Chapter 14

After arriving back in Fort Birney and meeting with the Maliks and his deputies, Lonegan had sent a wire to Agate, addressed to the Mexican family who sold food to the trains. It advised them that he would require sixteen of the chorizo, potato, and egg burritos for Monday morning. “That’s two apiece and we’ll take some along for the Tsosies, just in case,” he explained.

Judge Westcott had accepted both a copy of the motion submitted to the Fifth Federal District Court and the brief that Castillo had prepared, noting case law and prior decisions. Westcott told Castillo that he did not recognized the name of the presiding judge in Galveston, Horatio Regis Nestor, but would make some inquiries.

By half past five the next morning, their horses had been loaded into Malik’s stock car and the five men were ensconced in the business car’s main cabin, sipping fresh coffee that Malik had prepared while Andy saw to his and his brother’s horses. At a quarter to six, their cars were shunted onto the K&ASR siding at Fort Birney’s Union Station and attached to the rear of the daily K&ASR mixed freight and passenger train. The train left the station platform at precisely six AM.

They arrived at Agate on time, at six-thirty-nine. Lonegan and Malik went out on the car’s front platform where Lonegan called out “Pilar!” to a young woman who was standing on the passenger platform, holding a peck-sized handbasket by its wire handle. The business car’s exterior front deck, which adjoined that of the second passenger coach, had reached a spot at the edge of the station platform, and the woman was able to approach Malik’s car at its level. Lonegan stepped off the front deck onto the station platform to meet her.

At the same time, train conductor Fergus Healy, accompanied by one of the brakemen, had passed behind Pilar and her food basket, intent on Malik’s car. In the distance, to the north, could be heard a train whistle. Healy broke step to listen, then he continued on toward Malik’s car, bidding a good morning as he passed Lonegan and young food vendor. Pilar returned the greeting and then became occupied transferring the contents of the basket to an empty flour sack which Lonegan held open for her.

Healy stepped onto the business car deck to stand beside Malik while the brakeman stepped onto the rear deck of the adjoining passenger car.

Malik said, “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Healy said, “An’ it’s the top o’ the mornin’ I be bringin’ to you, m’lord, for ‘tis your own special train you’ll be havin’ today, if you please.”

With a puzzled smile, Malik asked, “What’s that, Mister Healy?”

With a grin, Healy pulled a “train orders” flimsy from his pocket and tapped the paper form with his finger. “What this says, boyo, is that you’re to have use of your own personal locomotive engine and crew car for the duration of your investigation, it says, an’ that’s for certain. Me an’ me boys have plucked this plum assignment, we have.”

“I’m not sure ... What does it mean?”

The distant whistle, now closer, blew a grade crossing warning.

Healy briefly cocked his head toward the approaching whistle and said, “Ah, well, Mister Malik, what it means, me bucko, is that the powers-that-be on the K and ASR have assigned a road engine for your very own use while you hunt the godless villains behind those thugs which caused the demise o’ Mister Tsosie’s lamented sister and our very own Fred Urban, God rest ‘em both. Me crew will swap out with the crew on yon train, we will, and then we’ll head on down the line in advance of this here southbound. We’ll have you hooked up in a jiffy and we’ll be in Cleveland ‘fore this slow poke is out of sight of Agate.”

A locomotive came into view, rounding the final curve north of Agate. On each side of its pilot (the small-wheeled truck at the engine’s lead end) it displayed a white flag, indicating a “special” train, that is, one not on the schedule. Healy, watching its approach, said, “Oh, an’ that’s a fine ‘un, ‘tis, a thoroughbred with a big firebox an’ six drivin’ wheels, a Mogul type, she is. More speed than the plow horse they got pullin’ this here consist. An’ look ‘a there, now, would you. They gave us one o’ them new accommodation cars with the cupola, a caboose, they calls it.” He beamed at Malik. “Ridin’ on your crew will be a pleasure, Mister Malik, as those new accommodation cars are most accommodatin’.”

Malik looked at Healy with an expression of disbelief. Lonegan, who had just climbed back onto the car, seeing his expression, asked, “What’s goin’ on?”

Malik switched his focus from the conductor to the marshal. Bobbing his head to indicate the approaching train, Malik said, “Believe it or not, that locomotive is for our use. They’re going to detach our cars and then we’ll be our own train.”

Lonegan glanced at the approaching locomotive, then turned back to Malik and, holding up the bulging flour sack, said, “That’s nice, but let’s eat.”

