Looking closer, he announced he also liked a pair of the Marshall’s boots, as well as his belt, his hat, his spurs, his razor and his bottle or rotgut. The Deputy took them all out of the suitcase and laid them on the bed.
“That’s a lot of things,” said the Marshall.
“You’re right about that,” said the Deputy. “I don’t know how I’m going to carry them all back to my room.”
Marshall Luxon let his arms fall down to his sides. His hands rested lightly on his revolvers.
Deputy Peters let his arms fall down to his sides. His hands rested lightly on his revolvers.
The two men eyed each other across the room — and then with a sudden movement, the Deputy reached out and grabbed the suitcase, tipping its few contents out onto the bed, and filled it with the items he had borrowed.
He left the room, whistling a merry tune.
Marshall Luxon sighed. Well, he figured, the Deputy hadn’t taken all that much. He could easily replace the items. He searched his closet for another suitcase, and heard a loud and sudden gallop. He rushed outside and saw a cloud of dust.
Deputy Peters had borrowed his horse.
Tuesday
Deputy Peters rode to City Hall, and told everyone how it was going to be for the next three years.
“If you don’t like it,” he said, “leave.”
Quite a few people upped and left.
Wednesday
Deputy Seymour rode to City Hall, took a look at the few officials who decided to stick it out, and said, “Y’all are good for nothin’. Y’all are a drain on the budget. Y’all are fired. Git. Go on, git!”
His bootsteps sounded loud in the empty offices. He sure did like the sound of that.
Thursday
Marshall Luxon hitched a ride in a stagecoach to City Hall, and asked where everybody was. Nobody was there to reply.
“But I need things done,” he said out loud. “I need my government to function!”
His voice bounced off the walls. He sure did not like the sound of that.
Friday
Marshall Luxon was feeling just a little bit sorry for himself as he waited at the train station to catch a locomotive to a beach resort for summer — until he recognised another passenger waiting on the platform. The man was dressed in rags. He was stooped and toothless. His eyes stared into the distance, and saw nothing.
“No hard feelings,” said the Marshall.
The man said nothing.
“Things will feel better once you get some sun,” said the Marshall. “Rest up a while. Recharge your batteries. Come back feeling fit and tanned.”
The man turned and looked at him. “Reckon that little speech was for your own benefit, pardner,” he said.
“Suit yourself, amigo,” said the Marshall.
Marshall Luxon moved further down the platform. Well, he figured, that’s just the way things go sometimes. But you had to be strong. He vowed that no matter how the next three years went down, he would never turn into a man as wrecked and pitiful as ex-Sherriff Chippy.
