red-and-white tablecloth. There were two chipped china dinner plates,
white with blue butterflies painted on the rims, and two matching
coffee cups. In the center of the desk was a platter of fried chicken
sitting in a thick puddle of grease, along with bowls of boiled turnips
with their hairy roots, like gauze, still wrapped around them,
congealed gravy that resembled day-old biscuit dough, pickled beets,
and black-bottomed rolls.
It was the most unappealing meal Cole had ever seen. His stomach,
still tender from the influenza, lurched in reaction to the smell.
Since Josey had already left, Cole didn't have to be concerned that his
lack of appetite would offend her.
The sheriff took his seat behind the desk and motioned for Cole to pull
up another chair. After pouring coffee for both of them, he leaned
back and pointed to the spread. 'I might as well warn you before you
get started. My wife means well, but she never quite got the knack for
cooking. She seems to think she's got to fry everything up in a kettle
of lard. I wouldn't touch that gravy if I were you. It's a killer. '
'I'm really not hungry, ' Cole said.
The sheriff laughed. 'You're gonna be a mighty fine marshal'cause
you're so diplomatic.' Patting his distended belly, he added, 'I've
gotten used to my Josey's cooking, but it's taken me close to thirty
years to do it. There was a time or two I thought she was trying to do
me in.' Cole drank his coffee while Norton ate two large helpings of
food. When the older man was finished, he restacked the dishes inside
the basket, covered it with his soiled napkin, and stood up.
'I believe I'll mosey on down to Frieda's restaurant and get me a piece
of her pecan pie. You want to come along? ' 'No, thank you. I'll
wait here for Ryan.' One thought led to another.
'What did you do with my guns? ' 'They're in the bottom drawer of my
desk. That's a right nice gunbelt you've got. It makes it easy to get
to your guns, doesn't it? I expect that's why Marshal Ryan wears
one.
' As soon as the sheriff was out the door, Cole got his gunbelt out and
put it on. All of the bullets for the two six-shooters had been
removed.
He scooped them up, filled the chambers of one gun, and was working on
the second when Norton came rushing back inside.
'I expect Marshal Ryan could use your help. Those two gunslingers are
waiting at both ends of my street, and he's strolling right smack
across the middle. He's gonna get himself killed.' Cole shook his
