CHAPTER TWENTY
Chester dropped a small pile of circulars and telegrams on my
desk. “I got the mail, Mr. Dillon – what there was.”
I was finishing my report on the events at Howard’s ranch.
“I’ll look at it later, Chester,” I said. “I have a lot of time.”
“Yessir,” said Chester. He sat down on the couch and
stretched his legs out in front of him. “You think Mr. Green an’ them know
what’s comin’?”
“Probably not,” I said.
“Well, you just wait’ll word gets out that Dodge is wide
open,” said Chester. “There’s gonna be nothin’ but trouble.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But this is the only way I can handle it.
They won’t listen to me otherwise.”
“But, after all that happened last night, don’t you think all
the cowboys’ll see you – y’know, differently? More friendly-like?”
“If anything, Chester, they’ll think I’m weak. To them it
looks like I switched sides because either I was scared or I took a bribe.”
“But Mr. Jackson knows that ain’t so!”
“Doesn’t matter, Chester. Last night we did the right thing.
Never expect credit for that. No, the town council is going to have to learn
things the hard way.”
At that moment a fat man I’d never seen before poked his head
into my office door. He was tanned, but soft, like a saddle that had melted in
the sun instead of hardened. His belly was pushing at his shirt and looked like
it was trying to spill over his belt all the way around. “Excuse me, Marshal,”
he said.
“What for?” I said.
“Well,” said the stranger, “I don’t wanna bother you none,
but I thought I’d better come and see ya.”
“You’re not bothering me,” I said.
“I sure hope not,” he replied. He was having trouble getting
through the door, and had to squeeze sideways inside.
I leaned back and put my feet up on the edge of my desk.
“Well, what can I do for you?”
“Well, Marshal, you don’t know me, but I’ve heard about you.”
I looked over at Chester. “Seems like a lot of people have,
lately.”
“I – I know,” said the fat man. “Marshal, I –“
“Well, go ahead, mister,” I said. “There’s nothing to be
afraid of.”
“Uh – I’m the new constable.”
“What?” I said, taking my feet back off the desk.
“The new constable,” he said, miserably. “They picked me,
Marshal. I had to take it, sure, I’m so broke ‘n all.”
“You sound like you’re apologizing.”
“Well, I guess I am,” he said. “I didn’t want you to be mad
at me. I needed the money, and that’s why I’m doin’ it.”
“It’s alright, somebody had to take the job,” I said.
“You sounded angry,” he said.
“No,” I said. “Surprised, mostly. Just didn’t know they were
going to call it ‘constable.’”
“Well, they want it to sound as peaceful as possible, I
guess.”
“Yeah, sure. What’s your name, mister?”
“Willard.”
“Willard?”
“Yessir,” he said. “Willard Bann.”
I stood to shake his hand. He cowered at first, like he was
afraid of me, but when I put out my hand and it didn’t bite him, he took it
with a little more conviction.
I leaned back against the edge of my desk. “Where’re you
from, Willard?”
“Well, sir,” he said, “I used to be a cowboy, but then I got
so fat ‘n all, I just sorta work around wherever I can. I been awful broke –“
“Yeah, you mentioned that.”
He ducked his head. “Yessir.”
“How
come you’re not wearing a gun?” I asked.
“Oh, shucks, Marshal, I don’t ever wear no gun. I don’t even
know how to use one very good.”
“Then you’re a whole lot better off without one,” I said.
“I don’t aim to get in any fights, Marshal,” said Willard.
“If there’s any trouble maybe I can just sorta, ah, talk ‘em out of it.”
From the couch, Chester looked over at me. I cleared my
throat and said, “Yeah. Yeah, maybe. Well, Willard – I wish you a lot of luck.”
We shook hands again.
Willard brightened up quite a bit when he realized I wasn’t
going to shoot him. “Well, thanks,” he said. “I gotta get goin’, Marshal, I’m
on pay already.”
“So long,” I said.
“So long, Marshal,” said Willard, heading for the door. “So
long, mister!”
“So long,” waved Chester. The door opened and Willard edged
through it, then closed it behind him. Chester looked at me with a sad smile.
“Oh my goodness, Mister Dillon.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I agree, Chester.”
“They will ruin that poor feller if he tries to stop ‘em.”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “He won’t even raise his voice
against them. But they sure might ruin Dodge.”
