Return of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone Page B

Sam, probably knows. Sam is quite like you. An honest man. The schoolteacher you’ve been sparking about, Sally. She probably suspects. Don’t worry about me, Buck. I am a federal marshal.”

11
    B uck had asked the Scotsman how he had known about him. MacGregor had shown him a wanted dodger on Smoke. He had cut off the hair and added a beard. It was eerie; almost like looking into a mirror.
    â€œYour skill and speed with your guns gave you away, Buck,” MacGregor said. Then he smiled. “What are you planning to do here?”
    â€œI’m going to kill Potter and Richards and Stratton and then burn this damn town to the ground.”
    â€œWarn me before you start putting your suicidal plan into action. I need to gather up my evidence and get out of here.”
    Buck had looked at the smaller man, not knowing how to take the man. “But you’re a federal marshal, MacGregor. Aren’t you going to arrest me?”
    â€œOn what charges, Buck? I’m not aware of any federal charges against you. You haven’t committed any acts of treason against the government of the United States. You haven’t robbed any federal mints. You haven’t assaulted any federal agents or destroyed any federal property. Hell, I personally hope you are successful in destroying this cesspool. Good day, Mr. West.”
    Buck stabled Drifter and went back to the hotel for a bath and shave. MacGregor hadn’t told him very much as to the why of a federal marshal being in Bury; just that if he, MacGregor, was successful, another chapter in that regrettable bloody insurrection referred to as the Civil War would be closed. And perhaps a young man would finally be at peace with himself.
    MacGregor had left it at that.
    After cleaning up, Buck walked to Sally’s house carrying a small package wrapped in brown paper. He found her working in the yard, planting flowers. She turned at the sounds of his bootheels and the jingle of his spurs and smiled at him.
    Brushing off her hands, Sally asked, “Did you have a good trip?”
    â€œOh, yes.” Buck held out the package. “Brought you something.”
    She waved him onto the porch and they both took chairs. She opened the package and laughed out loud. Two pounds of coffee.
    â€œI’ll grind these beans and make some coffee right now,” she said. “While it’s perking I’ll clean up. It won’t take me five minutes.”
    They chatted away the remainder of the morning. Sally fixed sandwiches for lunch, then the two went for a stroll around town. While resting on the cool banks of a creek, Buck said, “Sally, I want to tell you something.”
    She glanced at him. “Sounds serious.”
    â€œMight be. Sally, if I ever come to you and tell you to pack up and get out of town, don’t question it. Just do as I say. If I ever tell you that, it’s because a lot of trouble is about to pop wide open.”
    â€œIf there is an Indian attack, wouldn’t it be safer in town rather than outside of town?”
    â€œIt won’t be Indians, Sally.”
    â€œThere are children in this town, Buck,” she reminded him.
    â€œI’m aware of that.”
    â€œAre you saying the sins of the father are also on the head of the son?”
    â€œNo,” Buck’s reply was given slowly, after much thought. “Why would I think that?”
    She touched his face with her small hand. “Who are you, Buck?”
    And just before his lips touched hers, Buck said, “Smoke Jensen.”
    Â 
    â€œWell, this cinches it,” Richards told MacGregor. “I’ve got a man I can trust. You agree?”
    â€œOh, most assuredly,” the Scotsman said. “I like the young man.”
    Richards gave his bookkeeper a sharp glance. Damned little sour man had never seemed to like anybody. But if MacGregor gave his OK to Buck West, then Buck was all right.
    â€œBoss,” Jerry stuck his head