“Well, yes, I suppose so,” Montgomery said. “What is it about?”
“Possible trouble,” Dempster replied without being more specific.
“Bernard,” Montgomery called to his teller. “I’m going to be busy in the back for a while.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Montgomery,” Bernard answered.
Montgomery led the way to the conference room, then closed the door behind them. “What is it?” he asked.
“I just saw Cletus Odom ride into town,” Dempster said.
“The outlaw? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Oh, my,” Montgomery said. He ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, my. If he is in town, it can only be for one reason. He’s planning to rob the bank.”
“I think you might be right,” Dempster said. “Only, we know he is here so that gives us a little advantage.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We are paying a heavy tax to the marshal and his deputies, aren’t we?” Dempster asked.
“Yes.”
“Then it is time that Cummins started earning his money.”
“I—yes, you are right.” Montgomery was quiet for a moment. “I never thought I would hear myself say this, but I’m glad that Cummins has all those deputies. Surely they can handle Cletus Odom.”
“One would certainly think so, wouldn’t one?” Dempster replied.
“So, what do we do now?”
“Now? Now we go to Marshal Cummins, inform him of the presence of a wanted outlaw, and demand that he do his duty.”
“Who?” Montgomery asked.
“Who what?”
“Who is going to see Cummins and demand action?”
“I’ll do it,” Dempster said.
Cummins and two of his deputies were in the marshal’s office when Dempster stepped inside. Evidently someone had just told a joke, because all three were laughing loudly.
“Excuse me,” Dempster said.
The three men looked over toward him and Jackson laughed out loud. “Well, now, look what the cat drug in,” he said.
“Dempster,” Cummins said. “It’s good of you to drop by.” He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, filled a glass, then slid the glass across his desk toward Dempster. “Have a drink.”
“Thank you, no,” Dempster said.
“No?” Cummins looked at his two deputies. “Boys, did you just hear Mr. Dempster say no?”
“I never thought that old drunk would turn down a drink,” Crack said.
“Maybe he thinks he’s too good to drink with us,” Jackson suggested.
“No, it isn’t that,” Dempster said. “I’m sure you understand. I’m an alcoholic. I’m trying to quit drinking.”
“Hah! You’re trying to quit drinking?” Cummins replied. He looked at the others. “Boys, have either of you ever known a drunk who gave it up?”
“I ain’t never known one,” Jackson said.
“Me neither,” Crack added.
“No, and you ain’t never goin’ to know one ’cause it can’t be done.” He looked at Dempster again. “So why are you tryin’ to fight it? You know you want a drink, and here it is, just waitin’ for you. And it is being offered in friendship.”
“Maybe he don’t want to be our friend,” Crack said. “He’s been meetin’ with Montgomery and them other troublemakers.”
Dempster gasped, and Cummins laughed again.
“Well now, Mr. Dempster, you act a little surprised,” Cummins said.
Dempster didn’t answer.
“You don’t think folks can hold meetin’s in this town without me knowin’ about it, do you?” Cummins asked. “This is Purgatory, Mr. Dempster.” Cummins made a fist of his right hand, then used his thumb to point to himself. “And I own Purgatory. Nothing happens in Purgatory without my knowledge, or permission.”
“You are the marshal, not the king,” Dempster said.
“The marshal, not the king? Hmm, that sounds like a political slogan. Are you considering running for some office, Mr. Dempster?”