An hour-and-a-quarter later, the special was switched onto a yard siding at Cleveland. As the train came to a halt not far from the depot, Healy came out of the caboose’s door and met Malik, who was just exiting his business car.

“Aye, an’ there you are, Mister Malik. We got you here a half hour sooner than the local, don’t you know. We’ll take on coal and water, then put her on the number three freight yard siding. We’ll keep the steam up for a couple hours, ‘til we’re sure you won’t be needin’ us. Then we’ll bank her down, so getting’ up steam will take a bit.”

Lonegan had emerged in time to hear Healy’s explanation.

Malik said, “That should be fine, Mister Healy. I’ll know what’s going on as soon as Cowboy gets here. I’ll let you know what we plan after we talk to him. I reckon he wasn’t counting on us having a special train and arriving early, so we may have to hunt him up. Otherwise, he should be along pretty soon.”

“That’s fine, sir. We’ll just brew us a pot o’ coffee on our brand new stove while we’re waitin’, then.” Healy turned and went back into the crew car.

Lonegan said, “In the meantime, let’s you an’ me go check in with the sheriff, Emil. Leo, Bill an’ your brother can wait with the train in case Cowboy shows up before we get back.” They both stepped back into the car to let the other men know their intent.

“Do you know Ethan Napier?” Malik asked, a few minutes later, as he and Lonegan walked toward the McCabe County courthouse.

“Had some dealings with him. Seems like a decent sort, if a trifle touchy. C’mon, maybe he’ll have fresh coffee.”

The K&ASR tracks bordered the east side of Cleveland’s main street, which was also a section of the old Military Wagon Road. The McCabe County courthouse, a roughly square, two-story red brick structure with a peaked roof, occupied the center of a grassy, shaded quadrangle on the west side of the Wagon Road, across from the railroad depot. Lonegan led Malik up the three stone steps and into the front door. Immediately on the left side of the central hallway was a door marked, in three white-painted lines on a wooden plaque, “Ethan Napier, Sheriff, McCabe County.” Lonegan pushed open the door and walked in.

The room, roughly twelve feet square, featured a desk, which faced the door, and, behind it, a rectangular table with six chairs and two standing desks against the side wall to the left. There was a coal stove in the corner near the windows. A coffee pot sat atop the stove, a tendril of aromatic steam curling from its spout. The other side wall was busy with pegs holding a cluttered load of coats, belts, and shackles, and shelves which carried stacks of paper and bottles of ink, among other paraphernalia. Between the two windows there were framed photographs of President Cleveland and Governor Abbot and, in the back corner, mounted on the wall, a rack holding two rifles and three shotguns, secured by a long metal bar with a padlock on one end.

The rear wall included two doors. One was closed. Painted on it was “Ethan Napier / Sheriff.” The other door was open and part of a locked cell and its bunk was visible. Lying, apparently unconscious, on that bunk in the locked cell was Cowboy.

Lonegan and Malik stood before the desk. Behind it sat a bewhiskered man whose shirt front displayed a six-pointed county sheriff star. Lonegan addressed the sheriff’s deputy, “Good morning, deputy. I’m United States Marshal Connor Lonegan, from the federal district court in Fort Birney. Is Sheriff Napier here?”

Cowboy turned his head toward them, but didn’t otherwise move. There were bruises visible on his face, a swollen, split lip, a black eye. He smiled at Malik and Lonegan, both of whom were looking at him over the head of the deputy at the desk.

The deputy said, “The sheriff gets in ‘bout nine o’clock, Marshal. Reckon he’ll be along in a half hour or so.”

Lonegan and Malik exchanged a glance and Lonegan said to the sheriff’s deputy, “Can you tell me why you have one of my deputy marshals in your cell?”

“Marshal, ain’t no one back there but for some Injun.”

“As I said, can you tell me why you have locked up one of my deputies and can you explain how he gained those injuries?”

“Marshal, like I jus’ tol’ you, ain’t no one--Hold on! Are you sayin’ that there Injun’s a dep’ty United States marshal?”

“That is indeed what I’m saying. Can you tell me, please, how he came to be here?”

Now the man looked both bewildered and flustered. “Since when can a Injun be a dep’ty marshal?”

“Since seventeen eighty-nine. But you have yet to answer my question.”

“Huh? Oh! Uh, he was brought in by a railroad dick on a murder charge.”

“Railroad detective? Who is he supposed to have murdered?”

“A coupl’a hands out at the B-Bar-L.”

