He figured this knothead surely wouldn’t begrudge him a few days to send it off.
Strangely enough, though, that simple task weighed heavier on him than the gunfight itself.
The sound of ragged coughing drew his attention toward the jail.Sheriff Grat Horner emerged onto the boardwalk fastening his gun belt while two deputies followed behind him.
Caleb’s jaw tightened immediately.
Unfortunately, he knew Grat Horner from another life.And time hadn’t improved the man.
Beneath the same droopy, chaw-stained moustache, those wobbling bulldog jowls hung a little lower, maybe.Nearly as tall as Caleb, he was twenty pounds heavier, at least.And the blackguard loved to throw that weight around.
A bully with a badge, these days, but Horner hadn’t been wearing the tin star back then.Like too many men of his ilk, he knew that being the law in a town flowing with silver or gold gave a clever man plenty of opportunities for putting some of it in his own pocket.And it appeared this miserable bastard was living high off the hog here.To be sure, he was dressing better.But those fancy new boots, gold brocade waistcoat, and new black suit didn’t add a lick of value to him.
Horner had once worked as hired muscle for a powerful rancher up near Greeley.Caleb remembered all too clearly the homesteader they found dead in a field after daring to settle disputed land.
Shot down beside his mule, a bullet in his back.
Caleb had tracked the killing straight to Horner’s employer, but a ranch full of hired guns and a town unwilling to challenge powerful men ended that pursuit quickly.
That day, he learned some badges protected justice.Others merely protected power.That was the day he decided it was time to take up a different line of work.
Months later, when Caleb eventually found his way to Elkhorn, he heard right off that the town was looking to establish some semblance of order.There was no law officer, and the miners were raising hell.Somehow, they needed to contain the chaos.
Caleb had different plans and wanted no part of it.But not long after, he was surprised to see Grat Horner tipped back in a chair in front of the jail, a star on his lapel and his feet up on a barrel.The fact that this low-down, poor excuse of a hound dog was their newly minted sheriff only proved that Elkhorn was desperate.
Watching the Horner approach now, Caleb found himself wishing he’d left the rustlers up in the ravine for the wolves.
“Busy night, Marlowe?”Horner asked, eyeing the bodies.
“Notmychoice.”
“Who are they?”
“Just six upstanding citizens out for a moonlit ride, I guess.”
Horner glared and spat in the dirt.“You don’t know ’em?”
Caleb shook his head.“Came for my cattle.Didn’t expect to see me out there, I’d say.”
“Didn’t expect to end up dead, neither…I’dsay.”
“We all end up dead, sooner or later, Sheriff.You should know that.”
Horner’s eyes narrowed and then flicked for a moment to the two gleaming pistols holstered at Caleb’s hips.
These were new guns.Colt Frontiers.Caleb was not one to change with every newfangled thing that came along.But a gun dealer in Denver had convinced him that the action and balance and precision of the weapons were as good or better than his old Peacemakers.And since it used the same .44-40 bullet as his Winchester rifle; carrying only one type of ammunition was a convenience he’d appreciate.Caleb had tried them out, and they were smooth and accurate.So he bought them.
So far, he hadn’t killed anyone with these guns.But the night was still young.
“I hear you own a stake a few miles out.”
Caleb said nothing in response.It wasn’t a question.
For the past few months, they’d been two mountain rams circling each other.Each one knew the other was around, encroaching on his territory.Each keeping his distance, knowing it was inevitable they’d be locking horns.
Horner spat, wiped tobacco juice from his chin with a big hand, and waved at the dead rustlers.“So you hold that it was self-defense.Any witnesses?”
Caleb decided to keep Doc’s daughter out of it, not that she’d be much help.“My dog.”
