deputy assaulted the prisoner by whackin’ his hands that way, and my deputy was within his rights to stop an assault from going on in town.” Coleman paused. “The town limits go all the way to the creek, you know. This is still my jurisdiction, Marshal.”
“My authority supersedes yours,” Porter said, tight-lipped with rage.
“Actually, I’m not sure that it does,” Sam said. “It could be argued in court that your authority only pertains to the enforcement of the specific statue forbidding the brewing, sale, possession, or consumption of liquor and that you have no jurisdiction whatsoever over other crimes, such as the sort of simple assault that was carried out here by your deputy. In other words, Marshal Porter, it seems to me that Marshal Coleman could arrest your deputy and hold him on charges of assault and disturbing the peace until the circuit judge arrives in a couple of weeks to sort everything out.”
If Porter got any more red-faced, he was liable to bust a vein, Sam thought. Coleman turned all the way around to frown at his new deputy and ask, “Do you have any legal training, Sam? You sound a mite like a lawyer.”
Sam smiled faintly and shook his head. “I’ve done quite a bit of reading, that’s all.”
Porter growled in anger, literally growled like a dog. Then he said savagely, “The hell with this! Coleman, take your deputy and get out of here. If either one of you come around these wagons again, I won’t be held responsible for what happens.”
“Oh, I reckon you will,” Coleman said firmly. “You’ll be held accountable for your actions just like any other citizen would be, Marshal.”
Sam said, “I think we should stay while the doctor takes a look at those prisoners, just to make sure nothing else happens.”
Coleman shook his head. “No, I think it’ll be all right. Pouch that iron, Sam, and come with me.”
Sam hesitated. He didn’t trust Porter or the other special deputies. On the other hand, it was doubtful that they would try anything with the doctor around.
“A good lawman knows that he’s got to choose his battles, Sam,” Coleman said quietly.
Sam blew out a breath and nodded. He slid the Colt into leather and moved away from the wagon. Porter continued to glare murderously at him. Sam didn’t turn his back on the man until he and Coleman were well away from the wagons.
Then he said in an undertone, “You don’t know the whole story yet, Marshal. You don’t know what that prisoner was saying.”
“I know that we came damned close to having a really messy situation back there,” Coleman said.
“The prisoner claimed that Porter was going to murder all of them.”
Coleman glanced over sharply at him. “You sure about that? He said murder?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Well…that don’t hardly seem likely.” Coleman rubbed his jaw in thought. “Porter and those other hombres are lawmen, after all.”
“They’re more like regulators. Hired killers. Matt and I saw them blow up a cabin with a bomb yesterday, and they came mighty close to blowing up the men inside it, too. And it’s a long way to Wichita. Who knows what might happen between here and there, once they start in with the prisoners?”
Coleman shook his head stubbornly. “Nope, I just don’t believe it. Those boys in the wagons are facin’ prison terms, Sam. Of course they’ll say anything to try to get out of them. You can’t put too much stock in any claims they make.”
Coleman had a point there, Sam supposed. The prisoners were outlaws, at least in the eyes of the state of Kansas. And outlaws, generally, couldn’t be trusted.
There had been something in that man’s voice as he called from inside the wagon, though. Something that Sam had heard often enough to recognize.
Fear.
No, it was more than that, he decided as he remembered what the prisoner had sounded like. It was sheer terror, Sam thought, the sound a man makes when he knows that he’s going to die and his time is running out.
There was something more going on here, but Marshal Coleman either couldn’t or wouldn’t allow himself to see it. Coleman wanted to keep the peace in Cottonwood, and Sam couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. It was the marshal’s job, and Coleman had devoted his life to it.
But Sam knew he couldn’t just stand by and let all those prisoners be killed in cold blood. Even if they had been real outlaws instead of men who had just run afoul of an ill-advised law that was bound to be overturned sooner or later, he couldn’t countenance murder.
He didn’t want to put Marshal Coleman in a bad position, though, so anything he did, he would do on his own, without Coleman’s knowledge. Once he had reached that decision, Sam felt a little better.
When they got back to the marshal’s office, Coleman suggested, “Why don’t you stay here for a while, Sam? Coffee on the stove, help yourself. I’ll take a turn around town. I like for folks to be able to see that the law’s lookin’ out for ’em.”
What Coleman really wanted was for him to stay here and cool off after the confrontation with Porter, Sam knew, but he supposed that wasn’t really a bad idea. He nodded and said, “All right, Marshal.”
Anyway, this would give him a chance to think about what he was going to do about the situation. He knew how Matt would approach the problem: head on, with fists and even guns if necessary.
Sam wondered if a little subtlety might be more effective.
Coleman left the office. Sam poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the desk to ponder matters as he sipped the strong black brew.
He had been there maybe half an hour when the door opened and Hannah came in.
