riders moved slowly, one behind the other.
Entering Stockman Street, Paul Scallen glanced back at the open country with the wet haze blanketing its flatness, thinking of the long night ride from Huachuca, relieved that this much was over. When his body turned again, his hand moved over the sawed-off shotgun that was across his lap and he kept his eyes on the man ahead of him until theywere near the end of the second block, opposite the side entrance of the Republic Hotel.
He said just above a whisper, though it was clear in the silence, âEnd of the line.â
The man turned in his saddle, looking at Scallen curiously. âThe jailâs around on Commercial.â
âI want you to be comfortable.â
Scallen stepped out of the saddle, lifting a Winchester from the boot, and walked toward the hotelâs side door. A figure stood in the gloom of the doorway, behind the screen, and as Scallen reached the steps the screen door opened.
âAre you the marshal?â
âYes, sir.â Scallenâs voice was soft and without emotion. âDeputy, from Bisbee.â
âWeâre ready for you. Two-oh-seven. A cornerâ¦fronts on Commercial.â He sounded proud of the accommodation.
âYouâre Mr. Timpey?â
The man in the doorway looked surprised. âYeah, Wells Fargo. Whoâd you expect?â
âYou might have got a back room, Mr. Timpey. One with no windows.â He swung the shotgun on the man still mounted. âStep down easy, Jim.â
The man, who was in his early twenties, a few years younger than Scallen, sat with one hand over the other on the saddle horn. Now he gripped the horn and swung down. When he was on the groundhis hands were still close together, iron manacles holding them three chain lengths apart. Scallen motioned him toward the door with the stubby barrel of the shotgun.
âAnyone in the lobby?â
âThe desk clerk,â Timpey answered him, âand a man in a chair by the front door.â
âWho is he?â
âI donât know. Heâs asleepâ¦got his brim down over his eyes.â
âDid you see anyone out on Commercial?â
âNoâ¦I havenât been out there.â At first he had seemed nervous, but now he was irritated, and a frown made his face pout childishly.
Scallen said calmly, âMr. Timpey, it was your line this man robbed. You want to see him go all the way to Yuma, donât you?â
âCertainly I do.â His eyes went to the outlaw, Jim Kidd, then back to Scallen hurriedly. âBut why all the melodrama? The manâs under arrestâalready been sentenced.â
âBut heâs not in jail till he walks through the gates at Yuma,â Scallen said. âIâm only one man, Mr. Timpey, and Iâve got to get him there.â
âWell, dammitâ¦Iâm not the law! Why didnât you bring men with you? All I know is I got a wire from our Bisbee office to get a hotel room and meet you here the morning of November third. Therewerenât any instructions that I had to get myself deputized a marshal. Thatâs your job.â
âI know it is, Mr. Timpey,â Scallen said, and smiled, though it was an effort. âBut I want to make sure no one knows Jim Kiddâs in Contention until after train time this afternoon.â
Jim Kidd had been looking from one to the other with a faintly amused grin. Now he said to Timpey, âHe means heâs afraid somebodyâs going to jump him.â He smiled at Scallen. âThat marshal mustâve really sold you a bill of goods.â
âWhatâs he talking about?â Timpey said.
Kidd went on before Scallen could answer. âThey hid me in the Huachuca lockup âcause they knew nobody could get at me thereâ¦and finally the Bisbee marshal gets a plan. He and some others hopped the train in Benson last night, heading for Yuma with an army prisoner passed off as me.â