The Power of the Written Word

By Robert Rowell

Just when you think things can't get an worse...
The last fifteen years have been hard for Sean Kelley. While gathering a herd of cattle down south, his ranch had burned to the ground in a wildfire, killing his wife, He returns to receive that bad news and to find that the ranch has been foreclosed on by the bank. When he finds no reason to stick around, he takes to the cattle trails for the next fifteen years.
When he returns to Navarro Falls, Kelley has saved up a sizable amount of money to start a new ranch. But, the owner of the Perregine Mine and his hired thugs do their worst to make sure the cowboy drifts on or disappears for good. With mine Regulators jumping him at every turn, and the local newspaper making him look like a desperate outlaw, Sean Kelley finds that most of the locals will have little to do with him. Will he be able to conquer the obstacles in his path and make a life here with every bad man in the region riding into town to look for him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Rowell
• Release date: Jun 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463238202

Robert Rowell

Born in Fort Worth, Texas. Spent nearly two decades traveling and working at various art shows, music venues and renaissance festivals. Worked at various jobs before and after that; some of which include working in a print shop, research center, laying industrial flooring, carpentry, stage work as well as being an entertainer and part-time stunt man (the last part is sort of a joke). Been an artist all my life and became interested in writing back in the latter part of high school.

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The Power of the Written Word

by Robert K. Rowell

Copyright 2011, Robert K. Rowell

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, whether mechanical or electronic, including any form of storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. The events, names and characters are imaginary; characters are fictitious and not intended to represent living persons.

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Chapter 1

Dust whirled into miniature twisters across the dirt road. The punch of a horse’s hooves grinding limestone in a cadence repeated tediously as a lone cowboy rode toward the mining town of Navarro Falls. One dusty hand reached up and pulled a faded kerchief over his nose and mouth as he watched the dust devils approach. The man’s pale, blue eyes squinted against the abrasive assault until the dust cloud had passed. As he guided his horse down into the sheltered valley of the not too distant boom-town, he pulled the kerchief back down to reveal a stubble-covered face that was coated in road dust from his long journey. The cowboy removed his beaten, wide-brimmed hat from his head long enough to wipe the light sweat from his brow; briefly relieving the itching sensation it had caused. His sandy-brown hair lit up with a slight reddish halo in the sun as he gazed down at the town that was his immediate destination.

A worn-looking, Colt .45 rode upon his hip in a dark-brown holster; an object that his dusty hand roamed over from time to time absently. He glanced briefly down at the battered butt of his Winchester rifle as well, noting that it still rode in the saddle sheath where he had secured it this morning. His saddle bags were stuffed full of his personal belongings; bumping and bouncing with the gait of the large chestnut-colored quarter horse he rode upon. Every well-formed muscle of the animal was covered in the same road grime as the cowboy, and tracks of sweat accentuated the lines of his form.

Been a long time since I’ve seen this place, amigo, the cowboy said to the horse in a companionable fashion, Let’s get down there and find you a stall with some oats. Then I’ll find myself a saloon to relax in before finding a rooming house.

Feeling anxious at the prospect of stepping out of the saddle, the cowboy gently tapped the horse’s flanks with his spurs and set him to an easy gallop down the dirt road. The dust from the Texas limestone flew into a small billowing cloud as he rode for the main street of the town. As they dropped into the valley, the cowboy was surprised to see small homesteads had popped up further out from Navarro Falls than he remembered them to be. Some were fairly new, but others showed several years of age in the sometimes brutal elements of the Texas Prairie. Before he realized it, the cowboy had reached the edge of the town proper. He slowed the horse to a walk and began to look around carefully at the changes that had come over this once-familiar town.

There’s been a whole heap of changes over the last fifteen years, he muttered to his mount. The quarter horse swiveled his ears back to his rider and gave a snort of breath as if he agreed. The cowboy grinned and shook his head in a playful manner as he patted the animal’s neck with affection.

Not much longer, amigo, he crooned at the horse, We’ll get you settled in a comfortable place so you can have your well-deserved rest.

