“Well you sure forgot to mention this to me, kid.”

He looked up at the sound of my voice from where he was huddled in the corner of the jail cell. I’d only gotten about halfway to the house that the storekeeper had said was Zeke Sullivan’s when I’d heard that Zeke’s killer had been found and arrested. It didn’t take much for me to put two and two together, and I’d headed for the jail. I’d been planning a really cutting comment, but when I’d seen him curled up in the corner of the cot with his arms around his knees, I’d changed my mind.

“I mean murder.” I whistled. “That’s some pretty heavy stuff.”

“What are you doing back here?” He asked. I avoided his eyes, dark and questioning, as well as the bleak tone in his voice. What was I doing there? I’d gone and helped a kid near death and then I’d found out he was a killer. So? He was behind bars now, where he belonged.

Only he didn’t. I was a hard man myself, and I knew a criminal when I saw one. And this kid, with his eyes that seemed to cut through me and hold a million and one questions, wasn’t a man who polished another man off and then forgot about it. But I still had to ask him. I leaned close to the bars.

“Well?” I asked. “Did you do it?”

“I must have. They said…”

“To hell with what they said! What do you say?”

“I don’t…” he started and then paused. “I don’t know who Zeke was.” He finally said. “But I don’t… I can’t see myself killing him, or anyone.”

I nodded. It was as much as I’d thought. I don’t care how hard you hit your head, you don’t just forget killing someone unless you’ve done it a hundred times before. And I knew he hadn’t. But he didn’t stand a very good chance of clearing himself, not in his condition. It looked like it was up to me to be the hero. Again.

“I’ll be back.” I said. I had some things to take care of if I was going to do this.

“But…”

“Just…” I stopped. I didn’t want him to know what I was doing; he might turn soft and spill his guts to the sheriff. Once again I reminded myself how little I knew this kid. But I hadn’t saved his life and then dragged his sorry carcass this far just to let it decorate a hangman’s tree. I turned without saying another word and walked out.

The sheriff was sitting at his desk polishing a tin badge with a white cloth, pausing every now and then to take a sip of coffee from a steaming mug. I hesitated as a plan formulated in my mind.

“Giving the old badge a cleaning?” I asked.

He grunted from under his grey moustache. “The new one more like. I’ve been wearing this one for more than fifteen years.” He touched the worn tin badge pinned to his chest. “New sheriff, new badge.”

I reached out my hand and inspected it. It was the same as any I’d seen, lightweight and a dull grey color that flashed slightly in the light. I made a show of putting it back on the desk.

“So there’s a new man coming in then?”

The sheriff grunted again. “It’s about time I got some peace and quiet.” He muttered. Despite his words, I could tell he wasn’t too happy about the arrangement, and so I left quickly. Once outside I paused to collect my thoughts. I’d done a lot of things in my past, but surprisingly jail breaking wasn’t one of them. Still, how hard could it be? The only thing I would really need was another horse. I went to the livery stable, putting on the tin badge I’d stolen from the sheriff’s office before entering.

“Hello?” I called.

A man appeared out of a stall carrying a pitchfork. He glanced at the badge pinned on my chest. “Can I help you, sheriff?”

Inwardly I smirked at being called sheriff, but outwardly I kept a straight face. “I need a horse for a prisoner transport.” I said.

“Right.” The man disappeared farther into the barn and then reappeared with a small grey. I glanced at his front hooves. They were both turned in.

“I have a way to go, and I’d rather have a horse that won’t go lame after the first five miles.” I said drily.

The man frowned. “Most sheriffs escorting prisoners prefer a horse that can’t go very fast. Just in case.”

Well I wanted the opposite, but I couldn’t very well tell him that.

“If I can’t keep track of my own prisoner, how is the horse supposed to help?” I snapped. I noticed a chestnut nearby, a little darker than my sorrel Tip, and taller. “I’ll take him.” I said.

The man shrugged and pulled out the horse. “You’ll pay when you return the animal?” he said while brushing the horse with swift, practiced strokes. I fought back a grin.

