Chapter 24

• In these parts, where the law was as fluid as the shifting desert sands and honor was measured by the courage to ride unbridled into danger, it was said that Sheriff Guy Lucas had never, in his ten long years of service, made a single arrest of consequence. There were, of course, those who whispered treacherously about his lax methods and the peculiar way the lone riders_ those wild, untamed spirits of the range_ seemed to flourish under his jurisdiction. Yet for every slanderer, a far greater multitude defended him. To them, Guy Lucas was the finest fellow who ever threw a leg over a saddle_ a man whose inexhaustible good nature, his rich, mellow baritone as he sang range songs at anyone’s request, and his remarkable laissez-faire approach to law and order endeared him to every cattleman and drifter alike. The old sheriffs of yore, those grim figures forever embroiled in violent standoffs and blood-soaked duels, had long been consigned to legend. But when Guy Lucas ran for office and flashed his easy, winning smile, the people had chosen him, not for the spectacle of force, but for the promise of a gentler, more amiable way to keep the peace.
• Before his days as the lawman, Guy had been a proprietor of a combined general merchandise store, saloon, and hotel_ a hostelry of modest ambition. In that establishment, he was merely the figurehead. The true master of business was his daughter, Victoria, a woman as formidable in spirit as any man on the range. With a will of tempered steel and an unerring sense for order amid chaos, Victoria transformed what was once a poorly patronized saloon into a thriving hotel, restaurant, and store. Though her father spent much of his time at the hostelry even after his election, within those walls, his authority was but a polite suggestion compared to the unyielding rule of Victoria_ a queen in her own right, presiding over her realm with both stern discipline and a surprising warmth.
• It was from the stable behind that very hostelry that Trillin’ Jack and Sam Riggs emerged on the evening following the train robbery. They had reached the scene of the hold-up a full two hours after Grimwood’s crew had vanished into the dust, leaving behind the grim evidence of chaos: two lifeless bodies, the desperate shouts of a beleaguered conductor, and the exhausted labors of a fireman and engineer frantically working to clear the soaked firebox and stoke the engine’s dying embers of steam. Sam Riggs, normally a man of few words, had greeted the grim scene with a silence as deep and sorrowful as the desert night. His usually bright demeanor was dimmed by the knowledge that the outlaws had executed their plan while he was trailing them_ an unwelcome blow to his reputation among men who valued swift, decisive action. It was not until they had safely stabled their horses and emerged from the cramped horse-shed that Sam allowed his voice to break the heavy silence.