“And what railroad detective?”

“Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that. I work nights.”

“What does the arrest report say?”

“Don’t know. ‘At’s all in the sheriff’s office. I don’t have a key.”

Lonegan turned to Malik and said, “Could you go check the railroad side of this? See who the detective is and where we can find him. I’ll wait here for the sheriff an’ keep my eye on Mister Tsosie, back there, to see that no further harm befalls him.”

Malik looked at Lonegan and said, “A word in private,” gesturing with his head toward the door leading to the courthouse hallway.

The two men stepped through the door, closing it behind them. The hallway was deserted, most offices not opening until nine o’clock.

“Connor, Cowboy’s brothers must still be about somewhere. You might make discreet inquiry if they’ve been seen.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll simply ask if they’ve had other problems with Indians that they’ve so overreacted to Cowboy.”

“That should work. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If I can’t find the detective, I’ll likely have to send some wires and wait for responses. I’ll be at the depot if I’m not here.”

Lonegan clapped Malik on the shoulder and went back into the sheriff’s office while Malik headed out the courthouse door and down the steps.

Crossing the Wagon Road, Malik entered the K&ASR depot and walked up to the combined ticket and telegraph counter. While crossing the street, he had removed a business card from his pocket book and this he presented to the balding man at the desk.

“Good morning, sir. My name is Emil Malik and I am an attorney for the K and ASR. I am trying to find our railroad detective who’s been operating here.”

The man accepted the card and looked at it. “Welcome, Mister Malik. I’m Cecil Yoder, the stationmaster here. But I’m afraid I don’t know anything about any railroad detective. The only railroad police I know about operate out of the Fort Birney branch office. That’s who we contact if we’ve a real problem, like freight thievery or the like. Otherwise, one of us just pins on a badge to handle the trifling stuff, chasing kids out of the yard or such, though a badge isn’t usually necessary. We keep a couple l0cked in the drawer over there, but nobody’s used ‘em for months.”

Yoder went over to check the drawer, which he had to unlock. He reached in and brought out two silver-toned, shield-shaped badges, matching those that Joshua Trent had produced in Waypoint the week before. “Both are still here and haven’t left this drawer for, oh, at least six months, if not a year.”

“Then I reckon I need to wire the branch office, because some railroad copper arrested a friend of mine, yesterday, and put him in the sheriff’s lock-up.” Malik reached for one of the message forms and a pencil, both of which were in a small straw basket on the counter.

He held up the completed inquiry and said, “This is for the company wire,” meaning that it was railroad business, not a personal telegram, and should be sent on the dedicated company wires. After he handed the message to the stationmaster, he asked, “Have you ever met a K and ASR policeman by the name of Martin Doyle? I believe he works out of Junction City.”

Yoder paused a moment and looked pensively toward the ceiling at the far corner of the room, then began shaking his head. “No ... No, I can’t say I recognize the name. I didn’t know they had anybody assigned to Junction City. It’s probably a good idea, though. Sorry I couldn’t help.”

“It’s not really your problem, Mister Yoder, so don’t give it another thought.”

Yoder held up the message form and asked, “So this goes as is?”

“Please,” Malik replied. Then, “Uh, Mister Yoder, on second thought, would you send that same wire to our chief of security in Wichita at the same time, please?”

“You bet, sir.” Yoder sat on a stool at the telegraph apparatus counter and began working the key. Malik heard the front door latch open and turned to see Sage and Juniper coming through the door.

A tall, middle-aged, red-haired, fully-bewhiskered man came into the sheriff’s front office. He wore a black business suit and carried a black bowler hat in his left hand. He immediately saw Lonegan, who was sitting with one hip on the corner of the office deputy’s desk, a coffee mug in hand.

As Lonegan rose, the man said, “Marshal Lonegan? Good to see you. What can I do for you?” The man spoke a refined American English, with a soft, but discernible, South Carolina drawl.

“Good mornin’, Sheriff Napier.” Lonegan reached out a hand, which Napier shook in greeting. “Deputy Quitmeyer, here, says you’re the man I have to talk to so that I can find out why you have one of my deputies locked in your cells.”

Napier stopped short and looked quizzically at Quitmeyer, who had also risen at his boss’s entrance. Quitmeyer, with a skeptical rise to his eyebrows, said, “He means the Injun, Sheriff.”

Napier looked back at Lonegan. “Seriously? That man is a deputy US marshal? But the railroad detective said he’d murdered a couple men. What’ going on? Why is your deputy here in McCabe County?”