The cowboy got a wicker of response that made his smile larger.

Up ahead of him, he saw that the buildings began to crowd closer together as he neared the edge of the town. The road he was on appeared to be the main street through the community. Several people were out in their yards doing minor chores, but they would stop and look up as he rode by. One or two would give him a friendly wave and then go back to what they were doing. A few others would just stare, gazing at him with distrust in their eyes. He tipped his hat to them anyway, not showing his unease at their behavior. Fifteen years ago, the people of Navarro Falls would have all shown proper manners to a stranger that was passing through town. Things had changed a lot in fifteen years. Of course, the cowboy realized, fifteen years was quite a long time to be gone from a place. With the growth of this town, he guessed the general attitude of its residents had grown and changed as well.

Far ahead of him, he could see a large barn with pens and corrals surrounding it. The structure had been painted a bright red color. On the prominent side that faced the street, tall white letters proclaimed it to be Red’s Livery Stables. The horse could already smell the strong scent of hay and oats coming from up the street. The animal began to tug gently at the reins as if to urge his rider to hurry up. The cowboy grinned and let the horse begin to trot the last bit of distance toward the entrance of the barn.

Before they reached the intended destination, the cowboy heard raised voices on the left side of the road. He saw a lap-board, two-story house with a large yard. Up on the front porch stood a woman with her hands upon her hips, talking loudly at a man who stood in the yard glaring up at her. Her tone showed her displeasure with the fellow in the yard, who stood defiantly holding two hastily packed suitcases. A quick look indicated to the cowboy that the place was a boarding house. A nicely painted sign hung from a post near the white picket-fence that surrounded the yard. It read the words Lady Adelaide’s, then below that were the words Rooms to Let.

I ain’t paying you squat! the big fellow bellowed at her, drawing the cowboy’s attention away from the sign, You’ll be damn sorry when I get back to the mine!

You owe me twenty-five dollars in back-rent, Max Sweeney! the woman quipped back at him, her gray-green eyes flashed, Plus the cost for the damage you did to my room! Your so-called boss fired you for being drunk on the job, so don’t try to delusion me with the idea that you’ll get your job back! I’ll be going to see the Sheriff about what you owe me!

The large man dropped his shabby suitcases and surged up the steps toward her. His balding head had turned a scarlet color, showing his rage at her words. The woman backed away from him in shock and surprise, but he reached out and grabbed her by her arm in a brutal fashion. Yanking her about abruptly, the man grated in a loud voice, You ain’t going to the Sheriff!

The cowboy reined his horse to the left and dug in his spurs. The quarter horse immediately surged for the gate that stood open to the yard. Before the horse came to a stop, the cowboy had stepped from the saddle and started running toward the front porch of the house drawing his pistol. As he raced up the steps, he raised the pistol high and at an angle before he brought it crashing down upon the head of the man called Max Sweeney.

There was a cracking sound, just as Sweeney jerked to the left taking a half step before he slumped over to the floor of the porch. The cowboy trained his gun barrel on the recumbent figure, making sure he didn’t move. The woman gazed at him in surprise as he looked up at her.

Are you all right ma’am? the cowboy asked her.

My God! she said breathlessly, glancing between the cowboy and Sweeney, He was going to hurt me! His eyes were….crazy!

Easy now, the cowboy said gently, He ain’t gonna hurt you no more.

Lousy drunken ape! the woman shrieked suddenly as she attempted to aim a vicious kick at the downed man’s head.

Whoa! the cowboy exclaimed as he held her back from the unconscious lump on the porch, Hold on there! I agree you have every right to be mad at this man, but I already dented his skull good. You go stomping on him now; you just might kill him!

She struggled briefly before she looked up at the cowboy. His gaze seemed to have a calming effect on her and she settled down, fussing at her disheveled brown hair. Small wisps of it framed her surprisingly pretty features, the cowboy noticed. She looked to be in her thirties, well-formed and healthy; which was evident by the strength she displayed while trying to kick the man that lay at their feet. The cowboy held both of her arms tightly, making sure she was not going to attack the fellow again, but she slowly worked her arms free of his grip.

