitriol, “but—well, here. Siddown and read it.”
Still suspicious, Justice reached out for the single sheet of yellow paper. That reading any document might not be one of his strengths was evidenced by the fact that it took him so long to do so, and the fact that he moved his lips as he spoke. Finally, disgruntled, he read the message again. Aloud, for everyone in the room to hear.
“Apologies for lengthy delay. Have looked into case concerning your prisoner, Cole Forrester. Talked to two men convicted for similar crime in Stockton and sentenced to hard time; they confessed to incident involving Hutchins family outside Leg of Lamb. Judge
cleared Forrester of all charges, he is considered innocent and free to go. Letter containing details will follow.”
Reese, wearing an expression of immense relief, sagged against the wall as if his legs would no longer hold him upright. “Innocent!” he breathed.
The minister rose, brushed at his suit coat, and said, with an air of satisfaction, “Innocent!”
Nodding firmly, Paul nodded. “Innocent!”
Only the bounty hunter could, understandably, take issue. “Innocent!” he squawked. “Look here, I have come all this way plannin’ to pick up a wanted man. And now you tell me it’s been a wild goose chase? Am I to head off empty-handed?”
“Dunno that you’ve got much choice, Mr. Justice. There ain’t a price on Cole Forrester’s head. Never has been. As far as I see it, nobody owes you a thin dime.”
Justice seemed to gather his lean frame together, like a puff adder coiled up to strike. The Colt already in his hand—not with lightning speed, like a hired gunslinger, but slowly and suggestively—added to the mood of bullying intimidation. “As far as I see it, somebody owes me a thousand smackers. And I aim to be paid. Who’s to say I didn’t shoot Forrester dead and haul his body back to SanFran b’fore you ever got that there telegram? Huh?”
“Oh, now, wait just a minute, Mr. Justice,” Martin Beecham protested. “All of us are witnesses to what has happened here tonight. Do you think anyone would doubt the word from a man of God?”
“Padre,” said Paul. His keen gaze was taking in the stranger’s expression, his watchful pose, and the weapon with its trigger cocked and ready to use. “I appreciate your help, but it looks like things are gonna start gettin’ dicey. Best you leave now, head on back to the party.”
“But I can’t simply—”
“Yes, sir, you can. And you will. Take Austin and Colton along with you. Move out, and send Ben over here, as fast as he can make it. Then I’d like you to wait there till you hear from me. I think I will have need of your services later.”
The minister looked from one to the other: two men, one on each side of the law, and a third caught in the middle. It seemed the trap had been sprung. Caught. Reese’s face with its faint scar had gone fish-belly white, and he had straightened in an effort to be prepared, whatever came along.
Three left quickly through the jail house door; three remained behind, soundless and motionless. Paul gestured toward the chairs, then took his own, leaned back, and laced both hands together across his spare middle. He appeared calm, cool, and in complete control of the situation—exactly the attributes that anyone would wish for in their sheriff.
“Anybody got a deck of cards?” he asked.