3

Deputy Wilkins jumped so high, it was a wonder he didn’t hit the ceiling. Fargo almost laughed but then he got a good look at the man behind Wilkins and he sobered right quick.

Some lawmen didn’t look the part. Wilkins, for one. Once Fargo met a sheriff who resembled a plump turkey. Another time, it was a pasty pastry roll who would have been content to sit in his office day in and day out, stuffing his face with sweets.

Marshal Luther Coltraine looked the part. He was tall, even taller than Fargo, and his shoulders were just as wide. He had a powerful chest any man would envy, and a face that looked as if it had been chiseled from granite. His eyes were a striking green. On his hip was a pearl-handled Smith & Wesson. His badge was pinned to a black leather vest that matched his black hat.

“Marshal!” Deputy Wilkins bleated.

“I asked you a question,” Coltraine said with as thick a Texas drawl as Fargo ever heard. “What were you fixin’ to give the prisoner?”

Wilkins coughed and fidgeted and said barely loud enough to hear, “Whiskey.”

Coltraine’s jaw muscles twitched. “What’s my rule?”

“No liquor, ever,” Deputy Wilkins said, and went on in a rush, “But it’s for medicinal purposes. He’s got a lump on his head from that wallop you gave him.”

“And you figure to get him so drunk he won’t feel the pain?”

“No, sir,” Wilkins said quickly. “I was only goin’ to give him half a glass.”

“Not if you like your job, you’re not. Don’t ever let a prisoner talk you into doin’ somethin’ you shouldn’t.” Marshal Coltraine strode to the cell and Wilkins couldn’t skip aside fast enough. “What do you have to say for yourself, mister?”

“I want out,” Fargo said.

“I bet you do. But that’s not goin’ to happen until I say it is.”

“I’m a scout . . .” Fargo began.

“I figured as much, how you’re dressed. So what?”

“So I just came from Fort Laramie and was minding my own business when those cow nurses jumped me.”

“That’s not how they tell it, and the barkeep backs their story. Harvey says you were lookin’ for trouble from the moment you walked in.”

“Harvey will have some trouble of his own once I’m out,” Fargo vowed a second time.

“Talk like that will keep you in here for a month of Sundays.”

“Damn it, Marshal . . .”

Coltraine held up a big hand. “Cussin’ me won’t help your cause any, either. You’re too hotheaded for your own good.”

Fargo bit off a sharp retort. He might as well face the fact that unless he did as the lawman wanted, he’d be lucky to get out before Christmas.

“What’s your handle?”

Fargo told him.

The marshal looked him up and down and said, “Heard of you. They say you’re one of the best trackers alive.”

“I’ve had some practice,” Fargo said.

“I also hear tell you’ve had a lot of practice drinkin’ and playin’ cards and dallyin’ with doves.”

Fargo was sure he caught the hint of a grin, which was encouraging. “I admit I am fond of dallying.”

Coltraine chuckled. “I’ve done a bit of it my own self.”

“You’ve done what now, Marshal?” Deputy Wilkins asked.

Coltraine glanced at him as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Go to the general store and buy us some coffee. We’re plumb out.”

“Coffee? At this time of day? Usually you have it in the mornin’.”

“Our guest here will need some to clear his head.”

Deputy Wilkins scratched his. “I must have missed somethin’. When did he go from prisoner to guest?”

“When I say he did. Now scat.”

Thoroughly confused, the deputy and his freckles departed in a hurry. As he went out he said, “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Marshal Coltraine sighed. “He’s next to worthless but he’s the only one who applied for the job so I’m stuck with him.”

“If you don’t mind my saying,” Fargo said, “this seems a strange place to find a man of your caliber.”

“What a nice thing to say,” Coltraine said, genuinely flattered. “They offered it to me and I took it. But you’re right. Horse Creek ain’t Texas. Most days it’s so peaceful, you’d swear you can hear the dust blow down the street.”

“And you like it that way?” Fargo asked in mild surprise. Accounts had it that Coltraine was a real fire-breather who thrived on living on the razor’s edge. The sort of hombre who would walk into danger without batting an eye.

Coltraine shrugged. “It’s a living.” He turned and stepped to a peg on the wall and grabbed a large key ring with only one key. Inserting the key into the cell door, he twisted, and at the loud click, pulled the door wide. “Come out and have a seat.”

Fargo was glad to. He figured the lawman was about to let him go. “Do I owe the saloon anything for damages?”

“Nothin’ was busted, so no. But there’s a forty dollar fine for disturbin’ the peace,” Coltraine said.

“The cowboys only had to pay ten.”

“Answer me true. Did you take the first swing or did they?”

Fargo didn’t hesitate. “Me.”

“Then it’s forty dollars and be thankful I don’t want more.”

“Don’t I go up before a judge first?”

“The judge is off fishin’. I’ll collect it for him and you can leave inside the hour.”

“Why wait that long?” Fargo wanted to climb on the Ovaro and light a shuck.

Coltraine sat at his desk, opened a bottom drawer, and took out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He set it in front of him and said, “Interested?”

“I thought you sent freckles for coffee?”

“That or this,” Coltraine said. “Your choice.”

“It’s no choice at all,” Fargo said, and grinned.

Coltraine produced a glass and poured three fingers worth and skid it across. “This will clear your head a lot faster than coffee.”

“I’m obliged.” Fargo tossed it off and winced at a spike of pain. “How hard did you hit me, anyhow?”

“It was a good rap. A fella gets the knack for pistol-whippin’ after he’s worn a badge for a spell.” Coltraine didn’t bother with the glass. He savored a long swig and let out a contented sigh. “Nothin’ better for washin’ down the dust.” He returned the bottle and the glass to the bottom drawer and closed the drawer.

“So I can go?”

“You’re forgettin’ the forty dollars.”

Fargo reached for his poke, and froze. It wasn’t there. He groped his buckskins and exploded with an oath.

“Lookin’ for this?” Coltraine reached under his vest.

Fargo hefted it. He would swear it was lighter than it had been when he paid for his bottle in the saloon. Undoing the tie string, he fished inside. He wasn’t about to come right out and accuse the lawman of helping himself, but if he had to guess without looking, he’d say a double eagle and some other coins were missing.

As if he sensed what Fargo was thinking, Coltraine said, “That’s what was in it when I took it off you.”

Fargo wondered if one of the cowboys could have palmed a few coins before the lawman carted him off. But if that was the case, why hadn’t the puncher taken the whole poke?

“As soon as you pay you can be on your way,” Coltraine told him. “No goin’ back to the saloon, though. No goin’ anywhere except out of town.”

“Fine by me.”

“Don’t take it personal. Those cowhands are still in town and seein’ you might stir them up.” The lawman spread his big hands on the desk. “I like a quiet town, Fargo. As quiet as can be.”

Just then Horse Creek rocked to the blasts of gunfire.