Blackwell Bounty

Chapter Thirteen

"Howdy there, Sheriff. Where 'ave you been hidin'?" Skinny asked. He grinned, as if Wyatt had not already taken him to jail once before.  

Instead of answering Skinny's question, the sheriff asked an inquiry of his own. "Is that your horse, boy?"  

Skinny glanced over at the spotted mare like he had forgotten all about her. His grin broadened mischievously when he looked back at the sheriff. "I'm uh... holdin' her for a friend. But she sure is a beauty." 

Even though everyone in the room knew he was lying, including Skinny himself, no one pointed it out.

Casually, Wyatt agreed, "Ain't she though?" in a question that really wasn't meant to be answered.

Slowly, the sheriff stepped closer until he could reach out a hand and pat the mare's shoulder. He looked over the horse appraisingly, as if he was only interested in a little sociable conversation about livestock; it was nothing out of the ordinary for Blackwell. Samuel kept his distance and, though the man was normally friendly, he watched Skinny with narrowed eyes. It was clear he was angered to see his ranch hand's horse in the possession of another person. 

"A nice lookin' horse like this is hard to come by," Wyatt murmured, gently running his calloused hand over the horse's shoulder. He noticed the worn saddle on her back and the bridle around her head. The only thing missing was the animal's rider. The mare's eyelids sunk sleepily, as if Wyatt's hand patting her neck was sending her into slumber. "You wouldn't happen to know where your friend found her, would you?" 

"Not a clue," Skinny replied, a little too happily.  

Wyatt glanced over at Samuel, who took a step closer as his brows drew together in a scowl. "That's Crowley's horse," he said impatiently. "I'd know that mare anywhere, Sheriff." 

Wyatt raised a hand to run over his chin, which was covered in greyish stubble. He thought back to a few hours prior when he had spoken with Crowley. He would never forget the harshness that Albert Crowley had suffered through and that cruelty would certainly not go unpunished if there was anything Wyatt Harris could possibly do about it. The need to put the attackers behind bars - where they wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else - was a heavy weight on Wyatt's thoughts. This morning, he'd asked Samuel if he would mind to deter from the plan, just for a moment, so that Wyatt could say goodbye to Caroline. The sheriff had started missing his oldest daughter as soon as he left the train station to inspect the horses housed in the livery, but he'd been a sheriff for a long time and he couldn't allow himself to be distracted as he stared at Skinny. Yet again, this job would pull Wyatt's attention away from his family.

The youth stared back, grinning. Obviously he did not realize the severity of the situation, as usual. Wyatt almost pitied Skinny for his ignorance. It was unfortunate that the time Skinny had served in jail had done nothing beneficial for the young man. He had not changed. He hadn't even thought about changing the path his life was taking, from what Wyatt could tell today.  But then another part of Wyatt envied Skinny for the simple way he could carry out day to day life. Skinny wasn't foolish; he knew what was going on around him. He just chose to keep going like nothing was wrong.

Just as Sheriff Harris was about to consider taking Skinny back to the jail yet again, this time for questioning, another person entered the livery.  

"Howdy," the man drawled, smiling to reveal tobacco stained yellow teeth, probably half rotted from lack of care. His beady black eyes slew over the people in the structure, like a hawk analyzing the ground for search of prey far below where he was perched. The hair covering his head was shockingly red. Wyatt thought he recognized this man from passing encounters in town, or maybe even from the Harvest Celebration. He couldn't place a name though.