Longarm and the Rancher's Daughter by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 9

“So what the hell is the meaning of this outrage?” the dumpy lawyer with a cheap cigar stuffed into his mouth cried as he burst into the office. “Just who do you think you are, attacking Thad Wilson and causing him grievous insult, not to mention an injury.”

Peacock barely raised his glance from the stack of WANTED posters he’d been enjoying, but when he spoke, his voice was hard. “That kid is insulting, and the only injury he suffered was to his pride.”

“Marshal ... if you really are a United States marshal ...

I might have to take you before Judge Evans and show you that we do not tolerate abusive behavior toward women, children, dogs or animals of any kind.“

Peacock came to his feet, and then he walked over to the irate lawyer and jerked the smelly cigar out of his mouth. He opened the door and pitched the stinking stogie, then the lawyer into the street. “Next time you come through that door, you’d better remember your manners and show the law here in Reno some respect.”

The lawyer climbed unsteadily to his feet, jaw hanging down in astonishment. He spat shreds of tobacco and wagged his forefinger at Peacock. “I am going to sue you for ... for defamation of character and aggravated assault !”

“You can sue me for whatever you want you country clod, but I’ll countersue you for threatening a federal officer and trespassing.”

“Trespassing?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s my office you’re standing in! I paid the city clerk twenty dollars for the first month’s rent.”

“Then I suggest you ask for a refund,” Rutherford said.

“This is the marshal’s office and a jail. Furthermore, I’m not only the new federal marshal, but I also happen to be a university-trained attorney at law who passed the New York bar with honors, while I’d be willing to bet that the only bar you ever passed was sitting in a low-class saloon.”

The attorney was still sputtering his ridiculous threats when Peacock slammed the door and went back to his reading.

Thirty minutes later, there was a firm knock on his door. Peacock hollered, “If you’ve come back to apologize, then you may open the door. If not, then go away.”

“It’s Judge Evans, and I apologize to no one!” Peacock’s feet had been up on the desk, but now he suddenly dropped them and hurried over to open the door. The judge was a tall, but somewhat infirm, gentleman in his late sixties with a silver mane, a thick mustache and matching goatee. He looked very distinguished.

“Come in, Judge.” Peacock stuck out his hand and introduced himself.

The judge ignored the proffered hand and closed the door behind him. Without any word of welcome, he said, “Let me see your badge and papers of authority.”

“Of course. You’ll see that the papers are in order and signed by the federal commissioners both in Washington, D.C., as well as in Denver.”

The judge took his time reading the documents and when he was finished, his stem expression softened and handed them back saying, “I was in Washington, D.

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