“Not just the county,” Waverly said.
“Well, seeing this spread, I believe it,” Palmer said. “And I should tell you that I’m not for sale, not at any price.”
This time Waverly smiled.
“It’s my experience that when a man says ‘not at any price,’ he’s usually just driving the price up.”
Palmer hesitated a moment. There was a time in his life when he would have been trying to drive the price up. But now he was striving to be a good, decent man. But if Waverly offered him enough, would he actually be able to turn it down? Or would he revert to the man he used to be? He figured the time might come when he had to find that out. But for now . . .
“Those are probably smart businessmen that you’ve dealt with,” Palmer said. “I’m not a smart businessman. I’m just a lawman.”
Waverly studied Palmer for a few moments, then pointed and said, “Have some more of that beef. I told Mrs. Butler to go all out for you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After lunch Waverly invited Palmer into his study for a cigar. The room was lined with bookshelves, which were filled with books. Some of their lunch exchange had become tense, but the man still seemed calm as he held a flame to both cigars. His hands trembled from neither temper nor age.
“I’m thinking people don’t usually talk to you the way I did over lunch,” Palmer said. “And yet here you are, offering me a cigar.”
“I respect you, Marshal,” Waverly said. “If you were easy to buy, I wouldn’t.”
“How about I’m impossible to buy?” Although he still wasn’t altogether sure that was true. After all, twenty years on the outlaw trail . . .
“Let’s not be hasty,” the rancher and businessman said. “There’s always room for discussion.”
“Discussion, yes,” Palmer said. “Any sort of bribe? No.”
“Now, Marshal, let’s not be hasty.”
“Mr. Waverly,” Palmer said, “I thank you for the lunch and the cigar, but I need to get back to town. I’m on the clock, you know? Work hours?”
“All right, Marshal,” Waverly said, “we’ll do it your way for now. But we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the future.”
“I’ll always be cordial, Mr. Waverly,” Palmer said. “Good afternoon.”
Palmer left the study and headed for the front door. Nobody tried to stop him or show him the way.
* * *
* * *
After Palmer left the study, Rogan came to the door.
“Everythin’ okay, boss?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Waverly said. “I think I agree with O’Connor. This man doesn’t seem like a dude from the East.”
“Whataya wanna do, boss?” Rogan asked. “Get rid of ’im?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Waverly said. “I’ll just have to work on him a bit. I think I can coax him over to my side.”
“So you don’t want me to follow him back to town?”
“There’s no need,” Waverly said. “Just go back to work.”
“Yes, boss,” Rogan said. “Whatever you say.”
“And close the door,” Waverly said. “I’ll be sitting in here for a while.”
“Sure, boss.”
Rogan backed out, shutting the door behind him.
* * *
* * *
As Palmer left the house, he saw one of the ranch hands holding his horse’s reins by the corral. He walked over to claim the gelding.
“Pretty nice animal,” the hand said. “What is he, five?”
“Exactly,” Palmer said, taking the reins from the man.
“He’s a healthy beast,” the man said. “Nice deep chest. I’ll bet he can run all day.”
“I don’t know yet,” Palmer said. “I just got him.”
He mounted the horse and looked down at the young ranch hand.
“Well, take my word for it,” the young man said. “I know horses. This one can run.”
“Then I’ll test him and find out for myself,” Palmer said. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing, Marshal,” the man said, “sure thing. I’ll be seein’ ya in town.”
Palmer nodded, turned the horse, and rode away from the Bar W. He had formed his own opinion of Franklin Waverly. The man was used to getting his way. That meant Palmer would be hearing from him again in the very near future. It would be unavoidable.
* * *
* * *
Palmer gave the gelding his head for a while, letting him run. He found out the kid at the ranch was right. Buddy could run all day long.
He brought the gelding back to the livery and handed him over to Lionel.
“You get along with ’im?” the old man asked.
“We got along great,” Palmer said. “He can really run.”
“Well, the mayor did tell me to take care of ya,” Lionel said. “You’ll let ’im know I did? You’ll tell ’im?”
“Sure, I’ll tell him,” Palmer said. “Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Marshal,” the old man said. “I’ll take good care of ’im for ya.”
“Thanks, Lionel.”
As Palmer started from the livery, Lionel called out to him.
“Didja get out to the Bar W okay?”
“I got there,” Palmer said. He waved and left, heading for city hall.
* * *
* * *
He presented himself to Mrs. McQueen, who took him in to see Mayor O’Connor.
“How’s it going, Marshal?” the mayor asked. “Any problems?”
“Nope,” Palmer said. “None, Mr. Mayor.”
“What brings you here, then?”
“I just thought I’d tell you I had lunch with Franklin Waverly,” Palmer said. “He invited me out to his place.”
“Really? What did he want?”
“It’s my opinion he was studying me, trying to decide if I could be bought.”