Yes, you are absolutely right, she said, trying to sound calmer than she was, It wouldn’t do for the Sheriff to find him dead upon my porch. I thank you so much for coming to my rescue, Mr. …?

Kelley, ma’am, the cowboy tipped his dirty, gray hat to her, Sean Kelley is my name, and I was glad to be around to help.

Mr. Kelley, it is a pleasure, she said with a nervous smile, I am Adelaide O’Neill. I run this rooming house, but I promise you that ALL of my other guests are far more well mannered than this ruffian.

Kelley replaced his gun back into it’s holster, securing the tie that held it in place. Adelaide O’Neill looked up when she heard shouting, as did Kelley. Both saw a group of men headed toward her yard at a run. The two men in the lead wore badges upon their coat lapels. The fellow who stepped forward was in his middle years, displaying salt and pepper hair. He was fairly handsome, and wore a handlebar mustache. His dark eyes glanced at the unconscious man on the porch with some concern and then up at the two of them.

Oh, don’t worry, Pat, Mrs. O’Neill said to him as she scuffed dirt from the floor at the figure, He ain’t dead; he just got his eggs scrambled a bit.

Sweeney let out a muffled groan as he stirred a little, but then fell silent. The fellow seemed to be going in and out of consciousness. Kelley kept himself between Mrs. O’Neill and Sweeney, just to be on the safe side.

What happened, Mrs. O’Neill? the fellow she called Pat asked her, but he kept his eyes upon Kelley as he spoke.

Sweeney wrecked one of my rooms this morning, she said in a flat tone, He owes me back-rent for a substantial amount. When I pressed him to pay that plus the damages, he refused and got belligerent. He made what I thought were empty threats, so I told him I would go and see you about the whole thing. That is when he got all crazy and tried to hurt me. This gentleman came up just in time to stop him.

How did he do that? he asked, still gazing at Kelley.

I clubbed him across the head with my pistol, Kelley answered suddenly; figuring since he was being stared at, he should get into the conversation.

I take it he never saw you coming? Pat asked, his tone sounded a little accusatory and his gaze matched the mood.

He was too busy man-handling the lady, Kelley’s tone became a little cool itself, Is he a friend of yours?

Listen mister, Pat grated, his anger beginning to rise, Don’t get smart with me. Max Sweeney may be a drunk, but he is also a very dangerous man. You’re lucky he didn’t hurt you.

Kelley looked down at the supine figure and kicked one of the large, beefy hands with his dusty boot. A long, wicked-looking knife with a double-edge, straight blade skittered across the boards of the porch. Both Pat and Mrs. O'Neill stared at it in shock.

So I noticed, Pat, Kelley said grimly, Would you have warned him if you’d have been me?

The man called Pat began to grind his teeth, looking anywhere but at Mrs. O’Neill. Finally, he grudgingly shook his head in a negative fashion, giving Kelley a hard look in the process.

He would have killed me! Mrs. O’Neill gasped in renewed shock.

Now, Mrs. O'Neill, Pat’s voice tried to take on a placating tone, We don’t know that for sure.

What the hell do you mean, Sheriff? Mrs. O’Neill squawked as she turned on him, Do you not see the knife that was just in his hand? You weren’t here to see him! He had gone totally crazy! I want him locked up immediately, because I definitely intend to press charges!

Kelley stepped back as Mrs. O’Neill and the Sheriff began to argue about the validity of her claim. The cowboy was surprised at the attempts of the Sheriff to play down the situation, but was not really sure he should voice his own opinion of how wrong he thought the lawman was. Most people took offense when you pointed out they were wrong, and he was a stranger here. Mrs. O’Neill was having none of it, anyway; beginning to shout out her displeasure at his treatment of the whole thing. The more the Sheriff tried to calm her down, the more heated she became.

Did you not just stand here and tell Mr. Kelley what a dangerous man Max Sweeney is? Mrs. O'Neill bellowed the question.

