by Chuck Tyrell
As soon as Stryker was out of danger, Tom Hall disappeared. Prudence Comstock visited Stryker’s room in the hotel almost every day, as did Dan Brady and Fletcher Comstock. Becky Clark brought his meals and charged the town for them.
Two weeks after the gunfight, Stryker got out of bed. “Can’t heal while I’m on my back,” he said, and he began taking walks up and down the boardwalk, stopping in and talking with merchants and business people and generally making a nuisance of himself, according to Prudence, but he never wore a badge.
Stryker entered Clark’s Kitchen at midmorning when he knew Fletcher Comstock would be there.
“Good morning, Fletcher,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”
Comstock shoved a chair out with his foot. “Help yourself.”
Stryker sat. “Coffee, if you would, Becky,” he called.
“Be right there,” came the reply from the kitchen. Becky appeared with a coffee pot in one hand and a plate of doughnuts and a mug in the other. “Here’s some grease for your conversation,” she said, setting the plate and mug on the table. “Good to see you up and about, Matt. Healing well?”
“Still sore, Becky, but I’m mending.”
“Good. Good,” she said as she poured the coffee. “Holler if you need anything.” She disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Stryker and Comstock alone in the restaurant.
Stryker took a sip of his coffee. “I swear. That woman makes the best coffee this side of New Orleans. Too bad she’s married.”
“What’s on your mind, Matt?”
Stryker sat silent for a long moment. “It’s time for me to move on, Fletcher. The problem you hired me to take care of is over. It’s time.”
Comstock sighed. “I’d try to talk you into staying, but I know how stubborn you can get. When do you figure to leave?”
“No need to hang around. I can ride. I’ll leave day after tomorrow. But I want to settle one thing before I go.”
“Pay?”
“No. I know you’re good for that.”
“What, then?”
“I want you to give the marshal’s badge and a hundred a month to Dan Brady.”
Comstock’s eyebrows shot up. “Brady?”
“He’s as good a man as you’ll get, Fletcher. You saw how he stood at Corduroy. You’ve seen how he’s handled this town since. He’s the one you need, Fletcher. I’ll stake my name on it.”
“Need to talk to the others first.”
“Ponderosa Club?”
“Yep.”
“Do it. But I’d like to ride out of here knowing Ponderosa is in good hands.”
Two days later, Comstock accompanied Matt Stryker to the marshal’s office. Breed sat in one of the high-back chairs with a cup of coffee balanced on his knee. Dan Brady took his feet off the desk drawer and sat up straight when he saw Stryker enter.
“’Day, Marshal,” he said. “Things are quiet in Ponderosa and Bogtown’s no more than a dull roar.”
“That’s good, Dan. That’s good. Fletcher here’s got something for you.”
Fletcher Comstock stepped forward and held his hand out across the desk. “The town would like you to wear this badge, Dan,” he said. “Matt Stryker recommends you, and I’ve personally seen how you conducted yourself since the fight at Corduroy. The job pays a hundred a month and found. Will you take it?”
The broad grin on Dan’s face was nearly answer enough. “I will on one condition,” he said.
“What’s that?”
Dan’s grin got wider. “I’ll do the job for seventy-five a month if you’ll take the twenty-five and add it to the usual twenty-five and found a deputy earns.”
Both Comstock and Stryker looked puzzled.
“I want to hire me a good deputy, and I reckon that’ll cost fifty a month.”
“Got anyone in mind?”
“Yes, if you authorize the pay.”
“All right,” Comstock said. “Hire yourself a deputy.”
“Thank you. I accept the job.” Dan took the badge from Comstock and removed his deputy’s badge to replace it with the marshal’s star in a circle.
“I’ll be leaving, Dan,” Stryker said. “I’ll likely be seeing you around. Until I do, take care.”
Dan came from behind the desk with his hand outstretched. “Thank you, Matt Stryker,” he said, and clasped Stryker’s hand. “You taught me what it’s like to be a lawman. I’m beholden. Ride loose in the saddle.”
“I will,” Stryker said. “Rely on your own judgment, Dan. You’ve got the right ideas. I’ll just be moving on.” See you. You, too, Breed.”
Breed put a finger to his hat brim in salute.
After Stryker and Comstock left, Dan turned to Breed. “Graf,” he said, “I’d be obliged if you’d take this deputy’s badge. The job pays fifty a month and found.”
Breed grinned. “Graf, is it? I like that. Be good to work with you, Dan Brady. I’m getting to like Ponderosa more all the time.”
Brady handed Breed the badge. “I’ll be wanting the evening off on Saturday. I hear Cory Cooley’s giving a dance at the White House. You can watch the town.”
Dan hitched at the gun belt holding the heavy Dragoon. Maybe Miss Prudence would like to go to that dance. He left the office and walked down the boardwalk toward the Examiner.
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