“We were just funnin’ with the old codger,” the man argued. Like his companions, he was bearded, wore buckskins, and smelled like he hadn’t been anywhere near soap and water for at least a year. “We wouldn’t’a really hurt him.”
“You threatened to pull the whole store down around his ears.”
“He tried to cheat us! He said he couldn’t take no Confederate money!”
“I can see why, you dang fool. The war’s been over for fifteen years. Anyway, you did plenty to justify being locked up for disturbing the peace, and that’s just what I’m gonna do.” Coleman looked at Matt and Sam. “Could I prevail on you boys to help me get them on their feet and march them over to the jail?”
Matt clapped his hat back on his head and nodded. “It’d be our pleasure.”
Sam dismounted and went over to the man he had lassoed. Leaving the rope in place so that the man’s arms were pinned to his sides, Sam lifted him onto his feet. The powerful muscles in Sam’s arms and shoulders didn’t even seem to strain much at the task.
Matt drew his guns and prodded the men on the boardwalk with the sharp toe of a boot. “Get up,” he told them. “You can walk.”
The men were groggy, but they managed to climb upright and stumble toward the squat stone building where the marshal’s office and jail were located. Coleman pointed it out to the men and covered them with his gun, just as Matt and Sam were doing. As they escorted the three prisoners along the street toward the jail, doors began to open along the street and the citizens of Cottonwood started emerging again, now that the shooting was over.
The door of the marshal’s office opened, too, just before they got there, and a young woman stepped outside with a worried look on her face and a rifle in her hands.
Despite that expression of concern causing her to frown, she was still pretty enough to almost take the breath away from Matt and Sam.
Chapter 4
She stepped forward, her blue eyes widening as she looked at the prisoners. “Dad, are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, thanks to these two young fellas,” Coleman replied. “They came along and pitched in on my side.”
The young woman hefted the rifle she held. “I was about to come help you. I heard the shooting and got here as fast as I could.”
It was Coleman’s turn to frown as he shook his head. “I’ve told you before, Hannah, you ain’t my deputy. You need to stay out of any law business. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Well, I don’t want you getting hurt,” she said right back at him. “And if the town council won’t let you hire a deputy, I’ll just have to volunteer.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” the marshal said with a weary shake of his head. “I got to lock these gents up.”
He prodded the prisoners past his daughter, who stepped aside to let them go into the office. Matt and Sam watched through the doorway as Coleman marched the three men across the room to the heavy wooden door that led into the cell block. That door had a small, barred window set into it. Before Coleman put them in cells, he had the man Sam had lassoed take the rope off and drop it on the floor.
Matt glanced over at his blood brother. Like Matt, Sam was keeping an eye on what happened inside, just in case the prisoners tried to escape, but he also shot quite a few quick, intent looks toward the young woman called Hannah.
She was well worth looking at. Probably in her early twenties, she had fair hair that fell in thick waves around her shoulders and framed a lovely face. The simple, dark blue dress she wore hugged a well-shaped body. Sam clearly appreciated her beauty. Matt did, too, but he thought his blood brother was a mite more thunderstruck by it than he was.
Sam cleared his throat and said, “You’re Marshal Coleman’s daughter?”
“That’s right. Hannah Coleman.”
“You’re not married, then.”
“No, I’m not, Mr….”
“Oh.” Sam gave a little shake of his head. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Sam Two Wolves.”
Hannah shifted the Winchester to her left hand and held out her right. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Two Wolves.”
“Make it Sam,” he told her as he took her hand.
“Thank you so much for helping my father. I always worry every time he leaves the house to come to the marshal’s office. You never know what’s going to happen.”
“No, you sure don’t,” Sam agreed, still holding her hand. He realized that and let go.
Matt leaned forward and said dryly, “I’m Matt Bodine, by the way.”
Hannah turned toward him. “Thank you, too, Mr. Bodine. Exactly what happened? There was so much commotion I couldn’t really tell what was going on.”
Coleman came out of the office coiling Sam’s rope. As he handed it over, he said, “I’ll tell you what happened. Those ornery varmints attacked old Pete Hilliard because he wouldn’t take their blasted Confederate money.” Coleman snorted. “I’ve got a hunch this is the first time they’ve ever been out of the mountains of Tennessee.”
“What are you going to do with them?” Hannah asked.
“That’ll be up to the judge. Attempted murder’s a pretty serious charge, though. It could be they’ll wind up in the state prison.” Coleman looked at Matt and Sam. “Again, I’m obliged to you boys. If there’s anything I can do to repay you for your help…”
“We just planned to pick up some supplies,” Matt said. “Reckon we’ll go on over to Mr. Hilliard’s store and see about doin’ that.”
“But we could stay a few days,” Sam added. “We’ve been on the trail for quite a while. Our horses could probably use the rest.”
Matt’s eyebrows lifted. “You think so?” He knew good and well why Sam was suddenly so interested in staying a spell in Cottonwood, and her name was Hannah Coleman.
That was all right with Matt, other than the fact that they couldn’t get a drink here.
Or could they? All they had to go by was the word of Calvin Bickford and Ambrose Porter. The two so-called “special marshals” hadn’t seemed to be lying, but despite his relative youth, Matt was old enough to know better than to take everything at face value.
“Say, Marshal,” he went on, “we heard there’s a new law here in Kansas that says no more liquor.”
Coleman nodded. “That’s right. Governor signed it into law a while back.”
“Does that just apply to whiskey, or—”
“Whiskey, beer, wine, anything with alcohol in it. It’s illegal to sell any of it or have it in your possession.”
“So there’s no place here in Cottonwood where a man can get a real drink?” Matt asked as if he couldn’t believe it.
“I’m afraid not. I reckon that means you fellas will be in even more of a hurry to move on—”
“Not at all,” Sam broke in. He smiled at Hannah. “It really doesn’t matter to us.”
Matt wanted to tell his blood brother to speak for himself, but instead he just shrugged and said, “I reckon we can take it or leave it.”
It was true that Sam wasn’t much of a drinker to start with. He had seen how badly liquor affected his father’s people. Matt was more inclined to tip an elbow, but he could live without it for a while,