Telegraph Days Read Free Page A

into the street before collapsing in the dust. Most of the other slowly sobering drunks—about fifteen in all—staggered to the safety of the saloons across the way. Two looked as if they might be Mexican but the rest were white.
    When Sheriff Ted Bunsen stepped out the front door of the jail, he was pretty surprised to find Jackson and me standing there, with Percy, our mule, burdened with all our worldly effects.
    I gave him no time to preen, but he did manage to quickly tip his hat.
    I saw no reason just to stand there, letting time pass.
    â€œHello, Teddy,” I said. “Father suicided himself yesterday and Jackson and I have abandoned the Black Mesa Ranch.”
    â€œOh Lord!” Ted said, looking shocked. He was a man of few words, as well as tickly kisses.
    â€œWe’ve moved to town,” I added. That fact was obvious, but you don’t ever want to count on a male to spot the obvious.
    â€œJackson needs a job,” I said, pressing right on. “Do you think your budget could accommodate a deputy? He’s prepared to work cheap.”
    It’s likely that my forward way of doing things startled Ted Bunsen a good deal. He was, of course, a bachelor, and cautious to a fault. Maybe he was beginning to suspect that being so rash as to allow awoman into his life meant that she’d soon start putting onions in dishes he’d rather not have onions in.
    Still, the man had ridden out six times to propose to me, and now opportunity was knocking on his own front door. I didn’t look at Jackson during this negotiation. No doubt I was embarrassing him half to death, but embarrassment is only a temporary thing.
    A deputy’s job, which might mean he could board in a fine adobe jail, was not something Jackson could afford to pass up.
    On his various visits Ted Bunsen had barely taken notice of Jackson—he had been too busy taking notice of me. He finally looked at Jackson, who was blushing fiercely in his embarrassment.
    â€œI suppose it is about time I got me a deputy,” Ted allowed. “What kind of things can Jackson do?”
    I looked into the street, where three drunks were still snoring peaceably. Anyone hurrying through in a fast wagon might well run over them.
    â€œHe can remove public hazards,” I pointed out. “Like those three drunks in the road. Suppose someone came along in a heavy wagon and ran over one of them. Such an accident might result in the loss of a limb, which could even prompt a lawsuit.”
    â€œA lawsuit?” Teddy asked, nervously. “Who would the one-legged fellow sue? No one around here can even figure out which state we belong to, or if we belong to any. There’s no county. The town don’t even have a mayor.
    â€œSome think this is Texas,” he added. “Some think it’s Kansas, and a few favor the theory that it’s New Mexico.”
    â€œLet’s start with the simple fact that it’s got a sheriff, whether it belongs to any state or not,” I advised. “Drag those three drunks out of harm’s way, Jackson—and show a little charity.”
    â€œCharity?” Jackson asked.
    â€œDump them in a shady spot, if you can find one,” I explained. “We wouldn’t want them to incur sunburn. And be careful. Don’t let one of them wake up and shoot you.”
    â€œOh, they’re not armed,” Teddy informed me. “I generally don’t dole out the firearms until the middle of the afternoon. By that time they’re usually feeling pretty tame.”
    Jackson soon had the drunks piled under a tree not far from theblacksmith’s shop. By the time he finished I believe the notion of having a deputy had begun to grow on Teddy Bunsen.
    â€œA deputy just might come in handy,” he remarked, several times. “I guess he could bunk in one of the cells.”
    He said it in a slow, foot-dragging way, though. If there’s one thing I can’t