Anne Avery - The Lawman Takes A Wife

“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.

Hancock deliberately set the cigar on the rim of a massive polished stone ashtray. “You know about the council meeting tonight?”

“Six o’clock.”

“In the town hall. You know where that is?”

It wasn’t because of Clara. “I’ll find it.”

“Good. Good.” Hancock came around the desk. “I’ll see you there, then.”

Witt gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. He didn’t trust his tongue for more.

The instant they stepped out of the office, the clerk looked up, face squinched in disapproval. “Mr. Hancock? There’s Mr. Dermott here to see you.” His face pinched a little tighter. “And Mrs. Thompson.”

“Mrs. Thompson.” Hancock turned pale. “What—”

A thin, stooped little woman popped up from one of the chairs set near the office railing. “My accounts, Mr. Hancock! I want to speak to you about my accounts!”

“Mr. Dermott was here before you, Mrs. Thompson,” said the clerk, peering at her disapprovingly from over the rims of his glasses.

A stout, middle-aged gentleman occupying the chair farthest from Mrs. Thompson’s waved his hands to indicate he’d rather wait than be dragged into the discussion. Both the combatants ignored him.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your accounts,” the clerk insisted. “I reviewed them myself, just last week. Accurate to the penny and so I told you.”

The woman sniffed. “As if that makes me feel one whit better, Hiram Goff! You’re so tight your shoes pinch, but that doesn’t mean you’ve the wits God gave a goldfish or you would know a two from a twenty at the back end of the day.”