“Is it true you met Mama while you were a cadet at West Point?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Garrison said. “Her father owned a livery stable near there.”
“Mama was a Northern girl, but you were a Southerner, from Virginia.”
“That’s true.”
“Grandpa could not have been too happy with you when you resigned your commission in the Union Army so you could fight for the South.”
“Whew,” Garrison said, shaking his head and chuckling. “That’s putting it lightly. From the day I resigned my commission, your grandfather never had another thing to do with me.”
“And yet, you and Mama loved each other and your marriage was strong.”
“Yes, it was very strong, until the day she died,” Garrison said. Then, suddenly, he realized where Kathleen was going with this conversation. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he said. “It’s nothing at all like the situation between you and the Clinton boy.”
“Yes it is, Papa. It’s exactly like that,” Kathleen insisted.
“No. Your mother and I were already married when the war split up our family. And it was the war, Kathleen— the war, something that was far bigger than any of us.”
“Papa, didn’t you tell me that you and the Clintons were at war?”
Garrison shook his head. “It’s not the same thing,” he said again. He shivered. “It’s getting cool. I think I’m going to bed. I would recommend that you do the same thing.”
“Yes, Papa.” Kathleen kissed her father on the cheek. “I love you, Papa,” she said. She thought, but did not verbalize,
Chapter Eighteen
The next day, Falcon was visiting Titus Calhoun’s office, playing a game of checkers with the marshal, when Sheriff Belmond and Ike Clinton came in.
“Calhoun, I hear a few of my boys may have gotten drunk and a little out of hand yesterday,” Clinton said.
“They were a lot out of hand,” Calhoun replied.
“And you’ve got them in jail, do you?”
“I do.”
“Well, no harm done,” Clinton said. “I’m willing to pay for any damage they may have done to the newspaper office.”
Falcon looked up at him. “How did you know it was a newspaper office?”
“I guess word just got around,” Clinton replied.
“Or you sent them in town to tear up the newspaper office,” Falcon suggested.
“Are you saying I’m behind this?” Clinton demanded.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Falcon replied. “I think you put them up to it because you didn’t like Mr. Denham’s article.”
“That ain’t true,” Ike said. “More’n likely, the boys read it and was pissed off by what they read.”
“Really?” Calhoun said. “They read it and were pissed off because they didn’t like what they read? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Clinton said.
“That’s interesting,” the marshal replied. He pulled open one of the desk drawers and took out a paper. “This is their arrest form,” he said. “Here is where they signed.” He pointed to the bottom of the page.
“What is all this about? What do I care about the arrest form, or where they signed?”
“Look at their signatures,” Calhoun said.
Clinton looked at the form.
“If you notice, all four men made their mark where they were supposed to sign,” Calhoun said. “Not one of them can read or write, Mr. Clinton. Yet you insist they tore up the newspaper office because they didn’t like what they read.”
“I don’t know,” Clinton said, clearly agitated. “Maybe somebody told them about the article.”
“You sent them, didn’t you, Clinton?”
“Did they tell you I sent them?”
“No.”
Clinton smiled broadly. “Then you got no case, do you? All right, I’m here for them now. Turn them loose. I’m paying the bail.”
“That’s not possible,” Calhoun said. “Bail hasn’t been set yet.”
Now it was Clinton’s time to smile, and he turned to Sheriff Belmond.
“Tell ’em, Belmond,” he said.
