tell how the trouble began, but you have no knowledge of the actual shooting. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“That will be a big help. Court convenes at one o’clock this afternoon. Just make certain you are there in time.”
“I’ll be there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Brandon teased.
Saying good-bye to the others in the restaurant, Brandon stepped outside. He was feeling particularly good about himself today. He had gotten into the newspaper business to do good, but somewhere along the line it had become much easier just to go along without making any waves.
“Emma,” he said. “I hope you are looking down on me now. And I hope I have made you proud.”
Emma, his wife of nineteen years, had died two years earlier.
“Hello there, Elmer,” Donovan called, as Brandon walked by Donovan’s Leather Goods Shop. “That was a great article you wrote. It’s about time someone said something like that.”
“I was just doing my duty,” Brandon replied.
Poindexter, who managed Quentin’s General Store, was less than complimentary. He was out sweeping the front porch when Brandon walked by, and he made an effort to sweep the dirt onto the editor.
“Here! What are you doing?” Brandon asked, stepping lively to get out of the way.
“You had no right to say the things you said about Mr. Quentin,” Poindexter said. “He’s done a lot of good for this town.”
“You mean he’s done a lot of good for you,” Brandon replied. “Most of us remember when Mr. Collins owned this store. This used to be a very nice store. But that was before Quentin ran him out of business, then hired you to run it for him. I don’t know how you could have done that, Poindexter. You used to work for Collins. So much for loyalty.”
“A man has to make a living,” Poindexter said.
“Yes, but not everyone has to betray their friends,” Brandon replied, walking away without engaging the Quentin man in any further conversation.
As was his daily custom, Brandon stopped in the vet’s office for a moment or two before going back to the print shop, where he not only published the newspaper, but did custom printing.
Doc Patterson was looking at a small dog.
“What’s wrong with the puppy?” Brandon asked.
“Nothing really,” Doc said. “Mrs. Peabody thought maybe it had the mange, but he just had a flea bite and the dog scraped away some its fur getting to it.”
“Did you read my extra?” Brandon asked.
“Yeah, I read it. Is that the only reason you stopped by this morning, to get my comment on your article?”
Brandon chuckled. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Every other morning, I just stop by to make a pest of myself. But this morning I stopped by because I wanted to see what you thought of my editorial.”
Doc smiled, then nodded. “Well, you do make a pest of yourself most of the time,” he said. “But to answer your question, I thought your editorial was brilliant. But—”
He let the word “but” hang.
“But what?” Brandon asked.
“Aren’t you taking a big risk? We both know what kind of a person Quentin is.”
“Sir, I will have you know that I am a member of the most noble, honest, and trustworthy profession in America. I am a newspaperman, and I will not let someone like Pogue Quentin frighten me away from doing my duty.”
“You are to be praised, sir,” Doc said. Walking over to the coffeepot, he poured a cup, then held it out toward Brandon.
Brandon declined. “No, thanks, I had a second cup down at Kathleen’s this morning.”
“No doubt milking as many accolades as you could from the other diners who read your article,” Doc suggested.
“Alas, Doctor, you know me too well,” Brandon replied with a little chuckle.
“It was a good article, Elmer, perhaps the best I have ever seen you write. But I am afraid it is all for nothing,” Doc said as he took the first swallow of his coffee.
“All for nothing? Why do you say that?”
“Because you are not going to get enough men with the courage and honor who will serve fairly on the jury.”
“What about you, Doc?”
“What about me?”
“You are one of the most likely to be selected for jury duty. Will you serve honorably?”
“I very much hope that I am not selected for jury duty,” Doc said.
“That’s not an answer, Doc. The question is, if you are selected, will you serve honorably?”
“Like I said,” he repeated. “I very much hope that I am not selected for jury duty.”
