Free Epitaph by Mary Doria Russell Page A

“wife” was even younger than Allie and apparently more of a handful.
    â€œThe mules?” Wyatt prompted, glancing at Hurst.
    On the face of it, this should have been simple. Six army mules had been stolen from Camp Rucker, fifty miles east of Tombstone. Lieutenant Hurst needed a civilian posse to recover the mules for him, but jurisdiction was a tangle. The livestock had been stolen within Pima County and Wyatt was a Pima County deputy sheriff, so maybe he should form the posse. On the other hand, the mules were federal property and they’d been taken from a fort, which was federal as well, so maybe Virgil took precedence because he was a deputy federal marshal. One thing was sure: Fred White wasn’t involved at all, for a town marshal’s jurisdiction stopped at the town line. And Johnny Behan might have been a lawman a few years ago, but nowadays he was just tending bar at the Grand Hotel, so he had even less to do with the theft than Fred himself, who was simply letting Virgil Earp use his office.
    â€œWhere does Hurst fit?” Wyatt was asking. “They’re his mules.”
    â€œSee, Wyatt, that’s just what I was trying to explain,” Behan said. “The new Posse Comitatus law prohibits any military involvement with civilian law enforcement, so this is going to require some finesse. Now, when I was sheriff up in Yavapai . . .”
    The youngest man in the room at 29, Fred White was inclined to respect his elders, and ordinarily, he did not mind folks loitering in his office. Being a town marshal was mostly a matter of sitting around, waiting for something bad to happen. Gossip, tall tales, and political speculation made idle hours pass pleasantly. But Johnny Behan could talk the paint off a wall, and no matter how loud Fred yawned, nobody seemed inclined to wrap the discussion up. Except Wyatt. He was staring out the office window, his chair tipped back on two legs,and he didn’t seem to be listening at all. Course, it was hard to tell with Wyatt. He never said much, even when he gave a shit.
    Fred drifted off, elbow on the desk, cheek propped on his fist, but he snapped to when he heard Wyatt bring the front legs of his chair down with a thump.
    Virgil was on his feeet now, and both of the Earps were looking out the office window, watching his younger brother Morgan cross the street.
    â€œWell, fellas,” Virg said, “if we sit here much longer, the thieves are gonna cross them mules into Mexico and then the federales ’ll be involved, even if the U.S. Army ain’t. I say we go find the damn animals while there’s daylight, and sort the legalities out later.”
    Hurst said, “Suits me.”
    â€œI understand how you feel, boys,” Johnny Behan said quickly, “but you can’t play fast and loose with jurisdiction that way. It’s hard enough to get a conviction when you’ve done due diligence.”
    Johnny started in on another story about blown arrests and criminals going free, but the Earps were done listening and headed out the door with Lieutenant Hurst.
    Glad to see the backs of them, Fred yawned again and was about to select the least bad jail bunk for a nap when Morgan Earp stuck his head into the office.
    â€œFred, do you know Doc Holliday?”
    â€œHeard of him. Gambler. Why?”
    â€œWyatt’s got a tooth that’s giving him hell, and Doc’s a dentist—”
    â€œA dentist! I didn’t know that!”
    â€œYeah. Good one, too. Anyways, Wyatt’s got a bad tooth and Doc came into town to take care of it, but we haven’t run into him yet. If you see him, let him know we’ll be back in a few days. And, Fred . . . look after him, willya? Doc is a friend of ours.”
    MORGAN LEFT THE OFFICE and joined his brothers outside.
    â€œYou find McMasters?” Virgil asked him quietly.
    Sherman McMasters, he meant. They never said Sherm’s name out loud. McMasters