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He extended his arm, she placed her hand on it, and let him escort her towards the bank. On the way, she thought about Spring’s startling revelation. Was Colt really in love? She’d lain awake for quite some time last night thinking about it. She had her doubts but again reminded herself that Spring knew him much better than she did. Even so, she had no plans to ask him. They’d renewed their pact and she didn’t want to be the one responsible for making it go up in flames by quizzing him over something he might not be ready to express.
To her surprise, the area around the bank was filled with vendors hawking everything from popped corn and flavored shaved ices, to meat pies, funnel cakes, and small hand pies filled with stewed fruit. A Chinese man in traditional clothing wandered through the crowd selling fans. No one seemed interested however. A few even glared at his passing. Regan was accustomed to seeing people of his race at home and in San Francisco but hadn’t seen any Chinese in Paradise. All over the country his people were being targeted by violence. She hoped he’d be allowed to sell his wares in peace. A few feet from the bank’s door, a young man sawed away on a fiddle, filling the air with a lively tune. At his feet was a tin cup for contributions. Regan thought the Paradise Ladies Society might have missed a golden opportunity to raise funds for the lending library.
“This reminds me of a fair,’” she said, taking in all the activity. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like this. Not for a court hearing.”
“Folks here take their fun wherever they can find it.”
“Will it be warm inside the bank?”
“More than likely.”
“Then I need to purchase a fan.” She found the man, purchased two fans, and after receiving his smiling thanks, went inside.
The interior was hot and noisy. There were two tables set up at the front of the space and facing the tables were a large number of chairs set up in rows. Although the proceedings weren’t scheduled to begin for another hour, most of the seats were taken. She and Colt greeted and nodded their way through the throng. Happening upon two empty chairs towards the back, they sat and settled in to wait.
A short while later, Whit entered with the cuffed prisoners and the outlaws were met with a torrent of boos and catcalls from the crowd. Walking with them and the sheriff was a short man in an ill-fitting green-and-gray checkerboard suit. His pomaded hair and waxed mustache made him resemble a circus barker. She leaned over and asked Colt, “Do you know who he is?”
“Tolson Veen. Lawyer from Cheyenne. He takes a lot of outlaw cases. Loses a lot of them, too.”
“Then why hire him?”
“Because he’s cheap and there’s always a chance he may win.”
“That doesn’t sound like a smart strategy.”
“If outlaws were smart, they wouldn’t be outlaws.”
She chuckled softly. His smile peeped out.
Mr. Denby and his seamstress daughter-in-law, Dovie, came in and took the two empty seats in front of Regan and Colt. The four of them were chatting when a sudden hush descended over the crowd. Regan craned around the Denbys to find the cause.
“Dun Bailey,” Colt said.
Regan watched as the thin-faced Bailey spoke with the lawyer, Veen, then turned his attention to the crowd. He scanned faces as if searching for someone. When his eyes settled on her and stopped, she knew she was the someone. He looked her over with an iciness so chilling she unconsciously drew back and that apparently pleased him. Giving her a mocking smile, he walked over to the wall and stood next to the large window to wait for the hearing to begin.
“If he’s trying to scare me, he did a good job,” she admitted to Colt.
“Ignore him. He knows I’ll shoot him where he stands if he does anything other than look.”
Surprised, she realized he was deadly serious. It was a side of him he’d never shown. She remembered him saying he’d never taken a life, not that he wouldn’t.
The crowd continued to grow and now that all the seats were occupied, the latecomers lined the walls. Colleen Enright looked put out that she didn’t have a place to sit, but Lucretia Watson’s husband, Matt, stood and offered her his. Lucretia didn’t appear pleased. The widow, dressed in green again, gave him a sweet smile, stood for a moment as if to make sure she was seen, then sat. Dovie turned to Regan, gave her an eye roll, and Regan chuckled. The temperature inside had risen, too. Regan unfolded the fan she purchased and used it to move the air.
“Is the judge here yet?”
“Yes, that’s him talking to Whit.”
Judge Jinks was a heavyset man with white hair and a tired face. His wrinkled black suit and vest matched his weary features.
“Is he a fair judge?”
“Yes. He’s curt, sarcastic, and doesn’t suffer fools. He and Veen don’t get along.”
“You’ve seen them in cases before?”
“Yes. It’s one of the reasons so many people are here. The judge can be very entertaining, Veen’s no match.”
“Is he fair to our people, too?”
