“How many marshals does this town have?” Matt asked.
“I’m Marshal Cummins,” the first man said. “These men, and the man you just murdered, are my deputies.”
“I didn’t murder him. He drew on me first,” Matt said.
“He drew on you, huh?” Marshal Cummins said. “Mister, you are a liar, and a poor one at that. Moe’s gun is still in his holster.”
“Yes, it fell back in the holster when I shot him,” Matt said. His explanation sounded weak, even to his own ears.
“Mister, I didn’t fall off the turnip wagon yesterday,” Cummins said. “Now drop that gun.”
Matt took in the situation around him, then, realizing that resistance would be futile, he dropped his gun and raised his hands.
“Put some cuffs on him, Jackson,” Marshal Cummins said.
“My goodness, what was that?” Emma Dawkins asked at the sound of the gunshot.
“It’s probably some fool drunk over in the saloon,” Millie answered. She was on her knees with a mouth full of pins. “My apartment is just upstairs, you know, and sometimes at night, there is so much yelling and shooting going on over there that you would think they are having a battle. All they are really doing is just getting drunk and raising Cain. Turn to the left just a bit, would you, dear?”
“I seen it, Mama,” Timmy said.
“It’s ‘saw,’ not ‘seen,’” Timmy’s mother corrected. “And what did you see?”
“I saw the stranger shoot Deputy Gillis.”
“What? What on earth are you talking about?”
“The man that shot Deputy Gillis,” Timmy said.
“You mean he just rode up and shot him?”
“No, ma’am. Deputy Gillis went for his gun first, then the stranger went for his, and he shot first.”
“Are you saying the stranger killed Deputy Gillis?”
“I don’t know,” Timmy said. “He hit the deputy because I saw the blood, but then the deputy turned around and went back into the saloon, and the stranger followed him in.”
“Hush,” Emma said. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Uh-huh, yes, I do,” Timmy said.
“No, you don’t,” Emma insisted. “You don’t have the slightest idea of what you are talking about. Never mention it again.”
“But Mama—”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Then there is no ‘but Mama’ about it.”
“I think you are doing the right thing, Emma,” Millie said. “Heaven knows what-all trouble you could get in in this town.”
“I know,” Emma replied. “I hate doing it, I’ve always stressed that Timmy tell the truth. But sometimes it’s better to be safe than to be right.”
“I understand,” Millie said. “This will be our secret.”
“Get a rope!” someone yelled. “Let’s hang the son of a bitch now!”
“I got a new rope! I’ll go get it!”
“No!” Cummins said, his voice so loud that it reverberated back from the windows of the establishment.
“Come on, Marshal Cummins, you know damn well he’s guilty. Hell, you got a whole saloon full of eyewitnesses.” The protester was wearing a deputy’s star.
“That’s right, Hayes, we do,” Marshal Cummins said. “That’s why we’re goin’ to do this legal. We’re goin’ to try him now, find him guilty, then send him to Yuma and let them hang him.”
“When we goin’ to try him? The circuit judge ain’t due back for near ’bout a month,” Hayes said.
“We don’t need to wait for a circuit judge,” the marshal said. “We’ll try him right here, right now. You forget I’m an associate judge.”
“What about the jury?” the bartender asked.
“Hell, there’s at least thirty men in here,” the marshal said. “Pick twelve of them. Oh, and to make it legal, don’t pick none of my deputies.”
“All right,” the bartender said. “I’ll be one of the jurors. You, you, you,” he said, pointing to others in the saloon until he had assembled a jury of twelve men.
“Put the jury here,” Cummins said, pointing to an area of the saloon that was near the cold, iron stove. “Set up twelve chairs. Deputy Pike, you’ll be the bailiff. Morgan, you and Gates move a table over there to give me a place to sit. Oh, and set a table there for the defense and there for the prosecution,” he added.
There was a scurry of activity as the saloon was turned into a courtroom.
“As of now, the bar is closed,” Cummins shouted.
“Come on, Marshal, what’s the harm of a drink if all we’re goin’ to do is watch?” Jackson asked. “You done said there can’t none of us deputies be on the jury.”
“I intend this to be a proper court,” Cummins said. “The bar is closed. Hayes, you’re going to be the prosecutor.”
“I ain’t no lawyer, Marshal,” Hayes said.
“I know you’re not,” Cummins answered. “But we only got us one real lawyer in town, and that’s Bob Dempster. I think it’s only fair that the defendant get the real lawyer.”
“Dempster?” Hayes said. He laughed. “Yeah, all right, I don’t mind goin’ up against Dempster.”
“He’s back there in the corner,” Cummins said. “Deputy Posey, go get him.”
When Matt looked back into the corner Cummins had indicated, he saw a man sitting at a table. A whiskey bottle was on the table beside him, and his head was down on the table. He was either asleep, or passed out.
“Hey, Dempster,” Posey called.
Dempster made no response.
“Dempster!” Posey said again, louder this time. “Are you dead? Or are you just drunk?”
Everyone in the saloon laughed.
“Somebody get a pitcher of water,” Cummins ordered, and a moment later, someone showed up with it, handing it to Posey.
“Dempster!” Posey shouted, while at the same time throwing the pitcher of water into his face. “Wake up!”
“What? What’s happening?” Dempster sputtered, raising up as water dripped from his hair and face.
Again, everyone in the saloon laughed.
“Whiskey,” Dempster said, wiping his hand across his face.
There was more laughter.
“No whiskey, Dempster,” Cummins said. “The bar is closed.”
“Closed?” Dempster looked around in confusion. “What do you mean, closed? It’s still light. Oh, is it Sunday?”
“It’s closed because the saloon has been turned into a courtroom,” Cummins said. “We are about to have a trial, and I have appointed you to defend the bastard who murdered Moe Gillis.”
“You have appointed me?”
“Yes.”
Dempster shook his head. “Marshal Cummins—” Dempster began, but he was interrupted by Cummins.
“For the purposes of this trial, I am acting, not as marshal, but as an associate judge,” Cummins said. “And you will refer to me as such.”
“Your Honor,” Dempster corrected. “I can’t act as attorney,” he said. “I’m—uh—in no condition to act as attorney.”
“Yeah? Well, you don’t have any choice,” Cummins said. “I’ve appointed you and you will defend this man, or I will throw you in jail for contempt of court. And I don’t have to remind you, do I, Counselor, that you won’t be getting anything to drink while you are in jail?”
Dempster sat at the table for a long moment, looking around at everyone who was staring at him. It was obvious that he was very uncomfortable with the scrutiny of all the patrons. He ran his hand across his wet face one more time.
“Where is the defendant?” he asked.
“Right there,” Cummins said, pointing toward Matt. Matt was still standing, with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“Take his cuffs off,” Dempster said.
“He’s my prisoner,” Jackson replied.
“Right now he is the defendant in a court trial, and he is innocent until proven guilty,” Dempster said. “As the court-appointed attorney for the defense, I am ordering you to take off his cuffs.”