followed the baker’s boy outside.
* * * *
Matt sipped a cup of coffee while he shaved and bathed. Dressed in a clean pair of denims and a cotton shirt, he left a note for the baker’s boy to take his dirty clothes to be washed, pulled on his boots, grabbed his bandana and hat, and tore down the warped wooden steps that ran up the back wall of the bakery. Deputy Kearney seemed pleasant enough, but a bit disturbed beneath it all. To Matt, that meant the chance at a bit of sport he’d been waiting for since getting off the train last Sunday.
Kearney was waiting around front, watching the people go about their business and sipping a tin cup of the baker’s coffee. Matt liked the man already; he seemed to be an attentive lawman that kept his finger on the pulse of the town. From what little he’d seen since setting foot in El Paso that seemed to be a necessary survival skill.
“So what seems to be the trouble, officer?” Matt grinned as he stepped up beside the deputy.
“Just you wait and see, partner.” Kearney chuckled nervously. They stood there for a few minutes, Matt smoking a cigarette and Kearney finishing his coffee. They watched a few men on horseback stirring up small clouds of dust, children running along to school, and women bustling along to the market. Then the deputy drained his cup and took it inside to set it on the baker’s counter. He tapped Matt on the shoulder on his way out, and took off across the open square. Matt stubbed out his cigarette and fell into step beside him.
“We haven’t the slightest idea where to start with this one,” Kearney began as he walked. “Ever hear of Colonel Albert Waters?”
“Can’t say as I have,” Matt said. “I’m not exactly from around here.”
“Couldn’t tell it by the look of you, but your record seems to support that.” Kearney grinned. “The colonel’s been ‘round these parts since the States’ War. Served some time in the Texas Senate, practiced a bit of law, even got back in the saddle ‘gainst the Apaches fifteen years back. Made quite a name for himself. Lots of enemies, too. That’s what makes it hard.”
They had reached the far side of the square, and Matt saw the beginning of several rows of houses and fences. Women swept their front stoops and men saddled up horses for their morning ride to work.
“Sounds like my kind of man,” Matt said. “Let me guess; he forgot to duck?”
“Wish it were that simple. We don’t even know for sure if he’s dead. Or his son, Henry, for that matter.”
Matt whistled. “That ought to narrow it down a bit, deputy. Takes a certain sort of miscreant to involve a man’s family in personal business.”
“Well, in addition to the Confederates he pissed off in his younger days, there’s Indian sympathizers, the cattle rustlers and bandits he’s helped prosecute, the survivors of a few men he killed in duels.” Kearney held up a closed fist and poked fingers up as he ticked off his list. “Not to mention various opponents of the laws he helped make. He also served as a tax collector up until… well, this morning, it seems. And there’s the usual assortment of guns for hire that could have been contracted by any or all of the injured parties.”
“When you put it that way,” Matt laughed, “Who’s not on the list?”
“I think we can discount the children, and some of the women, and that’s pretty much it,” Kearney said. “Even you’re a suspect, to tell you the truth, though I don’t much believe you’re involved. Looking into your record is what led me to think you might be able to help, actually.” Kearney managed to look a little embarrassed.
“No hard feelings, Kurt.” Matt patted the deputy on the back. “I’ve looked into a few of these things, as you’ve managed to suss out. Man blows into town, keeps to himself, no one knows much about him and then, BANG! a prominent citizen shows up dead. I could be a hired gun.”
“You seem a mite too comfortable
* * * *
Matt sipped a cup of coffee while he shaved and bathed. Dressed in a clean pair of denims and a cotton shirt, he left a note for the baker’s boy to take his dirty clothes to be washed, pulled on his boots, grabbed his bandana and hat, and tore down the warped wooden steps that ran up the back wall of the bakery. Deputy Kearney seemed pleasant enough, but a bit disturbed beneath it all. To Matt, that meant the chance at a bit of sport he’d been waiting for since getting off the train last Sunday.
Kearney was waiting around front, watching the people go about their business and sipping a tin cup of the baker’s coffee. Matt liked the man already; he seemed to be an attentive lawman that kept his finger on the pulse of the town. From what little he’d seen since setting foot in El Paso that seemed to be a necessary survival skill.
“So what seems to be the trouble, officer?” Matt grinned as he stepped up beside the deputy.
“Just you wait and see, partner.” Kearney chuckled nervously. They stood there for a few minutes, Matt smoking a cigarette and Kearney finishing his coffee. They watched a few men on horseback stirring up small clouds of dust, children running along to school, and women bustling along to the market. Then the deputy drained his cup and took it inside to set it on the baker’s counter. He tapped Matt on the shoulder on his way out, and took off across the open square. Matt stubbed out his cigarette and fell into step beside him.
“We haven’t the slightest idea where to start with this one,” Kearney began as he walked. “Ever hear of Colonel Albert Waters?”
“Can’t say as I have,” Matt said. “I’m not exactly from around here.”
“Couldn’t tell it by the look of you, but your record seems to support that.” Kearney grinned. “The colonel’s been ‘round these parts since the States’ War. Served some time in the Texas Senate, practiced a bit of law, even got back in the saddle ‘gainst the Apaches fifteen years back. Made quite a name for himself. Lots of enemies, too. That’s what makes it hard.”
They had reached the far side of the square, and Matt saw the beginning of several rows of houses and fences. Women swept their front stoops and men saddled up horses for their morning ride to work.
“Sounds like my kind of man,” Matt said. “Let me guess; he forgot to duck?”
“Wish it were that simple. We don’t even know for sure if he’s dead. Or his son, Henry, for that matter.”
Matt whistled. “That ought to narrow it down a bit, deputy. Takes a certain sort of miscreant to involve a man’s family in personal business.”
“Well, in addition to the Confederates he pissed off in his younger days, there’s Indian sympathizers, the cattle rustlers and bandits he’s helped prosecute, the survivors of a few men he killed in duels.” Kearney held up a closed fist and poked fingers up as he ticked off his list. “Not to mention various opponents of the laws he helped make. He also served as a tax collector up until… well, this morning, it seems. And there’s the usual assortment of guns for hire that could have been contracted by any or all of the injured parties.”
“When you put it that way,” Matt laughed, “Who’s not on the list?”
“I think we can discount the children, and some of the women, and that’s pretty much it,” Kearney said. “Even you’re a suspect, to tell you the truth, though I don’t much believe you’re involved. Looking into your record is what led me to think you might be able to help, actually.” Kearney managed to look a little embarrassed.
“No hard feelings, Kurt.” Matt patted the deputy on the back. “I’ve looked into a few of these things, as you’ve managed to suss out. Man blows into town, keeps to himself, no one knows much about him and then, BANG! a prominent citizen shows up dead. I could be a hired gun.”
“You seem a mite too comfortable
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