Summer 15th, 1868 10am
It had been a while since the marshal, or any of the lawmen in Buffalo Creek for that matter, had seen any real action. After the uneventful hanging of Ezra Walker, though it probably wasn’t quite as uneventful to the people of this town as it was to Davion and Cyrus, not much had happened outside of a few drunk and disorderly charges. There was a rough customer at the brothel a few nights ago but that fiery Scarlet had handled the situation by the time Davion got there, which he was grateful for seeing as how he had tried his damnedest to stay away from that place for obvious reasons. He was however, appreciative of the lull in activity, more time to spend with his wife and child. His daughter was pulling up on the coffee table now and it wouldn’t be long before she was fully mobile on two legs rather than crawling on her hands and knees. She was also teething which was a nightmare for he and Bonnie but a little rum usually quieted the baby fairly well, they may not have been experienced parents but they were certainly trying.
With the marshal descending into his boredom he thought about it now and it had almost been a whole year since he was bashed over the head and Jane LaHaye was kidnapped. He still saw her from time to time thought it seemed like he saw her less and less, as if she was avoiding town or was simply not working as much at the saloon. Despite Murphy’s encouragement it also seemed like Wyatt was no closer to making a move on the sheriff’s sister as he was last summer when they laid under the stars talking about rescuing her from the natives.“Ya know? I always thought it peculiar that such a respectable bounty hunter like Allen just went an’ killed somebody then rode into town with the body.”
his own words echoed in his head, he had never admitted his skepticism of that case to anyone, but that night he told Wyatt just what he thought about it all, “I filled out the paperwork myself an’ according to the coroner, that rancher had three day old maggots in the gunshot wound, that ranch’s only two hours from the town Allen rode into, and . . . the rancher’s clothes were too small for him.”
Davion went down to the livery, checked on Argo then stopped by the post office to see if he had any wires from Texas, nothing. He groaned a little, somewhat disheartened his once action packed life was now dull and lackluster. He was a family man now, a federal marshal that hung out in a single town like a district marshal. He still aided in prisoner transport on occasion, that was never a highlight of his job anyways however, like sending the CEO of a corporate business out to buy lunch for everyone like a common gopher.
He stalked into the sheriff’s office, tipped his hat to Wyatt and peeked into the cell room where he had incarcerated Henry Scarborough and Daniel Helm a few months ago. He still kept a wary eye on the banker, ready for him to slip up and do something stupid, his wife was staying home now, ready to drop that baby any moment. Davion took a seat in the corner, the same chair he had sat in reading the paper while Daniel Helm fumed in his cell in the next room. He unlocked the gun cabinet and took out a sawed off side by side and got some cotton and gun oil and went to work. This was a recently confiscated firearm and she needed a little TLC. After a few moments he glanced over at Wyatt, “Have ya seen Mr. Allen lately?”
he said it almost accusatorily, as if Tanner had seen the outlaw and failed to tell him about it, “I’d like t’have a word.”
he left the sentence wide open for anyway the deputy may want to go about interpreting it.