"And then what happened?"
"Nothing much after that," Deputy Bennett said. "Mr. Wheeler told me to leave a note for the janitor, get him in first thing, to clean up in the cell area. And then he said he was going home to sleep for about a week, and to make sure Eberly – he meant you, Sheriff – forgot where he lived."
"Anything you want to add, Ferris?" Eberly asked.
"No, sir. Me and Bennett here, we just made more coffee for ourselves, since we figured we'd be staying up the rest of the night."
"Don't know if we'd've gone to sleep anyhow, Sheriff," added Bennett. "Me and George, we just couldn't believe what we'd seen. If Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Ahern hadn't shown up like they was the cavalry, there might've been a necktie party here last night, and not a thing we could've done about it. I ain't never seen shooting like that in my life, no way, no how. Kid Curry couldn't do any better himself than Mr. Ahern done. It sure was something!"
Bennett's voice was full of admiration. He acted as if he felt like he was the luckiest man alive to see such entertainment. Maybe he was that lucky, Eberly thought. Who knows what might have happened to his deputies, if they'd had to confront that mob alone?
"Alright, boys," Eberly said. "You two did as well as you could have, given the circumstances. It's a good thing Mike was there to back up Jake, though I never heard tell of him being so good with a gun either. A lawyer's book learning ain't much good facing down a mob."
"He didn't need his book learning or any back-up last night," Ferris said. "He had himself a Remington, and he was handling it like a professional." Eberly looked surprised.
"What are you talking about, Ferris? Jake's always telling me he doesn't believe in carrying a gun. The only time I've ever seen him with any kind of gun was hunting with a rifle, and even then, he let Mike Ahern do the shooting."
"George is right, Sheriff," said Bennett. "Mr. Wheeler, he had hisself a Remington. He handled that pea shooter like he was born with it in his hand. And believe you me, that mob saw it, too. None of them wanted to mess with him at all, no sirree."
"That is interesting," said Eberly. "I think I'm going to have a little talk with Mr. Wheeler about that. See if he's got any other surprises up his sleeve. Meantime, I expect you two to keep your mouths shut. I don't want to see anything about a riot or a mob or fancy shooting in newspapers. If I do, I'll know who talked, and you two'll find yourselves out of a job."
Eberly barely paid attention as both deputies swore, on all they held hold dear, to follow his orders. Now that the immediate crisis had passed, he had a lot to think about. He'd have to organize better, round-the-clock protection for his celebrity prisoner. That prisoner was going to need specialized medical care, too, more than the usual drunk that sobered up in his cell. But, more than anything else, he was thinking about the fancy shooting that had saved his prisoner and his deputies last night. Why had Wheeler lied so consistently about his ability with a pistol? And how and where did Mike Ahern learn to handle a gun like a professional?