"My name is Evan Payson," Evan said, and put out his hand to Ben.
"Ben Hawkins." Ben shook the offered hand.
"I'm John Davis." He took Ben's hand. "That fellow sure had some mean things to say to us."
"By the expressions of some of the men here, they felt he was right in thinking we had no business in the war," Ben replied.
"It's a divided state on that matter and that's a fact," Evan said. "But he had no right to insult us."
Both Evan and John were looking into Ben's face. They appeared ill at ease at the sight of his mutilated features, but not revolted by them. That was a pleasant thing to Ben. They must have been in the thick of the fighting, and had seen what horrible wounds cannons and mortars and rifles could do to a man. That would account for their willingness to look at him.
The sheriff and doctor, followed by the bartender, came into the cantina. The doctor was slender and quite elderly. Sheriff Blackaby was a large, burly man wearing twin revolvers and a belt full of cartridges. He walked with a heavy, no-nonsense step. Both he and the doctor stopped to examine the wounded man.
"How'll he be?" the sheriff asked the doctor.
"He'll live, but may end up having a bad shoulder for there's broken bones."
"Who did the shooting?" said the sheriff, straightening to cast a hard look around.
"I did," Ben said.
The sheriff looked at Ben and at the pistol on the table in front of him. "Put the gun away, Hawkins," he ordered.
Ben picked up the pistol and slid it into its holster. He didn't want any trouble with the lawman. While still a deputy sheriff in El Paso, Ben had met Blackaby. He knew the lawman was tough, but honest and fair in his enforcement of the law. Ben hoped he was lenient with him in this fracas.
The sheriff ran his eyes over the assemblage of men in the cantina. He stopped on a middle-aged man, one of the poker players. "Edgar, you tell the straight of things; did you see all what happened here?" the sheriff asked.
"Yes, Abel, I did."
"Tell me about it."
Edgar related the event, Rolph's words to Evan and John, Ben's challenge, and the shooting.
The sheriff then turned to Ben. "You satisfied that Edgar told it like it happened?" he asked.
"He told it as close as anybody could, so I'll stand by it that way."
The doctor called from where he was treating the wounded man. "Abel, I've done all I can for the man here. Now I need some help to get him to the hospital."
The lawman pointed at a pair of young men standing at the bar. "Would you two help the doc?"
"Sure, Sheriff," one of the men said. The other nodded.
The sheriff brought his attention onto Rolph's comrades. "You two run with Rolph, so I'd guess you were with him when this happened. You got anything to say different from what's been said?"
Both men shook their heads in the negative.
"All right then, you can go. Stay out of trouble."
The lawman turned and, including Ben, Evan, and John with a sweep of his eyes, spoke to them. "Edgar said you were insulted for having fought in the war and that led to the shooting. Now I wouldn't like being insulted myself. But I take shootings serious when they happen in my town."
He spoke directly to Ben. "You seem awfully ready to pull a gun. And just a short while ago Thatcher came to see me about buying some horses that you didn't have a bill of sale for. What you do in Mexico is out of my jurisdiction, but selling stolen Valdes horses here in Abilene is my business. Now most people who buy them don't worry about a bill of sale since they once belonged to a Mexican. They remember Goliad and the Alamo. Some of the buyers even fought in the war of '47 and sure don't have any liking for Mexicans. In fact, they're glad to see you doing what you're doing. But I'm bothered by it all. I think it would be best if you left town for a spell, until you change what you do for a living."
Ben rubbed the big scar that ridged down the full left side of his face. He had thought before that the sheriff would sooner or later have a talk with him about the Mexican horses. Now Ben had added to the problem by selling the horses of the men who had killed Black Moon and the two women. The sheriff hadn't mentioned those horses, which meant that he was offering Ben a way out. It would be wise to take it.
"I'm a peaceful man, Sheriff, and want no trouble," Ben said. "I've been planning on visiting El Paso. My mother's buried near there and I should go and put some flowers on her grave."
"Now that sounds like a nice thing for a son to do," said the sheriff.
Ben saw the tenseness leave the sheriff. The man had been prepared to enforce his order, while Ben had absolutely nothing to gain by resisting.
"You'd probably want to leave right away," said the sheriff.
"I was thinking early tomorrow," Ben replied.
"Good" grunted the lawman. He spoke to the bartender. "You can get back to business now." The sheriff hitched up his heavily laden gun belt and strode from the cantina.
"Ben, we're going to El Paso," Evan said. "You'd be more than welcome to travel with us. Isn't that right, John?"
"Sure thing," John replied. "There are thieves and Indians between here and there. Another gun could come in handy."
John paused and studied Ben. "I've got a question. There was a deputy sheriff named Ben Hawkins in El Paso a spell back. Are you that deputy?"
"The same," Ben said. He had become deputy sheriff purely by chance. He had won the rifle-shooting contest—the prize was three hundred dollars—that was held yearly in El Paso. He had come in second in the pistol shooting, second to the sheriff of El Paso, Dan Willis. Ben had often wondered how much of his loss at the pistol-shooting contest was due to his final challenger being the sheriff. Anyway, his skill at the match had gotten him the deputy sheriff job, for later that day the sheriff had searched Ben out and offered it. Ben had accepted on the spot. He had already been planning to distance himself from the Mormon community of Canutillo. He had worked as a deputy for but eighteen months before he had gone off on a great adventure to fight for Texas.
"I thought I had the name right," John said. "I remembered it because you were talked about when the sheriff hired you. You know, about a man from Canutillo, and a young one too, becoming a deputy sheriff in El Paso."
"Yes, I was raised in Canutillo." Ben's voice had a flinty tone that said he didn't want any more talk about Canutillo.
Evan spoke quickly to head off any comments John might make about Evan's early life. "We're going to spend the night at the hotel just down the street. Where are you staying?"
"I've got a room in a home off on the edge of town," Ben said.
Evan climbed to his feet. "I'm wore out and need to rest. Stop by in the morning when you get ready to travel and we'll leave together."
"I would like that," Ben said. He meant it. Here were two men who could look him in the face and were willing to travel with him. His lonely, bleak mood was banished, at least for a time.