“Sure thing.”

Ten minutes later I was riding toward the sheriff’s office with Tip and my new, free horse. I should keep the badge, I decided. Why hadn’t I thought of this years ago? I tied the horses loosely outside, just in case things when wrong and we had to leave quickly, and went back inside. The sheriff was still there, looking around his desk, presumably for the badge that I’d stuffed back in my pocket before entering. He glanced up at me.

“Forget something?”

“Actually…” in one motion I brought the butt end of my gun down over his head. He slumped to the ground, and I fished the keys out of his desk.

“Let’s go.” I said to the kid.

“Where?” he stood as I tried one key after another. Finally I found the right one and pushed the cell door open.

“Anywhere but here. Help me out.” He didn’t move, and I had to drag the sheriff into the cell myself.

“Is he…?”

“No worse than if he’d spent the night drinking. See, I’m not a murderer either.” I grabbed his arm to go, but he pulled away.

“But what if I am? And even if I’m not a criminal now, I will be if I leave.”

“See that? That attitude is what has me convinced that you didn’t kill anyone. You have too many sticky convictions for it. But if you want to stay and try to convince a jury that even though you don’t remember killing anyone, you don’t think you did, then fine.” I turned to go. Surprise, surprise, I hadn’t gone two steps before he was right behind me. I grabbed a pair of handcuffs and put them around his wrists, but I didn’t tighten them.

“Try to look dejected.” I pointed toward the door with my gun.

Amazingly no one tried to stop us as we left town, and I was thinking of going into jail breaking as a profession. Of course Coledale had been sleepy under the thumb of the same sheriff for the past fifteen plus years. It might be a little different in a town where crime actually happened.

We left town on the north side, partially because that was the closest and partially to thrown anyone who might see us leave off our trail. Once we were clear of the town, Joe took off the handcuffs and we cantered back around southeast. After we’d circled the town, we followed the river and even passed the spot where I’d found the kid. I glared at it as we rode by.

I didn’t want to stay on the road, but it was getting dark, and I didn’t want to stop either. Tip could find her way at night on the road, and I had to trust that anyone pursuing would follow our trail north.

As it got blacker, we slowed our pace to a walk, and I let Tip have her head. Even if I hadn’t had complete faith in her ability to pick out a trail in the darkness I still would have led. The kid was riding a gelding, and geldings tended to plough through or stumble over rough spots rather than carefully pick their way through them like a mare would. Tip didn’t need any guidance as we traveled; her eyes were better than mine, but I still peered into the darkness in case of any obstacles.

“Where did you get the horse?” the question broke both the silence and my concentration.

“I borrowed him for the trip.” If we were caught, I’d be strung up for jail breaking, so I didn’t see any harm in throwing horse thievery on top of things.

I heard a snort. “So now I stole a horse too.”

“Too? What else did you do, take a whizz in the sheriff’s coffee?”

He didn’t laugh.“Even if I didn’t kill Zeke, somehow I’m involved in his death. Otherwise why would I have said his name?”

I was glad I couldn’t see his face behind me, and I kept my eyes on the dark outline of Tip’s ears in front of me. I’ve never been much of one for talking about feelings. For me it was all about cold, hard facts. And these were the facts as far as I was concerned: we were both wanted men now, and while we might not have a posse on our tail, it was also possible that we did. We didn’t have time for second guessing now.

But even as I thought it, a flicker of doubt passed over my mind, like a vulture’s shadow. He was right, even if he hadn’t killed this Zeke Sullivan, he was involved somehow, and he was going to be treated like a killer if we were found. It had been stupid of me to get involved; we were both in trouble, more trouble than any one man needed. It would be better for both of us to part ways. I surprised myself by feeling sorry about that. Somehow I’d gotten used to having the kid around, and I had to admire his gumption. He was a stubborn little cuss, all spit and vinegar. But I didn’t want to get him entangled in my problems the way I’d become stuck in his. Better to end it now and go our separate ways.