“We’ll take care of him, mister. Most of us here remember Jared. We’ll look after him just fine. He’ll be here later.”
The Kid nodded. “I’m obliged.” To Cumberland, he added, “Your father’s a good man.”
“He’s a damned saloon swamper,” the marshal snapped. “Don’t talk to me about him.”
“Whatever you say.” That was none of his business, either, The Kid thought.
Holding on to the rope keeping Ahern bound, they forced him toward the jail. Ahern lunged back and forth in an attempt to pull free.
Cumberland drew his gun. “Damn it, I’ll knock you out again if I have to, Ahern!” he warned. “Then we’ll hitch a mule to you and drag you like the side of beef you are.”
“You’re gonna be sorry you did this, Marshal.” Ahern glared back and forth between Cumberland and The Kid. “When the Broken Spoke gets through with you, you’re gonna be sorry you was ever born!”
“Too late,” Cumberland said. “Most of the time I already am.”
Chapter 9
It took some doing, but The Kid and Marshal Cumberland managed to wrestle Ahern down Main Street, around the corner, into the jail, and finally into a cell. By the time the iron-barred door clanged shut with Ahern on the other side of it, The Kid felt like he’d been digging ditches all day.
“You can’t just leave me all trussed up like this!” Ahern bellowed at them through the bars. He was fully conscious again and practically foaming at the mouth with rage.
“Turn around and back up against the bars,” Cumberland told him. “It’ll mean ruining a perfectly good piece of rope, but I’ll cut you loose.”
Ahern stood there glaring for a couple seconds, then did what Cumberland told him. The marshal took a clasp knife from his pocket, opened it, and reached through the bars with the blade to saw the ropes loose. As the pieces of lasso fell away, The Kid knelt, reached through the bars, and retrieved them.
“Can’t even feel my damn hands,” Ahern complained when his arms were free. “You didn’t have any call to tie me that tight.”
“I’ve seen what you can do when you get mad, Ahern,” Cumberland said. “I wasn’t taking any chances.”
“You never seen me when I was really mad. Not like now. But that ain’t the worst of it. Harlan ain’t gonna stand for one of his boys bein’ treated like this.”
“Let me worry about Harlan Levesy.”
Ahern threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, you better worry! You better worry a lot!”
With his mouth twisting like he’d bitten into something sour, Cumberland jerked his head toward the cell block door and motioned for The Kid to go ahead of him into the office at the front of the building.
The marshal heaved a sigh as he sank into a swivel chair behind a paper-cluttered desk. “Did I ever get your name, mister?”
“It’s Morgan,” The Kid said.
“How in the world did you wind up in Copperhead Springs with old Jared Tate?”
“I ran into the marshal a couple days east of here.”
“He’s not a marshal anymore.” Cumberland’s voice had a tone of irritated impatience to it.
“That’s the way he introduced himself to me, so that’s the way I think of him.”
Cumberland took off his hat and expertly tossed it onto a hook attached to the wall behind him. “He’s not in his right mind, you know. Can’t remember anything anymore.”
“He knows who he is . . . or who he was, anyway,” The Kid pointed out.
Cumberland shrugged. “Yeah, but from what I hear, some days he doesn’t even know his own daughter, and he lives with her . . . and she takes care of him. I’ll bet she wasn’t watching him close enough, and he wandered off and didn’t know how to get back to her place.”
“That’s in Wichita, you said?”
“Yeah.”
“So he was able to make it all the way across the state, almost back to his old hometown, traveling by himself,” The Kid pointed out. “That doesn’t sound to me like a man who’s not in his right
The Kid nodded. “I’m obliged.” To Cumberland, he added, “Your father’s a good man.”
“He’s a damned saloon swamper,” the marshal snapped. “Don’t talk to me about him.”
“Whatever you say.” That was none of his business, either, The Kid thought.
Holding on to the rope keeping Ahern bound, they forced him toward the jail. Ahern lunged back and forth in an attempt to pull free.
Cumberland drew his gun. “Damn it, I’ll knock you out again if I have to, Ahern!” he warned. “Then we’ll hitch a mule to you and drag you like the side of beef you are.”
“You’re gonna be sorry you did this, Marshal.” Ahern glared back and forth between Cumberland and The Kid. “When the Broken Spoke gets through with you, you’re gonna be sorry you was ever born!”
“Too late,” Cumberland said. “Most of the time I already am.”
Chapter 9
It took some doing, but The Kid and Marshal Cumberland managed to wrestle Ahern down Main Street, around the corner, into the jail, and finally into a cell. By the time the iron-barred door clanged shut with Ahern on the other side of it, The Kid felt like he’d been digging ditches all day.
“You can’t just leave me all trussed up like this!” Ahern bellowed at them through the bars. He was fully conscious again and practically foaming at the mouth with rage.
“Turn around and back up against the bars,” Cumberland told him. “It’ll mean ruining a perfectly good piece of rope, but I’ll cut you loose.”
Ahern stood there glaring for a couple seconds, then did what Cumberland told him. The marshal took a clasp knife from his pocket, opened it, and reached through the bars with the blade to saw the ropes loose. As the pieces of lasso fell away, The Kid knelt, reached through the bars, and retrieved them.
“Can’t even feel my damn hands,” Ahern complained when his arms were free. “You didn’t have any call to tie me that tight.”
“I’ve seen what you can do when you get mad, Ahern,” Cumberland said. “I wasn’t taking any chances.”
“You never seen me when I was really mad. Not like now. But that ain’t the worst of it. Harlan ain’t gonna stand for one of his boys bein’ treated like this.”
“Let me worry about Harlan Levesy.”
Ahern threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, you better worry! You better worry a lot!”
With his mouth twisting like he’d bitten into something sour, Cumberland jerked his head toward the cell block door and motioned for The Kid to go ahead of him into the office at the front of the building.
The marshal heaved a sigh as he sank into a swivel chair behind a paper-cluttered desk. “Did I ever get your name, mister?”
“It’s Morgan,” The Kid said.
“How in the world did you wind up in Copperhead Springs with old Jared Tate?”
“I ran into the marshal a couple days east of here.”
“He’s not a marshal anymore.” Cumberland’s voice had a tone of irritated impatience to it.
“That’s the way he introduced himself to me, so that’s the way I think of him.”
Cumberland took off his hat and expertly tossed it onto a hook attached to the wall behind him. “He’s not in his right mind, you know. Can’t remember anything anymore.”
“He knows who he is . . . or who he was, anyway,” The Kid pointed out.
Cumberland shrugged. “Yeah, but from what I hear, some days he doesn’t even know his own daughter, and he lives with her . . . and she takes care of him. I’ll bet she wasn’t watching him close enough, and he wandered off and didn’t know how to get back to her place.”
“That’s in Wichita, you said?”
“Yeah.”
“So he was able to make it all the way across the state, almost back to his old hometown, traveling by himself,” The Kid pointed out. “That doesn’t sound to me like a man who’s not in his right
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