The Sheriff took a deep breath, resting his hands upon his gun belt while his gaze dropped to the porch boards, Yes ma’am, I did say that.

Then I EXPECT you will do your job and arrest him! she grated, her tone dripped venom as she glared at him.

The Sheriff sighed as he motioned for his deputy to help him get the big man on his feet. As they struggled to move Sweeney out of the yard, a man driving a wagon rolled up in front of the gate. He was an older fellow, with gray hair that stuck out from under an easterner-styled hat. He wore small, gold-rimmed spectacles that rode low upon his hawk-like nose. Next to him upon the bench of the wagon sat a small black satchel that was typical of most town doctors. The two lawmen dragged Sweeney over to the bed of the wagon and shoved him into it.

Thanks for showing up, Doc, the Sheriff grunted, It would have been a long way to drag him.

As the Sheriff returned to the porch, he pulled out a small pad of paper and the stub of a pencil from his coat pocket. He walked up the steps of the porch slowly as he began to scribble notes down on the paper. He got Mrs. O’Neill’s version of the incident, and then he turned to give Kelley a hard look.

Your name? he asked without preamble.

Sean Kelley, the cowboy replied in a flat tone.

What is your business here in Navarro Falls?

Cattle business, Kelley replied softly.

This is a mining town, Mr. Kelley, the Sheriff grated in a commanding tone, Why would cattle business bring you here?

Well, people got to eat, and they need leather goods, Kelley snapped back at him, You asked me and I told you. So, just what bur is under your saddle-blanket?

Now just a damn minute, mister…

I don’t like your tone, Kelley cut him off abruptly, his own tone had become icy, I wouldn’t tolerate it from my own father, God rest his soul, so let me make myself very clear. If you don’t start showing some proper manners, badge or not, I will jerk a half-hitch in you, Pat!

The Sheriff took half a step back from the now-angry cowboy, shocked by the sudden change that had come over him. Kelley’s eyes blazed as he locked gazes with the lawman. The Sheriff began to lower his hand to his gun, but, the intensity of the cowboy’s eyes made him wisely change his mind. He gave a nervous chuckle as he resumed the position of writing.

My apologies, Mr. Kelley, he said quietly, I did not mean to offend you.

The Sheriff made a quick job of getting Kelley’s side of the story. The cowboy relaxed his stance once he saw that the lawman intended to be more polite. He returned good manners with good manners, intending to get the awkward situation over with as soon as possible. Mrs. O’Neill watched on in mild astonishment as the Sheriff quietly deferred to this dust-covered cattle driver. She knew the lawman to not be a timid or weak man, but he was definitely intimidated by Kelley.

Pat Farnsworth finished writing down his notations on the incident, then he tipped his hat at both of them before saying a quiet Good evening as he left. The lawman walked at a brisk pace as he made his way down Main Street. Mrs. O’Neill watched him curiously as he disappeared from sight. Kelley tipped his hat and excused himself as well, stepping down from the porch to collect the reins of his horse. The animal had stayed right where he had been left throughout the whole ordeal.

Kelley walked his mount the short distance down the street to Red’s Livery Stables. He quickly found the owner of the place to be a short, rotund fellow with very bright, red hair that almost matched the paint on his building. Kelley and the owner exchanged very friendly pleasantries, during which the owner admonished him to call him ‘Red’. The stable owner had a good sense of humor and a curious nature. He quickly asked about the ruckus that took place down the street. The cowboy explained all that had occurred between himself, Mrs. O’Neill and Max Sweeney. Kelley left out the unpleasant exchange between himself and the Sheriff.

That Max Sweeney is a bad sort, Red commented at the end of Kelley’s tale, He’ll be looking to settle a score with you when he gets out of jail.

If he does, Kelley said without much concern, I’ll be more than happy to oblige him. His type don’t scare me none; I’ve seen plenty of them on the cattle trails.

I hope you don’t have trouble with him, Red said quietly, He’s the type that you may have to kill to settle things. That is, if he don’t happen to kill you first.

Kelley eyed the short man for a few moments before he spoke, Point well taken, Red. Thanks for the advice.

