He was being inordinately polite. Inwardly, he wanted to wait until
the bartender had gone for his weapon and then shoot the insolent look
off his face, but now that he was a marshal, he knew he couldn't give
in to all of his urges.
'The sheriff told me all about you, Harley, ' Cole said. 'He said you
think you run this one-block town.'
'It's true, ' Harley boasted. 'I do run it.'
'He also told me you shot a man in the back.'
'The sheriff couldn't prove it was me, ' the bartender said, his face
turning red with anger. 'I don't want any trouble.' The four men at
the table were watching Cole closely. Cole's attention was riveted on
them, but he still noticed that Harley's hands were down at his
sides.
'I told you to put your hands up where I can see them. Do it now. '
The force of his voice, added to the dangerous look in his eyes, should
have convinced Harley to do as he ordered. The bartender was obviously
weighing the possible consequences as his glance darted back and forth
between the men in the corner and the lawman.
He tested Cole sorely when he put one hand on the counter and waited.
'I wasn't thinking about shooting you, ' Harley lied. 'You being a
lawman and all. I just don't want any trouble. I got me a brand-new
mirror, and I . . . ' Before Harley could blink, Cole drew his gun and
shot the mirror. Glass shattered down on Harley's shoulders. The
bartender roared an obscenity and put both hands on the counter.
Besides the four men at the back table, there were only three other
customers inside the saloon, and those three went running for safety.
Cole made certain none of them were armed as they filed past him, as
the notion of getting a bullet in his back didn't sit well.
'What did you want here? ' Harley demanded.
Cole nodded toward the four men. 'It's a personal matter.' The
tallest of the gang stood up first. 'We don't know you, mister. '
'You will by the time I'm finished with you, ' he promised. 'Now, all
of you get up, and take it slow and easy. I'm taking you boys to
jail.
' 'You've got no right to arrest us, ' a man with a puckered scar
across his cheek protested. 'We haven't done anything wrong.' Cole's
attention stayed on the man with the knife. 'Is your name Robertson?
