CHAPTER THREE
I had the kid pretty well settled in on the couch of the office. Chester had locked his little bundle of belongings in my desk drawer, but the kid didn’t seem in a real hurry to get anyplace. He sat watching me as I went through the circulars and did the paperwork three killings brought in.
It was almost noon, and we were making conversation about the kid’s favorite subject – guns – when Adam Richards burst in. I wondered what had taken him so long. Probably the saloons had opened late on account of the heat.
“Where’s Ziegler?” he demanded.
I looked over at the kid, who was startled, but excited. “It’s all right, bub,” I told him.
“Where’s that murderin’ dog?” asked Adam, moving towards the back room. He spotted the Dutchman through the open door. “Oh, there you are, you –“
Suddenly Adam found me in his way. “Not a single step further, Adam,” I said.
Adam Richards looked me up and down. I was bigger, though not by more than a few inches, but I was wider than him, too. He couldn’t see around me, so he looked me in the eye with a half-drunk dead-eye stare. “I want him, Dillon. He murdered Clay, shot him down without givin’ him a chance.”
“How do you know?”
“‘Cause Clay wouldn’t let anyone catch him off-guard unless it was a friend. A friend!” Adam spat at the back room, then looked at me. I could smell the liquor in him. “Now, Dillon, give me that Dutchman.”
“Try to take him.” There was a good yard between us. It was enough.
“It’s like that?”
“It’s like that,” I said.
“Then it’s true what the fellas say! You made a deal with the Dutchman to give him the reward and to protect him if he killed Clay for ya!”
“That was the deal, was it?”
“Yeah!”
I nodded. “The fellas say why I’d make such a deal?”
“Dillon, it ain’t no longer a secret around town that you and Francie want each other. But Clay was in the way! You had him killed so you could get his wife. Do you deny it?!”
I stood still for a moment. Maybe it had been a mistake to come back to Dodge. Maybe there was too much history here – or too much for a man to start over again. Especially a man with a badge.
“No, no,” I said. “It’ll serve as well as any other crazy story to work you up.”
“We all know about that run-in you had with Clay.”
“He was hitting his wife.”
“That’s a man’s own business, Marshal,” said Adam.
“Not in Dodge,” I said. “Not anymore.”
Adam had that sneering look all drunks get when they’re needling you. “You think you’re safe behind that star, dontcha? Well, Clay had friends – lots of ‘em! I’m comin’ back with them friends and we’ll get the Dutchman and you and anyone else who tries to stop us!”
“All right, Adam. I’ll be waiting.”
“Yeah, you wait!” He stomped out of my office and slammed the door. I was grateful. I didn’t feel like closing it myself. It was too hot. I sat back down behind my desk.
The kid whistled. “I almost seen somethin’ pretty there, didn’t I, Mr. Dillon?”
“Yeah, almost,” I said. “One more pint of whiskey oughtta do it.”
