but Crockett didn’t turn away. He left himself as open as possible, hoping to disarm the marshal with his honesty so that the vague answers he’d be forced to give later might cause less suspicion.
Finally Coleson blinked. “You know those fellers?”
“Nope. I was as surprised as anyone when they forced me from the train. I thank the Lord they decided they didn’t need me after all and let me go. I’m supposed to be in Brenham tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” Coleson said, lifting his cup. “The witnessaccounts said the men were looking for a preacher. Seems like a strange request for a gang of outlaws.”
“Doesn’t it, though? They didn’t even steal anyone’s belongings, even when the passengers offered them up. I tell you, this adventure will make a great tale to add to a sermon. Jesus warned that he will return like a thief in the night. I experienced a thief in the daylight, but it was certainly no less unexpected. Goes to show one must always be ready to meet one’s Maker.”
“I reckon so.” Coleson thumbed his hat back on his forehead. “You hear any names or see any faces you could identify?”
“They wore bandanas over their faces.” Which was true—at least for the first part of the encounter. Crockett worked to change the direction of the conversation before Coleson demanded more details. “I appreciate your thoroughness, Marshal, but I won’t be pressing charges.” Crockett set his mug down, scraped the chair backward, and stood. “The men let me go, and except for a little inconvenience, no harm was done. Besides, what kind of parson would I be if I preached forgiveness from the pulpit but failed to extend it to those who do me wrong?”
“No charges, huh?” Coleson gained his feet, as well, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he saw right through the conversational maneuver. “Well, I guess that’s your right. The railroad might take a different stand, though, so your testimony is still needed.”
“Of course.” Crockett edged toward the door. “I’ll be sure to leave my home address with the boardinghouse proprietress, in case you hear from the railroad.” Praying that would prove sufficient, Crockett lifted a hand in parting. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You know, Archer,” Coleson called out before Crockett could reach the door, “justice is a biblical concept, too. A man is to be held accountable for his crimes. To make restitution. Or don’t you think the book of Exodus applies today?”
Crockett held his face carefully blank, despite the fact thatevery nerve ending in his body seemed to be sending alarms to his brain.
Marshal Coleson stepped around the desk. “It sticks in my craw when a criminal eludes justice. Reminds me of a gang I chased around Texas the first couple years I served as a Ranger. They were the only outlaws I chased that never gave in to greed. Smart, really, seeing as greed is what leads most thieves to their ruin. They never went after army pay wagons, government shipments, or banks. I’m guessing because they were too well guarded. They seemed content to rob stage passengers and an occasional railcar. And because no one was ever injured in the robberies, most lawmen saw them more as a nuisance than a serious threat.”
He moved closer, his eyes locked on Crockett’s. “They up and disappeared fifteen or so years back. Strange how your kidnapping is suddenly bringing them back to mind.” He raised a brow. “Always bothered me that them yahoos didn’t pay for their misdeeds. Thievin’s wrong, no matter how little is taken.”
“Indeed it is, Marshal,” Crockett hurried to agree. “But remember, though all will be held accountable for their actions on the Day of Judgment, justice is not always achieved through men’s efforts.”
“Mmm,” the lawman murmured noncommittally. “The witnesses had a sense the outlaws you encountered were older men.” Coleson obviously wasn’t ready to let the matter drop just yet. “Gray
Finally Coleson blinked. “You know those fellers?”
“Nope. I was as surprised as anyone when they forced me from the train. I thank the Lord they decided they didn’t need me after all and let me go. I’m supposed to be in Brenham tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” Coleson said, lifting his cup. “The witnessaccounts said the men were looking for a preacher. Seems like a strange request for a gang of outlaws.”
“Doesn’t it, though? They didn’t even steal anyone’s belongings, even when the passengers offered them up. I tell you, this adventure will make a great tale to add to a sermon. Jesus warned that he will return like a thief in the night. I experienced a thief in the daylight, but it was certainly no less unexpected. Goes to show one must always be ready to meet one’s Maker.”
“I reckon so.” Coleson thumbed his hat back on his forehead. “You hear any names or see any faces you could identify?”
“They wore bandanas over their faces.” Which was true—at least for the first part of the encounter. Crockett worked to change the direction of the conversation before Coleson demanded more details. “I appreciate your thoroughness, Marshal, but I won’t be pressing charges.” Crockett set his mug down, scraped the chair backward, and stood. “The men let me go, and except for a little inconvenience, no harm was done. Besides, what kind of parson would I be if I preached forgiveness from the pulpit but failed to extend it to those who do me wrong?”
“No charges, huh?” Coleson gained his feet, as well, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he saw right through the conversational maneuver. “Well, I guess that’s your right. The railroad might take a different stand, though, so your testimony is still needed.”
“Of course.” Crockett edged toward the door. “I’ll be sure to leave my home address with the boardinghouse proprietress, in case you hear from the railroad.” Praying that would prove sufficient, Crockett lifted a hand in parting. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You know, Archer,” Coleson called out before Crockett could reach the door, “justice is a biblical concept, too. A man is to be held accountable for his crimes. To make restitution. Or don’t you think the book of Exodus applies today?”
Crockett held his face carefully blank, despite the fact thatevery nerve ending in his body seemed to be sending alarms to his brain.
Marshal Coleson stepped around the desk. “It sticks in my craw when a criminal eludes justice. Reminds me of a gang I chased around Texas the first couple years I served as a Ranger. They were the only outlaws I chased that never gave in to greed. Smart, really, seeing as greed is what leads most thieves to their ruin. They never went after army pay wagons, government shipments, or banks. I’m guessing because they were too well guarded. They seemed content to rob stage passengers and an occasional railcar. And because no one was ever injured in the robberies, most lawmen saw them more as a nuisance than a serious threat.”
He moved closer, his eyes locked on Crockett’s. “They up and disappeared fifteen or so years back. Strange how your kidnapping is suddenly bringing them back to mind.” He raised a brow. “Always bothered me that them yahoos didn’t pay for their misdeeds. Thievin’s wrong, no matter how little is taken.”
“Indeed it is, Marshal,” Crockett hurried to agree. “But remember, though all will be held accountable for their actions on the Day of Judgment, justice is not always achieved through men’s efforts.”
“Mmm,” the lawman murmured noncommittally. “The witnesses had a sense the outlaws you encountered were older men.” Coleson obviously wasn’t ready to let the matter drop just yet. “Gray
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