“Take it easy, Sam.” The voice belonged to Marshal Coleman. “You’ll be all right.”
Sam gritted his teeth against the pain and rolled over. He saw that he was alone in the small cell. Coleman was behind the locked door of the cell across from him. Sam scooted closer to the bars, reached out to grasp one of them, and used it to help pull himself into a sitting position.
The left side of his face felt stiff. He checked it and found that it was covered with dried blood. He knew from experience that scalp wounds usually bled freely and often looked worse than they really were. The painful gash on the side of his head above his ear was no different. Blood must have flooded down his face from it.
“Yeah, you look like you’re in pretty bad shape,” Coleman confirmed. “You bled all over the floor of my parlor. But at least you’re not dead.”
“H-Hannah…” Sam rasped.
“That’s right. She jumped Grady again and pushed his gun to the side just as he pulled the trigger. Put a bullet hole in my floor, to go along with all the blood. Better that than your brains, though. After that, Grady decided maybe it would be better to keep you alive, so he made me carry you down here and locked us both up.”
“No. I meant…is Hannah…all right?”
Coleman’s face was lined with worry. “As far as I know. Grady took her with him. I don’t know where they are now.”
“What the hell…is Grady…upto?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Coleman replied with a shake of his head. “All I know is that he showed up at my house a little while before you got there. He pulled a gun on us and said we’d be all right if we just did what he told us. He had the drop on us, so we had to go along with him. Lobo started carryin’ on, so Grady told me to put him outside. Then you showed up a couple of minutes later. Grady said for me to get rid of you without makin’ you suspicious. I tried.” Coleman shrugged. “But you saw how well that worked out.”
Sam’s brain was beginning to function at a higher level. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “Grady’s just a gambler. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. I reckon he’s got some sort of plan, though, or else he wouldn’t have locked us up and let everybody else go.”
Sam looked around. In his dazed state, he hadn’t really thought about it until the marshal mentioned it, but the rest of the cells in the cell block were indeed empty. Ambrose Porter and the crooked deputies were gone, along with Dud, Wiley, and Nelse Kane.
“Where are they?” Sam asked.
“They left with Grady and Hannah.” Coleman’s voice caught a little in his throat as he added, “Lord, I…I hope she’s all right.”
“I’m sure she is,” Sam said, although he wasn’t really sure of anything anymore.
“Porter wanted to shoot both of us,” Coleman went on, “but Grady talked him out of it. Said that havin’ us alive might come in handy later on, whatever that means.”
Sam thought about it and had an idea he knew what Grady meant. The gambler intended to use them as hostages. That meant he had to be worried about Matt for some reason. But Matt had headed back out to the Harlow place earlier today. Grady had no reason to worry about him…
Unless Grady knew something Sam and Coleman didn’t, such as a reason to suspect that Matt might be returning soon to Cottonwood. A picture began to form at the back of Sam’s mind, a theory that everything going on around here was connected in some way.
“We have to get out of here, Marshal,” Sam said. “Whatever Grady has in mind, we can’t stop him as long as we’re locked up in here.”
“I know,” Coleman said solemnly, “but there’s not any way out. I’ve been the marshal here for five years, and I know good and well that this jail is as sturdy as can be. Nobody’s ever busted out of it.”
“There has to be a way,” Sam insisted.
Coleman shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
Sam hated the feeling of helplessness that gnawed at his guts. He had never given up on a fight, and he didn’t intend to start now. He grabbed hold of the bars in the door again and hauled himself to his feet. Once again, he had to hold on for a moment while a wave of dizziness swept over him. When it passed, he stumbled over to the window and grasped those bars, looking out into the alley beside the jail. When he pressed his face against the bars and craned his neck, he could see a narrow slice of Main Street.
That was where he was looking when he saw Barnabas Smith stumble past.
“Psst! Barnabas!” Sam called as his hands tightened around the bars. “Barnabas, come here!”
The little former prisoner stopped and peered around in owlish confusion. Sam saw the way Barnabas was swaying slightly, and knew that he was drunk. Barnabas must have found out somehow about Ike Loomis’s secret saloon and had come up with enough money to buy some whiskey. Either that, or he had begged a few drinks. After a moment, Barnabas shook his head and looked like he was about to move on, no doubt thinking that he had just imagined someone calling his name.
“Barnabas!” Sam said again. “Down here at the jail window!”
This time Barnabas turned toward the alley and frowned as he looked along the side of the building. Sam stuck a hand out through the bars and motioned to him.
Unsteadily, Barnabas came toward him. When he got close to the window, he looked up and said in surprise, “Deputy? Is that you?”
“That’s right, Barnabas,” Sam told him. “It’s Deputy Two Wolves. I need your help.”
“Wait a minute. Are you locked up in there?”
