"What the hell is going on out there?" Sherriff Stanley asked. He was trying to peer out the window without getting out of his chair. It didn't seem to be working.
"Maybe you should go take a look," McCall said from inside the jail cell.
"Shut up. Aaron, go see what the hell that noise is about," Stanley said to his deputy.
Aaron, who was admiring McCall's Colt Peacemaker, didn't seem to hear his boss. He turned and gave McCall a sheepish look.
"What are these notches on the grip? You really should take better care of her."
"Deputy," the sheriff said.
McCall looked back at him with dead eyes, ignoring Sherriff Stanley. He figured Aaron to be twenty years old, maybe less. His tight clothing suggested he wasn't done growing yet.
"One notch for every heeled hard case that wanted a fight."
"Deputy Aaron."
"You killed that many men?" Aaron asked in awe.
"More. No room left on the grip."
"Deputy Aaron!"
Aaron dropped the gun as he spun around, surprised at the anger in Stanley's voice.
"Yeah, Uncle?"
"Go see what all that yelling is about. And you'll call me Sheriff when you're on duty."
"Yes, sir," Aaron said. He bent down, his fingers fumbling around, trying to pick up the gun.
"Aaron, forget the damned gun and get out there!"
Hesitating for a second, Aaron looked back and forth from the sheriff to the prisoner, before putting on his brown derby and heading to the door. "I thought you'd be younger," he said to McCall before stepping outside.
"If that boy weren't my sister's kid… "
Stanley got out of the chair and walked over to the pistol, lifting it to inspect the handle.
"There must be fifty marks here. The flyers around town say you killed a couple of men, but nothing like this."
McCall said nothing. He'd made up the story about the marks on the handle just to scare the kid. He even changed the way he spoke to add to his outlaw aura.
"If you read the sign coming into town you would have known you can't carry in Gehenna. No one would have said nothing to you if you didn't have this big boy on your hip."
He did know of Gehenna's gun laws but didn't bother abiding by them. That could be dangerous for a man like him. Judging from the hundreds of guns strewn around the sheriff's office, most people did obey them.
Before Stanley could react, McCall sprang out of his cot and stood at the bars, barely more than an arm's length away.
"I don't follow no bullshit laws and I expect to get that pistol back." He'd acquired the Colt years ago, and viewed it as a good luck charm.
Though he was armed and out of McCall's reach, Stanley took a hesitant step back. Even seasoned lawmen like the sheriff were terrified of McCall's reputation. He tried to shield his fear by turning away from the cell.
"The rail comes through tomorrow, so let's try and stay polite until then. Once the federal marshals get here you can take that up with them." Stanley walked back to his desk and dropped the Colt on it. "Why'd you let Deputy Aaron take you anyway? They say you're real fast; you could have taken him no problem."
McCall went back to his cot and tipped his hat over his eyes. "Didn't see no point in killing a kid. I only shoot those who have it coming to them."
That wasn't to say that McCall didn't think about it when that kid came up behind him. He had a feeling that he shouldn't stop in this damned town, but his horse had started to froth at the mouth and wobble at the knees. The kid had spotted him while he was buying some food from those fools in the general store. All these railroad towns had his picture up on every corner, but he still thought he could go unnoticed for a few hours.
McCall probably would have made a play for his pistol if he hadn't seen the barrel of the kid's gun trembling as it was pointed at him. He appreciated the young deputy's bravery, even though he'd been shaking in his boots. Getting a peaceful night's sleep in jail didn't seem all that bad to him either.
It wasn't until he woke up this morning that the sheriff told him that some federal marshals were due in the next night. If it weren't for bad luck, he'd have no luck at all. They'd been after him for awhile now, and if they caught him he'd be strung up in short time. He killed one of them back in San Antonio a few months before and they'd been riled up ever since.
McCall didn't plan on being around when they got here.
"Been awhile since your boy went out there."
"It has, but I'm not dumb enough to leave Mad Dog McCall alone in here," Stanley said as he squinted through the soiled window.
A hint of a smile touched McCall's lips at the mention of his Mad Dog title. It had a certain resonation that he liked.
"I'm getting out of here, whether you release me or I shoot my way out."
The loud crack of a gunshot rang through the street. Several seconds of silence preceded two more.
Sheriff Stanley walked across the room and grabbed his beige hat, which hung from a nail by the door. McCall noticed its flat top crown, sun faded color, and rusting badge, indicating the sheriff had been a law and order man for a long time.
"For the love of God, Aaron," he mumbled under his breath. "I gotta see what that damn kid is shooting at. Don't try nothing funny," Stanley said, looking back at McCall from the doorway.