“And I tell you, when I’m sheriff men won’t be running in all directions! I’d know where to send a posse and lead it myself.” Strong puffed up his rounded chest as he finished his campaigning.
A voice from the much smaller crowd heckled, “So why don’t we see you on a horse leading the men now?”
Awkwardly clearing his throat, the banker harrumphed. “Well, I need to be here for this election. It was just bad timing that the girl was snatched when the voting was scheduled.”
Grumbles of disbelief and irritation spread through the crowd. A rock flew out of a nearby hand and narrowly missed Strong’s ear.
“Tell us what will you do about that, Mr. Sheriff Wanna-Be!”
The banker ducked and jumped off of the wooden box. As he stepped backward, an arm looped around his throat while other hands grasped his arms and pulled them behind him. A snap of metal cuffs sounded in his ear.
With a strangled gurgle to his voice, the want-to-be sheriff protested. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing to me?”
A hand whirled him around so that he faced a very angry man. “I’m holding you so the sheriff can charge you for being a part of my niece’s kidnapping.”
Mrs. Martin, the hotel owner’s wife, gasped and fainted conveniently onto the bench in front of the mercantile. Murmurs of surprise and accusation rippled through the crowd, and Morrison let the group simmer for a moment before he moved the banker out of the street and into the sheriff’s office.
Fred Sittig watched the two men leave and knew that was the sign that Ledbetter was outside. They’d planned for the Pinkerton to remove Strong from the street, just in case he was involved with Ledbetter’s gang. The two men did seem as thick as thieves.
Cully and he moved out of the alley beside the mercantile and entered the group. Ledbetter was in the process of climbing onto the box James Strong used each time he campaigned. Raising his short arms, the lawyer’s soft voice dripped with regret. “Now, folks, seems like a mistake has been made. Don’t let that friend of the sheriff fool you into turning against a good man like Banker Strong.”
From the crowd Fred heard a voice he recognized as Stinson. “If he’s such a good man why’d he turn against his own son. Manny Strong’s godly and takes care of Widow Hoffman’s farm like it was his own.”
As several voices agreed with the man, Amos held up his arms again, palms out. “That’s family business and not our concern. Let’s focus on this election.”
With a snort of disgust, Stinson stomped away from the group. Like a church benediction had been delivered, the others standing in front of Ledbetter drifted away as well. Soon, the man stood nearly alone on the top of a crate meant to hold soap.
Cully positioned himself behind the man and Fred approached from the side. “Well, Mayor, seems like the crowd is gone. That means it’s time for our business.”
Scowling, Ledbetter stepped off of the box and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s Saturday, and I’m not in the mood to do anymore town business.”
Moving along with the mayor/lawyer, Cully shadowed the man and waited. Fred waved someone out of the alley and into Ledbetter’s line of sight. The man gulped and darted a worried glance at the sheriff.
“Our business, Mr. Mayor,” Fred grated out with derision, “is about Miss Melrose over there. She’s told quite a tale. And,” he arched an eyebrow meaningfully, “as a Pinkerton agent I think what she has to say will carry weight with Judge Tompkins.”
Ledbetter hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his black overcoat. The hand reemerged in one smooth, flashing movement, and the weak March sun glinted off the metal held in each hand.
The revolvers pointed menacingly at Charity. She scowled and spit in Ledbetter’s direction. “You should have killed me earlier if you wanted to keep what you’ve done quiet. I’ll blab from here to Chicago about the procurer lawyer who makes money from selling young girls.”
When Ledbetter sited the barrel, Cully rushed from behind and pushed the man. The handgun roared, and only Amos lay on the ground. Cully’s shove had sent him into the mud and muck of the street. Charity stood unharmed and indignant.
“What kind of lunatic tries to kill a woman in front of the sheriff and his depu--?”
Fred’s gaze, fixed on the man who lay in the street, now shifted to the Pinkerton. Quickly, he saw that an arm around her throat had caused her sudden silence. His missing deputy had reappeared.
Hansen tightened his grip and raised a nickel-plated Colt to Charity’s temple. “Cully, get away from him. You and Fred should go on believing Strong sold those women and let Ledbetter walk away.”
With a shake of his head, Fred denied the man. “Can’t do that, Hansen. It’s not the truth. A good lawman should stick to the truth.”
The man scoffed, “Sure. I should expect a churchgoer like you to say that.”
“So, you know I’m not letting Ledbetter go. What do you want instead to let Miss Melrose go free?”
With his thumb, the turncoat deputy cocked the revolver. It’s click sounded loud in the nearly empty street. “What do I want? That woman you married needs to take back the curse she put on my family.”
Fred looked over his shoulder, into the empty alley. “Lilah, come on out and talk to this man.”
Hansen’s eyes narrowed to peer into the shadowed alley, his head craning in that direction. It was enough distraction for Charity to go limp in the man’s arms and then twist. Her hand came into contact with Hansen’s knee as she slipped downward.
The small gun made very
