Page 10 of Native Hawk
“I don’t care if you’re Shasta born and bred,” the sheriff said, pointing a sausage-sized finger at him. “We don’t allow cheaters in this town.”
“That’s right,” Harvey echoed.
“Oh, I wasn’t cheatin’, sir.”
The sheriff closed his eyes to slits. “I got three men that…” He glanced down again at his son, unconscious on the floor. “Two men that say you were.”
Emboldened by his father’s bravado, Harvey chimed in, “I’ll swear to it before the judge.”
The sheriff looked again at his offspring. His mouth curled down. He’d probably just as soon sweep this whole incident under the rug. His sons weren’t half the man that he was, and he probably didn’t want anyone else knowing it.
With a sigh, he said, “Oh, I don’t think we need to go to court.”
Drew was happy to hear that. He wouldn’t stand a chance in court. It would be his word against the sheriff’s. No half-breed in his right mind would take those odds.
Then the man added, “We can just take care of this little problem ourselves.”
Even that was fine with Drew. To be honest, in a situation like this, he didn’t mind folding. He’d consider himself lucky to give back his winnings to the sheriff’s boys and call things fair and square. He wasn’t above cutting his losses and moving on. And he sure as hell wasn’t looking for a fight.
“You gonna hang him, Pa?” Harvey asked with far too much enthusiasm.
Jim’s eyes lit up at getting payback for the humiliation of having almost shot himself in the foot. “That’ll teach the thievin’ son of a bitch.”
To Drew’s alarm, the sheriff didn’t rush in with dissent. And Drew quickly read in the man’s eyes that he wasn’t interested in a diplomatic solution. His sons’ honor had been compromised. He’d like to pretend it hadn’t happened. But barring that, he wanted to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.
Hanging him is exactly what he planned.
Drew was tempted to draw his gun and shoot his way out of this predicament. But he never wasted bullets when he could use his fists. And he never used his fists when he could use his wits.
Before the sheriff could say the words to condemn him, Drew grabbed the edge of the table. He wrenched it up and tipped it over forward, forcing the lawman to dodge back. Cards and money scattered. Silver coins rolled across the floor. Some of the opportunistic denizens of the saloon dove forward, eager to claim their share of the loot. Others battled them for it.
In the chaos, Drew dropped to the ground, snatched his hat from its perch on his chair, and jammed it down over his head. Then, using the rolling round table as a shield, he scrambled toward the door.
“He’s gettin’ away, Pa!” Harvey cried.
Drew plowed forward with the table, bowling over the sheriff before he could reach for his gun.
“Shoot him! Shoot him!” screamed Harvey, blocking his way.
Having had about enough of Harvey, Drew grabbed his duster from the coat rack by the door and then used the rack to sweep the man’s feet out from under him. Harvey went down with a satisfying squeak and a crash. And Drew made his escape.
Once outside, he donned his duster and headed directly for the closest competing saloon. Nobody would think to look for him there. They would guess he’d hightail it out of town. But likeXontehl-taw, Trickster Coyote, Drew had always found stealth and brains more useful than speed and brawn.
Sure enough, as Drew slipped into the Shasta Saloon, an angry mob burst out of the Winsome, with the sheriff at the fore. Drew quickly headed for the back of the establishment, where a piano player was making a big ruckus. Taking up residence in the corner beside the piano, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and slouched against the wall, as if he’d been standing there for hours.
In twenty minutes or so, he’d slip out of Shasta in the dark, going by way of the deer trails that wove through the mountains. If his luck held, he wouldn’t get killed by a mountain lion on the way.
Sheriff Jasper Brown wheezed as he stared off into the dark of the woods with his revolver drawn.
“Shit.”
The half-breed was long gone.
Scrambling up behind the sheriff were his two good-for-nothing sons.
“Did you get him, Pa?” Harvey hissed.
Jasper grimaced, thinking for the hundredth time that if only he hadn’t joined up to fight in that damned War Between the States, maybe he’d have some real sons instead of the lily-livered brats his shrinking violet of a wife had raised.
