Denham waved his hand over the mess. “It’ll take me all day to put this together again.”
“No, it won’t,” Falcon said.
Denham shook his head. “I’m afraid it will.”
“No, these boys are going to pick it all up for you.”
“Ha! In a pig’s ass we will,” one of them said.
Suddenly Falcon drew his pistol. Then he brought it around hard alongside the head of the cowboy who had just spoken. The cowboy went down.
“Hey, what the hell did you do that for?” one of the three remaining cowboys shouted. “Marshal, did you see that? He hit Bart right up alongside the head.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Calhoun replied.
“What do you mean, you didn’t see anything? What the hell, you was standin’ right here.”
“Start picking up the type and everything else you threw out of here,” Falcon said.
“Why should we do that? Marshal, if you’re goin’ to take us to jail, go ahead and take us now. Mr. Clinton will more’n likely bail us out first thing in the mornin’. I’ll go to jail, but I’ll be damn if I’m goin’ to pick up one damn thing.”
“That’s too bad,” Falcon said. Again, his gun was out, and again he slammed it against the head of the cowboy who had just stated he wasn’t going to pick up anything.
“Shit! He did it again!” one of the two remaining men said in alarm.
“It would have been an easier job if all four of you had done it,” Falcon said. “Now there are only two of you, unless one of you wants to refuse.”
“Mister, about the only way you’re goin’ to make me pick up anything is to shoot me.”
“Your terms are acceptable,” Falcon said, speaking in a very quiet, cold, and calm voice. He pointed his pistol at the head of the cowboy who had just spoken, and cocked it.
“Mister, do you think I actually believe you are going to shoot me?”
“Shut up, Clyde,” the other cowboy said sharply. He continued to stare at Falcon. “I believe this son of a bitch would shoot us. Marshal, you heard him. This fella just threatened to kill us, and he ain’t no lawman. I demand that you arrest him.”
“Mr. Falcon, I hereby appoint you a temporary deputy,” Calhoun said.
“That ain’t legal for you to do that,” Clyde said.
“You see any judges around here?” Calhoun asked.
“What? No, I don’t see no judges.”
“Then for the time being, it’s legal, simply because I say it is legal. Now, pick all this up, or I’ll shoot you myself.”
The two cowboys looked at each other, then, under the guidance of Harold Denham, they began picking up, and reassembling, the scattered type and other components of the newspaper office. A few minutes later, the other two cowboys, still groggy, began helping as well.
All the while the four men were working, citizens of the town were gathered around, laughing and calling out instructions to them.
“Bart! You missed the piece over here!”
“Virgil, it don’t look to me like you’re holdin’ up your end.”
Finally, the newspaper office was put back together except for the broken window. And even though it couldn’t be repaired at the moment, all the shattered glass was swept up.
“Damn,” Denham said after Marshal Calhoun marched the four down to jail. “It’ll take me two weeks to get a replacement for that window.”
“No, it won’t,” Corey Hampton said.
“What do you mean it won’t?”
“One of the windows back at the Golden Nugget is cracked. It’s about the size of this window, and I’ve ordered a replacement. It should be here in a few more days. I’ll let you have that one, and I’ll order another one.”
“Would you? That’s damn decent of you, Corey.”
“Well, like you, I believe in the power of the press,” he said.
“Really? Well, if you believe in the newspaper that much, why not increase your advertising?”
Corey laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Harold. You are always doing business.”
Totally unaware of the fact that four of his father’s employees were currently locked up in the jail, Billy Clinton rode into town that night. He’d told his brothers and his father that he planned to have dinner at the Vermillion, then stop by the Golden Nugget to hear Miss Kirby play the piano.
“Ha!” Cletus teased. “It’s too bad we don’t have an opera house. ’Cause more’n likely Billy would go there ever’ night for tea and trumpets.”
“That’s crumpets,” Billy said.
“Crumpets? What are crumpets?”
