Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series)

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Authors: Margaret Brownley
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said little of any consequence. The man was of no use. He knew a tenth of what he claimed to know, maybe less.
    As if on cue, Marshal Morris entered the office and Taggert set his cup on the tray. It was about time.
    Morris plucked the keys from a hook by the door and ambled over to the cell. “I decided to give one of you a suspended sentence,” he announced.
    Grady’s eyebrows shot up. “Does that mean you’re gonna let us go?”
    “Let you go?” The marshal chuckled. “A suspended sentence is just a fancy term for a good ole-fashioned hangin’. Haven’t had one ofthose in a while. Should liven things up a bit. Hangings don’t eliminate crime but they sure do stop repeaters.”
    Squint turned three shades of gray and for once Grady’s bravado deserted him, or at least he fell silent.
    “You ain’t got no right to hang any one of us without a trial,” Squint said. “It’s the law.”
    The marshal shrugged. “You know the law and I know the judge. I guess that makes us even.” He scratched his belly and studied each man in turn. “Don’t feel bad. It’s been my experience that outlaws are greatly improved by death.”
    “So are martyrs,” Taggert muttered.
    Ignoring his comment, Morris let his gaze travel from man to man. “So who’s itching for improvement? You choose or I choose. Don’t matter much to me.”
    “It’s gotta be one of them two,” Grady said with as much graciousness as a host offering a guest refreshment. “I’ve got what you call seniority.”
    “If that’s what we’re goin’ by, then he’s the one,” Squint said, pointing at Taggert. “He was the last to come on board.”
    “That true?” the marshal asked, staring at Taggert. “You the last to join the Phantom gang?”
    Taggert glared at his two cellmates. “Yes, which means I have less restitution to make.”
    Grady waved his hand. “This ain’t about restitution. It’s about feeding the wolves.”
    “To be fair, we should draw straws,” Taggert argued.
    “I ain’t drawing no straws,” Grady said. “He’s your man, Marshal. It’s two against one.”
    “Sounds fair to me.” The marshal pulled out his Peacemaker. “Now step back, all of you.” He waited for the three men to crowdagainst the back of the cell. Gun in one hand, he unlocked the door with the other, keys jiggling. He motioned to Taggert.
    “All right, now move. And keep your hands up.”
    Hands raised shoulder high, Taggert shuffled out of the cell. The marshal slammed the door shut, locking in the other two. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
    Taggert did what he was told and the marshal snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, the iron bracelets cold against his flesh.
    “It was nice knowing you,” Grady called.
    “Wish I could say the feeling was mutual,” Taggert muttered, casting a dark look at his former partners in crime.
    The marshal pressed the muzzle of his gun against Taggert’s back. “Move. Try anything and I’ll shoot you full of lead. Makes no difference to me if we improve you here or wait till you get to the gallows.”
    “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather hang,” Taggert replied. “These are the only clothes I’ve got and they don’t need no improving.”

    Eleanor Walker stared at the ceiling. There wasn’t much else to look at when one lay flat on one’s back. Of all the ridiculous and aggravating things to happen. A broken leg!
    Now that she’d flung the mechanical clock across the room, she didn’t even know what time it was. It seemed like hours since that annoying woman traipsed out. It had to be at least noon, if not later. And the pain. The pain!
    Where was the doctor? Where, for that matter, was anyone? And where, for pity’s sake, was that cowbell?
    She ran her hand over the bedside table, knocking the bell to the floor.

    She had just about reached the brown glass dropper bottle the doctor left when a tap sounded at the door. It was about time.
    Thinking it

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