“Are you interested?”
“Sure. But how ’bout these boys?” He jerked his thumb at Pete and Jim.
“Well,” Smoke said with a smile, “I think Pete is going to try his hand at ranchin’, seeing as how he’s been tippy-toeing around the Widow Feckles, the both of them making goo-goo eyes at each other.”
Pete’s face suddenly turned beet-red. “I just remembered something. I got to go see about my horse,” he said, and walked across the street.
“How about you?” Sal asked Jim.
“I like this deputy sheriffin’. Sure beats thirty a month and found sleepin’ in drafty bunkhouses. It’s fine with me, Sal.”
“Good. It’s settled then. Judge Garrison has papers declaring the election of Cartwright to have been illegal, and the man has no more authority. He’s going to post election notices starting tomorrow. And you’re going to be the only candidate.”
“What are you gonna do?” Sal asked, clearly startled at the rapid turn of events.
“Retire from law enforcement and hang around to see the fun. A badge is too restrictive for me, Sal. I like room to roam.”
“In other words, you’re gonna take the fight to them.”
“Why, Sal,” Smoke said with a serious look on his face, “you know I wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“He occasionally tells tall tales, too, Sal,” Sally told him.
“Judge Garrison did what?” Max jumped to his feet.
“Declared my election as sheriff illegal and they had an election down to Barlow yesterday,” Cartwright said. “Sal is the new sheriff.”
“He can’t do that. We weren’t advised of any election.”
“Yes, we were.” Cartwright held out a piece of paper. “One
of the boys found this tacked to a tree just outside of town.”
Max snatched the paper from him and squinted. “Hell, you can’t read it without a magnifying glass!”
“That’s sure enough the truth and that’s what I done, too. It’s a legal paper, telling the citizens of Hell’s Creek about the election.”
Max sat down and cussed. Loud and long. He wadded up the notice and hurled it across the room. He had never before been stymied at every turn, and it was an unpleasant sensation that he did not like.
“Well, you can still be town marshal of Hell’s Creek.”
“Big deal,” Cartwright said sarcastically. “We got no protection now, Max. We don’t know what’s goin’ on in Barlow now that your brother moved in with you. And the boys is gettin’ right edgy.”
“About what, Paul?”
“They’re wantin’ to hit the town now and get out. The bank’s in place, ain’t it?”
“Not yet. Monday morning is still the target date. We’ll double our money if we wait until everybody there has dug up the money they’ve buried or pulled it out of mattress ticks. Tell the boys to calm down.”
Cartwright left and Max turned in his chair, looking out his office window. His main concern right now was what he was going to do with Robert. His younger brother was getting unpredictable. He was like a goose, waking up in a new world every morning. Most of the time he was lucid, but other times he was crazy as a loon. Of course, he had always known his brother was nuts, walking a very fine line between genius—which he was—and insanity—which he certainly was.
But he was family, and family looked out for each other. As best they could, that is.
“You just sign right here, Victoria,” Judge Garrison said, “and Robert’s estate will be under your control.”
Victoria signed and she became executor over Robert Turner’s estate, thus insuring that she and Lisa would not be thrust penniless into the world.
Sal was now the officially elected and legal sheriff of the county, and Smoke had turned in his badge.
While Smoke respected the law, he was also well aware that there were hard limits placed upon it when dealing with the lawless. As a private citizen, he had shed himself of those limits. Now he could meet Max Huggins and Red Malone on an equal footing.
Smoke bought supplies at Marbly’s General Store—including a sack of dynamite—and made ready to hit the trail. In addition to his .44 Winchester, he carried a Sharps .56 in another saddle boot. Two days after the election, Smoke kissed Sally good-bye and swung into the saddle. Star was ready to go; the big black was bred for the trails and was growing impatient with all this inactivity.
“I won’t ask how long you’ll be gone,” Sally said.
“Two or three days this time around. I’ll be back in time to see the bank open.”
He headed north, toward Hell’s Creek, to see what mischief he could get into. He had heard rumors that Big Max Huggins thought himself to be unbeatable as a bare-knuckle fighter. Smoke knew that the man could be formidable; just his size would make him dangerous. But Smoke also knew that many big men rarely knew much about the finesse of fighting, depending mostly on their strength and bulk to overwhelm their opponents.
The trick would be to catch Big Max by himself. Smoke didn’t trust anyone left in Hell’s Creek not to shoot him after he whipped Max—and he knew he could whip him. He’d take some cuts and bruises doing so, for Max was a huge and powerful man. But Smoke had whipped men just as big and just as tough; men who knew something about boxing.