“Bought?” O’Connor said. “Why would he— Oh, I see. You’ve heard stories about rich ranchers owning towns, along with the town lawmen.”
“And politicians,” Palmer added.
“You’ve been reading too many dime novels, Marshal. Waverly is good for this town. He doesn’t want to own it.”
“He backed your campaign, didn’t he?”
“There!” O’Connor snapped. “Right there you can see he’s not looking to own the town. He understood my promises to make this town grow, so he backed me. That’s it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dead sure,” O’Connor said. “I consider him our leading citizen.”
“Well, okay, then,” Palmer said. “I just wanted to get your take on him.”
“I’m sure he just wanted to meet the new marshal,” O’Connor went on.
“I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Mayor,” Palmer said. “Have a good day.”
Palmer turned and left the mayor’s office. Once outside, he became aware that Mrs. McQueen was staring at him.
“I’ll bet you have all the answers to my questions,” he said to her.
She didn’t respond.
“But I don’t suppose you’d give me any.”
“Marshal,” she said, “you’re very new in town. I’m afraid you’re going to have to earn any answers you get.”
“Fair enough, ma’am,” he said, and left the office and the building.
* * *
* * *
After Palmer left the city hall building, Mrs. McQueen went into the mayor’s office.
“He has questions,” she said.
“Did you answer them?”
“That’s not my job,” she said. “Besides, I told him he’s going to have to earn whatever answers he gets.”
“Well said, Mrs. McQueen.”
“Is there anything I can d
o for you, sir?”
“No,” Mayor O’Connor said, “you’ve done quite enough. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, sir,” she said, and went back to her desk.
O’Connor wondered exactly what questions Marshal Cassidy had and how far the man would go to get his answers.
And he wondered if he had made the right choice in hiring him.
* * *
* * *
Palmer knew he was going to have to make more of an effort to fit in. He didn’t know how long he would be able to keep his job or even how long he’d want to. But for now this was the place for him, and he needed to blend in and not create any problems for himself. That meant handling the mayor, and Franklin Waverly, a little differently, maybe even giving them what they wanted, a pet lawman.
He had supper in his hotel dining room that night, again considering what kind of a lawman he should be, when suddenly Steve Atlee appeared in the doorway. He looked around the room, spotted Palmer, and came walking over.
“You mind if I sit, Marshal?”
“Is this about being a deputy again, Atlee?” Palmer asked.
“Not really,” Atlee said. “But it might be about helpin’ you.”
“Have a seat,” Palmer said, waving at the chair across from him. “You want something to eat or drink?”
Atlee looked at the half-finished steak on Palmer’s plate and said, “Maybe coffee.”
Palmer called the waiter over and said, “Bring my friend some coffee . . . and a steak.”
“Yessir.”
“Thanks, Marshal,” Atlee said. “I am a bit hungry.”
“I’ve got to tell you, Atlee,” Palmer said, “I’ve been warned about you.”
“By the mayor, I bet,” Atlee said.
“That’s right.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“And that would be?” Palmer asked.
“The sheriff and me, we wouldn’t be the mayor’s pet badge toters,” Atlee said. “We upheld the law the way it was supposed to be, not the way O’Connor wanted us to. That’s why we got fired and replaced by you.”
Palmer studied the man, trying to decide if he was telling the truth.
“If that’s true, what makes you think the mayor would let me pin a deputy’s badge on you?”
“I kinda thought maybe you’d do it on your own,” Atlee said.
“It’s a little early in my job for me to push,” Palmer said. “I’m still getting my bearings.”
“That means you talked to Mr. Waverly?”
“How’d you know that?”
“I figured he’d wanna meet you,” Atlee said. “Between him and O’Connor, they figure they own everythin’ around here. That includes that badge on your chest.”
The waiter came with the coffee and the steak dinner.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here while you eat?” Palmer suggested.
Atlee picked up his knife and fork and attacked the steak ravenously.
“On second thought,” Palmer said, “let’s save that for dessert.”
* * *
* * *
They both finished their steak dinners, Atlee eating his entire meal in the time it took Palmer to eat what remained of his. After that, they had some more coffee with pie, and Palmer went back to their conversation.
“What’s this about, Atlee?” he asked. “I know you didn’t come here to bum a free meal.”
“Marshal, I came here to warn you,” Atlee said, “about the mayor and about Waverly. Neither of them is gonna back you, because they’re too busy backin’ each other.”
“Tell me something,” Palmer said. “Are they building this town up?”
“Well, yeah—”
“And isn’t that what the mayor said he was going to do if he got elected?”
“I s’pose,” Atlee said, “but I think you’re gonna find out that people aren’t too happy with some of the changes.”
“That may be so,” Palmer said. “But I was hired to do a job in this town.”
