Come the Spring Read Free Page B

proud.”
    â€œWait!” Cole called out. “Why are you congratulating me?”
    Norton didn’t answer him. He sauntered into the outer office, and a minute later Cole heard the front door open and close. He shook his head in confusion. He didn’t know what the old man had been rambling on about. Why would he congratulate him?
    He glanced around the stark cell—gray walls, gray bars, and gray floor. On a three-legged stand in the corner was a gray-speckled basin and a water jug next to the piece of cake the sheriff’s wife had left for him. The only other adornment was the black spider crawling up the painted stones of the wall. There was another one hanging from its web in the barred windowsill high up by the ceiling. Cole was over six feet tall, but in order to look out, he would have to stand on a chair. There weren’t any inside the cell. He could see a fragment of the sky, though, and like his temporary home, it too was gray.
    The color fit his mood. He was in a no-win situation. He couldn’t very well shoot Norton, since his wife had nursed him back to health. The sheriff had probably saved his life, as well, by knocking him out before the gunslingers had challenged him. Cole remembered the influenza had left him weak and shaky. He would have died in a gunfight all right, but damn it all, did Norton have to hit him so hard? His head still felt as if it had been split in two.
    He reached up to rub the knot in the back of his neck, and his right arm bumped against cold metal. He looked down, then froze when he realized what he was staring at. A gold case dangled from a chainsomeone—Ryan, most likely—had clipped to the pocket of his leather vest.
    The son of a bitch had finally given him his treasure back. He gently lifted the precious disk into the palm of his hand and stared at it a long minute before opening it. The compass was made of brass, not gold, but it was still finely crafted. The face was white, the letters red, the dial black. He removed it from its case, smiling as he watched the dial wobble back and forth before pointing north.
    His Mama Rose was going to be pleased to know that he had finally gotten the gift she’d purchased for him over a year ago. It was a handsome treasure. He couldn’t find a nick or a scratch anywhere. Ryan had obviously taken good care of it, he grudgingly admitted. He still wanted to shoot the bastard for keeping it so long, but he knew he couldn’t if he wanted to stay alive a little longer—killing marshals was frowned on in the territory, no matter what the reason—and so Cole decided to settle on punching him in the nose instead.
    Carefully tucking the compass into his vest pocket, he glanced over at the pitcher and decided to splash some water on his face. His gaze settled on the piece of cake, and he focused on it while he tried to sort fact from dream.
    Why were they eating cake in his cell? The question seemed too complicated to think about now. He stood up so he could stretch his knotted muscles and was about to take off his vest when his sleeve caught on something sharp. Pulling his arm free, he glanced down to see what was jabbing him.
    His hands dropped to his knees as he fell back on the cot and stared down at his left shoulder in disbelief. He was stupefied. It had to be a joke—but someone had a real warped sense of humor. Then Sheriff Norton’s words came back to him. The appointmenthad come through … Yeah, that’s what he’d said … And they celebrated … Cole remembered Norton had said that too.
    And Cole was the honoree…
    â€œSon of a bitch!” He roared the blasphemy at the silver star pinned to his vest.
    He was a U.S. marshal.

Three

 
    By the time Sheriff Norton returned to the jail, Cole was seething with anger. Fortunately, Norton had gotten the keys from Ryan. His wife, Josey, was with him, and for that reason Cole kept his temper under control. She