Free A Man for Temperance (Wagon Wheel) by Gilbert Morris

carried the inert body. He saw that his bullet had struck Simons somewhere high in the chest, but the man was still breathing.
    The doctor opened the door, took one look, and said, “Put him on the table.”
    Brennan and the others deposited the limp form of Frank Simons, and then he turned to go. He was met by Joe Meek who, without warning, reached forward and pulled Brennan’s gun from his holster. “I’ve got to arrest you, Brennan.”
    “Arrest me! For what?”
    Meek made a big form in his tight buckskins, his muscles bulging. “You ought to be more careful who you shoot, Thad. You killed the son of a senator. Senator Harlan Simons is pretty small game even for a senator, but he’s got pull. The next time you shoot somebody, be sure he ain’t got no important relatives.”
    “But he ain’t dead!”
    “You better hope he’s not. If he dies, you’ll hang. If he don’t, my guess is you’ll be doing ten or fifteen years in the federal prison.”
    Brennan stared at the man. “But he pulled first.”
    “You think anybody’s going to testify on your behalf? You’re nothing but a two-bit hoodlum, Brennan. A prisoner working for a woman. He’s the son of a United States senator. Who do you think the jury’s going to believe?”
    Brennan stood there, staring at Meek. Finally he said, “This is Monday, ain’t it?”
    “Yeah, what about it?”
    “I knew something bad would happen as soon as I woke up this morning. Nothing good ever happens to me on Monday.”
    “Well, nothing good happened today. Come on. I’ve got to lock you up.”

Chapter Five
     
    “BE STILL, RUTH!” TEMPERANCE leaned her head against the goat’s rough hide and continued to drain milk into the tin bucket she had placed on the ground. Ruth usually was a placid animal who did not object to being milked, but on this day she was nervous and irritable. She bleated, turned around, and stared at Temperance. The goat’s eyes had the strange vertical slit that gave them an evil look somehow or other. Ruth, however, was the gentlest of all goats and produced kids and milk with equal fecundity.
    “There. That’s enough. Thank you very much, Ruth.”
    As Temperance rose and started for the house, she looked down the road toward the sound of hoofbeats. She had excellent eyesight and made out the bulky form of Marshal Joe Meek mounted on his huge iron gray stallion. It took a big horse to carry a big man like Meek, and as the stallion pulled up, Meek stepped out of the saddle with a grace unusual for a man his size. His face had a fine layer of dust, and taking out his handkerchief, he wiped it, first taking off his hat. “Howdy, Miss Temperance.”
    “Hello, Marshal. What are you doing out here?”
    “Well, I reckon I’m the bearer of evil tidings,” Meek said. A disgusted expression crossed his blunt features, and helooked down at the ground for a moment and seemed reluctant to speak.
    “What in the world is it, Marshal?”
    “Well, to tell the truth, Miss Temperance, it’s your hired hand, Brennan.”
    “Oh, my! Did he get drunk and wreck the saloon again?”
    “No, ma’am, it’s a little bit worse than that this time. He come into town yesterday, went into the saloon, and got into a card game. There was a disagreement, and he shot a man called Frank Simons. I’m having to hold him in the jail.”
    Temperance’s hand went to her breast, and she asked quickly, “Is the man dead?”
    “No, he’s alive, but he ain’t in good shape. Brennan will be tried, of course, for attempted murder unless the fellow dies. Then it will be for murder.”
    “I’m sorry to hear it. He’s an aggravating sort of person, but he didn’t deserve this. What do you think will be the outcome of the trial?”
    “Oh, I never speculate on that. One thing I never bet on is horse races and juries. You’ll lose every time.” Meek jammed his hat on top of his head and said, “I got a couple worthless loafers in jail. They got no money for their