“Drop that gun, mister!”
Looking up, Matt saw a man, wearing a star, pointing a pistol at him. One man pointing a pistol might not have been so bad, but there were four other pistols being pointed toward him, as well as a double-barrel shotgun, all being wielded by men who were wearing stars.
“How many marshals does this town have?” Matt asked.
“I’m Marshal Cummins,” the first man said. “These men, and the man you just murdered, are my deputies.”
“I didn’t murder him. He drew on me first,” Matt said.
“He drew on you, huh?” Marshal Cummins said. “Mister, you are a liar, and a poor one at that. Moe’s gun is still in his holster.”
“Yes, it fell back in the holster when I shot him,” Matt said. His explanation sounded weak, even to his own ears.
“Mister, I didn’t fall off the turnip wagon yesterday,” Cummins said. “Now drop that gun.”
Matt took in the situation around him, then, realizing that resistance would be futile, he dropped his gun and raised his hands.
“Put some cuffs on him, Jackson,” Marshal Cummins said.
“My goodness, what was that?” Emma Dawkins asked at the sound of the gunshot.
“It’s probably some fool drunk over in the saloon,” Millie answered. She was on her knees with a mouth full of pins. “My apartment is just upstairs, you know, and sometimes at night, there is so much yelling and shooting going on over there that you would think they are having a battle. All they are really doing is just getting drunk and raising Cain. Turn to the left just a bit, would you, dear?”
“I seen it, Mama,” Timmy said.
“It’s ‘saw,’ not ‘seen,’” Timmy’s mother corrected. “And what did you see?”
“I saw the stranger shoot Deputy Gillis.”
“What? What on earth are you talking about?”
“The man that shot Deputy Gillis,” Timmy said.
“You mean he just rode up and shot him?”
“No, ma’am. Deputy Gillis went for his gun first, then the stranger went for his, and he shot first.”
“Are you saying the stranger killed Deputy Gillis?”
“I don’t know,” Timmy said. “He hit the deputy because I saw the blood, but then the deputy turned around and went back into the saloon, and the stranger followed him in.”
“Hush,” Emma said. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Uh-huh, yes, I do,” Timmy said.
“No, you don’t,” Emma insisted. “You don’t have the slightest idea of what you are talking about. Never mention it again.”
“But Mama—”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Then there is no ‘but Mama’ about it.”
“I think you are doing the right thing, Emma,” Millie said. “Heaven knows what-all trouble you could get in in this town.”
“I know,” Emma replied. “I hate doing it, I’ve always stressed that Timmy tell the truth. But sometimes it’s better to be safe than to be right.”
“I understand,” Millie said. “This will be our secret.”
“Get a rope!” someone yelled. “Let’s hang the son of a bitch now!”
“I got a new rope! I’ll go get it!”
“No!” Cummins said, his voice so loud that it reverberated back from the windows of the establishment.
“Come on, Marshal Cummins, you know damn well he’s guilty. Hell, you got a whole saloon full of eyewitnesses.” The protester was wearing a deputy’s star.
“That’s right, Hayes, we do,” Marshal Cummins said. “That’s why we’re goin’ to do this legal. We’re goin’ to try him now, find him guilty, then send him to Yuma and let them hang him.”
“When we goin’ to try him? The circuit judge ain’t due back for near ’bout a month,” Hayes said.
“We don’t need to wait for a circuit judge,” the marshal said. “We’ll try him right here, right now. You forget I’m an associate judge.”
“What about the jury?” the bartender asked.
“Hell, there’s at least thirty men in here,” the marshal said. “Pick twelve of them. Oh, and to make it legal, don’t pick none of my deputies.”
“All right,” the bartender said. “I’ll be one of the jurors. You, you, you,” he said, pointing to others in the saloon
