The few men and women strolling down the street gave the marshals a


wide berth, and as soon as the two men sat down inside the restaurant,


most of the other diners got up and left.




"Does this bother you? " Ryan asked Cole, nodding toward the doorway


where three men were comically tripping over one another in their hurry


to leave.




"No, " Cole answered. "I'm used to it. Every time I'd ride into a new


town, for some reason folks automatically jumped to the conclusion that


I was a gunslinger."




"You were a gunslinger, " Ryan reminded him.




Cole wasn't in the mood to argue with him. He moved back so that the


owner could place the bowls of rabbit stew and a basket of hot bread on


the table.




"If you two don't mind hurrying, I'd like to get you fed and out of


here so my business will pick up." Cole tried to hold on to his


patience. The woman was old, tired-looking, and thin as a stick of


straw. He politely asked for coffee. She impolitely demanded to know


if he planned to linger while he drank it.




"Ma'am, neither Marshal Ryan nor I killed the seven men who were just


buried, and we'd both appreciate it if you'd stop treating us like we


did."




"Why haven't you caught any of the men who killed them? That's what


folks are wondering." 'We're trying, " Ryan said, his voice weary.




"I know you've been talking to the folks who were in the bank the day


of the murders." Cole nodded. "Word gets around fast, doesn't it? "


he remarked to Ryan.




He turned back to the woman. "None of your friends and neighbors saw


anything. They didn't see them ride into town or out. They didn't


hear any gunshots either, " he added.




She gave the marshals a sympathetic look. "Oh, some of them probably


heard the shots. They were maybe too scared to do anything about it.




You boys are tired, aren't you? My name's Loreen, " she added. "And


I'll go fetch your coffee now." She returned a minute later, poured


two cups, and put the coffeepot down on the table between the men.




"The way I see it, some folks would tell you if they'd seen or heard


anything, but most probably wouldn't. We all know what happens to


people who talk. The Blackwater gang comes back to get them. Every


one knows that's how they do things. In all my days I've never heard


of men who are so pure evil. I read a while back that they robbed a


bank in Texas and killed a woman and her little girl. The baby wasn't


even three years old."




"She was four, " Ryan said.




Loreen's head snapped up. "Then it's true." His voice was soft,


chilling. "Yes, it's true."




"Dear God, why would they want to hurt such an innocent little lamb?




She couldn't have told anything. She was too little. }^ Cole's


appetite vanished. They were dealing with monsters, and all he wanted


to think about was catching them.




Loreen put her bony hand on her hip and shook her head. "I know you're


trying to do your best. You boys take all the time you need. Business


is suffering anyway because of the influenza spreading through town.




Even the strangers who come to gawk at the falls are getting sickţat


least most of them are, according to the doc. He says the sickness


isn't contagious, but I say it is. Have you talked to that poor woman


who saw the murders? " Lost in their own thoughts, the marshals were


jarred by her question.




Cole asked her to repeat it.




"I asked you if you talked to the poor woman who saw the murders, " she


said. "I heard you suspect that one of the three women who were in the


bank during the afternoon saw everything while it was happening. If


she isn't too scared, she might tell you what she saw, and if she is


too scared, well then, maybe you could persuade her to talk. I'm not


trying to tell you how to run your investigation, " she hastily


added.




"But since you suspect . . . " "We don't suspect anyone, " Cole


interjected.




Lorene didn't pay any attention to his comment. "It has to be true


because I read about it in the paper. We had us a special edition this


afternoon. Sheriff Sloan was interviewed by the reporter, and he told


him that he got under the desk himself and looked, and sure enough, he


could see the lobby through the cracks in the wood. He said a woman


was hiding there, all right."




"Ma'am, the sheriff didn't get under the desk, " Cole argued.




