Range War of Callie County by Dusty Richards

Author:Dusty Richards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oghma Creative Media

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NEEMORE DAVIS WAS in a quandary. If he went down to Ben’s Trace and spent a couple hours with Dolores, he would have to sleep on the back porch again. There would be no sharing his attention with two women in one day.

A trickle of sweat ran beneath his starched white shirt. Sometimes putting in his time as a public official was hell. At the moment, he was still having difficulty accepting the possibility that Jed Mahan had shot the Smith boy. After giving the matter a great deal of consideration, he came to the conclusion that if Jed had actually shot Shoat, it was because they were drunk. That was the only plausible explanation. Guns were poor decisionmakers, especially when liquor was involved.

Thinking about making decisions reminded Neemore of Alex’s increasingly bad attitude. Leaving his deputies out at the Contras’s place was not a good idea. Alex should have stayed with them.

He wiped his face with a white linen handkerchief. He decided he would go see Dolores later. The chances of Josie wanting to do something two nights in a row were damned slim. Besides, there was nothing else to do right now. Other than that fat, farting woodcutter Flores eating the wrong goat again, it was unlikely that the services of the judge would be needed on a hot Thursday afternoon in No Gap.

Hell, that case wouldn’t be worth dusting out the courtroom for. It would be a circus with that voluptuous Lupe Gonzales waving her brown arms and screaming in Spanish with all her kinfolk joining in. Old Flores would be sitting on the witness chair, his beady black eyes as mean as a fighting rooster’s. His relatives would be on the other side screaming that the Lopez family didn’t eat goats—they bred them. Not believing another such storm would fall in his lap, he shook his head to dissolve the picture. That kind of trial did not fulfill his expectations of courtroom procedures.

Placing his hands flat on the desktop, he pushed himself up and crossed the hall to find Alex asleep under his sombrero. Flies buzzed around his clasped hands which lay across his chest. His fingers jerked involuntarily flicking away the insects.

“Alex, I’ll be back.”

“Uh-huh.” The sheriff nodded, but didn’t bother to raise his head.

Casting an irritated frown at the lawman, Neemore sighed heavily and turned toward the door. Surely, Woodbridge was capable of handling the place for a while—even if it was unusual for the old buzzard to sleep during the daytime.

Maybe he was feeling his age.

As he passed the undertaker’s front door, he shook his head. He knew the Smith boy had been buried. He’d watched the funeral wagon go by, and later saw Sloan drive it back and park it. A quiet crowd of “south-end” people had followed the wagon. Their silence had been eerie.

It unnerved him, making him feel guilty because no county officials had been present at the funeral. Alex hadn’t bothered to go, and somehow Neemore hadn’t felt he would be welcome.

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