McBride stepped to the edge of the boardwalk, looking down at the injured man. Ed was conscious and his gun was lying close to him in the mud. But he showed no inclination to reach for it. The man climbed to his feet, turned and lurched across the street. Over his shoulder he cast a single, fearful glance in McBride’s direction, then crashed through the batwing doors of a saloon and vanished inside.
McBride watched the man go, his anger settling. He bent and retrieved the kitten from the street where it had fallen when the picket fence collapsed. The little calico was covered in mud, shivering, and he held it close to him. Despite its fear the kitten was purring, a fact that pleased McBride immensely and made him smile.
Boot heels sounded on the boardwalk and McBride turned to see Marshal Thad Harlan taking a knee beside the unconscious Jake. The lawman grabbed the fallen man’s jaw and jerked his head back and forth. He slapped Jake’s cheeks a few times, then rose easily to his feet and faced McBride.
‘‘He’ll live, lucky for you,’’ he said. Harlan’s eyes looked like chunks of worked obsidian in the darkness, capturing scarlet flecks of lamplight. A saloon girl in a bright yellow dress stepped onto the boardwalk. She’d heard the gunshot and wanted to see what she could see. But the woman spotted the marshal, seemed startled for a moment, then walked quickly back inside, her high heels clacking.
‘‘I won’t stand aside and watch women, children or animals being abused,’’ McBride said. ‘‘I can’t abide it.’’
As though he hadn’t heard, Harlan smiled and rubbed the top of the kitten’s head with the pad of his forefinger. ‘‘I’ve heard it said that if you stare deep into a cat’s eyes you’ll be able to see the world of spirits,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve never tried it so I don’t know if it’s true or not.’’ His gaze lifted to McBride’s face. ‘‘If you’d killed Jake Streeter I’d have hanged you before the moon went down.’’
‘‘He was going to shoot the kitten. I had to stop him.’’
‘‘McBride, understand this—Rest and Be Thankful is a safe haven for men like Jake Streeter and Ed Beaudry. Take that safety away and you take away the town’s only reason for existing. Pretty soon all you have is a ghost town filled with ghost people.’’
‘‘Marshal, I’d say that men who would kill a helpless little animal for fun aren’t worth protecting.’’
‘‘That’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it. But it’s my job to see that men like Ed and Jake are safe in this town. That’s why they come here in the first place.’’
McBride was puzzled. ‘‘What’s so all-fired special about trash like Ed and Jake?’’
The marshal’s thin mouth stretched in its humorless smile. ‘‘They’re good at what they do.’’
‘‘And what’s that?’’
‘‘No business of yours, McBride.’’
Buttoning the kitten into his slicker, McBride picked up his bedroll. He looked at Harlan. ‘‘You going to charge me with assault?’’
‘‘You’ve been a peace officer somewhere along your back trail.’’
‘‘How can you tell?’’
‘‘The way you stand, the sternness in your eyes, the noble, righteous way you talk. It takes one to know one, I guess.’’ The lawman shook his head. ‘‘No, McBride, I don’t take the time to charge a man with anything. I hang him or I gun him. That’s how I administer the law in this town. But for this once I’m allowing you some slack since you’re only passing through. Call it professional courtesy.’’
‘‘A gun and the rope isn’t much of a way to administer the law.’’
‘‘It suits me. It suits this town.’’
McBride turned on his heel but into the dark, dead space between them Harlan said, ‘‘Take care of your kitten, McBride, and stay out of trouble. I don’t want to draw on you unless I have to. That’s friendly advice from one law officer to another.’’
McBride stopped and turned. ‘‘Marshal, don’t threaten me with your gun. When a man threatens me with a gun I get scared and when I get scared I get violent and bad things happen. That’s more friendly advice from one law officer to another.’’
‘‘Look into the cat’s eyes, McBride,’’ Harlan called out to the big man’s retreating back. ‘‘Maybe you’ll see the spirit world and decide you really don’t want to go there any time soon.’’
The marshal laughed, a mocking cackle that followed McBride all the way to the hotel. Like bat wings flapping around his head.
Chapter 5
‘‘I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t allow animals in the hotel.’’ The desk clerk didn’t look sorry; he looked pleased, a small man forcing a big man to take a step back. It didn’t happen often.
‘‘He’s a kittlin’,’’ McBride said. ‘‘What harm will he do?’’
‘‘You can leave the animal outside and pick it up in the morning if you have a mind to.’’ The clerk had sleek, patent leather hair parted in the middle and a thin line of black mustache adorned his top lip. He looked smug, officious, and McBride badly wanted to punch him.
Instead he said, ‘‘He’s hungry.’’
The clerk shook his glossy head. ‘‘I’m afraid that is no concern of the staff and management of the Kip and Kettle Hotel.’’
McBride held the kitten high and talked into the little animal’s face. ‘‘Hear that, huh? Cat, you’re an undesirable. I’d have thought you’d fit in real well in this town.’’
‘‘There are other hotels,’’ the clerk said as McBride tucked the kitten into his slicker.
The big man nodded. ‘‘Well, now. Me and the kittlin’ have taken a liking to this one.’’
‘‘Then I’m sorry. There’s really nothing I can do.’’
‘‘What’s the trouble here?’’
McBride turned and saw a buxom, round-faced woman at his elbow.
Immediately the desk clerk’s voice took on a fawning tone. ‘‘This man wants to bring an animal into the hotel, Miss Ryan. I told him no, as per your instructions.’’
‘‘What kind of animal?’’ The woman looked to be in her early thirties. She had beautiful turquoise eyes and a generous cleavage that would draw any man’s attention.
McBride smiled. ‘‘You must be Denver Dora Ryan, Prop.’’
The turquoise eyes frosted a little. ‘‘Dora will do just fine. What kind of animal?’’
McBride showed her the calico. ‘‘He’s just a kittlin’.’’
‘‘I’ve never heard one called that before.’’
‘‘My Irish grandmother used to say that, I mean, call a kitten a kittlin’.’’