Wendy - Cover

Wendy

Copyright© 2018 by Old Man with a Pen

Chapter 18

“The county clerk?” Mr. Marshal asked.

“Ayup,” I agreed.

“Over at the court house?”

“That’s him,” I said.

“Tall skinny fella?” The Sheriff clarified.

“Weaselly looking man,” Seven said.

“Second floor?” The marshal was making sure. “Took your money?”

“Second floor ... office left of the courtroom,” Seven acquiesced, “Fifty dollars.”

“Every penny,” I said.

“Pocket?”

“Shirt pocket,” Seven said.

The marshal asked, “He give a reason?”

“Said a woman can’t collect,” Seven said.

“A husband could. Woman can’t sign a contract,” I said.

“Twenty five dollars reward?” The light came on just before the ship went on the rocks.

“Yup,”

“Dead or alive?”

“Uh huh,” I said, “Cash.”

Seven jingled a coin pouch.

He dropped his feet off the desk, hitched his gunbelt off his hip, settled his Colt’s Patent Dragoon Revolver in front of his crotch and said, “Let’s go collect.”

The sign on the Clerk of the Court’s door read LUNCH.

That foiled our revenge ... temporarily.

“He’s mighty fond of spicy food,” said the marshal. “He’ll be at Rosa’s Cantina. They have good beer.”

Rosa’s Cantina.

First ... let me tell you about the town, and it’s Spanish residents. Not Mexicans ... Spanish ... from Spain. They’ve been in the area since before the pilgrims settled New England ... before the French stole it from the Spanish ... who stole it from the Indians ... and Lord knows who they took it from. There are old Spanish diggings and Spanish ruins all over the area.

The Cantina structure was dated at least 1750 and probably fifty years before that. It had been a fort, a hacienda, a trading post and various other official and unofficial offices and homes for a hundred and fifty years. The adobe building boasted numerous arrow heads and bullet holes from bandits, Indian raids and military attacks. In the coming years, the Cantina would feature heavily in court cases and drunken brawls.

 
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