Free Printer in Petticoats by Lynna Banning Page A

a quiet voice. “That doesn’t make me any less an American than anybody else.”
    At that, the onlookers cheered, and Marshal Johnson gaveled for silence. Jessamine peeked over at Cole, who sat stroking his chin. He wasn’t smiling.
    â€œNext question,” the marshal announced. “What does the word justice mean to you? Arbuckle?”
    Instantly Arbuckle was on his feet, his arms waving. “Justice is the great American tradition of making sure the punishment fits the...er...crime. And making sure red-blooded Americans get their fair share of everything they’re entitled to.”
    Jessamine shot another look at Cole and began a new page of notes.
    â€œMr. Silver?”
    The sheriff took a minute to collect his thoughts and then rose. “Justice is what every man, rich or poor, white or Indian or Negro or Chinese or Mexican or anything else, is entitled to under the American Constitution.”
    More cheers. Cole pinned Jessamine with narrowed eyes so dark a blue they looked like muddy ink. Her stomach gave an unexpected lurch. Something in her opponent’s gaze sent her pulse skittering. Why, he looked mad enough to— “Well, shoot, folks,” Arbuckle yelled. “That definition’s pretty broad, isn’t it? That means anybody could—”
    The marshal’s gavel cut him off. With a lifted eyebrow in Jess’s direction, Cole ripped a page out of his notepad and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.
    â€œNext question,” the marshal announced. “How would you describe your constituency, the people of Lake County? Mr. Arbuckle?”
    â€œGlad to, glad to.” Arbuckle rose and puffed out his chest. “I’d say my constituency consists of the good people of Lake County, and that includes the fair communities of Gillette Springs and Smoke River folks. We’re all upright, God-fearing, clean-living folks. Which makes our fair neck of the great state of Oregon one of the best, most industrious, most hardworking, most law-abiding places it’s my privilege to serve.”
    â€œYe’re not servin’ it yet,” someone yelled. Jessamine lowered her head to hide a smile. When she looked up, Cole was staring at her. It made her so nervous she couldn’t think.
    The marshal gaveled for quiet. “Mr. Silver?”
    Jess sat with her pencil poised as the sheriff slowly stood up and turned sideways to include those seated in back of him. “I think people in Lake County are like people everywhere, no better, no worse. I would hope to serve them all equally and fairly.”
    Arbuckle grew red in the face. “Selling these good folks kinda short, aren’t you, Sheriff?”
    â€œShaddup, Arbuckle!” This echoed from the far corner of the packed room. Jessamine peered in that direction, but she couldn’t identify the shouter. She exchanged another look with Cole, who shrugged and pocketed a second sheet of notepaper.
    My! He seemed to be taking lots and lots of notes. She scanned the few pages she’d filled in her own notepad, praying her memory could fill in any gaps. She couldn’t ever remember feeling so flat-footed when it came to note-taking. Was her mind wandering? Worse, was she exposing herself as a fraud in the business of journalism?
    â€œLast question,” the marshal announced. “Let’s say that while we’re all sitting here tonight the Smoke River Bank is robbed. What would you do? Arbuckle—?”
    The man was on his feet before Matt finished speaking.
    â€œFirst I’d alert the marshal. That’d be you, Marshal Johnson. Then I’d make sure they got up a good posse, and then I’d be the first one to join it.”
    â€œBull hockey,” a man shouted.
    Arbuckle turned red. “Whaddya mean by that, mister? That’s exactly what I’d do, and don’t you forget it!”
    â€œSheriff Silver?” the marshal queried in a calm voice.
    Again,