Bullets Don't Die by J. A. Johnstone Page A

center,” The Kid said. “I think it’ll be time for Harlan Levesy and me to meet face-to-face.”

Chapter 12
    With the showdown coming first thing in the morning, The Kid knew he needed some rest. While Constance and Bennett split up to spread the word through Copperhead Springs, The Kid and Jared Tate returned to the marshal’s office. There was an old sofa in the office where The Kid figured he could stretch out and get a little sleep.
    Tate had been quiet during the discussion of how to meet the threat from the Broken Spoke, but when they reached the office, he said, “I wish Cy Levesy was still alive. I can’t believe he isn’t. He’d put a stop to this in a hurry.”
    “I’m sure he would, Marshal.”
    “You don’t have to call me that,” Tate said with a shake of his head. He looked down at the badge pinned to his vest. “I know this tin star of mine is just an old souvenir.”
    “You wore it proudly. No reason you still can’t.”
    “I appreciate that.” Tate sat down behind the desk. “Hard to believe little Riley Cumberland grew up to be the marshal. He was always getting in trouble when he was a kid. No ma to raise him, you know, just Bert. And Bert was always either drunk or working at some odd job to make money for whiskey. Riley . . . well, Riley always sort of hated his old man, I think.”
    “Bert cares about him,” The Kid said.
    “Yeah. A father always does. Why, I always doted on my girl Bertha.” Tate smiled. “I remember last year I brought this puppy home for her . . .” His voice trailed away. After a moment he said, “That wasn’t last year, was it?”
    “Probably not,” The Kid said.
    “She’s a grown woman now. Got a husband and kids of her own. I . . . I seem to recall staying with them for a spell . . .”
    “I’m sure you’ll go back and see them when this trouble is all over,” The Kid said.
    He hadn’t given much thought to what should be done about Tate, but clearly he needed somebody looking after him. He couldn’t be left alone to roam around on his own, lost in the past with his memories going in and out of his head.
    The Kid stretched out on the sofa and tipped his hat down over his eyes. “I’m going to get some shut-eye. But I’ll be awake in time to get ready for Levesy and the bunch from the Broken Spoke. You won’t wander off, will you, Marshal?”
    “No, I’ll stay right here,” Tate declared firmly. “Don’t worry, Kid, I’ll hold down the fort.”
    Like most frontiersmen, The Kid had developed the knack of being able to go to sleep quickly and wake up when he wanted to. He dozed off almost as soon as he closed his eyes, and when he opened them he knew it was about an hour before dawn.
    The marshal’s office was dark. The lamp had either gone out, or Tate had turned it out. The Kid sat up on the sofa. “Marshal?”
    No one answered him.
    He swung his legs off the old sofa and stood up. He had spent enough time in the marshal’s office that he sort of knew where things were, so he was able to cross the room and find the desk. He took the glass chimney off the lamp, struck a match, and lit the wick. The yellow glow that welled up revealed the room was empty except for The Kid.
    He bit back a curse. He had told Tate not to wander off!
    And he had trusted a man whose mind was half gone to do what he was told. It was his own fault, The Kid thought. He had never before dealt with anyone who had the sort of problems Tate did, and he had made assumptions he shouldn’t have made.
    It was too late to do anything except look for the old lawman . . . and he had to get out and see how the town was progressing with its preparations for the Broken Spoke crew, he reminded himself. He could combine those two tasks.
    Leaving the lamp burning in case Tate came back, The Kid left the marshal’s office and went to the corner. The buildings along Main Street were dark, but as he started along the boardwalk, someone called softly, “Who’s