A Dangerous Man by William W. Johnstone

work it out fer yourself.”
    Sullivan considered the situation. “As long as they keep sending you a check, you’ll go on pretending this is a real railroad station. Am I right?”
    â€œRight as ever was. You’re a smart young feller.”
    â€œYou’re crazy alright, Loomis. Crazy like a fox.”
    The stationmaster grinned and tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger. “Isaac Loomis by name, Isaac Loomis by nature, my old ma used to say.”
    Sullivan let that fly over his head. “I guess I should send my wire.”
    Loomis pulled a yellow pad across the table and then looked at Sullivan, pencil poised, a question on his face.
    â€œMake it to County Sheriff, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory.’
    â€œGot it,” Loomis said after a while.
    â€œUm . . .”
    â€œYou want the um ?”
    Sullivan stabbed the man with a look. “Have killed Crow Wallace and claim reward. Stop. Have recovered silver watch and six thousand dollars from Butterfield stage robbery. Stop. Please advise. Stop. Urgent. Stop.”
    â€œWell spoke, young feller.”
    â€œSend it right away, huh?”
    â€œOnce I know what name you want to use.”
    â€œTam Sullivan.”
    â€œTam? What kind of name is that?”
    â€œMy kind,” Sullivan said.
    Loomis rose to his feet, the slip of paper in his hand, but he never made it to the wire key.
    The door burst open and a young towheaded boy hurled himself inside along with a blast of cold air and sleet. “Send a wire!” he yelled.
    â€œWho to?” Loomis said. “And slow down, younker.”
    â€œThe law,” the boy said, asthmatically gulping for breath. “Mayor York says send a wire to the law.”
    â€œWhat law?” Loomis asked.
    Sullivan took over. “What’s your name, son?”
    â€œMatt Hardy.”
    â€œTell us what’s happened,” Sullivan said.
    â€œSheriff Harm has been shot along with Pete McPherson and Clete Miller.”
    â€œAre they dead?” Loomis asked.
    â€œYeah, all three of them, up at the cemetery,” the boy said. “Shot through and through an’ tossed in that outlaw’s grave.”
    Sullivan frowned. “Crow Wallace’s grave?”
    Matt shrugged. “I guess that’s his name.” He looked hard at Sullivan. “You’re the one that brung in the outlaw, ain’t you?”
    â€œYeah, that would be me,” Sullivan nodded.
    â€œCan I see your gun?” the youngster said.
    â€œNo.” Sullivan looked at the stationmaster. “Loomis, I guess now you’ve got two wires to send to Santa Fe.”
    â€œLike the county sheriff is going to care about what happens in Comanche Crossing.” Loomis shook his head. “Like he’s going to come all the way up here.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know.” Sullivan grinned. “He can always take the train.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Some Bad Enemies
    â€œWell, lookee, Bill,” Booker Tate said. “The golden boy is headed our way.”
    Longley’s eyes went to the tall man crossing the street. “Let him come.”
    â€œI could kill him real easy, Bill. Drop him right in the mud.”
    â€œLater. This hick town can’t handle four killings on one day.” Longley watched Tam Sullivan step onto the hotel porch and kick mud off his boots. He noticed the bounty hunter’s coat was open, his Colt clear.
    Longley nodded at Sullivan. “Howdy. I ain’t seen you since breakfast.”
    â€œFunny you should say that, Bill. I figure you saw me real recent.”
    â€œOver a gun sight, like?” Longley smirked.
    â€œThat’s about the size of it,” Sullivan said.
    â€œYou’re talking about them two rifle shots I heard. Oh, about thirty minutes ago.”
    â€œYeah, them two.”
    Longley shook his head like the news surprised him. “Man, if I’d taken a pot at you, I’d have needed one