The Lawman Takes A Wife

When he showed no sign of budging, the clerk sighed and got to his feet. “What name shall I say?”

Judging from the way the fellow walked, his shoes pinched him even more than his collar.

However much the clerk might resemble a dyspeptic fish, the bank president was a handsome devil who looked like he belonged in big-city boardrooms and expensive men’s clubs, not workaday coal mining towns like Elk City.

He looked, in fact, a lot like Clara’s fancy man, Witt thought, and felt his hackles rise.

“Sheriff Gavin!” The man smiled and extended his hand over the low railing that fenced off the office area from the lobby. “Gordon Hancock. Welcome! Speaking as the president of Elk City State Bank and as a member of the town council, I’m damned glad to meet you! And you’re already on the job! Excellent! Excellent!”

The clerk sniffed, slipped his glasses back into place and pointedly buried his nose in his journal.

Hancock opened the railing gate with a theatrical flourish. “Come on back, Gavin. Let’s talk.

“Drink?” he added a moment later as he waved Witt to a chair in his office and closed the door behind him. “I know it’s still a little early in the day, but—”

Witt glanced at the bottles of expensive whiskey that stood atop a low cabinet, then set his hat on one of the two chairs in front of the desk and deliberately claimed the other. “Thanks, no.”

Hancock shrugged and came around the big oak desk to take his seat. He shot his cuffs, rested his perfectly manicured hands on the leather blotter and leaned forward, smiling.

Witt had to fight to suppress his irritation. “You’re on the town council.”

Hancock’s smile widened. “That’s right. As president of Elk City’s largest and most important bank, I regard it as my responsibility to help guide this fine city of ours into the future. There’s great things happening here, Sheriff. Great things! And you’ll be a part of them, I promise you.”

He flipped open a brass-trimmed humidor and extended it across the desk. “Cigar? Cubans, straight from Havana.”

The sweet, rich smell of expensive tobacco filled the air.

Witt shook his head. He liked a good cigar as well as the next man, and a good Havana didn’t come his way every day, but he didn’t like Hancock and he didn’t like the idea of being charmed as the banker was obviously trying to charm him.

“No?” Hancock chose a cigar, sniffing at it appreciatively. “Gold and silver now, they go up and down. But Elk City’s built on coal, and coal…”

He paused to pull a small, silver-handled pocketknife out of his pocket. Frowning in concentration, he neatly cut off the tip of the cigar, then lit it with a match from a fancy glass holder and puffed the cigar into glowing life.

Witt kept his expression impassive.

“Ah!” Hancock tilted back in his chair. He blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, then smiled in satisfaction. “Nothing quite like a good cigar. Unless it’s a good woman, heh, sheriff?”

“Coal?” Witt prompted. He didn’t like men who made leering references to women, either.

“Ah, yes. Coal.” Hancock took another deep drag. “Coal’s going to be around for a while, Sheriff. You can take my word on that. A long while. The faster the state grows, the more we’re going to need it. It’s not very glamorous, of course. Not like gold or silver. But, oh! the things you can do with it!”

Behind his big cigar, he smiled, and his eyes glittered. Watching him, Witt was reminded of a hungry wolf he’d once faced, years ago.

Hancock lowered the cigar to study him. “Ever thought about it, Sheriff? All the things you can do with coal?”

Witt shook his head. He’d never been much of a talker, but Hancock didn’t want a response. He wanted somebody to talk at, somebody to show off for.

“Railroads, Sheriff! Think of ’em! And that big steel mill down in Pueblo. And the electric plants going up around the state. There’s not much of that yet, but someday electricity will be for more than just a factory here and there, you mark my words. And our homes! Where would we be without coal to heat our homes and cook our meals, eh, Sheriff? People might give up buying gold and silver, but they still have to eat and keep warm, don’t they?”

Hancock punctuated his remarks by stabbing at the air with the glowing tip of his cigar. With the last point, he glanced down at that bit of fire in his hands, and smiled, a small, secret smile just for himself. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep draw, held it, then pursed his lips and slowly exhaled.

“Yes sir, Sheriff, coal’s going to be around for a while, and that means Elk City’s going to be there, too. Growing, expanding, getting richer every day, by God!”

“And you want to make sure someone’s here to keep those riches safe for you.” The dryness in Witt’s voice wiped the smile off the banker’s face.

“That’s right.” His eyes glittered coldly. “Not that there’s much to worry about in the way of trouble around here. A few drunks on payday, a quarrel between a shopkeeper and a customer every now and then. That’s about it. We’d like you to keep it that way.”

Witt gave a small, noncommittal grunt. It’s because of Clara, he told himself. I’m thinking of that smooth-talking fancy man she fell in love with. It has nothing to do with Hancock. Nothing.

“Paydays for the mine,” he said, remembering Dickie Calhan’s tale. “Gotta be a lot of money coming in for those payrolls.”

“True.” Hancock smiled in wolfish satisfaction. “A very great deal of money, and we take good care to keep it safe, I can assure you. Only a few people know what train the money’s coming in on. Even some of the railroad and bank people aren’t informed. That way, there’s less chance of the train being stopped and robbed. No sense in stopping a train when all you might get is a few wallets and women’s purses for your troubles.”

Witt remained silent, waiting.

“This bank is solid, too, of course. You saw. Solid brick, bars on the windows, and the best safe money can buy. The mines, of course, have their own guards for when the money is actually being paid out.”

“Are you the only bank that handles the payrolls?”

Hancock shook his head, took another drag, blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “No, but we handle the majority. All the big mines, certainly.”

“And you’ve never had an attempt on the bank or the payroll?” Witt persisted.

“No, I told you. Nothing like that.” Hancock was growing irritated. “Watch the saloons. A few of the men get drunk and rowdy, but that’s as far as it goes. We’ve never had more of a problem than that. But if we do…” He stared at Witt across the desk, his eyes hard and unblinking. “If we do, then you’ve proven you’re the man for the job. That’s why we hired you, you know. Because you proved you knew how to deal with real problems.”

A chill swept down Witt’s spine. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come now, Sheriff. There’s no need to play the silent hero here, between the two of us. Frankly, that little incident with those two bank robbers over in Abilene is what convinced us to hire you. Convinced me, anyway. I had to do some arguing to talk some of the other council members into the idea. They weren’t sure they liked the idea of a gunfighter serving as our sheriff.”

“I’m not a gunfighter.”

Hancock looked skeptical. “You’re not trying to tell me you didn’t kill those two, are you? We checked into that incident pretty thoroughly, and—”

“No, I’m not going to say I didn’t kill those men. I did. But I’m not a gunfighter.” After five years, he still found himself sweating, just thinking of it.

“But you faced them down, right there in the street, didn’t you?”

“It happened outside the bank, yes. They—”

He stopped. He didn’t owe this man an explanation, but he should have known the minute that little Dickie Calhan asked him if he was a gunman that he would have to face it. Like divorce, the fact that he’d killed two men—two boys, dammit—wasn’t the sort of thing people forgot.

“I’m not a gunfighter.” He shoved to his feet. “If that’s what you and the town want, Hancock, hire someone else.”

“No, no. Sheriff!” Hancock was on his feet, hands raised, palms out, the still smoking cigar between his fingers. He smiled. “Please. Forgive me if I’ve offended you. My choice of words was…ill-considered.”

Witt’s hands twitched with the urge to punch that handsome face.

“I’d best get going.” He bent to retrieve his hat.