“So go ahead and do it,” Atlee said. “Just watch your back. Or hire a deputy who’ll watch it for you.”
“Meaning you?”
“I have experience,” Atlee said. He stood up. “I live in town. You’ll be able to find me when you’re ready to hire me. Thanks for the meal, Marshal.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Palmer was looking forward to his first Saturday night as marshal of Integrity. He had raised some hell in towns himself on Saturday night when he was younger, so he assumed there’d be some cowhands whooping it up in the saloons.
He started at the Palomino, where he had met Wade the bartender. As he walked in, everything looked and sounded more heightened than the first time he’d been there. The music was louder, as were the voices laughing and yelling, and the girls seemed to be moving about with more energy. The gaming tables looked like they were vibrating.
“Marshal,” Wade said as Palmer approached the bar, “I been expectin’ ya.”
“I’ll have a beer, Wade,” Palmer said. “This place is really alive.”
“I told you it would be,” Wade said, setting a beer in front of him. “Have you checked the other places?”
“I did earlier in the week, but tonight I started here first.”
“Well,” Wade said, “we are the biggest and the best in town.”
“Does that mean you have more trouble than the others?” Palmer asked, sipping his beer.
“Not at all,” Wade said. “My customers come here to have a good time, not to start trouble.”
“That’s good to hear. I’ll just watch while I drink my beer.”
“Enjoy,” Wade said, and moved on down the bar to serve other customers.
Palmer watched and listened, and although there were loud and gruff voices all around him, there was no indication of arguments brewing. He finished his beer and set the mug down.
“I like it,” Palmer said. “I guess I’ll move on and continue my rounds.”
“Come on in anytime, Marshal,” Wade said.
Palmer left the Palomino, feeling as if he hadn’t made a ripple in the atmosphere there.
* * *
* * *
He stopped next at the Last Chance, where he’d met the bartender who said everybody just called him Bartender.
There were obvious differences between the Palomino and the Last Chance. Immediately as he entered, he heard voices raised in anger and had a feeling they were coming from a poker table.
He went to the bar, where a place opened for him as customers saw the badge. They actually moved away from him and eyed him suspiciously.
“There you are,” Bartender said. “I figured you’d be comin’ around tonight.”
“Saturday night’s the night, right?” Palmer asked.
“Yep. If you’re lookin’ for trouble, tonight’s the night to find it, and this might be the place,” Bartender said.
“Is that a poker game I hear?” Palmer asked.
“Yeah, there are some bad losers and bad players in the house tonight,” Bartender said.
“Let me have a beer, Bartender,” Palmer said, “and then I’ll walk around and have a look.”
“And let everybody have a look at you,” Bartender said, setting a beer in front of him.
“Thanks.”
Palmer carried his beer with him and started to stroll the room. The patrons stared at him curiously, moved aside, and watched as he made his way to the poker table where voices were still being raised.
“That’s right,” one voice said. “I’m callin’ you a cheat.”
“You ready to back that up, Wilkins?” another voice asked.
There were five men at the table. Of the two men arguing, one had stacks of chips in front of him, and t
he other—Wilkins—had almost none.
Calling a man a cheater in a game of poker usually provoked a violent response. That is, unless you could prove it.
“Yeah,” Wilkins said, “I’m ready to back it up.”
Palmer knew he had walked in just in time. As Wilkins started to stand and go for his gun, Palmer stepped in, grabbed his off arm, and turned him around.
“This is not a good idea,” he said.
Wilkins was a hard-looking man in his forties. His mean eyes took Palmer in at a glance and then fixed on the badge on his chest.
“Ah, the new lawman in town,” he said. “Tryin’ to make your mark, Marshal, by gettin’ in my business?”
Palmer looked at the other man, the big winner at the table. He was in his late thirties and wearing a gambler’s suit and hat, all gray. Palmer was sure he had a gun under the jacket.
“Anybody else think this man’s been cheating?” he asked.
The other three players at the table appeared to be local tradesmen.
“He ain’t cheatin’, Marshal,” one of them said. “He’s just damned good.”
“And this fella?” Palmer asked, indicating Wilkins.
“Oh, he’s just terrible,” one of the other men said. “He never folds. Not ever.”
“You can’t win if you don’t play,” Wilkins said. “And this yahoo ain’t that good. He’s cheatin’.”
“I’m afraid you’re the only one who thinks so, Mr. Wilkins,” Palmer said. “So I guess you’d better move along and let somebody else have your seat.”
“You think you can make me move, Marshal?” Wilkins asked. “I ain’t broken the law.”
“Not yet,” Palmer said. “I’m trying to keep from having to put you in a cell. I’m asking you to leave.”
“Marshal,” Wilkins said, “I’m gonna kill this sonofabitch, even if I have to kill you first. Nobody cheats me!”
The Wrong Side of the Law Page 8