The cowboy worked out the details for housing his horse for an extended stay, laying out the terms of feeding and grooming. Red agreed readily, citing his own habits of caring for other’s animals. He pointed out to the cowboy that if he didn’t use the animal for a day or two, the horse would still be taken out for some exercise. When he stated the price per week, Kelley found it to be more than fair. He paid the first week in advance, and then left the stables to walk back toward Mrs. O’Neill’s Rooming House.

As he was crossing the street, Kelley spied the deputy that had accompanied the Sheriff when they took Sweeney away. The man was young, with blonde hair that hung just above his shoulders in waves of gold. He had on a worn, but still nice suit of clothes, the pants tucked into tall boots that showed fancy tooling upon the leather. It was typical styling for many lawmen to wear their pants tucked into such boots. The deputy noticed Kelley and began waving him over eagerly, while glancing about the area as if he were nervous about being spotted.

Something wrong, deputy? Kelley asked as he slowed his pace while turning to approach the young man.

I need to talk to you, Mr. Kelley, he replied quietly, still darting his gaze up and down the street, Nothing official, of course. My name is Jack Brodigan, sir.

Well, Deputy Brodigan; what can I do for you? Kelley asked, and then added, Unofficially of course.

The cowboy stopped well short of the deputy, not caring for the furtive behavior the man was exhibiting. The hesitance seemed to make Brodigan more nervous, since he began to look all around them as if he were being watched. He stepped forward slightly, reaching out a hand for Kelley’s elbow. The cowboy stepped back a pace to avoid being touched, keeping his eyes upon the young man’s face.

Could we step over here and talk? the deputy asked in a slightly irritated tone.

Why not right here? Kelley asked him, a quizzical grin upon his face, You hiding from somebody?

Look, Mr. Kelley, Brodigan said quickly, There are certain folks about that I don’t want to see while I’m talking to you.

Well, excuse me for pointing this out, deputy, Kelley grated suddenly, the grin fading from his face, but that sounds pretty darned official.

Mr. Kelly, please just step over here with me if you would…

Say your piece, Deputy Brodigan, Kelley said flatly.

All right, the deputy gave in, I noticed that Sheriff Farnsworth didn’t take too kindly to you. When we were putting Max Sweeney in a cell, I heard him mutter something about you coming back here after all this time. Do you two know each other?

No, Kelley’s tone was flat and emotionless.

Don’t lie to me, the deputy said, not hiding his irritation now.

Brodigan, I don’t take kindly to being called a liar, Kelley snapped as he stepped up to the deputy, his eyes locking onto those of the younger man.

Now look here, you, Brodigan grated, I’m wearing the badge here, see?

I don’t give a damn about your badge you little pip-squeak! Kelley barked suddenly. Brodigan started to reach for his gun, but Kelley rammed his hand down over that of the deputy’s; trapping the hand on the pistol and the gun in its holster. Brodigan tried to step back from the cowboy, but Kelley strode with him. Reaching up with his other hand, Kelley grabbed the lapel of the deputy’s coat.

You listen to me and you listen good, Kelley hissed in his face through gritted teeth, his voice sounding like stone being ground together, If Farnsworth wants to know something about me; you go tell him to stop sending little puppies to yap at the big dog. Now, you tell me what else he said concerning me.

He didn’t send me, Brodigan said hastily, wincing at the pressure the cowboy was putting upon his trapped hand, He wondered why you came back! He also said something about you starting a war with the mine! I was just curious if you two had known each other, because I had never seen him get nervous about anyone before!

What? Kelley was perplexed, he eased up the pressure he was putting on the young man. Why would he think something like that?

I don’t know, sir, the deputy said, still looking very afraid. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.

Kelley released the deputy, stepping back from him. The young man shook his hand in pain and began to nervously straighten the front of his coat. The two men looked at each other carefully, not sure what the other may do next.

I apologize, deputy, Kelley said quietly, I didn’t hurt you did I?

You got a grip like a vise, Mr. Kelley, the young man answered, but no, I ain’t hurt. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.

