Kidd laughed, as if the idea were ridiculous.
âIs that right?â Timpey said.
Scallen nodded. âPretty much right.â
âHow does he know all about it?â
âHeâs got ears and ten fingers to add with.â
âI donât like it. Why just one man?â
âEvery deputy from here down to Bisbee is out trying to scare up the rest of them. Jim hereâs the only one we caught,â Scallen explainedâthen added, âalive.â
Timpey shot a glance at the outlaw. âIs he the one who killed Dick Moons?â
âOne of the passengers swears he saw who did itâ¦and he didnât identify Kidd at the trial.â
Timpey shook his head. âDick drove for us a long time. You know his brother lives here in Contention. When he heard about it he almost went crazy.â He hesitated, and then said again, âI donât like it.â
Scallen felt his patience wearing away, but he kept his voice even when he said, âMaybe I donât eitherâ¦but what you like and what I like arenât going to matter a whole lot, with the marshal past Tucson by now. You can grumble about it all you want, Mr. Timpey, as long as you keep it under your breath. Jimâs got friendsâ¦and since I have to haul him clear across the territory, Iâd just as soon they didnât know about it.â
Timpey fidgeted nervously. âI donât see why I have to get dragged into this. My jobâs got nothing to do with law enforcementâ¦.â
âYou have the room key?â
âIn the door. All Iâm responsible for is the stage run between here and Tucsonââ
Scallen shoved the Winchester at him. âIf youâll take care of this and the horses till I get back, Iâll be obliged to youâ¦and I know I donât have to ask you not to mention weâre at the hotel.â
He waved the shotgun and nodded and Jim Kidd went ahead of him through the side door into the hotel lobby. Scallen was a stride behind him, holding the stubby shotgun close to his leg. âUp the stairs on the right, Jim.â
Kidd started up, but Scallen paused to glance at the figure in the armchair near the front. He was sitting on his spine with limp hands folded on his stomach and, as Timpey had described, his hat low over the upper part of his face. Youâve seen people sleeping in hotel lobbies before, Scallen told himself, and followed Kidd up the stairs. He couldnât stand and wonder about it.
Room 207 was narrow and high-ceilinged, with a single window looking down on Commercial Street. An iron bed was placed the long way against one wall and extended to the right side of the window, and along the opposite wall was a dresser with washbasin and pitcher and next to it a rough-board wardrobe. An unpainted table and two straight chairs took up most of the remaining space.
âLay down on the bed if you want to,â Scallen said.
âWhy donât you sleep?â Kidd asked. âIâll hold the shotgun.â
The deputy moved one of the straight chairs near to the door and the other to the side of the table opposite the bed. Then he sat down, resting the shotgun on the table so that it pointed directly at Jim Kidd sitting on the edge of the bed near the window.
He gazed vacantly outside. A patch of dismal sky showed above the frame buildings across the way, but he was not sitting close enough to look directly down onto the street. He said, indifferently, âI think itâs going to rain.â
There was a silence, and then Scallen said, âJim, I donât have anything against you personallyâ¦this is what I get paid for, but I just want it understood that if you start across the seven feet between us, Iâm going to pull both triggers at onceâwithout first asking you to stop. That clear?â
Kidd looked at the deputy marshal, then his eyes drifted out the window again. âItâs kinda cold too.â