-- Meet the sheriff --
Dawn, the following day.
Cort woke up to a knocking at his door. The night before Louisa had shown him to his room on the 2nd floor of the inn, and he'd fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Sitting up, his eyes swept the room slowly getting oriented. The knocking continued.
Cort rubbed his face with the hands as he uttered, "Yeah?"
Louisa's voice carried into the room, "Best come down Mr. Anderson. The Sheriff has arrived."
Cort swung his legs around and his feet touched the ground, with a soft thump. "Right."
Cort made his way over to the small table, chair, and washbin that was across from his bed. Last night's, pants and shirt hung over the chair. His hat was atop the bedpost at the end of his bed, but he decided to leave it. His gun and the holster he snagged off the left bedpost near the top of the bed. His gun rested in the right holster, and he plucked the chain up and out of his left holster, which revealed a copper colored pocket watch attached to it.
6:18 am. Felt like it.
Cort exited his room and walked around the railed walway that encirlcd the top floor leading to the stairway in the NE corner of Brennigan's. Voices carried , in spurts, from down below. Cort guessed the main room was quieter this early in the morning than late at night. Cort thought he was probably the only traveller staying here overnight.
As Cort made his way down the stairway, an older man's voice caught his ear. The tone wasn't pleasant, it reminded Cort of his school teacher as a kid, lecturing him for making a mistake.
"Shouldn't have let that boy sleep here Irish. He could've skipped town as you and your Injun slept."
Cort's eyes caught sight of two men at the bar, one was the bright eyed face of Brennigan. He was pouring himself a cup of coffee as the man across from him spoke to him. The man was just over 6 feet tall, his white hat was pushed up from his brow, but gray hair was visible running down his neck and curling slightly at the neck collar of the man's red shirt. A brown vest was over his shoulders and gold colored glint could be picked out on the man's left breast. Two guns were stored in their holsters that circled his waste. Tan pants and boots completed his attire. His skin was tanned by the sun, but lines could be seen on his face, betraying an age, older than his own.
Brennigan lowed his cup after sipping his coffee. "The man doesn't have a reason to run like I told you Sheriff. Bet those Peter's boys might even call him a hero."
Cort saw the sheriff turn blue-gray eyes in his direction. He noticed a third man who was casually seated at the table nearest to the bar and the Sheriff. This man, also turned his head in Cort's direction. The gun and the glint of a badge meant he was a deputy. A morning beer rested near his left hand.
The sheriff turned to face Cort as Cort approached the bar. Cort gave a slght nod to Brennigan as he approached. Brennigan shot Cort a quick smile, but glanced left at the Sheriff as if to remind Cort to watch himself. The sheriff matched Cort in height, and Cort guessed the sheriff might be in his 50's, now that he could see the lines in his face and the gray in his hair more clearly. The sheriff offered no handshake, but got right into things.
"Cort Lee Anderson." The Sheriff stood upright, shifting from the lean he'd had going against the bar.
"I'm him, but you can skip the Lee. Cort's just fine." Cort rested his right hand against the bar as he talked, and he let his gaze shift to the deputy who was still seated , but watching everything.
" I'm Sheriff Cutler. You killed a man in my town last night, " The sheriff stated.
Cort nodded, and the fingers on his right hand tapped out the hold marching drumbeats softly on the tabletop of the bar. "From what folks told me, I saved you some trouble."
The Sheriff shot Brennigan an annoyed look, but returned his gaze to Cort.
"Most folks don't take killing a man so lightly, " The Sheriff pointed out.
Cort tried to keep an eye on the deputy and one on the Sheriff ss he replied, "I saw enough killing and did enough killing in the War. It's never taken lightly, Sheriff."
The Sheriff glanced at Cort's pistol as Cort spoke, and a disgusted smile appeared on his face as he fired a question at Cort,
"How long are you staying in my town, Johnny Reb?"
Cort noticed the deputy sat up straighter as his boss uttered those branding words. Cort fingers tapped out 'Dixie" as he replied.
"Maybe just a couple days.I got a road weary horse and I could use some R & R myself." Cort put on his best, casual smile.
The Sheriff gave a displeased harumpf and shortly followed a single whistle. Cort saw the deputy get to his feet and place his right hand near his gun in it's holster. Close, but not pulling out the gun.
Cort raised his left eyebrow, impressed at the training. His attention went back to the Sheriff as the man spoke.
"I'll need to take your gun while you're in town."
Cort gentle tapping stopped as he asked, "Come again?"
"Guns are not permitted in town limits. You turn it over and I'll keep it in a safe, and when you're ready to leave. You can come by and get it.
Cort leaned to his right, resting his weight against his right arm as it propped him up alongside the bar.
"Didn't seem to stop the lcoals. Both this Rickett's and those Peters' boys were packing iron.
Cutler's eyes flashed anger at the insult, and the deputy slipped his gun halfway up the holster, waiting for a signal.
"Ned, " Cutler barked.
Cort started to turn fully to his left side, but Ned had already drawn his revolver and was pointing it at Cort's face. Cort shifted a half step back.
"Hand it over, Mr. Anderson." came Cutler's order.
Cort got a quick nod from Brennigan, and Cort noted the deputy's hands didn't shake pointing the gun at his face. Cort began to pull his gun out of his holster. "Alright." Placing the gun on the bar, he slide it over to the Sheriff. "Keep it safe, Sheriff. It was my father's."
Cutler picked up the gun with his left hand and looked it over. Carrying it in his left hand, he moved away from the bar, ready to leave.
"After I talk to the other witnesses, I'm sure we'll talk again, Mr. Anderson."
The Sheriff walking out , gave a whistle. Deputy Ned, holstered his gun, flashed a smug grin at Cort , and followed behind his boss.
Cort looked to his right, to see Brennigan's shoulders relax. Brennigan pulled out a cup from under the bar, and gestured with the pot of coffee in his right hand. "Cup o' Joe?'
After a few sips of the coffee, Cort noticed Louisa come in from the kitchen. "That bastard gone?"
Brennigan gave a nod. "All clear."
Cort gave a quick smile, "What's Cutler's issue?"
Brennigan puts his own cup of coffee on the shelf behind him. He runs his left hand across his chin, "He blames the Rebs for loosing his two sons in the War. He blames the Indians, for being here first."
Louisa snapped as she, straightened the chairs form the where the deputy had sat. "The Nez Perce were here long before his mom spat him out."
Brennigan tried to lighten her mood, "I don't doubt ya darlin', but right now, you're better off laying low."
Brennigan looked at Cort as well, "You best do the same , whlle your here, Cort."
