Free Fool's Gold by Ted Wood

fighters. Then he asked, "Where were you, until now?"  
    "I was out visiting."
    He grinned, a bleak, copper's grin. "Thought that was your car at the Graham place," he said, and asked, "What happened?"
    I spelled it out for him and he nodded. "I believe you, but in the morning the magistrate is going to find it difficult to credit that they ambushed you."  
    I shrugged. I knew firsthand that he was right, but there was nothing to say about it. It sure as hell looked like excessive use of force, even to me, and I'd been there.  
    "You gonna charge them?" he asked, flopping down on the edge of the bed, making it look casual but dodging the bloodstains. He took off his hat and tossed it aside. "Might be an idea, ya know," he urged. "Otherwise some shyster is going to suggest they charge you with assault."  
    I didn't answer him directly. Instead I picked up one of the clubs, four-foot hunks of cedar, cut with a hatchet, judging from the marks. "They both had these," I said, tossing it to him.  
    He caught it casually and reached down to prod the second man. "Either one of you two scumbags wanna charge Mr. Bennett with assault?" he asked. The man groaned.  
    Gallagher tossed the club back at me. "Give him a good night's sleep and some dental work, he'll be chirpy as hell again, certain to think of some reason for pressing charges. You should charge them."  
    "Okay, break and enter and aggravated assault. Should get them out of your bailiwick for a month or two."
    He stood up, suddenly angry. "I hope they get ten years," he said savagely. "That bastard there"—he pointed at Carl with one toe—"he's beat up more guys. But none of them will press charges. It's not like the city, you know. Up here, working on mine construction, you have to love thy goddamn neighbor or the bastard's likely to drop a pick down the shaft on your head. Only they're afraid to do it to him. He deals in terror, constantly. Nobody ever charges him. He thinks he's King Kong."  
    He walked over and tapped Carl on the shin, lightly, but the man looked up out of pained, dull eyes. "How're you feeling now, big shot?" he asked. "Finally picked the wrong guy, didn't you?"  
    Outside I could hear a siren wailing toward us. Gallagher turned toward the window and sighed. "He really needs that, to clear the traffic away at three-thirty a.m. in Olympia, doesn't he?"
    "It's his only chance," I said. "It's to let his wife know he's working."
    I went to the outer door and directed the ambulance men in. They had a stretcher with them, but they looked at Carl in dismay. "He's a heavy sonofabitch, ain't he, Chief?" one of them said to Gallagher.  
    Gallagher nodded. "Hope you been eating your Wheaties," he said casually. "The other one is walking wounded." He reached down and tapped the man on the shoulder. "On your feet, sunshine, these nice men are taking you to the hospital."  
    The injured man stood up slowly, pulling himself up on the bed, then putting both hands back over his mouth. I felt my sickness rising again but hung on. If they'd surprised me as they intended, I'd have the injuries of both of them, plus others.  
    The ambulance men grunted Carl onto the stretcher and staggered out with him. We followed. I left the light on.
    We went to the hospital first. From there Gallagher called one of his men, waking him up and asking him to come down and guard the pair of them. He arrived ten minutes later, with the drained look of someone woken from a sound sleep.  
    He looked at me wide-eyed when Gallagher filled him in and we left as a nurse brought him coffee. Gallagher drove me down to the station and let us in.  
    "You know the routine," he explained casually. "I need a formal complaint and I can lay the charges. No doubt in my mind it was like you said."  
    "Does this mean court in the morning?"
    He nodded and grinned. "Which means you'll be lucky to get five hours' sleep. Welcome to police work, in case you