“Didn’t he explain himself?”

“Well, he was still unconscious when I went home, last evening. Mister Quitmeyer, has he said anything to you?” Napier asked as he moved past the reception desk and toward the door to the cells. Lonegan followed him.

“I didn’t know he was awake until the marshal got here. He hasn’t said anything, yet.”

As they reached the cells, Cowboy sat up slowly on the edge of the bunk. He said, in a raspy voice, “Ya’at’eeh, Marshal, Sheriff.”

Napier asked Lonegan, “Can you identify this man as your deputy?”

“Sheriff Napier, meet United States Deputy Marshal Cowboy Tsosie, from Navajo Ranch in the Flat Grass Valley in Sonora County.”

Napier turned to Quitmeyer, who was standing just outside the door to the jail cells. “Mister Quitmeyer, please bring me the keys--” Quitmeyer held up the key ring, forestalling Napier’s order. “Get this man a cup of water, Mister Quitmeyer, if you please.” The deputy hurried off.

Napier unlocked the cell and Lonegan went in and crouched before Cowboy. He put his hand on Cowboy’s shoulder and said, “You look pretty rough. How did you end up here”

Cowboy rasped, “Last I remember, those B-Bar-L boys were wailin’ on me. Doyle, or whoever he is, had told them I’d shot the men in the second ranch house. I woke up here just when you and Shadow must’ve come in.”

Napier, standing in the cell door, said, “Shadow? Who or what is that?”

Quitmeyer came in with a mug of water, which he offered to Cowboy through the bars, near his shoulder. Cowboy accepted the mug and began to take slow swallows.

Meanwhile, Lonegan stood and answered Napier. “‘Shadow’ is what the Indians call Emil Malik. Here’s here in town with me.”

Napier looked at Lonegan. “Malik? That lawyer from Waypoint?”

“Yep. He went over to the depot, to inquire after your railroad detective. Seems Malik’s not only the K and ASR’s attorney, but he’s on their board of directors, so he should get to the bottom of this.”

“Oh, well, that shouldn’t be a big mystery,” Napier responded. “Doyle said he’d be in first thing this morning.”

“What did Doyle say happened?”

“Actually, I haven’t met him. He sent a note with Michael Macready, the foreman of the B-Bar-L, when Macready and a couple of his hands brought, uh...” he looked toward Cowboy.

“Deputy Tsosie,” Lonegan supplied.

“ ... when they brought Deputy Tsosie in. The note asked us to hold him pending murder charges. Macready said he’d seen the bodies.”

“So you’re holding him on a note from someone who didn’t accompany his own prisoner?”

“Well, it might seem irregular, now, but with Macready backing the story, it seemed legitimate. I had no reason to doubt him. Besides, he was only an, uh...”

“Injun?”

Napier shook his head, looking abashed. “You have to admit, an Indian marshal is a bit irregular.”

“Really? I know of at least a half dozen Injuns who are deputy marshals, and that doesn’t include the Indian Territory. But, I suppose, it’s hard to keep up with things from a backwater like Cleveland.”

Napier looked down at his polished shoes for a moment, then faced Lonegan, again.

“I take your rebuke, Marshal. And I apologize, Mister Tsosie. I’ve never really met any Indians since I arrived here. I’ve only heard stories from the old-timers.”

Cowboy, now with a stronger voice, asked, “Where’s my horse?”

“Macready said there was an Appaloosa that ran off. Was that yours?”

“Yes. He’ll be fine, as long as no one bothers him.” He looked at Lonegan and asked, “My brothers?”

Lonegan again addressed the sheriff. “Seen any other Indians around?”

“One of my deputies chased a couple away from the rail yard yesterday afternoon. Said they were riding some Appaloosas, too. You say they’re your brothers?”

Just then there was a bit of commotion as Malik, Sage, and Juniper came in the door from the central hallway. They made straight for the group gathered at Cowboy’s cell. Then Andy, Trombley, and Goodson came into the office. They, too, walked toward the group of men near the jail door.

A moment later, a middle-aged, bearded, stocky man came in the door, in the process of pinning a badge to his waistcoat. He stopped short when he saw the group of armed men at the jail door, and, resting his hand on the butt of a gun he had in a shoulder holster, he called, “Sheriff?”

Napier, who’d been easily identified in the crowd by his red hair, turned and, spotting his deputy, said, “Everything’s fine, Mister Zimmerman. We’re just sorting out some things. Marshal Lonegan is here. These men are with him”

Meanwhile, Juniper, who’d pushed in close to the cell, asked Cowboy, “A’a, Akalii? (Are you well, Cowboy?)”

