Chapter 19

Sheriff Caldwell

Sheriff Jack Caldwell assumed a shooter's stance, held his breath, and drew. His gun hand was rock-steady as the shot rang out, shattering its target on impact.

"Not bad," Kid Curry whistled, low and appreciative, as he looked down at the remains of the whiskey bottle scattered across the dusty earth of the alley behind the sheriff's office.

The sheriff holstered his gun with an irritated shake of his head. "Not as fast as yours though," the younger man muttered, torn between resentment and awe.

"Welllll," Curry drawled modestly, "I've done a lot of practicing."

"I guess…" Caldwell grinned ruefully, "I gotta tell ya, I thought that reputation of yours was more tall tale than truth, but now…"

"I could give some pointers if you want; show you a couple of things that might shave a little time off your draw—your aim is pretty good."

Caldwell chuckled. "I've never been one to turn down good advice."

"It's a whole different thing when it's a man you're shooting at though," Curry said slowly. "You can't rely on what you learn shooting whiskey bottles when you're facing down something that can shoot back."

Caldwell looked intently at the former outlaw, wanting to ask the inevitable question, but not sure it would be welcome.

Curry knew what the other man was itching to ask. His expression darkened. "You ever kill a man, Sheriff?"

"No, and I hope I never have to," Caldwell said seriously.

"I hope you don't either…but if it comes down to you or him…or some innocent person…a moment's hesitation could get you or someone else killed."

"So how can you know when it's a 'kill or be killed' situation?"

"You just know," Curry replied, shifting his gaze to the broken glass laying on the dirt street. He was silent for a few seconds, during which Caldwell could sense that he was lost in some old memory that he would rather not revisit. Finally, Kid seemed to remember where he was. "Come on, Sheriff. Let's go back inside—play some cards. I need to take my mind off things."

"So what do you expect to hear from your friends in Cheyenne?" Kid asked later, after the two finally gave up trying to play cards again.

"I don't know really; something that can tie Wilde to these horse thefts." Caldwell sat behind his desk, with his right foot propped up on an open drawer beside him.

Kid walked around the office, feeling as comfortable as he ever had in a sheriff's office; which wasn't really saying all that much. He stopped to glance at the wanted posters hanging from the board next to the front door, half expecting to see his own description posted there. "You mean like a criminal background?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"You can't always judge a person by their past, you know, sheriff." He turned away from the posters to fasten his hard gaze on Caldwell.

"I know that," Caldwell said slowly, "but I can't just go arrest Wilde on nothing more than…"

"My word?" Curry asked, raising his eyebrows mockingly.

Caldwell stared back without answering. "He'll make a mistake. He'll slip up. I'll get him."

The sheriff was the first to look away. The former outlaw was beginning to get to him. He was overturning all of his notions about human nature. 'Once a criminal, always a criminal.' 'There are good men and there are bad men.' And bad men don't…change. Do they?

Standing up from his desk, Caldwell glanced at the clock for the hundredth time that morning. "I don't know what's keeping Tom and Bud. They should have checked back in by now." He rubbed his chin impatiently. "I can't sit around this office another minute. It's nearly lunchtime," he smiled conspiratorially. "Why don't we go get a drink?"

Curry looked back in surprise. He nodded gratefully. The waiting around and not doing anything was about to drive him crazy. "Lead the way, Sheriff."

At the saloon they found Tom, Caldwell's deputy, sitting with his feet up on a table drinking a beer; there was an empty mug on the table in front of him. The feet were quickly scooted off the table as soon as the man saw them appear. "Oh, there you are sheriff. I was lookin' for you."

"Yes, I can see that," Caldwell observed, frowning at the empty mug. "Looks like you've been here a while, Tom."

The deputy looked flustered. "Well, I checked in your office but you weren't there so I thought you might have come over here; and once I was here, I figured I probably had time for one."

"Or two?"

Tom grinned at the floor, shame-faced.

"Never mind. We'll talk about this later. Any new developments?"

"Uh, sure. A telegram came in for you."

"Well?" the sheriff asked impatiently, wondering if he should consider finding himself a new deputy soon.

"Oh, got it right here." The deputy fished into his pocket while the two other men looked on with growing irritation. "Here you go," Tom said finally, handing over the wrinkled and soggy telegram.

Caldwell snatched it quickly and began reading, his lips moving slightly as he followed the words.

"Well?" Curry asked when he saw the sheriff's eyes narrow. "What's it say?"

"It's from Sheriff Eldridge in Cheyenne. Looks like a couple of boys fitting Wilde and Billy's description were suspected of stealin' a few horses on a ranch outside of town last summer. Probably wouldn't have found it, except that Hannibal Heyes showed up in his office two days ago and wouldn't leave until he'd gone through every poster Eldridge had, even the old ones in the bottom of the drawer. They were using different names, but Heyes said the descriptions fit Jeremiah Wilde and Billy Rivers."

"Does he say Heyes is still in Cheyenne?"

"No, Eldridge says he checked with the night clerk at the hotel and apparently Heyes left sometime during the night; took the posters with him. Figures he was heading this way."

"That means he's probably back by now," Kid estimated; concerned for his friend. "He might have gone straight to the ranch. He doesn't know about Billy or…what's happened. He's going to walk right into trouble. I've gotta get back there."

"I'm beginning to agree with you," Caldwell said. "Let's go."

Curry locked eyes with the sheriff for a moment; in that instant a silent agreement was reached. They were working together now with a common goal; finding Wilde and bringing him to justice for his crimes.

The two men almost ran out of the saloon. "Curry, I need to remind you not to do anything heroic or stupid out there. When the time comes, you let me handle Wilde. I'm the law, remember?" Caldwell told Kid, using his most authoritative voice.

"How can I forget?" Curry growled back. His voice brightened a bit, saying, "I'll tell you one thing though. I sure am glad Bud went out there and brought Catherine into town. At least we don't have to worry about her safety."

As if summoned by the mere mention of his name, the deputy appeared in front of them, picking his teeth with a wooden pick. He was coming out of the diner across the street. "Bud!" Caldwell called out, surprised to see him. He looked him over suspiciously, wondering if he might need to get a couple of new deputies, and the sooner the better. "Did you get Miss Curry settled in okay at the schoolteacher's place?"

"Well, uh, no," Bud said, sucking at his teeth. "I rode out to Miss Gray's place but she wasn't there. I figured maybe she was here in town, so I thought…"

"Thought you'd have lunch?" Caldwell asked, his anger rising; the volume of his voice rising to match it.

"Well, I…uh…"

"Damn it, Bud. I'll talk to you later!" Caldwell snapped, and jumped onto his horse to follow Curry, who'd taken off at a gallop after Bud's first words.