Seamus had been doing some pondering while he pounded and he had come to a decision. He was through with the law. Wearing a badge paid well but not well enough to justify being buried before his time. Jeeter Frost holding that Colt on him had been a revelation. Frost could easily have shot him. Seamus suspected that if not for the schoolmarm, that is exactly what Frost would have done.
Seamus had always appreciated the fact that wearing a badge entailed risks. He knew a lot of lawmen were bucked out in gore. But knowing it in his head and experiencing it were two different things. Now that he had actually and truly stared death in the face, Seamus did not like death’s expression.
The question was: Should he stay on until Hinkle’s term of office was done with or should he quit right away? He was mulling it over when steps sounded in the hallway and someone shook the door.
“Open up. This is the sheriff.”
Seamus slammed his boots on the floor and gurgled as loudly as he could gurgle.
The next instant the door resounded to a powerful blow. The jamb splintered and in burst George Hinkle, his shoulder lowered, his revolver in hand. “Seamus! You’re alive!” Hinkle produced a folding knife and made short shrift of the strips of shawl. “I was worried,” he said as he cut. “We found Powell out in the alley. Jeeter Frost pistol-whipped him.”
The instant his hands were free, Seamus yanked on the bandanna and pulled out the gag. Spitting and coughing, he swallowed a few times to lubricate his throat. “That damned Frost got the drop on me.”
“You are lucky all he did was tie you up,” Sheriff Hinkle said. “Powell about had his head half split open.”
“Then Frost and the schoolmarm got away?” Seamus stiffly rose and sat on the edge of the bed. He was going to tell Hinkle the truth about Ernestine Prescott, but he had to endure another fit of coughing.
“That poor woman. There is no telling what she has had to endure. Everyone in town is stirred up. I asked for twenty volunteers to form a posse and had to turn forty away.”
“There is something you should know,” Seamus said.
“Whoever saves her will be the talk of the territory,” Hinkle went on. “I intend for that to be us. She is my ticket to better things. To being appointed a federal marshal.”
“What are you on about?”
“I don’t intend to be a county sheriff forever. This badge is a stepping-stone, like everything else in life.” Hinkle came over and clapped Seamus on the shoulder. “I tell you that if we save the schoolmarm, we can rise as high as our ambition takes us.”
“We?”
“Don’t you have a hankering to move up in the world? Wouldn’t you like to be a federal marshal, too? The schoolmarm has done me the biggest favor anyone ever did, and she doesn’t even realize it.”
“What if she is with Frost because she wants to be with him?” Seamus casually asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She is being forced. We have the word of the justice of the peace. Besides”—Sheriff Hinkle grinned—“you wouldn’t want to spoil my chance at the federal job, would you?” He paused. “Now, what is it you wanted to tell me?”
Seamus thought of how Ernestine Prescott had helped cut the shawl into strips and done some of the binding while Frost covered him. He thought of how she had pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, how she had been seeing Jeeter Frost behind the town’s back, as it were, and now the entire town was worried about her welfare and her virtue when she was as safe as could be and had probably lost her virtue some time ago.
“Well?” Sheriff Hinkle prodded.
“I can’t rightly recollect,” Seamus lied. “Maybe it will come to me later.”
“In that case, fetch your horse and whatever supplies you think you will need. The posse heads out in half an hour.”
“Do you still want me to lead it?”
“Why wouldn’t I? That is, if you are up to it.”
“I want to set eyes on the schoolmarm again more than anything,” Seamus said. So he could slap her and thank her for her part in his humiliation.
“I am sending Jack Coombs with you,” Sheriff Hinkle said.
“That old coot? What for?”
“He is the best tracker in these parts,” Hinkle said. “Maybe the best tracker alive. Once the sun is up, call on his talents. It would not surprise me if you are back here tomorrow night with Frost in handcuffs and the schoolmarm singing your praises.”
The posse proved to be the usual mix of citizens, notable among them Lawrence Fisch, the son of the president of The First Bank of Dodge City, who also happened to be the president of seven other banks built in towns along the railroad’s right-of-way. Others included store clerks, a blacksmith’s apprentice, Texas cowboys who had arrived in Dodge two days ago with a herd, a butcher, a gambler, and the last person in the world Seamus expected to join a posse. Gigging his mount over, Seamus said as much.
Frank Lafferty was scribbling on a pad by the light from a nearby window. “The schoolmarm has been kidnapped and you wonder why I want to go along? This will make headlines across the country.”