Cowboy turned toward his youngest brother and said, softly, “Ah nists iid, Gad. (I’m all right, Juniper.) Just a little banged up. I’ve had worse while training horses.”

Then Sage squeezed in next to the bars beside Juniper. Malik stood behind them with a hand on each of their shoulders. Andy and the other deputies stood by in the office.

Malik looked at Napier and said, “Sheriff, I wish I could say it was good to see you, again.”

“Yes, Mister Malik. Marshal Lonegan was just pointing out my faulty reasoning. I’ve apologized to Deputy Tsosie. But I’m still not sure what the real story is, here.”

Lonegan turned back to Cowboy. “So, what happened?”

Cowboy said, “Marshal, Sheriff, these are my brothers, Sage and Juniper. Boys, meet Marshal Connor Lonegan and Sheriff Ethan Napier.”

Then Malik said, “Sheriff, the fair-haired man is my brother and business partner, Andy Malik. The other two men are deputy marshals Trombley and Goodson.” The men offered their hands, in turn.

Napier said to the group, in general, “Since my form of welcome seems justifiably questionable this morning, let me simply say that I am gratified to see all of you here in our office, though not in our jail.

“However, if the number of federal lawmen here this morning is any indicator, I have to assume that there may be a problem in McCabe County of which I am unaware. If Mister Tsosie is able, let’s go to the jury room, which is just across the hall, and we can sit at that table. Help yourself to some of our coffee. There are more cups on the shelf over to the left. Mister Quitmeyer, would you see to making another pot of coffee, please? I prefer your preparation more than my own or Mister Zimmerman’s.”

A few minutes later, the eleven men sat around the table in the jury room, which was not in use, as there was no court currently in session. Quitmeyer sat nearest the door, where he could observe anyone entering the sheriff’s office.

Napier, who sat at one end of the table, said to Lonegan, seated at the other, “Marshal, please, will you take charge of this meeting.”

Lonegan turned to Cowboy, who was sitting on his right. “So, what happened, Mister Tsosie?”

Cowboy looked at Lonegan, then Malik.

Malik said, “I think I can guess what happened, but go ahead, Cowboy.”

Cowboy took a quick sip of the coffee. Then he rested his elbows on the table and glanced around at the other men, ending up at Lonegan. “It was nearly nine o’clock by the time Sage, Juniper, and I were saddled-up after we left the train, here, on Saturday night. We rode about halfway to the B-Bar-L and then made a cold camp at a place off the trail that I’d taken note of, when I was up here, before.”

Napier said, “Please forgive my interruption, Deputy Tsosie, but what was the attraction at the B-Bar-L ranch?”

Lonegan said, “Sorry, Sheriff. Let me bring you up to date. It has to do with those missing women I stopped in to talk about, a couple weeks ago.” Lonegan described the kidnapping and death of Aspen and the suspicious circumstances at the former horse ranch on the B-Bar-L property. He also mentioned that a couple of the men from the horse ranch had shot and killed a deputy sheriff in Waypoint and that they, in turn, had been killed in a gun battle with a deputy marshal.

After Lonegan finished, Napier said, “Thank you, Marshal. That explains much.” Then he turned to Cowboy and said, “My sincerest condolences to you, your brothers and the rest of your family, Mister Tsosie. I have a younger sister and can all but imagine your hurt and anger. Please, sir, go ahead with your account.”

Cowboy looked around at the group once more, then he spoke to Lonegan. “Yesterday morning, we were in the saddle before dawn, so that we could get in position to watch the ranch before anyone there was up and about. I left my brothers where they could keep an eye on the front, and I circled around to watch the back.

“Just after sunup, two men came out the back of the house and went over to the stable. A while later, they drove one of the coal wagons out of the stable, pulled by four mules. They stopped by a pile of coal by the house. Then a third man, a well-dressed Mexican, came out of the house with three women. The women had their hands tied behind them and they were gagged. The third man led them over to the coal wagon. He had some rope tucked into his belt and he used it to tie their legs at the knees and the ankles. Then he and the other men lifted the women into the back of the coal wagon. I couldn’t see what they were doing, but, besides their cussing, I heard a hammer banging nails. Then the men climbed out and started shoveling coal into the wagon.

“I figured I could get close to them by going through the stable and hold them in place with my gun while I called my brothers in to help.

