Free Trail of the Hanged Man by Steve Hayes

to the rear bedrooms was barely visible.
    The front door opened with a wind-blown rush. Lawless and Violet swept in, drenched to the skin, followed by Rivers. All three were chased by a gust of wind that spattered everyone with rain. China rattled on the shelves and the curtains flapped – then Rivers kicked the door shut and everything was silent and still.
    ‘Well, now,’ the sheriff said to Lawless, ‘I see you decided to give Miss Morgan my regards after all.’ Jerking his thumb toward the bedrooms, he added to Violet, ‘Too bad you shot the wrong fella.’
    ‘I wish it had been you,’ she hissed.
    The sheriff clucked his tongue. ‘Shame on you, missy. Don’t you know it’s against the law to threaten a peace officer? Why, I’d be in my rights if I laid you’cross my knee and spanked the daylights out of you.’
    ‘Just you try,’ Violet said, ‘and when my men get back they’ll—’
    ‘Men? Mean them two greasers you got riding for you?’ The sheriff leaned back and laughed. ‘Hell, you can forget about them, missy. After the boys dragged’em around behind their horses for a spell, they was only too eager to hightail it back to chili-land.’
    ‘You bastard!’ Violet lunged for the sheriff, but Lawless pulled her back.
    ‘If you’re all done baiting her,’ he said, ‘maybe you’d like to tell us why you’re here?’
    The sheriff pulled a document from his vest pocket and told his deputy to light the lamp. Lonnie Davis obeyed. Removing the glass shield, he struck a match on his jeans and held it to the wick. Light flooded the room. It not only illuminated the document in the sheriff’s hands, but revealed the man standing by the bedroom door.
    He was a small man, slim and handsome with sandy hair, large blue eyes with thick lashes any woman would envy and a winning smile. Because of his diminutive size and boyish good looks, it was hard to judge his age or his profession. His tailored gray suit, string tie, and expensive hand-tooled boots didn’t help either – they suggested he might be a rich businessman, successful rancher, or possibly even a riverboat gambler. But he was none of those things. And as he stepped forward, closer to the light, the tools of his trade could be seen on his hips: two ivory-handled , nickel-plated Colt .44s that poked from well-oiled, tied-down holsters.
    Recognizing him, Lawless hid his surprise and grimly eyed Sheriff Tishman. ‘Didn’t take you long to hire my replacement.’
    The sheriff chuckled. ‘Hear that, Latigo – Mr Lawless, here, thinks you’re working for me.’
    ‘He knows me better than that,’ Latigo Rawlins said.
    ‘I know you don’t sell your gun just for wages,’ Lawless said.
    ‘Or work for a sheriff who coils when he sits,’ Latigo added.
    Sheriff Tishman reddened, swallowed hard, but kept his composure . Handing the document to Violet, he said: ‘As of right now, you and your brother no longer own this spread.’
    ‘The bank can’t do that!’
    ‘Read it and see, missy. It’s all written down, neat and legal.’
    ‘I don’t believe you!’ She turned to Lawless. ‘Bria— Mr Edfors would never kick Joey and me off the ranch. He told me sohimself, a hundred times.’
    Lawless took the document from her, scanned it. ‘Seems he changed his mind. Like the sheriff says, it’s legal.’
    ‘B-but he promised! Gave me his word that we’d never have to worry. Why, he even asked me to mar—’
    ‘What?’ said Lawless as she broke off. ‘What did he ask you?’
    Violet blushed, too embarrassed to explain.
    Sheriff Tishman grinned, enjoying this. ‘Reckon you played him for a love-sick fool once too often, missy. Worm’s finally turned. And if you’ll excuse me for gloating, it’s about time. Now’ – he took out a big Hamilton timepiece and checked the time – ‘you got exactly one hour to gather up your personal belongings, load’em on your wagon – which by the way Mr Edfors kindly says you can keep – and ride