I’m just tired after a very long ride, that’s all, Kelley offered, My apologies again, deputy. I should be more well-mannered than that.

I probably should have approached this discussion better, Jack Brodigan admitted, Let’s just forget it and start over. Would that be all right with you?

Absolutely, Kelley said, giving the young deputy a slight smile. You learn faster than your Sheriff does, it seems.

So, you don’t know each other? Brodigan asked again.

No, but it sounds to me as if Farnsworth knows something about me, Kelley admitted, I’m a cattleman; so, why would he think I’d start trouble with the mine?

I don’t know, the deputy answered, and I’m a little sorry that I asked.

Kelley chuckled at his rueful joke and shook his head.

The deputy said goodbye, and made his way down the boardwalk. Kelley watched him go, puzzling over what the man had said. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why the Sheriff thought he would be trouble for the mine. This was the second close scrape he had been in with the local lawmen, but he had only been in town for an hour or so. This didn’t bode well for his intent in coming back to Navarro Falls. All he wanted to do was find a decent spread to buy and gather a herd of good cattle to try and make a go of ranching again.

He leaned against a tree and took his hat off, letting the early evening breeze cool the sheen of sweat that had gathered upon his forehead. His mind started to drift back to fifteen years ago, when he had tried to run a successful ranch. The long year he had spent down in Mexico with his partners, gathering decent cattle to drive up to Wyoming. They had worked very hard in some even harder country, fighting grimly to hold onto their futures in the venture. Then when they had gotten enough to begin the drive, they had returned to Navarro Falls with the herd. He remembered how much he had looked forward to seeing her again…

Shaking his head suddenly, Kelley pulled himself out of the memories. Even after all these years, the pain still seemed too much to take. The cowboy pushed the thoughts aside roughly, chastising himself mentally for allowing it to come creeping back to him. He replaced his hat on his head, looking about himself grimly. This was the here and now; he had no business dwelling upon the distant past. It was all history to him now. He had to keep telling himself that. It was all about moving forward, not looking back. He stepped away from the tree he had leaned against and started to walk toward the Rooming House.

He stopped again as movement across the street caught his attention. He watched as a man that had been leaning against the corral fence across the street crawled through the railings and began to walk in the same direction that Jack Brodigan had gone. He was a tall and lean fellow that wore the boots and work-pants of a miner. His mid-length, green coat was covered with dust, and the brimmed hat on his head did not really obscure his face much. Kelley made sure to get a look at him; since he felt that the man had watched and listened to him talk with the deputy. Kelley figured he would see that fellow again.

This sure ain’t the same old town, the cowboy muttered as he began to make his way back to the Rooming House.

****

After leaving the corrals at the Livery, the tall man in the miner’s work clothes kept watching behind him as he made his way through the streets. He never slowed his pace, but frequently checked to make sure that the cowboy had not started following him. The deputy had almost gotten into a scuffle with the cowboy, but then they had backed off from each other and conversed intently. A very strange thing indeed, in light of what had occurred between the Sheriff and that same cowboy earlier at the Rooming House.

Thomas Sloan had watched the whole thing from the corrals of Red’s Livery Stables. He had wondered who the cowboy might be when he saw him club Sweeney over the head, but now, he had also seen Brodigan sneak over to have a chat with him as well. Sloan figured that Farnsworth didn’t know his deputy had approached the man, so he thought he might enlighten the good Sheriff as to his underling’s activities. He could probably get some drinking money out of the Sheriff for his efforts.

Sloan had come to Navarro Falls nearly ten years ago, getting a job in the mines. He had worked for the Perregine Mining Company ever since he had arrived in this town. His first two years had been down in the holes, but he soon showed the big bosses where his true talents lay. He was the thinking man’s muscle, willing to dirty his hands with the tasks that were beneath the fellows who wielded the big money. Charles Albert Mackey, the owner of the Perregine Mining Company had soon put Thomas Sloan to work doing what men like Sloan did best. Exert the muscle for his schemes to own and operate this town the way he owned and operated his mines. With ruthless efficiency and an iron fist.