“I got to the rear of the stable and had just slipped inside when a man came out of one of the stalls with a shotgun pointed at me. I saw he was wearing a badge so I told him I was a deputy marshal chasing kidnappers, but he kept the gun on me and told me drop my pistol and to just keep movin’. He had me go out the front of the stable and it was clear, then, that he was one of the gang.

“I recognized one of the men from when I’d checked on the ranch last month. The others I hadn’t seen before. Two of them kept their guns on me while the man I reckon was Doyle talked with the Mexican. I couldn’t hear what they were sayin’. Then the Mexican climbed up on the wagon and drove off.

“They took me into the house. One of ‘em must’ve slugged me because I don’t remember anything until those B-Bar-L boys were kicking me awake. I guess I took a kick to the head, because the next thing I knew was waking up her, just a when I heard Shadow an’ you talkin’.” Cowboy looked over at Sage and asked, “What did you see?”

Sage said, “We saw the wagon drive off, but had no idea you’d gone in there. About ten mimutes later we heard a couple shotgun blasts, but it was just as a half dozen riders were coming by from the other ranch buildings. They pulled around and went to the house. We saw them carry you out a few minutes later and hang you over a saddle, and we followed along from cover, until we saw them carry you into here.”

Lonegan looked at Napier. “Have you had a doc in to look at him?”

Napier was shaking his head. “There’s no doctor here. There’s a barber does some stitching, a couple women do midwifery, but that’s about it. Nearest doctor is in Fort Birney.”

Malik said, “Have you any willow bark extract?”

Napier said, “No, but I have some sodium salicylate powder. I’ll be right back.” He got up and walked out of the jury room and across the hall to his office. He returned a minute later with a small brown bottle and a cup of water. He set them in front of Cowboy, then returned to his seat. Cowboy read the label, then sprinkled some of the gray powder into the water in the cup. He stirred it with his finger, then drank it down, his face puckering at the bitter taste.

Lonegan looked at Malik. “So is this Doyle a railroad detective or not?”

Malik shook his head. “Doesn’t appear so. The Fort Birney branch police office never heard of him. I wired Wichita, but they haven’t responded, yet. Right now, I’m wondering what happened to those women and that wagon.”

Andy said, “Hadn’t we figured that they were using one of the gondolas to move the women down to the border?”

“Well, they couldn’t have gotten to Cleveland early enough to meet yesterday’s southbound. Where are those cars right now?” Cowboy asked.

Malik looked thoughtful for a moment, then he focused on Lonegan. “I think we need to get Mister Healy to see if he can sort out the gondolas. Last I knew, they were both here at Cleveland.”

Lonegan said, “Let’s take a break for a half hour. Mister Malik, if you would, please, check to see if there’s been any word about Doyle from Wichita and see if Mister Healy can help us out.”

Napier looked bewildered. “Who is Mister Healy?”

Lonegan replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, Sheriff. He’s the conductor on Mister Malik’s train.”

Cowboy’s head swung around toward Malik. “You have a train, now?”

“Yeah, yeah. Wichita wants this resolved, too, and they didn’t want us to have to work around train schedules, so they assigned me a locomotive and caboose. Fergus Healy and his crew are working it. I’ll go over there now. Andy, do you think that you, Juniper, and Sage could see to the horses?”

Sage said, “We will, Shadow. Cowboy, we have Níyol. We found him with our horses when we followed you into town.”

Andy added, “We’ll get them out of the car and exercise them a bit, then load them back up, make sure they have water and hay. We ought to load the Tsosie horses, too, until we know what we’re going to do.”

Cowboy asked, “You still got room?”

Andy replied, “Just our two and Marshal Lonegan’s, so yours will fill it up. Deputies Trombley and Goodson planned to rent, if needs be.”

“Maybe we should break for a full hour,” Lonegan said. “Sheriff, will this room still be available?”

“There’s no court scheduled until Friday, so yes, it will. By the way, there’s a nice diner right across Wagon Road, next to the depot. It’s called the Hot Box and they’re known for their doughnuts. I like their coffee, too. In fact, all their food is good.”

Lonegan was looking at his pocket watch. “Gents, I show ten minutes ‘til ten. Be back in an hour, please. Mister Trombley, would you help with the horses? Mister Goodson, please accompany Mister Malik. Give him a hand, if he needs one. I’m going to visit the jakes, go over and buy a doughnut, and then I’ll be in the Sheriff’s office if anyone needs me.”