The masked man crossed his arms over his chest.
“You don’t deny that you mean to threaten him?” Joel asked.
“No, sir. I’m doing my part to see that justice is done, and I won’t be apologizing for it.”
Joel turned to his horse. He dearly wished that he’d had more time before any undertaking of this nature presented itself, but he’d been prepared to be disappointed. Lord, he hoped Ma and Pa were praying for him now.
Taking a length of rope from his saddlebag, he returned, and before either man knew what he was about, he’d tossed the Bald Knobber on the ground and had his knee in his back. “Mister, you are under arrest for trespassing and for threatening a citizen with bodily harm.”
“Get off of me. You can’t do this.”
“You can’t do this,” Bo echoed. Now his gun was pointing at Joel. “Do you know how much trouble I’m going to be in if you arrest him?”
“Who is he, anyway?” Having secured both of the man’s wrists, Joel tugged on the sack before realizing it was tied around the man’s neck. The man managed to kick Joel’s thigh while swearing but didn’t land it hard enough to do any real damage.
“Don’t pull his mask off!” Real fear tinged Bo’s plea. “I’ll give the skins back. I didn’t know someone was looking for them.”
“Nothing to fear,” Joel said. “If you sure enough stole them, I’ll deal with you on my next pass, but for now he’s my greatest concern.” The drawstring loosened and Joel yanked on the sack until it fell away.
“Uncle Pritchard?” Bo ran his hand through his hair. “Oh no. Ma’s going to kill me.”
“I wouldn’t be worried about your ma, you idiot,” Pritchard said. “If I end up going to jail because my half-wit nephew’s been stealing Caesar’s pelts, your name is going to be on the short list of every Bald Knobber—”
“Hey!” Joel jerked him to his feet. “Threatening him is exactly what you’re in trouble for. Don’t keep perpetrating the same offense right in front of me.”
“I’m not pressing charges,” Bo cried. “Let him go. Let’s say I invited him here.”
“Too late for that.” Joel eyed his horse. Hauling in a miscreant should look better than bringing in a middle-aged man behind a pony.
“Don’t I get a say? I’m the victim,” Bo said.
“He’s threatening you, which is exactly why you’re afraid of him.”
“It’s not him so much. You haven’t met my ma.”
For crying aloud. Joel looped the end of the rope around the saddle horn. “It’s not a far walk to town, and I seriously doubt the judge will go too hard on him, but this is exactly the sort of goings-on I’m here to prevent. Let’s not make it more than it is.”
Bo picked up the mask and hugged it to his chest. “I’ll keep your mask clean for you, Uncle Pritchard. Nothing will happen to it while you’re gone.”
Joel marched back and pulled the mask out of Bo’s unwilling fingers. “I’ll take that,” he said. “For evidence.”
It hadn’t taken long to get his hands on one of the disguises, and he had the feeling he was bound to see more of them ere long.
Chapter 11
“Betsy, Pa’s looking for you.”
Betsy stopped to gawk as her cousin Scott approached. His normal walk was afflicted by a very distinctive cowboy swagger.
“He wants to know if you’ve seen that deputy. What’s the story?”
The story was that she’d been banned from ever speaking to the deputy again, which was downright inconvenient seeing as how getting him on paper was her ticket to independence.
“He’s headed out to Sheriff Taney’s. I’m watching for him to come back, though. It’s nearly dark. . . .” Her words trailed off as she heard someone approaching. A horse, footsteps. Whoever it was was coming along slowly, dragging their feet like they had lead in their socks.
“Go on,” she said to Scott. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to talk to him? Man-to-man, you know.”
Yes, it would. Then why was she so all-fired eager to send Scott away?
“Go,” she said, falling into the bossy voice she’d used back when she was twelve and needed a restless three-year-old Scott to obey.
“Are you sweet on him, Betsy? Because if you are, you don’t stand a chance. Every gal from here to—”
Betsy whirled around, hands on her hips. Scott stopped, but he refused to stop smiling.
“He is coming, and I don’t want to be hanging around jawing with you. See, that’s him now. . . .” And sure enough the deputy broke through the trees on his little pony, leading an irate Mr. Pritchard tied up behind him.
Scott whistled low and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m gone. Good luck.” He jogged away.
There had to be some mistake. What was he doing with Mr. Pritchard? Betsy rushed forward to intercept him.
Deputy Puckett’s face tightened. “I swear, woman. Stop jumping out at me like that.”