Joel didn’t blink. “I didn’t ask for permission, did I?” Feathers were getting ruffled. He shrugged. “Now, y’all know better than I what’s been going on here, and you know the challenges we’re going to face to get it cleaned up. But in the end what we all want is a place where your cattle aren’t disappearing, where a disagreement doesn’t end with someone dying, where you don’t have mysterious riders harassing people after sunset.”
From the back of the group a man blurted, “Why do you think they’re riding? To do just what you said, and the Bald Knobbers have done a fine job of it, too.”
Bald Knobbers? Was that what they called themselves? Joel nodded. “And maybe some are grateful for their help, but I don’t expect anyone to do my job for me. It ends now. That doesn’t mean your information isn’t important. You’re welcome in my office anytime.”
“As soon as someone unlocks it for you.” Low chuckles rumbled over the group.
Now that they mentioned it, Joel was in a helpless position. No key. No horse. No breakfast. He rested his hand against his gun belt, an unconscious move that seemed to happen whenever he felt at a disadvantage. “I look forward to meeting Sheriff Taney. In the meantime, where do I go about getting something to eat?”
Cold stares met his request, and instead of answering, men broke off in twos and threes, heads bent in lazy discussion. Only Clive Fowler and Fred Murphy remained.
Clive stood as rock solid as the mountain behind him. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, son. I’m a God-fearing man. I don’t take from no one and I don’t suffer any nonsense. You come to town saying you’re the law—well, we’ve heard that before. There are those here who don’t care two bits what the law says. The sheriff turned a blind eye to the goings-on. Under his watch a killer escaped not once but twice. But the men of this town have brought order. That was us—volunteers, not some appointee by a politician up in Jefferson City. So sorry if I don’t act relieved to see you here. I’ll wait to shake your hand once you’ve actually done something worthwhile.”
With that he turned and strode away. Every eye on the square followed his path, and then they grouped again, probably trying to guess what Fowler said to Joel and probably guessing correctly.
Joel eased the tension out of his knuckles, but there was no time to relax. He’d be under suspicion from dawn to dusk.
“About breakfast . . .” Fred Murphy’s round spectacles looked like they’d dive off his nose if it weren’t for the gold wire anchoring them on his ears. “My wife wouldn’t mind cooking you up something to eat. She’s a fair cook and it’s probably the best offer you’ll get.”
“I’m beholden to you.” Joel gathered his saddlebags and followed his host.
“You haven’t met Sheriff Taney yet?” Fred kept his head down and hidden by his floppy hat brim.
“The train was late. By the time I got here, no one was about.”
Fred glanced sideways at him. “No one?”
Joel’s teeth ground together. He wouldn’t be discussing the encounter with the gang, and he certainly wasn’t going to mention any late-night meeting with a lady. He’d learned that lesson from a harsh teacher. “No one who would help me.”
Something about that comment amused Fred. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned into the hill as it grew steeper. Joel’s slick-bottomed boots didn’t grip so well on the rocky incline, but Fred didn’t seem to notice the pitch at all. It was a wonder all these little cabins didn’t just slide off into a pile at the foot of the mountain.
They stopped before a cabin that was held level by a rock foundation. A room of sawn planks with its own door was attached to the cabin. Newspaper columns and notices fluttered from two boards hung on either side of the door.
It was this newer part of the building that Fred entered. He paid particular attention to the cot in the corner before allowing Joel inside. Curious as to what he was looking for, Joel could see nothing unusual. Clothes tucked beneath a pillow and a trunk at the foot of the bed. An apprentice, obviously.
And for what trade? The scent of ink made him want to sneeze. A stack of blank paper was held down by rocks on three corners and an iron on the fourth. Newspapers from around the country were spread on a rack to the left of the door. A newspaper printer? If Joel’s expression wasn’t already dour, it doubled up on the spot. No wonder Mr. Murphy offered to feed him. Knowing the news was his bread and butter.