Printer in Petticoats by Lynna Banning Page B

women screaming.
    Don’t think about it. Don’t remember.
    He tried to even out his breathing, but he couldn’t control the panic. The feeling of helplessness. And the impotent, searing rage that poured over him when he remembered how it had been.
    Maryann. Maryann, I tried. I tried so hard.
    On days like this he wished it had been him. He’d begged God to let it have been him.
    But He had taken Maryann instead.
    * * *
    The next night, Cole stopped in at the Golden Partridge, ordered a shot of whiskey and nursed it while keeping his ears open to the talk going on around him. Often while lounging at the bar he uncovered a lead on a good story.
    â€œNot much support for Conway Arbuckle after his debate with Sheriff Silver,” the stocky barkeep intoned while topping up his shot glass.
    â€œWhat else do you hear?”
    O’Reilly leaned over the polished wood bar. “Couple of sleazy-lookin’ types behind you, talkin’ kinda dirty about the Sentinel .”
    â€œYou know them?”
    â€œNope. Never seen ’em before.”
    Cole studied the reflections of the two men in the mirror behind the bar. Unshaven. Sweat-soaked hats with brims curled up like dried orange peels. Filthy-looking leather vests. And, he noted with a jolt of alarm, both were packing revolvers.
    As he watched, a third man pushed through the batwing doors and sauntered across the room to join the other two. One stuck out a dusty boot and shoved a chair toward the newcomer.
    Something about the trio made the back of Cole’s neck prickle. He tried to overhear their subdued conversation, but no luck. Their damn hats were tipped so low he couldn’t even read their lips.
    He motioned the bartender over. “How long have they been here, Tom?”
    â€œMost of the night. Seemed like they were waitin’ for that third one. I checked the horses tied out front earlier and they looked mighty played out.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œWell, yeah. One of ’em keeps askin’ for my dirty bar rags. Funny thing, though, none of them’s cleaning their weapons or anything else.”
    Cole swiveled to face the room, planted both elbows on the bar and hooked his boot heel over the brass rail. The third man had a bulge in his jacket pocket that Cole guessed was a concealed revolver.
    His skin felt as if ants were crawling over his body. As he watched, the three men hunched close together over the table, talking low.
    Cole turned back to Tom. “Think I’ll pay a visit to Sheriff Silver.”
    â€œGood idea. Don’t want any trouble here, even if it is Saturday night.”
    At the sheriff’s office, Jericho Silver listened carefully but said little until Cole finished describing the three strangers who’d apparently just drifted into town.
    â€œSorry to disappoint you, Cole, but I can’t lock up somebody just because he looks suspicious. And it’s not illegal to carry a weapon. It’s only illegal if he uses it.”
    â€œI see.” The sheriff’s explanation didn’t satisfy Cole, but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
    The lawman stood up and donned his black Stetson. “I’ll walk the streets twice more tonight, just to check things out.”
    â€œThanks, Sheriff.”
    Even after a juicy steak and some apple pie at the restaurant, Cole couldn’t stop thinking about those three disreputable-looking men. Couldn’t shake the bad feeling down deep in his gut, either.
    Back at the Lark office he finished writing his editorial for the Tuesday edition, then paced back and forth across the plank floor trying to shake the feeling of foreboding that hung over him. Finally he stuffed his pencils in the desk drawer and went up the stairs to his bedroom.
    Not one chance in a thousand Jessamine would keep her lamp on while she undressed tonight, he reasoned. Made him wish she’d never found out.
    He shucked his boots and