Thomas Sloan did not limit his enterprise to just working for Mackey, however. He also did some side work of bartering information for the good Sheriff Farnsworth, as well as some of the saloon operators and brothel owners in the town. He managed to keep his pockets full of ready cash most of the time, but on some occasions when he gambled too much he would find himself waiting on the next payday. So, he found it necessary to branch out his talents to others. Most of the underbelly of Navarro Falls knew Sloan to be a talented information gatherer. He seemed to know just where to be when there was dirt to be had on just about anybody. Even the illustrious Mayor of the town could be put into precarious situations engineered by Thomas Sloan.

He slipped into the alley that ran behind the Sheriff’s office, making sure that nobody saw him enter. Making his way to the rear door, he gave three quick knocks on it. The moments slid by slow as he impatiently waited, occasionally trying the handle despite the fact that it was locked. Sloan kept looking up and down the alley, willing the door to be opened soon. He raised his gnarled knuckles to knock again, but the latch rattled, indicating someone had finally come to open it. A thin deputy opened the door, but Sloan roughly pushed past him to enter.

Sloan! the skinny lawman quipped, What the hell’s wrong with you? The front door works, ya know!

Thomas Sloan shot the man a dark look and made no reply as he hurried past the holding cells into the main room. Another deputy, a heavy-set man with brown curls on his head that spilled out from a filthy, beaten, black hat looked up as he rushed in. He sat in a wooden chair at a desk, tossing cards out across the scarred, wooden top playing a game of solitaire.

Where’s the Sheriff? Sloan asked quietly, gazing around the room.

In his office, was the bored reply. The deputy jerked his thumb toward a door to his left. Sloan took three long steps at a fast pace and knocked at the door. He barely waited for the invite to enter before he shoved the door open.

Patrick Farnsworth looked up as Sloan entered and whirled quickly to shut the door behind him. The Sheriff gave an annoyed sniff as he realized who his visitor was. He really didn’t like this man very much. When Thomas Sloan came to see him, he usually wanted money. Unfortunately for Farnsworth, what Sloan gave in exchange for this money was usually worth suffering his presence for.

What do you want, Sloan? the Sheriff’s tone was slightly impatient.

I wanted to talk to you about that cowboy that clubbed Sweeney, Sloan said with a grin as he took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Farnsworth’s desk.

The Sheriff’s eyes narrowed as he dropped the papers he had been reading, What about him?

This ain’t a free ticket, Sloan cautioned.

It never is, Farnsworth grated, Let’s hear what its worth.

How much? Sloan’s eyes held a greedy light.

Once I hear what you have to say, Farnsworth’s tone was grim, I’ll pay you accordingly. Now, spill it or get out.

Sloan’s greedy look faltered a little, but he composed himself quickly. He pretended to consider the situation for a few moments before he cleared his throat dramatically. Shifting in his chair, he began to relate to the Sheriff what he had observed between Brodigan and the cowboy over by the Livery. Farnsworth listened attentively, but showed no real visible sign of distress over the event. Sloan was hoping to catch a reaction so he could make the information worth more, but didn’t see anything to work with. By the time he had finished his tale, he figured he could only hope for whatever the Sheriff would toss across the desk to him.

Where did he go after Brodigan left? Farnsworth asked as he pulled out some cash from his vest pocket.

Looked like he was headed to the Widow’s boarding house, Sloan replied, watching the Sheriff’s hand toss the money across the desk. He frowned at the small amount that lay before him.

Go out and find Jack, the Sheriff’s voice took on a commanding tone, Tell him I want to see him. Once you’ve done that I’ll give you the rest of your money.

Thomas Sloan nodded his head as he stuffed the money into his coat pocket, rising from the chair. He left Farnsworth’s office and made his way out the back door again, throwing insults at the skinny deputy as he left. He then rushed down the alley to begin his search for Jack Brodigan.

****

Sean Kelley re-entered the yard of Mrs. O'Neill's Rooming House after he had left the boardwalk where he had talked with