Killing Ground. William W. Johnstone

be a good idea. Most of the federal lawmen who worked west of the Mississippi were tough, competent, and had some common sense.

      Tip Woodford stepped around Frank and said, “You’ll never get your hands on the Lucky Lizard with your legal trickery, Brighton. That mine belongs to me, fair and square. Jeremiah Fulton had every right to sell it to me. He never even said anything about havin’ a partner!”

      “Of course he didn’t. He knew he was swindling you.” Brighton laughed curtly. “But this will all come out in court. You’re a fool, Woodford. You could have had a quarter-share in the mine, strictly out of the goodness of my heart, but now I’m going to take all of it away from you. Every last penny. You and your daughter will be left with nothing, you pathetic old oaf.”

      Tip’s face flushed a dark brick-red, and he moved with more speed than Frank anticipated. He didn’t have the old revolver anymore, but he still had a big, beefy fist and the strength that came from swinging a pick thousands of times. He lunged at Brighton and smashed a blow into the Easterner’s jaw.

      Brighton appeared to be taken by surprise by Woodford’s attack, just as Frank was. The punch rocked him back a step, but he didn’t go down. As he caught his balance he struck back, hammering a left into the mayor’s midsection and then chopping a sledging right across his face.

      “Pa!” Diana cried.

      Woodford was driven back by Brighton’s powerful blows. He outweighed Brighton, but the other man was younger and stronger. As Woodford sagged to one knee, Brighton closed in on him, drawing back a leg to kick him in the face.

      Frank grabbed Brighton’s shoulder and shoved him away instead. “That’s enough, blast it!”

      Brighton’s face was dark with fury. He ignored Frank and went for Tip Woodford again. This time Frank caught him around the middle. The muscles in Frank’s shoulders bunched as he flung Brighton back. The man fell this time, his hat flying off as he rolled in the street.

      Brighton came up spitting curses. With a visible effort, he brought his rage under control and pointed a finger at Woodford.

      “You saw it, Marshal!” he shouted at Frank. “If pointing a gun at me wasn’t enough, now he’s physically attacked me! If you’re a real lawman and not just Woodford’s lapdog, you have to arrest him!”

      Frank felt like taking a punch at Brighton himself. The hombre just rubbed him the wrong way.

      Unfortunately, Brighton was right. Tip had crossed the line, and the crowd that had gathered around to watch the angry confrontation had seen the whole thing. Tip hadn’t left him with any choice.

      Stepping over to the mayor, who was still on one knee, Frank reached down and took hold of his arm. “Come on, Tip,” he said.

      Woodford stared up at him. “You’re arrestin’ me, Frank? Me?”

      “You shouldn’t have taken a poke at Brighton. That’s assault and disturbing the peace.”

      “He’s the one who’s disturbed the peace o’ this town!”

      Tip was right about that, Frank thought, but that sort of disturbance wasn’t against the law, worse luck.

      “Frank, you can’t do this,” Diana said as Frank helped her father to his feet.

      “The law says I do,” Frank replied heavily.

      Woodford brushed himself off and straightened his shoulders, achieving a rough dignity despite his work clothes.

      “It’s all right, Frank,” he said. “We hired you to be the marshal and enforce the law, and I reckon that’s what you got to do, whether any of us like it or not.”

      “And I sure don’t,” Frank said under his breath.

      “Are you taking him to jail?” Brighton demanded.

      Frank turned toward the man.

      “That’s right.”

      Brighton sneered. “And I assume you’ll let him go as soon as you get there. This is all for show, isn’t it?”

      “Nope. Mayor Woodford will be treated like any other prisoner. He’ll stay in jail until he posts bail, and then his case will be heard by the circuit judge when the judge holds court here.”

      “Who’s going to set the amount of the bail?”

      Tip laughed harshly.

      “As the mayor, I gen’rally do that. Reckon this time it’ll be up to the marshal.”

      Frank nodded. “You usually set bail at twenty dollars for offenses like this, Mayor. So to make sure there aren’t any complaints about favoritism…” He shot Brighton a dark look, then continued. “I’m going to set bail at fifty dollars for you.”

      “That’s a joke!” Brighton protested, flinging a hand angrily toward Woodford. “He can pay that without any trouble.”

      “I’ve more than doubled the usual bail,” Frank said. “If that’s not enough to satisfy you, Brighton, then you can take it up with the judge when he gets here.”

      “Don’t think for a second that I won’t.”

      Still holding Woodford’s arm, Frank steered him toward the squat stone building that housed the marshal’s office and town jail.

      “Come on, Tip.”

      Woodford looked at his daughter and told her, “Get the bail money from the office and bring it over later, honey. No need to get in any hurry about doin’ it, though. I don’t mind sittin’ in jail for a while. It’s been a long time since I been behind bars.”

      Frank led the mayor away. He cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Dex Brighton didn’t try to bother Diana Woodford.

      The Easterner didn’t even look in Diana’s direction, though. He just picked up his hat, slapped it against his thigh to remove some of the dust from it, clapped it on his head, and strode off toward the hotel.

      “That was a damn fool stunt, Tip,” Frank said under his breath to his prisoner. “You didn’t leave me any option except to arrest you.”

      “Doggone it, I know that, Frank, and I’m sorry I put you in that spot. That Brighton hombre just makes me so mad I can’t see straight. I reckon I went plumb loco.”

      Frank grunted. “Can’t say as I blame you. Fella waltzes in here and tries to take away what you’ve worked years for. That’s enough to make anybody loco.” Frank paused. “Problem is, he may have the law on his side.”

      “I don’t believe it for a minute! Brighton’s crooked. You can tell it just by lookin’ at him.”

      For Tip’s sake—and for the sake of the town—Frank hoped that the mayor was right. He had a feeling that Buckskin would be worse off with Brighton as the owner of the Lucky Lizard. Tip had always funneled some of his profits from the mine right back into the town, although not very many people knew about that.

      They met Catamount Jack on the way to the jail. “What’n blazes is goin’ on here?” the deputy asked. “Frank, it looks like you’re arrestin’ the mayor!”

      “That’s what I’m doing. Tip got into a ruckus with Brighton. He threw the first punch.”

      “It was a good one, too,” Woodford said with a smile. “Felt it all the way up to my shoulder.”

      “I sent Vern Robeson to fetch you,” Frank went on. “How come you’re just showing up now, Jack?”

      “I was, uh, indisposed. Sorry, Marshal.”

      Frank knew that Jack must have been in the out-house behind the jail when Robeson came looking for him.

      “That’s all right,” he said. “It happens to the best of us.”

      They