The two men separated to make way for Caleb to enter.But as he went by, the big man took hold of his arm with a hand the size of a saddlebag.
“Take care,” he said in that squeaky voice that did not go with his size.“Cuz I’ll rip your damn head off.”
“Well, I wear it right up here on my shoulders, any time you’re feeling the urge.”
Caleb looked coolly into those dead eyes.The face got even blotchier.Wrenching his arm out of the man’s grip, he went in, and the door shut firmly behind him.Another friend made.
He found himself in a small outer room where a harried secretary sat at a desk piled high with papers.The man lifted his balding head and gestured to the open door beyond.Caleb went through and paused inside to take in the sight.
Doing some quick figuring, he decided the judge’s office could easily house an entire cavalry unit and their horses.One end of the dark, wood-paneled room contained a long, heavy table and matching chairs of carved oak.A chandelier of gleaming brass and crystal hung above it.Wine-colored velvet drapes were held back by gold ropes, and the entire floor was covered by a half dozen carpets that looked like they came right out of some Ali Baba story.
It was the fanciest room Caleb had ever seen, outside of a whorehouse.
And somehow that much wealth gathered in one place made him uneasy.Men who built rooms like this generally expected the world to bend around them.
Horace Patterson, Justice of the Peace, sat at a desk the size of a small Indiana farm.Behind him: a locked cabinet was topped with three handsomely bound law books.In front of him, a pair of oil lamps, a desk set of pen and ink, a writing blotter, and a large, bronze sculpture of Napoleon with his hand resting on the head of a whipped-looking lion.
The judge stood.A man of medium height, he had a solid build and graying hair.He wore no moustache or beard, but thick side whiskers spread like wings from his face.The man knew how to dress, Caleb thought.In that charcoal suit, silver-gray waistcoat, white silk shirt and black tie, he could dine with President Hayes himself.Patterson nodded and slid his hand into his waistcoat.There would be no shaking of hands.
This was the first time they’d met.When Caleb bought his land, he dealt with one of the clerks in the land office downstairs and around the side.
“Mr.Marlowe, thank you for coming by to see me.”
“Didn’t have much choice, Judge,” Caleb replied.“As you know.”
Patterson eyed him, taking his measure, and Caleb did the same.
The judge had a kind of suppressed energy to him, like a timepiece wound too tight or an unbroken stallion waiting for his chance to either bolt or stomp you.He had a sense that the man before him did more stomping than bolting.And he had a look in his eyes that Caleb had seen too many times before.It was the cold, hard look of a seasoned gunhawk.Even if his business required that he kill you before breakfast, he wouldn’t remember you at all come suppertime.
Caleb had crossed paths with railroad men, cattle barons, army officers, and hired killers who carried that same look.Men who treated people like obstacles to be moved aside.
The judge waved him into a chair by the desk and sat down himself.“Drink, Marlowe?Or too early for you?”
“Never too early,” Caleb replied.“But I have cattle that need looking after.”
And for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, he found himself wanting to get back home more than he wanted whiskey or trouble.
“Just a few questions before you go.Our good sheriff neglected to seek out some of the relevant details last night.”
He sensed from the judge’s tone that he was not entirely happy with Horner.Well, he hired him.He could live with him.“Go ahead and ask.”
“Why don’t you tell me the facts?”
Patterson sat back and steepled his fingers, looking intently as Caleb told him in about three sentences what happened.
“And you didn’t recognize any of the riders?”
“No,” Caleb replied shortly.
“The sheriff has implied that you shot first.Without cause.”
“He wasn’t there.”
The judge gazed at him for a long moment.“I believe you, Mr.Marlowe.”
“Then I’ll be going.”
Caleb planted his hands on his knees and searched around him for his weapons.It would definitely get ugly if he had to face Horner or Pig Face outside in order to get them.
