“Go, Betsy,” Mr. Pritchard said. “You aren’t helping my case any.”
She looked from one man to the other. To be honest, she really wasn’t concerned about Mr. Pritchard. You’d be hard-pressed to find twelve men in Hart County who wouldn’t laugh their heads off at the charges, so he was in no danger. No, it was the man who obviously didn’t want her help who needed it the most. But he stood, feet planted wide, door held open with one hand and his other hand resting against his gun belt.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said and passed beneath his arm. If she wasn’t wanted here, fine. She’d rather spend her time crafting a perfect hero—one who could only exist in fiction.
Betsy Huckabee marched past Joel with her back as stiff as a rifle barrel. Curly wisps of her hair trailed behind her like the tail of a runaway horse. Maybe she was trying to help him, but Joel had enough trouble on his hands.
He swung the door closed before facing his prisoner. “I apologize for my lack of professionalism. Normally I wouldn’t lock my prisoner up before the interrogation, but it was either you or her.”
“I was sore angered at you, but now I kinda feel pity,” Pritchard said. “Don’t expect anyone to tell you how to handle Betsy. She pretty much gets what she wants around here, but she’s a good gal. There’s no harm in her.”
Any woman could cause harm, half the time without even meaning to.
Joel grasped the brass key ring in his hand. The ring was lighter than the one in Garber. Not as many cells, he reckoned. He opened the door and motioned Mr. Pritchard to a chair at the desk.
Pritchard flexed his wrists and wiggled his fingers. “No shackles? You ain’t afraid of me now?”
“Never was.” Joel dropped into his chair, licked his thumb, and flipped through the pages of the ledger. A few entries were written in faded ink, but nothing for months. “According to this record, it appears there hasn’t been much trouble recently.”
Pritchard snorted. “When something happens, people know not to waste their time going to the sheriff. It hasn’t proven very effective.”
“Well, maybe our luck will change. Or Bo Franklin’s anyway. We’ll see how effective we can be.”
At this, Pritchard leaned back in his chair until the front legs left the floor. He turned his head to watch the trees sway through the window as Joel began his questioning.
His answers were straightforward, if not gracious, and did nothing to prove his innocence. In fact, he only verified exactly what Joel suspected. But after hearing everything and spending a few minutes with him, Joel was confident that Pritchard wasn’t a danger to society, much less his own nephew. After obtaining his promise not to leave the county before he was able to appear before the judge, Joel decided to release him.
But by that time, Pritchard had begun to enjoy himself. Reciting Bo’s record of thievery had thawed whatever bitterness he’d felt, and he seemed to take satisfaction in Joel’s pen recording his nephew’s alleged crimes. In fact, Pritchard felt good enough to offer Joel a piece of advice.
“You ain’t going to keep that pony, are you?”
Joel blew the wet ink dry on the page before answering. “Do you know where I could trade it?”
Pritchard’s forehead wrinkled and his long, droopy eyebrows wagged. “If you appreciate good horseflesh, Jeremiah Calhoun is who you need to see. He’ll treat you fair.”
Joel had heard the name before. As much as he didn’t favor spending his own money for something that’d been promised him, he wouldn’t get anything done until he could get a serviceable horse. No use in delaying the inevitable.
“How would a fellow meet this Jeremiah Calhoun?”
“Go out to his place. He’d welcome you.” Pritchard’s substantial brows met over his nose. “But you won’t be able to find it on your own. I’ll be back in town later this week and I’ll get you a guide. You can count on me.”
Joel sent up a quick prayer of thanks. What could’ve been a disastrous event had actually earned him a friend.
With all the nonchalance of a stage magician, Pritchard dragged the dreaded mask off the desk and headed to the door. Joel caught it by the horn. They stopped with it suspended between them.
“This stays with me,” Joel said.
Pritchard shook his head in pity. “The judge isn’t going to worry one iota about me and that half-wit Bo, but you shouldn’t persist in this fool notion about the Bald Knobbers.”
“I don’t want no trouble for you, and keeping this mask might be the best way to keep you safe,” Joel said.
“But there ain’t no mask that’s gonna help you, Deputy,” Pritchard said before he stepped into the street.
Chapter 12