The Murdock's Law Read Free

the time of day. It is all I have left to remind me of a glorious era.”
    â€œShow me the watch.”
    He raised his eyebrows. There were traces of gray in them, like dust in snuff. I explained.
    â€œI cornered a rapist in Deer Lodge a couple of years ago who had a derringer attached to a fob like that one. I’m still carrying the ball.”
    With a continental shrug, he reached two fingers into the pocket and produced an ornate gold watch with a capital N engraved on the lid, encircled by oak leaves. I nodded. He replaced it.
    â€œYou and Louis Napoleon must have been pretty tight.”
    â€œI was a marshal of France.”
    â€œI didn’t think the nobility got along with the Bonapartes.”
    â€œIt is to them that I owe my title. It was bestowed upon me along with certain lands when I married into the family.”
    â€œCozy.”
    â€œ Pardon? ”
    I shook my head and put up the Colt to retrieve Mather’s gun from the floor. Unloading it, I placed the cartridges on the writing desk next to the door and returned the piece to its owner. “Now, let’s all
have a seat and discuss why I shouldn’t turn you over to the marshal.”
    â€œTo begin with,” growled Mather, “the marshal takes his orders from us.”
    I scaled my hat onto the bed and leaned back against the desk. Périgueux had claimed the room’s only upholstered chair, while Mather had resumed his perch on the edge of the bed.
    â€œIsn’t that the city council’s responsibility?” I asked.
    â€œIndeed,” responded the Frenchman. “In addition to the Six Bar Six, Monsieur Mather maintains controlling interest in two local saloons, which qualifies him for his elected position on the council. I hold no property in Breen. To do so would be just a formality in any case, since I am now the largest rancher in Montana and my word alone carries certain weight.”
    Mather was growing impatient. Two feverish spots of red the size of half-dollars showed high on his cheeks. Together with his otherwise sallow complexion and wasted frame, they branded him a consumptive. “Oh, get on with it, Mike!” He nailed me with glistening eyes. “We understand you’re a United States marshal.”
    â€œDeputy,” I corrected. “Yardlinger didn’t waste any time spreading the word around, did he?”
    â€œIt was not he who told us,” interjected Périgueux. “He mentioned it to one of his deputies, who got word to me at the Breen House, where I am staying on business. I decided to send a messenger for Monsieur Mather.”
    â€œAll that for little me,” I said.

    â€œYes.” If the Frenchman had picked up on the sarcasm, he didn’t respond to it. “Ever since Marshal Arno’s death two days ago we have been discussing what steps we can take to alleviate the current situation, and it would appear that your arrival is most timely. To be succinct—”
    â€œToo late.”
    Again he ignored my bad manners. “We wish to engage your services.”
    â€œWe need a town marshal,” Mather said.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Yardlinger?”
    â€œMonsieur Yardlinger,” said the Frenchman, “is a boy. His experience—”
    â€œThere are no boys west of the Mississippi.”
    Périgueux looked patient. “Yes, we are familiar with your frontier slogans. The fact remains that his experience has not prepared him for the duties of a man in his position. This is not true in your case. Your reputation, Monsieur Murdock, precedes you.”
    I used a word I’d learned long ago in the cavalry. Even Périgueux was taken aback. “I do not understand.”
    â€œI don’t know how to say it in French,” I replied. “So far I haven’t heard anything to change my mind about placing both of you under arrest. Why don’t you start by telling me what’s coming up that you’d