"It says in the paper that he did, " she countered. "You know, I could


have been in that bank while the robbery was going on. I usually make


my deposits about that time of day, but lately, enough cash hasn't come


in for me to go every day. No one feels like eating when they're sick,


" she explained. "Still, I can't understand why you would put all


three of those poor ladies in jail. Why, I heard the sheriff dragged


one of them out of her sickbed, and the other two had just sat down for


their supper. I think you should have asked them your questions at the


boardinghouse. That's what I think. Jail isn't a proper place for


ladies. No sir, it doesn't seem right to me the way you're treating


them as though they're common-trash criminals. Aren't you boys going


to eat your supper? Where are you going? " As soon as the word "jail"


had been mentioned, Cole and Ryan had jumped to the same conclusion.




Sloan was responsible for another fiasco.




heir guess proved to be right. They ran back to the jail, cursing


under their breath most of the way, and found that the sheriff had


indeed locked all three women in one of his cells.




The idiot was actually proud of what he had done. His chest was puffed


up like a rooster's as he strutted around the office giving his


explanation.




"I had to do it, " he began. "I asked all of them which one was in the


bank during the holdup, and none of them would own up to it, so I put


them in a cell to think it over. I'm predicting there's going to be a


Iynching mob out front in no time at all, because people have heard by


now that we have a witness who won't step forward, and folks saw me


bring them in." Ryan was so furious with the sheriff his hand


instinctively went to the butt of his gun. He forced himself to stop


before he did anything he would regret. Cole's hand went to Sloan's


throat. He didn't stop. He was trying to choke some sense into the


lawman when he heard what sounded like a baby laughing.




Incredulous, he roared, "Are you out of your mind? You locked a baby


in jail? " Ryan was rigid with anger. He sat behind the desk glaring


at the sheriff.




"Cole, quit choking him so he can explain. I want to hear what he has


to say for himself. He's going to tell me why he would lock three


women and a baby in jail." The second Cole let go, the sheriff started


stammering. "I didn't know what else to do with the little boy. He


wanted to stay with his mama, and he wouldrft listen to reason. He


threw himself down on the floor and had himself a real tantrum. He


isn't a baby, Marshal. He's got to be a year and a half, maybe even


two. He's still wearing nappies, but he can talk, so he can't be a


baby. Babies don't talk, " he added authoritatively.




The muscle in Ryan's jaw twitched from clenching his teeth together.




"Where are the keys to the cells? " he demanded.




"You aren't going to let them out, are you? " "Hell yes, I am, " Ryan


snapped. "Now, tell me where the keys are." 'fThey're hanging on the


peg behind you, " Sloan answered, his attitude insolent. "I did what


had to be done." Ryan ignored the comment. "Is there a back door in


here? " "Yes. It's at the end of the hallway. Why? " Ryan tossed


Cole the ring of keys. "Here's what you're going to do, Sheriff.




Marshal Clayborne will let the ladies out of the cell. You're going to


wait for them outside the back door, and when they come out, you will


escort them home."




"You're also going to apologize to them, " Cole interjected. "And you


damned well better sound like you mean it." Sloan took another step


back from Cole. "But I locked them up, " he protested. "If I


apologize, they'll think I don't know what I'm doing.




" Cole let out a weary sigh. "No, they'll think you're just plain


stupid.




Now, get going." Tight-lipped and red-faced, the sheriff stomped his


way to the back exit. Cole opened the door that connected the cells to


the main office, ducked under the overhead frame, and started down the


long, narrow corridor. The walls were damp from rain that had seeped


in through the roof, and the air smelled like wet leaves. He suddenly


came to a quick stop. For a second he imagined he was looking at a


priceless painting framed by cold gray stone walls inside an old


museum. Three of the prettiest women he'd ever seen were sitting side


by side on the narrow cot. Shoulders back, heads held high, they were


perfectly still, as though an artist had ordered them to pose that way


for their portrait.




Cole was completely unprepared for this vision. They were young . .




.




they were incredibly beautiful . . . and they were seething with


anger.




The woman closest to him sat demurely with her hands folded in her


lap.




Her long black hair fell in soft ringlets to her shoulders, framing a


porcelain complexion and clear green eyes that peered up at him through