Drying his face with his bandanna, he started back to town, pleased to see some people out. The jailhouse was still locked up, but he took a seat on the bench against the wall. A barefoot boy crossed before him, driving a flock of white geese with a crooked stick. The boy nearly twisted his neck off staring as he passed and even walked backwards a piece before hurrying away. A woman across the road walked out of her cabin with a basket of laundry. She’d lifted a towel to her clothesline when she spotted him. Fumbling for the towel, she picked up the basket, hurried inside, and closed the door with a thud. Joel wasn’t here to make friends, but it might help if everyone wasn’t scared to death of him.
A man rode around the corner on a mule, took one look at Joel, and reined his mount in the opposite direction. He had to spur it three times for the ornery thing to take off, making Joel wish for the hundredth time that he’d insisted on bringing his own horse. Well, it shouldn’t be long. The townsfolk wouldn’t want to spend the rest of the day hiding behind locked doors. Soon someone would have the courage to come out and talk to him.
And here came a man from the same cabin that Miss Huckabee had gone to last night. The man’s clothes were worn, but evenly. No one who wrestled animals or traipsed through the forest would keep cotton clothes unripped long enough for them to wear that thin. He spotted Joel through smudged glasses and turned his steps accordingly. There was no fear or threat evident in his presentation. At first glance his hair looked entirely gray, but after a second look it was clear that there was still a healthy amount of blond hair involved, hanging on against time.
His approach was the tipping point on the scales of bravery. Doors began opening, and men who’d only peeked out the windows before waited until he passed before joining him. Funny how the news had spread without a single word being spoken. Were there connecting tunnels beneath their cabins that allowed them to communicate unseen? Joel wouldn’t be surprised.
“Morning, Fred.” A rough mountaineer nodded as the man passed. “Pritchard has already headed up the hill to get Clive.”
Fred didn’t acknowledge the statement but continued until he reached Joel. By this time Joel was on his feet, back to the wall, and facing nine men, none of whom looked happy to see him.
“I presume you’re the deputy?”
Joel took that back. Fred seemed to be enjoying this very much.
“Yes, sir. Deputy Puckett. And who might you be?”
“I’m Fred Murphy. Thought I’d welcome you to Pine Gap since Sheriff Taney hasn’t made it to town yet.”
Brown tobacco juice was slung into a puddle at Joel’s feet by a scruffy old-timer. “Whatcha going to do about Sheriff Taney, anyway? We never asked for you to replace him.”
Fred waited for his response. Everyone did.
Joel forced his chin to stay level. He knew what his orders were, and so did Sheriff Taney. Too bad Governor Marmaduke wasn’t there to explain. “Sheriff Taney and I will work it out. All you need to know is that I’m here to apply the law. I don’t know you and I don’t know your neighbor. Frankly, it’s none of my business what happened last year or last week. There’ll be no vengeance, no vigilante justice. It’s over. Everyone starts out today with a clean slate. Don’t run afoul of the law, and you’ll have nothing to fear from me.”
The crowd parted as a bear of a man pushed through. In his late forties, the hammer-fisted mountaineer with the neck of an ox overshadowed two of the men standing in front of him. His appearance brought mixed reactions from the group, and Joel was quick to note who shied away from him and who cozied up.
“Clive Fowler.” He spoke his name like he’d earned it in the trenches of a hard-fought war. “What pretty little plaything did good Governor Marmaduke send us?”
The bare twitch of a mouth was all the humor the men showed. Joel’s heartbeat slowed. Something told him he’d already met this man.
“You got your coat on right side out today, Mr. Fowler.” Joel looked him square in the eye, not hiding his meaning. “I didn’t rightly know what to do with those sticks you tossed me, so I started a little fire to keep warm by last night.”
Judging by the response of their audience, they thought Joel was poking a mad bull with a dull stick, but Clive wasn’t shaken. He presented like a worthy opponent, one Joel would do his best to change into an ally.
“Those sticks represent a warning—a promise of a thrashing to come if one doesn’t mend his ways. For the most part, those warnings have been heeded, so I’m not convinced that we need any outsiders interfering with our business. We’ve got it handled.”
“I’m not here to interfere with legitimate business. Everyone behaves themselves, and we’ll get along just fine.”
“And if they don’t?” His words didn’t sound like a threat, more like a challenge—a challenge to do better, but a challenge just the same. Perhaps this Fowler character wasn’t looking to cause problems as much as he wanted to fix them.
“If they don’t, I’m going to do my dead-level best to put them before a judge.”
“Not everyone is partial to that idea.”