When Tyree, Cletus, and Ray rode into town, Harold Denham was standing on the front porch of his newspaper officer, supervising the replacement of the window that had been broken out.

“Son of a bitch,” he said quietly as the three rode by him, then dismounted in front of the Hog Waller.

“What is it, Mr. Denham, what are we doin’ wrong?” one of the workers asked.

“What?” Denham asked. Then, realizing that he had said the words “son of a bitch” aloud, he shook his head.

“No, nothing to do with what you boys are doing,” he said. “You’re doing a fine job.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, you seem to have everything in hand here. You just keep going the way you are. I need to walk down to the marshal’s office and have a word with Travis. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Denham.”

When Denham reached the marshal’s office, he saw Travis sitting at the desk, the top of which was covered with a rather messy spread of papers. The new marshal looked up as Denham stepped inside.

“Would you look at all this?” Travis said. “How did Titus keep up with it all? I had no idea there was so much paperwork involved in being a marshal. It could be that I’m just not cut out for this job.”

“You’ll do fine,” Denham said. “I think it was a smart decision to appoint you.”

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” Travis said. “What brings you by?”

“Do you have anything in there about Jefferson Tyree?” Denham asked.

“Jefferson Tyree? Hmm, seems to me like I’ve heard that name. Now, why is that name familiar?”

“He murdered an entire family a year or so ago. He was caught and put in prison for life, but last month he escaped from prison,” Denham said.

Travis nodded. “Jefferson Tyree,” he said again. “Yes, I do remember that now. Well, if he is a murderer and an escaped prisoner, I’m sure there must be something on him in here somewhere.” Travis started shuffling through the papers on his desk until he turned up a poster. “Ah, yes. Here it is.”

WANTED!

DEAD OR ALIVE

JEFFERSON

TYREE

$5,000.00 REWARD!

The poster also had a woodcut picture of the outlaw. “Is this the man you’re talking about?”

“Yes,” Denham said. “He’s here, Travis. Jefferson Tyree is here.”

“Here?”

“In Higbee. I just saw him.”

“Are you sure?” Travis asked. He pointed to the picture. “Because, to be honest, these woodcuts aren’t always that good.”

“It doesn’t matter how good the woodcut is,” Denham said. “I know it is Tyree. I just saw him ride in with Ray and Cletus Clinton.”

“How can you be so sure that it’s Tyree?”

“Because I covered his trial last year,” Denham replied. “I sat in the courtroom and looked at that son of a bitch all through his entire trial.”

“And you say he’s with the Clintons?”

“Yes.”

Travis sighed. “In that case then, there’s not much doubt about why he’s here, is there? It looks like the Clintons have just upped the ante by hiring themselves a gun.”

“Where’s Falcon MacCallister?”

“He’s with the crew that’s putting up the bridge,” Travis said.

“Maybe we’d better send for him.”

Travis stood up, then pulled his pistol, and turned the cylinder to check the loads.

“No, there’s no need for that,” he said. “I’m the marshal now. If I can’t handle this, I’ve got no business wearing this badge.”

“Travis, no,” Denham said. “This man is a cold-blooded killer.”

“So what am I supposed to do, Harold? Let the cold-blooded killers go and just handle people who spit on the boardwalks?”

“You could send somebody after Falcon.”

Travis dropped the pistol back in his holster, put on his hat, and squared his shoulders.

“No,” he said. “No, I can’t do that.”

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