By David Robbins
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He smiled and held out his hand. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m Marshal Vale. Tom Vale. You’ve met a deputy of mine, I believe. ” Clay took the other chair and set his derby on the small table. ” Marshal Vale said. “When you make an enemy, you don’t make puny ones, do you? Harve Barker isn’t a weak sister. ” “About half an hour ago a friend of mine came to see me,” Marshal Vale said. ” Marshal Vale tiredly rubbed his eyes. “He and I go back a ways. ” “I’m not done. Baiting Barker was stupid.
How do you do, Miss Stanley,” Deputy Wiggins said in a high voice that did not fit his plump build. ” Wiggins appeared confused, then snatched the slouch hat from his head, revealing a bald pate, except for a ring of crinkly, rust-colored hair that ran from ear to ear. “Sorry. ” His watery eyes switched to Clay. ” “Mr. ” “I’ve never seen him before,” Deputy Wiggins said. Melanie smiled sweetly. “Was there something you wanted? ” Her smile still in place, Melanie said, “That must explain the other nineteen or twenty times.
Two thousand, maybe,” Deputy Wiggins said. “Not much for a greedy slug like him,” Melanie commented. “Rather brazen, to raid an entire camp. ” “That he is,” Deputy Wiggins agreed. “But this time he might have overstepped himself. If I know Harve Barker, he won’t take being robbed lying down. ” Melanie asked. Wiggins nodded. “I tried tracking the outlaws. But that Jesse Stark is crafty. ” The deputy gazed out the window, then stood. “I had better be going. ” “I understand,” Melanie said. The deputy jammed his slouch hat on his head, looked down his nose at Clay and beamed at her.