something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Curious what Farnum could have to discuss, Frank took the coffee cup Johnny handed him and nodded. “All right, I reckon I’ve got a few minutes before I start my evening rounds.”
They walked back to one of the tables and sat down. Keeping his voice pitched low so that no one could eavesdrop on the conversation, Farnum said, “This town of yours looks to be growing mighty fast.”
Frank nodded. “It’s like any other town where there’s been a gold or silver strike. For a while, it tries to bust wide open at the seams. But in time, it’ll settle down, and if the ore holds out, it’ll grow into a mighty nice place one of these days.”
“Right now, though, I’ll bet you’ve got your hands full. A boomtown’s nothing but trouble. And you’ve got to deal with other problems on top of it…namely young bucks like Charlie who want to gun you down and make a name for themselves. I’ve heard that hardly a week goes by without somebody like that showing up.”
“Who told you that?” Frank asked, his jaw tightening. He knew he was probably the subject of gossip around town, but he didn’t have to like it.
Farnum shook his head. “Doesn’t matter who told me. The word’s all over town. These folks like you, so they’re willing to put up with it. Got to be hard on you, though, trying to keep the lid on and not get killed at the same time.”
“That’s the chore any lawman faces. I pinned the badge on. I’ll do the job.”
“Sure you will. But all you’ve got for a deputy is a broken-down old-timer.”
Frank laughed. “Go and tangle with Catamount Jack and then come back and tell me how broken down he is. I think you’ll find that he lives up to his name.”
“Maybe so. It still seems to me like you could use another deputy. Somebody who knows how to handle trouble.” Farnum smiled. “Maybe because he’s started so blasted much of it in his time.”
Frank stared at the other man in surprise. He couldn’t help it. After a moment, he asked, “Are you saying that you want a job as my deputy, Clint?”
An uncharacteristically solemn expression appeared on Farnum’s normally jovial face. He leaned forward and said, “I know I’ve spent a lot of time in my life riding some dark and lonely trails, Frank. I’ve heard the owl hoot many a night. But so have you.”
Anger welled up inside Frank. “I’ve lived by the gun, and I’ve done plenty of things I’m not proud of. But I haven’t spent one day of my life as an outlaw.”
“Maybe not, but those are the stories people tell about you.”
“‘Stories’ is right. There’s not a lick of truth to most of them.”
Farnum waved a hand. “I won’t dispute that. Reckon you’d know about that better than anyone else. But my point is, you put all that behind you. You stopped drifting, settled down, pinned on a badge, of all things. You know of any reason I couldn’t do that too?”
Frank knew of several, including some bank robberies and stagecoach holdups that Farnum had been in on.
But on the frontier, the line between lawman and outlaw was sometimes a mighty thin one, and Frank knew that quite a few respected star-packers had come from shady backgrounds. Of course, it sometimes went the other way too. More than one outlaw had started out carrying a badge before turning crooked. The Dalton brothers were prime examples, having served as deputy U.S. marshals in Indian Territory before taking up the owlhoot trail.
So maybe Farnum deserved a chance, but Frank would need some more convincing first.
“Why do you want to be a deputy?” he asked.
Farnum shrugged. “I’m not as young as I used to be. Hell, none of us are. I’ve spent too many nights on the cold, hard ground. I’ve got a hankering for a job where I can go home at night and climb into a real bed.” He leaned back and toyed with his glass, turning it in circles. “And it wouldn’t be so bad to have a job where people look at you with a little respect, like you’re something better than a no-good owlhoot.”
Frank knew that feeling. He had seen the fear in people’s eyes when he was around. In other places, he had seen mothers grab their children and hustle them to the other side of the street when he came along, as if they thought a gunfight was going to break out any second. And there was some truth to that too. He never knew when somebody was going to force a showdown with him.
It was a little different in Buckskin. The townspeople knew of his reputation, of course, and they had seen for themselves that he attracted would-be killers like honey drew flies. But as Farnum had pointed out, they knew him and liked him, and they wanted him to be their marshal despite the baggage he brought with him. Hell, the town had fallen into disrepair and disrepute for a long time, and now it was taking on a new identity. By accepting the job as marshal, maybe he had been trying to do the same thing. Maybe Clint Farnum deserved that same chance.
Frank looked across the table at him and asked in a harsh voice, “Are you on the dodge?”
“You know damn well there’s paper out on me in some places,” Farnum replied without hesitation. “But I’m not wanted anywhere in Nevada, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”
“So nobody’s after you? You don’t have trouble dogging your trail? You’re not looking for a place to hide out for a while?”
“No to all those questions. I’m shooting straight with you, Frank. Maybe I’m a mite old for it, but what I really want is to settle down and make something of myself.”
Frank didn’t hear anything in Farnum’s voice or see anything on his face except sincerity. He thought about it for a long moment, then said, “I don’t know that the town could pay you much of a wage. We could probably come up with a place for you to stay, though, and maybe you could eat at the boardinghouse or the cafe.”
“That’d be enough for now,” Farnum said with an eager bob of his head.
“I suppose I could talk to the mayor about it and see what he says.” Frank took a sip of his coffee, which had cooled off while he and Farnum were talking. “The way the town’s growing, another deputy was going to be needed sooner or later.”
