“Oh,” she said as she stopped just inside the door. “I was looking for my father—” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Is that a deputy’s badge you’re wearing, Sam?”
“Yep. Your father offered me the job this morning, and I said yes.”
“But…I didn’t think the town council was willing to hire any deputies.”
“He offered to pay me out of his own pocket.” Sam held up a hand as a concerned expression appeared on Hannah’s face. “Don’t worry. I told him he didn’t need to do that. I’m working for room and board only.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door to the storage room. “The room is a cot back there, and I’m afraid the board is you, Miss Coleman.”
Hannah smiled. “I thought we were past that. My name is Hannah, Sam. So Dad promised you three square meals a day, did he?”
“His exact words, as a matter of fact,” Sam said with a grin. “I hope that won’t be too much trouble for you.”
“No trouble at all. I usually bring his lunch down here to the office. I’ll just bring enough for two. And you can eat breakfast and supper at the house with us.”
“I’m much obliged.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Hannah said. “Don’t tell him I said this, but the job has gotten to be too much for one man, especially one who’s getting on in years like Dad. The town is too big, and what with this new liquor law…” She shook her head. “There’s going to be real trouble one of these days, and I’d like to think there’ll be a good man siding him when it comes.”
Sam warned, “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay on here.”
Hannah shook her head. “You know how the air feels when there’s a thunderstorm brewing?”
Sam nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.
“Well, there’s a storm brewing here in Cottonwood,” she went on, “and I don’t think it’s going to be long before it breaks.”
Chapter 22
Hannah left the office, and Marshal Coleman came in a short time later. “I just talked to Doc Berger,” he said as he hung his hat on one of the nails by the door. “A couple of that fella’s fingers were broken, all right. Doc splinted ’em. He had a bullet wound in his leg, too.” Coleman’s voice took on a grim tone. “But he was in good shape compared to some of those other hombres.”
“I’m not surprised,” Sam said. He was at the stove, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “Not after the way I heard them groaning in those prison wagons.”
Coleman went behind the desk and sank into his chair. His movements held the bone-deep weariness that the years will give a man, especially when he’s burdened down with troubles besides growing old. “According to Doc,” he went on, “all the boys in that first wagon are shot up pretty bad. He wasn’t sure that some of them would make it, and they dang sure aren’t in any shape to be jolted all the way to Wichita. He told Porter and Bickford that they ought to bring the worst ones down to his house so he can tend to them better. Porter refused, though. Said the prisoners had to stay locked up. Doc told him that in any case they shouldn’t be moved for at least a week, and that if they were, it’d be the same as killin’ ’em.”
“So what’s Porter going to do?” Sam asked.
“He wanted to move on anyway, claimed those prisoners didn’t deserve any special consideration, but Bickford talked him into staying here for a few days and seeing how they’re doing then. That’s what Doc told me, anyway. I wasn’t there.”
Sam nodded. “And did the doctor find out anything about how those men came to be wounded so badly?”
“Porter wouldn’t let any of the prisoners say a word. He stood right over them with a gun while Doc was examining them and told them to keep their mouths shut.” Coleman grimaced. “I’m sure those fellas put up a fight when Porter and the others went to arrest ’em, and that’s how they got hurt, but I’m tellin’ you, Sam…I don’t like the way that fella goes about his business.”
“Neither do I. Maybe someone should write the governor a letter and make sure he knows how his special marshals are doing their jobs.”
Coleman nodded slowly. “Now, that’s not a bad idea. I reckon I could do that.” He chuckled. “Might need a hand gettin’ all the words right from somebody who’s had more book learning than I have. That would be you, Sam.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, Marshal,” Sam agreed.
But writing a letter to the governor wasn’t going to help those men who were locked up in the prison wagons right now, he thought. Even if the letter caused the governor to look into Porter’s activities, any investigation would come too late to do any good for those prisoners.
This wasn’t over yet, Sam vowed to himself. There were still truths to be uncovered.
The rest of the day passed quietly enough. Hannah brought lunch to the office for Sam and her father, as she had promised, and the food—savory ham, thick slices of bread, and a hefty piece of pie for each man—was good enough to make Sam think that he had gotten the best end of the deal when he’d agreed to work for room and board. Hannah’s cooking alone made it a worthwhile arrangement.
During the afternoon, Sam took a couple of turns around town to let people see him wearing the badge and get used to the idea that he was Coleman’s deputy. As Coleman told him to do, though, he kept his distance from the creek and the prison wagons parked under the cottonwood trees.
It wasn’t just a matter of following orders. Sam didn’t want to put Porter even more on his guard than the special marshal already was. If Porter thought he was getting his way, he was more likely to relax a little…although Sam didn’t figure that the stiff-necked son of a bitch ever really relaxed much.
