“I think Mrs. French might become exclusively interesting,” Cole said.
“Whaddya think about the men in the hills?” I said.
“I think you and me might want to ride up and see what they’re doing up there.”
“Can I finish my coffee first?”
“You surely may,” Cole said.
Cole and I fell in on each side of one of the ridge riders. The sun was behind us and made our three shadows stretch out long on the shaley trail.
“Howdy,” Cole said to the rider.
Without looking at either of us, the rider said, “The town don’t come out this far, Marshal.”
“By God,” Cole said, “I believe you’re right. I believe it ends just down there at the foot of the hill where that little wash runs.”
“So up here,” the rider said, “you’re just another cowboy with a gun.”
“You think that’s right, Everett,” Cole said.
“I think no matter where you are, Cole, that you ain’t just another cowboy with a gun.”
“That’d be my thought,” Cole said. “So what are you doing riding round and round up here.”
“We ain’t doing nothing wrong,” the rider said. “And you ain’t got no jurdiction up here.”
“ ‘Jurdiction’?” Cole said and looked at me.
“I believe he means jurisdiction,” I said.
“I believe he does. And he’s, by God, right about it.”
Cole smiled at the rider.
“So what are you doing riding round and round up here?”
The rider smirked a little.
“Just keepin’ an eye on things.”
“On the town?” Cole said.
“Yeah.”
“For who?”
The rider shrugged. With an easy movement, Cole pulled the big Colt from its holster and hit the rider in the face with it. It knocked the rider out of his saddle, and by the time he hit the ground, the gun was back in its holster and Cole was leaning easily with his forearms resting on the horn of his saddle.